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nouvxllev · 28 days

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CAN I DO A REQUEST..

Jenna x Reader

Summary: R gets high off their ass after an argument w J, J gets home (xtra tired) w R drunkkkafff, but even in a drunken state, R still treats J like a literal princess, no matter the circumstance they're in cuz R loves J sm

LOVELOVELOVE YOUR WRITING SM.

-🦦

i (do)nt care!

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Gn!Reader

Summary: request!! ^^

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: literally drinking tears away, on the verge of an alcoholic and stressed out reader, readers the sweetest but also dorkiest, bittersweet stuff but the author is trying to sound funny above most of it

a/n: one of my recognizable anons, thank you for requesting!!! APPRECIATE YOU SMMM

masterlist.

You're a shitty person at times, like having quips come flying out of your mouth like a 7th grade asshole. You don't know where they come from, but they came from something like maybe a stressful week.

Like people not knowing when and how to shut the fuck up, angry customers with blonde hair and a penchant for that pixie-cut hairstyle pestering you all day because you allegedly forgot their order as if you weren't new to the whole running a coffee shop thing while on a minimum wage!

The internet seriously romanticized it too much, it's becoming a hassle to know which job to take when all you want is something relaxing and pays well.

Job hunting was a pain in the ass more than you are.

But then there's that lovely and caring girlfriend of all that makes it all bearable even if you're on the brink of insanity. The one who makes everything okay with literally just her presence. If there were a worldwide contest for the best and most understanding girlfriend, you knew Jenna would win it hands down.

You'd sooner try to stop a bullet train with your bare hands than even hurt her in the slightest. You loved her all too much to even do so.

But somehow in your own fucked up, seriously-like-actually-what-the-actual-fuck-were-you-thinking way, you managed to mess that up too.

You had an argument with Jenna as soon as you walked through the door the both of you shared. (It was because she accidentally broke your Minecraft bed and now it wasn't placed beside her. Again, you were stressed, and everything piled up. Even if it's dumb ones.)

You still remember the sound of her voice, heartbreaking is all you could say. (Again, dumb argument. Why did you even bring it up as if it was some huge problem?)

So now you're here. Drinking all your sorrows away like it would magically bring Jenna close and sing some we are the world shit for the rest of your living lives and kiss.

It was moments like these when you question if you were dropped on your head as a baby multiple times and no one even bothered to tell you.

I mean, arguing over a Minecraft bed? Seriously? Maybe you should take up lobotomy without anesthesia.

You still remember saying, 'Fine! Go away and see if I fucking care!' like something out of a bad soap opera and then she actually went away.

And you do care. Very much so.

It's safe to say you spent 30 minutes crying on the floor before picking your ass up to get a cab and come up with a dangerous coping mechanism before you eventually spotted a bar and decided you'd start drinking.

And of course, being that one person who never drank before in their entire life without having to chase it all down with water the soon it hits your tongue, it tasted bitter.

The bar was quiet with a hint of peoples voices going up and down alot, screaming alot, and the occasional drunkard barging in with their work attire.

You'd like to think that you're none of these people, but your the person who argued with literally the love of your life that you vowed to never hurt over something so dumb and tried drinking it all away.

"Ffffuck..." you murmured to yourself. Your eyes burned like hell, that was a nice addition to a headache.

Your head was down on the counter, your fingers gripping the shot glass as if it was your last moment on earth.

"You've ordered two bottles of whiskey and a fuck ton of tequila shots in the past hour, something wrong?"

Let's see, I've been fighting sleep as if I've disrespected my ancestors, job hunting is literally chewing me like I'm flavored bubblegum, tired, stressed, and most importantly, I managed to upset my one and only girlfriend who only gave me nothing but pure happiness and love! So, I'm fucking not, thanks so much for asking!

But you can't say that to someone who's also working minimum wage at a bar in New York. Living in New York is hell enough, dealing with fucked up customers like you is already going to be the next problem.

Because what can you really say to someone who's just trying to do their job? They don't need to hear about your self-inflicted drama.

You hear the bartender sigh. Not unlikely because you've probably been groaning and whining for the past few minutes.

"Let me guess, gotten to a fight with your significant other?"

How in the hell did he know that!?

Your eyes widened, immediately sitting up straight. "Holy shit, you're a wizard!" By the way your voice slurred and literally no one on earth would have that as their first thought, you're drunk.

The bartender chuckled, cleaning off another class and chucking it in the sink. "Not quite. Just seen my fair share of broken hearts. Kind of comes with the job."

You shake your head, "Nope," you popped the P, "definitely a wizard."

"Wanna tell me about them?" He placed another shot glass your way, "On the house, juice, though. You shouldn't be drinking anymore."

Taking the glass of juice, you swirl it around absentmindedly with your hand perched on top of the table and carrying the weight of your head. People say don't talk to strangers, but they never really said to spill your guts over to them.

With a sigh you down it all.

"Her name's…" Oh, right. She's an actress.

You really shouldn't be going around telling people you're literally with America's Idol when you kept your relationship with her private until she's ready to go public.

"Her name is, uhm, Jenny." Fuck, she's gonna kill you if you tell her this story. But it does put a very stupid smile on your face.

"Pretty name."

Your eyes lit up like never before. You were passionate for her, how could you not? "She's pretty, very pretty—you wouldn't know how to describe it yourself, you'd have to write verses upon verses to."

"Have you?"

"I'm still writing. Everyday."

The bartender nodded with a slight smile to his lips.

You stand up straighter. "She's this—talented person with one of the most dangerously charming brown eyes that resembles a nebula. Her smile, oh—her smile is one of the most incredible things to witness. She could make a devil weep and laugh with her, it'll make them regret their sins in an instant." Your voice was warm, clear, not even a trace of drunkenness whenever you're talking about her.

"It's not just her looks, or her smile, or whatever, she has a brilliant mind you could never dissect. Tears were never a challenge for her, she's brave, braver than anyone I've ever seen. She's a kind and romantic soul, an old one at that, but romantic nonetheless. Not just to me, but to everyone around her. She cares for everyone around her." You didn't notice you started crying halfway through.

"Dreaming was never a problem when I'm around her, though it felt like reality was greater than anything I've ever slept in. She's just the most gorgeous and incredible girl. She sees right through me, through everything, but she still loves me despite all my flaws and fuck-ups."

You pause. "But tonight, I got us into an argument so stupid, like so stupid and then I burdened everything I was feeling on her. Before I knew it, I yelled some things at her that I didn't really mean and she was out the door."

You'd think you'd be fine after literally spilling everything out, but no, you just slump back again in defeat like some pathetic hopeless romantic loser.

You facepalm yourself. "Give me a bottle."

"You shouldn't be—"

"I'll pay you 100$ no change needed, just please give me a bottle." You were acting like one of those drunkards you see on TV shows where the character gets horrendously fucked over.

One of the all time low for you, you've really outdid yourself.

You hear the bartender sigh and place another bottle of whiskey. "Business is business."

In one go, or maybe one shot glass, you were back to words stumbling and your brain feeling like fizz.

"All I know is I screwed up big time, and now I'm sitting here feeling like the world's biggest idiot for doing something like that to literally the love of my life!"

"Well, is she—"

It happened in a flash.

Or rather it happened in a second by how fast your mood changed to serious to straight up bawling your eyes out and gripping the bartenders collar.

"What the hell do I do, John!? Is your name even John!?" You cried, even breaking down and making a mess of yourself in front of the population of this bar.

"ImessedthefuckupandIdon'tevenknowifshesgonnaforgivemeohmanwhatthehelldoIdo!?" You swayed him back and forth, it's amazing how he isn't calling for security and escorting you out.

"OKAY, OKAY! Calm down, shit!" He immediately grabs your hands and gently pries your fingers from his shirt and sits you back down.

"I feel like the—" you hic "—worlds biggest asshole and my girlfriend thinks that too!

"She's—"

"I still love her with all my heart! I'll do anything to be with her again, I'm so fucking serious, anything I—!"

"She's right behind you, man!"

You stop.

You turn around.

"Oh, shit."

You murmured. It was like your brain was stumbling on a delicate thread of soberness and drunkenness. Jenna looked like the most finest pair of blobs.

Jenna looks tired, exhausted, stressed. Her eyes are glistening with tears, and her nose carries a reddish tint to it. You didn't even notice that she was wearing your shirts with one of your jackets.

"Oh, love!" You come crashing down on her as you stood up, embracing Jenna into a warm hug.

"Y/n, you're crushing me—"

Jenna used to love your hugs, even if they were totally crushing her. Oh, you were so fucked.

"Sorry, sorry," you mumble, stepping back slightly but your hands lingered on her shoulders, offering a small massage to her stress. "Is that you, Jenna?"

She looks up at you. There were visible dark circles under her eyes and glint of past tears that trickled down her face.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Jennaaaaauuhh!" you cry out, her name stretching as you bawled your eyes out in front of her, words tumbling out of you before you can even stop them.

"I didn't mean anything, or any of it! I was stressed, people were so mean to me, but that isn't a valid excuse for me to just..." you blew a raspberry for dramatic effect, "blow it up on you. Please don't ignore my hugs, you always adored my hugs! Oh, God, Jenna, I'm so sorry!"

You were still talking before Jenna could even get one word out, "I love you literally sooo so so much I was a fool for even—hey, how'd you know I was here? Fuck, you shouldn't be here! I can't let you know that I was drinking, turn around!"

"Y/n," she sighs, reaching up to cup your cheek in her hand, "Let's just go home. You've been here for an hour."

You nod frantically, not knowing if that was meant to be as an I forgive you gesture or an I will tear your limbs from muscle to tendon and taxidermy you into the most horrendous positions after we get home gesture.

"I'll get the door for you!" You shout while stumbling over your own feet as you rush to get the door.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time the two of you got home safely without you trying to insist taking over the steering wheel when you're completely blacked out of your mind, you're still clinging onto Jenna as if she was the one going to fall on her own feet.

"Y/n, what are you doing?"

Jenna looks up at you, your whole figure sprawled out in front of her like a starfish.

You turn around at her like some superhero who came to save the day, vision blurry from the light. "The moon looks suuuper close tonight. What if you'll get burnt!?"

"That's the porch lamp, Y/n."

"No, it is not—!" You look up. Oh, shit it is.

"Oh." You take Jenna's hand, giggling away your blatant stupidity with a goofy grin, "God, you're so smart, can't believe you're my girlfriend."

But Jenna just laughs. It's everything to you, a sweet symphony blessed with those close with her.

"I like 'ur laugh, Jenna." You whisper to her, hands in your pockets while you watch her struggle with the keys.

She doesn't respond but with a nod. Your heart sinks for her—she's that exhausted and it's all because of you!

Finally, she manages to get the door open with your heart stuck in your throat while Jenna leads the both of you inside. The house was warm, toasty, but it left remnants of your argument with her.

You steel a glance at her, her eyes cast downward while she struggles with her own jacket.

"Oh—here! I'll get your coat," you offer, your hands trembling slightly with your own coat hanging from your forearm. "Annnd I'll take care of your clothes—wait, did you have dinner yet? I can whip up something for you!"

Without Jenna's judgement, you hurry up with a tail stuck between your own two feet to Jenna's closet, throwing everything out and getting some nice and comfy clothes for her. Not knowing you went to your closet instead of hers.

"Jenna!" You run towards her, pretty fast for a drunkard without falling over, "Shit everything looks like hell for me—anyway, what do you want for dinner? I can literally make anything, just say the word!"

Jenna still stands in the doorway, looking up at you. "You can't cook dinner, love, you're drunk."

She called you love! Yes!!

"I'm not drunk. I don't have my hiccups anymore, my vision is not that impaired and I can walk perfectly fine. You just saw me run!"

"You mistook a porch lamp for a moon and tried to protect me, Y/n."

Noooo! Back to the first name basis already!?

"Well—"

"You're sweating even if the air condition is turned on, your eyes look red so is your face."

"Okay, maybe—"

All you heard was a sigh before Jenna's lips met yours. Soft and delicate, it was the effect she had on you. You can melt like winter bathed in sunlight for the first time by the touch of her lips on yours.

"Earth to Y/n?"

