nwheregirl - Tumblr blog

nwheregirl · 2 months

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The ultimate fantasy 😍😍 !

𐚁֙࿐ BE MY DADDY TONIGHT.

keanu mlist.⠀ 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ ⠀bodyguard!con&wick⠀𝑥⠀f!reader.

synopsis: you have one job for tonight's ball: behave. easier said than done, right? well, your two bodyguards will make sure you stay in line. by any means necessary.

contents. bratty!rich!reader. bad parenting. large age gap. threesome. dubious consent. brat taming. oral (m!receiving). hate to gentle sex? double penetration (+ANAL). sir kink. slight degrading. impact play. pure filthy filth. 5.0k words.

⋆ 𓂃 ﾟ .⠀josie's little note. mentally, physically WEAK for my fav duo— this is a spin off to you can be the boss, so hopefully you guys will enjoy :3 if u see any grammar or spelling errors, no you don't ♡

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“Why not?” You scoff.

“Take that off.”

You roll your eyes, looking back into the mirror, hands gently smoothing the silk covering your hips. Having people paid to stalk your every move, means you’ll always have a second opinion for your outfits. The downside is that they’re 40 year old men with zero fashion sense.

“No way,” you defend, viewing your body in every angle. The pink satin hugged your figure just right, the slit on the side exposing your smooth leg and thigh. Each mirror perfectly reflected your good side— which was every side. “This is totally, like, ball material.”

The annual Senator’s ball. The one day of the year where your father is forced to interact with you, and acknowledge your existence beyond a weekly check to your bank account. You and your family have attended every single one since you were 5, a begrudging effort to boost your father’s campaigns and image.

Family’s everything.. at least to the voters. Chin up and grin when the cameras point your way.

“Is this ball in the red light district?” Constantine snickers, earning a glare from his associate.

Your two bodyguards were spending their Saturday afternoon watching over you, as they always do. Except now at the painstakingly boring activity of shopping. Constantine and John (your original offer of calling them ‘Beavis and Butthead’ were immediately shot down), a pair of older brawny men in black suits, sat in the comically pink fluffy chairs as you tried on several outfits. As similar as the two men look, they couldn’t be more different personality wise.

Constantine was the fun one; could actually take a joke, and was more lax on the rules, but you knew it was just to irritate John. You had no clue why your father hired him, then you remember the handfuls of other guards you annoyed to resignation. Last resort.

John was the polar opposite. Total grade A military asshole. Knows what you’re gonna do before you do it. Wouldn’t crack a smile to save his life. He was the worse cop to Constantine’s bad cop.

“Find something else,” John stares blankly at you.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you sneer. The two of you lock eyes in a silent stand-off, with Constantine just smirking on the sidelines. “It’s my money, not yours.”

“No, it’s your father’s money,” John retorts.

“And daddy dearest is gonna have our necks if we let you come dressed like that,” Constantine interjects.

“Change. Now.”

Your face scrunches up into an ugly scowl, as you march back to the dressing room, muttering profanities under your breath. Like a petulant child, you tug and try on new dresses with aggression in your movements. Damn near ripping the seams.

You come out after a few minutes in a new dress: a baby blue silk dress which reaches the floor, hiding your curves and hips. Like a Kate Hudson look-alike, the silky dress left your back exposed.

“Nuh uh,” the older man shakes his head, arms crossed.

“Oh come on!” You exclaim, turning around in a huff. “You want me to show up dressed like the Virgin Mary. Get real.”

“Yeah, John, get real,” Constantine mocks your high pitched voice.

"You stay out of this—" John shoots his partner a side eye.

“John, I’m buying this. I’m not going to that ball lookin’ like a nun,” you reaffirm, as you take one last look in the mirror. Your hands smoothing the dress down over your backside, you grinned satisfied. The soft material on your skin boosted your confidence for the upcoming night.

“Just buy the dress and let’s go,” John mutters, glancing at your reflection. Constantine smirks, whispering something to him. Your brows furrowed, but you waved your hand dismissively, your mind focused on the ball rather than their stares.

The ride to the ball was painful. Mentally at least.

You sat next to your father in the back of the pristine limousine. Your father typed endlessly away on his mobile, answering the string of emails that flooded in daily. He was a busy man, and this upcoming election only soaked up any remainder of his free time. Stupidly, you hoped he would at least talk to you on the way to the ball— a repeatedly unfulfilled hope.

“Please behave at this ball, I need tonight to go well,” Your father drawls, like he has to force out every word. Talking with you always seemed like a chore.

“I always behave,” you try to joke, but it falls flat when your father doesn’t even lift his eyes from his phone. Incessant clicking noises fill the limo, and you clear your throat, shifting to rest your elbow on the car door.

“I mean it,” he says firmly. “You will not embarrass me like you did last time.”

