#valentin x reader

"My neighbours cat - she was on my car hood t'day," You're swooning, stirring the beverage that sat infront of you with the spoon that you favour.

"She looked so adorable." You add, dazingly thinking back on the cute feline.

A pause pangs through.

“She meowed like she remembered words, but her mouth couldn’t shape them anymore.”

The spoon gently clinks against the rim of your cup before you focus back on Ronin.

"She's the cutest thing. I love persians."

Ronin doesn't dignify you with a response, only stares blankly at the screen; trying to piece your words together. A faint unease tickles up his spine, yet, juxtaposed against it, a grin pinches at the corner of his mouth. Because he knows, when the time comes, you'll say something even stranger.

It means something when you make the Butcher's skin crawl. Though, your ominiousity is a trait he favours about you. His creepy-crawly writer darling.

Angel.

Maria is irked by this trait of yours.

You both rest on the couch, bodies tangled together like a braid. You drum your fingers across Maria's skin, tracing an inconspicuous pattern on her foreaarm. Maria seems to be presuming something whilst running her hand down the arch of your head.

"..Sometimes i wonder if the walls remember us better than we remember ourselves."

The moment you part your lips, she groans, shifting from underneath you.

"Is it really necessary to say these things out loud?"

"What? It's just a thought. I'm just thinking."

"Thinking? Far from it. That was more like theatrics."

"If walls could whine, everyone would be guilty."

Maria gingerly places her palm over your mouth, shaking her head softly.

"Let's go back to silence, my heart."

She loves you, really. But you truly are a paradox.

Misaki.

Misaki loves this trait of yours. It creeps her out, sure, but who doesn't love to feel on edge?

They're lying with their head against your lap, warbling about something random as your fingers lazily comb through her tufts of hair.

"Your hair. It feels allot softer today."

"Flattery? You want something from me?" Misaki snorts, rocking their eyes back to capture your face.

"Almost like it's forgiving you."

Her grin falters, a dejected expression on her visage.

"Almost."

Your words wrap around their neck like a silky ribbon pulled too tight. Alas, she doesn't move. Not even a twitch.

In fact, Misaki melts into your grounding touch further, savouring the peculiar little ache you leave in their veins.

Because that's the trade-off. Comfort wrapped with a poisonous bow. She can't help but crave it more.

V.

You make Valentin worry every time you pull the stunt. His nighttime ritual is stressing about your sanity while you rest soundly beside him.

"Goodnight, Val." You softly hum out, shuffling the blankets to engulf you further.

"Let's hope you're still you when i wake."

Val blinks at the body laying beside him, watching the calm rise and fall of your chest. Your breathing slipping into the candence of dreaming. Your words hang thick in the air, polluting the vicinity.

Valentin has to stop himself shaking you awake and interrogating you on what you meant by that.

He nestles down into the blankets, staring up at the ceiling with a glint of disquiet in his eye.

You wouldn’t be surprised if his choice of hotel for your second anniversary had been dictated by its strict ban on electronic devices, so that he could perfectly hide himself and keep avoiding you even during breakfast – the only time you actually spend together – buried behind that stupid newspaper.

The thought of enduring another day of yoga, meditation, and stress management sessions makes you want to scream, and you are quite sure even the threat of execution wouldn’t make you sit through it again. No wonder the smile you force onto your face barely holds, drawing a slight furrow of concern from your ever-charming instructor.

“Lady is not feeling well today?” he asks suddenly, and you nearly choke on your coffee. Is it that obvious?

No, you are not feeling well. You fucking hate this stupid hotel. You hate the so-called healthy breakfast, the endless polite smiles and shallow bows.

And most of all, you hate the man sitting across from you, pretending you don’t exist.

“I think I want to do something fun today,” you look up from your coffee cup, watching as the fine steam curls in the bright sunlight, casting a shimmering silver veil over your health mentor and making him look somewhat mysterious. “I think I might skip the yoga.”

You wait. Will there be a reaction from the other side of the newspaper? A word? A glance? Anything?

Nothing. Sometimes, you wonder if he even exists, or if he’s just a phantom conjured by some cruel, unending nightmare.

It had never been about love, that much was clear from the start. This was a deal, a calculated merger between the two wealthiest steel companies, sealed in marriage.

And yet, you had hoped. Even if there was no passion, no fairytale romance, you had hoped the two of you could at least be partners, friends and allies in business and in life.

But it became very quickly painfully obvious that was never on your husband’s agenda. 

The silence from behind the newspaper stretches unbearably long, you exhale slowly, pressing the edge of your cup against your lips. The coffee burns, searing hot—but you barely notice. You’ve learned to love the pain. At least it reminds you that you’re still alive. Sometimes.

“Maybe I’ll visit the temple,” you add, more to yourself than anyone else.

Still nothing.

Valentin, it’s the name of the health mentor, assigned to you by the over caring manager of the hotel, clears his throat, shifting his weight slightly, his mismatched eyes flicking toward you with the kind of polite curiosity he reserves for hesitant guests. “Would you like me to arrange transport?” he asks, his voice smooth, professional.

You shake your head. “No need.”

You don’t want another carefully curated experience, another guide leading you through the motions of enlightenment, you just want something real.

Isn’t that ironic? You had once thought marriage – this marriage – would be the real part of your life. That despite its transactional nature, despite its calculated foundation, you could build something meaningful within its walls.

But walls don’t build themselves and your husband never even picked up a brick.