Your eyes were still closed even after she pulled away, what an idiot you must've looked like.

You blink.

"Oh—oh, that's me. I'm Y/n." You cleared your throat. "Here, your clothes!" You bounced back almost immediately, but you swear your heart is still fluttering like crazy.

Jenna took the neatly folded pile of clothes on your hands, "Let's just take a shower, okay—"

You're practically bouncing with energy and utmost passion to help out your girlfriend with a simple sentence coming out of her mouth. "I'll draw a bath for you! Even scented candles and bubbles—wait, let's get you on the couch first."

Jenna smiles at you. Oh, how you've missed her. "You know, you don't have to do this, baby." She murmurs as she makes her way to the couch with your hand between hers, sinking into the soft cushions with a relieved sigh like she was a plushie.

"But I want to," you respond softly, handing her a bottle of water and arranging pillows for extra comfort. "It's the least I can do."

Fuck, she's too adorable. How in the hell did you manage to get into an argument with this perfect girl?

"I'll be right back, baby. Just relax, okay?" You reassure her, giving her a quick peck on the forehead before eagerly skipping to the bathroom like your life depended on giving your girlfriend the most luxurious bath of all.

It took a long while before you got everything in place. It was all 50% work and 50% taking a rest because you almost tripped and fell into the bathtub, eaten shit on the floor and the bath bomb, mistook rose petals for blood, almost dropped your phone into the water, and took numerous breaks to calm your vision and heartrate down.

Returning to the living room, you find Jenna lying down with her eyes shut, looking cozy and content.

Yet she was still tired.

Visible traces of exhaustion were etched on her face, her eyebrows are slightly creased even in her REM cycle, and her hand is curled into a fist as she constantly twists and turns in her sleep.

You wince at the sight.

You approach her quietly, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Jenna's face. You watch her breathing even out, her chest rising to her breaths. She looked dangerously ethereal.

"Y/n?"

How long have you been staring at her for?

You smiled, getting into the couch with her, wrapping your arms around her soft body, hoping that it felt like comfort to her like how she felt like undeniable solace to you. She was cold, very cold, but you couldn't help wrap your arms around her.

"Hey." You murmur, planting a soft kiss to her neck, "You okay? I drew a bath for you."

"Just for me?"

"Mhmm, why?"

"Aren't you going to take one? You reek of alcohol, baby."

"Harsh."

She laughs at you, sitting up and pulling you along with her. "Take a shower with me, there's enough space for two."

You smirk at her, "Ooooh, sexy."

Jenna could almost burn holes in your face, rolling her eyes with the same smile as yours, "We are not having sex, baby."

"Oh." You wince as you get up, taking Jenna along with you, "But seriously?"

"Seriously, you reek."

"And I thought you love me!"

"I do, just not the smell."

By the time you both got into the shower, you were marveling at Jenna's figure.

She seemed almost too flawless, simply too gorgeous not to appreciate fully. You could almost cry at the sight (which you did). She was too perfect not to.

Jenna turned to you, her wet hair cascading from her shoulders as you sat behind her, massaging her shoulders to relieve any stress and tension in her body. "You alright, baby? You're... crying."

"Sorry," You wiped your tears away with a light laugh, "You're too perfect, how could I not!?"

Jenna leaned into your touch, letting the warm water and scented candles warm her spirit as well as heart, the tension melting away under your gentle touch. "You're pretty perfect yourself, Y/n."

"Compared to you, I'm no one."

"Now that's the dumbest thing you've ever said."

You paused in your ministrations. "I made you cry, Jenna. Over something so stupid." You let your arms fall to her waist, wrapping them in a tight hug as you bring her closer to you, burying your head on the crook of her neck. "'M sorry. I shouldn't have blown up everything on you. I didn't mean anything."

Jenna sighed, her hands finding yours cuddled around her and intertwining each finger with hers. "I know you're just tired—"

"You are too. More tired than me but you never harmed me like how I harmed you." You whisper to her, your breath shaking, "I'll do better, Jenna. I'm sorry."

She hummed, turning her head to plant a delicate kiss on your cheeks. "I forgive you, Y/n. We all have our moments, you aren't any out of the ordinary."

You hummed softly against her skin.

"Also, please don't go out drinking again, okay? It's gonna turn out a bad habit for you."

"You smoke, Jenna. We aren't that different."

Jenna narrowed her eyes, "I will drown you, Y/n."

You laugh, placing a kiss on the corners of her lips. "I'm just joking!"

You continued to massage Jenna's shoulders, feeling your own stress and tension melt away as you kiss every patch of her skin.

"How come you still treat me so well even when you're drunk?" Jenna adjusted her position as she nestled between your legs, her own drawing up to her chin.

You scoff, "For the second time, I'm not drunk and I love you too much not to."

"That's a stupid reason."

"Excuse me?"

"What were exactly your exact words... Oh, 'Go away and see if I fucking care?'"

"You know I didn't mean it!"

"I do. But I wanna hear you say it."

You couldn't see Jenna's exact face, but you know she's wearing a shit-eating grin with the most stupidest and cutest dimples around her smile.

"I do care for you, Jenna. So much. I was a dumbass for saying that, a dick, even."

Jenna laughed, leaning in to rest on your shoulder, her hand gently guiding your head to face towards her.

She pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "I love you."

"Well, I care for you." You kissed her back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: im surprised that this was so short also im back! my schedule is hectic and very stressful but im still alive for the most part

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x gnreader #jenna ortega x gn!reader #jenna ortega

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gators-aid · 5 months

Text

decode (pt. 2) - toji f. x reader

previously titled: leave us

masterlist.

part one. | part three.

you and toji fushiguro have been in an on-again-off-again relationship all throughout high school. over the summer break after graduation, you find out you're pregnant. too bad toji has already skipped town after your last breakup.

tags: fem!reader, gun violence, harassment, physical violence, mention of domestic abuse (not between toji & reader), teen pregnancy (reader and toji are both 18-19 range), mentions of abortion, mentioned that toji sold drugs, americanized setting, non sorcerer universe, 00's setting, reader is megumi's mom, toji initially denies megumi is his, i aged up gojo, geto, and shoko so you can have some frens, exes to lovers (eventually), their relationship is toxic rn, not beta read we die like toji :(

wc: 2.7k

4 years later..

You pull Megumi’s hat over his ears to protect them from the cold and squeeze his body closer in your arms. “My mom can’t watch him today, she’s got a doctor's appointment. Shoko and Geto are working right now, too! I promise he won’t cause any trouble. He can sit in a booth while I’m working. Pleeeease, Nanami! You know he’s a good kid!” You beg your boss. He looks down at you and your son, contemplating which rules this would violate.

It’s Gojo who comes to your defense.

“Come on Nanamiiii, I can help her keep an eye on him! You won’t have any problems, my Megumi is the sweetest little thing, aren’t you baby? Aren’t you?” He leans over to squeeze Megumi’s cheek until Megumi turns his head into your chest to escape Gojo’s teasing.

Gojo had taken up working at the diner with you after he dropped out of college on account of, “My family has enough money for me to never have to work again. Why would I waste it in college when I can spend my youth working a minimum wage job for fun?”

You and Shoko had punched him in the face for that one.

“Any disruptions to the customers and you’ll have to figure something else out, Y/N. This is a one time thing. Gojo, don’t let the kid be a distraction to you. You need to stop forgetting you have tables all the time.” You smile and give Gojo a victory high five. “Are you excited to spend the day with mama, Megumi?”

Megumi had turned four a couple of weeks ago. You two now lived in your own modest apartment. It was close to your mother’s house and your job. Usually your mother would keep Megumi for you during work hours, and when that wasn’t available Gojo, Geto, or Shoko would help you out. With all four contenders busy, there was no choice but for you to bring Megumi with you to work. Babysitters and daycare were out of the question on your salary of shitty tips. You could barely afford the apartment. The only way you could get furniture into it was on a loan from Gojo (which he refused to let you pay back).

You, Nanami and Gojo walk into the back of the building through the kitchen to punch in. “Our little Megumi’s gonna be joining us today!” Gojo announces to the kitchen staff, mainly comprised of high school students and Hakari. You hear various coos as you walk Megumi through the kitchen. “Can you say ‘hi,’ baby?” You whisper to Megumi through his knitted hat.

He pulls his face from the interior of your sweater and meekly waves to the staff, who all burst into bright smiles. There had been a few times your mother had brought Gumi to the diner to see you during hours, meaning the staff had not only heard of, but had seen Megumi around quite a bit.

Megumi, unlike his father, was incredibly shy and quiet even for his young age. He was one of the best babies you could ever ask for. He cried of course, even had a nasty case of colic when he was little, but on average he cried far less than a normal kid. For a while you were concerned, bringing him to every doctor your insurance would allow to get second opinion after second opinion. Their conclusion? It’s just his personality.

"It seems like he cried all his tears out during his first couple of weeks!" One doctor had joked. Yeah, so had you.

Every time you looked at Megumi, you saw Toji. Their resemblance was undeniable. Sometimes it felt as if he hadn’t inherited a single genetic trait from you. Some days, it made you more sad than others. You hadn’t seen any baby pictures of Toji, didn’t think his family even owned any, but if you had to guess, Megumi had to be the spitting image. You’d see old classmates you hadn’t talked to in years only for them to comment on how much they resembled each other. Not knowing about you and Toji's dramatic breakup.

You and Gojo punch in and take off your coats to hang them up on the rack. Yuki, one of your newer coworkers, bursts through the door with a few empty water glasses. “Agh, thank god you two are here!” She exclaims, setting them down by the sink. “I’ve got this table of guys that are driving me batshit. The kitchen guys don’t get it. I need a freakin’ break.”

You giggle at her and take off Megumi’s hat from where you’re holding him on your hip. “I can take the next one!” You hang up Megumi’s hat next to your coat. “Just let me get him situated.” Yuki gasps and runs over to you. “Hi Megumi! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s nice to meet you, I’m Yuki! Oh my god, Y/N he’s so freakin’ cute!” She exclaims.

Gojo and Yuki get to talking shit about her table while you walk out onto the floor to choose a booth for Megumi to sit. You choose the one furthest from the door and closest to the kitchen and set him down on a side where you’ll be able to see him clearly for the majority of your shift. “Okay Gumi, I’m gonna be working but I’m gonna come over and check on you a lot too, okay?” You set your bag next to him and pull out a few toys and a coloring book. “I’ll get the kitchen guys to sneak you some food, okay?” He nods and grabs a blue crayon from his half empty box. “Okay, mama.” He replies in the sweetest voice you've ever heard.

You give him a kiss on his forehead and move a piece of his hair behind his ear before moving to the other side of the booth and adjusting your waist apron. “Y/N, you got table three.” Yuki announced. You looked behind you to see Gojo and Yuki approaching Megumi’s table. “Megumiiiii! What are you coloring?” Gojo slid into the seat next to Megumi and his toys.

“How many?” You asked Yuki. “Just two.” She responded, “The one guy’s hot, maybe you could get laid tonight.” You scoffed. “First of all, don’t say shit like that on the floor when we have customers who may hear you.” You give her a pointed look, “secondly, you’re too young to be talking about intercourse. You’re like twelve.” You smile at her and turn around to go greet your table.

“I’m literally 18!” Yuki exclaims as you walk away.

“Exactly the point!” Gojo responds for you.

You pull out your server book as you approach your table and click your pen. “Hi, I’m Y/N, welcome to-” when you look up, you freeze.

First, you see Jinichi, Toji’s brother. When your eyes move over to the other side of the booth, you see him in the flesh for the first time in five years.

He’s looking down at the table, so you can’t see his face, but from his build alone you can see he’s almost doubled in muscle mass since you last saw him. His hair is longer, bangs falling over his eyes, and he sports a black muscle tee to show off how much he has bulked up over the years. He's intentionally avoiding your gaze.

All the feelings you’ve felt over these five years, anger, rage, resentment, loss, pain, sadness. They all come rushing back at once. Five years of wondering what he was up to while you stayed up with Megumi as a newborn when he had colic and wouldn’t stop crying for almost a month straight. As you operated on auto pilot and almost cried when you saw him smile again. As you cared for him through his first flu, which you had eventually caught too. Rushing him to the hospital for a slight rise in temperature as your mother convinced you over the phone that everything would be okay and you sobbed hysterically. When Megumi took his first steps, when he said his first word. You always thought of Toji.