“That was an accident..”

The dreaded accident he’s referring to was the year prior, and the aftermath of it all nearly cost your father his win. Being a politician’s brat means your only other friends included snobby offspring of other politicians, or mobsters who shadowed them. Your then boyfriend at the time: Richard Dubois, son of an alleged mobster, was getting handsy with the Judge’s daughter. Your firey temper got the better of you, and the words “fucking bitch” left you quicker than the common sense did as you threw your drink on her.

The tabloid nightmare that followed that night almost made your father’s head explode. His furious words echoed in your mind.

“Rich brat strikes again! Party-girl daughter of the running Senator spills the gossip AND drink on— Do you see what you’ve done?!” He reads the article out loud, disdain dripping from each word. “What the hell’s the matter with you?! Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I said sorry..”

“Sorry that I cut your allowance in half,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. Your father sets his phone down, his attention briefly flittering to you. His brows furrowed, as he analyses your outfit. The crinkle in his nose marking his disapproval. “Wick and Constantine will be keeping an eye on you.”

“What?!” Your lips part. “You promised I’d get to be on my own tonight.”

“That’s before I remembered you’re a goddamn walking PR nightmare.”

You didn’t respond and he knew he had upset you. Your words were lost as you turned your face away.

“Fine, whatever,” you mumble, hiding the hurt in your tone.

“You pull any stunts, young lady and I’m cutting you off.”

You turn your head back in a shock, not registering what he just said.

“You’re damn near 21 years old, you’re lucky I loved your mother enough to not kick you out,” was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Wick and Constantine will be keeping me up to date. If I hear a single fuck up from them, you’re done.”

Being monitored and scolded like a child greatly dampened the mood.

Not that these balls were much fun anyways.

The hall was filled with hundreds of familiar faces dressed in the latest fashion. Rival candidates, politicians, judges, criminal affiliates, and of course their children; each more spoiled than the last. There was not a single friendly face in this ball. Each man and woman walked and danced the floors with hungry hearts and dollar signs in their eyes.

Humility was a poor man’s game.

You found yourself talking to a group of girls your own age. Like most rich brats, the conversation turned to competition, each girl showing off whatever luxury adorned her body. Every sly comment or backhanded compliment from them simply bounced off you, as you had no qualms showing off your own expenses.

“My parents are taking us to Cabo next month. We’re staying at the Waldorf,” One of the girls (Aria..? Anna..? You couldn’t be bothered to remember) spoke with amusement at the “awes" coming from the other girls.

“The Waldorf? Oh that cute little place?” You chime in, sipping your glass of champagne. “I’ve been, like, 4 or 5 times already. This is your first time going?” The girl's eyes widened a little at your audacity, influenced to focus on you now. That’s the one thing you were good at: being the centre of attention. You couldn’t help it. The conversation goes in loops, everyone trying to outshine the other, and eventually your glass turns empty.

“Excuse me,” you clear your throat, disbanding from the circle. Scratching at your skin, the boredom in you grew antsier. You needed some stimulation— something remotely interesting to converse about which wasn’t the stock market peaks, or whatever Fox News was blabbering about.

A notification on your phone alerts your attention, and you check your latest message. Your group chat is filled with details about a party going on a few blocks down from here. Unable to stop the grin growing on your lips, you glance around the room. You prayed that maybe your father wasn’t serious about Constantine and John being on your ass all night. With no sight of two men in black, you make your way towards the exit of the ball.

As you walk down the halls of the ball, a hand gently wraps around your elbow.

“Where are you going?”

You were a bit taken aback at the way John holds your elbow.

“Salsa dancing,” you mock, tugging your arm back. “The bathroom, obviously.” The lie flows off your tongue like water. But he wasn’t as stupid as you hoped.

The dark eyed man looks down at you with a blank stare, as though he doesn’t believe you. He straightens his back, his hand moving back to his side. You swallow, trying to bury the goosebumps swimming on your skin.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” you raise a brow.

“Okay. Go then,” he says to you.

“Well.. yeah..” you stammer, pushing a strand of hair from your face. “I didn’t need your permission.”

John’s eyes never leave your figure as you keep walking. Pretending to head to the bathroom, you hide behind the half-wall, occasionally peeking back to make sure he wasn’t looking. Once the coast was clear, your heels clicked against the polished floors as you left the party all giddy.

The techno beat of the music, along with vibrant flashing lights stinging your eyes, made your movements only more sluggish in this dingy club. Having just entered the party, you were whisked away by some “friends” and immediately handed some shots to do.

You were merely four blocks from where the ball was taking place, and you were quite proud of yourself for slipping past your father and his Shining Twins. Not that it was a hard feat, apparently. You haven’t seen those morons almost the entire night.