The rustling of paper draws your attention and for a fleeting second, you think he might actually lower it, might actually speak. Your breath catches.

But no. He merely folds the page, shifts slightly, and continues reading.

—------------------------------------------

The simple sand road to the monastery isn’t particularly long, but with no shelter from the relentless sun, it feels endless. Sweat clings to your skin, your breath turning shallow as the heat presses down on you, and the journey takes longer than you expected, the afternoon already slipping into its golden haze by the time you reach the base of the massive stone stairs leading to the temple.

A small cloud of dust swirls beneath your foot as you step onto the first stair. You pause, staring at the ancient, timeworn stone beneath you.

Then, you start counting. One. Two. Three.

You need something to anchor yourself, something to focus on, because the last thing you want to do right now is think.

Four. Five. Six.

You don’t want to think about the suffocating silence of your marriage. About the man who sits across from you every morning yet feels a million miles away. About how, somewhere along the way, you’ve started measuring your own existence by the small, sharp edges of pain – hot coffee against your lips, the sting of too-bright sunlight, the ache in your calves as you climb. Or about how you have to force yourself to look away from the perfectly sculpted abdomen of your personal yoga instructor, health mentor, confidence booster, and walking temptation all in one.

You’re sure he says the same flattering lines to all his clients, yet you still can’t stop the slight curl of your lips when he praises your form, marvels at your fitness levels, or sounds genuinely impressed by how well you hold a downward dog.

It’s ridiculous, and yet, for the briefest moment, you almost feel seen.

Twenty. Twenty-one. The numbers pulse in your mind like a prayer and by the time you reach the top, your breath is uneven, your heart hammering against your ribs. You press a palm against your chest, as if to steady something deep inside yourself, then lift your gaze.

The temple stands before you, ancient and unmoving, the air is thick with the scent of incense, a soft curl of smoke drifting from the entrance and monks move silently through the courtyard, their robes whispering against the stone. 

The sight is so starkly different from the artificial luxury of the hotel that for a moment, you hesitate. You don’t belong here. And yet, you’ve never felt more drawn to a place in your life.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find something here, something real. Something that doesn’t hurt. You take a slow breath, preparing to step forward, when a voice, soft and familiar, halts you in your tracks.

“Skipping yoga and running off to find enlightenment instead?”

Turning slowly, you find Valentin leaning casually against one of the temple’s carved wooden pillars, arms crossed over his chest, an amused glint in his mismatched eyes. 

He looks different. With the stylish light silk shirt, showing off his extremely well built frame,  and black sporty trousers he looks infuriatingly out of place here – too vibrant, too much a reminder of the life you were trying to escape, even if only for a few hours.

You exhale, masking your surprise with a sigh. “Valentin, what are you doing here?”

He tilts his head, as if the answer should be obvious. “Guiding lost souls toward balance and inner peace.” Then, with a small smirk, he adds, “Or at least keeping an eye on the ones who suddenly decide to abandon their wellness retreat without warning.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. “I needed a break.”

“From what? The relaxation?” His voice is teasing, but something in his gaze lingers too long, as if he sees more than you want him to.

You shift uncomfortably, the last thing you need is for Valentin, your overly attentive, far-too-charming health mentor, to start analyzing you.

“I just wanted to be alone,” you say, more firmly this time.

To your annoyance, he doesn’t look deterred, instead, he takes a step closer. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

The question hangs between you, heavier than it should be, because no, you’re not sure. Not anymore.

You glance toward the temple entrance, where the scent of incense drifts in the warm afternoon air, your imagined refuge, a place of stillness, but now, with Valentin standing here, watching you like he’s waiting for an answer you don’t have, the ground beneath your feet feels anything but steady.

He sighs, tilting his head toward the temple steps. “Come on, then.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you’re going to search for something real, at least let me make sure you don’t pass out on these stairs first.” His smirk softens just slightly. “Consider it part of my job description.”

A reluctant laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Damn him. Still, you hesitate.

Following him means acknowledging the pull between you, the quiet, unspoken thing that has lingered in the spaces between conversations, between his casual touches as he adjusted your posture, between the way he always seemed to notice when you weren’t okay.

But walking away means going back to the emptiness you came from, and you’re not sure you can do that, either.

—--------------------------------------------------------

The rhythmic thump of bass vibrates through the wooden floorboards, mingling with the crash of waves in the distance, and the air seems thick with the scent of salt and citrus, the heat of the day fading into the electric pulse of the evening.

You sit at the bar, ice clinking in your glass as you swirl the liquid inside. A mojito, Valentin’s choice for you. “Something refreshing,” he had said with that ever-present smirk.

Beside you, he leans back against the bar, one elbow resting on the counter, watching the dance floor with lazy amusement, the half unbuttoned stylish silk shirt reveals his sun-kissed skin and toned forearms. He looks completely at ease here, as if this place, with its neon lights and reckless energy, belongs to him. And maybe it does.

You take a slow sip of your drink, the coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth buzzing beneath your skin. “I thought you were all about health and balance,” you muse, raising a brow at him. “This doesn’t seem very… meditative.”

Valentin laughs, low and easy. “Balance means knowing when to let go.” He gestures toward the dance floor, where people move with uninhibited joy, bodies pressed close, arms lifted to the sky. “Besides, what’s the point of a healthy body if you don’t use it to feel something?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, and to your surprise, he suddenly turns toward you. “Come on.”

You blink. “Come on what?”

His grin is pure mischief. “Dance with me.”