How would he have reacted? You may not have trusted him, but you don’t think he’d be a particularly bad father if he were to put in the effort. Every time Megumi smiles, every time he frowns, it looks like Toji has walked right back into your life. When you two talked about kids, it was never very serious. You always talked about the idyllic. How many you’d have, what their names would be, if you’d move out to the countryside so they’d have space to play. You never discussed how you wanted to raise them, how you two would afford it, if Toji would stop dealing.

“Well, well, fucking well!” Jinichi starts. “This is just fucking hilarious!” You can see Toji tense up where his elbows rest on the table. Jinichi leaned back in his seat looking back and forth between you and Toji. “High school fucking sweethearts! Look at this shit, Toji, that's your girl right there! Hey Y/N-” Before Jinichi can finish his sentence, Toji bangs his hands on the table, making the condiment bottles rattle loudly, and bringing the entire restaurant's attention towards the three of you. Toji mumbles something under his breath that you can’t pick up. You’re still physically frozen in place.

Jinichi had always been an asshole. Toji didn’t like you to go over to his house for multiple reasons relating to his family, but one of the major ones was because of his brother. Jinichi always had a smart mouth. Liked to put dumb ideas in Toji’s head, one of which was the one that eventually got him shot and bleeding out on your bedsheets.

“Ahh, come on little brother. You’re so intense nowadays. We’re here for a good ol-”

“We’re here for fucking business, Jinichi. Shut the fuck up. We don’t want nothin’.” Toji says, finally addressing you without even looking your way. You feel someone grab onto your shoulder and quickly turn to see Gojo. He gently pulls you away from the table.

“I- I didn’t-” you begin, before Gojo can even get you five feet from the table, Jinichi is back at it. “Hey, what the hell, don’t take my waitress! I ain’t ordered nothin’ yet! Hey Y/N, you look good by the way! Usually girls get ugly after they have babies!”

It’s so sudden and quick that if you weren’t five steps away, you wouldn’t have seen it at all. Toji leans over the table, somehow calmly and aggressively at the same time, to grab his brother by the collar of his shirt. “That’s enough. Don’t make me fucking tell you again.” He says, his tone quiet and deadly.

All you can think about is Megumi, where the fuck is Megumi? He’s your priority right now. Your head whips toward Megumi’s table, where you see Yuki with her hand on Megumi’s shoulder as he watches you intensely.

“Fuck. Gumi.” You whisper to yourself.

You pull away from Gojo’s grasp to race toward your son. “Mama..” he whispers as you reach him and pull him tightly into a hug. “It’s okay honey. Don’t worry about it.” You firmly grasp the back of his neck to ground yourself. This is exactly why you had said all those things you said to Toji all those years ago. You didn’t want your child growing up in an unstable environment. You didn’t want Toji’s issues to be a cause of stress for yourself or for Megumi. It'd be slightly different if these were two random guys in the diner. Sure, you'd shield Megumi if it got intense, but the fact that one was his father made the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the slightest movement.

“You look sad mama. Did the big men hurt you?” You laugh at his innocence. “No, baby. They didn’t hurt me.” They did hurt you. In a deep emotional way that you didn’t feel like explaining to a four year old right now. “Let's go honey, little kids shouldn’t see this.”

“I’m a little kid, right?” He asks. “Yes, you are.”

“What the hell is going on?” You hear a booming voice come from the kitchen door and see Nanami walking towards Toji’s table. “Nothings going on!” Jinichi yells. “You know how the little brothers are, always got a goddamned inferiority complex goin’ on or somethin’!” Toji still has a grasp on his shirt as Jinichi is yelling at Nanami.

“I’m going to have to ask you two to leave.” Nanami says calmly. “I ain’t fucking leaving. I came here for some fuckin’ service from my brother’s old-” Suddenly, Jinichi’s head is being slammed onto the table, and a collective gasp is aroused from the restauraunt.

“Come, Gumi.” You pick him up in your arms. “Yuki, can you pack his stuff up for me please?” You ask as you contemplate your next move. “Of course, of course.” You can’t head to the front or kitchen door without Gumi potentially seeing more violence. You would have to rush past in the hopes that nothing else happens while you’re moving by. The kitchen door is closer from here, less potential for Megumi to see anything.

“Ok, Gumi. Can you close your eyes for me real quick, baby?” You ask, rubbing his back. “Ok, mama.” You move Megumi so that his face is pressed to your chest and book it toward the kitchen door. You hear more commotion as you pass by, but will yourself not to turn around and check. Gojo and Yuki follow you in from behind with your bag. When you’re in the kitchen, you’re quick to set Megumi on the ground to grab his hat and secure it on his head.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I never would’ve given you that table if I knew.” She apologizes as she hands you your bag. You laugh. “It’s not your fault Yuki. By the way, remember what I said about no intercourse? You wanna implement that policy because of fuckers like him-” “Mama!” Megumi chastises. “Sorry, bad word.” Yuki lets out a relieved sigh.

“I didn’t even see them walk in, Y/N-” Gojo starts. “Oh my gosh guys, it's not a big deal! Seriously, I’m just worried about Gumi seeing anything.” Even as you say this, your hands shake as you attempt to zip up Megumi’s coat. Gojo gives you a knowing look and grabs your own coat off the rack for you.

“I just, um, need a little break. I can’t afford to lose out on the money tonight.” You say, grabbing your coat from him and sliding it on. “I’ll cover you-” Gojo starts, but you interrupt. “I’m not taking money from your family, Gojo!” You pick up Megumi and hold him on your hip. “I’m not saying that. I’ll split the tips from tonight with you. My apology for not seeing them before.”

“No, Gojo.”

Nanami walks in the kitchen door. “Take the day off,” he says to you before walking back to his office. “No, Nanami I’m ok I’ll just take him to my mom’s really quick-”

“You’re too shaken up to do anything else today. I’ll schedule you more next week to make up for it.” Nanami supplies. “Thank you.” You say, silently relieved. Was your distress seriously that obvious? You would have to tone it down in front of Gumi.

“Wooow Nanami you’re such a good manager-”

“Can it Gojo, you’re gonna have to pick up the slack tonight.”

You’re already making your way out the back of the building when Gojo responds with a whine.

“Hey what the hells going on out there?” Hakari asks as you walk by. “Some bullshit.” You respond. “Mama!”

You weren’t even in the building for thirty minutes today, but it feels thirty degrees cooler when you walk out. The trek to the bus stop is gonna suck.

It's a ten minute walk from the diner to the bus stop. You cling onto Megumi for warmth, making sure he's buried not only in his own coat, but in yours. When you get to the bus stop, you realize it’s gonna be another fifteen minutes before the bus comes. Megumi isn’t one to complain, but you can feel him shivering under you. “Just a little longer baby.” You soothe him, rapidly rubbing his back and arms in an attempt to warm him.

It must be some sick joke for an old pickup truck to pull right in front of the bus stop and roll its window down.

“Do you need a ride?” Toji asks.

You've gotta be fucking kidding.

part two is up! thanks so much for all the love on the first on! 70 notes is crazy!

pls send requests or questions to me! and also let me know if i missed anything in the tags!

thank you guys !!!

(i'll make a masterlist maybe when pt 3 goes up but im too lazy rnnnnnn)

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

618 notes · View notes

roses-for-rosalyn · 11 months

Text

Ms. Anderson

Abby x reader

This one is an unhinged fantasy I have had for so fucking long dude. I literally had to finish this up while I was at a beach house with my family which is the most unhinged thing I’ve ever done.

Summary: Ms. Anderson hires you as a maid, but she has some particularly odd requests.

Word count: 5k of pure filth

Content warnings: maid reader, business lady Abby, Abby is also kind of a pervert hehe, teasing, use of tie as a restraint 🤭, thigh riding, clear consent 🫡, vibrator use, edging, overstimulation, Abby is referred to as Miss or Ms. Anderson most of the time, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), aftercare yay, let me know if I missed anything

Minors dni (will not hesitate to hunt you down 🥰)

Working for Ms. Anderson was a… unique experience. You’d been a maid for a couple years, you worked hard to make your way up to work in upper class houses. Better conditions meant not having to deal with cleaning up what were basically crime scenes for lower than minimum wage. There’s not much you wouldn’t do to keep your place in these houses. So when Ms. Anderson hired you, you agreed to some extremely odd requests. She offered to pay double what most clients would if you agreed to wear a maid costume. Yeah like the black collared dress and frilly white apron. You would normally just wear a button down and jeans, professional, but comfortable. Of course you agreed money was money and when it came down to it she wasn’t asking for a whole lot. Like, yes in theory the suggestion could come off as creepy, but for the amount she was paying it didn’t bother you nearly as much as it should. She lived alone too, you assumed she mostly paid for the company, the house was rarely that dirty when you came to visit.

The first day you showed up to work in the uniform you felt ridiculous. Ms. Anderson opened the door revealing you in the black collared dress, white frilly apron, sheer black tights and to top it all off a pair of black heels. She barely maintained a neutral expression while looking you up and down, slowly dragging her eyes over your whole body. She nodded and simply said “Good.” before gesturing you to come inside. You pinned the odd reaction down to nerves.

If you were being honest with yourself, you would try to be in the same room with her whenever she was home. You liked looking at her too. Every day she wore a white button down and pleated pants. Her muscular arms strained against the white fabric and the first time you saw her dressed like that you drooled a little. You could tell when she had important meetings because she would add a tie and blazer to her outfit. Those days you had a hard time keeping your eyes off of her. Occasionally you would stare too long, daydreaming about Ms. Anderson using her strength to do whatever she wanted to you. In the morning she would scroll through the news on her phone while drinking her coffee, occasionally looking up and observing you, you could feel her eyes on you even while you faced away from her. When she hired you for evenings she would watch T.V. in the living room. She would let her eyes wander to you, watching you dust and fluff pillows. She loved watching you move in the uniform, when you bent over to fluff the pillows she could catch a glimpse of under your skirt. She knew you only wore a black thong under those tights, she liked to think it was just for her. Her mind would wander, imagining bending you over the couch, ripping a hole in those sheer tights and fucking you senseless.

Most of the time though she would be at work while you were cleaning, so you would rarely have conversations with her, especially in the mornings, she would always be in a rush. In the evenings though, you were usually able to make small talk. You would ask about her day and her job, sometimes you would get lucky and even make her laugh. Abby normally wasn’t super talkative, but she enjoyed her little conversations with you. She would always try and compliment you when talking to you. She thought was walking a fine line between creepy and sweet, but she had no idea that her little comments had you melting on the inside.

After about a month Ms. Anderson would strike up a conversation with you every time you walked in the door. She had a crush on you from the start, but now? She was obsessed. You had grown pretty fond of her too. You always looked forward to working for her, you started spending a little extra time on your makeup, ironing your uniform and putting on perfume. You felt a little crazy for having a crush on, essentially, your boss. She was probably like 10 years older than you, maybe more, but her accomplishments and intelligence on top of her muscular build had you swooning.

Today Abby finally wracked up the courage to ask you to stay for dinner. She had thought about it for weeks, what finally convinced her was that last week you had adjusted her tie before she walked out the door. It was the closest she had ever gotten to you. She towered over you while she watched your small hands adjust the tie, your warm skin brushing up against the button down. There was something so domestic about it that Abby didn’t realize she yearned for. You noticed her breathing hitch a bit when you reached for her, her breathing picking up a little. You realized you made her nervous, and you never thought you would feel so powerful over someone as strong as Ms. Anderson.