You down your third shot, the liquor burning your throat deliciously as your friends cheer you on. Granted, they were just people you linked up to get trashed with rather than actual friends— but it beats drinking alone.

“Hey baby, let me get some of that,” a random male voice calls out from behind you.

“In your dreams!” You call back, earning a whistle and a few chuckles from drunk wannabe frat boys. The incessant pick up lines and cat calling rolls off your back at this point, keeping your focus on the party girls who keep taking shots and howling along to the music.

Sure enough, you lose track of time. Beads of sweat form on your forehead while you sway your hips along to the beat, dancing with your girls. Your throat almost raw from shouting the lyrics over the bass, you’re completely amiss to your phone that’s exploding with missed calls.

You’re in the middle of downing another shot when a warm presence is felt on your back. Annoyance etched on your face, realising that frat boy was back, you turn around “Look, asshole— I already said—”

“Ouch, sweetheart."

Your face falls at the sight of Constantine’s contrived smile.

“Oh fuckkkk,” you whisper, a little too loudly. “Constantine— hey— wow—”

“Wow indeed,” Constantine interrupts, grabbing your bicep. With a loud “hey!”, you slap at his tight grip as he drags you through the sea of drunk partygoers. Your anger turns to pleading then to bratty complaints once you begin reaching the exit.

“Constantine— wait— c’mon—” You try to interject. His unusually calm disposition brewed the panic in your bones. If Constantine of all people was calm— that was your indicator you fucked up. Normally you could play off your rule-breaking tendencies with some witty banter, but tonight was not the night.

As the older man hauls you out of the club, onto the chilly New York streets, you lock eyes with your other bodyguard. John stood in front of a black car, his dark suit almost blending into it. His muscular arms crossed on his chest as Constantine nearly shoves you in front of him.

“Look let’s not freak out now—”

“Get in the car,” when he spoke, it was like there was gravel in his throat. You’ve never heard such a commanding tone from him before.

You sat with your tail between your legs in the backseat of the black mustang. The air was suffocating you and slowly sobering you up, nervous chills dancing on your spine. The two men sat in the front, with John driving as always.

“I was just—”

“No.” John says bluntly.

“But I–”

“No.”

“John plea—”

“Save it,” he commands, his tone quiet but deadly. You glance up at the rearview mirror, looking to Constantine for some backup. He barely turns his head from where he’s sat in the passenger’s seat, looking back at you.

“Can’t help you here, kid,” his voice lackluster, before turning back to facing the road.

You were in for it.

“Have you lost your mind?”

The deja-vu nearly makes you sick. You were sitting in your disgustingly pink bedroom, on your soft queen-sized bed. John stood diagonal to you, in his typical stoic position as Constantine boredly spun around in your desk chair.

“No,” you retort in a duh tone. “I was just trying to have fun.”

“Ah yes, drinking and illegal substances— perfect idea of fun,” Constantine scoffs, his face in an uncharacteristic frown.

“There were no drugs!” You defend.

“Like we’re going to believe that,” John says coldly, earning a jaw drop from you. Sure you were spoiled, complained a lot, and lacked common sense— but you weren’t a liar! Swallowing, you look back up at John’s intense gaze.

“I was just having some fun— Jesus!— The ball was so goddamn boring, I literally thought I would fall asleep!”

“So dramatic,” John grumbles, his dismissive tone so similar to that of your father, it makes you snap.

“Go fuck yourself!” you huff bitterly.

“Watch your mouth,” they warned in a chilling tandem, their voices tinged with a cold edge. Your eyes widened a little at their unified scolding, causing your ego to shrink down. The chair squeaks as Constantine stands up, now joining John’s side.

“Look, I’m sorry, I snuck out,” you sigh, your apology as insincere as it gets. “Are we cool now?”

“No we’re not cool now,” John jeers, mocking your inflection. “You realise you could’ve gotten in serious trouble right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t—”

“Because I had to drag your ass out of there. Who even let you in? You’re not even 21 yet,” Constantine’s brow stitched together, judgement filling his words. Your hands weakly gesture to your figure, the low cut dress speaking for itself. Constantine rolled his eyes, while John released an exasperated sigh.

“Your father’s gonna have a field day with that one..” John taking out his phone made your heart drop.

“Woah—woah— wait no— why are you calling him?” You stammer, jumping up from your spot. The two guards share a look before turning back to you, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Maybe because his daughter not only snuck out, but went drinking on one of the most important days of his life?” John explains, but you were well aware already.

“And so we don’t get fired,” Constantine interjects.

You opened your mouth but John was already scrolling to find your father’s contact information. Suddenly you grab at his wrist, soft pleas leaving your lips. Finally cracking through his blank expressions, he raises his eyebrows a little at how weak you sound.

If I hear a single fuck up from them, you’re done.