You snort. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

Valentin doesn’t argue, he simply takes your hand, your small palm disappearing into his large one and suddenly, you’re not sitting at the bar anymore, you’re being pulled onto the dance floor, the press of bodies and the thrum of music wrapping around you like a second heartbeat.

You open your mouth to protest, but then his hands settle lightly at your waist. 

“Relax,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “Just move.”

So you do. At first, it’s awkward, you’re stiff, hesitant, too aware of him, of the heat between you, of the way his fingers press just lightly enough to steer you but firmly enough to keep you close.

But then the music shifts, and something inside you does too, the beat takes over, drowning out everything else – the noise in your head, the weight in your chest, the echo of a marriage that feels like a ghost haunting your every step, and for the first time in longer than you can remember, you don’t think. You just move.

Valentin’s gaze never leaves you, his expression switching between approval, awe and something else, something deeper, dark and intensive, something you’re afraid to name but it makes your skin tingle.

The song changes, but you don’t stop and neither does he.

—-----------------------------------------------------

His lips are scorching against your skin, taking, demanding, yet somehow just as giving, as every kiss, every flick of his tongue, every sharp inhale between parted lips feels like breathing in life itself, like drawing a fresh breath after eternity of drowning.

You moan as your back meets the wall, it’s so cool against your overheated skin, while Valentin presses his body against yours, his thigh between your legs, spreading them open. 

His name is barely more than a whispered breath against his lips, but he hears it, and the way you say it, so desperate, so wanting, so surrendering, makes him groan into the kiss, as his hands grow restless, tracing the curves of your body. 

His fingers roughly dig into the soft flesh of your hips, and you can’t bite back the moan that claws through you, the raw and unfiltered sound slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

“You like playing games, don’t you?” It’s not really a question, it’s more like a realization, and there is something in Valentin’s voice that makes you shudder.

You know what this is, what it could be, what it will be if you don’t stop now, but you don’t want to stop.

“I do,” you breathe, and the moment the words leave your mouth, Valentin’s hand moves, wrapping around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse stutter.

You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, not from fear but from the way your body reacts, heat suddenly coiling low in your belly. 

“Then let’s play,” Valentin murmurs and his voice feels like a rustle of silk over steel, sending a shiver down your spine.

Stepping back, Valentin grabs your wrist, and a soft whine escapes you as he withdraws his other hand from your throat, leaving your skin tingling.

Your weary eyes follow his every move as he leads you out of the dimly lit comfort of your villa bedroom, across the courtyard. It isn’t until you reach the villa on the other side that realization dawns, and you suddenly know where he’s taking you.

The massive terrace doors slide open soundlessly, as Valentin releases your hand, stepping inside without the slightest hesitation and heading toward the large, imposing oak desk – the very heart of your husband's domain.

Leaning casually against the sturdy edge, he turns to you, watching and waiting while you hesitate at the threshold. This is his realm, his villa, his study. He always insists on having one, no matter where you travel, it’s his excuse to remain occupied, to bury himself in work, to keep pretending you don’t exist.

Your pulse hammers in your throat, while Valentin keeps watching you in silence.

Slowly you step inside, sliding the heavy glass doors shut behind you, the quiet thud reminding you of a trap snapping closed.

“Onto your knees,” Valentin’s voice reaches you the moment you turn toward him again.

You lift your gaze to meet his, and before your mind can even process what he’s asked, your body obeys and you slide down. Your knees hit the floor, but you almost don’t notice the impact through the haze of anticipation, curling around you like thick smoke.

Valentin’s lips quirk in the faintest hint of satisfaction as he shifts slightly.

“Crawl to me,” he commands and you do, smile tugging on your lips, the smooth wood cool beneath your palms as you move, each shift of your body slow, teasing, testing.

Valentin doesn’t move, doesn’t rush you, he simply watches, leaning against the massive oak desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface, he lets you play, lets you draw it out, watching with that quiet, knowing patience that only makes the air between you heavier.

Your gaze drops, landing on the noticeable strain against his trousers, the hard outline pressing insistently, demanding release, and a fresh wave of anticipation rushes through you, mingling with the slow burn already curling in your veins, your knees ache, a beautiful reminder of presence, of being alive and wanted, of the serenity of submission.

You reach him, and his fingers slip into your hair, claiming control, tilting your head up until your eyes find his, and the amusement in his expression is unmistakable.

“Lady enjoys testing limits,” he muses.

Your lips part, a response forming, but he runs his thumb over your lower lip, silencing you before a single word escapes, and a thrill shivers through you, the slow, intoxicating game settling into place.

“You’re not the only one,” Valentin murmurs, his thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you of exactly what you both are in this delicious exchange of power.

His free hand moves achingly slow, tracing the curve of your jaw before gliding down your throat, as his fingers linger precisely where they had claimed you before. You swallow hard, and he watches the flutter of your pulse beneath his touch, his lips curving in satisfaction.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” He doesn’t really need to ask, the answer is already written in the way your fingers move, deft and eager, working to free him, in the way your lips part, a greedy moan slipping past them before you even realize you’ve made a sound.

But just as your lips part fully, just as your tongue flicks out, his grip in your hair tightens, not painful, but firm, controlling, and he tilts your head back, forcing you to look up at him again.

“Look at you, so eager, so needy,” Valentin muses. “Patience,” he hums. “You wanted to play. So let’s play.”

A flush burns through you, the heat in your belly growing with each passing moment, you close your eyes, your nails dig lightly into the fabric of his trousers, a silent plea. He chuckles, low and indulgent, thumb swiping over your lip again, smearing the moisture left behind by your tongue.