As you were grabbing your things to leave you hear Ms. Anderson call out, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

It was the last possible thing you expected her to say, but you turned to her and responded all too eagerly, “Yeah why not? I have nothing going on tonight.” Abby smiles and gestures for you to follow her into the kitchen. You observe she’s still in her work attire minus the blazer, leaving her in a button down with a loosened tie and slacks. A couple of her top buttons were unfastened and her tie was hanging carelessly around her neck. Her blonde hair was out of her usual ponytail, her wavy hair reaching just past her shoulders. Seeing her in this more lax state was unusual, but it only made her more attractive. She pulls out a chair for you to sit down at the kitchen island and you look at her with a mild surprise on your face. You weren’t used to her serving you. Of course you had no idea the things Abby would do to serve you, she thought about it every night. You sit down slowly and watch as she pulls out various ingredients from her fridge and pantry. Watching her cook alone in the large kitchen made you wonder how she ended up living in such a large house alone. You had never seen anyone come over, not a boyfriend, husband, friends or even family. At first glance she didn’t seem that lonely, but she clearly hires you mostly for the company. You watch as she rolls up her sleeves and cooks various items on the stove with surprising efficiency. You wouldn’t take her for the type to know how to cook, but she moves so naturally in the kitchen, she’s comfortable here. Ms. Anderson was clearly lost in her cooking because she didn’t even try to make small talk, she just hums and occasionally makes little squeaks when she forgets to add something or makes a mistake. With her sleeves now rolled up you could see Ms. Andersons forearms on full display, veins snaking up her arms becoming more pronounced as she moves. The combination of her vigorous cooking and her disheveled clothing made an embarrassing ache begin to grow between your legs, you rub your thighs together trying to soothe it, but it just gets worse the longer you watch. Eventually you figure out she was cooking pasta with a homemade red sauce. The smell of basil and garlic began wafting through the kitchen causing you to salivate. She quickly assembles the meal and finally turns to face you, two plates and utensils in hand. She has a proud grin on her face as she places the plate in front of you. You smile “Thank you.”

Abby’s smile grows wider. “My pleasure.”

It looks so beautiful for what it is, she shaved fresh parmesan on top and added a basil leaf for garnish. “Were you a cook or something at one point? Because this is impressive Ms. Anderson.”

Abby huffs out a laugh “No, no. My dad just used to cook a lot for me when I was a kid. Learned all this fancy stuff from him.” You nod and grab your fork to dig in. You take a bite and let out a little moan of delight. You hadn’t eaten much today and this was fucking delectable.

“This is delicious.” You say between bites. Abby just nods in response, mouth still full.

You both practically inhale the food. You were relieved she matched your pace, it’s always embarrassing when you finish a meal way before the person you’re eating with. Abby grabs your empty plate along with her own and puts them in the sink. You immediately walk up behind her and lightly grab her bicep. The feeling of her large muscles made you almost forget what you were going to say. “You made dinner, I get to do the dishes.” you say, gently pushing her to the side and grabbing the plate out of her hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve been cleaning all day.” Ms. Anderson picks up the other plate and begins scrubbing it.

“Your house was already clean when I got here, I barely did anything today. Let me make up for it.” She simply blinks at you upon your response, but continues with the dishes. You wonder if you may have accidentally crossed a line mentioning the fact that she didn’t really need your service. It was an unspoken understanding she needed you for more than cleaning. You were squished against each other in front of the sink, trying to softly push the other out of the way. You can feel her warmth through the fabric of her clothes and you falter for a moment, realizing how close you are. Ms. Anderson grabs your plate out of your hand, having finished scrubbing hers clean. You pout in protest, but quickly give in and walk away to go dry your hands on a towel. Abby puts the dishes away and turns towards you, she just stands there for a moment, allowing an awkward silence between the two of you. You take it as a sign to collect your things and leave.

“Thanks for dinner Miss-”

She cuts you off, “Call me Abby, and anytime.” She smiles awkwardly. “Let me walk you out.” You nod and watch as she walks ahead of you. You follow her making your way towards the door.

When you reach the front entrance you walk up to Abby, facing her. You allow only a few inches between the two of you as you speak. “Thank you again uh… Abby.” Feels really weird calling her by her first name.

“Yeah.” She barely manages to whisper out. She’s looking down at you as you look up at her through your lashes and Abby feels just about ready to explode. Her eyes dart down from your eyes to your lips and linger there. Her breathing begins to pick up before she leans down and presses her soft lips on yours. Your eyes widen and you let out a surprised squeak, but it doesn’t take long for you to melt into her. She lightly holds your jaw as she kisses you harder, opening your mouth with her tongue. you place your hands on her chest trying to steady yourself. Her light touch mixed with her rough kissing was making you dizzy. Her hands drag down your arms past your hips and she lightly squeezes your ass, pulling you closer into her. Suddenly she pulls away, her eyes were wide and her breath began to quicken.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean-“ she stutters out nervously. But you quickly grab her by the necktie in response, inviting her lips to once again press against yours. Her hands move lower to the back of your thighs and she breaks away from your mouth for a moment to say “Up.” You immediately obey, jumping a little bit to allow her to pick you up. You immediately wrap around her to hold on. You feel the dress ride up dangerously high, the tight material having little give. She strongly grips your thighs, groping the newly exposed skin to hold you up and begins kissing you again as she walks you both to an unknown destination. You couldn’t bring yourself to care where you could be going, you were lost in the feeling of her rough tongue massaging yours, and listening to her little whines and moans sync with yours.

You cross a threshold into a dark room. Abby lets go of one of your legs to close the door before pinning you against it. Her large hands wander around your whole body, it felt like she was touching you everywhere but where you needed her. You begin to gently grind against her in an attempt to satiate the ache in your cunt that was growing unbearable. Ms. Anderson lets out a wavering breath between kisses at the feeling of your hips rocking against her. You begin to move against her a little faster trying to get any friction you possibly can.

“Fuck.” Abby whimpers out breathlessly. You moan at the sound of her needy voice. Ms. Anderson’s wandering hands and rough kissing were intoxicating, yet never enough. You begin unbuttoning her shirt slowly, trying to encourage her to continue. You only get a few undone before her hands gently grab yours and her lips pull away, causing you to let out an involuntary whine.

“It’s alright baby, just gonna move us over here so we can talk.” You have no idea why she thinks now is the best time to talk, but you don’t have a choice since you're clinging on to her. She backs up to sit down on the bed. She moves your legs so you’re straddling one of her thighs, pulling your dress up past your hips to allow you to spread your legs. The position creates a deliciously perfect pressure on your clit.

“Now,” she grabs your hips and encourages you to begin moving against her strong thigh, “We can talk.”

“Miss how-”

“I’m going to explain exactly what I want to do to you and you’re going to tell me what parts you want done to you and what you don’t. Simple yes and no, I won’t take nodding as an answer, you need to use your words, okay?” You had never imagined she’d be this confident in this situation. Dominance oozed from her causing you to grow even more soaked, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Okay, yes.” You say breathlessly, nodding your head. You’re not sure how your going to manage responding to her in coherent words when your sensitive clit is being ground against her muscular thigh. You were already breathing heavily, and you had barely moved against her.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Miss.” God calling her that was going to drive you wild. Made you feel even more under her control.

“God, I've been thinking about this for so long. I see the way you look at me when I wear this tie. You don’t think I notice you fucking me with your eyes while you’re bent over cleaning in your pretty little dress, baby? Such a little fucking tease.” All you can do in response is whimper. She huffs out a laugh, and leans towards your ear, you could feel her warm breath tickle your skin. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined tying you up with this,” She gestures down at her green necktie, “and teasing you until you’re begging me to let you come?” You let out a loud moan at her filthy words, unable to contain yourself. You grind faster against her, chasing any sort of relief from the throbbing between your legs. “How does that sound baby?” She asks before starting a trail of kisses down your neck.

“G-good, Miss, really good.” You barely manage to respond, she has you falling apart under her touch. Abby hums against your neck, more than satisfied with your answer.

“Knew you’d be perfect for me.” She reaches behind your back and unties your white apron, discarding it on the floor. She kisses you again, her rough tongue caressing yours as she grabs your ass, groping the soft skin with her large hands. She breaks away from you for a moment and catches her breath.

“Lay down, head on the pillows.” She says it in that demanding voice that has you biting your lip to avoid moaning embarrassingly loud. You do as your told and lay down on the soft bedding, sitting up against the pillows. Ms. Anderson crawls on top of you and straddles your waist as she slowly unbuttons your black dress revealing your matching black bra. Abby knew this was just for her because she saw your cheeks begin to glow red. She didn’t unbutton the dress all the way though, only enough so she could pull it open to expose your breasts. She pulls the bra cups down, your cleavage spilling out of the dress. Ms. Anderson stares for a moment, appreciating your disheveled state before grabbing your breasts and massaging them with her large hands. She groans upon touching the soft skin, she begins teasing your nipples, drawing little circles around the sensitive buds before taking one in her mouth. You gasp and moan as you feel her tongue swirling around your sensitive bud. The sensation causes you to grab her hair, looking for anything to hold on to. You thread your fingers through her soft blonde hair and gently pull whenever she sucks particularly hard on your nipple causing her to moan in sync with you. She takes her free hand and places it on your hip, the gentle placement giving you butterflies. She moves to the other nipple, taking her time, she would do anything to get you to keep pulling her hair like that.

Once she’s satisfied, she moves to kneel next to you. She unties her necktie slowly, watching you impatiently squirm, your thighs desperately rubbing together for any sort of relief. She gently takes your hands, and puts them together, palms touching. She then begins to expertly wrap the tie around them securing them together. Her touch was so incredibly gentle, so careful. She took her time, making sure your wrists were properly secured.

“Okay?” She looks up at you checking in. She smirks when she sees your expression. Your eyes wide and mouth hung open, unable to process how incredibly aroused you were.

“Yes Miss.” you say without skipping a beat. Abby nods before getting up off the bed and rummaging through her nightstand. She pulls out a small bullet vibrator and places it on the bed. She looks at you and smiles. seeing how eager you were made her want to fuck you right here right now, but she has to have patience. She's been waiting for this for too long.

She moves your legs apart gently and kneels between them. She gives you a once over admiring how your dress bunched up on your hips and how your breasts perfectly spilled out of the fabric. She then wraps her hands under your knees and yanks you down the bed towards her, forcing you to spread you legs wide and bend your knees. It gave her a perfect view of your cunt, your arousal starting to drip down your inner thighs. You let out a little squeak and a giggle at the sudden movement. She grabs your bound wrists and moves them so they are above your head, leaving you completely at her mercy. Abby licks her lips at the sight of you and smooths her hands up and down your thighs. You whimper, sick of her teasing. Once Abby heard your sound of desperation she finally lost her patience and ripped your tights open at the seam, creating perfect access to your soaked pussy. You gasp at the sound of the fabric ripping, caught completely off guard by the rough movement.

She begins moving her finger up and down your slit over the thin fabric of your underwear. She was barely touching you and you were already falling apart, whining at the feeling of her fingers on you. She rubs circles around your clit and you begin to push your hips into her hand begging for more.

“Patience sweetheart. I’m gonna take my time with you.” She smirks when you groan in frustration. She brings her free hand up to massage your breast pinching and twisting your nipples as she continues to tease your clit.

“Oh god- please Miss-“ You whine, shamelessly begging her for more.

Abby obliges “Since you asked so nicely baby.” She moves your thong to the side letting the fabric snap back against you. You inhale sharply at the slight sting against your skin, all your senses were heightened from her teasing. Every movement and touch was magnified. She finally takes her finger and runs it along your wet slit, gathering your arousal. She takes her finger away, already glistening with your slick, and sucks it into her mouth with a satisfied hum. Abby takes her finger out of her mouth and whispers out “fuck.” Before taking that same finger plus another and shoving them into your needy cunt. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, her large fingers stretching you open.

“Shit baby I know I said I was gonna go slow, but you took two fingers so easily.” You moan loudly, unable to formulate a response in your current state. She curls her fingers and hits your g-spot causing you to cry out. You start to struggle against the silk tie around your wrists, your fingers itching to grab onto something.

“Fuck you sound so good baby.” At that she leans down and starts gently licking at your clit. At this point you can’t even control the noises you're making. Her fingers are steadily hitting your g-spot as she moves them in and out of you at a perfect pace. Your moans start getting louder and your walls start to clench around Abby’s fingers.

“Already close baby?” She asks in a mocking tone. You barely manage to whine out a yes before she stops touching you completely. You let out a desperate cry and try to clench your thighs together to soothe the almost painful throbbing in your cunt.

