#had this in the tags but needed to up the dollar amount and have it be said with my chest…

[verytendou]

Upon reflection i need it posted on the blog itself and not just my tags that if you think any part of nobara’s treatment in jjk was a feminism #win that you both owe me $700 and need to get off my blog

[junislqve]

ᯓ million dollar — ot7

syn when the members spend their (unlimited) money on you. (1770 words)

pairs richboy!members + reader | cw mentions of money petnames — mlist navi

notes richboy members are having a chokehold on me lately

LEE HEESEUNG

“take as much time as you want, love”

earlier that day, you were scouring your closet for a decent dress. flipping through the same five for the past hour.

your boyfriend, grumbling about how you should get back to bed, watched as you pick up the same clothes. his eyes never leaving your figure, staring up at you through the mirror you were using to look at the picks.

heeseung slowly got up and hugged you from behind, burying his head on your neck. kissing your shoulder blades up to the back of your ear.

“do you need a new dress, love?”

after very few talking from heeseung and much more complaints from you, he somehow convinced you to get ready.

and that is how you’ve ended up in one of the famous streets in your city. lined up with the prettiest boutiques and malls.

heeseung wrapped his hands around yours and walked to a favorite store of yours. remembering how you’ve ever mentioned how badly you wanted to go back and buy something from it, months ago.

walking in, your small pout turned into the biggest, heart-pounding grin he’s ever seen. he bit his lip containing his own smile and dug out his wallet.

“spend it all on anything you want, baby”

PARK JONGSEONG

as a musician, looking at instruments is like strolling through heaven. admiring all the small intricate details engraved.

jay loved his guitars like it was his own child, he understands what it’s like to spend thousand and even more on just a single guitar. not that it would do anything to his bank.

you’ve never really asked jay for anything for as long as you’ve been dating. rather using your own money to buy whatever you want than letting your boyfriend buy it for you.

it wasn’t like jay didn’t want you to buy things using his card, he actually offers it most times than not. it was you who never lets him buy anything for you.

“use my card to buy the groceries, babe”

you refused to take his card whenever you could. because of this, jay has learned to pay without you knowing. usually when your back is turned or when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

right now, your boyfriend is tagging along with you as you browse through the island of pianos; ranging from yamaha to bluthner.

you stopped abruptly as your eyes fell on a piano that had you immediately captivated, from the design of the lid to the shape of the pedals, you thought it was the most beautiful piano you’ve ever seen.

when you were admiring the piano, trying out the keys and sitting on the soft cushion of the chair. you failed to realize your boyfriend had silently called the seller and slid his card. smiling down at your frowning figure.

“it’ll arrive by tomorrow morning, love”

SIM JAEYUN

“but you look so good in these, babe”

opening your apartment door with a click, the lights turned on to greet you with the copious amounts of packages laid on your living room.

the packages were of different sizes and stacked side by side. what’s worse is that you can’t remember buying all of the things you did, having to open up each package to know what and when you bought them.

you called up your boyfriend, who had brought in all of your packages earlier in the day when he paid a visit to your unit to pick up a small bag you forgot to bring.

“i seriously need to go on a ban”

“no you don’t baby, besides, you use my card when you buy anything” jake says, laying his head atop yours as he turned on a movie an hour ago to stop your fussing.

“that’s not the point, jake. i need to stop buying random things online. i can’t keep flooding my bedroom” you sigh.

“then just put the things you don’t like anymore in my apartment, you’ll have more space that way” jake smiles down at you, kissing your temples.

that was one week ago. somehow, he had convinced you to ‘accompany’ him on a late night rendezvous to prada. it was all fine at first when he was just looking at the suits. but now, he’s trying to convince you to buy two pairs of their new summer series glasses.

“i can buy this next time, babe” you finally say, sighing, after letting him talk about all the new luxury pieces of the summer set, desperately trying to talk his way into letting him buy you one.

“oh” he trails off, a sheepish grin creeping up on his face “about that, i’ve already paid”

PARK SUNGHOON

as a person who always loved the mountains, you find yourself spending weekends driving up one usually catching the sunset. this was already a routine even before you met sunghoon.

and now, you still kept up that routine whenever you weren’t too busy, your boyfriend always opting to tag along despite his complaints about being too tired. he wouldn’t actually pass up an opportunity to be with you.

you always loved traveling, within the city and during long holidays, out. liking the feeling of driving past the roads and seeing the scenery once the mountains come into view.

when sunghoon found out about this interest of yours, he started searching up for places with the most beautiful mountain sceneries. over the past years, he’s taken you to numerous countrysides and mountaintops inside and outside of the country.

even when you say it was fine if you were to only travel within the country, he loves seeing the way your eyes widen adorably during a gorgeous sunset that would rarely happen in-country. that’s why, the moment he tracks down a specific date that you both were going to be free for at least three days, sunghoon would immediately book a ticket to whatever country he’s been searching up.

on a random afternoon, sunghoon knocks on your bedroom door, walking in your apartment. as you open the door, there he stood with a big suitcase and that sweet smile of his.

“better pack up now, baby. we’re leaving in a few hours”

KIM SUNOO

sunoo knows you more than you know yourself, he’s quick to learn your body language and certain expressions you make.

it’s really hard to lie to him when he knows how to poke at you the right way to make you open up about your worries.

sometimes he just lets you have it, he knows you would at one point tell him about the things you’re going through. he trusts you on that.

but at times, he knows when you need a bit more of a cheer up. sunoo loves spending his money on you, buying you clothes, makeup, accessories. one of the things he realizes is that you love wearing jewelry. finishing up an outfit by adding a necklace or bracelets along your arm. that conveniently also accentuates your features.

he spends alot of time with you picking out sets for outfits you were going to wear for upcoming events. jewelry, he realizes is one of the things that can easily cheer you up, besides himself, of course.

so as the sweet boyfriend he is, sunoo dragged you to the jewelry store despite your sulks. and the moment your eyes laid on the glittering pearls, all of your problems seem to dissipate. just like how your boyfriend had expected.

with a giggle, sunoo starts asking the seller to bring out the full set for you to try on. patting you on the head as you continue to stare at the long rows of necklaces.

“buy whatever you want, okay? after this we can cuddle for as long as you need”

YANG JUNGWON

he would remember everything you’ve ever said to him. you like sweets? he remembers. you like flowery perfume? he remembers. you like that one specific lipstick brand that’s best bought in singapore? he remembers.

it’s not odd to get home to a bunch off boxes filled with gifts and food and random things whenever jungwon’s just went home from a trip anywhere.

anything you’ve said even before you two were dating seems to be engraved in his head like muscle memory. he can be strolling through a street market in japan and a small store would catch his eye, the next moment you would find his hands filled with keychains of a cartoon character you said you liked years ago.

his job requires him to fly countries often and it used to be a problem for you both as it means you can’t really meet him as much. but after years, both you and jungwon still communicate alot. him usually asking to facetime you at random hours of the day or night and sending you pictures of what he was doing.

both of you readjusted quite well to this arrangement and thankfully his work doesn’t demand a long period of time during those trips.

“babe there’s no way i can finish all of this by myself” you laugh seeing all of the things he bought you.

“then we can finish them together” he says, dimples peeking out through the smile “that way i can come by more often”

NISHIMURA RIKI

as days start to get more busy, you and your boyfriend find yourselves going on a short getaway to the outskirts of the city.

he showed up at your apartment one night and pulled you out of it with no explanation. you weren’t going to question him though, letting him take you wherever.

you both ended up on a train station, waiting for the last train to arrive. about an hour later, you landed on a small, but really nice accommodation.

the moment you stepped in the room, riki launched himself on the bed sighing in content.

“i want to live here forever” he mumbles out against one of the pillows.

“we both still have school tomorrow” you sat on the bed beside him, opening up your phone to continue the essay you were working on. only for it to be tackled down a second later, your boyfriend pulling you to lay down beside him.

silence filled the room, only yours and your boyfriend’s soft breathing. riki mumbled something against your hair. you hummed in question.

“let’s get room service” he says. you knew it was going to happen, it always happened. but here you are, sat on the hotel chair with too much food both of you know you can’t finish. he had a habit of buying you whatever he thought you’d like and it wasn’t like he’s wrong. the bowls of food on the table are all your favorites and you don’t even know where to start.

he really doesn’t spend much on things, but he loves going on little getaways with you every once in a while. sleeping on the comfiest beds (besides his or yours) and eating room service. something about it just brings a peaceful kind of silence for him.

© junislqve 2024. liking, commenting, and rebloging are appreciated.

[whirlybirbs]

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

[coquettepascal]

like tiramisu

summary: nothing beats summer vacation like a secret relationship with your dad's best friend, right? wrong! what really beats summer vacation is trying not do jump joel's bones every time you're alone.

tags: 18+, smut, fluff, beach fic, age gap (it's dbf!joel, imagine what you want), dbf!joel, misuse of sunscreen, semi-public activities (not sex), groping, massaging, reader has a dad and brother, overuse of the word pretty, nicknames like pretty___ and baby, oral sex (f!recieving), she/her pronouns for your pussy, joel gets blueballed, fluff, joel and reader are very much in love, established relationship, secret relationship, stereotypical oblivious reader's!dad, mention of food poisoning (nothing graphic), slight grumpy!joel, soft!dom joel (ish)

a/n: woo!! i did it :D this is my submission for @hellishjoel's hot dilf summer challenge (link to the masterlist.) i'm a big fan of their work so i'm just happy to participate. tysm for this opportunity!

(3.6k, not beta read.)

Every year you travel to the coast with your dad and brother, enjoying a week at the tail end of summer to really relax. This year, your brother got sick, and so Joel took his place.

Like Joel, your dad’s best friend. You know, the one that you slept with a month ago one night after everyone went to bed? Joel like kind-of-your-secret-boyfriend-Joel. Simple situation really, you don’t know why you nearly shit yourself when Joel was standing in your driveway dragging a suitcase behind him. 

But, as Joel does, he’s made this easy. It shouldn’t be easy to be separated from him, but it’s made the small moments you can get with him better. Besides, you still get to see him in his handsome glory, all tan and broad and…

The not-easy part is not jumping on him every time your dad turns around. 

—

“Why is this so much more expensive than ice cream?” Joel asks you, eyes squinted as he peers at the chalkboard that hangs above the gelato cooler.

The family in front of you orders and literally pays with a 50 dollar bill, still not getting anywhere near a justifiable amount of change back. Joel squints at the board harder and you smile up at him. He needs glasses, you’ve been telling him this whole trip. 

“Having trouble?” You ask teasingly. Joel’s head turns, face already scowling, but then the employee behind the counter is asking for your order before he can tear you a new one.

Joel is still scowling at you as he shells out 25 dollars for 2 “adult size” cones. 

“S’not necessary to spend this much money on vacation, darlin’, we’re already relaxed,” He grumbles as you walk out of the air conditioned business, back into the beachy heat outside. 

Innocently, you lick up a drip of the tiramisu flavored gelato that drips down the cone. Joel’s eyes narrow more, clearly not appreciative of your behavior so far today. His face eases up when he takes a bite out of his mango sherbet, cooling his flamed temper. 

Your hand snakes into his free one as you walk down the beach, back to where your things are. It’s a quieter day on the beach, luckily. The past week you’ve spent with your father and Joel has been a hectic race for who can find a good spot on the beach, who can find a good spot to sit and eat, and who can find a good spot where the three of you can be left the fuck alone. 

Today you’ve found a good spot, tucked away behind some larger rocks. It kind of looks like it could be dangerous to be there when the tide comes in, but it’s out far today. You’re fine, you’re with Joel, and most importantly, the two of you are alone. 

Your dad ate some bad shrimp last night at dinner and has a horrible case of food poisoning. He assured both of you that he’d be fine on his own, to go enjoy the sun. 

God knows you both will.

You hop over to the blanket you had laid out, cowering under the shade of the rainbow umbrella Joel had bought earlier in the week. He claimed it was so you wouldn’t get heatstroke, but you have a feeling it was more for the sake of his skin. 

As you kick off your sandals, Joel sits down beside you under the umbrella, slurping obnoxiously at the remnants of his mango cone. Most of yours is still intact, though a bit melty. It’s something to marvel at, how Joel can inhale any food of any temperature in the blink of an eye. But it makes up his soft tummy, the one you can rest your head on later when you want to soak up the sun. 

“Do you wanna try mine?” You ask, noting the hungry eyes he’s giving your gelato. He nods and so you lean over to him, extending the cone.

And just as he leans in to take a massive bite, you jerk your hand, smearing tiramisu gelato onto the tip of his nose. 

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans, pulling back, “that’s not fucking funny.” 

But it is funny. Seeing the white cream smudged on his nose, tangled in the bristles of his moustache. You can’t help but laugh at him. 

“That’s what you get for trying to chomp half of my treat!” You point out.

Joel’s head tilts at you, as if to say “really?” 

“Okay fine, I’ll fix it,” you huff. Passing your gelato to your free hand, you lean forward and suck the tip of his nose into your mouth, slurping off the remaining mess. 

Pulling back with a pop, you see Joel’s horrified face. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He groans, wiping your saliva off his face. 

Joel gives you a look, clearly expecting some sort of repayment for the ridiculous stunt you just pulled. Begrudgingly, you hand the rest of your cone to him, but only because you really should put on sunscreen.

—

The sun beats down on you as you lay against Joel’s chest and belly, his legs spread to make room for you. He’s wearing black board shorts that cut off around his mid-thigh, leaving more skin exposed. Joel didn’t wear these ones yesterday, or any day previous. It was just the same red shorts that went down to his knees. But today, he matches you and your black two piece. His thick thighs firmly frame you, keeping you in place. 

“You need to reapply your sunscreen, sweetheart,” Joel hums, blindly pawing the blanket for wherever you tossed the bottle earlier. 

Streams of sunlight bathe you where you sit, the sun no longer blocked by the rainbow umbrella Joel insisted on. You planned on tanning anyways, so you don’t mind as much as Joel seems to. He grabs the sunscreen and his sunglasses, tossing them on. 

Your chin is tucked to your chest, crunched as Joel leans over you more, opening the cap of the lotion. The liquid is so cold in comparison to the warm sun rays that blanket the two of you, a near-pained hiss escaping you.

“Don’t be a baby,” Joel grunts, working the sunscreen into your abdomen.

His hands work your soft flesh so gently, his calloused palms spreading the protective lotion carefully. Joel’s thumbs dig a little harder as he feels your hip bones beneath his hands, making you protest weakly. You know what he’s doing, taking this private opportunity for his own gain.

“Joel,” you warn whinily, squirming. 

His hands grasp you in place, holding you while the cords of muscle on his forearms pop. 

“I said don’t be a baby,” he repeats slower this time, his voice rumbling in your ear.

“We both know you’ve taken worse.”

Yeah. Yeah you do know that. It doesn’t shut you up anymore, whining as he reaches to massage your thighs, his hands slipping to your inner thighs fast. You can barely process his touch there before he’s sliding his hands back to a more appropriate spot, your arms. He’s keeping it PG for the most part at least. The nagging fear of your dad suddenly showing up despite his illness lives in the back of your mind. 

Joel massages your wrists and the palms of your hands, thumbs pushing the flesh soothingly as he murmurs in your ear about how soft you are, how perfect. 

He was keeping it PG, but he’s getting selfish now. The orange sun is painting your skin in a way that’s making it hard for him to think, and it’s been so long since he’s had you alone. Your eyes glaze over as he drips more lotion into his palms, rubbing it between them slowly. 

“Don’t wanna forget your chest, would hate for my pretty girl to burn,” is all the warning you get.

Joel’s arms loop beneath yours, his wet palms sliding up your abdomen and then beneath your swim top. Big hands envelope the starting swell of your breasts, coming upwards and smothering your sensitive skin in sunscreen. His name slips out again, choked and surprised, but this isn’t unwanted.

You miss Joel. Even as he’s been here with you for this whole week, you miss his kisses and his touch. Sleeping in the same room as him, but in separate beds, has been awful. To hear him snore without feeling the vibration of it on your own skin has been treacherous. 

So you’re letting him have this, because as much as you hunger for him, that man is ravenous.

His thumbs rub over your nipples, most of your top bunched up on his knuckles now. Joel’s voice is low in your ears, talking soft like you aren’t in total privacy on the beach. Everything is flying now, his mouth uncontrollable as he tells you how good you feel, how much he missed you. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, all week you’ve been so gorgeous, darlin,’” 

And then the kisses start. Hot down your neck, his scruffy face trails, tongue tracing the bitemarks he leaves occasionally. 

“Joel– Joel no marks,” you remind softly.

He obliges with a grunt, clearly unhappy with the situation. Sometimes he can get away with little marks, ones like on your inner thighs or your tits. But not here on a beach vacation, not so close to your dad. 

Joel continues to kiss you regardless, tilting your head so he can awkwardly meet your lips as he gropes you, massaging the lotion in as if the sun would ever hit any skin below your swimsuit. The atmosphere is only getting hotter as he touches you, the sun blazing against your skin as Joel rolls your nipples between his fingers, making you cry out.

You want more, you need more.

You can feel him hard against you, slightly digging into your back. Sex on the beach is a terrible idea. Public indecency, sand in places it shouldn’t be… but it’s so tempting when you feel how badly he wants you, how badly he missed you. 

Desperately, you turn in his embrace, his hands slipping out of your top, leaving you exposed. You shove your face against his hungrily, feeling as his sunscreen greased hand cups your jaw, gentle even when he’s starving. You open for him easily, letting his hungry tongue taste where he wants. He tastes like waffle cones and tiramisu, you want to lick him clean. You breathe heavily when he slips off your mouth and kisses the side of your face.

“S’a good girl, lettin’ me miss her,” he says into your skin.

Your mouth feels rubbed raw, your nipples are buzzing, and the sun blazes across your back. Everywhere feels warm, his lips, his tongue, your skin, your cunt in these bikini bottoms that stick to you in the worst way. You want Joel’s fingers, spreading you open however he wants. 

Joel is so good at taking care of you, so good that he can hear the rambunctious group of people coming before you can. Hands tug down your top and flip you back around before you can realize.

“You’re alright, s’okay, just some people,” Joel says, sounding anxious himself. 

Just some people. Not anyone you know, just some people.

The two of you quickly switch back to how youwere, your head on his chest while you rest between his thighs. One of his hands rests on your abdomen as he squeezes you affectionately between his legs. It’s really frustrating, watching as the group of people sets up not too far down from the both of you. So much for your private spot on the beach, and potential sex. 

He shifts beneath you, the bulge in his swim shorts uncomfortable. Joel has settled for rubbing his thumb against the smooth skin of your tummy, catching his breath still. 

“You can sleep, baby. Jus’ enjoy the sun, okay?”

The last thing on your mind is sleep, you’re more focused on the conch shell in his pants, but whatever. The sun is warm, and you’re with Joel. His hand stills on your belly, a warm weight in an attempt to soothe you.

-

It works, you fall asleep as the sun sets, and wake up when the cool night air shivers past you. Joel has managed to snake out from under you, using an unused beach towel to make a pillow for you. He’s packed everything up, sans the towel pillow and the blanket you lay on. Everything is ready to go, he’s just been waiting for you.

You watch from where you lay, as he dips his toes in the water. His broad shoulders are covered by a white, linen, shirt, highlighting him across the shore. Something about this is so right, to be on vacation with him, to be taken care of by him. Laying back, eyes staring into the inky night, you wonder what would have happened if the two of you hadn’t stayed up late that night, chatting and flirting. How long would you have gone without feeling loved, and like you belonged? 

Being Joel’s girl is more than that, even if no one knows you’re his, you have come to know yourself through him. His hands brushed away the sands that blurred your eyes, you’re seeing clearly for what feels like the first time ever.

Your love for him crashes down on you hard when he turns, walking back to you with a soft, dorky, smile. That’s your man, that’s your stupid old man, and he loves you.

“You ready t’go, darlin?” Joel asks, clearly relieved you eventually woke up.

With a nod, you walk as a pair back to the hotel. Joel insists on carrying everything, claiming he “don’t need” your help, even as he grunts.

-

Entering  the lobby of the hotel is a reminder that you have to be normal again, you and Joel are just getting along swell, and not seriously infatuated with one another.

His eyes bear into you when you step into the elevator, you can feel his eyes on your back as you press the button for your floor.

“What?” You ask, stepping back to lean against the railing.

Joel’s mouth seems to be dry as he responds, eyes tracing something on your stomach.

“Your tummy,” he manages.

You look down instantly, concerned you’ve managed a sunburn despite Joel’s efforts. Instead though, you find a tan line. A tan line in the shape of Joel’s hand, where it rested as you slept. Ghosts of Joel’s lips and teeth on your neck from earlier murmur across your skin, misting tingles across your shoulders and chest. He wanted to mark you so badly, wanted to sink his teeth into you the way he should have been able to, despite your refusal. Now he has his mark, across your tummy in the shape of his hands, the ones that carefully nurture you. 

You can see how it’s making him tick, how his scruffy jaw is clenched as his eyes are entranced by the shape on your belly. He has to spend the rest of the evening, the last couple of days of this trip, with his mark on you. Joel has to do all of that and not jump onto you at every opportunity he can.

“Baby,” Joel breathes, but the elevator doors open, and your dad is right there.

Your arms instantly wrap around your middle, trying to hide away the Joel-hand shaped tan line. As sick as your dad was this morning, he’s looking miles better. There’s colour in his cheeks, that isn’t green, and he’s standing up.

“Hey kid,” he greets cheerfully, “I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better so I was gonna go out and grab a bite to eat.”

The elevator is so quiet, the doors try to shut and Joel slams a hand against it, to keep it open. Your dad looks a little weirded out, but just smiles. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” you manage to say, sounding like your lungs have been cut out of your chest.

In the few months that you and Joel have been “together” you haven’t been caught, or even close to being caught. This tan line on your tummy could have been the cat out of the bag, but thankfully your dad seems oblivious.

He steps into the elevator between you two, gently nodding at the elevator doors.

“Y’all gettin’ out? Both of y’look kinda sunfried,” your dad asks.

