#business loan to buy hotel

[gutsby]

Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really��liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike: Drinks with Mimzy

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[One shot, word count 1587. Cw: aphobia, alcoholism, cursing]

——————

The day after Lucifer’s visit, you went hunting. Not for souls or deals. Or…well one soul and in particular. And you didn’t intend to make a deal with this one. It took some time, checking various bars and clubs. You didn’t know which ones she was likely to frequent nowadays; being an Overlord didn’t give you much chance to go bar hopping with girlfriends.

So it wasn’t until early evening that you found her. Sitting at the bar, clearly tipsy, nursing another glass of whiskey, and bitching to the clearly annoyed bartender was Mimzy. You watched her finish her latest glass. “Gimme another one a these sugar.”

“Make that two, cher.” You came up next to Mimzy and slid a bill to the bartender. He looked even more annoyed at the idea of there being two whiny bitches at his bar but he got your drinks. “Thanks cher,” you said with a smile.

Mimzy glared at you. “Ugh, the fuck do you want?” It didn’t stop her from grabbing the drink you paid for.

“What, I can’t buy my friend a drink or five?” You expected hostility but damn. This seemed excessive. Fortunately you knew the way into her good graces: free drinks.

“Friends?!” she growled. “You come here saying we’re ‘friends’ after what your husband just pulled on me?!”

You sipped your whiskey, doing your best to let her fury wash over you. “From what I saw, Alastor pulled you out of yet another situation, and told you to take off because your problem trashed the place.”

“Like those sharks made much of a difference to that tacky joint. If anything I did you bastards a favor, free demolition.” She laughed nastily and finished her drink. You caught the bartender’s attention and nodded to Mimzy. You slid him another bill as he supplied her with another glass; it was high enough denomination to cover whatever she’d had already.

“Maybe you have a point, cher.” Not really, but you didn’t want her to close you out yet. You needed her less hostile, at least for now. “Here, let me treat you today Mimzy. Make it up to you.”

“Oh you know just how to butter me up doll.” The curvaceous blonde gladly accepted. If she owed 50 grand to loan sharks, doubtless she had tabs at every place in the city that sold alcohol. Which made up the majority of businesses in Hell.

You drank sparingly, just enough so she felt you were having a grand time together. You had the bartender keep supplying her refills; he seemed in a better mood now that someone else was dealing with the sloshed demon.

You let her bitch about everything in her afterlife and responded with soothing noises. In the end, you wanted to know how much shit she was in. This was the first time Alastor had sent her packing; you weren’t sure how she would react. You hadn’t missed the pink mark on her back on her shoulder blade. It hadn’t been there the last time you’d seen your old colleague.

Once she paused in her rambling, you asked about the mark. “I never expected you to get a tattoo, cher. What convinced you?”

The drinks and your apparent sympathy were enough to keep her talking, especially if it was something else to bitch about. “Ugh, that. Had to get it for work. One of the club owners works for someone that works for someone that works for one a’ the Sins. Greed’s head honcho.” She sipped her drink, starting to slow down as she got drunker. “The Sin bastard likes to mark any Sinners working for him, like some horny creep.” She downed the rest of her current whiskey.

“‘Course if you and your beau were properly grateful. I wouldn’t be dealing with this shit.” She pointed at you, empty glass in hand, her eyes looking unfocused and angry. The bartender moved to give her another drink but you made a cutting motion. This was the first time you heard anything of this.

“Grateful for what?” You asked, unable to help yourself. You honestly couldn’t remember what she could be talking about.

She looked at you, black and pink eyes wavering. “Fucking, of course!” You could only tilt your head. “Jesus Christ, it’s been a century and you’re still clueless? It ain’t cute anymore dollface.” Mimzy set her glass down harshly. “Sex, Y/N. S. E. X. If me and the gals hadn’t said anything, you and Alastor woulda never figured it out. You’d probably still be frigid little virgins in Hell.”

Your jaw dropped as you felt a cold spike in your core. You actually had to look down to make sure you hadn’t been stabbed. No, it was just words from someone you’d still thought of fondly. The alcohol didn’t excuse Mimzy; if anything it made her more honest.

Has she always felt like that? No… you remembered her saying she thought you and Alastor were good together. That she wanted you both to be happy. Somewhere in all those decades between then and now, things changed.

She was smirking as you processed all this, glad that she managed to hit you where it hurt evidently. In the way only people who are hurting can do, she kept pushing. But she didn’t realize what exactly hurt you. “You’re probably both terrible in bed too. Lemme guess, you just lay there while he tries to remember where to stick it?” Mimzy kept going as you stayed silent.

As her insults grew, the betrayal of a friend gave way to comedic disbelief. You started chuckling, then you were outright laughing, pounding your taloned fist on the counter. It was a good thing you had finished your drink because all the glasses around you jumped.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Your laughter finally got her stream of rudeness to stop. The indignant look on Mimzy's face just made you laugh harder, your feet kicking in glee.

“Oh, damn, I’m gonna pee myself. Fucking Hell Mimzy! Oh fuck, I needed that laugh.” You wheezed and took deep breaths until you could look at her reddened face without laughing. “Cher, you got one thing right; I still don’t understand all this nonsense about sex. Alastor still doesn’t either.

But that’s never mattered. I’ll never understand why you people think that’s so important to us. Maybe we wouldn’t have ever done it. I doubt that but we also would never have cared. You and so many others are so obsessed with sex that you can’t even imagine a relationship without it! It would be sad if it wasn’t so hilarious.”

Mimzy blinked at you, confusion, anger, and drunkenness warring in her expression. “Even now, you don’t get it! Cher, you insulting us about sex didn’t hurt. You’re a friend and my friend thinking I was stupid hurt.”

You ran your hand down your face. “Mimzy, cher, I’m just going to back up my darling here. If you want to redeem yourself, you’re welcome at the hotel. But don’t come calling otherwise. Especially if what’s his name, Mammon? The Greed Sin, comes after you. We’ll gift wrap you for him before we tussle with a Deadly Sin.”

Pulling the bartender aside, you paid for her outstanding tab, along with tonight’s drinks and a generous tip. “I paid your tab here, so you can call that payment for that talk years ago. Find me when you decide to not be a bitch.” You tucked one of your feathers into her headband. “Au revoir cher.”

Mimzy snatched the feather out and crushed it in her hands. “I don’t need you or him. I don’t need your hotel! I hope those angels kill all of you next Extermination Day, bitch!”

Back at the hotel, Alastor was in the parlor, listening to Charlie’s plans for her visit to Heaven. “Soooooo, how did it go?” he asked in a sing-song tone once he spotted you. You’d told him your plan to find Mimzy before leaving.

“As well as could be expected. I don’t think she’ll bother us anymore. I told her we’d gift wrap her for whoever came looking if she tried something like yesterday again.”

“Hmm, but that would be such a waste of good gift wrap.”

Later that night, in your suite, you went into more detail about your conversation. You were on Alastor’s lap, venting your hurt and tears. “I know she’s gotten worse in Hell, that she’s been using you, but I thought she was still our friend.” He let you get it all out, handkerchief at the ready when you were.

“I thought so as well, cher,” he said quietly. “I hate to admit it but Husk pointed it out to me. We can’t have her interfering though.”

“No,” you said simply, drying your eyes.

Alastor looked down at you, that sharp edged smile just a bit softer than usual. “I think I know what can help you for now, my dear.” With that he stood you both up and started humming, a question in his eyes. Your voice felt a bit hoarse from crying but you hummed along, practice making you harmonize. Then he swept you into a dance.

After a few numbers, you felt up to singing. The two of you danced until you were tired (Alastor probably could have kept going but he didn’t have an emotionally stressful day). That night you fell asleep in his arms, glad you’d married someone that understood you like he did.

——————

A/N: this is more than a little self indulgent on my part. My frustrations with aphobes knows no bounds. Kinda prompted after discussion with a therapist concerning aphobia and the nonsense acespec people deal with. Never forget how valid you are. 💜🤍🩶🖤 💚🤍🩶🖤 Cheers darlings!

@whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

[biteofcherry]

You were broke. Completely and utterly broke. Student loans were crumbling down in you and your part time job at McDonald's wasn't paying the bills anymore. Your parents had given up on you and wanted you to get married after school but you wanted to go to college and thus there was no familial support.

After a lot of contemplation and swallowing your pride. You took up the offer of your friend and tried to get a sugar daddy. She gave you ticket to a place and luckily for you. The event host took a liking to you. He was the richest of them all but also dangerous. You knew he had some shady businesses in the back and most people feared him because of that as well. But you didn't care, as long as he gave you money.

However, to your horror, you came to know that your ticket was exchanged with another lady and this was not a place to find a sugar daddy, but the host wanted a wife.

You profusely apologized to him and tried to get away but he had made up his mind. He wanted you and he was going to marry you. Whether you wanted it or not.

After all, what could be your needs that won't get fulfilled by marrying a rich man rahte than being his sugar baby? Right?

Katie, don't think I forgot about this little gem you sent me! I read it on my train ride, when you sent it and saved it to properly reply when I return 🩷

I do agree that while it was shocking to find out the mistake, it is quite a promotion. In the good way. You still get to be sugar baby, but called wife and with a ring on your finger and a husband to dote on you. Even if he is intense at times, even if he towers over you and likes to corner you as you still try to rebel against some of his decisions 😎

But you can't help the way your pupils widen and your lips part, when he proves to you that you're most eager to follow his lead not because he spoils you financially, but because he plays your body like a maestro does an instrument.

As well because he's attentive and notices the things about you that many men often ignored, or didn't appreciate.

And he will prove it every day and night on your honeymoon - showing you the most beautiful places; keeping you in luxurious villas and hotels; buying you new wardrobe and jewelry; delighting in the way you enjoy food and treats; and obviously making you scream and sob as he fucks you into compliance...

and has you softly snuggled to him on the flight home, smiling to himself in triumph when you start responding to the flight crew calling you Mrs. Barnes.