You couldn’t get cut off. You weren’t built for anything outside of partying and shopping.

“Please don’t tell him, please,” you ask, the mirth in your voice fading. John clears his throat, his interest clearly piqued and he lowers his phone. You looked uneasily between the two brawny men, as they awaited your next words. “Please.. I’ll do anything. I’m really sorry.”

Batting your lashes, you can see the cogs turning in their heads. You weren’t stupid. You were stupid hot–— but not stupid. Constantine’s little jokes always had some flirty undertones, and as high and mighty John says he is, you definitely caught him readjusting while you were trying on dresses.

Before John could pick his phone back up, Constantine swoops in. “Hang on a minute,” as he holds his hand over John’s wrist. “Anything?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

Constantine side eyes his cohort, his pink lips turning up from a frown into a sly grin. John’s lack of protest or offence at the suggestion only affirmed what you knew. You take a step closer, purposely amplifying the sad bambi look in your eyes. Your delicate hands resting on either chest of John and Constantine, manicured fingers toying with their ties. “It’ll be our secret..”

“Fuck,” was the weak groan that fell from John’s lips. His body betrays him, and he feels his cock twitching underneath the slacks you’re hastily working to get off. The man in black lies back against your fluffy pillows, and headboard, with you on all fours, and Constantine at the end.

Constantine sponges soft kisses from your lower hip, all the way up your spine, his hands sliding the silky dress further up and up. Meanwhile, your own hands are pulling at John’s pants, slowly tugging them down, exposing his dark happy trail.

“No bra on? Dollface, I’m shocked,” Constantine taunts. He’s knelt right behind you on the bed, his huge hands stroking your sides before cupping your pillowy breasts. You whine, looking at John through your long lashes as Constantine toys with your sensitive buds. The bearded man leans up a little, helping to take your baby blue dress off before tossing it to the side. A wave of shyness overcomes you, your naked body aside from panties being eyed hungrily by two men who want nothing more than to taste you.

Constantine pulls you up, your back pressed to his clothed chest as he pinches at your nipples. John’s gaze never leaves your flustered face, and you feel his hands on your hips. Constantine’s lips leave faint kisses on your ear and neck, as both pairs of hands grope and squeeze your soft skin.

“Isn’t she fuckin’ pretty?” Constantine’s baritone voice echoes in the shell of your ear, his huge hands still massaging your breasts. John simply chuckles, his fingers hooking the sides of your skimpy pink panties.

“Prettier when her mouth’s shut,” John muses. The cool draft hits your exposed skin as John slides your underwear down, leaving you bare and ready to be feasted on. John’s calloused finger trails your inner thigh before reaching your slit. His digit traces over your clit, gently stroking it in slow circles.

“John—” you whisper breathlessly.

“Sir,” he corrects.

Constantine pushes you back down, and your face now inches from John. The sound of Constantine’s clothes ruffling as he unbuttons his shirt, piques your excitement, and you can’t help squirming your hips.

The sound that left you was embarrassing as a cold glob of spit trickles from Constantine’s mouth down to your cunt. John watches how you unravel as Constantine’s touch, and he holds tightly onto your jaw. Your big doe eyes are forced to stare into his dark irises, and he drinks in every whimper and squeal coming from those pretty lips.

Constantine pushes his index finger into you, and you bite your lip hard. The two men chuckle quietly at your reactions, and Constantine flusters you when he comments on how tight you are. Your nails gently pinch into John’s thighs, and you feel his hand on the back of your neck.

You take the hint as your fingers pull his cock out from his slacks. Swallowing, your eyes widen a little at the size, your hand barely wrapping around the base. John’s lips press to your temple.

“Suck,” he says lowly,

“Yes.. sir..” the word drips with sin as you lower your head. Pressing pecks to his tip, you generously spit on your hand to lube his cock. John can’t hold back a groan, your pretty little hand stroking his cock while Constantine fingers you was a sight to behold.

Your mouth was so wet and warm, your lips stretched to the brim as you lowered your head even further. John’s large hand rests on the back of your head, keeping you in your place and making you gag. Your heart stuttered at the action, the near lack of oxygen filling your bones with panic and adrenaline. He only lets you up when you choke, and there’s a long clear line of spit connecting from your lip to his cock. You wipe your mouth, using the extra spit to stroke his girth once more.

Meanwhile, Constantine’s slacks dropped as well. You mewl when he pulls his finger back, leaving your needy hole empty temporarily. His pelvis pressed against you, and you felt something hard. Your eyes closed as you welcomed the sensation of his cock teasing you, collecting the slick off your weeping cunt. His tip prods at your entrance, barely filling your desperate hole.

Constantine smirks at your muffled whimpers, the obscene sounds eliciting from you sucking John off only made his own cock harder. “Daddy’s little girl is such a cockslut, who’da thought?”