Joel manages to respond this time as the two of you hurriedly leave the confined space. -

He practically dragged you down the hallway and back to your room once the elevator doors shut, leaving your dad in the dark. Joel dumped all your stuff on the floor near the door, pushing you off him when you tried to kiss at him.

“Naw. Bed,” he had grumbled, making a vague gesture to your bed.

You both knew you had limited time, your dad would be gone for an hour tops. Joel had peeled off his shirt while you shimmied out of what little clothes you had on, your swimsuit coverup falling away easily.

Now, you lay on your back, and if you could look down, you would see the sweat that’s soaking his back and the mess of hair on his head.

But you can’t look down, you can barely move as is. Your legs, which are tossed over his shoulders, shiver, toes curled. You want to ask if he can breathe down there, but your voice keeps catching, repeating his name again and again. The bristles of his facial hair might be chafing, but everything is wet right now, your cunt, his face, your thighs. He’s suffocating in your flesh, opening his mouth to sloppily make out with your pussy, licking at your clit as he sucks it between his lips. It isn’t gentle, he’s fucking famished.

“Joel– Baby, please,” you manage to whimper. 

He probably can’t hear you with the headlock you’ve put him in, soft thighs trapping his ears. Joel’s face slides down further to push his tongue into you, making you clench and gush as his nose presses to your clit. Reaching your hand down, you lace your fingers against his curls, trying to pry him away, but he just won’t quit. Your fingers slip from his sweaty strands, slamming onto the sheets as he doesn’t let up.

“Missed you, missed her,” he rasps between kisses. 

Joel loves this, loves pleasing you. This isn’t submission, this is worship. He talks to your cunt like he knows her, like he’s dating her too. Gentle as he is, he knows where your aches and cricks are, knows how to massage them with his fingers and tongue. Joel takes care of you both, it’s what he lives for. 

“I know, I can feel it, I missed you too,” you babble, hands flagrant between his hair and the sheets.

He laughs softly into you, smiling. You tug him closer, grinding onto his nose as a tease. 

Joel focuses on bringing himself closer, arms snaking up beneath your ass to curl his hands around your thighs, fingers digging in as he pulls you closer. “Been so patient all week, need you t’come for me, please pretty thing?” He groans.

Nodding your head, you start to work with him. Again and again you roll your hips into his face. The two of you are fucking on borrowed time and Joel hastily promises you that he can take care of himself in the shower later, that he just needs to focus on you.

“Just need to taste you, remember your cunt in my mouth, please?” Joel asks.

You nod even faster now, huffing out air as your hips rise and he pulls you closer, tongue and teeth and nose buried in you. Every movement he makes begs for your release, begs for you to give him what he wants. His voice rumbles around your head, a voice encouraging this selfish feeling of pleasure.

“C’mon darlin, I’ve been waitin’ all week to have you. Let go for me, I’ve been patient.”

It sends you over, the mixture of Joel getting pussydrunk on you and the thoughts of him in your head. Your thighs lock around his head even harder, and he powers through without taking a breath for himself. Thoughts of times with him previous flash through your mind as you shiver, thoughts of what he’ll do to you once you’re both home make you gush. He laps it all up, his reward for being patient. 

When he pulls away, your essence is all over his face. Slicked through his facial hair and even on the tip of his nose, like tiramisu gelato. 

Unlike the gelato, you decide not to suck this cream off his nose.

Gently, you swipe a finger over his nose, cleaning it off with your own tongue.

“Thank you, baby,” you hum.

Joel manages to drag himself up your body, caging you beneath him while he smiles. Soft kisses are shared between the two of you, enjoying the peaceful moment where you’re finally, truly, alone. His moustache prickles your upper lip as he smiles and pulls away.

“Can give me your ‘thank you’s’ in a few days time, sweet girl.” He says, pulling himself down to kiss the 5 fingertips of the hand tan line he left.

Looking down at him as he kisses your belly, you hope you'll be exchanging thank you's for a very long time.

[motherofagony]

FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn. 

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink. 

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem. 

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks. 

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck. 

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that. 

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water. 

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash. 

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.  

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no. 

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you. 

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven. 

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you. 

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it. 

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control. 

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove. 

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see. 

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.” 

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.  

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit. 

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust. 

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you. 

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

[jaythes1mp]

1224 words, 7239 characters, 54 sentences, 27 paragraphs, 4.9 pages. Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

You had always had a vague understanding that your biological father was well-off, as he would consistently transfer a substantial amount of cash to that woman each month. However, while you were fortunate enough to not have grown up in the most deprived area of Gotham, it didn't necessarily mean that you had lived in the lap of luxury either.

Despite the knowledge that your father was wealthy, you had still scraped by in a small, cramped apartment, constantly relying on his financial support and night jobs to survive. You supposed that your situation could have been worse, but it didn't make the reality any more bearable. You often wondered what it would be like to live in a well-appointed home and never worry about money, but those thoughts were quickly thrusted aside and squashed down by the woman’s polished heel. Every time, the woman’s sharp words brought you back to reality.

You hadn’t deserved that life. She would remind you time and time again.

You grimace, the thought of your mother, or rather, that woman, entering your consciousness disgusting you. You weren't sure if she'd ever truly earn the title of 'mother.'

It wasn't until you reached the age of eleven that you become painfully aware that not every child had to desperately plead with their mother for food, and that it wasn't normal for parents to hold their kids needs over their own heads.

It had become abundantly clear to you from a young age that the woman was never truly interested in motherhood and had only kept you out of a slim chance that one of the men she had whored herself out to would be wealthy. She targeted men at lavish galas, her sole purpose for going being to hook up with them in exchange for large amounts of money. They usually sent nondisclosure agreements along with the cash, ensuring her continued wealth. However, your existence disrupted her carefree lifestyle. ‘It was perfect, until you came along.’ She’d say.

She had exploited Bruce Wayne for money. Getting him drunk with enough press around to stress about his ‘playboy image’ to bed her. Afterwards, she demanded a large sum of money, and he gave it to her without a second thought. He hadn’t even fully read over the details. Just signing up for a wire transfer to her account every month for the next few years. He hadn’t even been aware of you.

Too preoccupied with training the young Robin to even be aware of your birth.

Throughout your life, the woman had consistently manipulated the truth, spinning a tale in which it was your fault that your father had ‘left.’ And, despite your reservations, a small part of you still believed her words.

She had carefully cultivated your sense of guilt, instilling the belief that your very existence had driven your father away. Her venomous words and manipulative behavior had left deep emotional scars, convincing you that you were unworthy of a loving father's affection. Or rather, anyone’s affection.

That day, when you turned sixteen, was the day that woman unceremoniously ushered you out of her home. Clothes and any belongings that she didn't deem worthy enough to sell for a few hundred dollars were carelessly thrown out into the hallway. By the time you made it back from work, most of your belongings had already been looted by the other tenants and homeless kids who roamed the building.

With a mixture of desperation and hope, you had gathered the few remaining possessions that you could salvage, cramming them into your work bag. Your fingers had trembled slightly as you dug out your old, cracked phone. Desperation clawed at your chest as you dialed her number and slammed your fist against the door.

You hadn’t been surprised when your repeated calls went unanswered. Frustration and anger boiled within you, mingled with a pang of hurt and despair. Deep down, you knew it was futile to even attempt to break down the door, as that would only result in consequences that you were unwilling to face.

With a steely determination, you forced back the tears that threatened to overwhelm you, walking to the nearest bank with a firm resolve. You withdrew every penny you had painstakingly saved over the past two years and closed the account, ensuring she could no longer access any of your hard-earned money.

Armed with the few thousand dollars you had managed to retrieve, you began a desperate search for someone, anyone, who would be willing to offer you a roof over your head. Despair gripped your heart as you realized how limited your options truly were.

At that point, the members of the Batfamily had been cognisant of your existence for about a year. Bruce having taken a DNA test for Alfred’s medical examination. Yet, despite their general awareness of your presence, it seemed they had made no direct attempt to reach out or provide assistance. On the surface, your life appeared stable. You resided with a supportive parent, attended school, and held down a job. From all outward appearances, there didn't seem to be anything particularly noteworthy or concerning about your circumstances.

But they were detectives. One would expect them to possess keen eyes for details, especially when it came to the nuances and subtle signs that might indicate something amiss. Yet, they had missed the marks, failing to acknowledge the more subtle indications of your turmoil.

Jason discovered you the morning after you had been cruelly cast out from your home. You were found sleeping outside, your weary head nestled against your overstuffed work bag. Wearing an old, frayed sweater for a makeshift blanket.

Typically, he wouldn't have paused to take note of a sight akin to this. He was all too gruesomely acquainted with the sight of homeless, neglected children on the streets. But as his gaze fell upon you, there was an unsettling sense of familiarity that snagged his attention.

The question nagged him persistently, scratching at his consciousness like an untamed itch. Where had he come across you before?

Then, suddenly, recognition flashed across his mind. You were the same child Damian had fixated upon just over a year ago. The demon spawns little obsession.

He let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Why on earth were you on the streets? It was blatantly obvious that it wasn’t a safe environment for anyone, let alone you. The mere notion of the young Wayne finding out that his blood kin was unhoused would undoubtedly send the typically stoic demon into a frenzy.

He let out a resigned sigh, leaning down to gently nudge your huddled form. His sharp, calculating grey eyes roved over your slumbering figure, taking in every minute detail with a sense of keen observation.

You stirred at the touch, groggily lifting your head from your overstuffed bag. Your bleary eyes slowly peeled open, blinking owlishly in the early morning light. Confusion and exhaustion mingled in your expression as you caught sight of Jason crouched down in front of you.

That was the day your life began to intertwine with the tightly woven web of the Wayne family. From that very moment, you became ensnared within the complex and sometimes suffocating grip of the Wayne's protective and possessive nature.

No use of y/n, no use of any descriptive features for the reader, no gender mentioned.

Shorter than usual, but more of a dive into the reader’s backstory.

Comments, asks, and reblogs are very appreciated! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 6

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, sexually charged conversations, teasing/banter. Smut, sex toys, minor bondage, spanking. A guest star of Anthony DiNozzo! I didn't really want to bring in a whole THIRD fandom into this but it ended up working out really nicely and I can play around with it in future chapters too! It feels like it's been ages since I've updated this so clearly the last week was a long one lol. Remember how I said I wanted to be a chapter ahead from now on with my series? Yeah that quickly did not happen. LOL. I'm gonna try to keep up with it, and I promise y'all won't wait longer than a week between chapters, I just need to hunker down and write!

Working for Heather meant that you worked insane hours that could change at the drop of a hat, but it also meant that you could essentially make your own schedule whenever you wanted. You could do most of your job from home or a hotel, as long as you had Wi-Fi you were in the clear, you spent a lot of your time gallivanting around D.C to finish whatever tasks you needed to. Shuffling your schedule around constantly meant that you were more than given the liberty to a Thursday afternoon off and that is exactly why you were meandering down Wisconsin Avenue with Tony in tow. Some of your friends questioned why you always went shopping with him, but the truth was he knew style, understood expensive taste, always told the truth if something looked bad and the entire experience was more efficient. If you went out with your girlfriends on a shopping spree you got dragged into twelve stores you needed nothing from and had to wait while they tried on countless amounts of outfits. With Tony the most that would happen would you’d have some extra browsing time at L. Priori because he got distracted by the watches.

“You got some big White House party coming up or something?” He asked, taking a sip of the coffee you’d bought him earlier.

“Huh?” You glanced over your shoulder as you picked up the small bag, “no.”

“We’ve done jewels, we’ve done shoes,” he pushed the door open for you, holding it while you crossed through the entry way and back out onto the street, “you dropped off three dresses for alterations and looked through the catalogue of what’s coming in…”

“I just want to revamp my closet a little bit, make sure I’m prepared for summer, you know how many extra garden parties I end up at.”

“And your boss is okay with that amount of cleavage?” He asked with a smirk and you rolled your eyes, “I think you’re bullshitting me.”

“I got a little carried away doing spring cleaning and tossed half my closet.” You bluffed, “I work so much I forgot I actually wore the other shit and now need to replace it.” Veering off to the side your hand tugged open the door to Jaryam and Tony followed you inside.

“When’s your next date?” He asked with a grin.

“I never said anything about a date.”

“Then why did you just drag me into a lingerie store?”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “I didn’t drag you anywhere, you love this shit. I just want some new pieces; you’ve got the right eye for colour and the masculine fetishistic imagination to tell me which ones I’ll look the best in.”

He chuckled darkly, not bothering to disagree with you as you made your way further into the shop, he was a pace behind you, fiddling with a price tag when he scoffed and you turned back to him with a raised brow, “I’ve heard you complain about the prices in Victoria’s Secret and that’s got nothing on this, a thong for a hundred and fifty dollars?”

“It’s… about the quality.” You shrugged, “thirty dollars for a scrap of fabric that falls apart in a month made in a sweatshop isn’t a good investment.” You picked up the pair that he was looking at, reading through the tag, “something hand stitched made with quality fabric that’s going to last? Worth it.”

“Hmm.” He replied, surveying you for a minute as you put the thong back on the rack, “you know, I noticed when you picked up the coffee that you used a black card…”

“You’re really working those sleuthing skills today, aren’t ya?” You teased back with a grin, moving onto a wall of lace bras.

“It’s not exactly a difficult mystery.” He smirked, following you, “fancy shoes, nice jewels, new clothes, expensive lingerie,” you turned back to face him, an unimpressed look on your face and he practically caged you into the wall, “who’s your daddy?”

“Ew, Tony, fuck off.” You groaned, shoving at his chest as he laughed, “coffee and meals can be turned into a write off. I used Heather’s card.”

“Bah! Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll just run your financials when I get back to the office.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, “they call you a very Special Agent DiNozzo?”

“Why yes, yes they do.” He smiled, getting a little smug about it and you shook your head at him.

“Then explain to me how running my financials would let you in on whose card I’m using.” You asked, watching as he opened his mouth to give you some witty response but he couldn’t find one, gaping for a minute before he let out a defeated huff and you tugged him in the other direction, “now c’mon, I know you have a good eye for lingerie.”

“Now that, I will not deny.” He replied with a smile and you did roll your eyes as he followed you deeper into the shop.

You combed through practically every shelf in the place, trying to figure out what kind of styles you were going to settle on before Tony started to share his opinions. He reminded you how good blue looked on you when you picked up a soft pink set and suggested the lace florals over lace butterflies. You were narrowing it down between a handful of choices and he was quick to intervene when he noticed you were eliminating all the variation.

“Wait,” he cut in, swiping the one you were trying to put back on the shelf, “keep that one. Get rid of this one.” He plucked the peach set from your collection, tossing it into the return pile.

“It’s cute!” You protested.

“Exactly. Everything you’re keeping is ‘cute’, you’re playing it too safe and I know that’s not you. The lilac one is the nicest, little hint of lace for a bonus, so get it.” He started flicking through the rack you had your favourites on, “keep the teal one for the crystals, plus it matches that pair of heels you bought. The rest of this batch can go but add these to your buying list.” He picked up a lacy black and red set that was mostly see through and included a garter belt, handing it off to you, and a gorgeous deep green set. “That’ll look great with your skin,” his brow furrowed for a second as he examined it, “wait it’s not your size, you’re what?” His eyes were suddenly on you and you groaned,

“Stop staring at my tits.” You stated dryly as he turned around, grabbing another one of the green set from the shelf.

“Thirty four C, right?”

“I don’t know whether I should be impressed or grossed out that you were able to figure that out.”

“They don’t call me Very Special Agent DiNozzo for nothing.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m going to go try these on.” You scooped up the remaining sets, “not for your viewing pleasure! Occupy yourself.”

You weren’t surprised in the least when all of Tony’s recommendations were right and you were happy to be leaving with a variety of options. Returning from the dressing room you found him near the till looking through accessories and he shot you a cocky grin as you placed all of his choices down on the counter. You shuffled the shopping bags in your hand over to the other one,

“Can you hold this?” You asked, handing him your purse as you pulled Emily’s card from within it, passing it off to the cashier. Once the purchase was completed and the cashier was wrapping up the lingerie, she placed the card down on the counter and out of the corner of your eye you saw Tony making a move for it, managing to swipe it up before he could get to it.

“Hey!” You swatted the back of his head and he grimaced.

“Ow. That was worse than Gibbs.” He muttered.

“You fuck around and you’ll find out.” You returned but he was too busy on his phone to really pay attention.

You took your purse back from him, tossing it over your shoulder as you thanked the clerk and added the bag of lingerie to the others with your shopping and the two of you made your way back onto the street. You jumped when Tony’s fingers prodded at your side, digging into your ribs.

“C’mon… let me know something, please.” He batted his eyes at you, “I just helped you pick lingerie; I deserve to know something. Doctor? Artist? App developer? Congressman?”

“Nope, nope, nope and hard nope.” You replied with a huff and he groaned so you finally turned back to him, stalling in your steps, “what I will tell you, is that she most definitely outranks NCIS, so you can officially drop it.”

“Ohoho… a new lady friend…” It was his turn to slow in his tracks, eyes lingering in the window of the next shop, “you need any special accessories for that?”

“Tony you’re insane if you think I’m taking you into a sex toy store.”

“Meh, doesn’t really matter since you’ve already covered that step.” He grinned and your brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Swiped your phone and went through your emails.” With a laugh he tossed the device back to you as you let out a gasp, “peach flavoured lube, nice. Nipple clamps? Kinky, didn’t realize you were into that kinda pain.” That earned him a hard punch on the arm, “but that double sided dildo with vibration? Now that sounds like a real party.”

“Anothony DiNozzo!” You scolded and he let out a small whine of a scoff, gesturing toward the sex store.

“I’m the perfect person to give sex toy recommendations, c’mon.” He protested and you sighed.

“Tony. You are a straight man. What could you possibly known about sex toys for me to use with another woman?”

“One of those wand things, Hibachi?”

“That’s Japanese barbecue, but nice try.”

“The wands!”

“You’re going for Hitachi.”

“Close enough!” He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands, “the big one’s better but I think they sell smaller ones too, more portable.” He waggled his eyebrows at you and you sighed.

“Think? Tony, pull your head outta your ass. Any self respecting person with a clit already owns one of those.”

“Really?” He smirked at you and you did your best not to groan.

“I’ve got three, a mini pink, a mini green and the big one, which yes, is far superior. Can we go now?”

“Fine.” He groaned, feigning annoyance, “you dragging me to a nail appointment next?”

“No, I was gonna buy you a late lunch.”

“You were? Or is your mommy dearest gonna buy lunch.” He exaggerated the word, nearly moaning as he said it and you immediately grimaced.

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

“Yup, that one felt wrong coming out. My bad, that’s on me.”

**

Emily turned down dessert service, asking for the cheque instead as she gave the server a soft smile, picking up her cocktail once again as she turned back to you. In turn, you finished your drink, placing the glass down on the table as you stood, your hand coming to squeeze at Emily’s thigh softly as your lips brushed against her cheek.

“Give me a five minute head start, I’ve got a surprise for you.” You scooped up your phone, shooting Emily a wink as you sauntered away from the table in the direction of the elevator.

Her eyes followed you through the entrance of the lounge, narrowing in on your ass as you pushed the elevator button and the sparks began to fly through her body. It hadn’t been a particularly long week, but it was very safe to say that you had been on her mind more often than not. Images of your naked body strewn across the bed floating into her brain, making her cheeks flush while she was torturously bored with paperwork. A too long tedious conference call lead to her zoning out, daydreaming all the things she wanted to do to you, the noises you made echoing through her mind. It was almost a given that night that she had a rather self soothing shower when she got home, pulling her laptop out when she finally crawled into bed to take a look at what fun things she could buy to occupy your time with in the future weekends.

Emily settled the bill, slowly draining the rest of her cocktail until she was certain she’d given you enough time to do whatever it was you had planned before she finally left the restaurant. The key card beeped against the lock and she stepped inside the suite, letting the door swing shut behind her before she made sure it was locked. She stepped out of her heels, dropping her purse on the side table in the entry way before rounding the bed into the suite, catching a glimpse of you laid out on the bed and her lips twitched up into a grin.

“Well that certainly is a welcome sight.”

“Yeah?” You asked, sitting up and shifting onto your knees, “you see something you like?”

“I see plenty I like.” She walked up to the foot of the bed as you crawled on your knees to greet her, your hands settling on her hips as one of hers curled around the back of your neck, pulling your lips to hers for a kiss.

Her tongue easily slipped into your mouth when you let out a satisfied groan, both of you relaxing into the kiss, lips dancing with grace against each other. Her hand slipped into your hair, pulling out the pins to let it fall loose around your shoulders, pulling at it lightly. When her teeth scraped against your lip you couldn’t help but moan, your hands drifting up her body as you slowly began to unbutton her shirt. She broke the kiss to help you untuck the fabric from her pants, letting it drop to the floor behind her before her fingers began to trace the lines of the teal lingerie set, floating over the gems decorating your chest.

“You like the crystals?” You asked, small grin on your lips and she nodded.

“They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re Swarovski.” You replied with a near smirk and she let out a huff of a laugh.

“You really went all in, hey?”

“Just wanted to make sure I looked nice and pretty for you.” You shrugged coyly and she chuckled, giving you a once over.

“Well you do.” She leant down, kissing you gently before her hands nudged at your shoulders, “you’re not the only one who brought something fun, lie back princess.”

“I noticed.” You replied, a gleam in your eye as you dropped into the pillows, an arm extending to the nightstand where you picked up a silk tie, “multifaceted, curious as to what your intentions are.”

“First…” Emily rounded the side of the bed, “I want to see what’s under that gorgeous bra.” She nodded at you and you sat up, hands flying behind you to unclip it, gently tossing it to the side, “good girl.” She plucked the fabric from your hands, picking up a longer one from the nightstand before kneeling on the bed. “Give me your hands.” She instructed and you held your hands out for her, wrists gently pressed together as she began to wind the fabric around them, “is this okay?”

“Absolutely.” You replied, looking up at her with darkening eyes as she tightened the silk.