Valentin finally releases the tension in his grip, just enough to let you move, to let you take what you’ve been craving and you don’t hesitate, your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock while your fingers wrap around him, and the sharp breath he draws is like music to your ears. 

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice huskier now, and you glance up at him, drinking in the sight – his tousled dark hair, the sharp angles of his face, the way his mismatched eyes flicker with something dangerously close to ruin, but he’s still composed, still in control.

That won’t do, with a teasing slowness, you drag your lips over his length, just barely touching, just enough to make his fingers tighten in your hair again, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk behind him.

A flicker of frustration crosses his face. Good. You like it. Your tongue flicks over him again, featherlight, and his grip jerks, his hips shifting forward just slightly.

A breathy chuckle escapes you. “I thought you said patience?” 

His eyes darken.

“I did.” Valentin agrees, his voice impossibly smooth. Then, before you can react, his hand tightens. “But patience,” he whispers, “is something I teach, not something I practice.”

He pulls you closer, and the next moment his cock fills your mouth, stretching you, pushing past your lips until the burn at the corners of your mouth becomes a delicious ache. He’s big, thick and heavy on your tongue, and you can do nothing but take it – let him guide you, move you, use you because there is nothing more intoxicating than surrendering to someone who knows exactly how to wield power.

His first thrust is slow, measured, testing your limits, then another, deeper this time, until he finds the perfect rhythm, until your body learns to follow his lead.

Your only response is a low hum around his length, the vibrations making him curse under his breath. You don’t dare to stop him, you don’t want to stop him. The ache in your knees, the burning stretch of your lips, it all blends into the dizzying pleasure wrapping around you like a thick fog, pulling you under, making you pliant, making you his.

Saliva spills from your lips, dripping down your chin as you take him deeper, bobbing your head along his length, the slick, obscene sounds filling the room, and your fingers dig harder into his thighs, nails pressing into firm muscle as you hold on, as you let him use you.

Then it happens – the first raw, unrestrained moan slips from his lips, rough and unexpected, and in the same moment a rush of satisfaction surges through you, making your limbs tremble as pleasure pulses through you.

You’ve undone him, even if only for a moment, and God, it’s the sweetest kind of victory.

_____________________________________

Valentin watches you, completely absorbed in the way you give yourself over to him, the way you need him. 

He has seen loneliness in many forms – restless indulgence, desperate validation, quiet self-destruction – but yours is something else entirely. It’s not the loneliness of someone abandoned, not the aching void of someone craving affection, it’s the loneliness of a woman unseen, of someone who exists in the periphery of her own life, a shadow in the grand, empty spaces your husband refuses to fill.

And now, here you are, on your knees before him, surrendering, not for him, not even for pleasure itself, but for the feeling of being claimed, of belonging to something.

You don’t even realize how much he understands, how much he wants to give you this, not just the rawness, not just the sharp edges of control and surrender, but the pleasure – the real escape.

Every unrestrained sound that escapes your lips, every shudder that runs through your body, every moan that vibrates against his cock – it’s all a silent plea for oblivion, for something that makes you forget, and he’ll give it to you.

His grip tightens in your hair, just enough to remind you that you’re not lost, that you are here, you’re his in this moment, and you’re going to take everything he gives you.

He forces himself to breathe through the heat coiling in his gut, the heady mixture of control and restraint pushing him slowly to the edge, but he won’t let go first, not until you do, not until you have got what you crave for.

"I know you can take more. Don't hold back, sweetheart," Valentin’s voice is still smooth, but there’s something raw beneath it, something unraveling.

His head tips back as you take him deeper, swallowing around him, forcing yourself to relax, to ignore the way your throat tightens whenever his tip grazes too far. You feel his fingers tense in your hair, his breath turning uneven, his control fraying at the edges, you feel the slight twitch of his cock inside your mouth, the way his grip tightens just a fraction more. He’s close, so close you can almost taste the victory.

But just as the triumph starts to settle in your chest, just as you think you’ve won this game, Valentin moves, his grip suddenly becoming unyielding as he pulls you off him.

A gasp rips from your lips as your head tilts back, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you to his cock, your breath is ragged, your lips swollen, the loss of him sudden and jarring, as your eyes flick up, searching his.

His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths, his jaw tight, his fingers still buried in your hair, holding you in place. 

“You thought I’d let you win that easily?” he murmurs, and your stomach tightens.

Of course, it would have been too easy, but it’s not over, and you feel the slight tinge of excitement back in your shaking limbs.

Valentin releases your hair slowly, tracing his fingers down your cheek, tilting your chin up so you’re looking only at him.

“Get up,” he orders, and your legs shake as you obey, rising to your feet, anticipation thrumming through every inch of you.

His eyes never leave yours as he steps aside the heavy oak desk, his palm smoothing over the polished surface before he gestures to it with a slow, knowing smile.

“Now,” he breathes, the words sinking into your skin, into your bones, “Bend over.”

Your breath is shallow, pulse hammering in your throat as Valentin watches you. You should hesitate, should second-guess this, but you don’t, there is something in his voice, in the quiet certainty of his presence, that makes you want to obey.

Your palms meet the smooth, polished surface of the desk as you lean forward, the cool wood welcoming your body, humming with anticipation, your heartbeat a steady drum in your ears.