“You’d do anything to not lose daddy’s money, huh? Even fucking the help?” John croons coldly, and the heat blooms in your cheeks. John’s hand tightens as it finds a home on the back of your head, his fingers pulling at your hair as he drags your mouth up and down his cock.

“Not the first time— probably the only reason the other guards stuck around as long as they did, right?” Constantine lies just to rile you up. He was not gentle as he pushed his way into you, making you gag once again. His hips rolled against you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Constantine’s fingers dug painfully into your sides, each motion of him pulling you back and forth on his cock rattled your body. Your moans and pants vibrated against John’s cock, your tongue flat against the base.

You gasp for air as John pulls you off once again, his fingers smearing the drool and cum from your lips all across your mouth and chin. Eyes shut in fear as he pats your face condescendingly. “You like being used like this, hm?” John’s tone is gentle even if his words are mean.

You nod mindlessly, hand still stroking his cock. John tilts his head to watch where Constantine’s hips and your ass meet, his cock no doubt buried deep into your sopping cunt, and John licks his lips. “Use your words.”

“I— I like—” you pant, as Constantine leans forward, pressing his now bare chest to your back. You relied on John for support, little squeals falling from your wet lips as he ruts relentlessly into you. “I like being used— yes— yes sir—”

“Oh, she fuckin’ likes it..” Constantine mocks your whines, his lips graze your ear. “What would daddy dearest think if he saw you like this? Fucking the men he pays to watch you?”

Your eyes flutter closed, mouth parted open slightly as Constantine fucks you stupid. His cock sliding in and out of you with ease at this point, as you leave a ring of white at the base of his dick.

His thrusts come to a gradual halt, his cock pulling out of you. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love the sight of you clenching around air, begging to be filled like the needy girl you are. Suddenly you feel John manhandling your hips, pulling your chest against his. He shifts his hips a little lower, lining up your sensitive entrance with his shaft. Your thighs were a trembling mess as you hovered right over him. Like a fleshlight, he lowers you painfully slowly down on him, letting you feel each inch stretching you apart.

Constantine’s lips ghost your shoulder blades and he kisses along your shoulder, his huge hands back on your breasts. You’re surprised that John hasn’t shifted once, and instead is letting himself be snug inside your warm hole.

Your curiosity turns to alarm when you feel a wet sensation on your other opening.

“No— wait— I’ve never—” your stutters were merely shushed by both men, and a sharp spank from Constantine. John’s hands hold your hips tight and Constnatine pushes you down, so you’re chest to chest with John. With a forced arch, Constantine parts your cheeks, further exposing your holes.

You squirm a little, begging for any stimulation from John’s end, but he remains completely still.

“I’ll be gentle.. Promise,” Constantine offers you reassurance in the form of a gentle hand on your back. Inhaling sharply as you feel his tip probe your puckered hole, John’s hand strokes the side of your face. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with worried eyes.

“Shh.. look at me,” John whispers, pulling your face close as he slots his lips against yours. This mini distraction allows for Constantine to slide in a little deeper, releasing a hiss of his own. Your whimpers of pain were swallowed by John as you stretched around Constantine. Soon enough, the two men were lodged deep inside you, and you felt full to the brim.

Tears kissed your eyes in the sudden shift in atmosphere, and with the contrasting feel of pain and pleasure of having two men inside you at the same time. Constantine kisses behind your ear, and John along your lips and cheek.

“Taking us so well, dollface,” Constantine croons.

“You’re doing so good for us, c’mon..” John whispers.

Your tears do nothing for your pain, but earn the gentle affection of John and Constantine. The pain spikes when they both begin to move in and out slowly. Your manicure digs into John’s muscular chest, and it pushes out a quiet moan from him.

Their thrusts gradually quicken, and their caring personas begin to drop once again. Constantine’s hands cup the fat of your ass tightly, keeping you spread as he oogles the way he and John’s dicks disappear inside both your holes. The two men can’t help how fucking good you feel. Like the giving gift, they will gladly keep taking.

“It hurts, hurts—” you whine softly, eyes squeezed shut as tears roll down your flushed cheeks.

“I know, baby, I know,” John hums, his words not matching his actions as he keeps moving your hips up and down. Their strokes were fast and hard, and with Constantine pressed against your back, you felt completely sandwiched between them both.

Their pants and grunts mix in with your airy, feminine cries of pleasure. They were too occupied in watching the way your ass jiggled or how your tits bounced with each roll of their hips. The spoiled little brat they once knew, was now a whimpering, flushed mess: your doe eyes all teary and lips swollen from how hard you’re biting them.