“Do you have a word?”

“I’m fond of peach.”

“Perfect.” With a wicked grin she placed a gentle kiss on your wrist before guiding you to lie back with your arms over your head and she looped the shorter piece through your bonds, securing the other end to the golden bar of the headboard. “No surprises there.” She purred as she slid off the bed, letting out a satisfied hum as her eyes dragged over your body.

“Hm?” You raised a brow, watching as she moved back to a spare chair.

“Just how pretty you look tied up like that.” Emily tossed a grin over her shoulder, “but you are going to need to roll over for the second part of your treat.”

You nearly let out a whine when her hands came to her belt buckle, eager to be able to see both what was coming next and what she had under her clothes. Instead of risking it you decided to behave, rolling onto your stomach, your arms stretching over your head as you twisted it to the side, just barely able to see Emily under your arm. She had busied herself with getting rid of her clothing, a neat pile forming on the small bench next to her bag as she pulled out the strap, swiftly stepping into it and securing it around her hips. Your mouth was practically watering already and then she reached into her bag again, pulling out a crop with a cute little heart on the end and you had to hold back a moan.

Emily could see the way your body tensed, how your hips ground down into the bed as she reapproached it and a dark chuckle escaped her lips. Kneeling on the bed behind you her hand grasped your ankle, spreading your legs further apart and you did your best to arch your back, presenting yourself to her.

“Such obedience.” She murmured, letting the crop lightly trace up your inseam as you let out an airy breath.

Emily slowly trailed the crop up and down your legs, just the slightest hint of touch that she knew you were absolutely begging for in your head. She could see the way your body twitched whenever it got close to the heat between your legs and a wicked grin took over her lips. The crop finally came up over the swell of your ass, softly circling and tracing patterns on your skin and you finally let out a whine. Since this was the first time you’d actually made a louder noise, Emily figured this was the time to both give in and start to really tantalize you now. She raised the crop, swatting it down onto your ass and you let out a low moan.

“You like that?”

“Mmhmm.” You eagerly nodded into the pillows and the crop trailed across to the other cheek, repeating the circles before coming down harder on that side and your breath caught in your throat.

“Ohh…” Your fingers interlaced, squeezing tightly, “harder, please.”

“My little princess likes it rough.” Emily husked from behind you, “somehow I’m not that surprised.”

The crop came down on the same spot harder than the first before she flicked it over your other cheek, swatting just as hard, watching the way your body reacted, jolting at the touch before grinding your cunt down onto the bed. She brought the head of the crop between your legs, pushing the fabric of your panties into your pussy, rubbing the leather up and down your folds as you moaned, arching into the touch.

“Fuuckk…”

Emily chuckled darkly, bringing the crop up before hitting your ass with more force, smirking at the louder moans leaving your lips, the way you were pulling against your bonds, wishing your hands were free. The sounds of the spanks echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as your moans grew louder and longer, every time the crop was brought down onto your body it grew from a tingle to a pleasurable burn. Emily continued to trail the leather across your skin, occasionally her hand gently rubbing across the spot to sooth the burn, little praises and coos leaving her lips. The tingles each time she spanked you began to build, growing together with each hit of the crop until there was a fire building right under your skin, whimpers and whines leaving your lips as you buried your face into the pillows. Every swat of the crop made your entire body shiver and you were nearly about to start begging for more when she moved it back between your legs.

“You really like this, hmm?” She asked, pressing it against your cunt again, “making such a big wet spot on these nice panties.” She rubbed it harder against you, watching the way your wetness continued to soak the fabric, “you know, I’d take them off and stuff them in your mouth if you didn’t make such pretty noises…”

You groaned softly, your hips rocking back toward the touch, a little whimper leaving your throat when the crop nearly rubbed against your clit. Emily hummed softly, lifting the crop up before bringing it back down, this time onto your pussy and you couldn’t help the noise that escaped you.

“Oh fuucck…” Your head buried deeper into the pillows, your eyes scrunching shut as you felt your pussy fluttering around nothing, your clit nearly pulsing already, juices smearing across your underwear.

Emily’s hands grasped at your hips, flipping you onto your back watching as your legs instinctively fell open for her to see the growing wet spot on your panties. She brought the crop back to your cunt, rubbing it harder against you as you started to whine, resulting in another swat that brought a gasp from your lips.

“You like this even more, don’t you princess?” She asked with a grin and you nodded, “you want your pussy spanked too?” Spank. “Think you can come from just this?” Spank.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “more, please.”

“Always such nice manners.” She praised, her fingers slipping into the waistband of your thong, tugging the fabric down your legs and tossing it behind her. Her hands soothed up your legs, spreading them even further apart from each other as her thumbs dared to brush the edges of your cunt. “Such a pretty pussy. God you’re just fucking drenched already.”

Emily picked the crop back up, rubbing it through your slick folds, pressing harder as she brought it to your clit.

“Please.” You whimpered and she chuckled softly.

The first hit was on the gentle side, her eyes tracing up your naked body, watching your face for any sign of discomfort but all she found was a look of sheer pleasure. Your eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as breathy moans escaped them, it was all she needed to bring the crop down even harder the next time.

“Fuck.” Your body twitched off the bed, cunt pulsing as more juices dribbled out of it.

“That’s it princess.” Spank. “You’re doing so good for me.” Spank.

“Oh god…” Your hands clutched at the silk ties as your body shivered, pleasure building higher and higher with each time the crop hit your cunt.

“I know you’re close.” Spank. “Just a few more.” Spank. “Pussy’s so wet.” Spank. “Let go for me.” Spank.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your back arching off the bed, pulling against the restraints as your orgasm shot through you, pussy pulsating around nothing as your juices dripped onto the bedspread.

“That’s it.” Emily cooed, the crop gently rubbing against your cunt, smearing your wetness all around it and your thighs. “So pretty when you come for me.”

“Please…” you whimpered, “need you.”

“You want more?” She asked, gently spanking your pussy again and you whined.

“No, please! Need your cock.” You were absolutely begging, pussy fluttering, feeling so entirely empty. Despite the powerful orgasm you needed to be filled, stretched around Emily to finally feel completely satisfied.

“So needy tonight.” Emily teased, dropping the crop to the side as she climbed over you, running the tip of the toy through your folds, “this what you want?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded furiously, “please.”

“Alright.”

Emily didn’t hesitate, knowing you were absolutely drenched she sunk her cock fully into you until her hips met yours and you let out a very satisfied moan. She pulled back just enough to sneak her hand between your bodies, turning on the vibration on the base of the toy, just against her clit and a breathy sigh escaped her lips. She rolled her hips, pulling out until just the tip was left inside you and set a steady pace, fucking you thoroughly. Each thrust of her hips had your body twitching up off the bed, pulling against your restraints as you ached to touch her, pleasure shooting through your limbs.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “feels so good.”

Each thrust of her cock the head brushed right over your g-spot, pulling louder moans from you each time as your pussy began to clench down around her. You could feel your juices smearing across both of your bodies as she fucked deeper into you, picking up the pace as she knew you were getting close again.

“Are you going to come again for me angel?” She cooed, her hands gliding up your body to toy with your nipples, pinching them and rolling them in time with her thrusts.

“S-s’close.” You moaned, your hips rocking up off the bed to meet hers with each thrust.

Your hands tugged against the silk ties again, gasping when Emily’s lips wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking it into her mouth for her tongue to flick patterns across it. The double, nearly triple sensation if you counted the vibrations hitting your clit each time your bodies met was nearly too much, your pussy making almost more noise than the ones coming from your mouth. All you could do was whimper and whine, your head too fuzzy to get actual words to come out, the coil inside you got tighter and tighter until Emily’s teeth sunk into your chest and it burst through you.

“Fuck!”

Your body trembled, the tingles shooting all the way from the tips of your fingers to the tips of your toes as Emily continued to fuck you. Her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a low swear, now focused on chasing her own release. She sunk fully into you, pressing the vibrating part of the toy directly against her clit and it gave you the opportunity to roll your hips against hers, grinding the base harder onto her. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as your eyes scrunched shut, another orgasm bursting through you from the sensation and Emily let out a soft cry.

“Oh god.” Her hand slipped between your bodies, switching the vibrations off before she sat up.

Emily panted slightly, attempting to catch her breath as she reached out, swiftly undoing the ties and your arms were finally free to drop to the bed. You let out a soft groan, flexing your hands before Emily caught them in hers, examining your wrists to make sure you hadn’t pulled too hard and hurt yourself. Once satisfied that you hadn’t she let them drop and shifted on her knees, slipping out of you and watching your juices dribble onto the bed.

“Mmm…” you sighed, your lips curving up into a grin.

“What?” She asked with a raised brow.

“That was hot.” You replied, “kinda wish you could come inside me though.”

“Well…” she leant over you, kissing you before nipping at your lower lip, “I’m sure that can be arranged for next time.”

_____________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @honeyycatt @trauma-factory @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sires-blog

[bucknastysbabe]

Oh Bucky you’re so fine <3

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Avenger!afab!reader, daddy kink, smooth talkin big lover boy era Bucky, banging in concerning places, confessions of feelings, pnv!sex, v!fingering, Big Dick Bucky Barnes, alcohol consumption, Thor’s Super Mead, the reader is IN THE TRENCHES down bad

A/N: Oh here we go again random Bucky smut aggressive as hell

Bucky was too hot for his own good. The idiot didn’t even realize he was sex on legs, hiding his beautiful body away under long sleeves and jeans at all times. You could appreciate the skinny jeans at least, often ogling his thick thighs around the tower.

You were down bad. Clint and Natasha thought it was hilarious how you watched him like a lovesick puppy. The archer would elbow you, teasing, “Careful someone might trip over your tongue hanging out.” They weren’t wrong.

Bucky was so oblivious though. He would play back with your flirting, shooting a million dollar smile and batting your shoulder but that was the extent. He had this five foot thick concrete wall around anything past flirty banter. You needed more, honest to god needed it. Your clit was raw from the amount of times you’d rubbed yourself to completion over the super soldier.

Currently your eyes were fixated on his thighs spread around a barstool. Barnes had been convinced by you to come out for once. Minus a couple of familiar faces, most of the Avengers were in this packed club. Thor was making Bucky take the rest of his Asgardian alcohol. Your lips quirked up— the shit had gotten Steve drunk as a skunk one time. He had the original serum too.

Maybe a little liquid courage would break down the brunettes barrier. You gulped down the rest of your own lemondrop and straightened your skirt. It was leather and way too short, but a girl has to get dick somewhere. Even though the puny men didn’t add up to Bucky in your mind. You knew he could put it down, there was no way the man didn’t have a huge dick. Two enhanced individuals in bed, the thought made your pussy throb.

Bucky’s delicate nose scrunched up as he chugged down the rest of the mead. Thor laughed maniacally, slapping the former assassin’s broad back. Bucky coughed, “Jesus Christ! The hell you make that with?”

Thor smiled enigmatically, “Tis’ a secret, soldier of winter!”

Clint’s annoying whine disrupted your watching.

“C’monnnn you can’t watch him all night! Take a shot and get after Barnes, sheesh!”

Bucky’s blue eyes flickered over to you and the bowman, a quizzical look on his flushed face. You turned to Clint, narrowing your eyes and hissing, “Shut the fuck up!” Barnes’ eyes made a scan over your body before he turned back to the blonde god. Clint guffawed and led you over to the opposite side of the bar, ordering vodka.

You whispered, “Does my hair look okay? I don’t look like too slutty right?”

Clint eyed you amusedly, deadpanning, “If you two don’t stop eye-fucking and do something about it I will. You look fine.”

You rolled your eyes, catching the shot slid over by Clint and downing it. You breathed out harshly at the burn, working yourself up to approach Bucky. Nodding at Clint, you walked over to him. As a former agent of SHIELD, you could do the deed. But the nerves were still there.

Bucky smiled down at you, cheeks pleasantly warm and his eyes slightly glossed. He must be tipsy. The brunette rumbled, “Whatcha’ been doing? Besides getting dragged around by asshole?” You blurted out, “Watching you.”

Oh Christ on a stick. Why did you do that?

Bucky’s wide smile fell a bit, his pupils darkening at your wide eyes. He raised a thick brow and intoned, “Is that right?” You stammered and blushed, looking down in embarrassment. “I-I oh god, y-yeah I’ve been staring you down.” A gloved hand tilted your chin up, Bucky gazing intensely. You fought to hide a whimper at the gentle touch.

He purred, “Been watching ya’ too, just begging to be looked at with those legs and that ass.” His other palm came down on your ass with a rough squeeze, pulling you into his broad chest. Bucky continued, “Been thinkin’ about sliding this skimpy shit up and seeing what little scrap you had on underneath.” His warm breath fanned over your gaping lips.

You were utterly struck, two seconds from getting down and worshipping Bucky’s cock under the bar. Whining softly you pressed your tits against him and pled, “Please! Want you to, got all dressed up for you Buck.” He smirked in that lopsided way of his and pressed full lips to yours. Faintly from afar it sounded as if Sam and Clint were cheering.

“Ya’ need it that bad huh? I oughta wine and dine my favorite baby avenger first,” he pecked your wet lips again, “But I don’t think I can wait, sweetheart.”

Your knees went weak at his pet name, the super soldier holding you upright with his grip on your cheek. Bucky chuckled softly, sharing more kisses with you. You lapped at his tongue, whimpering like the neediest slut. Smaller hands clenched into the leather of Bucky’s jacket, holding on for dear life. You couldn’t believe this was real life.

Was is that easy all along?

You blanched at realizing you spoke your thoughts aloud.

“Baby, I’ve been wanting you since your cute self walked into the compound,” Bucky admitted with a shy glance.

You suckled on his bottom lip and pulled back, frantically begging, “Bucky- shit! I need you to fuck me right now or I’m going to die!” He laughed again, eyes growing even darker with lust. He leaned down to nip your earlobe, purring in that old Brooklyn accent, “C’mon then sugar.” On shaky legs you gripped his hand and half-ran to the women’s bathroom. As horny as you were, the men’s was out of the equation.

Bucky slammed and locked the door behind you two. When he turned to you, you felt like a little bunny about to get eaten alive. No wonder people thought he was so scary. That glare was something else, thick brows furrowing, eyes penetrating your soul.

The former assassin grabbed you under the ass, slamming you on the counter, hungry lips sucking down your neck. Bucky hummed between marks, “Fuck you’re so hot, perfect angel.” You hiked up your skirt frantically, spreading your thighs to wrap around Buck. “No you,” you gushed. He moaned against your skin, peeling off his gloves in the process.

You ripped off your tight top, tits falling out under the fluorescent light. Bucky inhaled sharply, flesh fingers crawling under your thong. He snapped it against your hip, earning a pretty cry. The brunette rumbled, “You plan on wearing nothing hm baby?” You nodded and sloppily took Bucky’s mouth again, tongues intertwining. His cooler metallic hand pinched and twisted at one of your nipples, you whining and squirming in place.

With a tear, Bucky ripped off your slinky thong, stuffing the wet underwear in his pocket. Fucking menace. You complained, “Touch me p-please, m’so wet for you.” He smirked again, palming your sensitive breasts teasingly. Bucky murmured, “Yeah? I can smell it pretty girl, all soaked for me. Fuck!”

Your back arched painfully when fingers swiped through your copious slick. He drove two thick digits into your pussy, eliciting a loud squelch. He curled up into your g-spot, biting on his lip, eyes glossed over. You shook and chanted his name, fucking onto Buck’s perfect fingers. He groaned, “Yeah, that’s it, needy baby.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, c’mon Buck, please!”

Your frantic hands unbuckled him, almost crying from sheer need. Bucky shushed your carrying on, kisses driving you silly. You took his cock out and begged again, “Shit- Bucky, wan’ you to fuck me from behind, treat me rough da- Buck.” His blues almost rolled back from your near slip. You shoved your face into his thick neck to escape the embarrassment, leaking all over him.

Bucky growled, “Yeah? Need me to fuck you? Take you like a slut, Daddy’s girl want that?”

You cried out like a woman possessed, “Please! Please please please!” It was the only word you could utter at the moment. Bucky flipped you over, shoving you face down on the shitty countertop. The bulb above you blinked but shone on, bathing you two in a strange bluish light.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror, breath hitching at your debauched state. Smudged eyeliner, ruined lips, hair sticking up, and the dark bruises littering your neck. Bucky murmured nonsense into your cheek, rutting his thick cock against your slickened pussy. He was disheveled himself, muttering, “Fuck babydoll, gonna make me blow too fast.”

“C’mon daddy,” you whined.

Bucky’s gasped when he shoved his length into your cunt, both hands flying to your hips. You gripped onto the counter, eyes rolling up, moaning about ‘daddy’. He thrust into you in forceful movements, hips clapping into your ass. Someone knocked on the door, Bucky hollering, “Fuck off!”

You whimpered and shook under his assault, big cock splitting you wide open. Bucky panted, “S’good, babygirl is squeezin’ daddy s’good.” His big hands engulfed your waist, snapping your smaller frame onto his cock. You wailed, “Love your cock daddy, needed you s’bad!” He grinned and nuzzled into your sweaty nape, cock still pounding against your sweet spot and cervix.

“Yeah? You think my old crazy ass is hot?”

You babbled deliriously, breath hitching, “Uh! Huh! You’re so- god! Fucking hot! Not- ohmygodbuck! crazy.” Bucky kissed your shoulder, grunting, “But I’m still old.” You shook your head and continued, “Fuck daddy! Like you being older, s’good!” Your legs were shaking from his rough thrusts, pussy abnormally soaked.

Your eyes met his own in the mirror, you whining pathetic and desperate for the older man. Bucky wrapped a big hand around your neck and pulled you flush to his firm body. Still snapping his hips in debilitating jerks he rasped, “Such a dirty girl.” You agreed with him, succumbing to the mind boggling pleasure.

“You gonna cum on my cock babydoll?,” he cooed.

“Yes! Yes! Oh god yes!”

You cried and slammed your hands down on the counter, gushing on Bucky’s cock. He slurred out low curses, lashes fluttering. Meanwhile you spasmed and twitched around him, vision going dark for a second. You sobbed out Bucky and Daddy interchangeably, tears sliding down your cheeks. His cock was coaxing another out of you quickly.

Bucky begged, “One more, one more, c’mon sweetheart.”

His warmed metal fingers pinched and played with your clit, sending you up into another climax. You cried and seized up harder this time, hoarse guttural groans wracking your frame. Bucky’s hips jolted deep into your pussy, tip firmly nudging the bump. Your name left his swollen lips in a adorable whimper, nose scrunching up and mouth hanging wide open.

He gritted, “Can I come inside?”

You begged him to, feeling like you’d die if he didn’t.

Bucky’s baby blues rolled up.

You sucked in harsh breaths at Bucky’s hot cum painting your insides. He grunted and moaned softly through his climax, praising you so very sweet. He slipped out and turned your head to capture your bitten lips again. Both of you sensually kissed in slow, heady movements. He murmured, “S’pretty sweetheart. Think you wanna come snuggle with me after a shower or somethin’?”

You nodded dumbly, hand bracing itself on one of Bucky’s killer thighs. Lapping into his mouth another time you cradled a stubbled cheek. Satiation seeped out of your pores, picking up on Bucky’s saccharine emotions. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot. Can we get a shower first?”

He chuckled, “Careful whatcha’ wish for, babygirl.”

Oh you were downright ruined you were so down bad now. But now you could say Buck might feel the same, practically purring and rubbing against your sore body like a big cat. He murmured, “Pretty baby, good baby, what am I gonna do with you?”

[eiightysixbaby]

breathing deeply, walking backwards

roller coaster, favorite ride, let me kiss you one last time

word count: 5.7k

pairing: best friend!eddie x fem!reader

summary: an evening at the fair leads to a big confession from your best friend (who you just so happen to have feelings for)

cw: mentions of food/eating, friends to lovers, use of y/n, and that’s literally all I can think of bc this is a bunch of sweet fluff

author’s note: this is just a sweet little idea that’s been hanging out in my brain all summer, and I’m excited to put it out there finally! it’s really just a bunch of sickeningly sweet ooey gooey fluff, the stakes are not very high here lol I just wanted to write something cute that didn’t feel as daunting to work on. I love the idea of going to the fair with eddie, so this was fun for me. enjoy!

Hawkins Fun Fair, summer of 1986. The warm air was sweet. It smelled of kettle corn and cotton candy, kissed your nose with the enticing scents and lured you in. The sun had just began to set, casting the sky in orange and violet and pink. All around you kids ran rampant, excitedly stomping over the grass with snow cones in hand. You found yourself getting lost looking at the big lightbulbs blinking on all of the carnival rides, when suddenly you felt a pair of arms wrap around your middle, picking you up and hoisting you over a shoulder.

“Eddie!” you squeal, laughing and pretending to pound on his back in protest.

“Come on, space cadet, you were trailing behind! Don’t want you to get lost now do we?” Eddie chuckles, walking quickly to keep up with the rest of your group.

Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin had all gone ahead, debating on what to do first. The kids had run off to god knows where, Lucas and Dustin arguing over which ride to go on first. You breathe in Eddie’s scent, cologne and weed and boy, and it mixes to create the most enticing combination. You want to climb into his cutoff tank-top and live there forever. Eddie finally sets you down on the ground once you’re caught up with the rest of your friends, having found them in line for some funnel cakes.

“Wanna get one to share?” Eddie asks, wiggling his eyebrows to get a laugh from you.

“Is that even a question?” you reply, already pulling out your wallet and a few dollar bills.

You give Eddie a glare that says, ‘I’m paying, so don’t even try it’ before he can protest. He usually always pays when you two go out together, even though you insist he doesn’t have to. He’s just sweet like that, always has been.

The two of you have been friends for only a short amount of time, joining forces at the start of the last school year - your first senior year and Eddie’s third (and final!). But man, did you guys get close over the span of less than a year. You’re basically attached at the hip, your other friends already knowing that if you or Eddie are invited somewhere, the other is tagging along.