[nyaagolor]

The software I use at work is Not Working and I have an hour to kill before I can go home so here’s some HCs about assorted characters’ living situations bc I wanted to make notes for myself for fic purposes:

Phoenix: Used to live in a regular apartment, but moved into the apartment above Wright and Co Law offices with Trucy after his disbarment. Edgeworth paid off the building’s mortgage after Turnabout Goodbyes so Phoenix doesn’t have to worry about rent

Edgeworth: Owns a penthouse in LA. He rents hotel penthouse suites while in Europe but doesn’t have a permanent one anywhere other than LA because he thinks it’s a hassle. There’s a locked room in the LA penthouse filled with Steel Samurai merch

Gumshoe: Rents the shittiest basement studio you have ever seen. Does not own a bed. Genuinely questionable if the building is up to code (it’s prolly not)

Maya: Lived in Kurain Village until Mia’s death, then moved into the apartment above the office. After BttT she moves back to Kurain

Pearl: Lived in Kurain until her mother’s incarceration, then moved in with Maya in the upstairs apartment, then back to Kurain with Maya after BttT

Mia: Lived in Kurain Village until she founded Fey and Co law offices with Diego, at which point they moved into the apartment upstairs together until her death

Diego: Lived in a regular LA apartment until he founded Fey and Co with Mia. They moved into the upstairs apartment together until his coma. When he wakes from the coma he spends about half a year recovering in the hospital, then throughout AA3 just loiters around the courthouse because he refuses to speak to Phoenix. After BttT he goes to prison and moves in with Maya and Pearl in Kurain Village after his release

Franziska: Technically lives in the von Karma estate with her mother and sister, but is so busy traveling that she mostly stays in hotels. She used to spend holidays there, but Edgeworth has taken to inviting her to stay with him because she's not very close with the rest of her family, so now her room is mostly just storage.

Ema: Her and Lana lived in their parents’ house together until Lana’s imprisonment, during which Ema moves to Europe with an exchange family. When Ema returns from Europe, she moves back into the house with Lana joining her when she’s released

Apollo: He lived on the road with Thalassa and Jove until the latter’s death, then with Dhurke in the countryside, then in an American orphanage until he was 18, at which point I imagine he crashes on Clay’s couch for most of law school because he is technically an orphaned illegal immigrant with absolutely no money or credit. The internship with Kristoph and his job with the WAA gets him enough money to actually rent a place, but his lack of documentation and student loans mean he’s in the cheapest possible apartment. He keeps it extremely neat but there's only so much one can do. He and gumshoe can commiserate about it.

Trucy: Lived mostly on the road / in the tourbus + hotels with her dad and the troupe until she was adopted by Phoenix, at which point she moved into the apartment above the WAA

Klavier: Lived in his parents’ mansion with Kristoph until going to Themis. When he moved back he had enough money from gigging / his band to buy a fancy ass house and still lives there. It’s a little lonely by himself but when he let Daryan throw parties there it was POPPIN

Kristoph: Lived in his parents’ mansion his entire life. He got ownership of it when they died and raised Klavier in it, and continued to live there until he got arrested. Now he’s cushy in solitary cell 13

Athena: Lived in the space center then was shipped off to European relatives when her mom died. When she moved back to the states she got a decent apartment bc her WAA income was supplemented by those rich as hell European relatives

Simon: Lived in a small apartment with his sister growing up, which he continued to live in after she moved to the Space Center. It was sold when he was incarcerated. After his release he moved in with Athena briefly (no one thought it was a good idea for him to live alone) then to a small but nice apartment, which Edgeworth paid for until he could get back on his feet financially

[honeybadgercomeback]

Come Back, Be Here (Part One) | DR3

Five years pass in the blink of an eye and you’ve sacrificed so much to support the man you love. But you can’t keep doing it. When you make the decision to end things you have to carry through to find who you are again.

AN: Part two will be up in the next couple of days. If you’d like to be notified leave a comment and I’ll tag you!

Warnings: heavy angst, breakups, lying.

—

The day you made your decision was really just the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was more hotel rooms, more planes, more lines added to your flight tracking app. You’d travelled around the world more than twice already in the year and it was only August.

You’d end up at yet another race track where you’d had your photo taken more times than you could count. Those professional photos that you were never happy with got posted to instagram accounts run by people who claimed they knew who you were and what you stood for. To yet more flights and more frequent flier miles than you ever thought anyone could have. Planning flights based on airline rather than price to keep earning them, your permanent status just increasing. First class tickets you never could afford to every location, sitting in airline lounges and smiling when people came up to Daniel to wish him luck or ask for a photo.

And every few months you got dressed up for one event or another. A gala, a charity, some sponsor party because everyone wanted to see “Daniel Ricciardo’s other half”. Getting dressed up in a dress you didn’t buy and jewellery that was loaned to you by designers. Standing on a red carpet with your fiancé’s arm around you as he gave that familiar wide grin and you played the fawning date.

You hated every single moment of it, and you didn’t know when you’d started hating it.

It was all for Daniel, and you loved him so you did everything that was asked. You did the busy days and the ridiculous travel. Ignored the hate comments on every single photo you posted on your instagram account - even a photo of the cake you’d baked for a friend’s birthday got comments about how it didn’t look good. You used Twitter Circles and Close Friends judiciously on social media, all of your accounts with that familiar blue tick because you were a “public figure”.

Instead of taking the first choice job you wanted to have you’d declined it because it was in an office five days a week. You’d taken the one you didn’t want as much because it was flexible work and you could do it from anywhere in the world so you got to travel with Dan. You made it to every race on the calendar with him, a fixture in the back of the garage of whatever team he was racing with. You’d wear his merch and have headphones on to listen to the team radio as he raced. Wherever he went, you followed because you were The Ricciardos and of course you were there. The engagement ring that had been on your left hand for eighteen months just proved it.

But you still saw what people said whenever you were in the paddock. How people made snide comments about your job because you were always there, and if you weren’t in McLaren hospitality waiting on Dan you were in Red Bull with Kelly. You were friendly with the other wives and girlfriends of drivers, you’d been there the second longest now. You were the one who was at every race, and when women came for the first time with their now public relationship you were the one who welcomed them to the chaos. And set up the new whatsapp groups whenever they were needed. You blamed Pierre for how many you needed most of the time really.

It was you and Kelly as the focal point of the group. Your partners were best friends, you got along and knew what was going on, it was a natural fit. You could put the smile on and grin and hug, helping everyone keep their head up high. When a crash happened you’d seek out whoever needed comfort and remind them of the safety that was there now. It fit you well.

But you were drowning in it.

August was supposed to be the summer break but Dan was in Woking for yet more McLaren meetings. He’d told you it was normal, part of the organisation for the third year of his contract. You were plugged into the paddock gossip, you knew what was being said, how people talked about your fiancé. The way people talked about how Dan was getting what was coming to him, a new young Australian taking over from the washed out one. The way Blake looked at you sadly, as if he was barely biting his tongue, every time someone mentioned contracts or gossip.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You were supposed to be in love, be loved. Racing would always be Daniel’s first love but you could fit in there somewhere with him. Be a priority for him. Except you weren’t his priority anymore. The fact that your fifth anniversary came and went without him acknowledging it or even texting you a hello. That was the crystal clear moment that whatever you wanted was not a priority compared to his career, and you deserved better than that. You deserved to be more than an afterthought.

Once the decision was made it was easy to organise moving out. Finding an apartment in Nice was the first thing to do and it was shockingly easy. Monaco was out, the streets too small and filled with memories. Once you were settled in an apartment you could look at a new job or new country, but away from the principality was enough for now. Then it was packing up your life.

Most of your belongings were presents from Daniel. It had become his habit to try pay for everything, the income disparities clear between you. It was with the kindest of intentions but had become a gilded cage that you couldn’t escape. You didn’t know who you yourself were anymore. You didn’t know how to be anyone except F1 WAG. Daniel Ricciardo’s fiancée. The woman with so many gossip column inches it felt wrong. The Daily Mail had a category for your name at this point and that was never who you wanted to be. You’d lost yourself and you needed to find yourself again.

You got the train to Nice and signed your month to month lease for a furnished apartment. It was unusual to have one, but the letting agent recognised your face and accepted it without a moment’s thought. Once it was signed your next stop was to rent a car to bring your belongings to the small apartment.

It was simple and you had a plan. Pack your boxes of your belongings, put them in the car, drive. It took two trips to get most of them over, the final set sitting there until you decided to leave for the final time.

You had to tell Daniel in person. He deserved to have his heart broken in front of you, rather than by phone or text. He was good and loyal and he wasn’t a bad guy, this just didn’t work anymore. He deserved someone who could support him fully. It wasn’t something you could keep doing.

You sat in the living room after getting the text that he’d landed in Nice, knowing that this was the last time. You weren’t going to see him again and that hurt. You were leaving for good and never coming back here. Your engagement ring was in the green leather jewellers box he’d proposed with, sitting on what had been your bedside locker. Taking it off your finger and pushing it into the velvet cushion was when you’d shed your first tear. It was small and neat and exactly what you’d wanted, and you’d loved it from the moment he flipped the box open. Asses online had said it wasn’t enough for a millionaire’s fiancée, that you obviously didn’t mean much to him.

You didn’t want the ring or the money. You wanted Daniel. But you couldn’t have him in a way that would make you both happy.

“I’m home!” His voice echoed around the living room as he arrived in, dropping bags on the floor and you pulled him in for a hug. This was the last one you’d share and doing this when you knew things weren’t good for him professionally hurt but you had to. You couldn’t lose more of yourself.

“Hey. How was the factory?”

“Good. We need to talk about some of my—“

“Dan, I know.” He stopped still at your words. “But we need to talk about something else.”

“I’ve got a couple of offers on the table, and we’ll be—“

“Daniel.” Your voice was soft and he stared at you. His brown eyes opened wide and it felt like he was properly seeing you for the first time in what felt like years. He looked like that Daniel you’d fallen in love with in 2017, a Red Bull star with a wide smile and wild curls. You hadn’t know what you were jumping into when you danced with the man in the nightclub and went home with him. You couldn’t have guessed how your life would change. That the next five years would be the best and worst of your life and he made the highs even higher but the lows so much lower. He made everything better and worse at the same time. He took you in fully and you could tell when his eyes caught the missing jewellery.

“Where’s your ring? Were…were you robbed? What’s going on?” They were halfhearted questions as you shook your head and the reality began to sink into him.

“You know as well as I do that this isn’t working. And I’m so sorry things are ending now. But we…it’s the wrong time for us. I can’t love you the way you need and you can’t support me the way that I need. I’m sorry.”

He looked at you for a solid minute in the silence, it was as if you could see his heart break.

“But we love each other?” That it was a question cut you like a knife.

“I don’t think it’s enough. I’m not enough for you.” It was those words that made his face crumble and you took a step back, looking down at the tiled floor. You couldn’t cry. You were the one hurting him, you didn’t get to cry in front of him.”