“Our girl’s making us feel so good— it’s what we deserve after the shit you put us through tonight,” Constantine pants, putting his foot up which makes his cock plunge even deeper into your ass.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry—” your shaky tone comes out, forcing in a painful breath as you cry, the voice of reason in your mind going right out the window.

“No more sneaking out after this right? Gonna be a good girl? Listen to what you’re told?” John coos, cradling your clammy hand on his chest. You can barely speak, so you nod feverishly. You’d agree to anything at this point.

“I think the poor thing wants to cum,” Constantine pulls your head back, and your neck cranes as you look back at him over your shoulder. He sees the fucked out gaze in those pretty irises, and feels the tension in your clench. “Should we let her?”

“I think she’s had enough,” sent relief through your body. You couldn’t even tell who’s fingers pressed against your clit, but all you know is that it made the coil in your belly tighten. The quick circles on your bundle of nerves, was enough to send over the edge, and you exhale a loud moan. The tension in your tummy snaps, as your fluttering walls tighten through your climax.

Meanwhile, your two bodyguards were still chasing their own highs, using your trembling frame like a doll at this point. You could hardly comprehend a thing until the feeling of warm, thick release filled both your holes. All three of your exhausted pants filled the sweaty, sex-smelling room, and you finally collapsed against John’s chest. The animalistic growls came to a halt as they stilled inside you.

“Hey, hey..” a few gentle pats to the face jolt you awake. A little squelch can be heard when Constantine pulls out of you first, with John following. The brawny men lays you on your back, ignoring the dribbles of cum leaking from your holes. “You okay?” Constantine pats your face, a flash of concern on his face.

You nod tiredly, eyes drooping. The mascara stained your face, and the glitter lipgloss was nowhere to be seen anymore.

“Did so well for us,” John says calmly, kissing the corner of your mouth. The stoic, cold, brute you once knew was now gently soothing your sensitive body.

“Good girl.” Your heart flipped.

“Our little secret, right?” Constantine smirks, trying to lighten the mood. Licking your dry lips, you give him a lazy smile.

“Our little secret,” you reaffirm tiredly.

Fin.

constantine and wick taglist: @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers @redhotelroom. @dyysania @ilovedilfs4ever @aerangi @spacemonkeyfitz @97keanu @hqkkinen @Faowhe @indiadnm @ratsnestinmyhair @kellysvintagedarling @omfgwhoisthat @desolatewrath

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#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #john wick x reader #john constantine x reader #john wick imagine #john constantine imagine #john wick smut #john constantine smut #bodyguard au #john wick x reader x john constantine #i love this writer so much!!

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nwheregirl · 2 months

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MILLION DOLLAR MAN.

keanu mlist.⠀ 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ ⠀toxic!kevin lomax⠀𝑥⠀f!reader.

synopsis: yandere alphabet with kevin lomax.

contents. canon-divergent/milton wins ending?. toxic and abusive relationship. infidelity. emotional abuse. coercion. dubcon. forced marriage. brief smut. 2.3k words.

⋆ 𓂃 ﾟ .⠀josie's little note. here's a short little thing to get me back into writing long fics lollzzz, enjoy :3 template from @/dear-yandere.

𝓐 — ffection: how do they show their love and affection? how intense would it be?

Kevin's a love bomber from the start. Since he's moved to New York —and assuming in this AU, he's embraced the benefits of being the Devil's son— he has tons of cash to blow on beautiful women like yourself. There's always a bouquet of roses on your desk at work, or large gifts of jewelry or expensive dresses on your apartment doorstep. He's a charming rich lawyer, willing to buy anything your little heart desires— it's almost impossible to say no when he grins and asks you on a date to the Four Seasons.

𝓑 — lood: how messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Kevin doesn't like a mess, but he's not against getting his hands dirty. With all the connections he has, and the literal Devil on his shoulder, he has the means to get rid of anyone he deems a problem. Some guy at work hitting on you? Next day he's packing his desk. Your mailman gives you a smile? Fired for poor performance. Your male neighbour who helps you carry groceries? He unfortunately tripped and broke his neck down some stairs..

Like an omen of death, once they meet Kevin, they're gone the next day. And he plays the role of ever so caring shoulder to cry on, to a T.

𝓒 — ruelty: how do they treat their darling once abducted? would they mock their darling?

Kevin wouldn't necessarily abduct you, but you can believe that after months or even weeks of love-bombing and obsessively keeping track of you— he'll propose. A normal person would think he's batshit crazy— but the allure of a powerful, rich man who "only has eyes for you" is enough to make you melt. His version of abduction is to just pressure you enough to marry him— a sign of love in your eyes and a sign of ownership in his. You're legally, emotionally, and in all other ways officially his.