The only issue is that you’ve started catching feelings for the curly haired boy you spend all of your time with. You hadn’t told him, just let the ever growing feelings consume you in silence. You’d confided only in Robin and Nancy, who both let you ramble on and on whenever you needed to. They’ve told you countless times to go for it, that Eddie would be silly not to be into you, that he totally is sweet on you, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. What if it makes everything awkward?

What you didn’t know, was that Eddie had feelings for you, too. Big feelings, heart wrenching feelings for you. Steve and Jonathan were his confidants, his right hand men in trying to convince him to take the plunge and confess to you. Jonathan told him how he once asked Nancy if she thought you might like Eddie, to which Nancy got flustered and awkwardly denied, which he found suspicious. Of course, Eddie hardly listened to any of this. He wanted to confess to you, so badly wanted to open the doors to wonderful things if it all went right. But if you didn’t reciprocate the feelings, it could ruin everything. That was a very big ‘if’ to Eddie, and he couldn’t risk it.

So, you two were just friends. Really close friends who cuddled on the couch during movie nights and basically went on dates without calling them dates, who gave each other the biggest heart eyes constantly yet didn’t realize it.

A warm funnel cake on a paper plate is placed into your hands, Eddie grabbing a fistful of napkins beside you. The smell of the dessert wafts into your nose, making your mouth water. You delicately rip off a piece, letting the warm dough and sweet powdered sugar practically melt in your mouth.

“Mmm, so fuckin’ good,” you groan around your mouthful, licking the white powder off of your fingers rather ungracefully.

Eddie sighs blissfully as he takes his first bite, a much bigger piece of the cake than yours, and he swallows before you could even catch if he chewed it first.

“It’s almost as sweet as you,” he says, grinning as he, too licks the powdered sugar from his fingertips.

You catch Nancy and Robin giving you a look after he says it, and you blush a little under their gazes.

“What’re you buttering me up for, Munson?” you ask playfully, elbowing him in the side as the group continues to walk.

Eddie just shrugs, a smirk on his face as he continues to pick at the funnel cake. You don’t want to tear your eyes away from him, his big chocolate brown eyes so sincere when they look at you and his dark curls cascading over his shoulders, shaking when he laughs too hard. You can’t help but watch every time he brings a powder-covered finger to his mouth, licking the sweetness off of it. You swear he’s doing it slowly just to drive you crazy. You flush at all of the possible scenarios that swirl in your mind with that image and stare down at your shoes as they trod through the grass. You’re torn from your thoughts when he grabs your arm excitedly, pulling you over to a carnival game booth with huge fluffy teddy bears hanging from the backdrop.

“I am so gonna win you one of these,” he says confidently, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to kick some ass.

“Are you doing this because you want to win me a bear or because you want prove that you can win these rigged games?” you tease, watching as he rubs his hands together eagerly and passes the attendant some tickets to play.

The objective seems to be simple enough - throw some darts, pop six balloons and you win a big prize. The catch is, you only have ten darts. Eddie’s first attempt goes alright, but he only ends up popping four balloons.

“Aw, it’s okay Eds,” you say, getting ready to turn and walk away from the booth before he stops you.

“Ah-ah. Nope, no way I’m giving up that easy,” he shakes his head, handing the attendant more tickets.

You roll your eyes at his determinedness, never willing to back down from a challenge. Your heart races though, secretly loving the idea of him winning you something. His tongue pokes out of his mouth, his eyes narrowing as he eyes the targets. He wiggles his ass exaggeratedly, getting into position and making you snort. He draws his arm back, dart poised between three fingers, and then he lets go.

Pop!

He pumps his fist, flexing his biceps at you, really putting on a dramatic show for this. He’s so gorgeous you feel like you could die.

“You still have nine more to go, Munson. We’ll see if you can do it again,” you tease, hiding your affection, making him clutch his chest in mock offense.

Much to your surprise, he pops the remaining five balloons almost entirely in a row. Eddie is nothing if not competitive and determined, and his desire to win you a prize fueled him even more.

“Haha! What did I tell ya, sweets? I knew I could win,” he boasts, rocking on the balls of his feet.

The worker hands you a large, brown, fluffy teddy bear with a pink bow wrapped around its neck. You squeeze the bear with a grin, giving Eddie a hug and a thank you for winning you the prize. You hoist the bear over your shoulders so it looks like it’s sitting on them, holding onto its fuzzy legs carefully. You run ahead to catch Steve and Jonathan, who laugh at the size of the bear.

“Geez, Eddie, think you picked a big enough prize?”Steve asks.

“Mmm, no, but this was the biggest they had,” he contemplates, giving you a big smile when you meet his eyes.

You walk ahead with Steve and Jonathan, the latter turning around to mouth to Eddie, ‘ask her out!’. Eddie just laughs and shakes his head, but he can’t deny the way his heart pounds as he watches you excitedly show off your bear. Smitten with the way your eyes light up, the happy bounce in your every step.

Deciding that you’re hungry again, the funnel cake simply being a filler snack, you get in line with Eddie and Robin for some actual food to munch on, finding Max and Lucas already waiting at the same stand. Your eyes scour the small menu in indecision as you talk to Robin, and Max overhears you telling her that Eddie won the bear for you, turning to Lucas with her hands on her hips, ready to rile him up.

“See, Lucas? Why don’t you be a good boyfriend like Eddie and win me a bear?” she teases him, laughing when Lucas gets flustered and stumbles on his words.

You and Eddie avoid eye contact, Robin catching the way you squirm after Max’s implication that Eddie is your boyfriend.

“I’m not….” Eddie starts.

“He’s not my-” you say simultaneously.

But Max is no longer listening, now playfully arguing with Lucas. Your cheeks feel hot, flustered by the situation. You peer cautiously over at Eddie, whose cheeks are pink as he chews on his bottom lip - a nervous habit. He meets your eyes and gives you a sheepish little smile, before you’re taken from the moment by the food truck employee asking for your order.

The awkwardness is washed away once your food arrives, you and Eddie sharing a tray of cheese fries to go with your chili dog. You immediately retreat back into your comfortable friendly nature as you pick at the steaming pile of fries. You can’t help but wonder, though, what was going through his head when Max said what she did. He didn’t seem offended, or repulsed, or anything like that. He seemed shy and flustered just like you, nervous even. Your head spins trying to piece it together, before you’re shaken from your thoughts at Eddie reaching towards you, wiping a stray bit of gooey cheese sauce that had been left on the corner of your mouth.

“Can a girl get a warning first?” you laugh, watching him wipe the cheese on a napkin.

“Sorry, sweets, y’made a mess. Wanted to help,” he grins, knowing you can’t keep up your teasing when he flashes his smile at you.

Before you can really react, or even blush at his actions, Nancy’s calling your attention.

“Come over here, let’s get in line for this ride!” she’s beaming, Robin waiting eagerly at her side.

“Can I trust you to hold Mr. Bear while I go on this ride?” you ask Eddie, looking him over in pretend contemplation.

“Cross my heart, doll,” Eddie swears, his index finger drawing an x over his heart.

You hand him the stuffed toy, running to meet the girls in line. The ride in question has a bunch of little cars on a platform that spins, and the cars themselves have wheels in the center so you can spin yourselves at your discretion. It doesn’t take long before you’re loading into a blue car with flashing lights on the outside, the three of you positioning your hands on the large wheel in the middle.

Eddie stands off to the side, chewing the inside of his cheek as he watches you. His thoughts won’t let him catch a break, replaying your reaction to Max referring to him as your boyfriend, taking note of the fact that you didn’t necessarily seem upset about it. He thinks about your smile when he won you your prize, thinks about Jonathan and Steve giving him ‘the look’ and imploring him to ask you out.

He swears he feels his heart soaring as the ride starts, and he watches as you laugh under the blinking lights and the last bit of a glow from the setting sun. He wishes you could see yourself the way he sees you in this moment, hair blowing in the breeze, mouth open in a never ending laugh, happy and surrounded by friends who love you dearly. The feelings he harbors for you are clawing at his insides, fighting to make their way out. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to hold them down for much longer. Butterflies take flight in his stomach when you catch his eye, giving him a little wave as your car spins round and round.

The ride ends and you come bounding giddily out of the exit gate with the girls by your side, crying laughing at Nancy’s hair - which is now windswept and sticking every which way. Eddie stands waiting for you, smiling at you as you come up beside him.

“Have fun, ladies?” he asks, giving Nancy a raised eyebrow over her hairdo.

“Don’t even say it, Munson,” she laughs, leaning into Jonathan’s side, who’s appeared next to her.

“It was so much fun,” you beam at him, eyes bright as they meet his. “I’ll have to get you on a ride with me.”

“Anything you wanna do, sweets,” Eddie grins.

“Did you take good care of my bear while I was gone?” you ask him, reaching for the stuffed toy.

“Oh yeah. We had a very enlightening conversation,” he jokes, handing the bear back to you.

You giggle at this, watching as Eddie pretends to whisper something in the bear’s fuzzy little ear before handing him back to you. He shyly excuses himself to find a bathroom, leaving you standing with the rest of the group - save for Steve who got dragged somewhere by Dustin.

In all honesty, Eddie just needed a minute away to get his thoughts straight. His body feels like it’s vibrating he’s so head over heels for you, and he’s unsure what to do or how to do it. He doesn’t even find a bathroom, just paces around, weaving in and out of groups of excited kids and less excited parents. He doesn’t feel like he’s coming to any sort of conclusion, supposing he should’ve brought Jonathan along with him to bounce his thoughts off of. One thing he knows for sure, is that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to be strictly friendly towards you. Something’s gonna slip one way or another, and Eddie thinks he wants to have control over that situation.

He starts to circle back in the direction that he left you, palms sweating in the pockets of his jeans as he overthinks himself into a frenzy.

He stops dead in his tracks when he spots you huddled with Nancy and Robin on the side of one of the carnival booths, seemingly deep in conversation. Ducking away before you can spot him, he lingers just around the corner from where you are. He knows he shouldn’t, but his curiosity gets the best of him as he cranes to listen to what you’re saying.

“-and Max referred to him as my boyfriend, and he didn’t seem, like, mad about it? Or, I don’t know, repulsed by it or anything. I swear to god he blushed and I just don’t know how to take it,” your voice rambles.

“Y/N, he won you a fucking teddy bear. That’s about as obvious as he could be without putting a flashing neon sign above his head that says ‘I love Y/N L/N’,” he hears Robin retort, and his cheeks flush with slight embarrassment.

“Okay, listen, even if he likes me let’s not get carried away and say he loves me…” you try to defend.

“I’m with Rob on this one, hun,” Nancy butts in, “this is just the icing on the cake of all of the other things you two do that are so much more than just friendly.”

“Thank you, Nance,” Robin enunciates. “Seriously, babe, I just think it’s about time you admit your feelings to him. He deserves to know, and he’s totally going to reciprocate because he’s so clearly wildly in love with you, but even if he didn’t reciprocate this is Eddie we’re talking about and he’s just a walking teddy bear and he’d never be mean about it or-” Robin’s word vomit spills out, but Eddie can’t focus on her voice anymore.

It’s time you admit your feelings for him. You have feelings for him? Eddie feels his heart rate speed up, turning on his heel and walking away before any of you catch him eavesdropping. He ducks behind a cotton candy stand, his hands trembling with excitement. It’s like a switch is flipped in his brain, all of his reservations about confessing his feelings for you slipping away with ease. He knows what he has to do now, what he should’ve done ages ago. He can’t spend another day in a world where you aren’t his, and so he won’t.

Once he regains some composure, he walks back towards where he saw you and the girls talking. You see him coming this time, waving the arm of your teddy bear at him in greeting. He laughs, his heart feeling warm at the adorable gesture.

Jonathan, Steve, and now Dustin are standing there as well, and the girls’ previous conversation with you appears to be over. Dustin gives Eddie a look as he approaches, the older boy’s eyes trained on you the whole way over.

“What’s up with you? You look like a lovesick pup-” Dustin starts, but Eddie elbows him in the side before he can finish his sentence.

“Ow! Dude!!” Dustin remarks, but Eddie’s no longer listening, having fully turned his attention to you.

He’s about to make another smart comment, but Steve catches him before he can even get a word out, pulling him away and distracting him with the promise of an ice cream cone. Eddie can practically feel Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin’s eyes on him as he listens to you talk, excitedly pleading with him to go on another ride with you.

“I told you before, anything you wanna do I’m game for,” Eddie gives you a small smile before adding “….except that stupid roller coaster that goes in one big continuous loop. I am not risking my life today,” he points a finger at the ride in question, shaking his head as the riders are whipped upside down over and over.

You laugh at this, assuring him you’re not going to make him go on that one, instead leading him in the direction of a different ride. Eddie has hearts in his eyes as you lead him through the crowd of people, and he can’t help himself from eyeing the way your skirt bounces with every step, showing off your thighs. You turn back with a gleam in your eyes, like you’re so unbelievably happy to see him standing there, like you forgot who’s hand you were pulling towards your destination. Your ride of choice, admittedly, isn’t much more favorable to Eddie than the stupid loop-de-loop coaster. It’s designed so you stand against the wall in the big circular structure, and it spins so fast you’re basically pinned to the wall as it flies.

“What, big shot, are you nervous?” you tease him as you find a spot to stand in.

He waves you off with a shaky hand, “Me? Nervous? Pffft, yeah right,” he rolls his eyes. “Are you nervous? Need me to hold your hand?” he teases right back, shrieking when you slap him playfully on the arm.

“This ride’s always been my favorite, so, no. I think I’ll be fine,” you assure, standing up straighter as if to prove your confidence to him.

In actuality, you haven’t been on a ride like this since you were a little kid, and now as you waited for it to start the nerves were setting in a little. Before you can debate it any longer, the door shuts and rainbow lights flash inside the ride, illuminating the darkness. It starts moving, and you grip the handles beside you, watching as Eddie does the same. You squeal as you start to spin faster, listening as Eddie lets out a very nervous groan beside you. He squeezes his eyes shut, and honestly he thinks he must’ve blacked out for the worst of it because before he knows it, the spinning slows. He comes back to reality, looking down and processing that his hand is gripping yours, his knuckles white where they’re linked between your fingers. It’s not like you two haven’t held hands before, you certainly have, but this time has a different context, at least in Eddie’s mind. He has new knowledge now, and he blushes ferociously as his eyes stay locked on your linked hands.

You felt Eddie grip your hand in the middle of the ride, your brain laser focusing on it as the world spun around you. You catch his eyes finally now that the ride is stopped, and the two of you just look at each other for a moment. You ignore the people exiting around you, zeroed in on each other. The way Eddie’s looking at you feels different, and you don’t know why but it’s making your pulse hammer in your chest. It takes the ride attendant calling stragglers off to get you to drop Eddie’s hand, fixing your hair as you walk off the ride.

Neither of you say a word, and honestly you don’t think you could get words to form right now if you tried. Your head is spinning, and you can’t tell if you’re dizzy from the ride or just overly in love with your best friend. You wish he’d take your hand again, wish he’d never let it go, but before you can think about it for too long, Steve is approaching from where he stands by a metal fence surrounding your ride, holding your teddy bear out to you. Eddie jumps beside you, as if he forgot there were other people around him, and you wonder if he was just as lost in thought as you were. Robin and Nancy’s voices ring in your head. You need to confess your feelings. He deserves to know.

“Come on you guys, quit dragging your feet! We have to go on the ferris wheel while they do the fireworks!” Steve says, hurrying both of you along.

Oh, right. Fireworks. You loved the fireworks Hawkins put on every year, always dragging your friends to see them with you. You’re more than excited to get to share them with Eddie this time around. Your chest vibrates with a euphoric feeling, Eddie still walking beside you as you head towards the ferris wheel.

“Wanna sit with me?” you ask him teasingly, knowing he’d never tell you no.

“Hmmm, I’ll have to think about that one, princess,” he says, pretending to contemplate as you shove his side lightly.

He’s grateful for the conversation starter from you, glad you pulled him out of his nervous brain.

“I suppose the bear is sitting with us, too?” he smiles.

“Well, duh, we can’t make him sit alone. That would be rude,” you say, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, of course, of course. Forgive me for even implying such a thing,” Eddie offers the bear an apologetic bow, almost tripping over a stray electrical cord, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

Eddie loves the sound of your laugh, he strives to be the cause of it whenever he can. He’s going to tell you how he feels. On this ferris wheel, at the top as you watch the fireworks, he’s going to tell you. He stands in the line with you, palms sweating in the pockets of his jeans. The lights on the giant wheel blink intermittently, bright colors flashing and casting a glow over you as he watches you watch them. You both step up to the man taking tickets, and you step forward into the open bench seat that waits for you. You’re busy stuffing your bear into the seat beside you when Eddie passes the attendant a twenty dollar bill.

“You’ll be doing me a huge favor if you stop us at the top during the fireworks,” he murmurs to the guy, who gives a firm nod in response, pocketing the cash.

Maybe twenty was a bit steep for a small favor, but anything’s worth it when it comes to you. Eddie needs his perfect moment. You’re just about to turn and question whether he’s coming or not when he appears at your side, sliding into the seat beside you. It’s the bear on the left, you in the middle, and Eddie on the right. You’re giddy like a child when a tester firework gets set off, preparing everyone for the real show. Eddie swallows thickly, watching you as your hands grip the metal bar that secures you both in your seat.

Soon, you’re moving slowly backwards and up, stopping periodically to let more people on more empty cars. The sky is a rich navy blue, stars peeking out and blinking down at you as you look up. Your heart races for a reason you aren’t sure of, your mind still stuck on Eddie grabbing your hand earlier, amongst a million other things he’s done. Your car stops perfectly at the top, and you peer down to see that the other cars are all full.

“Oooh! We’re going to be right at the top for this!” you grip Eddie’s arm excitedly, and he thinks he’d be perfectly fine if the smile on your face right now was the last thing he ever saw.

He shares in your excitement, thanking the ride attendant in his mind for not just pocketing his money and not complying with his request.

“I think this might just be the best seat for fireworks, ever,” you say, turning to look at him. “Mr. Bear agrees,” you add, giggling when Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Bear has nothing to compare this to. Of course he agrees,” he says, feigning hurt when you slap him gently on the arm. Nevertheless, he’s ecstatic that you’re this happy about your viewpoint for tonight’s show.

Before you can continue the bit, a couple of fireworks light up the sky, booms rumbling in your chest.

Eddie takes a deep breath, grounding himself. This is it, he thinks. You have to do it now.

“Hey, uh, sweetheart?” he asks, wincing when his voice cracks ever so slightly.

“Yeah, Eds?” you reply, barely turning to face him as you watch the glittery explosions in the night sky.

“There’s something I need to tell you…” he says, his mouth going dry. You actually look at him now, brows furrowing.

“What’s up? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, it’s not- I mean I hope it’s not a bad thing. What I’m about to tell you, I mean,” he’s nervously rambling now, you know he gets like this. You squeeze his hand, calming him.

“What is it, Eddie?” your voice is soft, and the way you’re looking at him is making him melt.

“I don’t want to just be friends with you anymore,” he starts, squeezing your hand back. “I like you, I like you so fucking much, sweetheart,” his eyes are searching yours, his voice surprisingly calm given his frantic look.

“Eddie, I-”

“I’ve been hiding this for so long, I didn’t wanna ruin what we have already, but… I overheard you talking with Robin and Nance before, and unless I misunderstood I have a feeling you feel the same way,” he’s smiling shyly, and you can tell even in the dim light that he’s blushing.

More fireworks boom and crackle, your heart pounds with a timbre that rivals them.

“I do, Eddie,” you reply, and you can’t even try to hold back the grin that spreads across your face. Neither can he, his pearly white teeth on display for you, and he’s so beautiful. “I didn’t say anything for the same damn reason,” you laugh a little, shaking your head. “I guess we’re both stupid for not seeing the signs, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah we are,” he agrees, his voice soft as he lets himself melt into your eyes.

He thinks you’re the prettiest thing in the world. He’s glad he can tell you that now with no fear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice breathy now.

Your heart is beating a mile a minute at his compliment, eyes looking away in a rare moment of shyness around the man you’ve been the closest to for months now. You don’t respond, can’t get the words out when he’s looking at you the way that he is. You let him lean in closer, let him rest his palm on your cheek, let your eyes flutter shut as his nose brushes yours.

Then, he’s kissing you. He’s finally fucking kissing you.

Eddie feels like his foot is about to start thumping like a dog that’s being scratched in the perfect spot. You feel like your heart might burst right here, right now on the ferris wheel seat. Your lips slot against his like you were made for each other, molded just right. Fireworks go off in your chest, rivaling the display in the sky. When you finally pull away, both of Eddie’s hands are cupping your face, and your hands are fisted in the collar of his shirt. His smile is radiant, the only thing you want to look at for the rest of your life.

Sparks crackle in the sky, quicker now, and you know the show must be ending soon. Your head goes to rest on Eddie’s shoulder as you both watch the bursts of color erupt. They seem to reach out to you, it feels like you could touch them if you stretched your hand out far enough. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. You feel like there’s a million things you could say to each other, but it can wait. The fireworks show pounds and bangs and sizzles to a vibrant close but Eddie’s touch sends its own sparks over your skin, zaps of electricity flowing through you. You feel like you’re floating when the ride finally takes you back down to the ground and you step out of your bench seat, holding Eddie’s hand. He pulls you to him as soon as you’re away from the crowd of people shuffling through the fairgrounds, his hands resting on your lower back.

His lips find yours once more amidst a clash of teeth, both of your smiles too big to stay out of the way. “Eddie, Eddie, wait,” you say, still smiling as you pull away. “What does this make us, then?” you ask, eyes searching his as he holds you in place.

“Well, that depends. Do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asks, a boyish grin playing on his lips.

“Well now that depends. Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you counter, your top teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

“It would be an honor to hold that title, sweet girl.” Eddie says, bowing slightly, the dramatics in full swing as usual.

You erupt into giggles, mock-curtsying in response. “Then I would love to be your girlfriend.”