“You are. I swear you’re enough. You’re more than enough.”

“Be happy, Daniel Ricciardo. Be happy.”

All you wanted to do was squeeze his hand and take the pain away but you couldn’t. Instead you slipped past him in your worn out sneakers and left through the front door, closing it with a gentle click.

The routine to leave the building was practiced. A few steps to the elevator, down the floors, and out. Except this time you were going to the parking garage in the basement to get the rental car and leave, and for the first time in so long someone else got into the elevator a few floors below what had been yours.

“Hey, I haven’t…is everything ok?” Max looked at your tear streaked face as you blinked back the worst ones, wiping your face roughly with your hand.

“Will you look after him for me? He’s gonna need you now.” It took a few moments for your words to sink in as he stared at you.

“What happened? Did you have a fight? You know he’ll be down in a minute to fix whatever he did, he loves you.”

“I ended things.” The shock on his face was clear as the doors shut to bring you both down. “I ended things about two minutes ago, and he’ll need his friends. I know I’ve no right to ask this, but please. Look after him for me.”

“You can work this out. Come up to ours, stay with us for a night. Think this over.”

“Max I have. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. He forgot our anniversary and that was the final thing. He deserves someone who can support him the way he needs, and that’s not me right now. He deserves to be happy. I can’t help him be happy. Just please. You and Seb and Estie can help him. I can’t.”

You’d arrived in the garage and Max watched you step out of the elevator with him, heading to the small hatchback that stood out in the area filled with sports cars.

“Where are you going?”

“I got an apartment. I’m going to find out who I am. It’ll be worth it.”

You didn’t expect the Dutchman to wrap you in a hug but he pulled you close, squeezing for a moment before letting go.

“If you need anything. Day or night, no matter where in the world I am, you call ok? You’re like a sister to me, call me whenever you need. And Kelly will be in touch soon to see you, P is gonna miss her aunt.”

“I will.” It was a bare faced lie but it made him look lighter so you told it easily. As far as you were concerned you weren’t going to see them again.

Once you made it into Nice and parked you picked up your phone, pulling up the Find my iPhone app. It took far too few swipes to hide your location from Dan and Kelly, making sure they couldn’t see you. Once you did that you went into the WAG WhatsApp, this one entitled “oh god they’re home for two weeks what’s this chaos”. It took little time to set Kelly as an admin and then leave the chat with a waving emoji and a red heart.

The very last thing to do was to go into an Orange shop and get a new SIM card with a new number. You snapped the old SIM between your fingertips to get rid of it. It was over. You had your new fresh start but it didn’t feel like one.

Part Two

Tags: @vroomvroommbtch

[capricornlevi]

professional obligations - osamu miya x reader

summary: attending your neighbourhood's annual business awards ceremony is not exactly your idea of an ideal night out. however, the owner of a shop a few doors down from your cafe makes an appearance and, to your surprise, you end up liking him quite a bit. timeskip osamu x reader.

cw: explicit sexual content, consumption of alcohol

NSFW, 18+ - MDNI - MINORS and AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 5.9k

“Champagne?” 

The waiter holds out the silver tray with a polite smile and no judgment in his eyes, so you take two of the flutes without thinking twice about it. You’ll need some liquid courage if you have any hope of sticking this out to the end. 

If you had any other place to be on this Saturday night then you likely wouldn’t be here right now, in a mid-range hotel ballroom, attending the 25th Annual Local Small Business & Restaurant Awards ceremony with absolutely no connections to help you break the ice, and without a date by your side to keep you company. 

You knock back half a glass of champagne with a grimace, hoping the waiter isn’t offended; your expression has nothing to do with the refreshments. 

The champagne is actually quite delightful. 

Thankfully, he’s moved on to serve the table next to you and so he doesn’t notice. You spot him chatting with the co-owners of a successful flower shop located across the street from your café, congratulating them on their win. You seem to be the only person having difficulty with small-talk this evening. 

Your table has mostly been cleared except for a few coats and handbags draped over the backs of empty chairs. You watch as the guests mingle on the ballroom floor, showing off their medals and trophies and certificates. 

Your own award sits proudly next to your place card – a small golden trophy bearing the name of your coffee shop, with “INDEPENDENT CAFÉ OF THE YEAR” written in tiny but perfectly-engraved letters at the base.

It’s silly. Just a trivial little token. After tomorrow’s celebratory post on the café’s Instagram account, you’ll likely forget all about it. 

It’s silly, meaningless, but you feel proud nonetheless. You smile to yourself, allowing a moment of indulgence as you reflect upon your journey.

Running your own business hasn’t been easy. 

It all started five years ago when you were fresh out of university, burdened with student loans and with absolutely no plans for the future, and so you took up a job as a barista in a locally-run café to pay the bills. You had zero barista experience and could barely prepare toast successfully, let alone the intricate pastries that the café was known for, but the elderly owner took a liking to you and gave you a chance to learn from her. Her wisdom and experience were unmatched. 

Surprisingly, you found yourself loving almost every part of the job - baking in the tiny kitchen, brewing the coffee, chatting to customers - and just one year after joining you were promoted to supervisor. Business was never better than with you in charge and so you climbed up the ranks quickly, and when the owner retired three years later, she offered you the right of first refusal in buying the place.

It seemed ridiculous at first. You were twenty-five, had no experience in the behind-the-scenes aspects of running a business, and still had most of your loans to pay off. Even though your heart soared at the idea of making the café your own, it just didn’t seem realistic. 

However the owner, only wanting to earn enough from the sale to retire comfortably, set the asking price far lower than what was typical for this area. It was still a big commitment, but it was one that you couldn’t refuse. As a result, you were able to secure a small business loan from the bank and, with your mentor’s blessing, started a complete rebrand of the café the moment your signature was on the dotted line.

The café soon became remarkably popular. It went from being a hidden gem that people tended to stumble upon by accident to a bustling local hotspot, reviewed in countless travel guides and magazines.

Word-of-mouth did the rest of the publicity for you. You only use fresh, local ingredients in your baked goods and the finest coffee beans for your beverages, and the steady line of customers outside the café every morning shows how your efforts are appreciated.

The award helps, too.

Setting aside your awkward reluctance to mingle, you suppose this evening hasn’t been a total waste. You allow yourself this moment of pride in your achievement.

“Best café, huh?” a voice calls out from over your shoulder, and you turn to face the person speaking. “Not surprised, to be honest. I had ya pegged to win it from the beginning.” 

Standing to your left-hand side is Osamu Miya.

Osamu Miya, the owner of what is soon-to-be a chain of beloved onigiri businesses, is shooting a lop-sided smile in your direction, making your face heat for reasons you don’t quite understand. 

He’s wearing a shirt and tie - business formal, as the dress code stipulated - but his suit jacket is slung over his arm, the top button of his shirt is undone, and his dark hair is a bit more dishevelled than it was when delivering his acceptance speech onstage.

You just stare at him for a moment. 

He’s standing here as if you were expecting to see him, praising you so earnestly and seemingly without any ulterior motives. You’re very confused as to why he’s doing this. 

You’ve spoken to him all of twice in your life; the first of which was to place an order at his shop to see if it was worth the hype (it was), and the second time was when you knocked on his door to ask him to sign a petition for new parking regulations to be implemented in the neighbourhood. Both conversations were brief and civil and very unexciting.

You don’t know him at all. To be honest, the only thing you have in common is that your café is three doors down from his flagship store. 

And to be even more honest, a tiny part of you has been quite jealous of him for a while now.

You wish you didn’t feel this way. No part of you wants to begrudge anyone’s success — it’s not that he doesn’t work hard, he really does, you’ve seen as much from the countless times you’ve passed his shop on the way to work — but he just manages it all so effortlessly. His shop has been open for only ten months now and he’s already expanded to two new locations. He gets more publicity and acclaim than you’ve seen from any other business at this event, and every afternoon you see how the queue for his place doubles that of yours. 

He has been honoured with no less than four awards for Onigiri Miya  - Best Casual Dining, Best Newcomer, Most Popular Promotional Campaign, and the coveted Small Business of the Year prize - and the only times you’ve spotted him over the course of the evening have been while he’s on stage collecting a trophy or when he’s surrounded by people congratulating him on his success.

He seems perfectly nice, but some dark part of your brain worries that he’s just here to rub it in. He’s received fawning praise from pretty much every other person here – maybe he wants you to do the same?

Worst of all, you know he doesn’t mean what he said about anticipating your win tonight. He’s never even been to your café. 

This is especially hurtful considering you bought not one, not two, but three onigiris when you visited his shop, yet he hasn’t bothered to even try a shot of espresso.

How rude. 

He must notice the way you tense up, your lips pulling together tight, but his smile doesn’t falter even for a moment.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the one beside you. Up until twenty minutes ago, it was occupied by an overly-chatty local councilman who hogged all the red wine and kept making jokes at his opponents’ expense, but from the way he suddenly sprinted outside while on the phone with his campaign manager, you doubt he’ll be returning anytime soon. 

You shake your head and watch as Osamu takes a seat by your side. 

“Some event, huh?” he observes conversationally, as if you two have known each other for years. “I kinda figured it’d be boring as shit, but an open bar fixes all that, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you repeat back to him. 

Your delivery isn’t exactly rude - even as jealousy rears its ugly head, the rational side of you knows that none of this is really his fault - but any observer could see that you’re not returning his enthusiasm at all. You’re barely smiling, nodding along just to be polite, clearly distracted.  

Still, he perseveres.

“And hey, thanks for gettin’ that petition started, by the way,” he carries on, “I’m sure ya saw already, but it’s helped business on the street like nothin’ I ever saw before.”

Damn, he’s good at this. You feel your defences drop, the hostility evaporating from your system with every word that comes from his mouth. 

Still, you don’t want to give in. He’s surely here just to pad his own ego, right? What other business would he have talking to someone who he barely knows?

“Yeah?” you prompt, testing his resolve. You look his way, trying to gauge his reaction – if he’s lying, you’ll surely catch him out now. “You think so?”

Osamu nods thoughtfully, the very picture of sincerity, and passes your test with flying colours.

“Hundred percent. It wouldn’t’ve gotten anywhere if ya hadn’t put the time in. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to help ya a bit more.”

Oh, shit. You’re smiling now. You didn’t do it consciously and you’re not even sure when it started, but it’s happening. You can’t seem to stop it.

“No problem. I’m glad it worked out,” you concede, taking another sip of the champagne – finishing the champagne, would be more accurate. You hadn’t realised how quickly you knocked back that last glass.