As for how he treats you: Kevin's the type of man to follow you around while arguing, constantly talking over you in that condescending manner. He's a lawyer. Can't help it. You can expect a lot of typical mansplaining behavior or just straight of gaslighting. He mocks you just to see you get all riled up. Sometimes you think he sees you more as an irritated little pup, than a grown woman.

𝓓 — arling: aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?

Kevin's not afraid of coercing you into doing things for him. At this point in your relationship, he's relaxed his mask of charm and instead is letting the devil seep through the cracks. Whether it's sex or something else, he either coaxes you into it, or just pulls a blackmail card.

On a good day, he's gently rubbing his hands on your sides or kissing the back of your shoulder. "C'mon, baby.." he whispers softly, his warm breath on your ear. "Missed my pretty girl so much today.. just lay back, hm?"

On a bad night, you're met with guilt trips and cruel words. "I pay for every goddamn thing in this house— if you're not gonna put out— I'll find someone else who'd appreciate the gifts and the lifestyle, got it?"

He's so hot and cold: one minute he's evilly pressuring you into sex, and threatens to cheat— the next he's moaning softly in your ear about how warm and soft you feel, and how nobody else makes him this way.

"You drive me crazy, honey." "You know I love you."

𝓔 — xposed: how much of their heart do they bear to their darling? how vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Kevin’s a damn liar. That’s the worst thing about him. Not the coercion, or the love-bombing, or the constant arguing— it’s the lying that’s the worst. You never really know if he’s telling you the truth or just lying to your face again. His vulnerability is either an act or confession and eventually you stopped telling the difference.

“You’re my favourite girl,” Kevin often tells you. You are his favourite. You’re just not his only.

𝓕 — ight: how would they feel if their darling fought back?

Again, Kevin sees you as a pissed off little puppy. Trying to win an argument? In your dreams! Kevin's the type to mock your voice in a high pitched tone, or roll his eyes at every word.

Gaslight. Gaslight. Gaslight.

He wouldn't take too kindly to your empty threats of divorce or leaving him, because he knows you won't. Regardless of if you still love him or not, you love the lifestyle he brings you— and he knows it.

"You set a foot out the door and you won't see a goddamn dime," Kevin's cold tone makes you freeze, his grip on your forearms now painfully tight.

𝓖 — ame: is this a game to them? how much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Kevin would love to see you try. You know Kevin would never let the divorce go through— or he'd make it such a hellish process, you might as well not even try. You hope that maybe spousal abandonment would be enough to be forced to break your bond.

You think you're being sneaky, and this is the one time Kevin allows you slip out from under him; when you steal his car and drive out of New York like you're on fire. Of course you're too distressed to realise that he'll just be able to track his car back down and find you.

He lets you have your two or three days of freedom, thinking you've finally gotten away. Until your motel room is raided down by police officers and you're brought back home.

You glare daggers into Kevin as he plays "concerned-husband" and makes you appear crazy to the cops.

𝓗 — ell: what would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When you first caught him cheating.

It was the typical routine: secret phone calls, paying for motel rooms, getting more jealous over you (projecting). The signs were all there and it absolutely devastated you. You didn't even realise this was just at the beginning.

Of course Kevin was screwing his co-worker: the seductive, headstrong lawyeress with a body like Mariah and a face like Diaz.

The fight that ensued after you caught him was utter hell. You screamed and cried and threw things around— all while Kevin merely shot down your words.

"You made your bed," You wail, as you try to storm past him.

"And I'm begging you to lay with me in it," Kevin blocks your path.

His fake puppy eyes, and guilty face work wonders on your distressed psyche. Your slaps on his chest turn to gripping his shirt, and your vulgar language filled with sadness and heartbreak,

It was so easy. Too easy.

And this was just the beginning of a cycle.

𝓘 — deals: what kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Kevin wants the picture perfect life: rich husband, beautiful wife, beautiful kids, beautiful home. And he wants it with you. Sure he may screw around with the occasional intern and random whore— but that's all they are: a good squeeze. They're not you: his beautiful wife, and his most prized possession.

Kevin wants the nuclear family with you: to see you swollen with a cute little bump, and a baby on your hip. You're his beautiful, dolled up housewife: that's what he wants, and he'll settle for no less.

𝓙 — ealousy: do they get jealous? do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Of course this little hypocrite gets big time jealous. He knows you're stunning, if anything he shows it off. Like a trophy: they can look, they can envy, they can wish for, but they cannot touch you.

When Kevin's jealous, he tends to be in a pissy mood for the rest of the day. He's sort of just quiet and moody, like a bitchy teenager. That's when you find himself buying you a whole bucket load of dresses and clothes in his favorite colors and styles.

He gives you a beautiful "K" necklace to wear, and that brings him some reassurance.

𝓜 — ask: are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

100%. He is so suave and has so much charisma, that has the women swooning and the men in envy. Kevin's the guy everyone wants to be or be with. So it's safe to say, any of your allegations are carelessly discarded.