Eddie lifts you off the ground, spinning you before he kisses you again. He feels like it’s just you and him in that moment, his brain blurring out the laughter and conversations from passersby. It’s only when Robin’s gasp shakes you both from the moment that he comes back down to earth. He sets you down, you shyly leaning into his side as your friends look at you, amused and smug at the fact that they were right this entire time.

“Finally,” Nancy smirks.

“Took you long enough,” Jonathan adds, patting Eddie firmly on the back.

“Yeah, yeah, okay everyone. You were right, we get it, blah blah blah,” Eddie rambles. “Now if you’ll excuse us, my girlfriend and I are going to head out for the night I think,” he says, looking down at you with a lovesick grin.

“Ew,” Dustin groans. “I don’t even wanna know what you guys are planning on doing,” he grimaces, Eddie stepping forward to ruffle his hair.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Henderson, I’m gonna take my lady to get some food,” Eddie says, turning around to face you. “That sound good, sweetheart?”

You nod eagerly, taking his hand as he steps back to you, your bear tucked under your other arm. You bid your friends goodbye for the night, laughing at the wolf whistles from Steve and Robin as you walk away hand-in-hand.

“Where are you taking me, handsome?” you ask, swinging your hands as you walk.

“The diner sound good? That’s our usual haunt but, now it’s a real date,” Eddie knocks his shoulder to yours, shyness poking through his boisterous demeanor.

“Sounds perfect,” you say, dropping his hand then. “I’ll race you to the van.”

“Oh, and you’re so gonna lose, baby,” he enunciates the last word, letting it sink into your skin. It catches you off guard just how he wanted it to, and you stand there stricken as you realize how much you like hearing him call you that.

“No way you’re winning now!” Eddie calls, having already started running.

“Hey! You’re a dirty cheater!” you gasp, trying and failing to catch up with him.

Everything feels right with the world as you sprint past children and food stands and bright lights. Your eyes stay focused on the man running ahead of you, like he’s your bright light guiding you. His giggles and taunts can be heard as he throws them over his shoulder at you, and his laughter’s never been more beautiful. It’s just you two against the world now. The way it always should have been. Navigating life with Eddie is your favorite ride, and you laugh wildly as you imagine what’s yet to come.

[fuck-customers]

This situation truly felt like the closest I've ever gotten to reenacting the L vs. Light from Death Note battle lmaoo I kept my cool and plausible deniability, but I was dying laughing internally.

(I think I've won the battle, btw. I'll have to wait and see. There's more to this war, though)

So, for background (and I've complained about this on this blog several times...sorry) my moron boss refuses to put price tags/signs on the products in the store, especially at the register. Considering I work in a retail store...this is obviously a problem. So I've made several attempts to get products priced, in varying degrees of extremity.

1. I made handmade signs/tags out of receipt paper/scratch paper and put them on the products around the register. (Candy, toys etc.) Braindead manager took them down.

2. All but 4 of the shopping carts at work are broken, but customers are stupid and still try to drag them halfway through the store and then abandon them or somehow blame me personally for them being broken. So I put signs on the broken ones and blocked them off. Dumbshit managers keep unblocking them and then customers try and fail to use them and abandon them throughout the store, rinse and repeat daily.

3. I then got the idea to go over my manager's head, but without having it fall back on me. Write to corporate. I originally started snatching receipts to leave negative reviews on the store survey, but that seemed to be a dead end, as the SM and DM are the ones who are supposed to read the surveys, but appear not to, as not a single thing was fixed in over 6 months of "customers" complaining weekly. (Usually at least 1 every 2-4 days)

4. I found a clearance price gun and tagged everything with it, even if it wasn't clearance. One way or another, it had a price on it, right? Of course the braindead moron took them off.

5. I then found actual price tags that were technically for different products, but had the same prices as our current candy, so I tagged the items with that. (For example, we'd have a tag for chocolate that we no longer carry that was $3.99 and we have some current chips on the shelf that are $3.99, so I'd just put the old tag for the current candy, since all customers need is the dollar amount and blacked out the old product description) These lasted longer than the previous attempts, but were ultimately taken down, but this is (hopefully) the turning point.

6. Just to really make sure something would change, a month or so after reusing old price tags, I (simultaneously, while also putting up old tags) made several fake emails posing as disgruntled customers and emailed corporate complaining about the lack of prices and the broken carts (among other things) at my specific location. (I did not name any specific employees or throw anyone under the bus. I just complained about the appearance of the store and any mention of employees was simply left at "the cashier" "the manager" etc. with no personally identifying info) I did this on the feedback section of the company website as well.

This all came to a head today when the braindead's mini-me (the ASM) pulled me aside before I clocked in today to basically call me out. She said that she knew that I was the one who put the handmade tags and also put "broken" signs on the broken carts and blocked them off. I, of course pretended not to know about it, because I'm not THAT stupid. But I'm not in trouble, because she has no real proof. (It was very much "I know that she knows and she knows that I know she knows lol) Anyway, she says (and we'll see about this) that new carts have been ordered and are on their way and also that she had to go around and undo all the tags (oh boohoo, she had to do her job, poor her) and will be putting real, correct tags on the products.

We'll see. In the meantime, "customers" are still going to leave bad reviews and contact corporate until changes are actually made for real. There are still other issues that need to be fixed, but are not as important as the lack of price tags and carts. (Such as the lack of price checkers, the shit radio music, the lack of employees, the dysfunctional inventory system, the bare shelves, the disorganized store, etc.)

Posted by admin Rodney

[ennabear]

professor!abby hcs 😸

daily click | boycott tlou

as i’ve said before, if you have time to read this, you have time to help palestine in whatever ways are possible for you. do your daily click, sign a few petitions, boycott zionist companies, and donate if you can. there are so many amazing resources on tumblr, please please utilize them.

one thing about professor!abby is that she goes crazyyy when it comes to buying more books. her ideal date is strolling around a bookstore together, however, these dates always end with her buying a hundred dollars worth of books.

every single time you let that woman walk into a book store, it’s like you have to keep her on a leash. yes, abby, you can get that one. no, abby, we don’t have bookshelf room for a whole series. she’s unstoppable, she’s like a fat kid in a candy store. but she’s so adorable!!!

her goodreads account is insaneee!!! some of her students follow her, of course. she writes entire in depth reviews about EVERY book she reads. in fact, her favorite part about finishing a book is writing a goodreads review. and you best believe she updates her reading progress every night.

and she’s never not reading a book. she doesn’t prefer to carry a purse or a bag, but she’ll gladly put her book in your bag whenever you go out. she reads EVERYWHERE. at a dinner party? she’s reading. her best friend’s birthday party? she’s reading. at the gay club? reading. and she claims that it’s not rude because “everybody knows i read a lot. if anyone has a problem with it, maybe they’re just not a real friend!!”

she’s a little bit of a coffee freak. a surprising amount of her money goes to buying the most expensive and exotic coffee grounds she can get. there’s nothing she loves more than waking up to you making her coffee before work. sometimes, if she’s feeling extra emotional, she’ll hold your face in her hands and tell you how much she loves you while tearing up. what a big baby she is!!

our girl definitely has anxiety problems. if she ever has to leave the house without you, she’ll text you every 10 minutes asking for advice and reassurance. she trusts you so much, though. your advice is all she’s ever needed.

adding on to the last one, she’s a teeny bit insecure too. her past relationships absolutely wrecked her twenties and she never bothered to start dating again after that. sometimes she thinks she’s too old and unloveable for you, but she’s just being silly. she’s our little kitten princess and she deserves the whole entire world!!!!

on a more positive note, she loves the outdoors. sometimes she’ll wake you up before sun rises and force you to go hiking with her. no matter how much you complain, she knows you still like spending time with her, and the sunrise is always beautiful from her favorite spot.

i think before she became a college professor, she had to student-teach for 3 years, starting with first grade. imagine miss abby with baby muscles going over the spelling bee words with her littles, or playing tag with them at recess. miss abby was definitely their favorite, and a few of her students cried on her last day.

but i don’t think she’d want her own kids, just a dog is fine. it’s too much of a responsibility for her and she wants to dedicate all of her time and energy to you. but she does have a few nieces and nephews from her adopted sister, yara. and she’d be more than happy to babysit.

as much as she loves reading, she likes it more when you read to her. especially because most of the time, she’s exhausted from being awake and grading assignments for so long. so she likes to lay her head on your chest while you read to her, even if you have no idea what’s going on in the book.

watching movies with her is an absolute nightmare. if there was a book version, she’ll keep whispering “god… that’s not what happened in the book.” and then afterwards, she’ll explain everything they changed (aka did wrong) and why the book was so much better.

she definitely has a pair of reading glasses. i don’t think she uses them all the time but sometimes when she’s tired and just wants to read, she’ll use them because they make it easier for her to see the words through her sleepy eyes.

sometimes she so sleepy that she falls asleep while reading. it’s your job to take her book out of her hands and place her bookmark in it before it falls on the floor. on more than one occasion, she’s woken up at 2am to her book face down on the floor, no bookmark, with your head snuggled into her neck. it makes her a little bit grumpy because now, poor poor sleepy abigail has to decide between searching through all of the pages to find the one she was reading last, or taking her girl to bed and tucking her in. such a tough decision!!!

[urbancripple]

To able‐bodied people, wheelchair users have a certain mystique. They’re constantly asking us about how our bodies do or don’t work, whether we can have sex, why we haven't just killed ourselves yet. But despite their intrusive questioning, there is one area that ableds seem to be absolutely certain about: the existence of ultra‐convenient readily‐available accessibility modifications and mobility aids.

As wheelchair users, how many times have we been told to “put some chains on that thing!” As we struggle through the snow? How often is it suggested that we get a hand‐bike so that we can cycle to work like our coworkers? If I had a nickel for every time someone suggested I attach some tried‐and‐true motor to my chair, I’d have enough money to pay someone to invent it.

People are constantly sending me links to articles and videos to supposed life‐changing mobility aids that can climb stairs or move over rough terrain. They tell me that things can’t be that difficult with a constant stream of new, convenient doo‐dads being put out in the world. Hell, when discussing how difficult it is to find a single‐story home in Seattle (existing or custom), the suggestion was made that I simply build a multi‐story home but also put an elevator in.

Here’s the thing though: has anyone, wheelchair‐user or otherwise, actually seen any of these so‐called solutions in person? The stair‐climbing wheelchair? The magical snow tires? The super fast motor? I haven’t. As for the elevators and hand bikes, I can count the number I’ve seen on one hand and I’d need way more fingers and toes to show you the price tag.

Despite their near non‐existence or insurmountable financial cost, people keep telling me I just need to “get me one of those…” and continue to cast my existence and the problems that come with it in a mythical light.

An elevator for your house starts at around six‐thousand dollars. If you want one that doesn’t look like the rickety stair‐lift at your local Eagle’s Club, it’ll cost you upwards of sixty‐thousand.

The price of an average, entry‐level bike is four‐hundred bucks. If you want an accessible hand bike, you’re going to start around a grand.

Custom wheelchair tires can vary anywhere from two to five thousand, often times costing more than the chair they’re attached to.

That stair climbing chair? Eleven grand. Want something that’s a little more “every day”? That’ll cost you seventeen grand. Just need a motor for your day chair? Six grand and it weighs fifteen pounds.

Now, some folks might be thinking “sure, it’s expensive now, but the price will come down as technology improves and more people buy these devices”. But with an employment rate of roughly 7 percent (before COVID) and rules governing the amount of money disabled people on SSI can have in the bank (no more than two-thousand dollars), most wheelchair users can’t even save up to buy one of these devices. And no, insurance won’t cover any it.

A lack of accessibility is not something we can just “tech” our way out of and disabled people should not expected to purchase access to a world that everyone else gets for free. Talking about mobility aids you’ve never used or seen when someone is trying to explain to you the barriers they face in their day to day life due to a lack of accessibility isn’t helpful, it’s dismissive. Quit doing it.

[cupcakeinat0r]

Broadway Baby ch.2

Happy New Year, Pookies!!! Here, as a treat<3

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: The new patron has a thing for you.

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, mutual pining, and fluff ( a lil more plot building still, sorryyyy <3 )

Tags: sugar daddy AU, Miguel is a lonely+horny Dilf (not for long), reader is latina-coded (written by a Latina), yummy age gap

Word count: 5k

Ch. 1

Ch. 3

“She’s very pretty”, “She is, isn’t she?” Miguel responds to his enthused daughter. The whole way home, she went on and on about the show they had just watched, the main item of her praise being you.

Her little voice, filled to the brim with elation, yapping about the way you danced and “how high her legs can go!”, your effortless pirouettes, the effortless vocal olympics, and your convincing storytelling that had Gabriella hanging onto every single word you delivered. Little did Gabriella know that her father was watching with the same amount of revere, only difference is his eyes may or may not have gotten stuck on your sculpted legs and fat ass a few times. His thoughts had strayed in those moments, imagining what great pillows your thighs and juicy derrière would make. He’d rub his stubble as he fantasized about stuffing his face between them, eating your pussy out like a wild animal until his face was covered in your juices. He clenched his jaw trying to dismiss any other lewd thoughts and actually pay attention to the plot of the story.

Once Gabriella was bathed, changed into her unicorn pjs, was read her bedtime story and given her goodnight kiss, Miguel turns the lights out, retiring to his study; a corner of the house that he spent majority of his time in.

It was no question that Miguel felt lonely for the past 4 years, and in these hours late in the night, he felt especially lonesome. As he walked through his two story, million-dollar home toward his study, it was very quiet. It felt cold and empty. Miguel stops and looks around at the living room, hands on his hips, letting out a discontented sigh, the only light coming from the moon through the glass sliding doors leading to the enormous backyard.

It was like this every night for the past 4 years.

He’d pick up Gabriella from either day care or her grandma’s place, feed his child, prepare her for bed, then go to his study to do even more work, his only motivation being to provide for his precious daughter; his entire world and reason for living. Days like these where he was able to take Gabriella out for daddy-daughter dates weren’t as frequent as he wanted them to be. When those days did come, though, that was him driving her all over the city to do whatever her little heart desired. Ice cream. New dolls. The Park. If she named it, she’d have it.

He turned the light of his office on, then plopped down on his leather chair, tired eyes boring into a computer screen. This man had horrible posture. Normally, he’d be able to accomplish a couple of hours worth of work then head to bed, but he’s sat there for like 15 minutes, and hasn’t even done a single thing. His mind was on something else.

He turned from the computer and grabbed his phone sitting next to him. He unlocks it, going to the photo app and pulling up the picture he took about an hour ago.

The photo of you and Gabriella.

His tired eyes faintly lift, his lips curling into a soft smile. Still holding onto the phone, he props his head onto his elbow on the desk, his hand resting against his chin and mouth, staring at you.

Your smile is the first and foremost thing he notices, studying and admiring it. Your soft and full lips carving into the most gorgeous smile, one that he could’ve sat and stared at all night long. The way your eyes sparkled, falling on the camera beautifully.

You just emanated this warm glow that he felt like he needed more of; the very thing the house was lacking.

He then studied your body, remembering the way it looked up close when you had stood from kneeling for Gabriella and thanked him for coming to the show. All the right curves in all the right places. The way your leggings hugged your hips, the crease where the top of your thighs and butt met, resembling an upside down heart. Your thick thighs that looked like they belonged to a goddess. You were a total babe.

An idea flickered in his head.

He sat his phone down, returning to the computer and started typing. Hunched over the keyboard, he typed in your full name, remembering it from the playbill that Gabriella kept showing him before and after the show, clicking ‘search’ and finding all that he could get his hands on.

Mans was down bad. If only he knew you were on the other side of the city thinking of him, in bed, your hand in your panties rubbing your wet clit, breathlessly moaning out ‘daddy’ while replaying the same 2 seconds you had with him in your mind because that’s all you had to cling onto.

He managed to find a ton of stage pictures of you, a few premiere photos, as well as some modeling gigs you did a while back. Mierda, Que hermosa (fuck, how beautiful), he whispers to himself.

He also found a couple of videos of you, too. He immediately clicks on one of them, it being an interview for one of the shows you did last year. You were so adorable. He couldn’t help but fold his arms on the table and rest his head there, watching the video completely smitten by you and your little mannerisms, your accent, and soft giggles. You were so humble and down to earth, yet you demanded respect and exuded power. Fuck, it was hot.

It’s been a minute since Miguel had been back in the dating realm, but he needed to get to know you so badly. Even just a chance with you. He didn’t know you, the only insight to your personality being all the interviews he just binged watched, but he felt like you were just perfect. It was like a thousand hands pushing him toward you.

Adding another tab on his computer, he researched the theater that you were currently working for. He reads that they were looking for a new patron…

Who better than the CEO of Alchemax, right?

Miguel sits back with a smug look in his face, his hands floating to the back of his head as he relishes in his newfound pursuit. The opportunity was too good to pass up. Your theater will definitely be receiving a call in the morning.

Just as he was about to exit out of all his tabs and head to bed, the tab on you made him do a double take. There was a video he missed, one of you doing choreography… the thumbnail showing you in six inch heels and nothing but a sports bra, fishnets, and a thong.

It was a hip-hop heel class you had taken recently in the city. Your friend was the choreographer, and they were always so fun to attend! Miguel clicked on it instantaneously, curious as to what it was. The video starts, and the next thing he knows, all of his blood is rushing toward his cock. You were a little too good at throwing it back, hitting the splits like it was nothing, your long dark hair all tussled and messy. He could feel the crotch of his pants tightening, his breathing becoming labored. You occasionally would stare into the camera with the most seductive glare, his manhood twitching in his pants at the sight. You were mouth-watering. He bit at his bottom lip, hand gradually making its way under the table and mindlessly unbuckling his pants. God, how he wished he would’ve said something back at the theater when you were signing Gabri’s playbill. Maybe he would’ve gotten your number or at least something, then taken you out for the boujiest dinner, send Gabriella to her grandma’s so that he could fuck you dumb in his bed afterward, telling you that you can dance, sing, or act all you want for who ever, but at the end of the day, this pussy was his.

But no. He wussed out and stayed quiet, so now he’s in his study, watching you shake hella ass for the camera, head thrown back, murmuring curse words in Spanish, his thick, angry cock freed from the restraint of his slacks, and his thumb circling his already dripping tip, teasing himself before pumping real slow and trying his very best to replicate how it would’ve felt had it been your plump ass bouncing on his dick instead of his hand.

“Mierda, necesito ese coño tan mala… ah fuck…”

(Need that pussy so badly)

He’d periodically look down at the screen to watch the way your body grinded and jiggled, the slick sound of pre-cum against his calloused hand and his own groans filling the study. His pace on his girthy cock quickened as he got close, the other hand white knuckling his leather chair, and his brows furrowing in pleasure as he got more and more desperate.

“Aw f-fuck, fuck, fuckk-…” he whimpered through gritted teeth as he neared his peak. His hips lazily bucked into his fist once, twice, and three times until he came, strings of come spilling back on his hand, lap, and lower abdomen.

Miguel was a horny man with a capital H. The poor guy hasn’t had sex in 4 years… he has needs. As a matter of fact, this was a nightly thing, this just so happens to be the first time he had a specific person in mind, that person being you.

Yes, he might be the most eligible bachelor in Nueva York (and the richest), but Miguel has his reasons for being single all these years. Like you, Miguel was a picky guy, especially since Gabriella is in his life.

For starters, he didn’t want to rush into any relationship. Moving on from the death of his wife was already hard enough. Then, actually getting a second date after sharing that he had a daughter was almost impossible, so he sort of stopped trying at some point. And most importantly, Miguel wanted someone that was willing to love Gabriella like she was their own. He wanted someone that Gabriella would approve of more than anything, because the last thing he wants is for Gabriella to feel like she has a ‘wicked step-mother’ like the ones she watches in her cartoons. These reasons and a bunch of others were factored into why he hasn’t been in the game, until you, that is.

So far, you seemed to check all of his boxes.

What he wants to know is if he checks all of yours… and he’ll find out soon. He just had to be patient now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here he stands, on the stage with you, the cast, and your director. He’s just dropped 10k on the house, with two conditions that he:

- Gets a say in casting

- And has access to the theater

In return, the house gains an extremely lucrative patron and a very good business man. It was a win-win deal.

Being a geneticist, he didn’t know the first thing about theater. He’ll deal with that later. The mission at hand was to get your attention.

Whilst your director introduces him to the cast, his eyes travel across the stage and it’s actors, seeking out your beautiful self.

There you are.

Both of your eyes meet, and after smiling back at him, you look away, flustered. He was happy to know he had an effect on you. His eyes traveled down your figure. If this is how you dressed for rehearsals, he wanted to be present for all of them. Still looking down at the floor, bashfully smiling, you can feel your body heating up, an effect of Miguel’s eyes trailing all over you. You feel naked and like your under a magnifying glass.

He quickly had to refocus himself, almost forgetting he was there when he hears the director call his name.

Once Miguel gives his few words, your director sends you all back to rehearse. Miguel takes a seat amongst the ocean of velvet chairs. He can afford to spend an hour or two to observe. He was the CEO of his company, anyways. He was his own boss. He could do whatever he wanted.

Now you were getting nervous. Had you known he’d be sitting in and watching, you would’ve tried a little harder on your outfit and makeup.

You try to disguise your timidity as tunnel-vision focus as you finish stretching for the day, your eyes maintaining an inward gaze. As a little treat, you decide to show off a bit. A small, spontaneous burst of boldness, if you will. You get into your splits, leaning your head back and lifting your back foot, so that they meet in the middle. You do the same for the other side. Next, you hit your middle split, chin on the floor and all. And last but certainly not least, you stand on your feet, and while balancing on one foot, you lift the other so that your knee meets your chest, and extending it into a beautiful leg extension hold.

You do all this and act as if Miguel isn’t right there, practically drooling. It was like you were putting on a little show for him.

You lil minx.

And it succeeds it’s job, too. Seeing how bendable and supple you were, Miguel is literally losing his mind, going rock hard in his pants. Good to know he could bend you into a pretzel as he bullies his cock into your luscious cunt. Thank God he decided to sit a few rows back because surely someone would’ve noticed the tent forming on his thigh.