Osamu seems to have had a few glasses, too, judging by the pink blush that’s dusting his cheekbones. 

It looks sort of nice, actually. 

Both the blush and his … face, in general. 

Woah. That development takes you by surprise. 

Osamu leans back in the chair, looking at you in a way that makes you worry you’ve been found out, but his expression doesn’t betray anything other than a fond curiosity. 

“Wanna go for another?” he asks, gesturing at the empty flute in your hand. “A drink, I mean?”

You glance around the room, trying to find the friendly waiter with the tray of champagne. You can’t see him, can’t see anyone offering glasses to the crowd – the crowd which has thinned out considerably since you last checked, leaving only half the attendees standing around. It must be later than you thought. 

“I can’t see any servers … I don’t think they have any more champagne.”

Osamu flushes.

“I … uh, didn’t mean from here.”

He - what?

You set the glass back down on the table a bit too quickly, hoping the gesture doesn’t come across as hostile. 

“I just meant … this place is gettin’ a little tired,” he explains, his delivery remarkably confident considering the blush has reached the tips of his ears. “There’s a bar just down the street if ya wanted to go fer a nightcap or somethin’?”

Your grin is back, and you blame the champagne for the words that slip out next. 

“Getting tired of your adoring public?”

Osamu clutches his chest in mock offence. “You’re tellin’ me ya don’t adore me?”

It’s getting really difficult to pretend you have no interest in talking to this man. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you flipped, how you want to say yes to his request right now. You want to go for a drink with him. You want to keep the conversation going, to maybe find out he’s not as cocky and self-assured as you originally assumed. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking things over.

“I might not adore you,” you begin, laughing when he pretends to slump down in his chair with despair, “yet, anyway,” and he sits up straighter, encouraged, “but I will go for a drink with you, if that helps things?”

“That’ll do fer now,” he agrees, holding out a hand to help you up after you’ve grabbed your award from the table and slipped it carefully into your handbag. “As long as we get out of here before the mayor’s staff try to corner us again.”

You cast him an amused glance. “I thought you said this was a good night?”

“Yeah, it was, when the bar tab was still open,” he scoffs. “I couldn’t subject ya to their lecture about fuckin’ urban sanitation without at least one drink in your hand.” 

Once you’re on your feet, he lets go of your hand and turns to fetch his jacket and his own awards from his table, promising to be back in just a second. 

You take a few moments during his absence to try and process this whole thing, willfully ignoring the pang of disappointment you feel at the loss of his touch. 

This is … weird. Not ten minutes ago you were sitting alone, proud of your victory but still sulking a little, feeling an embarrassingly childish resentment for the star of tonight’s show, Osamu Miya.

But now he’s after ruining the whole thing by walking to your table, charming you out of your self-imposed isolation, and making you kind of … like him. 

And you’re leaving this event to go for a drink with him. Just the two of you. Alone. Since that’s the perfect way to commemorate the third conversation you’ve shared together, apparently. 

Your mind starts to race. Are you friends now? Is he going to start stopping by the café in the mornings? Will he expect you to do the same?

Maybe this is too much too fast. You start to have second thoughts, instinctually racking your brain for a decent excuse to bail out. 

But then you see Osamu approach you again, his tie loose around his neck and smile still so infectious, and all those anxious thoughts disappear … only to be replaced by more exciting, more confusing ones. 

Seeing him now, he’s taller than you remembered - broader, too, as shown by the way his shirt tightens against his chest as he moves - and his features more striking, with his grey eyes capturing your attention in a way you’d never noticed before. 

Your integrity is taking a serious hit tonight.

Still … you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little bit curious as to how things will play out from here. 

___

The bar that Osamu takes you to is surprisingly cosy. You’re not sure why, but you had expected something lavish - this is an expensive neighbourhood, after all - but this seems to be more of a family-run establishment, small and contained, with an open fireplace and candle-lit lamps providing most of the visibility.

The wall is lined with booths and cushioned seats, only a few of which are occupied, and the music is playing through an old vinyl player perched on the bar counter.

You much prefer this to one of the busier, fancier cocktail bars that have popped up on this street. 

The bartender waves at you both as you walk inside, clearly recognising your companion as he gives him a friendly greeting. You take a seat in a booth by the corner as Osamu goes to place the drinks order. 

Once he returns with two beers in hand you stop nervously fidgeting with a loose napkin on the table, instead choosing to lean back in the chair to appear more settled.  

You smile, thanking him for the drink. 

Osamu takes his seat but doesn’t even get to take a sip of his beer before his phone starts to ring.

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, grabbing the phone and turning down the call. “I’ll mute it.”

“You sure?” you ask in a way that’s almost teasing, prompting a grin and a shake of his head. “It could be urgent – it could be about another award.”

“You’re tryin’ to embarrass me in my favourite bar?” he asks, as close to deadpan as you think he can get. “After I got my hopes up you were startin’ to adore me?”

You chuckle and shrug, trying the beer yourself. It’s nice – from a local brewery you hadn’t tried before. He has better taste than you’d thought. 

“That was my brother callin’,” Osamu explains with a roll of his eyes as he says the word brother. “Dumbass is playin’ abroad right now - well, the game is over, so he’s technically celebratin’ - and he doesn’t have any concept of time or schedules.”

“I mean, you’re out drinking too,” you observe, prompting another dramatic eye roll. 

“He doesn’t have to know that part!” Osamu objects, sliding his phone into his pocket and leaning back in his seat. Another heart-melting smile. “Plus, I’ve got company. That’s where I wanna keep my focus, not on whatever shitty drunken singalong ‘Tsumu’s gonna try an’ start again if I pick up his call.” 

Your face heats. At this point, you’ve given up all attempts at staying resentful.

Which reminds you of something you’ve completely forgotten to tell him. 

“Congratulations, by the way. I never said it earlier – four awards, very impressive,” you say, finding that against all odds, you actually mean it. 

“Thanks,” he beams, running a hand through his hair. “But it shoulda just been three, to be honest.”

You frown, confused. Osamu was the frontrunner for every award he was nominated for tonight, and you hadn’t taken his modesty to be that extreme. “What do you mean?”

He catches your gaze, almost as if he hopes the point will come across through eye contact alone; when it doesn’t, he clarifies;

“You shoulda won Small Business of the Year.”

Your resulting laugh nearly makes you choke on your beer. It’s flattering - sweet, really - and now that you have more faith in his intentions, you can appreciate the gesture. 

But you’re also a realist. That award was one you knew you weren’t walking away with tonight. “C’mon-”

“I mean it!” he objects.

“Miya, I know you’re being nice, but you opened two new shops this year alone. And hey, don’t get me wrong, I did fine. But I didn’t get nearly as much business as you did over the summer.”

“Firstly, call me Osamu,” he retorts, his expression showing that he’s clearly having a lot of fun with this. He pauses as he brings the glass of beer to his lips. “And secondly, I’m not just being nice – I voted for ya.”

You blink at him for a moment, heart fluttering in your chest as you process the admission. 

It doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He doesn’t sound like he’s lying. Still, you’re baffled – there were dozens of businesses on the shortlist for the award, and you can’t imagine Osamu Miya putting your name above all the others. 

Mostly because he’s never even set foot in your door.

“I - uh, thank you, Osamu.”

He laughs. “You look confused.”

“Well, I am a little,” you admit, not even sure of where to start. “I appreciate it, but I just … have you ever tried my coffee? I mean, it’s completely fine if you haven’t, I’ve just never seen you-”

“I get it every day.”

You freeze, expression shifting from confused to utterly taken aback. “What?”

“I put in a mobile order every day, around eleven in the morning. I’m usually busy in the kitchen at that point, so one of the sales assistants collects it and I give them the order number.”

Same order, same time every day …

“Shit!” you exclaim, suddenly putting it all together. You set your glass back down and clap your hands together, lifting them to your mouth as if you’ve just solved some complex mystery. “You’re the one who buys all my lemon cake!”

He shakes his head — no malice in the gesture, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is that a question or an accusation?” 

“Definitely an accusation,” you answer, knowing without a shred of doubt that your assumption is correct. Of course, this also means that Osamu is telling the truth about his consistent ordering, but you’ll unpack that in a moment. “Every day I get an order around that time – the drinks change every now and then, but they always order a slice of lemon loaf cake. Always.”

“And yet, no loyalty programme for the cakes,” he sighs, “I get every seventh coffee free, but no stamps for the cake. Just heartbreakin’.” 

“I’ll take your suggestion on board,” you acknowledge with a soft laugh, thinking back to how long those orders have been coming in and how many slices of cake that must equal - a lot, if your addition is anyway correct - and feel this pleasant, warm feeling flood your chest. 

Guilt also starts to tug at you, but you can’t see the sense of dwelling on that emotion for too long. 

Not when Osamu’s here, looking at you like that, professing his admiration for you not just as a business owner and an equal, but as a purveyor of baked goods as well. 

The least you can do is buy the next round. 

Two beers later and the conversation drifts back to the topic of work, but in a different way than before. This time, it’s more vulnerable; the struggles of getting started in the hospitality industry, the insecurities of your line of work, and how the ever-changing nature of the city landscape means your business plan might change overnight. 

“I guess I, uh, kinda worry sometimes,” he admits quietly, looking down at the table and tracing circles on his glass with his thumb. “About this whole thing, runnin’ it by myself.” 

“Worry about what?” you ask, hoping your question comes across as reassuring and not outright dismissive. “Your place is the busiest on the street from what I’ve seen. Definitely the most stable business at the event tonight.” 

“Thanks,” he replies, eyes flickering up to yours again. His lips quirk upwards when you meet his gaze.  “‘I ‘spose I just worry that it’s more from … name recognition, than anythin’ else. And I don’t like that.”

“Name recognition?” you inquire. “From your brother?” 

He nods. “Tsumu’s - well, he’s not a celebrity, exactly, but he’s well-known around here, as much as it kills me to admit it,” he says with the ghost of a smile. “And I guess I just … don’t want people to be comin’ to my shop out of some sort of sympathy. Like they think I’m only runnin’ the place because I couldn’t make it in volleyball.” 

Before you can think things through, before your brain can slow your muscles down and offer you the chance to think sensibly, you reach a hand over to rest on top of one of his. He doesn’t acknowledge it with words, but he lets go of his glass and rests the hand down on the table so you can properly clasp it. 

He continues speaking before either of you has to address the impromptu hand-holding.