Behind you, Valentin doesn’t move right away, he takes his time. You hear the subtle shift of his breath, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts, as he watches, you can feel his gaze sweeping over you, mapping your curves, taking in every shallow breath you take, and it’s almost unbearable, this waiting, this cruel stretch of silence he’s using to unravel you even further.

His hands reach you first, slow, teasing, fingertips ghosting over the small of your back, trailing lower, skimming the curve of your hips before hooking beneath your silk underwear as he pushes the fabric up, peeling it away, baring your ass to him inch by inch.

A shiver ripples through you, and he notices, of course, he does.

“You’re trembling,” he muses.

You swallow hard. “You like that?”

A low chuckle: “Oh, I love that.”

His palm slides up your spine, fingers splaying, pressing you further into the desk, you inhale sharply, the sheer presence of him behind you, surrounding you, making you dizzy, and then – nothing, his touch disappears, the absence of it sharp, almost aching.

You shift slightly, seeking it back, but he tuts softly. “So impatient,” he murmurs, dragging a single finger down your back, and you can't help but whine in frustration or need, or something between the two.

Valentin leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I told you, sweetheart…,” his hand on your back gets heavy, a sharp contrast to the featherlight touch before, “this is my game.”

You cry out as his palm cracks against the soft flesh of your ass, the sharp sting blooming into heat, the sound echoes through the dimly lit study, swallowed by the thick walls.

His other hand presses you firmly against the rough surface of the desk, holding you exactly where he wants you, where you need to be.

"Beautiful," Valentin murmurs, his voice like molten honey, seeping into your dizzy consciousness, while his fingers trace over the mark he’s left, soothing, teasing, before his palm lifts again.

You barely have a second to brace yourself before he strikes once more, the jolt of sensation makes your body tense, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk, a whimper escaping your lips, not just from the sting, but from the sheer intensity of it all, from the way he makes you feel owned without ever needing to say the words.

"Good girl," he praises, his hand lingering, squeezing your buttocks. "I knew you'd take it so well."

A shiver rolls through you at his words, at the quiet, knowing amusement in his tone, as if he’s been waiting for this, as if he knew from the moment he first saw you that you’d come undone for him like this.

Valentin hums in satisfaction, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, ghosting over your folds before dipping into your slick, aching core, and a sharp gasp escapes you, your body instinctively pressing into his touch, craving more.

“You’re drenched,” he muses, dragging his fingers through your arousal, spreading it, playing with it. “I think you like this more than you’re willing to admit.”

He leans forward, his body a solid wall of heat against your burning ass and back, his lips graze your ear. "Tell me how much you like it."

It’s not a request, your breath shudders as you turn your head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him through hooded eyes. "I…" you swallow, your voice breaking on the admission. "I love it."

A moan slips past your lips, unbidden, as his fingers start moving in and out of you.

"Let’s see just how much more you can take," Valentin’s voice reaches you as if from a dream – distant, intoxicating, pulling you deeper as his hand comes down again, heavy, punishing, liberating, the sharp smack echoing through the room and this time, you don’t even try to stifle the moan that rips through you. 

Valentin’s fingers start to work you open, drawing you under in that beautiful space where the world outside this moment fades, dissolving into nothing but the pure sensation of his touch, his voice, the way your body responds without hesitation, without thought.

His other hand slides up your body, wrapping around your throat, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he holds you down against the table, making your pulse race and your head swim, and soon there is nothing else left, just the heat coiling in your core, your walls clenching around his fingers, and his grip making your body melt. The edges of reality blur and your mind floats, you are weightless and you are his.

The pleasure is thick, dizzying, curling around you like a cool, silken cloud and you barely register the sounds falling from your lips – moans, pleas, shameless whimpers – but Valentin does.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone full of satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You buck your hips against his hand incapable of speech, you don’t care anymore, there’s no holding back, no shame, just raw, consuming need.

And he loves it, he presses deeper, stretching you, teasing you until you're trembling, whining mess before him. Suddenly without a warning he pulls his fingers away, leaving you empty, desperate, and a frustrated whine escapes your lips, but before you can beg, before you can even catch your breath, you feel it. 

The head of his cock, thick and hard, is pressing against your soaked entrance.

“Breathe,” he commands, voice smooth, firm, the last tether keeping you connected to this world. “Take me.”

And then he thrusts, a cry rips from your throat, pleasure blooming so violently it borders on pain, as he fills you completely, stretching you to the point of perfect ruin, and you can do nothing but take it.

He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t ease you into it, he fucks you relentlessly, unyielding, thrusting into you with a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder against the edge of the desk. 

The wood bites into your soft skin, a dull ache mixing with the overwhelming pleasure, blurring the lines between pain and bliss, and the room is filled with the sound of the sharp slap of skin against skin, your desperate moans, the rough scrape of the desk beneath you as it all melts together into something filthy, something primal, something beyond anything you’ve ever felt before and you never want it to stop.

You don’t hold back, you can’t, your moans grow louder, shameless, broken, echoing through the study. You want him to hear, you want everyone to hear.

And then, something shifts, a flicker of movement catches your eye, a presence just beyond the edge of your bliss-drunk haze, and your gaze drags toward the doors where you see him – your husband, standing there, watching.

His expression is full of surprise and something else, something you had never seen before, your eyes drop lover to his hand wrapped around his rock hard cock, tugging violently at it while his gaze remains glued to the sight of Valentin ruining you.

The shock should snap you out of this haze, should send you spiraling into shame, into panic, but it doesn’t.