Abby grabs your legs and yanks them back open. “Uh uh,” she tuts, “you’ll be able to come soon enough sweetheart, but I’m not done with you yet.”

She grabs the bullet vibrator from the edge of the bed. You decide to boldly move your bound hands downwards propelling you to sit up in front of Abby. She looks at you stunned for a moment, you use her shock to your advantage as you move your hands to her shirt unbuttoning it to the best of your ability. She lets you unbutton it all the way, but she pins you back down to the bed before you can encourage her to remove it completely. She hovers over you, her shirt open exposing her naked breasts and prominent abdominal muscles. Now it was your turn to lick your lips, her shirt unbuttoned plus her sleeves rolled up had you grinding your hips against the air.

She smiles as she watches you admire her body, chuckling at your parted lips and wide eyes. Suddenly you feel something hard up against your sensitive clit, you quickly realize what it is as you feel it start vibrating against you. You breathe out a quiet moan at the feeling. She uses her free hand to gently grab your wrists pushing them back above your head to rest on the pillows. Her hand slides down your arm slowly, her fingers gently brushing against your skin. They move down between your breasts and skillfully unbutton the rest of your dress with her one hand. You gasp at the feeling of the cold air hitting your exposed skin. The cool feeling is quickly replaced by Abby’s warm hand, she moves her hand down your stomach and places it on your hip, holding you down against the bed to prevent you from squirming. She turns up the vibrator, the feeling causing pleasure to blossom in your stomach becoming almost overwhelming.

“Fuck, Abby.” You forget yourself, but upon hearing you moan her name Abby groaned, the ache between her own legs growing almost unbearable. The pleasure in your belly begins to build the intense feeling of the vibrator directly on your clit pushing you to the edge, but right as you are about to reach your high the vibrator is pulled away.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” You whine out trying to close your legs to no avail. Abby uses both her hands to spread your legs even wider.

“You wanna come baby?” She asks in a sweet tone.

You whine out a pathetically desperate “Yes.”

“Then beg for it.” She says her voice lowering.

You whimper before giving in “Please Miss, please let me come. I’ll do anything please.” Apparently this was enough for Abby because she spreads your lips, places the vibrator directly on your swollen clit and then proceeds to shove two fingers inside of you. You cry out at her sudden movements, but soon start moaning uncontrollably as she hits your g-spot over and over with each thrust. She easily adds a third finger. You felt so full with her large digits inside of you. Your high was beginning to approach at an alarming rate, an almost unbearable pleasure causing you to let out a pornographic moan.

“Please Miss it’s too much I can’t-” you cut yourself off with a moan.

“But you wanted to come so badly.” She pouts at you overdramatically, mocking you. “I know you can take it baby, you’re going to come for me and when you do I want to hear you say my name. Think you can do that sweetheart?” You nod vigorously unable to respond properly with her fingers fucking a moan out of you at each incredibly fast thrust. Thankfully she accepted the nod, knowing she had you so blissed out you couldn’t respond was more than enough. Your moans grow louder and your walls start to clench hard around Abby’s fingers.

“I-I’m s-so close.” You barely manage to warn her.

“Come for me baby.” You watch her smirk before your eyes are forced closed by the blinding pleasure taking over your body. You swear you see stars as Abby continues to fuck you through it. You are practically screaming her name as your orgasm rips through you, your hips uncontrollably grinding against her fingers and the vibrator. Soon your legs start to shake from overstimulation and you try to pull away, but Abby removes the vibrator to pull you closer to her.

“One more for me baby, I’m not done yet.” She turns off the bullet vibe and throws it to another part of the bed, her fingers still moving in and out of your aching hole. She lays down between your legs and presses her mouth to your cunt. You’re so sensitive you can’t help but squirm against her, she is quick to drape her free hand across your stomach pinning you down. She begins sucking on your swollen clit and you whine at the feeling, your thighs clenching around Abby’s head. She moans at the feeling sending vibrations through your body. Your hands are itching to reach for her hair, you desperately want to thread your hands through her blonde hair and pull, instead they struggle against the makeshift restraints. The helpless feeling only turned you on more though, your cunt clenching around Abby’s fingers. She starts grinding down against the mattress trying to relieve the throbbing growing between her own legs. She sucks on your sensitive bud, her tongue swirling around it. When you start to get close again Abby begins groaning at the sound of your moans. She was close too, you were literally going to make her come in her pants this was fucking ridiculous. Your orgasm hits you suddenly this time, you cry out at the feeling of the pleasure ripping its way through your body. Abby’s groaning intensifies as she reaches her own high grinding desperately against the mattress.

Abby eventually removes her mouth from you when you become too sensitive. She keeps her fingers inside you for a bit longer before pulling them out and sucking them clean. The sight of your arousal on her lips and her open shirt made you sit up again using your bound hands as momentum. When your finally upright you kiss her passionately, tasting yourself on her lips. You break the kiss and rest your forehead against hers the sound of Abby’s breathing synced with yours. She uses the moment to gently untie your wrists.

“You know you made me come in my pants. Barely had to do anything.” She laughs genuinely, she has no idea why she confessed that.

You giggle and reply “I’m flattered.” She finishes untying you and throws the silk necktie onto the floor. She kisses you again and completely removes your dress. She urges you to lay down and lifts up your hips, pulling your tights and underwear down in one swift movement. Once she has you naked she stands up beside the bed and picks you up in the air bridal style. You let out a little yelp and she laughs, her warm chest bouncing against you. You rest your head against her bare skin and sigh contently as she carries you to the bathroom. She sits you down on the edge of the bathtub and wets a washcloth with warm water. She quickly cleans you up before picking you back up in the air and moving you back to the bed. She gently places you on the soft sheets and strips off her button down and pants leaving her in boxers. She crawls into bed beside you, her warm skin pressed against yours. The feeling is so relaxing you almost immediately fall asleep. Before you sink into sleep Abby whispers “I’ll wake you up in the morning before I go to work baby.” She pauses before saying “I’m so fucking glad I hired you.” She kisses the side of your neck and you let out a little laugh before sinking into sleep.

Let me know what y’all think! 💕💕

#abby anderson #the last of us #the last of us 2 #abby x you #abby x fem!reader #abby smut #abby anderson smut #abby the last of us #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader

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ghouljams · 20 days

Text

'Til Death (Remember Me in Your Will)

Rating: Mature (Minors Do Not Interact) Words: 3.7k Tags: David "Hesh" Walker/F!Reader, Sugar Daddy au, Dom/sub undertones, flirting Summary: You start dating Hesh as a way to supliment your income. It's not like you've never sugared before, you know how to play this game. It's just too bad Hesh seems to have his own ideas about what this relationship is. Next Chapter > ao3

You’ve always been smart. You don’t know if you’ve always been pretty, but you try not to be too harsh on your younger self. You also have bills to pay. You’re fortunate enough to be doing what you love, working a job you’re passionate about, and getting paid shit all for it. Luckily you’re not the one paying your bills. You have sugar daddies for that.

Like you said, pretty, and smart enough not to rely on one stream of cash. You have a couple men you sugar for, all old enough to make sure they know you’re not looking for love, and with enough experience to get you off at the end of the night. It’s a good situation, everyone gets what they want, and you don’t worry about your job paying you barely above minimum wage. When one man drops you, you hit up your favorite sites for another. Which is how you got here, staring at Hesh with a cup of coffee held tight between your hands and a hangover that throbs like a lobotomy.

What you don’t know is how he got in, but you’re more focused on his offer than anything else. Drop the other men you sugar for to be his exclusively, and he’ll double every dollar they pay you monthly. You’re not greedy by any stretch of the word, but your mouth waters at the proposal. That’s a lot of money he’s laying on the table.

“And what about sex?” You ask him. It’s been months of dating him, and Hesh still hasn’t touched you. In fact the smoldering tension between you has made all your other relationships feel cold. Forcing you to rely on your toys after sex these days when your other daddies fail to perform. That doesn’t mean you want to cut it off cold turkey. You can’t, not when he still makes you throb eagerly even with the hangover migraine. If he doesn’t want you, there’s no deal.

There’s something steely in Hesh’s eyes when he leans forward, his elbows settling on his knees. His smile is wicked, predatory, it makes goosebumps prickle over your skin. Your blood runs hot, and follows his eyes as they drop to stare between your legs.

“Baby,” He purrs, “I’ll fuck you over this table right now, all you gotta do is say yes to me.”

(six months ago)

You check your makeup in your compact mirror. Not your favorite, but you find the men you date appreciate the femininity of it. There’s something terribly alluring about swiping your pinky over the corners of your lips with a compact mirror in hand, and you don’t get that sort of sex-out-of-the-bag flavor with your phone camera. You really need all the cards you can get tonight too. You’ve got a date with a new man, a new sugar daddy. You don’t usually go for them when they’re this close in age to you, but he seemed nice, and paid in advance(no strings attached), so you’re taking the chance on him. He offered to pick you up, but… you’re not about to get trapped in a car with a man you don’t know. It’s better having a quick escape route if the date goes south.

You snap your compact shut and tuck it neatly back into your purse when you spot your date. He hands his keys to the restaurant’s valet, and offers you a smile. He’s wearing a suit, you expected as much with the caliber of restaurant he suggested, but it’s nice being dressed up for. You hold your hand out in greeting as his long strides carry him close. You’re pleasantly surprised when his fingers grip yours and raise your hand to his lips. He just grazes your knuckles, his eyes heavy on yours as he kisses your hand. They’re green, you note. Not just his eyes either, his suit too. It’s so dark you’d mistaken it as black, but it’s green, and it makes his eyes positively electric looking.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” He smiles, dropping his hold on your hand and slipping his around your back as you turn to walk into the restaurant.

“I just got here,” A white lie, you got here with ten minutes to spare, never early or late for the men you date. Your date hums, his thumb rubbing against the small of your back, right where the zipper of your dress ends. His hand splays wide, his pinky grazing the swell of your ass. It sends a little shiver through you, the touch quickly removed as your date gives his name to the host.

“Walker.” He voice, sure and even, louder than the intimate softness of his voice when he’d greeted you, makes something warm slither down your spine.

“David Walker,” you feel the name over your tongue, adding the last name to the one he’d had on his profile. You feel the way his attention slips back to you heavily, it may as well be another hand with the warmth that it draws over you.

“My friends call me Hesh,” He sounds proud, but not like he’s puffing out his chest. There’s no bragging to the nickname, just the simple exchange of information.

He settles his hand on your back again when the host leads you to your table. The firm pressure not pushing you, not hurrying you, but steadying you. You wonder if he doubts your ability to walk in the heels you picked, or if he’s simply the touchy sort. You suppose you’ll figure it out soon enough. He pulls your chair out like a gentleman, helps you scoot in to the table, and takes his seat across from you without a wasted movement. You’ve never met a man that seemed so immediately comfortable in his own skin.

You suppose that comes with the territory. The men that pay you, pay you for a reason. You’re arm candy, or a kink, or an easy lay that’s a step better than a prostitute for men too important to “date down”. You know all sorts of men, but Hesh… Hesh seems like he could find a partner easily. Maybe it’s a time issue. You’ve only dealt with some of those. The type of man that doesn’t have the time in his life for dating. You slot the possibility into your mental file for Hesh, and settle your elbows on the table, leaning against them with a smile.

“So,” You draw the word out, give him time to eye the way your breasts push together against the low cut of your dress, “how was your day?”

It’s a simple question, one that never feels out of place, but busy men will always talk about their work. Hesh’s eyes drag over you, flicking to meet yours from their brief rest on your chest. He smiles, taking the menu set in front of him to look over as he speaks.

“I’m in the military if that’s what you’re askin’.” You feel yourself falter a little, regaining your composure, your smile, when he glances up at you.

“You must be busy,” You try, keeping your tone interested but light. You dislike intelligent men, the ones that can see through you, see through your questions, it makes it harder to play the game when both sides know the rules. But a date is a date.

“Hard to date with deployment looming,” He admits, or perhaps supplies, helping you build your mental catalog for him. You nod, you can see that. It would certainly make it hard to keep someone around without an incentive, hence the use of a sugar baby. Ah, got it. You file him neatly into the correct box and reach for your water glass.