“And I know it’s stupid, right? Cos hey, as long as business is comin’ in, it makes no sense to complain. But yeah … that’s the worry, I guess.”

“I’ve never met anyone who thinks that about you, Osamu,” you say softly, ignoring the thrumming of your heart in your ribcage as you feel his fingers intertwine with yours. “And I certainly don’t, anyway. You’re just a talented guy who puts in a hell of a lot of hard work.”

He smiles again. “Is that why you’ve gone all mushy on me? Ya like my work ethic?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, a little petulantly, “being nice to you isn’t mushy.”

“I’m a fan of mushy,” he clarifies, tracing slow circles on the back of your hand, “if that helps things.”

It does, and you show him as much by tugging on his hand, tilting your head towards the door to show your intentions. 

Osamu pays the bar tab while you collect your things. A taxi is called, goodbyes are said to the bar staff, and for the second time tonight, you leave together. 

Though this time, you know exactly how it’s going to go.

___

Osamu’s hands on your waist are careful but firm, pushing you back against the door as soon as it closes behind you. 

The ride to his place was only ten minutes long - all of which was spent making out like desperate teenagers in the back of the taxi - and now that you have some privacy and space to yourselves, you’re not sure how you can last even a second without touching him. 

You can’t imagine a better kiss, and then he gives you a better one just moments later. 

You arch into him, feeling him groan against your lips, looping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest against him to feel as close as possible. 

The kiss goes from languid and passionate to heated and messy, and you let out a whimper when his tongue meets yours, licking into your mouth as you keen almost pathetically. 

The varnished wood of the door feels cold against your shoulder blades and you shiver. Osamu notices, resting a hand on your nape to pull you towards him. 

You fist your hands into the crisp fabric of his shirt. He smells incredible, clean and fresh, and you want to make his hair look even more dishevelled than it did after he ran his hand through it at the bar. What started as him trying to guide you away from the door has now turned into something that would be more accurately described as grinding — his hips are flush against yours, and you feel so desperately empty that you start to rock back and forth almost involuntarily. 

“Do ya wanna-“ he mumbles into the shell of your ear once he pulls away, lips pink and kiss-swollen, voice torn and almost desperate, “- want to go to bed?”

You can think of nothing in the world you’d want more. 

Your nod comes instantly, so enthusiastic that it should be embarrassing but it isn’t, and he takes your hand in his once again and leads you to his bedroom. 

His surprisingly neat, very organised bedroom. 

But you don’t have time to survey your surroundings too much because before you know it, Osamu is guiding you to lie down on his dark-grey bedspread, caging you in with his strong arms. 

He leans over you, covering your body with his, peppering soft kisses to your jawline and whispering sweet praise into your ear. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted ta do this?” you hear him say, and you grin lazily as you finally run your fingers through his hair. “How long I’ve tried ta build up the courage ta ask you out? To have you like this underneath me, making those pretty lil’ sounds fer me?”

Warm, liquid heat starts to collect in your stomach, and you suddenly feel that you’re both wearing too many clothes. 

You reach for the buttons of his shirt and feel his lips curl upwards against your neck. You undo his tie before starting to unbutton the rest, exposing more and more of the hard muscle of his chest. Not content to let you do all of the work, he paws at the back of your dress until he finds the zipper, lifting your back off the bed for a moment as he unties it. 

Osamu sheds the rest of his clothes as you shrug the dress and your underwear down your legs and onto the floor. When he leans over you again, you notice he’s hard; you feel exactly how hard he is when his cock presses against your stomach. He grabs your tits, squeezing them and playing with your nipples as you moan more wantonly than you thought possible. 

You’re not usually this vocal, but he seems to draw it out of you.

Things escalate quickly, or maybe they don’t — you can’t really tell how much time has passed. All you know is his broad frame engulfing you, the pretty words he’s whispering, and the feeling of his fingers as they dip into your underwear and run through your folds, your body growing warmer and warmer under his touch. 

You gasp - gasp audibly, your voice weak and thready - as he circles your clit, feeling how wet you are and slipping two fingers inside you moments later. 

Your entire body shakes, trembling as he starts to move his hand, and you can hear how he’s working you open. The thrusts are steady and careful, his fingers curling in a way that makes your words slur - a string of ‘Osamu, Osamu, right there, please, please, fuck’ on repeat until your mind stops working - and you feel yourself dripping down his wrist.

Osamu looks delighted. When he’s not kissing you or rutting gently against your thigh for some relieving friction, he’s propped up on his other arm and just looking at you, taking in every lip bite and flinch and the way your hips cant upwards when he switches to a new angle. 

He looks like he’s having even more fun than you are, which seems impossible since you’re practically on fire, that ball of heat growing and burning and getting more intense until –

“Fuck, Osamu, I’m coming,” you gasp, rocking against his hand as he fucks you through it, feeling it ripple through you for what seems like hours. 

Your eyes screw shut as you come but when you finally gather enough strength to open them again, you see him admiring you with blown-own pupils, his cock rock-hard and leaking against his stomach. 

“Need you,” you just about choke out the words, your body feeling utterly weightless. You’re surprised at how soon you want to go again, still feeling the aftershocks pulsing from your core, but the way he’s looking at you now makes you want to lean over and take him in your mouth. 

“Need me?” he mumbles, pulling his soaking fingers from your pussy with a lazy smile. 

You want to laugh, smack him playfully and bite back with something like don’t let it get to your head, Miya, but your mind isn’t letting you get that far. Instead, all you can articulate is a broken-sounding;

“Need you inside me.”

Thankfully, Osamu doesn’t try and tease you any further. Your words ignite something in him; he pulls back on his haunches and grabs a condom from his bedside table before you can even blink, breathing out a low moan as you start to pump him slowly. He fucks into your fist, biting into his lower lip as he does so, hands resting on his muscular thighs.

He starts to leak into your palm and at that, he’s had enough of the touching, leaning back over you and kissing you in a way that knocks the breath from your chest.

He rolls the condom onto his length and positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your clit and making you whimper, and gives you one last look to make sure you’re ready for him – he’s not exactly small. 

You nod, certain that if he’s not inside you soon, your core will start to physically ache.

He pushes inside you in one slow but fluid motion. It fills and stretches you in a way that you’ve never felt before and your thighs spread wider for him, needing to feel that sensation again and again. Once you’ve had time to adjust to his size, he starts to move, thrusts steady and firm.

It’s unbearably hot. Every movement, every touch, it all makes you feel as though you’re burning up underneath him. Judging from his expression, he feels the same. 

If he seemed like he was enjoying himself before now, it pales in comparison to the look on his face at this moment; cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering shut as he swears under his breath, lips shining from having kissed you over and over. 

He tells you exactly how good you’re making him feel: how your walls are squeezing him just right, how he’s imagined fucking you before but this is somehow better, how you’re so wet he wants to stay buried in your pussy forever. You want to reply but his thrusts are hitting too deep for you to form coherent sentences. 

His hands are back on your waist, manoeuvring you easily since the pleasure has rendered you utterly boneless and pliant underneath him. 

However, that all changes when you see him approach his peak - you can tell as much from the way his movements turn erratic, and the swears and praise start to flow out as if he has no control over it - and you decide to take charge. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him into you, gripping his shoulders and leaving little crescent-moon indentations in his skin.

He groans into your shoulder and comes deep inside you. He keeps thrusting into you; even in his fucked-out state, he seems intent to bring you to the edge along with him. 

It works – you come again without warning, the build-up from before now entirely absent as the orgasm burns through you. You cry out, the sound barely muffled against his shoulder as you spasm around his length, your quaking thighs struggling to stay wrapped around his hips. 

Cliche as it may sound, it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. 

You take a ragged breath, feeling your chest move up and down, your nipples grazing against his chest. His lips are still at your pulse point, kissing you gently.

Slowly, very slowly, you start to untangle yourselves. Osamu pulls out with a soft hiss, still half-hard, and you let your legs fall back against his bed. You lift a hand to your forehead, feeling how your skin is damp and flushed, and let yourself come back to earth as Osamu disposes of the condom. 

He returns a moment later, laying down next to you on the bed, giving you a smile that is surprisingly but achingly affectionate. 

Your heart skips triumphantly. You’ve gone from resenting him to liking him to really liking him in the space of a single evening, and there’s no denying how much you want him to keep smiling at you like this for the foreseeable future. 

He cups your face with one of his large hands, and you can easily predict what he’s about to ask you next. 

“Wanna stay over?”

You hum, pretending to think it over even though, once again, you know what your answer will be. 

“I mean, it’s sensible – we share a commute,” he points out, and you can’t argue with him on that one. “Plus, I heard ya make decent coffee.”

You let out a weary sigh, oozing fake annoyance. “So that’s why you brought me over?” 

“Nah, it’s just yet another point in your favour.”

Before you can say anything else, he brings you in for a kiss - tender this time, soft and careful - and as strange as it sounds, you find yourself looking forward to the morning after. And maybe the morning after that, as well. 

There are definite perks to working three doors down from Osamu Miya. 

[page-98]

Muse: Adelaide

"Enjoy your vacation"

That's what the memo Edward had telegraphed. Made her waste all the effort leaving her hotel to the location, paying for the message. Just to remind her to enjoy her vacation. A planned vacation in Portugal because he got a rumor that an old "associate" was now living here. She was to make sure it was in fact the same man who conned him out of millions of dollars. Then if it was to kill him with a certain gun.

A week and a half ago, he came to visit while she was still packing. The arrogance of the man, her employer, who killed her mother out of sheer jealousy. Still flaunted that he will always have leverage over her. Her emotions will always be mixed when it comes to him. He calmly strutted over, making idol chit-chat before revealing the real reason. He presented a small weapon case. He opened it and found a gold-plated, ivory, handle revolver. It was well crafted and customized. Then the story began. He picked up the gun and examined it, his piercing blue eyes, apparently remenicing.

"Jaime Santiago and I were once friends. He came to me, in his usually over-confidante manner. He needed to borrow ten million to start up this business. The deal was to lend him ten million and he would repay me 20 million. This gun, was precious to him, that I did believe. He gave it to me as equity, a loan. As a businessman myself and a good friend, I gave him six years to repay the loan. Then six years passed and he didn't want to pay...then months passed. The same BS that his business wasn't quite making it..then a few months later I've come to realize he had split his business into three and altogether they were worth well over 300 million," he paused placing the gun back in its custom casing.