No way, Kevin Lomax, the senior partner and top lawyer of New York could be a cheating, emotionally abusive bastard you paint him to be.. maybe you're just being dramatic.

𝓝 — aughty: how would they punish their darling? + 𝓞 — ppression: how many rights would they take away from their darling?

Kevin would cut off your connections to your family and friends. Naughty girls don't get to go out with their loved ones, do they? He wants to make sure you realise how dependent you are on him— that he'll make you go crazy with isolation before you finally beg him for attention— something to stop your sanity from snapping.

He'll also take away your financial resources. Of course the rich culture is that the husband works, while the wife plays. There'll be no more playing for you, until you learn to behave. He cuts off your credit cards and source of income. You want something? New dress? New shoes? Beg him nicely, on your knees.

He punishes you in the most degrading ways. Spanking you, fucking your face, or edging you till you're a sobbing mess and begging for his forgiveness. Until your skin is covered in handprints and his cum, he won't think you're sorry.

𝓠 — uit: if their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He'd never truly move on if you somehow slip through his fingers. Whether Milton manages to push you to suicide or you manage to run away for good: he would be devastated.

Sure, he'd get re-married in the next year for the sake of his image: but Kevin's never going to love another woman the way he loved you. He's an evil bastard, he knows.. but that doesn't change his feelings for you.

First thing the tabloids will notice is how eerily similar his new wife looks to you. The same hair, the same clothes, even the same perfume he liked you wearing. He'll pretend he's over you.

He doesn't need you.

He'll move on.

He doesn't want you, is what he thinks as he pounds into a cheap hooker, his eyes shut, pretending it's you creaming around his cock.

𝓡 — egret: would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? would they ever let their darling go?

Kevin's felt guilty once. When you first got pregnant. At the time your marriage was on the brink of survival, and he's just cheated and been caught for the millionth time— so seeing you sitting in the bathroom, quietly crying to yourself over a pregnancy test, tugs at his heartstrings. You're officially trapped with him forever.

Seeing you so upset and devastated over what should be the happiest moment of your lives makes him feel shame for once.

He wants you to be happy.. he does.

But he's just too selfish for that.

𝓢 — tigma: what brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He has always been very entitled. Working in the courtroom and having 64 straight convictions really boosted his ego to the roof. He believes he's owed you. He's a winner, and you're his prize.

Doesn't help that he has Milton Satan constantly in his ear, pushing him to straight debauchery. You can thank Kevin's father for his son's constant persistence.

𝓣 — ears: how do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Funnily enough, Kevin doesn't really enjoy seeing you cry. He's not one for dacryphilia, and if anything it's a turn off. Sure he loves seeing you scream and be pissed at him, he loves a fiesty parter. But seeing you sob and whimper, your big pretty eyes all wet and full of tears just makes him deflate.

He doesn't want you to isolate yourself. Be pissed. Be angry. Be mean. But take it out on him— it gets him rock hard.

𝓥 — ice: what weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Like the previous letter, I think Kevin seeing you cry would be somewhat of a weakness. It won't make him fold every single time, but trust that it can at a good time.

That's the only time you'll hold power over him: not when you're threatening to leave, or call the cops or berating him. But when you're like a wounded kitten— sad and detached from him. He hates it.

"Oh honey, don't break my big ol' heart like this," he coaxes you out from under the blanket, his hand gently stroking your head. "Let me see that pretty smile.. please?"

𝓦 — it's end: would they ever hurt their darling?

No, not physically. Kevin's gonna pull that "real men don't hit their women" card. Sure.. he's a cheating, lying, selfish, manipulative prick— but he won't put his hands on you.

He's already hurting you with the lying and the emotional blackmail, and that's enough.

𝓧 — oanon: how much would they revere or worship their darling? to what length would they go to win their darling over?

He goes to any length to fulfill your materialistic desires. He'll take you to all the best parties, the best restaurants, the best stores— anything for his pretty little thing. Happy wife, happy life, right?

𝓨 — oanon: how long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Kevin hardly considers pining over anyone. One wink and drink usually does the trick. But he's so intrigued by you— whether you're just painfully shy and embarrassed or playing hard to get— you've certainly caught his eye.

He pines over you for a few months, at most a year, before he's practically losing patience with you. But trust he won't let two years go by unless it's with his ring on your finger.

𝓩 — enith: would they break their darling?

No. Shockingly, Kevin doesn't want to break you. He doesn't want you to become a shell of yourself. He loves your fire, your tears, your sadness— everything that makes you, you. If he wanted a mindless bimbo, he'd hire another escort.

He loves you, deep down in his black, devilish heart— and he wouldn't change a thing about you. Don't worry your pretty little head about that.

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