“I can imagine,” You raise a brow, taking a sip, busy men like talking. Busy men tell you about themselves, what they can do for you, what you should do for them, how busy they are and how little time they have for you, as if you’re meant to be grateful for every second they allow you.

Hesh waits. He sits patiently, watching you with interest as you swipe your thumb over the lipstick stain you’ve left on the rim of the glass. He’s quiet, observant. Unnerving. Busy men talk, and Hesh isn’t talking. He’s watching, taking you in like he has all the time in the world. He sets his menu down and laces his fingers together on the table. You wish you couldn’t feel the hesitance in your fingers as you take another sip of your water, delaying the inevitable.

“Do I make you nervous,” He asks after your third sip. There’s a keen evenness to his tone, low and deep enough to shiver goosebumps over your skin. You set your water down and plaster on a smile that feels as fake as you’re sure it must look.

“Of course not.”

“You done this before sweetheart?”

“Sugar?” You can feel Hesh’s hum, the warmth of it spreads through your chest, his eyes soft and his smile inquisitive. “Once or twice.” You lie.

“Once or twice,” He turns the words back to you. An interrogation technique you often employ during these sorts of things. It works though. You bite down the need to correct him, to tell him maybe it’s more than just once or twice.

“It’s hard to pay the bills with just my work.” You explain, though you’re not sure why. Something in your stomach flutters to explain yourself to this man, the desire shakes itself through your bones. He reaches for his own water glass, draws the moment out as you watch his Adam's apple bob with the motion of swallowing. You've done this a good dozen times, but no one has put you on your toes as quickly as Hesh has. You take the moment to give him a once over. There's a slight shadow over his jaw, we'll groomed stubble that feeds its way into close cropped brown hair. Young-ish, with an age to his eyes that makes you wonder what he's been through, what he's seen. He's just at what you would call “acceptably older” if you were actually dating him, but he still wears his youth in the gleam of his smile. He watches you like a hawk, and you in turn watch him like a rabbit.

“Non-profit, right?” Hesh confirms, and you nod, before quickly giving a verbal affirmative. Verbal answers are more confident, and you've done this too many times to be losing your confidence now. Hesh is outside of your normal routine, but a sugar daddy is a sugar daddy, and at the end of the day they all want one thing. A pretty thing on their arm. They don't care about what you do or who you are, as long as you go home with them at the end of the night. “Do you enjoy it?”

The question takes you off guard. Or, not the question itself, you've heard that a hundred times at least, it's the genuine interest disguised behind an impassive smile. You blink at him.

“I-” you don't give details about your work, they don't want details, you give the necessary ‘yes’ and move on to talking about him or playing footsie under the table, “I do it’s-”

Your waiter stops beside the table, and you feel Hesh's attention leave you like a weight falling off your chest. He speaks with conviction, orders wine for the both of you, and where you usually feel as though that sort of move is right out of a “how to show women you’re the boss 101” handbook, on him it feels natural. He’s used to commanding attention, to giving orders. No wasted breath, no wasted words. Hesh orders and you wonder if he’ll do the same for your meal.

“What did you say you did in the military?” You ask when the waiter leaves, and Hesh’s eyes feel all the heavier on you for your interest.

“We were talking about you,” He corrects. The way he sits and looks at you show a man that holds not just himself to high standards, but everyone else as well. The weight of his full attention is crushing now that you’ve felt it leave you, and yet it sparks something in you. A desire to please. A desire to live up to those expectations.

He’s here for you, you don’t want to disappoint him.

You’ve never had a conversation with a man who makes you feel so aware of yourself. You can feel the brush of fabric against your skin like a touch, and each breath you take seems to tease you as your dress pulls over your chest. And his eyes… He touches every inch of exposed skin he can with them, drawing warmth over you until you’re positively alight with want. You have to excuse yourself to the restroom. He stands with you, old school manners you’ve only seen in movies, and offers a hand to help you around the table. You think you feel the brush of his fingers over your hip, his touch burning through you even when you must have imagined it.

You fix your makeup in the bathroom mirror, attempt to clean up some of the mess you’re making in your panties. God. It’s been so long since you had a date that stoked the fire low in your stomach, a man that looked at you like something to be desired not just a sure thing. When’s the last time your date seemed so interested in you, asked questions to further your answers, brought up topics that related to something you’d mentioned and not just something he could brag about? When’s the last time you had a good date with a hot guy and weren’t worried about whether it would be worth your time?

God have you really not thought about the money this whole time? You’d been so swept up in the way Hesh spoke to you, the way he looked at you, that you couldn’t think of anything else. Even now you can’t help thinking of the way he’d purred, “Anythin’ you want,” when you’d asked what to order. The memory of his voice makes you press your thighs together. You want to know what he’d say to you without the filter of public decency. You want to know how he’d touch you behind closed doors.

He stands again when you make your way back to the table, waits for you to sit before taking his seat. You notice he’s barely touched his food since you left, only picking up his knife and fork when you do. You slot “slow eater” into your folder on him. It doesn’t matter you suppose, he sips his wine, always pours another swallow for you when you run low, and yet he seems to finish with you. His food is gone just a bite after yours is, and he leans against the table as the waiter whisks your plates away. Like he’s waiting for something.

It’s easy to slide your foot against his calf, easy to see the heat that burns in his eyes. You’re careful of your heel, but you’re well practiced in this game. He wants you, you know he wants you. That’s how these things work, pick a pretty girl off the site and take her home at the end. You get first right of refusal and some extra cash in your pocket, he gets to boast about the pretty thing he’s screwing.

“You hopin’ for something sweetheart?” Hesh catches your ankle under the table, firm fingers stopping you from trailing past his knee. His tone is casual, playful, his grip is not. “Gotta use your words like a big girl.”

“I’m hoping we can get the check,” You purr. Your dates usually rush for it, signal the waiter as quickly as they can to shuffle you into the back seat of their car, or the nearby hotel. You don’t think you’ve had a date ever end at dinner, the same way you’re sure you’ve never had a dinner last quite as long as this.

“We?” Hesh smiles, his thumb rubs your ankle, the friction making you shiver, “You offerin’ to split the bill little one?”

“Of course not Daddy,” the title falls from your lips with an invitation to touch further. You try not to stretch too obviously into his grip, feel the slip of your skirt as his fingers push up over your calf like a curtain drawing the evening to an end, “Just thought you might like to have dessert elsewhere.”

Hesh’s hand is warm and appreciative as it strokes your leg. You feel the drag of calluses, rough palms skating over your soft skin, and wonder how those thick fingers will feel once they’re inside you. Men like him… they like when you’re a little bold, they like knowing that you’re not too shy to avoid falling into bed on the first date. You’ve honed your edge against the predictability of the men you date, and you know you’re right by the way he catches the waiter’s eye and taps his fingers against the table.

You settle into the warm feeling of victory, and the knowledge that you’ve snagged another source of income. Not to mention the added benefit of sex. Hesh touches you with an idle sort of intimacy that makes heat throb between your legs, he touches you like it’s his right to, like he holds command over the how and when of it. You don’t think he’s the sort of man people often say ‘no’ to.

He drags his fingers over your shin, settling your foot against his knee as he takes his hand from under the table to take the check. It’s a bit of a stretch, the burn in your hamstring of keeping yourself looking presentably seated while still abiding by his placement is a wonderful precursor for the night ahead. You keep your eyes on him as he pays with barely a glance at the bill as he hands the waiter his card. The whisper of wealth. No, you don’t think people say ‘no’ to Hesh often. If ever.

Hesh slips his card back into his wallet as he stands, and moves around the table to offer you his hand. You don’t need it, but you like the way his fingers curl around yours, the firm grip he holds you with as you stand. You brush your hands over your skirt, letting the hem fall back into place. You don’t miss the way Hesh’s eyes follow the sway of your chest as you lean forward. Men are all alike, perfectly predictable.

You press close to his side, letting him feel the soft curves of your body as he leads you out of the restaurant. He hands the valet his ticket and you make a mental note to call one of your friends to come grab your car. Although you suppose you don’t have to spend the night, you can uber back here in an hour or so and grab it. The restaurant staff know you well enough they can let you park here for a bit.

“Are we going back to yours or finding a hotel?” You can’t say you aren’t interested in seeing where he lives, but a hotel is closer, and you’re ready to go.

“Neither,” Hesh hums, “you’re going home.”

He’s not- he’s not interested? Your confusion must read too clearly on your face because Hesh’s hand finds your waist and drags you close. You tip your head to avoid bumping your nose against him and he takes the motion as permission to kiss you. His lips searing yours as his hand squeezes the meat of your hip. You’re quick to wrap your arms around his shoulders, quick to press against the length of him, your chest to his, your hips to his. You can feel the thick twitch of his cock where you push yourself against it. (Fuck is that all him?) He’s like a furnace, radiating warm want that soaks into your skin. The night air feels freezing on your exposed skin

Hesh’s lips part, his breath a sigh as his head tips. The soft push of his lips against yours is exceedingly gentle for the hunger you can taste behind it. It shivers down your spine, aches in the creek of Hesh’s grip on your hips, a want that you can’t quantify. Your lips slide over his, his stubble tickling you a little as you part and kiss, part and kiss, again and again.

He presses, forces you to lean back, arching into him. You’re reliant on him to keep you standing, trusting your balance to a man you barely know. It makes your skin prickle, makes you want. You wiggle your hips, try to entice him to give you what you know he’s looking for, even slip your tongue in the part of his lips. His fingers tighten until you squeak with pain and pull away from the kiss.

He pulls you up, lets you go to take his keys from the valet. You can still feel his spit slicking your top lip, the tingle of his stubble against your bottom. You balk, the dark fabric of his suit does enough to hide the outline of his cock in the low light but you know what you felt. How can he just leave you like this?

“You’re serious.” You realize, and Hesh pauses with his hand on the top of his car.

“I am,” No wasted words. You hesitate, worry your lip between your teeth before you can stop yourself. Hesh waits you out, patient as a saint.

“But I thought-” You try to blink through your confusion, “I thought this went well.”

“It did,” Hesh smiles and it isn’t patronizing or pitying, but there’s something in it that doesn’t feel entirely friendly, “I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all sweetheart.”

You frown. The first genuine expression you’ve given him all night and it’s a furrowed brow. You fix your face before you lose the next date to your pouting. Hesh’s brows are heavy, his eyes lidding as he watches you. There is something dark and unreadable in the way he looks at you, something heady that makes you dumb. The chill rushes to you when he looks away, climbs into his car, and leaves.

#cod x reader #x reader #david walker #david hesh walker #david hesh walker x reader #hesh walker #hesh walker x reader #hesh cod #cod hesh #hesh x reader #sugar daddy!Hesh #f!reader

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highonmarvel · 7 months

Note

Helloooo! Can i please request an au where the reader has had a few toxic relationships and she’s trying to distract herself by those by starting her own business, turns out bucky or steve are an interested investor but they never really wanted her business and just her and somehow trap her into an arrangement…Sorry if it’s too specific! 💖💕💞💗⭐️

oh, this is such a good idea, i hope i did it justice!

Bucky Barnes: Your ex has made sure you’ll never get a job in NYC again, but you’re determined to keep your head above water. Just as things are getting too bleak to bare, you meet James Barnes. 18+!

Dub/Non Con Warning!

additional content warnings here!

You yawn as you close your laptop, finally done with payroll for a small nursery school a few neighbourhoods over. Who knew Grade R teachers could have such horrible internal affairs?

You heart skips a beat as the lights flicker momentarily, and you worry your electricity will be cut off, but they stabilise, and you sigh in a relief, hand over your heart.

When you left Tony, he made sure you lost your friends, and your job, and your income has been less than minimum wage, you’re barely even scrapping by. You had been through this before, boyfriends trying to ruin your life—Thor, most notably—but you had to give Tony credit for really crippling you this time.

You weren’t able to get any office jobs again, having to settle on working for a sweet old woman in a small flower shop, which was kind, but it didn’t come close to paying your bills. Still, you refused to let Tony win; you had good qualifications; you had a bachelor in HR and nearly a decade of experience, and that no one would hire you didn’t stop you.