He then picked up a bullet, it too was gold and she noticed there was some sort of engravement on it. On all the bullets that lay in the case. "And he couldn't pay a measly twenty mill," he seethed, disappointed and disgust apparent. "So I hired a contract on him," he said simply putting back the bullet. "He ran, he hid. He's been hiding for about twelve years now," he finished. He paused as he stared at her. She stared back unflinching. He leaned in closer and whispered. "I don't care how you do it, as long as you use this gun and put these bullets threw his head," Edward noted.

Now she was in Ribeira at a bustling cafe at night. She sipped on a latte and kept her eyes on the newspaper. She looked like a rich local who frequented the area. She didn't know Portuguese, she was studying the language in the meantime. She had to admit the views were nice. However, the views were nice everywhere she went. Edward was part of the High Table, they traveled to all the best locations the world had to offer. Though this....was supposed to be a grace period, a vacation. Yet here she was spying on a man in his late 50s buying drinks for anyone who would lend him an ear.

She watched as Jamie Santiago started to stumble off. Apparently a bit tipsy, a bit done. She began to tail him. The city was alive at night, with people partying late. Though she knew sooner or later there would be an opportunity. She kept her distance until he turned down a small alleyway. Just big enough for a small car to pass through. She quickened her pace as she put her hand in her purse. The gun was already loaded with the bullets with vindicta engraved on them. Santiago stopped as he tripped over a small pothole. Adelaide smirked as she neared pulling out the gun out of her purse.

@nytehavyn-circle

[beardedmrbean]

It was the most spectacular trial ever held in Vietnam, befitting one of the greatest bank frauds the world has ever seen.

Behind the stately yellow portico of the colonial-era courthouse in Ho Chi Minh City, a 67-year-old Vietnamese property developer was sentenced to death on Thursday for looting one of the country's largest banks over a period of 11 years.

It's a rare verdict - she is one of very few women in Vietnam to be sentenced to death for a white collar crime.

The decision is a reflection of the dizzying scale of the fraud. Truong My Lan was convicted of taking out $44bn (£35bn) in loans from the Saigon Commercial Bank. The verdict requires her to return $27bn, a sum prosecutors said may never be recovered. Some believe the death penalty is the court's way of trying to encourage her to return some of the missing billions.

The habitually secretive communist authorities were uncharacteristically forthright about this case, going into minute detail for the media. They said 2,700 people were summoned to testify, while 10 state prosecutors and around 200 lawyers were involved.

The evidence was in 104 boxes weighing a total of six tonnes. Eighty-five others were tried with Truong My Lan, who denied the charges and can appeal.

All of the defendants were found guilty. Four received life in jail. The rest were given prison terms ranging from 20 years to three years suspended. Truong My Lan's husband and niece received jail terms of nine and 17 years respectively.

"There has never been a show trial like this, I think, in the communist era," says David Brown, a retired US state department official with long experience in Vietnam. "There has certainly been nothing on this scale."

The trial was the most dramatic chapter so far in the "Blazing Furnaces" anti-corruption campaign led by the Communist Party Secretary-General, Nguyen Phu Trong.

A conservative ideologue steeped in Marxist theory, Nguyen Phu Trong believes that popular anger over untamed corruption poses an existential threat to the Communist Party's monopoly on power. He began the campaign in earnest in 2016 after out-manoeuvring the then pro-business prime minister to retain the top job in the party.

The campaign has seen two presidents and two deputy prime ministers forced to resign, and hundreds of officials disciplined or jailed. Now one of the country's richest women has joined their ranks.

Truong My Lan comes from a Sino-Vietnamese family in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon. It has long been the commercial engine of the Vietnamese economy, dating well back to its days as the anti-communist capital of South Vietnam, with a large, ethnic Chinese community.

She started as a market stall vendor, selling cosmetics with her mother, but began buying land and property after the Communist Party ushered in a period of economic reform, known as Doi Moi, in 1986. By the 1990s, she owned a large portfolio of hotels and restaurants.

Although Vietnam is best known outside the country for its fast-growing manufacturing sector, as an alternative supply chain to China, most wealthy Vietnamese made their money developing and speculating in property.

All land is officially state-owned. Getting access to it often relies on personal relationships with state officials. Corruption escalated as the economy grew, and became endemic.

By 2011, Truong My Lan was a well-known business figure in Ho Chi Minh City, and she was allowed to arrange the merger of three smaller, cash-strapped banks into a larger entity: Saigon Commercial Bank.

Vietnamese law prohibits any individual from holding more than 5% of the shares in any bank. But prosecutors say that through hundreds of shell companies and people acting as her proxies, Truong My Lan actually owned more than 90% of Saigon Commercial.

They accused her of using that power to appoint her own people as managers, and then ordering them to approve hundreds of loans to the network of shell companies she controlled.

The amounts taken out are staggering. Her loans made up 93% of all the bank's lending.

Vietnam secret document warns of 'hostile forces'

US denies Cold War with China in historic Vietnam visit

The country where Kissinger left a legacy of death and chaos

According to prosecutors, over a period of three years from February 2019, she ordered her driver to withdraw 108 trillion Vietnamese dong, more than $4bn (£2.3bn) in cash from the bank, and store it in her basement.

That much cash, even if all of it was in Vietnam's largest denomination banknotes, would weigh two tonnes.

She was also accused of bribing generously to ensure her loans were never scrutinised. A former chief inspector at the central bank was given a life sentence for accepting a $5m bribe.

The mass of officially sanctioned publicity about the case channelled public anger over corruption against Truong My Lan, whose fatigued, unmade-up appearance in court was in stark contrast to the glamorous publicity photos people had seen of her in the past.

But questions are also being asked about why she was able to keep on with the alleged fraud for so long.

"I am puzzled," says Le Hong Hiep who runs the Vietnam Studies Programme at the ISEAS - Yusof Ishak Institute in Singapore.

"Because it wasn't a secret. It was well known in the market that Truong My Lan and her Van Thinh Phat group were using SCB as their own piggy bank to fund the mass acquisition of real estate in the most prime locations.

"It was obvious that she had to get the money from somewhere. But then it is such a common practice. SCB is not the only bank that is used like this. So perhaps the government lost sight because there are so many similar cases in the market."

David Brown believes she was protected by powerful figures who have dominated business and politics in Ho Chi Minh City for decades. And he sees a bigger factor in play in the way this trial is being run: a bid to reassert the authority of the Communist Party over the free-wheeling business culture of the south.

"What Nguyen Phu Trong and his allies in the party are trying to do is to regain control of Saigon, or at least stop it from slipping away.

"Up until 2016 the party in Hanoi pretty much let this Sino-Vietnamese mafia run the place. They would make all the right noises that local communist leaders are supposed to make, but at the same time they were milking the city for a substantial cut of the money that was being made down there."

At 79 years old, party chief Nguyen Phu Trong is in shaky health, and will almost certainly have to retire at the next Communist Party Congress in 2026, when new leaders will be chosen.

He has been one of the longest-serving and most consequential secretary-generals, restoring the authority of the party's conservative wing to a level not seen since the reforms of the 1980s. He clearly does not want to risk permitting enough openness to undermine the party's hold on political power.

But he is trapped in a contradiction. Under his leadership the party has set an ambitious goal of reaching rich country status by 2045, with a technology and knowledge-based economy. This is what is driving the ever-closer partnership with the United States.

Yet faster growth in Vietnam almost inevitably means more corruption. Fight corruption too much, and you risk extinguishing a lot of economic activity. Already there are complaints that bureaucracy has slowed down, as officials shy away from decisions which might implicate them in a corruption case.

"That's the paradox," says Le Hong Hiep. "Their growth model has been reliant on corrupt practices for so long. Corruption has been the grease that that kept the machinery working. If they stop the grease, things may not work any more."

[thaiattorney]

Buying Property in Thailand

Thailand is an attractive destination for property buyers due to its scenic landscapes, vibrant cities, and welcoming culture. However, purchasing property in Thailand, especially as a foreigner, involves navigating a complex legal framework and understanding the local market intricacies. This comprehensive guide will provide detailed insights, enhancing expertise and credibility by delving into the legalities, procedures, and best practices for buying property in Thailand.

1. Understanding the Legal Framework

Key Legal Restrictions:

Land Code Act B.E. 2497 (1954): Foreigners cannot own land in Thailand except under specific conditions.

Condominium Act B.E. 2522 (1979): Foreigners can own up to 49% of the total floor area of a condominium building.

Foreign Business Act B.E. 2542 (1999): Regulates foreign business activities and investments, impacting property purchases for business purposes.

Exceptions and Alternatives:

Board of Investment (BOI) Projects: Foreigners investing in BOI-promoted projects can acquire land under specific conditions.

Long-Term Leases: Foreigners can lease land for up to 30 years, with options to renew.

Thai Company Ownership: Forming a Thai company where foreigners hold less than 50% of shares allows indirect land ownership.

2. Types of Property Available for Purchase

Condominiums:

Freehold Ownership: Foreigners can own condominium units outright.

Ownership Percentage: The foreign ownership quota in a condominium building should not exceed 49%.

Leasehold Properties:

Land and Houses: Foreigners can lease land and houses for up to 30 years, with potential for renewal.

Registration: Leases exceeding three years must be registered at the Land Department to be legally enforceable.

Investment Properties:

Commercial Real Estate: Foreigners can invest in commercial properties through long-term leases or joint ventures with Thai partners.

Resort and Hotel Investments: Special regulations apply to foreign investments in resort and hotel properties, often requiring joint ventures.

3. Due Diligence and Legal Processes

Conducting Due Diligence:

Title Search: Verify the property’s legal status, ownership history, and any encumbrances or disputes.

Zoning and Land Use: Ensure the property complies with local zoning laws and land use regulations.

Environmental Compliance: Check for any environmental restrictions or issues affecting the property.

Engaging Legal and Financial Advisors:

Real Estate Lawyer: Hire a reputable lawyer specializing in Thai real estate to guide you through the legal processes.

Financial Advisor: Consult a financial advisor to understand tax implications, financing options, and investment strategies.

Steps in the Buying Process:

Reservation Agreement: Sign a reservation agreement and pay a reservation fee to secure the property.

Due Diligence: Conduct thorough due diligence with the help of legal advisors.

Sale and Purchase Agreement (SPA): Draft and sign the SPA, detailing the terms and conditions of the sale.

Deposit Payment: Pay a deposit, typically 10-30% of the purchase price.

Transfer of Ownership: Complete the transfer at the Land Department, paying the remaining balance and associated fees.