It’s the first time you see him like this – silent, desperate, weak and wanting, it’s the first time you feel you have the power, you are finally seen, you unravel him.

Valentin groans, his rhythm faltering as he feels you tighten around him, your body clenching down, dragging him closer to the edge, and he leans over you.

“Look at you,” he rasps. “My perfect lady. My queen. Falling apart so beautifully for me.”

Without warning Valentin yanks you upright, your back flush against his chest as he drives into you, his hand still around your throat, as his tongue flickers against the shell of your ear. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Let him watch what he’s missed… what he doesn’t deserve.”

That’s all it takes, pleasure surges through you, hot, electric, overwhelming, ripping through you before you can even brace yourself for it as you shatter with a cry, your core seizing around Valentin, every nerve igniting as bliss detonates in violent waves, white-hot and endless.

You sob through your climax, your hands scrambling against the edge of the desk for support, your mind utterly lost to it. 

Valentin’s thrusts grow even rougher, deeper, pushing you through the aftershock, using you for his own pleasure now, but you don’t care, because as you come undone, as your body trembles and your cries fill the air, you keep your gaze locked on your husband, standing there, watching, completely powerless.

Two years and this was the first Full Moon party you actually had the chance to go to. Not just for a couple of hours, not sober. You were actually going to be able to enjoy yourself. How Valentin had swindled a night off from the hotel for you both, you didn't bother to ask. But you appreciated it nonetheless.

The parties on the nearby beach weren't quite as big as others you'd heard about, but you were excited. Just a chance to escape the hotel, a chance to not have to pander to guests or be ordered around by managers. And, of course, a chance to be with Valentin.

The lights blinded you as you made your way down to the beach. Valentin was already there, based on his message, along with Alexei and Vlad. The music drowned out whatever the guy at the entry said, but as he pointed down to the party, you just nodded and continued on.

Valentin's eyes found you immediately, the flashing lights bouncing off the metallic stars that covered your body. And they barely covered it. You had really gone all out for tonight.

He put his hand up to wave, watching as you wound through the crowd to find him and the others. It wasn't long before you made it all the way over to him.

"You look…divine."

The music picked up in tempo. Thumping through the soles of your feet as Valentin held on to you tight. Hands taking a wandering path over your body, slipping under the spaced out stars that somehow made up your outfit.

You could see the neon paint that swirled over his bare forearms, some of it already smeared across your back and stomach as you danced.

More and more people seemed to fill the beach. The strobe lights and neon decoration adding to the dizzying haze that filled your head. You could hardly keep track of what was going on around you, even when Valentin's lips met your neck. The solid planes of his body pressed impossibly tight against you.

It was like this was the one place you could just be together. Not pretending you were just colleagues, both to guests and other staff. Tonight, Valentin was all yours.

And both of you had every intention of taking full advantage of that fact.

So you didn't resist when Valentin's hands did more than just wander. Everyone was far too distracted by the party to notice anything else. Slipping beneath your barely there waistband, letting his groan vibrate against your neck when he found only flimsy fabric hiding what he wanted.

"Just for me, hmm?" Valentin whispered, letting his teeth scrape against your skin.

You didn't get to answer as two fingers slipped beneath your underwear, finding their destination immediately. Head falling back against his shoulder as you gave into his touch. his face was buried against your neck, his free hand winding up and holding you upright.

But just as you felt your release creeping up, he stopped. Both hands back on your waist and spinning you to face him. A familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Be a good and do what I tell you.”

You couldn't help but let out a giggle as your back hit the wall, knowing its neon patterns were now smudged over your skin. Valentin's lips and hands were everywhere on your body, you could barely keep track. Your own hands tangled in his hair as he made his way down your body. There was a desperation to how he touched you and you couldn't get enough.

His hands pushed your thighs apart as he pushed your skirt higher, quickly discarding the useless fabric of your underwear. The sounds of the party and the ocean behind him muffling the moan of his name as his lips met your core. Lapping at you like you were his only sustenance.

Your legs were quickly slung over his shoulders, only his body keeping you from sliding down the wall. You could feel his groans vibrating right up through you. He needed this as much as you did. It had been a while after all.

"Val…" you whined, earning you a quick smack to your thigh.

His mismatched eyes found yours, "Shh, baby, just enjoy it."

So you did. Closing your eyes and letting him finally pull you through your release. Legs shaking as he pulled away, letting you slide down the wall until you could both lay back in the damp sand.

Valentin had barely caught his breath before you were on him, but he smirked as you tugged away his shorts. He didn't stop you when you shakily clambered into his lap. The wash of the tide creeping in, but neither of you cared all that much.

He could still feel the slowing spasms of your walls as he let you settle onto his length. Your joined moans of satisfaction washed away on the slow waves. Your hands planted on his chest as you set the pace. The party behind you long forgotten as Valentin moved to knead at the soft globes of your backside.

The waves seemed to roll in time with your hips, soaking through his shirt and cooling the flush on his skin. But your pace wasn't quite fast enough for his liking, he needed more and he needed it now.

Valentin's hold was tight as he rolled you onto your back, barely breaking contact as he picked up the pace. Holding your hands up and over your head as he chased both your highs.

Letting the water wash over you both as he peppered kisses over your neck. Winding up to your lips as he felt you finish for the second time. Legs tights around his waist as he chased his own. Your nails scraping against his hands and wrists as his rhythm stuttered. Every pent up desire spilling into you as he thrust deeper until his body shook with release.

"Fuck…" he chuckled, brushing the now damp strands from your face.