You started your own HR consultancy, an idea you to had spoken about to a friend a few times, but you were sure Tony had took care she never even looked at you again, so you did it alone, which would be way too much for a single person, except business was slow; but, make no mistake, you worked your ass off.

The nice thing about the flower shop is the sweet old lady allows you to hand out your business card to the few customers that come in. Only four or five people had actually taken it in the time you’d been working there, and reluctantly, at that.

You drag yourself to bed and crash pretty much immediately.

As usual, the morning is pretty much empty—one woman comes in but buys nothing and another stares through the window for 10 minutes—until around midday, when the air shifts.

The bell at the top of the door pulling your attention from your daydream and to a familiar-looking, tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a nice suit, which he adjusts the cuff of as he scans the room. His eyes meet yours and he smiles. You return the smile with a, “Welcome to Miss Roe’s Flower Shop. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Though his mouth doesn’t twist, his eyes glint with something odd, making his initially warm smile seem more sinister.

“Anything I can help you find in the store?” you feel the need to clarify.

He only asks you for the red roses, which you point to and he returns to the counter with a bunch.

“Romantic,” you mutter as you ring him up, and he chuckles, softly and, seemingly, sweetly.

You hand the bouquet back to him, and he plucks a rose from it and hands it to you, “A beautiful lady like yourself deserves one,” he winks, and you blush, stuttering out a thanks as you take it.

Just as he takes a step back, you yell out, “Wait!” louder than you intended, and slightly startling him, “Sorry,” you apologise, as you slide one of your business cards off the top of the stack and hand it to him, slightly nervous for some reason. He takes it curiously and scans over it.

“HR?” he asks, “Wouldn’t have thought it.”

You don’t really have to time to process that comment, let alone come up with a response before he continues, “Perfect timing, actually, I’ve been needing help in that area. I’ll give you a call, he smiles as he pockets the card, “Oh, and,” he reaches out a hand, “I’m James Barnes.”

That’s where you know him from! Barnes Industries, one of the most advanced tech companies in North America, and the CEO is interested in having you on his team.

You give him your name as you shake his hand.

“It was nice meeting you,” he says with a determined smile before slipping out the door.

Back home, in the kitchen, you’re not sure if he’s actually is going to call, especially when it’s approaching 19h00, maybe he was just being nice. He did seem a bit flirty… but maybe you imagined it, why would he want anything to do with you? And if he were being flirty, he surely wouldn’t then hire you.

You jump as your phone rings, nearly spilling boiling water all over yourself. You set down the pot and rush to the living room where your phone is singing and vibrating on the couch.

“Hello?” you answer, slightly breathless as you rest the device on your ear.

A female voice asks if this is the number for your HR Consultancy, to which you affirm.

“Please hold.”

You press your phone against you harder, heart beating a little faster as you bounce on your toes, waiting on hold with some generic elevator music doing nothing to soothe your nerves. After nearly five minutes, you’re ready to hang up when a voice answers.

“Good evening, I’m sorry for the late hour.”

“Mr Barnes!” you exclaim, before clearing your throat and sitting down, speaking in a lower, more professional voice, “It’s no issue at all, sir. Can I help you?”

“Would you mind coming in for a meeting? 8AM sharp tomorrow. I understand if you’re working—”

“I’ll be there,” you reply a little too enthusiastically, walking over to your desk to pick up a pen and pull out your notepad, “8AM, I’m assuming at Barnes Industries?” You take down the address he gives you even though the huge, skyscraper-tall building with a giant B and a rocket logo is pretty hard to miss.

When you hang up, you can’t help but jump up and down excitedly like a schoolgirl. Finally, your luck is turning around.

You straighten your skirt as you step into the building, grateful the sweet old lady had not only given you the day off, but been super supportive, convincing you would you get the job, and that settled your nerves slightly. Only slightly, though, as you walk up to the desk where a red-haired woman sits, looking alert, but a little bored.

“How may I help you?” she asks.

“Good morning, I’m here to see Mr Barnes,” you say, and then give her your name.

At the mention of your name, her eyes widen and she quickly stands, “Of course!” she says, “Right this way.”

Her heels click on the pristine white floors as she leads you to a fancy elevator and presses the button for the top floor.

“Should I be nervous?” you ask, trying to make conversation as each floor ticks by too slowly for your liking to get to the 60th.

She laughs politely and shakes her head, leaning in and speaking lower (despite only the two of you being in an-already small space), “For anyone else, I’d say yes, but Mr Barnes has been looking forward to your meeting; I think you’ve got a real shot. In fact, I think he’d pay anything you ask.”

She pulls away and raises her eyebrows at you.

Your mouth falls slightly open but you quickly close it and gulp lightly, tearing your gaze away from her to focus on a spot on the floor just in front of the doors. You don’t know if she’s exaggerating, you assume she has to be, because how could Mr Barnes even know if you were good at your job? For all he knows, you work in a flower shop and hand out cards for subpar services. Somehow, her words make you more anxious than they are comforting.

The doors finally open and she points you to the room at the end with big double doors.

“Good luck!” she smiles, and you watch the doors shut, the numbers go down for a few floors, and you’re left on your own.

You take a deep breath and turn back to face the apparently never-ending passage. You walk down the corridor in timed rhythm, counting 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4 until you reach the end on a 2. You knock on the door and are met with a “Come in,” from a masculine voice.

You slowly open the door, resisting the urge to peek your head in first like a child.

“Good morning, Mr Barnes,” you smile, speaking cheerily but still professionally.

“Ah, there she is!” he says as he stands from his desk and walks towards you, and for some reason now you really take note of the height-difference.

He gently grips your shoulders and kisses you on the cheek, to which you stiffen slightly, but try to cover up before he notices. His hands move to your waist and he leans in; you almost sidestep him thinking he’s trying to do… something else, but he only locks the door behind you, and you can’t tell if that’s better or worse than what you were expecting.

Your nerves flare up again, but in a different sense than if you were just going in for a job interview, adrenaline starting to prepare like you’re in danger. But you’re not… right? You’ve had dozens of interviews. You assume this time it’s just more scary because it’s with James Barnes himself.

“Nervous?” he asks as he steps back and gestures to a comfortable-looking leather armchair on the other side of his desk.

“A little,” you admit with an anxious and breathless laugh. He gives you a reassuring smile as he turns to a shelf behind him.

“Don’t be,” he says as he fixes himself a drink, “Whiskey?” he offers, “5PM somewhere and all that.”

You politely decline, and he settles into his seat across from you with his drink in hand. He takes a sip and sets the glass down to set his gaze on you, and you resist the urge to shift uncomfortably under his stare… it almost seems like he’s preventing himself from sizing you up.

“Why did you start your business?” he asks, “Honestly.”

“Well, I’ve been in HR for a while now, always had a passion for it, but I wanted to be more independent, and a little more flexible.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Honestly.”

“And I…” you don’t know why you say it, but you do, “I’ve had bad experiences with boyfriends in the past—and, please let me know if I’m being too unprofessional here, sir—”

“Bucky.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Bucky.”

“All right… Bucky,” you smile, “I’ve had my most recent ex boyfriend try to ruin me; he got me fired, and no serious white collar will hire me, but I’m good at what I do, and I refuse to let him stop me from using my knowledge and expertise.”

“Tony Stark, is your ex, I take it?”

Your blood runs cold, and you deflate slightly, “Yes,” you sigh, “He is, and… and he treated me horribly, I couldn’t take it anymore, and even when I’m not with him, he still finds away to make my life hell.”

“I don’t trust that sleaze. In fact, anything he says, I do the opposite. I know you’re good at what you do, I can see your passion…”

You smile, relieved he believes you.

“… and I have a passion for you.”

You freeze, so your smile is still intact, “I’m sorry?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, sure you misheard him, but how could you have?

“You’re a smart girl, you know what I’ve been feeling, and you’re smart enough to know you’ve been suppressing your mutual attraction, but maybe too naïve to understand intentions.”

“Mr Barnes—”

“Bucky,” he corrects.

“Bucky, I—”

“I’ll pay whatever you want.”

You nearly snap at him, want to tell him you’re not for sale, but you stop yourself. You really, really need this job, you can’t afford to live another month.

“I know you need this job,” he says, as if he read your mind, pulling out a contract from his desk drawer, “And imagine if both Tony Stark and James Barnes said you were awful? You’ll never work in this city again.”

A tear rolls down your cheek as you take in the weight of his words, and you clutch your bag tighter in your lap.

“You’ll never work in this country again, you’ll be ruined, you’ll have nothing.”

You choke on a sob and cover your mouth with your hand as you shut your eyes.

“Why’re you crying? Honey, I’m offering you everything.”

“Thank you for… the opportunity,” you manage to get out between a deep breath as you shakily stand, and he stands with you.

You dart for the exit, but he grips your shoulders and turns you around, pushing you against door, your lower back painfully hitting the handle.

Soft blue eyes meet yours, so gentle and empathetic and caring you nearly forget the position you’re in, “I’m trying to help you,” he says, wiping away one of your stray tears, “If you walk out that door it’s over for you, you know that.”

Tears are falling more freely now and you fumble behind your back for the door handle, but the tall wood separating you from freedom doesn’t budge.

He wipes another tear with his thumb and pops it into his mouth before pulling it out adding his middle and index finger, never breaking eye contact with you, face stoic as your chest rises and falls rapidly.

You can do nothing but stare up at him helplessly as he hikes up your skirt and pushes two fingers inside you. You grip his shoulders with a gasp and he smiles as he slowly drags in and out of you.

“Didn’t even need to do that, you’re all ready.”

You turn your head to side and look away from him, shutting your eyes as you squeeze around him. He’s right, you were already wet, but your feeling of disgust is overpowered by the sensation of him pumping in and out of your more quickly, curling his fingers and hitting your sweet spot, over and over until you can hardly take it.

“B- Bucky, stop—” you try to get out, but you convulse, your stomach tensing as you cry out and arch your back, head thrown back before falling onto his shoulder, still crying softly. He removes his fingers and strokes your hair with his clean hand.

“Did so well for me, you see,” his voice is dark in your ear despite his praise, “You’re good at your job.”

✪

[taglist; @cjand10]

#dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark avengers #yandere bucky barnes #dark!avengers

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celenawrites · 1 month

Text

— a soft life: unofficial prologue

Summary -

Retired and domesticated, Johnny and Simon look forward to the next step in their life as a couple - parenthood. However, initiating this process turns out to be a lot trickier than usual.

And then enters you, a tired grad student who is desperate and willing to be their surrogate for some much needed cash. Needless to say, they find themselves orbiting you - like planets to the burning sun.

Warnings - A/B/O dynamics, Metaphorical ramblings of 'killing' parts of one's personality, reader is implied to be an immigrant and POC so expect topics of misogyny, sexism and threats of forceful marriage/parenthood to pop up in later chapters, Unbeta'd and unedited contents so mistakes are inevitable, etc.

Word count - 1, 128.

series masterlist || read on ao3

Your eyes burn.

The black cursor blinks against the empty white expanse of your Word document, taunting you and your incapability to muster up anything to write for your thesis. You shut down your laptop after staring at the blank document file for what seems like hours, barely mustering up the concentration needed to finally name the topic of your research thesis.

You lean back against the black ergonomic chair and it creaks under your weight, and you can feel the way your back cracks as you stretch your arms over your head. You take off your glasses, and then let your palms rub at your aching eyes as you contemplate what more you could do to distract yourself from your imminent doom.

Between your laptop and piles of printed papers, textbooks and notes lies an opened manila envelope that has delivered devastating news to you at a crucial point of your life.

The education system is unfair in many ways, and going into academia and research is definitely not going to be a walk in the park for you. But your passion for the subject had you undeterred - leaping at the first chance of pursuing your postgraduate degree from one of the most prestigious universities in all of the United Kingdom. And yet, the printed letter you had received last week is threatening your dream and you do not know if there is any way for you to salvage it.

You have rapidly applied for financial aid, scholarships, internships and even odd jobs - but most of the potential employers have either ghosted you or put your name on a never-ending waitlist. You cannot wait till next year to know if they would hire you for minimum wage, damn it.

By the time they reach out to you, you might already be well on your way back home. And you do not want to go back home.