4. Costs and Taxes Involved

Purchase Costs:

Transfer Fee: 2% of the appraised property value.

Stamp Duty: 0.5% of the purchase price or appraised value, whichever is higher.

Withholding Tax: 1% of the appraised value or the actual sale price, whichever is higher.

Specific Business Tax (SBT): 3.3% of the appraised or actual sale price, applicable if the property is sold within five years of acquisition.

Ongoing Costs:

Common Area Fees: Monthly fees for maintenance of common areas in condominiums.

Property Tax: Annual property tax based on the assessed value of the property.

Utilities and Maintenance: Regular expenses for utilities, repairs, and maintenance.

5. Financing Options

Local Financing:

Thai Banks: Some Thai banks offer mortgage loans to foreigners for condominium purchases.

Eligibility Criteria: Generally, borrowers need to have a work permit, proof of income, and a good credit history.

Foreign Financing:

Home Country Banks: Some buyers secure financing from banks in their home countries, leveraging their assets abroad.

International Mortgage Providers: Specialized financial institutions provide mortgages for international property purchases.

Payment Plans:

Developer Financing: Some developers offer financing plans with staggered payments during the construction period.

Installment Payments: Buyers can negotiate installment payments directly with sellers or developers.

6. Common Pitfalls and How to Avoid Them

Legal Complications:

Unclear Title: Always verify the title to avoid disputes and ensure clear ownership.

Zoning Issues: Confirm zoning regulations to ensure the property can be used as intended.

Contractual Disputes: Have all agreements reviewed by a lawyer to prevent misunderstandings and ensure enforceability.

Financial Risks:

Currency Fluctuations: Be aware of exchange rate risks when making payments in foreign currency.

Hidden Costs: Account for all additional costs such as taxes, fees, and maintenance expenses.

Financing Challenges: Ensure you have a clear financing plan and understand the terms of any loans or payment plans.

7. Enhancing Expertise and Credibility

Demonstrating Professional Credentials:

Legal Qualifications: Highlight the legal qualifications and experience of your advisors and partners.

Professional Experience: Detail your experience in handling property transactions in Thailand.

Memberships and Affiliations: Include memberships in professional organizations like the Thai Bar Association, the Real Estate Broker Association, or international property associations.

Providing Authoritative References:

Cite Legal Documents: Reference specific sections of the Land Code Act and Condominium Act to support your points.

Expert Opinions: Incorporate insights from recognized experts in Thai real estate law and property investment.

Including Detailed Case Studies:

Client Testimonials: Feature testimonials from clients who have successfully purchased property in Thailand with your assistance.

Real-Life Examples: Provide detailed examples of successful transactions, highlighting any challenges overcome and solutions implemented.

Visual Aids and Infographics:

Process Flowcharts: Use flowcharts to depict the steps involved in the property buying process.

Diagrams: Create diagrams to visually explain key legal concepts and ownership structures.

[ilgaksu]

Sorry, I always see your posts late. More thoughts on to be the knife? Character moments you didn't get to include or backstory that didn't make it onto the page or how do Xiazi and Xiao Hua end up crossing paths again?

(you don't see them late, and there is no expiry on asks or ask memes for me. you just need to link to it if it's a numbered question so i know which post to refer to for example. i just explicitly post inviting asks because i have limited energy, have recently been travelling abroad and this week have the requisite flare-up, and i also sometimes just want to make it clear when people will get a timely reply. and often, if it's a message i want to really think about, it'll take some time anyway! so yeah, you're all good <3)

OH, OH THERE IS SO MUCH. especially because i'd ideally like to write another fic in that universe, with the proviso i have a Backlog and a promised heist au because of that one poll. i'm tagging @difeisheng mostly for the sake of it being a shared baby so they can pull me back in line if i've forgotten/misremembered something.

i think the most fun thing to focus on in this reply is how they cross paths again, which is that the victim in the current murder case is, in fact, an ex-employee of xiao hua's. xiao hua has a spy network throughout the city, and a large number are women and men who were previously indentured sex workers, and xiao hua bought their contracts and destroyed the contracts, usually dramatically in front of the people, then offered them a job working for him in some capacity. this means that even if the person chooses to leave sex work and say, open a business (which he might give them a loan to open) or work in a hotel etc (he'll assist that too), they can still accept working for him as a direct spy. or otherwise, they know they owe him a favour he can call in. the women in the brothel in that fic have actively chosen to stay in the profession. he isn't helping people find jobs or open businesses or get married out of the goodness of his heart, it's because hope is a valuable currency to buy extreme loyalty, and often is more effective than fear in certain cases.

so, xiao hua is pretty concerned that an employee of his has shown up dead. and he doesn't like the implication he can't take care of his own. so he ends up helping wu xie solve the case, and this involves him and hei xiazi infilitrating a western-style dance hall, posing as a couple. xiao hua in this is still very trans, remember, and so he decides to dress in western women's clothes of the time and pose as a short-haired ingenue, and hei xiazi sees this and just about drops dead, since i apparently only write one kind of cross-dressing.*

we just thought it'd be fun to have xiao hua in a typical 30s ballroom-appropriate gown sitting in hei xiazi's lap to perform brainlessness while hei xiazi has no clue where to put his hands given xiao hua could cheerfully cut them off with the knife he has strapped to his thigh next to those stockings. then they break into the owner's office. and make out in there. and then get caught. and then escape. and then fall into bed together back at hei xiazi's apartment. i'm pretty sure that's the next meeting. i feel like ash will correct me if i am wrong.

*i'm using the term cross-dressing, btw, because contextually that is how the character views it, and how they are operating within their understanding of it, attraction or kink or complicated feelings or otherwise.

[commercialrealestates]

What are commercial real estate services?

Commercial real estate services refer to a range of professional services and activities related to the buying, selling, leasing, managing, and investing in commercial properties. Commercial properties include office buildings, retail spaces, industrial facilities, hotels, warehouses, and other income-producing real estate assets. These services are typically offered by real estate professionals, companies, and organizations specializing in the commercial real estate sector. Here are some of the key components of commercial real estate services:

Brokerage Services: Commercial real estate brokers help clients buy, sell, or lease commercial properties. They facilitate transactions, negotiate terms and conditions, and provide market insights to help clients make informed decisions.

Property Management: Property management companies oversee the day-to-day operations of commercial properties on behalf of owners. This includes tasks such as rent collection, maintenance, tenant relations, and financial reporting.

Leasing and Tenant Representation: Commercial real estate agents and brokers specializing in leasing help property owners find suitable tenants for their spaces. Tenant representation services assist businesses in finding suitable properties to lease.

Investment Services: Investment firms and professionals provide guidance on real estate investment strategies. They may help investors acquire, manage, or divest commercial properties to optimize returns.

Appraisal and Valuation: Appraisers determine the market value of commercial properties, which is crucial for financing, taxation, and decision-making purposes. Valuation services help property owners understand the worth of their assets.

Development and Construction: Developers and construction companies focus on creating new commercial properties or renovating existing ones. They handle the design, permitting, and construction phases of commercial real estate projects.

Financing and Mortgage Services: Lenders and financial institutions offer loans and mortgage products tailored to commercial real estate projects. These services help property buyers secure the necessary capital for their investments.

Market Research and Analysis: Real estate research firms provide market data, trends, and analysis to assist clients in making informed decisions. This includes information on vacancy rates, rental rates, and demand trends.

Consulting and Advisory Services: Real estate consultants offer strategic advice and planning services to property owners, investors, and developers. They may help clients optimize property portfolios, assess market risks, or formulate investment strategies.

Legal and Regulatory Services: Real estate attorneys specialize in handling legal aspects of commercial real estate transactions. They ensure that contracts, leases, and other legal documents comply with local laws and regulations.

Environmental Assessment: Environmental consultants assess commercial properties for environmental risks and compliance with environmental regulations. This is particularly important for properties with potential contamination issues.

Property Tax Services: Property tax consultants assist property owners in managing and minimizing property tax obligations by evaluating assessments and pursuing tax appeals when necessary.

Overall, commercial real estate services encompass a wide range of activities aimed at facilitating the acquisition, management, and optimization of commercial properties, with the goal of maximizing returns and minimizing risks for property owners, investors, and businesses.

[flivv-developers]

The Real Estate industry has been a lucrative way to increase the value of land. Due to the recent boom in the real estate sector in the last few years, investors have been enjoying a return on investments out of their wise decision of investing at the right time and the right place. Through productive ways to reap benefits out of property investments, many real estate stakeholders enjoy seamless and smooth returns. This healthy cycle of investment has led to the emergence of numerous large infrastructural companies.

How to make money out of Property Investments?

Making money in real estate requires a lot of research, certain skills, contacts, and a handsome investment. Whether you’re an individual or a company. Legal clearances are equally important. Hence, every procedure must take place within the legal framework only. With a smooth workflow and regular investing cycle, you can easily reap the benefits of your investments from the properties you have purchased.

Importance of Real Estate Investing

Real estate can be the best business option in several ways. If you act as a broker or agent between buyer and seller, you can charge a commission. Based on the volume of business, the above involves the lowest investment and handsome earnings. It is possible to make money in real estate by investing your savings for long-term gain. People and companies often choose to buy large properties and resell smaller parcels of land or make residential complexes or colonies out of them.

Long-term rentals

Property owners can enjoy long-term rentals. Long-term rentals are a common way to make money in real estate for a property owner. Rental properties that are rented for more than six months are considered long-term rentals. In India, the lease/rent deed is usually signed for 11 months and is then renewed subject to mutual consent and some legal considerations.

Paying Guest Rentals

In this case, the property owner offers working people and students housing in addition to occasionally providing food, laundry, security, and other services. In this manner, the tenant may fully concentrate on his work or studies without having to worry about the needs of their home.

Commercial Property Returns

One of the most alluring ways to profit from real estate is the business sector. Over the past few decades, it has drawn numerous significant investors and businesses. These investors buy houses and then upgrade, renovate, and build new ones according to local requirements before renting them out. In this manner, a one-time fixed investment yields lifetime handsome profits.

REITs

An individual can invest in a significant, income-producing piece of real estate through a real estate investment trust (REIT). Large-scale real estate includes, but is not limited to, shopping malls, office buildings, hotels, apartments, self-storage facilities, resorts, warehouses, mortgages, and loans. Investors in REITs benefit from the real estate market by obtaining a percentage of the revenue from the commercial real estate they have invested in.