"We need to come to these things more often."

The party had barely noticed your absence when you returned. But Alexei and Vlad had noticed. One minute you and Valentin had been there, tangled together to the music, and next you were gone. Their eyes met yours with knowing grins.

"Full Moon parties really are crazy, huh?"

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Ronin softly clinks down the knife against his night stand with a sigh, shuffling slightly to adjust your body against his. A pang plays through before Ronin's fingers guide themselves up to cradle your cheeks. His fingers drum softly against your skin before dragging your face to look up at him.

Of course, you do not return his gaze.

"[Name]," He cooes, tapping against your skin again. "Look at me, darling."

He's shocked when you actually do, already charging up his teasing response- but- your gaze swallows all his words entirely.

Your eyes were.. deep. Intense. Uncomfortable. Scrutinizing...

Ronin had seen your eyes. Of course he had. He was oddly infactuated with every peice that made you you. But he had never actually met your eyes with his.

And.. never expected for them to feel so intense. To engulf him whole. Leave him feeling unfinished.

and he loved it.

When given the chance, Ronin thoroughly enjoyed getting lost in the whirpool of your eyes. That mouldy, alluring feeling was his ecstacy after a long day.

Ah, the comfort of discomfort!

Angel .

Maria found it easy to get lost in the charming features that built up the specimen that you are. Whether* that be your hands, arms, stomach, nose, or even your eyes.

Maria traces her finger against your joints, just.. breathing you in after a long day. You had a refreshing aspect to you that *she simply had to commend.*

Eventually, when her monolouge of admiring your being halts and she drags her eyes up to meet yours; she oftentimes becomes enfactuated.

Maybe it's their boisterous dullness. Or the way she watches your pupils dialate when they meet hers.

Within a few seconds, you begin to grow clammy all over, but Maria doesn't notice. Why be attentive to something so trivial when there's bigger things at hand? Like the way your eyes grow bigger the longer she stares at them for.

She only seems to etch more forward.. and while she barely notices her magnetic pull towards you; you certainly do. Her perfume fills your nose with an intoxicating pleasantry one can only describe to the fitting effect of an Angel.

"Mari," You finally whine, losing the staring contest.. per usual.

"Ah. Sorry, my heart." She plants a kiss on your undereye.

"Those eyes you have would throw anyone off, mi vida." She sighs out, crumbling into you.

Depsite your crippling eye contact avoidance, Maria was difficult not to look at.

Misaki .

Misaki being unapologetically Misaki means that they often get corrected by you; like a parent reprimanding their child to act more decently in public.

The phone screen wobbles as Misaki tries to focus herself in the cameras line of sight.

"Where are you off to?" You question, twisting a stray piece of hair between your fingers as you watch your partner hop up what you assume to be a staircase.

"Stairs!" They reply. Well, it's not really a response, but can you blame them? They're charging up the stairs like an arrow thrust through the air.

Eventually, the shaking facetime screen remains at a constant level and you can only assume Misaki is done her marathon.

The phone is propped against something solid as Misaki pans out to sort something out in a bag you weren't paying much attention to.

"What do you want for dinner today, by the way? No clue what to get." You mumble, absentmindedley toying with something else.

You go on to rant about your day,, typical for your facetime calls of an evening. With Misaki giving small hums of ackowledgment and tiny quips of response, you continue on until someting shoots you out of your rambling trance.

No, really. Shoots.

A gunshot barrels through your headphones, and you're sure you must have grabbed your phone as fast as the shotgun ricocheted.

Misaki is centre of your screen, Remington 700 ; of whom she calls Remi ; cradled in her arms like a newborn baby, fresh steam curling out of the muzzle from the fresh bullet she had just sent out.

She feverishly packs away before sparring a confused glance at her phone camera.

"Go on, babe. What about that barista?" She audaciously chirp, slinging the rifle casing over her shoulder.

When Misaki finally had the time to glance down at their phone, the glare adopted onto your face genuienly stuns them for a moment too long. Your eyes pierce into a spirit they didn't know they had. They messed up bad. They quit their pacing and shuffle into an alleyway once they decide the coast was crystal enough.

"...He was alone. I was safe!.. really!" Her pleas fall on deaf ears. Your scowl deepens, and Misaki genuienly shudders through all layers of her skin.

"I missed you, i just wanted to hear you- to see you." They pathetically mumble out, trying to look anywhere but at the intensity of your eyes.

"If you ever call me again when you're on a mission, regardless of how 'safe' you think you are, consider crafting your will, Katsuo."

The muster up a reverent nod. Not many things frightened Misaki, being a skilled assasian and all, but anyday of the week the intensity of your eyes could have them fall to their knees and warble in a dingy alleyway for half an hour.

V .

Valentin Viljoen can miss the entire plot point of a chronological movie but simaltaneously disect anyone's moral compass, diving into what builds their viscera. This man can read you like a shameless fiend searching through a diary.

You lean your head against him, scraping your feet against the ashy pebbles of the park floor. Silence had stretched on far, and not the comfortable kind. It was thick, and unheard of in your realtionship. Even Val, calm and collected and certainly not easily agitated Val, felt uncomfortable with this silence.

The birds infront of the pair of you peck against the rubble, trying to grab at the sweet corn cornels. With each lazy swing you threw, Valentin got more worried; noting that you weren't even trying to bonk them on the heads with the corn.

He leans forward, giving you a blank glance.

When you return his gaze, he feels an earnest shiver trail up the length of his vertebrae and nestle in his throat.