After finishing your stretch, you stole a quick glance his direction, averting your gaze just as hastily. He had that same cold stare that he had when walking in. He was a bit hard to read, but the hopeless romantic in you wanted to keep trying to get his attention without having to outwardly ask for it. You had hoped that those smiles he had given you last night and this morning were something more than just friendly.

“Alright, guys, gals, n’ everyone in between, let’s take it from Act I, scene 3, please. The blocking for that was iffy last night, I just want to go over it and drill it real quick.”

Just your luck. The starring man of your sexual fantasies shows up to your place of work and the first thing you’re asked to do is your solo. Just great.

He was here last night watching you, you can perform in front of him again. Not that deep.

You’ve literally been performing for almost 7 years now, you should be over that “stage fright” phase by now. At least you thought you did until this fine ass man showed up. Now you were shaking like a leaf. You swallow your doubts down, taking front and center. You can’t see it due to the intensity of the stage lights drowning everything out, but Miguel smirks as he sees you take your place, his crimson eyes not looking at you but looking into you. If it was up to him, the whole show would just be you.

The accompanist starts the song. You take a breath, and you just let go.

Like always, your voice is divine. The vibrato fills the room, your dynamics are bewitching, and your tone provides tranquility. You really were an angel up there. Miguel relaxes in his seat, his face muscles unwinding from how peaceful your voice sounds. He honestly could listen to you all day. He closes his eyes, creating a scenario of you and him in his home. He’s imagining you singing just like this, but with Gabriella in your arms, who is falling asleep peacefully. He smiles at the thought as he takes in your angelic voice. He’s startled by an eruption of applause and hollering. That’ll be your cast mates cheering you on for your performance, meaning your song was over. Miguel begins clapping as well.

“Good girl, y/L/n! As for Soraya, Vincent, and Mira, y’all’s port de bras were still a bit off-“, the director continues giving notes to your other costars as you break from the rest of the group, going on a water break. As you take a sip, you take a look over at Miguel, who happened to also be looking at you at the same time, so you immediately look away.

Go say something, idiota! (Idiot) You yell at yourself in your head. You should! The man has been eyeing you since he walked in here. He won’t you!!!

Stop acting like a child and say hi. You’re literally just gonna say hi. That’s all. Can’t possibly mess that up.

You’re already walking in his direction, rehearsing the different potential opening lines over and over again in your head.

Miguel sees you walking toward him in his peripheral, and he mentally celebrates. To be honest, he had actually planned on coming to you first, but he was just waiting until you weren’t busy with rehearsal. He’d hate to interrupt your work, but with you coming over, he wasn’t gonna protest.

The sooner, the better.

As you near his vicinity, your heart beat quickens. You hated initiating conversation. 99% of the time, you didn’t even know if what you were saying made sense, but you felt like you had to say something, even if it was a simple ‘thank you’ for his generosity toward the show and the house.

He sees you approaching him, offering you a warm smile as he sits back on his seat. You accidentally look down and see the way his jeans strain around his thick thighs and his still very obvious excitement, and Miguel catches this, quickly covering his hard dick by crossing his legs.

Dirty girl. You’re not as innocent as you look.

You immediately look back up and you’re now standing in front of him.

Act like you’re normal, Puta! (Bitch)

You push any and all anxiety downwards in your body and give him a cheesy smile best described as one that customer service workers give. It doesn’t matter that you were terrified of socializing, it’s time to put those acting skills to work and portray the most sociable person possible.

“Hi! Gabriella’s father, right?”

Miguel stands from his seat with a smile, dwarfing you when he does. “Yea, that’s me! Last night, she couldn’t stop talking about the show or about you. You made her night. It was a struggle getting her to fall asleep, actually.” He ends with a chuckle. It was such a simple gesture, but it was one that could’ve made you fold like a beach chair. You chuckle as well, your hands slightly shaking from the possibility of stuttering or stumbling on your words like you normally did when nervous. English wasn’t your first or strongest language.

Which, if you did, Miguel would’ve thought it was incredibly adorable.

“Aw, I’m glad she enjoyed it! As for bedtime, I guess I’ll take the blame, sorry for that!” You finish with a giggle, your voice as sweet as sugar. When talking to someone new, you always had that Disney princess voice. You don’t why, it’s just a habit. Miguel finds it cute, your breathiness and sweetness going straight to his cock, so that’s a plus.

“No, please, no need to apologize, really. Seeing her like that makes me happy. Thank you for that, and… for saying all those things about ‘following her dreams’. You know, I’m always telling her she could be whatever she wants, but it’s different when you hear it from someone else, someone you idolize. It also means a lot to her to see someone who looks like her on the stage, so… thank you for doing that for my daughter.”

He speaks so gently with you, a completely different tone from what he had used earlier this morning when speaking to the cast and director (and at his work, but you didn’t know that). You’re having to listen with even more intention than normal since if you don’t, you might get lost in those kissable lips of his. It was starting to get annoying. How dare he have those plump lips and you can’t kiss’em.

“Awe, oh my goodness, it’s my pleasure. That’s why I do what I do!” You say with a wide smile, which softens when you meet his gaze. You can feel yourself begin to calm down around Miguel.

“Well, now it’s my turn to thank you. I just wanted to let you know how appreciative I am. I know I can speak on behalf of the cast and crew and say that… we’re all extremely thankful of your generosity. It means a lot to us.” You fiddle with you fingers a bit as you speak, your eyes occasionally meeting the mahogany of his gaze before shying away again.

Miguel’s face softens at your gratitude and your evident shyness. Now he’s the one looking down with a giddy smile. His smile alone made your pussy quiver. Something’s meowing down there.

“You’re very welcome. After last night’s performance, I had to get involved. Besides…” he took a step closer, prompting you to look up at him, your smile faltering as your nerves fired up again. He was looking down at you, those broad shoulders practically casting a shadow over you, with that intense glare again, like you were forbidden fruit. You looked nervous with those innocent doe eyes, but on the inside, you’d never been more aroused in your life.

“I had to repay you somehow.” He says with a rather husky tone. You can only achieve a meek smile, your thoughts running with the multiple ways you wanted to be held by this man. With how low and gravel his voice sounded, something within you was unleashed; something that you’ve never experienced before. You could feel a flipping sensation in your stomach. You could’ve sworn your cunt was throbbing. You’ll have to change your thong for sure after this.

“I, um- well- thank you!” Is all you get out. Your mouth felt dry.

Muy bien trabajo, pendeja (Very good work, stupid).

“Well… sorry, I should probably get back to work“, you stutter. “Oh, of course, please, no need to say sorry. I should be the one apologizing for keeping you from rehearsing, sweetie.” He says, his hand grazing your side, making that area of your body tingle. Oh, your knees almost gave out. You had to escape the scene immediately or else you’ll burst right then and there.

You’re almost turning to walk away, giving him a small wave when his hand reaches for it.

“Encantada, y/n (nice to meet you) .” He says, the breath of his voice tickling your hand before planting a soft kiss. He pulls away with a small smack. The way his eyes peer from under his lashes as he holds your hand for a moment is making you melt. He stands straight again so that he could go back to his seat, and you return to the rehearsal.

“Egualmente, Mr. O’Hara.” (Likewise)

You’re gonna need new panties.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the days go by, Miguel starts showing up to rehearsals more and more. The two of you had this unspoken routine; the occasional glances you’d steal of one another, the ‘accidental’ brushing of hands, etc. As a matter of fact, you two have formed a bond, having short conversations here and there during breaks and intermissions. Miguel had become interested in your background, how you got into this industry, what training was like, and sooner or later, he’d start asking more personal questions. Questions like how’d you grow up, what you do outside of theater, etc. You were really glad to be able to connect over being Latin, sharing one another’s experiences that were unique to being Hispanic.

Yes, you were glad, but you were also a bit disappointed. You’d started forming a major crush on the older man, and it didn’t help that every night you came home, you’d lay in bed and fuck yourself with your fingers wishing it was his much thicker ones. If he hasn’t made a move at this point, surely it meant this was all he saw you as. A friend. You were being antsy, though. It’s only been, like, a week since he’s become the patron. You were over thinking again.

Miguel was just as happy to have gotten to know you. With each conversation he had with you, he was just falling deeper and harder. He had you right where he wanted you. It was only a matter of time before he asks you out. His patience was wearing thin, though, as he fucked into his hand each night pretending it was you. He’d call out your name, imagining how tight and warm that cute pussy of yours would be. He often wondered if you tasted as sweet as your personality. His dick leaks with precum just at the thought of it. He just had one more thing up his sleeve…

One afternoon, the show was cancelled due to technical difficulties, so you decided to rehearse in the studio backstage. You were practicing your solo, playing on the piano as you accompany yourself.

Being deep in your own mind, you didn’t realize that someone had walked in on you during the second verse, the tall figure leaning against the door frame as they watch. When you were finished singing your song, you hear clapping that scares the living daylight out of you.

“Oh!” You instantly jump up onto your feet, startled.

“Ay, perdoname (oh, forgive me), I didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckles with his hands raised in surrender.

You let out a heavy sigh of relief, a small laugh falling from your lips as you do, “oh, it’s alright, don’t worry. I was just practicing.” You say, a shade of pink beginning to form on your cheeks. Miguel walks over to you, leaning on the other side of the piano. He wears a suit and tie, muscles bulging out of his shirt and pants, and his hair neatly slicked back. It takes everything to not reach out and touch them. He’s doing this on purpose. It’s not fair.

“I was dropping off another check to the directors and chatting with them for a bit just now, then I heard the most beautiful sound from backstage as I was leaving, so I had to investigate.” Miguel shoots you a knowing smirk, the ones that always made your knees buckle. You giggled, looking down again as to avert you blush from his gaze. “Oh, you’re just saying that.”

“I’m serious, y/n. You’re extremely talented. I’ve actually been meaning to ask you…”, he rubs the back of his neck.

Oh god, this is it. This is the moment.

“… if you give lessons?”

Wait, what?

“Como?” (What?)

“Well, you’re obviously multitalented and have an extraordinary gift, and I was wondering if maybe you’d give lessons to Gabriella, if you’ll have her?” You only look at him blankly, trying to process his words.

“I’d pay you, of course. Name your price, anything. You would come over and teach her. She’s been dying to learn and I was hoping to give this to her as her birthday present coming up.”

You cleared your throat. This was not what you were expecting.

“I-I don’t really teach… um… H-however,” you looked at Miguel’s eyes, and they were almost pleading you to take this offer. Gabriella seemed like an adorable little girl as well. Before you could finish your response, Miguel adds, “And just to make sure you have time for the lessons, I’ll pay you way more than what the diner is paying you right now, so you could leave that job if you’re comfortable with that.” This offer is sounding even more enticing.

You giggle at his eagerness. “Well, what I was going to say was, it’d be an honor. Gabriella seems like a total angel, and I’d love to teach her.” Miguel smiles warmly at your acceptance. “muchas gracias, y/n. I really appreciate this. Now, let’s talk business-“

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly name a price, I-I would even do it for free-“ Miguel waves his hands at you, brows furrowed, “Absolutely not. I wanna give you what you deserve. Name your price.” You think hard for a moment. You think back to your older friends who’ve been teaching young children for years and what prices they charged. You hated asking people for money. You hesitantly propose a starting price. “Seeeventy?” Miguel raised his eyebrow at this. “Is that for a one hour lesson?” “Claro (of course), I’d be teaching her one hour of piano once a week.” Miguel chuckles at this which confuses you. You’re so cute. So innocent.

“Alright, sweetie, let’s take that seventy and triple it, because I’d like for you to come in three times a week. One for piano. One for dance. One for voice. Let’s call it $600 per week.” Now you were the one chuckling. “Mira (look), I’m no mathematician, but last I checked, seventy times three does not equal 600.” He shrugs. “I might’ve rounded up a bit.” You shot him a concerned and confused look. “Look, sweetheart, I can afford it. Let me give this to you, por favor?” You felt bad. You didn’t want to take advantage of him, but he seemed like he really wanted to give this to you for whatever reason. Maybe since you’ve been a good friend?

“Wow, Mr. O’Hara-“ “Please. Miguel.”

“Well, Miguel, this is extremely generous of you. I-I don’t know what to say.” “Just say you’ll accept.” He says with a soft smile, his hand out for you to shake. You look down at it. You gently reach out, his hand taking yours and it feeling severely small in his. You both shake hands when you almost get lost in each others eyes. His hand feels so warm.

It’d look better around my neck.

You feel his thumb softly rub a circle on your hand. You both kinda wanna stay here, but you end up shying away, clearing your throat, “well, I look forward to coming in…?” “Tomorrow. Are you available tomorrow?” “Sure!” “Awesome. Here, add your number.” He says, giving you his phone. As you excitedly add your number, you both bask in this newfound partnership.

“Great. I should be getting back to the lab now, there’s this important project I should be overseeing.” “Oh, please! Go!,” you say, shooing him away, “Break a leg!” You use theater talk, which Miguel has been getting a hang of. He lets out a small laugh as he leaves. “Gracias, hermosa (thank you, beautiful),” he winks at you.

You blush at the sudden nickname and flirtatious gesture. The way his low, stern voice calls you little pet names creates a pool in your panties. You give him a small wave as you watch him leave. Your eyes never fail to fall on his irresistible tight butt. It should be a crime for a man to look this good.

Miguel leaves the theater feeling like a total champ. Everything is going along just like he hoped they would with you. Now he was gonna see how you were with Gabriella.

Then he’ll make his move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed!!! I promise, there’ll be toe-curling smut in the next chapter<3 Imma make it up to y’all<3

Hope u liked it. Until the next chapter, mwah <3

[mhahaikyuus]

mafia geto pt 2

continuation of: part 1

tags:; established relationship, mafia geto, fluff, smut, mentions of gun, violence, domestic relationship

words: 1.6K

MINORS DNI

a/n: likes and reblogs appreciated

Your first date was six months ago

You were still a student but Geto had a personal driver to drive to and from campus/work. You basically lived at his house at his request, “I can take care of you, please just let me.” 

As much as you adored him you had to set boundaries with Suguru. Telling him you were still going to keep your job, go to school, and keep your apartment. He agreed reluctantly but respected your wishes.

Geto lived in a mansion and when you first came to his home you thought it was one of those historical houses that you could tour in. Geto gave you a key with a kiss on the lips telling you, “Choose a wing it’s yours.” 

Your eyes almost bulged out of your head at his words, “Suguru...what are you talking about a wing is mine?” 

“I want you to have whatever you want and too feel comfortable. I live alone and I want to spend time with you here. So pick a wing and I can have someone pick up whatever you want.” He said guiding you further into the house. Your feet seemed to be planted before his hands held your shoulders walking down the huge hallway.

“Baby I feel like I’m taking advantage." You admitted looking at the rug beneath your feet that had to cost more than your yearly salary. 

“You’re not. But if you are taking advantage I’m glad it’s me.” He smiled his head leaning down to your own height. His pretty violet eyes studying your nervous ones. 

“You’re not funny.” You whined. 

The 6′3 man picked you up bridal style making you shriek in laughter as he walked into one of the wings giving you a tour against your will. 

Geto adjusted you to his side and opened the door walking in, “What do you think? If it’s not your style we can call designers and make it whatever you want. You sighed leaning into his neck at the beautiful bedroom you both stood in Your face tucked into his neck as your other hand rested on the other side of his face. “I have an apartment ya know. You don’t need to do any of this. I can come over here normally.” The bedroom was bigger than your apartment. Geto dropped you on the bed and climbed beside you pulling your waist to make you straddle him. 

“Stay with me, please.” He whined a voice only you had the chance to hear and it was enough to make you melt. 

“Okay baby.” You agreed before leaning down to kiss him. Making out with his soft lips and his hands running over your body. 

You never outright asked him where he got his money but after a couple months together you connected the dots. 

It was a 75 percent chance whenever you went to touch his waist a gun would be either tucked in his waistband or in his pocket, causing you to momentarily pause and pull it out and drop it on a nearby surface. 

He had a jaw dropping number in his bank account with nothing to spend it on, well until you. Thats how he was able to continuously buy items from your job and brush it off like it was buying a candy bar at a gas station not a thirty thousand dollar watch. 

When you were sleeping, after trying to wait for him to come home, Geto walked into your shared bathroom coming home late from work. The light was enough for you to squint your eye open and in your blurry vision you saw your boyfriend covered in blood before shutting the door. His usual crisp white button down, face, and hands stained with copious amounts of blood. He took a shower cleaning him of his sins before climbing into bed with you. 

It confirmed your suscipions when you woke up after a long night with Geto. You were In the kitchen eating a snack leg swinging on the bar stool, when an emergency meeting took place. About 50 guys all armed with guns and suits with scowling faces all flooded into Geto’s office. You didn’t want or need to know what happened but gun shots were sounded off and yelling heard across the mansion. You shut the door to your room and turned on the tv with a snack ignoring whatever was happening in your house. 

Geto came in about 10 minutes later with a scowl dropping his watch on his nightstand and picked you up like you were nothing using you to release his anger, pressing and choking you into the mattress then afterwards gently loving you like you were fragile. He pounded you into the mattress until you were a drooling mess trying to run from his rough thrusts but he would wrap a hand around your throat and put his leg up onto the bed to really make you cum until the sheets were soaked through.

Whispering the filthiest shit in your ear, "Don't run angel. You're taking it so good, are you going to let me slut you out? Give me what I want?"

He asked into your ear as you whined into the pillow as his rough thrusts made your eyes roll back as his large thumbs pressed into your lower back making you arch under the huge man. Suguru would kiss up your body muttering small “Thank you, thank you, thank you. you’re so beautiful. like an angel.” as he rolled off of you and you were trying to regain your senses as he cleaned you up. 

You still had your apartment but Geto had cut a deal with you landlord and bought your entire building. Rent paid for as long as you stayed and he didn’t even tell you until you called your landlord confused about your bank account that month, seeing your payment had been refunded. 

Walking into this office you opened the door no knock or warning, only a privilege you had, to talk to him “Suguru?” “Yes love.” He said not even looking up from whatever contract he was reviewing at his desk. His thick hair almost a curtain over his tired eyes. Sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons open. “Why was I told that my rent is paid…indefinitely.” You said with a tone to your voice that Suguru didn’t like.

His pen stopped moving at your question,“Because I bought your building darling.” 

“Suguru! We talked about this. You can’t keep spending all your money on me.” You said exasperated. You told him this multiple times but he never listened. A relationship where the man paid for dates and a gift for special occasion was normal to you but he took this to a different level with spending money.

Suguru was at your beck and call and did whatever you said. He would never want to jeopardize your relationship with him not listening or communicating properly with you. However, you paying for anything with your own money was not going to happen, ever. Suguru hated arguing with you. Every time you had the discussion he would agree with a small smile and do it anyway. That was never going to change

He turned his chair and gestured for you to sit in his lap. You reluctantly came around his desk and sat with moody eyes and Geto laughed, “Stop pouting because I take care of you.” “You’re not taking care of me, you’re using too much money on me and you need to stop.” 

“No. I love spending money on you. You spending all my money makes me hard.” He said shifting his hips so you could feel him.

You rolled your eyes and lightly smacked his chest, “I’m serious.” 

“Me too. Darling you have to stop feeling bad. If there was a problem I wouldn’t spend the money.” He shrugged. 

“You’re so annoying.” You groaned, “You're going to get mad one of these days and break up with me and then send me an itemized receipt making me bankrupt.”

He narrowed his violet eyes at your words squeezing your hip. “What? Now you’re preparing to leave me angel?” 

You laughed giving him a deep kiss, “Of course not.” 

“Good because I can’t sleep without you. Now that I know all it takes is you, you’re not going anywhere.” He said his thumb stroking your face lovingly.  

You looked down from his eyes to his neck. His dress shirt, 2 buttons open and a loose tie hanging in a knot at mid chest. Your boyfriend looked sexy especially when he said all the right things. 

Grabbing the tie you tugged him into you. Your nails digging into his nape making both of you groan into each other’s mouths. You loved running your hands through his silky black long hair.

Pulling away from you he dug into his back pocket and pulled out something for you. 

“This is bad timing but I got you something.” He said with a small smile with purple eyes shining with happiness. His own lips shining with your saliva.

He handed you a card. “I got you a black card, unlimited spending.” 

You gently rested your head on his chest not saying a word. He already knew what you were going to say. Geto tucked the card in your back pocket before smacking your ass making you laugh. “You’re impossible baby.”

Every night you dressed in one of his shirts and he clung onto you. His arm wrapped around your waist and his weight crushing you. 

When the sun would peak through the curtains he wakes you up with morning sex until your legs felt like jelly. Geto would carry you to breakfast in his shirt with a spread already on the table. 

Your legs laying over his under the table as you two ate. His other hand gently rubbing your leg. He needed to be touching you when you were in his presence. 

Geto was not sure of a lot but he knew that once he experienced your love there was no turning back.

[iiconicxpersona]

Whatever It Takes.

Javier Peña x f!Reader

Warnings: this fic features a scene from s02e03 Our Man in Madrid and that episode is a trigger warning in its own, but if you need specifics then this fic includes ANGST, mvrder, su!c!d3 attempt, depression, alcoholism. MINORS DNI & READ AT YOUR OWN RISK (I cannot stress that enough)

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: You and Javier get tagged along in a manhunt gone wrong with the return of Colonel Carrillo. After the tragedy that occurs, you look to Javier for comfort only to get heartbroken when he seeks comfort from another woman.

From the moment you were assigned the Escobar case in Bogotá, you prepared yourself for the best and the worst. You knew that once this case was finally over, and God only knew how long that would take, you would not return to Texas like the woman you were when you left. However, it didn’t seem to matter exactly how much you prepared yourself ahead of time in all aspects; nothing was ever going to prepare you for all the horrors you had witnessed and the ones still yet to come.

“We’re all in. Whatever it takes.”