If you are looking to make money out of property investments, make sure to consider the options above. At Flivv Developers, we discuss and talk about many more aspects in real estate. You can easily invest with us and get free consultations. Reach out to us via direct call/email or fill out the site form to know more about Real Estate in and around Hyderabad.

[pegasusrealestateae]

Buy Property in Downtown Dubai: The Ultimate Investment Guide

Downtown Dubai has become one of the most iconic locations for real estate investment in the UAE. With its modern skyline, luxurious living spaces, and prime location, buying property in Downtown Dubai offers exceptional opportunities for both residents and investors. Whether you're looking for a high-end apartment, a penthouse with panoramic views, or a business space with global exposure, Downtown Dubai provides a diverse range of properties that cater to all preferences. In this blog, we will explore why Downtown Dubai is a top choice for property buyers, the benefits of investing here, and the factors to consider before making your purchase.

Why You Should Buy Property in Downtown Dubai

1. Prime Location in the Heart of Dubai

Downtown Dubai is strategically located near the Burj Khalifa, the Dubai Mall, and other key landmarks. The neighborhood is known for its accessibility, offering easy connectivity to other major areas like Business Bay, Dubai Marina, and DIFC. If you buy property in Downtown Dubai, you're not just investing in a home; you're securing a position in one of the most sought-after locations in the world. With the continuous growth of Dubai's tourism and business sectors, this prime location will continue to appreciate in value over time.

2. World-Class Amenities and Lifestyle

When you buy property in Downtown Dubai, you are buying into a lifestyle. The area boasts world-class amenities, from luxurious hotels and restaurants to high-end retail outlets. Residents can enjoy proximity to the Dubai Opera, cultural hubs, and green spaces such as the Dubai Fountain and Burj Park. Whether you're looking for an active, cosmopolitan lifestyle or a peaceful, luxurious retreat, Downtown Dubai offers the best of both worlds.

3. High Rental Yields and Capital Appreciation

The demand for rental properties in Downtown Dubai is consistently high due to its central location and the influx of expatriates, tourists, and business professionals. If you’re an investor, buying property in Downtown Dubai means you could enjoy attractive rental yields, often higher than in other parts of the city. Additionally, given the area's constant development and rising demand for luxury properties, the potential for capital appreciation is significant.

How to Buy Property in Downtown Dubai

1. Research and Identify Your Property Type

Before you make any decisions, it’s crucial to research and understand the various property options available in Downtown Dubai. Whether you're interested in a sleek, modern apartment, a luxury penthouse, or even commercial property, Downtown Dubai offers diverse options that cater to different tastes and budgets. Properties in developments like The Residences at Burj Khalifa, The Address Boulevard, or Opera Grand come with varying price points, so it's important to identify what best suits your needs and investment goals.

2. Understand the Legal Framework for Property Purchase

Buying property in Downtown Dubai as a foreigner is straightforward, but it's important to be aware of Dubai's property laws. Foreign investors are allowed to buy property in designated freehold areas, and Downtown Dubai is one of those areas. Be sure to work with a reputable real estate agent or legal advisor to ensure that the transaction follows all legal procedures, including the payment structure and required documentation.

3. Financing Your Purchase

When you buy property in Downtown Dubai, you’ll likely need to secure financing unless you plan to make a full cash purchase. Several local banks and financial institutions offer mortgage options to non-residents, with terms and interest rates that vary based on the bank and the property type. It's recommended to get pre-approval for a loan to streamline the process and ensure that your financials are in order before you make a commitment.

The Benefits of Buying Property in Downtown Dubai

1. International Investment Appeal

Dubai's reputation as a global business and tourist hub makes it a prime location for international investors. The government’s commitment to creating a business-friendly environment, along with a tax-free regime, makes buying property in Downtown Dubai particularly appealing to non-residents and expatriates. Moreover, the UAE's stable political environment and investor protection laws provide peace of mind for property owners.

2. Quality of Life

For those looking to settle down or enjoy the ultimate lifestyle, Downtown Dubai is one of the most prestigious addresses in the world. From luxury residences with top-tier finishes to entertainment options that rival major cities globally, the quality of life here is second to none. Enjoy leisurely walks along the Dubai Fountain or dine at five-star restaurants, all just steps away from your property.

3. Rental and Resale Opportunities

Downtown Dubai offers investors excellent rental yields, particularly in high-demand areas near the Burj Khalifa and Dubai Mall. The Dubai real estate market is known for its resilience, with a strong long-term outlook. Whether you’re looking to rent out your property or eventually sell it, the demand for real estate in Downtown Dubai ensures that you’ll have plenty of options when the time comes.

Factors to Consider Before Buying Property in Downtown Dubai

1. Market Trends and Property Prices

Before you buy property in Downtown Dubai, it’s important to keep an eye on market trends. While Downtown is generally a high-demand area, property prices can fluctuate based on various factors such as economic conditions, supply and demand, and government regulations. Working with a professional real estate agent can help you understand current market conditions and get the best deal possible.

2. Property Management Services

If you’re not planning to live in your property full-time, you may want to consider property management services. These services take care of everything from maintenance to tenant management, ensuring that your investment remains hassle-free and profitable. Many luxury properties in Downtown Dubai offer integrated property management services for investors who want a hands-off experience.

3. Long-Term Investment Potential

While the initial cost of buying property in Downtown Dubai can be high, the long-term investment potential is exceptional. With the continuous development of the area, including new business ventures, tourism attractions, and residential projects, Downtown Dubai is poised to remain a strong performer in Dubai’s property market. It’s a city that never sleeps, with an ever-growing demand for real estate.

Conclusion: Why Buy Property in Downtown Dubai?

Buying property in Downtown Dubai is an investment in luxury, lifestyle, and opportunity. Whether you're looking for a place to call home or seeking a lucrative investment, the downtown district of Dubai offers unparalleled access to the best the city has to offer. With its central location, world-class amenities, and high potential for rental returns and capital appreciation, it’s no wonder that Downtown Dubai remains one of the most desirable real estate markets in the world. If you’re considering buying property in Downtown Dubai, now is the perfect time to explore this thriving market and secure your place in one of the world’s most exciting cities.

If you're ready to take the next step and buy property in Downtown Dubai, reach out to an experienced real estate agent who can guide you through the process and help you find the perfect property to match your goals. With the right research and expert advice, you can make a smart investment that will continue to appreciate in value for years to come.

[kumarkuldeep]

Why is the best real estate for living free from huddles? Buy Saya’s South X Biztop, a great choice!

The best-ever, affordable residential project by Saya in Greater Noida West is Saya’s South X Biztop. The 688 - 800 sq. ft sqft spacious and ultra-luxurious studio residential apartments are being constructed and developed, to cater to those, who always want to be a dream home in his/her locality or Delhi NCR. This plot has three sides open, surrounded by lush greenery, and away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Saya South X has ample local livable resources viz. shopping malls, local shops, food courts, hotels/motels, night safari, schools, colleges and universities, hospitals, multiplexes, and much more including excellent connectivity to clean and green parks, ISBT, Indian Rail Network, IGI, and Noida International Airports, Noida City Center Metro Station, Noida Sector 62/63, and other major cities of in Delhi NCR.

Saya South X in Greater Noida West uses RCC-based technology to meet anti-earthquake features. It offers Business Suites and Studio Apartments. Saya South X Business Suits is being developed and constructed by Saya's highly skilled team of civil engineers. The future residents will have a complete range of trendy amenities inside the residential and commercial campus viz a swimming pool for kids and adults, parks, gardens, gated security, CCTV surveillance, spa, gym, meditation room, kids play area, sports courts, intercom, and much more to ensure cozy lifestyle in the lap of the city. The attractive loan facility can be taken after paying and availing booking formalities. The payment schedules will be flexible and less to pay easefully. Saya South X Studio Apartments is customizing your dream home with the use of Innovative amenities.

[chandravamsi]

Best Area in Telangana for Investing in Mumbai Highway Open Plots

If you’re looking to invest in Mumbai Highway open plots, this region offers excellent opportunities for both residential and commercial development. Open plots in Mumbai Highway are becoming increasingly popular, thanks to rapid infrastructure growth and seamless connectivity. Investing in plots in Hyderabad Mumbai Highway ensures long-term value, with high potential for appreciation due to the area’s strategic location along NH-65.

Why Invest in Mumbai Highway Open Plots

The demand for Mumbai Highway open plots has been rising due to upcoming projects like the Regional Ring Road (RRR) and ORR, which enhance connectivity. Open plots in Mumbai Highway are ideal for those looking to build homes or invest in commercial spaces, with access to institutions such as Woxsen University and IIT Hyderabad. Additionally, plots in Hyderabad Mumbai Highway promise strong growth, as the area is fast becoming a hub for education, industry, and residential communities.

Features of Eeshanya Infraa’s Mumbai Highway Open Plots

Eeshanya Infraa offers Mumbai Highway open plots with top-notch amenities such as blacktop roads, walking tracks, and children’s parks. These open plots in Mumbai Highway come with individual water and electricity connections, making them ready for development. With RERA approval (RERA No. P02500008192) and DTCP-certified layouts, plots in Hyderabad Mumbai Highway from Eeshanya Infraa provide buyers with a secure and transparent investment opportunity.

Strategic Location and Accessibility

The Mumbai Highway open plots by Eeshanya Infraa are strategically located just 300 meters from NH-65, ensuring smooth access to major urban centers. These open plots in Mumbai Highway are near Kamkole Toll Gate, Sadashivpet, and IIT Hyderabad, offering convenience for both residents and businesses. Surrounded by schools, hospitals, hotels, and residential areas, plots in Hyderabad Mumbai Highway offer everything needed for comfortable living or lucrative investments.

Bank Loan Availability and Legal Security

Purchasing Mumbai Highway open plots through Eeshanya Infraa is easy, with bank loans available to assist buyers. These open plots in Mumbai Highway come with clear titles, providing a legally secure transaction. With Eeshanya Infraa’s reputation for timely delivery and transparent project management, plots in Hyderabad Mumbai Highway offer a smooth buying experience and excellent investment returns.

Conclusion

For anyone seeking the best area to invest in Telangana, Mumbai Highway open plots offer unmatched potential. With modern infrastructure, legal transparency, and excellent connectivity, these open plots in Mumbai Highway are perfect for long-term appreciation. Eeshanya Infraa’s plots in Hyderabad Mumbai Highway ensure high-value returns, making them the ideal investment choice for personal or commercial development.