He's used to your unnerving glare, but this was a different level of uncanny.

He turns away, subtly gulping down the goosebumps that had somehow found their way into him. Meekly, he touches your shoulder before pulling you more into his shoulder.

"...What is the matter?"

...

"I'm hungry."

Valentin read you like a diary, and you surely couldn't ask for better.

𝜗ৎ Likely the one who encouraged the chugging of all those drinks,

𝜗ৎ Also most likely the one to hold your hair back / teasingly comfort you in a bathroom stall as you throw up everything you consumed in the past 24 hours.

𝜗ৎ He's evil, sure.. but he has an inch of a heart left under the coarse walls he's built up.

𝜗ৎ You will feel like crap in the morning, that's a promise; but you'll, at the very least, have Ronin to aid you through that crap.

˚❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He's already up when you begin to stir awake. As reality finally knits itself together from a sickening swirl, the price of consciousness is the blossoming ache pounding into your head relentlessly.

Pain hits you akin to a freight-train, shooting you right back into the pillows in search of comfort.

Ronin has a sickeningly sweet and condescending grin on his lips as he smiles down at you.

"Feeling it now? You went crazy yesterday, darlin'."

"Who's fault is that?" You snap back, only to immediantly regret it as pain shoots like thorny vines across your body.

"Cranky, are we? I'll get you some painkillers, love."

Angel.

𝜗ৎ Maria doesn't inherently enjoy the concept of drinking at an open bar full of strangers.

𝜗ৎ So instead, she watches you with a steady eye from across the bar.

𝜗ৎ Your happiness is enough to fuel her entertainment, anyways.

𝜗ৎ She's well aware of the signs of you becoming too drunk and when the signs of when you're eager to do something you'd regret.

𝜗ৎ Instead of just dragging you away, she'll attempt to diffuse and disuade your impulsive and or intrusive thoughts.

˚❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"I know you'd absoulutely love to eat your shot glass, my love," Maria coaxes your hand with the most syrupy tone, taking your fingers to interlock with hers. She subtly pushes away the minature cup, briefly eyeing down the bartender.

"But you shouldn't... What if the bartender wants it back?"

You nod slowly as if her words are all that compelling. Though, they barely register in your glassy mind, swimming in the minefield of pleasant haze in your pretty little head. The warmth flourishing in your head wasn't only the fault of liquor anymore, but Maria's contact against the tacky bartop.

"You should," You supress a hiccup. "live a little, mari... too worrrriiied." You drag out with an exasperated snort.

"You aren't worried enough." There's humor in her tone, but her woe overlaps it more thickly.

"You're so cute when you're anxious about me," You whine out, a dopey and loopy smile on your face.

"And you're adorable when you're drunk. Too adorable. Let's get you home." She doesn't leave much room for argument as she stands, dragging you up with interlocked digits.

Misaki.

𝜗ৎ Misaki is drunk with you.

𝜗ৎ She, unfortunately does not take her own limits into account.

𝜗ৎ They like to share every waking experience with you; and so, if you take a sip, they take a sip. You order a pint, they order a pint. You pass out in a dingy alleyway after throwing up? They're waaay ahead of you.

𝜗ৎ You both are just as bashed as eachother, trying to navigate the way back home.

𝜗ৎ It's cinematic, really.

˚❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was a few hours into Sunday, both you and Misaki had been, understandably, kicked out of the bar you had both perched at. Both too stubborn to call an uber, pretty sure neither of you could even recall the address the two of you drunkely attempt to find your way home.

"Misa-Misaki, i promise you- it's that way."

"No... It's not! We went that way already. It's... eerm, that way." A limp arm is raised in a random direction.

"That's the motorway." A car zooms past as Misaki lowers their arm in defeat. You squint. "Tryna get us killed?"

Misaki only pouts, "I am not trying to kill us. Direction doesn't exist when you're drunk, silly."

"Direction exists with or without our consent."

"Kinda problematic."

this one is so dumb omg

𝜗ৎ You somehow always make it home fine...

𝜗ৎ Kinda paranormal, but why question safety?

V.

𝜗ৎ Valentin is convinced he'll never understand the hysteria over alcohol. It's something he'll never grasp, and something he's glad he'll never grasp.

𝜗ৎ When you express your elation over a new bar that's just opened, he doesn't have the heart to tell you he didn't wish to spend his friday evening around sweaty addicts who don't know a single concept about personal space.

𝜗ৎ He watches you like a hawk the entire night while awkwardly being stuffed away in a corner of the establishment.

𝜗ৎ Definitely not the type to tell you what and when to do something, but if he notices any anomalies in your behaviour or the dilapidated environment you were both planted in,, he's taking himself and his intoxicated partner out of there. No questions asked.

˚❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"How many shots did you take?" He throws you a glance, trying to gather some info on how much you could remember to mentally calculate how much pain you were destined to be in tomorrow.

Your full body weight is slomped against Val, drunken babbling floating in and out of his ears. A giggle bubbles in your throat, It forces it's way through as you choke out, "Only one, i never miss."

Valentin doesn't respond immediantly, occupied with adjusting his grip on you to assure you don't kiss the pavement. He finally sucks in a deep sigh when he's certain you won't fold over like a wilted flower.

"You never miss." He repeats back to you flatly. "You took eight."

"Why ask if you already knew?.. That number doesn't even sound right."

"I wouldn't be suprised if you took more whilst i wasn't paying attention."

Val is always paying attention to you.