Words you, Agent Javier Peña, and Agent Steve Murphy repeated to each other almost frequently to remind yourselves and each other that this is what you signed up for when you agreed to do whatever it took to catch Escobar and every single person whoever took a single dollar from him. Of course, Messina and the entire force did everything they could to keep your missions restricted, but to catch a bad guy; you must be willing to break some rules.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Colonel Carrillo was the King of playing by his own rules. His methods were cruel and relentless, but they were effective in one way or another. But those same methods ultimately led him to be transferred to Spain. When he was brought back on the team by the Colombian government, it shook you to the core, and the only problem was that you could no longer tell if that was good or bad.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

The first mission at hand with Colonel Carrillo is to track down every spotter Escobar had hiding in the area. It seems simple enough, considering the spotters were mainly children under eighteen.

“Peña, Y/L/N, you come with me.” Carrillo orders.

You and Javier exchange looks of concern to each other and then to Steve, who's disappointed when Carrillo tells him to stay behind for radio contact.

“You be careful out there,” Steve adds as you and Javier follow Carrillo to one of the unmarked cars.

“You got your vest on?” Javier asks without looking at you.

You nod and pat your stomach hard enough to make the bulletproof padding audible. “I never leave without it.”

“Good. This could get ugly, so I want you to always stay beside me. Understand?” He finally looks at you while still walking forward.

“Jesus, Javi, this isn’t my first rodeo.” You scoff.

He rolls his eyes, clearly not amused by your comment. “Cariño, I’m fucking serious. These kids are dangerous, and the last thing I want is for you to underestimate one, and he holds you at gunpoint or worse.”

Just then, you remembered what Javi had told you the day Steve’s adopted baby girl, Oliva, was rescued, and you instantly regretted trying to be sarcastic. He never told Steve, but while they were chasing down the two men responsible for murdering Olivia’s biological family and you were in the house guarding her, Javier came close to catching one of the men until a little boy caught him off guard from behind and held him at gunpoint. Javier was sure that at any moment, the kid would pull the trigger and kill him, or worse, he would miss his shot, and Javier would have to kill the kid instead. Thankfully, once the guy he was chasing got away, so did the kid, and ever since then, Javier knew that with the right amount of money and power, Escobar could make anyone do anything.

“Always stay beside me. Understand?” Javier demandingly repeated.

You nod. “I understand.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

One by one, each kid that Escobar hired as a spotter was taken into custody. However, Carrillo had other plans instead of taking them straight to the station for interrogation like you and Javier thought.

Given Carrillo's extreme methods in the past, you should’ve known that this wouldn’t be as simple as you had hoped. Though you figured that because they were just kids, what could go wrong?

Everything.

One right next to the other, at least seven boys are lined up in the middle of a dark alley with their hands behind their heads and sitting upright on their knees. You stand next to Javier off in the distance while Carrillo paces slowly in front of them. As you examine their faces, it breaks your heart to see how young they are. Some look at least sixteen, but the youngest looks six or seven.

They try to keep stone-cold faces on while Carrillo attempts to scare them straight. A couple of the boys laugh at him and make insults in Spanish.

“Shut up, kid.” Javier mumbles.

You do your best to look as emotionless as possible, but mentally, you are frightened to know what is going through Carrillo’s mind, especially when he pulls out his gun and begins loading it in front of them.

One of the older boys laughs and asks Carrillo if he should be scared.

“No,” Carrillo replies.

BANG.

You stood there and watched the now young lifeless body slowly fall to the ground. Aside from the streetlights, the alleyway is pitch dark due to the summer evening, but you’d swear you could see everywhere the boy’s blood had splattered as if it happened in daylight.

It took every fiber in your being not to lose your cool or vomit at the scene. You were even too afraid to reach for Javier, who was only a couple of inches away from you, for some comfort. Although judging from how his body tensed up and the look on his face, he was just as distraught inside as you were.

What was Carrillo thinking? Even if the kid tried to be a fearless macho man about it, he was still just a kid. There were plenty of other ways Carrillo could’ve tried to prove a point to them about the dangers of working with someone like Escobar. Regardless of whether you liked it, he gave them a harsh reality check.

Carrillo then takes one bullet from his gun and hands it to the youngest boy, telling him to give it to Escobar and let him know who it is from. You watch helplessly as the boy takes the bullet with tears running down his face and stuffs it in his pocket. Then Carrillo finally sets the remaining boys free. You immediately cling to Javier once they are out of sight.

He hesitates for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around you, still in shock from what just happened as you tried your best to hold back your sobs.

“Cariño…” Javier struggles to find the right words. How could he comfort you when he couldn’t convince himself that everything was fine? “We have to go.” He finally said.

Whatever it takes.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

This is one of those nights you wish Javier wouldn’t depend on a cheap hooker to help him forget.

About six months ago, after almost losing you during a shootout mission, Javier suggested that you move in with him “for your safety,” which you hesitantly accepted two months later. Murphy always teased how Javier always had a soft spot for you, and although you couldn’t deny you also had a soft spot for Javier, you tried to keep your crush precisely that: just a crush. Even if it nearly killed you inside when he would come home late smelling of sex, cheap perfume, and cigarettes.

While staring blankly at a pile of paperwork, your mind couldn’t stop replaying what happened less than an hour ago. Steve tried talking to you about how frustrated he was about Carrillo not trusting him to tag along with the mission, but his words only went in one ear and out of the other.

“You should be grateful.” You finally spoke up, still not taking your eyes off the paperwork.

At that moment, Steve gave up on his argument. As much as he hated feeling like an outsider because of his looks, nationality, or poor Spanish, he knew his troubles were nothing compared to what you and Javier were going through at this very moment.

You could hear Javier mumbling under his breath on the phone at his desk, which generally meant he was talking to one of his hookers. At that point, you were already two shots deep in tequila and resting your head on your arms to hide your face like the game you used to play at school as a kid.

You hated the jealous feeling that crept up inside you as he talked to her about meeting with her in the next half an hour.

Why tonight of all nights? Or if he needed a good fuck to help him forget, then why couldn’t it be with you? You were there. You saw everything happen just as he did. Did it ever occur to him that maybe you needed a night of meaningless sex to help you forget everything too? In all the years you had known Peña, he had no shame in screwing every woman in sight, but he never once offered to put his hands on you. Sure, you flirt with each other almost every day, but would there ever be more? Were you not pretty enough? Or not skinny enough? Or because you didn’t open your legs to every man in sight?

“Cariño, you all right?” Javier’s low voice startles you out of your thoughts. He places his hands on your shoulders and begins to massage you once you sit up and lean back into your chair, feeling your body relax under his touch.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You lie. Your voice is now hoarse from choking back all the tears and emotions.

Javier leans down and wraps his arms around your upper body with his chin resting on your shoulder. “Don’t you disappear on me, okay?”

You nod, and he kisses your cheek and gives you one last squeeze.

“I gotta run a few errands, but I’ll be home late.”

Desperation kicks into high gear, and you cling to his arms for dear life. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

“It’s just for a few hours. I need to clear my head. You understand, right?” He pulls away from you once your grip loosens, but you still reach for him.

“Well yeah, but…”

“But what!” He snaps at you in frustration.

Then it hits you in that very second like a ton of bricks: you and Javier Peña will never be more than just friends.

You let go of his hand when the tears build up again. “You know what? Just go. I won’t wait up.”

Realizing what he had just done, a wave of guilt washes over Javier, and he slowly steps towards you. “Shit, cariño I’m sor…”

“I said go!”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

By the night's end, you had already downed most of the tequila. Murphy knew Javier would kill him if he had let you go home by yourself, so being the southern gentleman he is, he gave you a ride home.

On the inside, you were trying to fight off too many emotions. You didn’t dare to let Steve see you cry, especially after witnessing your little moment with Javier. For what? So that he can tell Javi, and they can laugh at how pathetic you are behind your back? Though you knew they would never do that, it was still a fear that helped keep your emotions in check.

“Thanks for the ride, Murphy.” You half smiled at him.

“Of course.” He could hear the pain in your voice, but he tried his best to keep cool. You’re already going through enough as it is. “Hey, just know I’m right next door if you need anything.”

“You’re a good man, Steve. Connie’s a lucky girl.” You lean in to give him a small peck on the cheek before letting yourself out of the car.

You dread every single step toward your shared apartment with Javi. You dread it so much that if you were stable enough, you’d walk to your old apartment two buildings over. Most of your stuff is still there, considering you had just moved in with Javier four months ago. You had only brought essential things like clothes, makeup, bathroom stuff, and a few sentimental values. But the fact that you were barely making it on your own to Javi’s front door was enough to make you rethink.

Once you stumble inside, the first thing you noticed was how quiet it is. Too quiet. Not that you and Javi were noisy people when he didn’t have women over, which thankfully wasn’t often ever since you moved in. But even then, the apartment is never this quiet. You hate the silence. It only made the events of tonight replay louder and louder in your brain.

Throwing off your coat and shoes, you let them land wherever as you make your way to the radio and turn it on to a local rock station with the volume on full blast. You swerve over to Javier’s liquor cabinet and mindlessly scan around at each of his selections. The one bottle of bourbon he saved for special occasions had caught your eye. Judging from how rich the bottle looks, it must be one of his most expensive liquors. Your conscious told you to stop, but the music and your drunk state of mind were enough to tune it out. You grab the bottle from the glass shelf and gnaw the cap off before downing the liquor like water.

You never smoked a cigarette, but once you found Javier’s carton in the cabinet, you pulled out a fresh pack and ripped off the plastic wrap. Javier was already a heavy smoker as it was, but he seemed to smoke a lot more when he was stressed out, and you wanted to know what it was like. If it helps Javi calm down, why wouldn’t it help you?

You flick the first white stick out of the small paper box as if you were already a natural to smoking. Not that you would admit it out loud, but after seeing Javi do it a few times, you were tempted and tried it for shits and giggles.

Lighting the stick between your lips, you inhaled deeply only to choke out the nicotine and smoke immediately. “I can’t believe Javi likes this shit.” You gag.

The first few puffs were disgusting, and if it weren’t for the bourbon making it easier to wash down the horrid taste, you would’ve thrown up after the first puff. But soon enough, you were already on your second and third cigarette. Each smoke is smoother than the last.

Dancing around in the living room in a tank top and panties, with a cigarette in your mouth and another bottle of whiskey in your hands, you were on cloud nine, and for the first time that night, nothing else mattered. You weren’t aware of how much you had already drunk or how you were already almost finished with the first pack of cigarettes. You even forgot you were in Javier’s apartment until the clock caught your attention. It’s 2:30 am, and Javier still isn’t home. If you were sober, you probably would’ve been worried sick about him, but his delay made you angry. He didn’t have to spend the night with another cheap hooker, and if he did feel the need to, he could’ve at least called you to let you know he wasn’t coming home.

How dare he? After everything you two had been through tonight, how dare he leave you alone? How dare he not be here so you two can try to comfort each other? How dare he yell at you in front of Murphy, embarrassing you when you only wanted him to stay? How dare he be a typical douchebag and leave you just to get his dick wet by some random bitch he barely knows? How dare he not see that you care about him so damn much? How fucking dare Javier Peña!?

At that moment, you refused to reason anymore and instead let your anger-fueled adrenaline take complete control of your body.

His precious liquor cabinet is the first item to fall victim to your rage. You push it off the wall with full force and watch it slowly crash to the ground, just like the little boy did in the alley. Then you grab every bottle that didn’t break in the fall and throw them in random areas of the living room. Only the shattering noise, your cries, and the loud music fill the void that is Javier’s apartment.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You don’t remember how you wound up on the bathroom floor next to the toilet with more bourbon in one hand and your pistol in the other. Your adrenaline was still pumping through your veins uncontrollably, and you couldn’t feel any of the cuts that formed all over your body from the broken glass. Miraculously, none of which were too deep to leave a permanent scar.

There’s no telling how long ago your rampage began, but suddenly the radio that was once blaring rock music had gone silent. You didn’t care. You sat there hugging your knees with the hand holding the pistol while continuing to drink.

You could hear heavy footsteps slowly inching closer to the bathroom, and then he turned the corner with his pistol pointing directly at you.

“C—Cariño…” Javier mumbled in shock.

He was about to rush to you, but then he froze in place the second you extended your arm and aimed your pistol at him. “Don’t. Come. Any. Closer.” You demand.

Suddenly, every ounce of color was flushed from Javi’s face. He slowly put his gun down on the sink and raised his hands in surrender. The image made you chuckle as he slowly dropped to his knees before you.

“Baby, plea—”

“SHUT UP!” You scream, and it catches you both off guard. “All I wanted was for you to stay with me. To help me forget. But no! Typical Javier Peña; you had to think with your dick! You didn’t even care enough to call me to let me know when you’ll be home or to see if I was all right. Do you realize that I probably would’ve never made it home if it wasn't for Murphy? Thank God he’s a fucking decent human being, unlike you!” At this point, you couldn’t hold back the tears as you cock the gun, making Javier tense up in fear for the second time.

“Cariño, I’m sorry. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I should’ve been here for you, and I know that now. But please don’t do this.” Javier pleaded.

“It’s too late.” You choke out.

Javier felt his heart stop when you pointed the gun barrel at your temple. In his mind, he had already snatched the gun from your hand, but physically he couldn’t move.

However, once you pulled the trigger, the only sound filling the apartment was a click.

You gasp at the reality of what you were about to do and drop everything in your hands. Only then did Javier find the strength to stumble over and embrace you tightly in his arms.

You hyperventilate and bawl into his shirt as Javi tries to calm you down. Once again, your hands cling to him for dear life. “I’m so sorry, Javi!” You cry.

“Shh. Shh. It’s all right, baby. It’s all right. I’m here now.” He strokes your hair and slowly rocks you back and forth in his arms until you finally fall asleep.

Javier gently picks you up bridal style and carries you to his room, where he could grab a wet towel and some hydrogen peroxide to clean some of your cuts off before tucking you into bed. He took a second to sit there and stare at you as you slept peacefully. If he didn’t feel guilty before, he does now.

Javier sometimes liked to think of himself as a sharp man, but he was blind when it came to you. Murphy often told him that anyone could see you two were head over heels for each other, but he never accepted it as the truth. He never thought you cared about him as more than a friend. And he blew it when he finally had his chance to prove to you that he was worthy of your heart.

There was no telling how long it would take you to forgive him, but he was willing to do whatever it took to regain your trust. He’s all in now, and this time, he wouldn’t make this mistake again.

[ophelia-writes-fics]

you're screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar man [kilgrave x reader - 18+]

A second run-in with Kilgrave leaves you reeling.

Tags (please read!): smut, fem!reader, AFAB!reader, mind control kink, mentions of marking during sex, fear, implied fear kink, degradation, some praise (but mostly mixed with degradation), humiliation, humiliation/degradation kink, hair pulling, edging, begging, frottage, handjobs, overstimulation, like a LOT of overstimulation, i cannot emphasize the overstimulation enough, possessiveness, light face slapping, mirror sex, riding, clit slapping, painplay, spanking, sadism (kilgrave), masochism (reader), multiple orgasms, a frankly unrealistic amount of orgasms

Word Count: ~6.3k

TWs/CWs:

super dubious consent. like last time, reader is into everything without being compelled (with one smallish exception if you squint?), but again, it's not negotiated

unprotected sex

mind control/mind altering

Kilgrave is still a walking red flag (and we love him anyways <3)

(as always, talk to your partners, get consent, etc :))

part one here

It had been a long, exhausting week since you last saw the man known only to you as Kilgrave. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him since your last encounter, not just because you’d had to take the next few days off of work afterwards — your boss was worried that getting up onstage covered in bruises, scratches, and bite marks might send the wrong message to the patrons of the club. She’d been worried about you too, but you’d assured her that everything was fine. Which it was. The other reason you couldn’t stop thinking about him was because you desperately wanted to see him again. 

However, you still needed money, so having time off at your night job meant picking up evening shifts at your day job, which was bartending at a casino on the other side of town. It was Thursday, which meant the place was absolutely deserted, and the patrons who did show up were barely drinking anything. The past two hours of your shift had involved nothing but standing behind a bar, staring into space, and wiping down the pristine counter every few minutes in an attempt to look busy.

However, you were snapped out of your mindless rhythm when your coworker tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. “So, my break is coming up and I’m super tired and I really wanna take it, but there’s some weird shit going on in there.” She jerked her head towards the main room. “There’s this guy at the poker table? He keeps winning with the worst fucking hands I’ve ever seen, and it’s, like, insane amounts of money. Way more than I’ve ever seen anyone come in here with. Could you take over for me for, like, 20 minutes? And could you keep an eye on them and tell me what happens when I get back?” 

Damn it. 

There was one man you knew who could definitely win at high-stakes poker with the worst hands imaginable. You didn’t know for sure, but you had a sneaking suspicion that was only growing that you’d be seeing him sooner than you’d previously expected. 

You took the champagne bottle from your coworker’s hands without a second thought and walked into the main room, bracing yourself for whatever waited inside. 

The moment you stepped through the door, all your suspicions were confirmed. Even with his back turned to you, you could practically feel his presence in the air. 

Right there, holding court in the center of the room, sitting at the head of a table covered in poker chips and stacks of cash, was Kilgrave. 

You sighed. Goddamn it, you thought to yourself. As captivating as he was, you were still technically on the job, and you’d get fired if the house lost that much money on your watch. You’d get in extra trouble if anyone found out someone had cheated their way into getting it. Your mind raced as you tried to formulate a strategy. 

Okay. You can’t try to kick him out. If you call security, he’ll just tell them to fuck off and they will. You can’t tell the dealer, because there’s no way he’ll believe that the other players have been mind controlled. Besides, you can’t call attention to yourself. He’ll recognize you. Unless…

An idea clicked in your head. 

There’s no way he’d give up that kind of money, unless he had something better to tempt him.

You weren’t sure it would work, but if it did, well… it was a win-win situation, wasn’t it? 

You slowly crept up to the table. No one spared you more than a passing glance, including Kilgrave, whose eyes were firmly on the cards in front of him. You snuck a look over his shoulder as you approached. He really did have the worst hand imaginable. It was almost funny. 

You took a breath to steady yourself, then softly cleared your throat as you placed a hand on his shoulder. 

You’d been expecting a few different reactions, but you didn’t expect him to shake you off without even looking up.��

Oh, of course he’s a dick to waitresses. It deeply annoyed you that, somehow, this didn’t make you want to fuck him less. Irritated, without giving it a second thought, you gave him a light, backhanded smack on the arm. 

The table went silent. That got his attention. 

He turned around to face you. His expression, which had started as a mix of bewilderment and anger, quickly shifted to one of alarmed recognition. He blinked once, his brow furrowing. 

“It’s you,” he said, his tone unreadable. 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “It’s me,” you replied. 

Kilgrave stared you down for a moment. You desperately wanted to break eye contact, for him to forget you were ever there, to just go back to work, until suddenly, his expression changed slightly, and he turned to face the men at the table, setting his cards down. 

“Right. I’m leaving. Do not get up from this table, and don’t cheat. We’ll continue this game when I get back.”

He stood up and took your arm, pulling you away. 

“Are you really just going to leave them there?” You craned your neck to try and see if his command had worked, and sure enough, everyone remained seated and still. A knot formed in your stomach. 

He didn’t answer as he pulled you out of the room and down the hallway to the coat check, snapping his fingers at the employee behind the counter. 

“You. Take over for her. Serve champagne, clean tables, whatever it is she does.” Kilgrave plucked the bottle of champagne from your hand and thrust it at the checker. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding it. “Close the coat check. We’ll be going back there. Don’t bother us.” And with that, he breezed past, pulling you into the coatroom with him and slamming the door behind you both. 

The moment the door was shut, Kilgrave cornered you against a wall — not touching you, but close enough that he could grab you if you tried to leave. 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. 

“I work here!” you replied indignantly. 

“Tell the truth.”

“I. Work. Here. It’s my day job.” 

His posture relaxed slightly, but he still didn’t step back. 

“Did you follow me here?” 

“No,” you answered, keeping your tone as calm as possible. You just hang around shady establishments a lot, apparently, you added silently. 

He leaned back a bit. 

“Why did you approach me?” 

“Because you were illegally winning a ton of money off the house and I don’t want to get fired,” you huffed, before somewhat reluctantly muttering, “And I wanted you to fuck me again.”

“Repeat that last bit?” 

“I wanted you to fuck me again,” you snapped, a bit louder than you’d meant to. “But frankly, right now I’m not in the mood anymore.”

He pursed his lips. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re keeping those people prisoner in there!”

“Which people?” 

You stared at him in disbelief, trying to gauge whether or not he was messing with you. Shockingly, his confusion seemed completely sincere. “Those men at the poker table. Are you just going to make them sit there for however long you’re gone?” 

He glanced in the direction of the casino and sighed with irritation, as if he’d just remembered they were there, before shaking it off with a slight roll of his eyes. 

“Forget about them. Come upstairs with me.”

Your brain filled with that all-too-familiar cold fog. It felt like you had tripped going up the stairs - your whole body was thrown off balance, your heart raced, and your thoughts raced to catch up after the interruption. What had you been thinking about? Something about the main room? 

You must have been worried about someone covering for your coworker. Yes, that seemed right. He’d told someone to do it, hadn’t he? Yes, he had. Then it was fine. There was nothing to worry about. 

With that, your brain fog cleared, and your worries went with it. You realized you were trailing behind him as he walked towards the elevators. 

As you passed the entrance to the casino itself, you turned your head slightly and peeked into the room. You cocked your head. Huh. I wonder what all those guys are doing just sitting at that table. I don’t think they were there before.

-

When the elevator arrived at the top floor, Kilgrave walked ahead of you along the hallway to the penthouse suite at the very end, pointing you towards the bed once you were inside. 

You grinned, reclining on your back and supporting yourself on your elbows as you kicked off your shoes, watching him shrug off his jacket and undo his belt before sitting down at the armchair in the corner of the room. 

He then turned his gaze toward you and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Stand up,” he ordered, as if it should have been obvious. You obeyed, and it felt like second nature by now. You felt the cold hardwood floor under your feet, even through your stockings, and you couldn’t help but turn your gaze slightly downward as he observed you, scanning you up and down for any imperfections. 

He sighed. “No, no, this won’t do.” 

Your heart dropped. He couldn’t be bored of you already, could he? You felt slightly panicky, as the reality of what he could do caught up to you again. Would he make you forget everything you’d done that day? Forget he existed? Would he kill you? Your mind raced as you tried to figure out if you could run before he ordered you to do anything. You felt your muscles tensing, preparing to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, keeping his dark eyes on you. 

Your whole body flooded with relief and arousal. You briefly scolded yourself as you quickly stripped out of your uniform, the rational side of your brain reminding you that worrying that he was going to kill you if he was even slightly dissatisfied with you is probably a red flag before the horny side of your brain dismissed the thought with a well, he didn’t, and you don’t know he would, so it’s probably fine. 

You stood bare before him, hands clasped in front of you, obediently awaiting his instructions. He beckoned you over with a small motion of his finger, and you sank to your knees in front of him. You fidgeted nervously as he watched you, biting your lip as you worked up the nerve to ask him for what you wanted most. 

“Could you, um…could you do that…thing again?” 

His brows raised slightly. “What ‘thing’?” 

“The thing where you…um…command me, or whatever it is you call it. The mind control thing.” You hesitated before adding a quiet “please.” 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, if you were expecting any response at all, but one of the last items on your list of things you were expecting to come out of Kilgrave’s mouth was a short, shocked, high-pitched laugh. A grin spread across his face as he stared down at you, and you felt a fluttering in your chest. 

“You really would let me do whatever I want to you.” It was a statement, not a question, but you nodded vigorously anyway. “God, that’s disgusting. You’re so desperate to get off that you’d cum your brains out if I mind controlled you?!” 

You squirmed, face burning as you clenched your thighs, and he laughed again. You felt pathetic, and it made your cunt ache for him. 

He considered you for a moment—you could practically feel him wondering what exactly he should do with you— before stretching one leg in out front of him, positioning himself so that the toe of his brand-new, expensive-looking leather dress shoe was just barely starting to press into your clit. You kept completely still, waiting for his orders, your body alight with anticipation.

“You want to get off that badly, then do it,” Kilgrave said, his bored tone only thinly veiling his enthusiasm to watch. 

You wasted no time, desperately rubbing yourself against him the minute you were permitted to, grinding your sensitive clit against the black leather. You bit your lip, moaning in humiliated arousal at the feeling, watching as your pussy dripped with need all over the supple material as you fucked yourself stupid. 

You felt Kilgrave’s hand in your hair, pulling you closer and shoving your cheek against his knee, holding you in place and keeping your eyes on him as you rutted against him. 

“You’re filthy,” he rasped, pressing his foot into your clit harder as you watched his arousal grow. “You’re disgusting, getting off like this, riding my fucking shoe, it’s fucking vile. God, I just want to watch you do that for hours…and you would, wouldn’t you? If I ordered you, you’d do it. I don’t think I’d even have to control you, I think you just want it that badly. Such a depraved little thing, aren’t you?” 

You nodded, and he smiled at you. 

“Of course you are. Keep going. Don’t you dare stop. I don’t care how sore you get, you’re going to keep going until you wear yourself out. Do you hear me?” He pulled your hair tighter, turning your face to him for emphasis. “Nod if you understand me.” 

You obeyed, feeling the friction against your cheek as you nodded again. You kept going, desperately chasing your orgasm, your senses blurring into a pleasured haze as your eyes rolled back, when without warning, your whole body seized, harshly stopping your motions. It took your brain a moment to process that Kilgrave had told you to stop. You looked up at him, and you must have looked as betrayed as you felt, because a self-satisfied smile appeared across his face. 

“Oh, sorry,” he mocked, mimicking your affronted pout before his grin returned. “It just looked like you were getting close. I wanted to remind you that I didn’t say you could cum.” 

You whined in protest, but the sound was cut off when Kilgrave pressed his hand over your mouth. He leaned back once you were quiet, his detached demeanor only slightly interrupted by the visible outline of his hard cock in his pants. 

“Keep going, but don’t cum. You don’t deserve it yet.” 

You obeyed. Of course you did. Your body betrayed you, automatically stopping you before you could cum, each time getting just that little bit closer before it was ripped away, over and over again until you lost count. It was torture, and although you would have done anything for it to end, you couldn’t get enough, drinking in every sensation at once. All the while, Kilgrave watched you intently, only speaking when you began to beg after what you thought was your seventh time being edged, although you’d long since lost count. 

“Kilgrave, p-please, I can’t anymore, it’s too much, I’m going to break, I can’t take any more!” 

He gave you a mocking little frown in response. “What a shame. I thought you were tougher than that.” 

“I am, I can be! I just — ahh! Please, please, I just want it so bad…” 

“Oh, is that it? You just want it so badly? In that case…” He patted your head, which would have made you melt if it hadn’t been so condescending. “You can make yourself useful, can’t you? Use that empty head of yours and think of something you can do to earn it.” 

You didn’t dare stop rubbing against him, afraid you’d be punished if you stopped edging yourself for even a moment, so you kept going, the torturous friction of the fabric of his trousers against your clit making your heart pound as you leaned forward to undo his belt and take his cock in your hand. 

He offered nothing more than a small moan from between clenched teeth in response, but that was all you needed. You stroked his cock, slowly and gently at first, watching him as closely as you could. You followed every cue his body gave you - every small motion, every sharp breath, every thrust of his hips - chasing them, desperate for more. You wanted to earn it. You needed to earn it. Your body longed for it like oxygen, longed for approval, for your orgasm, for his cock finally inside you again. 

You stroked him harder; slow, steady motions that lavished him with attention and calmed your shaking hands. Judging by the way he gripped the arm of the chair, he seemed to be nearly as close as you were. You sped up both your hips and your hand, trying to finish him off before he could rip your pleasure away again, moving entirely on instinct and desperation. However, as you neared your peak, you felt his hand on your wrist, pulling you away. You looked up, your vision slightly cloudy, prepared to beg him not to stop you, but the command never came. All he did was look back at you, eagerly watching as you fucked yourself against him. 

You refused to let your opportunity slip away. Unless he forced you not to, then you were going to cum. You sped up, ignoring the ache in your muscles. Your hips stuttered and ground against him harder, rubbing your clit with short, rough little thrusts. Your vision was completely out of focus now, your eyes half-lidded — your brain was too fucked out to function properly, let alone see clearly. Every bit of your body burned, but all you could do was keep going and going and going, getting closer and closer, your breath coming in quick gasps as you rapidly approached your peak, and he still didn’t stop you.  

Your entire body tensed as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, muscles trembling from being clenched so tightly for so unbearably long. You gave a strangled moan that became a wail as the sensation fully washed over you, and you collapsed against Kilgrave, your hips still erratically jerking against him. You felt overwhelming relief as he let go of your hair; the sudden loss of tension made you realize how tightly he’d been holding on. He shoved your chin upward with his knee, forcing you to make eye contact. 

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, and your stomach dropped. You were thoroughly worn out and so overstimulated it hurt, but the look in Kilgrave’s eyes told you that you weren’t getting a break. 

You clambered unsteadily to your feet, nearly falling twice, legs still shaking. You barely managed to get upright enough to collapse facedown onto the duvet. 

You moaned weakly, feeling Kilgrave’s hands around your hips before he flipped you over so that you were facing him. He leaned in close, lips nearly touching yours, his hands holding your wrists in place by your head, his cock pressing against your clit in a way that had you fighting your own instincts to squirm away from the overstimulation.  

“Now, did you follow my orders from last time?” 

Your mind raced to clear away the exhaustion as you tried to remember the request he’d given you the last time you met, and you nodded. “I haven’t slept with anyone else,” you panted as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Hmm,” Kilgrave purred, letting go of one wrist to tangle his fingers in your hair. “And why is that?” 

You blinked in confusion. “Because…you told me to?” 

Kilgrave clicked his tongue once in disapproval. “No, no, that can’t be it,” he said, his expression one of feigned contemplation. “Any order I give wears off after twelve hours. You wouldn’t know that, of course,” he gave you a quick glance before continuing, “So you must have not wanted to.” 

For some reason, you’d assumed that his commands lasted longer. Looking back, it was odd that you couldn’t tell when whatever power he had wore off. But he was right, you supposed. Whether the thought was originally yours or not, you hadn’t wanted to fuck anyone else for at least six days after the command would have worn off, so you hadn’t. 

You nodded in agreement, a bit dazed. It was so hard to focus with him touching you. 

“And why didn’t you want to?” 

That you didn’t have an answer prepared for. 

“Um…I…just didn’t?” Your response came out like a question. 

“Hmm, not quite.” Kilgrave tilted his head slightly to one side, waiting for another answer, but when you stayed quiet, he leaned in further, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“The correct answer,” he whispered, his tone growing dangerous, “is that you don’t want to fuck anyone else because you’re mine. Isn’t that right?” 

The familiar brain fog took over as you felt a warmth in the pit of your stomach. “Yes, it is,” you replied instinctually. 

“Then say it.” 

“I’m yours, Kilgrave.” 

“Again.” 

“I’m yours! Now please, please fuck me, or I swear to god I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” His tone darkened. 

You bit your lip. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what you could do against him. You couldn’t overpower him. You wouldn’t ever want to. 

He reached up and slapped your face — lightly, but hard enough to know that he wasn’t afraid to take things further if you didn’t cooperate. 

“Answer me, slut. What exactly are you going to do to me if I don’t fuck you right now?” 

Your mouth opened of its own accord at his command. “Nothing,” you choked out. “I won’t do anything. I’ll be good.” 

Kilgrave rewarded you with a satisfied “hmm” and a smug smile before pulling away. 

“Show me your neck,” he ordered. 

Confused and a bit terrified, but in no position to argue, you craned your chin upward, closing your eyes as you exposed your most vulnerable flesh to the man above you. You could feel your pulse jump, just below your sensitive skin. You couldn’t hold back a shiver when Kilgrave ran his fingertips, gently and slowly, down the column of your throat, over the nearly-faded bruises he’d left the last time you saw each other. 

He went still for a moment, lingering on the prints of his fingers on your skin before pressing down ever-so-slightly. 

You gasped, but managed to keep yourself from squirming as Kilgrave wrapped his slender hand around your neck, not hard enough to choke you, but enough to make you need to take a deeper breath than normal. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your thighs together and willing yourself to be patient, before you felt Kilgrave’s other hand shove your legs apart before slamming two fingers into you. Your body jerked involuntarily as he roughly scissored them, thrusting them in and out a few times before pulling away entirely and sitting down on the edge of the bed. You glanced up at him, slightly confused. 

“Come here,” he ordered, patting his leg in a clear invitation for you. “Face the mirror.”

You obeyed, struggling to move on your still-shaky legs, situating yourself so that your back was to him as you lowered yourself onto his lap. You gasped as you felt Kilgrave press his cock into you as you did so, impatiently forcing you backwards so that he was buried deep in your cunt with barely a moment for you to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. His hands grasped your inner thighs, pulling them apart roughly so that you had no choice but to watch yourself being fucked. He leaned in close, biting your neck before ordering: 

“Ride me. I don’t care if your legs hurt. Don’t stop fucking yourself until I tell you to.”

You were in no position to disobey. You moved as best you could, still trying to stay as close as possible to him, grinding your hips against his lap, closing your eyes as you felt him hit your most sensitive spot. He moved his legs so that they were keeping yours wide open, pinning you right where he wanted you. He grabbed your chin roughly and forced your half-lidded gaze towards the mirror on the wall in front of you. 

“Look at yourself. Look at you, getting fucked by a complete stranger. It’s pathetic. I absolutely ruined you the last time we met and you loved it so much, you just couldn’t help but bother me while I was working, eh? Oh, you must have been desperate for me,” he murmured through clenched teeth as he fucked into you, jerking his hips upward. “No one else can fuck you like this, can they? I’m the only one who can control you the way you love so much, so I’m the only one who gets to fuck you. Isn’t that right?”

There was that possessiveness again, making your heart beat faster than it already was. You reached upward, clutching the hand that held your face, and leaned back into him. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, I’m yours, Kilgrave…” 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer as he fucked you. You worked your hips, bouncing up and down on his cock. Your eyes stayed glued to yourself in the mirror, staring at your fucked-out reflection, thoroughly mesmerized by the sight of his dick inside you. One of his hands wandered to your hip, gripping it hard; you could feel his nails digging little crescent marks in your skin. His other hand found its place at your clit, delicately massaging it with light, little circles, teasing you, tormenting you.

You arched your back in a silent plea for more, your moan becoming a sharp yelp when his hand came down hard and slapped your clit at full force. 

Your legs automatically tried to close, but Kilgrave had you firmly kept in place. He leaned upward, pulling you close, your back pressed firmly against his chest. 

“Oh, what’s the matter, sweetheart? Is it too much?” 

You paused, considering it, then nodded weakly, your eyes screwed shut. Your heart had skipped a beat at the pet name, but you had more pressing matters at hand. 

“Really? You came like a whore when I hit you with a fucking belt, but if I slap your cunt just a bit too hard, then you start whining?” 

You nodded again, feeling thoroughly humiliated. 

Kilgrave hummed in satisfaction. “Mmm. That’s too bad, I suppose. You’ll have to learn to like it.” 

You whimpered and writhed as another hit came, then  another. You moaned, starting to feel the stinging pain give way to a wave of pleasure, but still you trembled, completely overwhelmed. 

“See? Look at you. You’re desperate for it. I know how much you love it when I hit you. Stop squirming and let me give you what you want.” 

Your body relaxed involuntarily, eyes automatically locking onto yourself in the mirror. Again his hand came down, and your hips jumped forward, anticipating it.

You bit your lip as the stinging pain slowly settled into a pleasurable tingling feeling, watching as your clit grew bright red and slightly swollen as Kilgrave kept going, slap after slap after slap until you were gasping for air, jerking your hips against nothing in a desperate bid to cum, your head spinning. 

He stroked your clit with the tip of his index finger, just the barest of touches, but it was enough to make you flinch at the sensitivity. You groaned, but you still thrust your hips forward, wanting more. 

“Oh, look at that. Feels good, doesn’t it? Greedy fucking whore.” He punctuated the sentence with one final, harsh slap before pulling out and moving you off his lap.

You tumbled limply, until you landed in the middle of the bed, facedown and panting, feeling your abused clit throb pleasurably with every heartbeat. You didn’t even have time to try and take a full breath before you felt Kilgrave position himself above you, his cock brushing at your entrance. 

 “Are you gonna be good for me?” he murmured close to your ear. 

You nodded, and you felt him lean closer, his teeth grazing your neck before he spoke again. 

“Then tell me what you’re going to let me do.” 

You exhaled a moan before taking a shaky breath in. “Whatever you want to do. I can take it.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you sighed. You wriggled your hips, trying to maneuver yourself back onto his cock. “Just fuck me, I’ve been thinking about you all week — oh my fucking god!” 

Kilgrave had grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, forcing himself inside of you with a deep moan that was almost a growl as he did so. You frantically moved to match his pace, throwing your hips back against his to meet every brutal thrust. Your eyes rolled back as you felt him fuck against your most sensitive spot, over and over and over again, never letting up, never faltering. 

He slapped your ass once, twice, three times before ordering you to cum. No teasing, no making you beg, just one simple order: “Cum.” And you obeyed, grinding out your orgasm, keening with pleasure as you did so. 

It was nearly a full minute before your brain started working again and you realized he hadn’t stopped fucking you. Your thoughts were hazy, but you had the vague feeling that that was odd. You remembered last time, and how he’d refused to let you cum until he was right on the edge. So, you mused vaguely, you’d figured he was close, but he was still going.

However, you didn’t have any time to think about it any further, because he was ordering you to cum again - the same way, just one blunt command. 

“Cum.” 

And your body obeyed without warning. 

You normally needed more time between orgasms; your body was still reeling from the last one. And yet, you still found yourself cumming, trembling from the force of it, your cunt clenching onto him desperately. 

Your shaky hands faltered where they gripped the sheets and you briefly scrambled to try and hold yourself upright, but your efforts were in vain. The minute you thought your body was stable, the command came again. 

“Cum.”

This time, you completely let go. There was no way you could have even tried to hold yourself together. The pleasure was blinding you, making your heart skip a beat as it raced in your chest. You fell forward, burying your face in the sheets. The only thing holding your hips upright was Kilgrave, his grip on you holding firm even as you convulsed, unable to regain control of your exhausted muscles.

You were nearly hyperventilating now, your breath coming fast and hard as you turned your face to the side and desperately tried to get words out. 

“Wh…what…what the f….fuck are y…you…doing to me?”

You couldn’t see Kilgrave, but you heard the grin in his voice, even as he panted with the exertion of fucking you. 

“You said I could do whatever I wanted. What I want is to see how many times you can cum before you tire yourself out. I’m not going to stop until you can’t move, and you don’t get my cum inside you until then. Besides, being mind controlled makes you a complete slut anyway, doesn’t it? You’d do it, whether I commanded you to or not. Now be a good girl and cum.”

And your body obeyed without question. 

You bit down on the sheets to keep from biting your tongue, half-pained moans of overwhelming bliss escaping from your throat in guttural, needy cries. You couldn’t feel your legs anymore; you had no idea how your lower half was still upright, and you could feel every nerve in your overstimulated cunt begging for a moment of rest that never came. 

For what felt like hours and hours, every time you started to come down from your last orgasm, Kilgrave would order another from you, and you had no choice but to comply. Eventually, your shaking legs gave in, but he just maneuvered you onto your back without hesitation and kept going. 

Around the time of what you thought must have been the eighth one (although there was no way you could have kept track at that point), you mustered every single bit of your strength to try and resist his orders. You held out for as long as you possibly could, letting the cold fog fill your head for as much as you could bear it, your entire body shaking with the effort, until you cracked and the torturous pleasure flooded you, leaving you even more of a wreck than you had been before. Even worse (even better?), the feeling of being mind-controlled by him acted like a direct line to your brain’s pleasure center, and trying to disobey only made the feeling intensify the longer you tried to resist. Whenever you finally let go, your orgasms only got stronger. And the stronger they got, the more vicious Kilgrave became, taunting you as he fucked your dripping cunt: 

“Oh, yes, take it, just like that, we both know how much you love getting fucked like this…oh, are you trying to resist again? That’s precious. Fine, struggle all you like, you know you’re going to cum anyway, don’t you? There you are, just cum for me. Let it all out. It feels so good, doesn’t it? I know, it feels so good for you to be treated like a slut. God, look at your cute little cunt, leaking all over me, making such a fucking mess. Keep taking it. This is where you belong, isn’t it? Getting impaled on my cock. You’re all mine, all fucking mine. Cum for me, cum for me…such a good girl…fuck, you’re so tight, how are you still so tight after being fucked for this long? It’s like you were made for me, made to get fucked by me. God, I love hearing you scream for me…I don’t even think I’d have to tell you to cum at this point, I think you’d just keep going all on your own, wouldn’t you? Mmm, of course you would. But I know what you’d like more than that. You want me to order you to, don’t you? Come on, beg for it…ask nicely…there you go, I’ve trained you so well, haven’t I? Go on then, cum for me…”

Finally, finally, long after every single one of your senses had been dulled into near-nonexistence, long after your dripping pussy had gone numb with overstimulation, and long after you stopped being able to process anything Kilgrave said, your jerking muscles gave into exhaustion and collapsed, leaving you unable to do anything but moan quietly, your voice having gone hoarse ages ago.

As your cunt twitched weakly with what you prayed would be your final orgasm of the night, you felt Kilgrave’s grasp on you tighten. Through your blurred vision, you saw him throw his head back in ecstasy as he came deep, deep inside you. 

Your eyes rolled back and your lids fluttered shut as he pulled out of you, the relief so intense you would have cried if you hadn’t been so worn out. 

You heard soft footsteps as he made his way to the side of the bed, then felt his hand brush something wet from the corner of your mouth. You felt slightly embarrassed at the realization that you were so fucked out that you’d started drooling. 

You mustered your last bit of energy to crack one eye slightly open. 

“Thank you,” you sighed, your lips curving into a smile as your eyes shut again. You thought you felt a hand brush your hair, but you couldn’t tell - you were already half asleep and dreaming. 

-

When you woke up, it was well past midnight. Your shift had ended hours ago. You groaned as you stretched your sore muscles and rolled over in bed. You were briefly surprised at the realization that you were under the covers, before deciding that you must have pulled them up around you in your sleep. You didn’t let yourself consider the alternative, or that you’d woken up in the exact same position you’d fallen asleep in. 

You blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust your vision to the dark. You weren’t expecting to see Kilgrave there, but his absence still caused a slight pang of hurt. Still, you figured, no one had come up to clean out the room or kick you out since he had, so he had at least booked it for the night. You decided to take advantage of it as your exhaustion caught up with you again and you sank back into a deep, deep sleep.  

-

You woke up a full twelve hours later at noon the next day. Thank god it’s my day off, you thought to yourself as you gingerly got out of bed. You slowly put on your uniform, picking it up from where you’d left it on the floor, wincing as you moved. Still, despite the slight ache that you felt all over, you’d slept better than you had in ages. 

As you smoothed your skirt down, you felt an odd texture inside one of the pockets, a slight crinkling that gave you pause. You felt your heartbeat quicken as you pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. You slowly, anxiously unfolded it to find three sentences written in pencil. The first was an address — based on the street name, you knew it was downtown, in an incredibly expensive neighborhood. You felt a grin spread across your face as you read the rest of the note:

“Save me the trouble of coming to your job again. 8:00 pm tomorrow.

-K.”

You knew exactly where you were going to be tomorrow.

A/N: i literally cannot thank you guys enough for sticking with this, i know the wait has been absolutely insane, but i really do love writing for you guys, and i want to thank each and every one of you for reading <3 as always, my requests are open, and feel free to like/comment/rb if you enjoyed this fic :)) thank you all again for your patience and for all the love - i had NO idea my first kilgrave fic would blow up so much, but i'm delighted that it did!

🍓 the title of this fic is from million dollar man by lana del rey 🍓