A few tears of frustration bubble up in your eyes, leaving hot tear tracts on your skin as you try to wipe them away. You need a break. God knows when was the last time you had slept.

At moments like these, when life was too much and the stress made the idea of death all the more inviting to you, your inner voice - your Omega, someone you have suppressed and killed with your own violent hands, would resurface into your life like a phantom and she would haunt you with incredulous ideas and sweet impossibilities. Need someone, need Alpha, she would whisper to you all sultry, Wanna be taken care of. Too much, too much, too much-

And you would bury her remains again.

You cannot be soft. You cannot be kind. You cannot let people know you care.

It would only get you killed. Or worse.

You get up to leave the room on shaky legs and your knees buckle after staying so still for hours on end. You enter the small kitchen, put the kettle filled with water on the stove and turn it up to high heat as you lean against the island and rub your hands over your languished face. You’re so tired. So fucking tired.

The kettle simmers over the fire, letting out a small hiss from its spout. You pay it no heed. You think and think and think of all the possible ways you can salvage this mess of a situation - only to end up with nothing.

The market hasn’t been kind, and you do work as a TA and some freelance work online as an editor to ease your financial worries, but it is not enough.

You can always take up more shifts at the floral shop, but that can also possibly interfere with your academic schedule - which is the last thing you could possibly want. You can always call back home, but the very idea of it fills you with dread and makes your stomach turn and sicken you even more. You could-

The kettle lets out a loud whistle, steam oozing out of it rapidly and the mobile phone in your jeans rings at the same time, startling you into action. You turn and hurriedly turn the stove off, letting the kettle rest on the island as it lets out all the steam stored in the ceramic vessel.

You abandon the pot of leafy concoction, opting to go outside into your living space to finally pick up your ringing phone. You wipe your clammy hands on a hand towel lying nearby before you swipe the green button to pick up the call.

“Hello?” you state your name, “Who is it?”

“Good afternoon, Miss” the feminine voice greets you over the mobile, “This is the Larksky Fertility Clinic”.

Your heart stills.

You read the email the clinic representative had sent you after you got off the call with her.

Alice was her name. Alice sounded like a kind woman.

You read through the attachment files in the mail. The pamphlet outlined the vision and works of the fertility clinic, highlighting their doctors and the various fertility testing and treatments they offered to people and couples alike. The other attachment files consisted of the bare minimum information about the couple that are currently seeking you out in order to conceive.

Mr. Simon Riley and Mr. John Mactavish.

Both are ex-military - one of them is a personal fitness trainer and the other runs a security company. They’re willing to negotiate the price for your ‘assistance’; which is something you’re grateful for, even though you’d have done it for free once upon a time.

While you have always been unsure about parenthood being the right path for you (and your personal aspirations and fears wouldn’t necessarily allow you to indulge in such ideas just yet), you have always wished to help people create the families they deserve. And you believe this call to be some sort of sign, corny as it might sound to some.

Maybe it's divine intervention. Or manifestation. Or some spiritual signal.

You have always been willing to help others out in any way possible - from taking on extra workload and sharing necessities to blood donations and volunteer work. At one point, you had been looking forward to helping people out with completing their families - eager to see them so ecstatic about becoming parents. The idea of doing this for money solely leaves your mouth dry, as if you have swallowed cotton - and yet, yet.

It wouldn’t hurt to try, anyway. Sending out a response through your email, you confirm the time and date of the meeting with the clinic. You console yourself and reason with your heart (or what is left of it anyway) - you need the money, you always wanted to do this, now is a good time anyway.

A/N -

I decided to post this almost scrapped prologue in hopes to motivate myself and to keep on writing some more. Hopefully, I will be able to post more in May. Also, forgive the few grammatical errors in this piece, I haven't been too keen on correcting such errors at the moment. I will eventually clean this up later on. I just wanted to put this out there so that I can work on the later parts of this series.

#call of duty #cod:mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap au #tw a/b/o #call of duty angst #cal lof duty fluff #char.simon ghost riley #char.soap #🌸.a soft life #celena.writes

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loweya-blog · 1 month

Text

Cinderella (Obey Me Edition)

(Part 2, )

Once upon a time....

You were broke. Your job barely paid minimum wage and most of your cash went to paying the rent. Things like buying yourself new clothes that actually looked good on you or any sort of hobby items were out of your reach, unless you wanted to skip breakfast for the next few weeks.

Money had always been a difficulty for you but especially hurt when your friends went out to a fancy restaurant or some event where you couldn't attend due to your minimal paycheck. Perhaps you told yourself it was fine. Perhaps you hated it. But you had to move forwards, looking towards an uncertain future. Making do with what you could get at every turn.

Yet months of such conditions can wear a person down. Most of your time was taken up by work, creating an isolating atmosphere. The loneliness within your heart grew with every passing day as the world around you began looking duller and duller with each passing day. All you wanted was one nice night out with a few friends...

One day, a letter arrived.

It was right at your doorstep despite the fact you had a perfectly functional mailbox. A black envelope with gold trimmings and a dark red seal laid right at your door. When you took it inside and opened it, you found a beautifully handwritten invitation by some guy named Diavolo.

"Dear Recipient,

Congratulations! You have been selected to attend the Royal Seven Night Masquerade held by Prince Diavolo this year. This event shall be inviting two humans and two angels to help encourage relations.

Please sign the letter below to confirm your attendance to this event.

Yours sincerely,

Diavolo."

You blinked and stared at the letter for a few minutes. Was this a prank? You'd never heard of any prince Diavolo before. Still... the idea of a masquerade party sounded nice, even if it was just a prank in the end. Without thinking, you signed your name on the letter.

For the rest of the day you went about your business. The next night, you heard a knocking at your door. It was 7pm and nobody was supposed to be visiting. The idea that it could be your landlord made you internally groan as you went to open the door.

It wasn't the landlord.

A man with short dark green hair and a long fringe on his left that reached his nose. He wore a black tailcoat with gloves and had a prim and proper air about him.

"Are you MC?"

You silently nodded, still confused by this stranger and a bit wary at this un-welcomed visitor.

"Excellent. I'll be escorting you to this evening's masquerade."

Masquerade? What was he-

Then it hit you. The letter. You'd originally thought it was just a prank by some kid. The idea it may have been real hadn't even occurred to you. For a moment, you were stunned. The stranger was rather patient and seemingly amused by your confusion.

"I....I can't go to the masquerade," you explained when you finally found your voice.

"And why is that?"

He hadn't even changed his amused expression, just looking at you with a slight smile.

"I have nothing to wear," a part of you hated admitting it but in this moment you had no other excuse, "And I don't have a way to get there."

"Is that all?" Even after explaining all your reasons, the stranger seemed undeterred, "If that's the case, may I borrow a teapot if you have one?"

Your face must have twisted into a sour expression at the thought of giving up your one teapot, because the stranger was quick to reassure you.

"I promise, it will be returned to you unharmed."

Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice or your own curiosity. Either way, you ended up handing the precious teapot over. The stranger set it on the ground and took a few steps back. Right before your eyes, the teapot began to grow as swirls of colorful light encircled it.

When the light died down, a beautiful lavender blue carriage with a spout, handle, and golden wheels with little encrusted diamonds stood in place of your teapot. Your jaw dropped at the sight. Were you dreaming? What on earth was happening?

"The carriage will bring you to the steps of Diavolo's castle. As for your clothes...."

The same strange lights that had transformed your teapot now surrounded you. In a matter of seconds, your pjs had transformed into a gorgeous outfit of the finest silk and dripping with accessories you could only dream of. Even your hair and makeup were done to perfection in the most flattering of ways. Upon your face was a beautiful mask that would fit in any fantasy ball scene. And on your feet were a pair of glittering glass shoes that were surprisingly comfortable.

"I... how.... what?" you stammered.

"Now, there are a few rules you'll need to be mindful of," The stranger continued on with a smile, "First, don't tell anybody at the masquerade you are human, for your own sake. Second, leave before the witching hour. Once again I recommend that for your own sake. And to encourage you to follow the rules, this spell will only last until midnight. Once the clock strikes midnight, this spell will be undone and you'll be left in your pjs with only a teapot."

The stranger looked at you closely.

"Do you understand?"

Once he got a small nod from you, he simply bowed and left you alone to your own devices. Now it was all up to you. Would you go to the ball or would you stay home? Even if you disliked big events, it would be a once in a lifetime opportunity.

You carefully stepped into the magical teapot carriage and sat upon the pink cushioned seats within. The wheels of the carriage automatically began to turn and you were whisked off to the masquerade ball.

(Let me know if you guys want a part 2! :D)

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pappydaddy · 1 year

Text

when i'm eighty (j.m.)

tv show/movie: outer banks | pairing: jj maybank x fem!pogue!reader

requested by a lovely anon as part of my 800 follower celebration

synopsis: y/n is exhausted and jj neglected the bike's gas tank. who knew it would lead to such a proclamation.

warnings: tears (exhausted) | karen situation mentioned | the lovely realities of a retail job

navigation | masterlist | taglist sign-up

- not my gif -

Sure, Pogue life was fun and relatively carefree, and Y/N wouldn’t trade her life for anything, but it did have its downfalls. Like when you see something you really like and you pick up extra shifts and work your ass off for it, but a Kook just has to ask their parents for it and boom - they have one they barely use or care for. Or when you accidentally spend too much money grocery shopping so now you have to pinch your pennies until next pay in two weeks. Or, like for Y/N right now, you have to work all day, every day because your crappy minimum wage job is severely understaffed and, even though they treat you horribly, you offer to pick up more shifts.

Y/N, right now, wasn’t too pleased with her status as a Pogue. Not when she is standing here, bored out of her mind and swaying on her feet as the middle aged Kook rambled on and on about something. Y/N wasn’t too sure what she was complaining about, truthfully, she stopped listening after the woman called her an incompetent child - which was the very first thing that came out of her pink smeared lips.

All she could actually focus on was how heavy her eyelids were, or how much she wanted to cut her feet off or just rip them right from her body. Or the dull ache that nestled itself right in the dip of her spine. Or how much she wishes she could just smash her kneecaps because, at this point, they were so tired and sore they were basically numb. It had been five days straight of her leaving school the second it was over and having her boyfriend, JJ, drive her to her work (a small hardware store), and then working to close.

She was exhausted, but she was falling behind on her road to buying a reliable car. Not the heap of rusted metal that has been sitting in her driveway for the past few months - completely broken. Luckily, because the owners did not want the possibility of being sued, they refused to let her work this weekend. That meant, once this woman was done with her tantrum, Y/N could get out of there and sleep for the foreseeable future. Well, at least until JJ had to get up for his shift delivering groceries tomorrow afternoon. She just hoped today wasn’t the one day JJ was late to pick her up.

“Mark my words, because you all know nothing, I will never come back here,” The lady slammed her hand against the counter Y/N stood at, the newly hired cashier shaking slightly behind her. “And I will be in contact with your manager and owner for reimbursement for any bills that come from this.” She sneered, gesturing to the empty bottle of antifreeze that was specifically made for diesel engines. That she put in her Land Rover.

“You have a nice night, the owner and manager will both be in after nine tomorrow morning.” Y/N drawled like a robot, ignoring the huff and snarky comment the woman made towards her for her lack of respect. There was no way in hell Y/N was apologising to her when Y/N and the manager were the ones who told the woman and her husband not to get that antifreeze, but her husband just wouldn’t listen.

“And I am telling them about your horrible behaviour towards me-”

“Ma’am,” Their night manager appeared from one of the aisles, looking annoyed. The clock had ticked by to read five minutes after close, meaning this woman was standing there ranting for over ten minutes. “We closed five minutes ago, if you have an issue, you can call and discuss this with our head manager and the owner tomorrow, but now you need to leave unless you want to front the money to pay us the overtime you are causing us because we won’t get paid.” He told her, pointing her towards the exit.

She scoffed. “Of course I won’t pay you people to be incompetent at your jobs. I mean, how hard is it to sell people items? If anything, I should be getting money for you people for the damages you caused to my expensive Land Rover-”

“Again, ma’am, you will have to bring that up with the people with more power than me,” The manager looked completely exhausted and annoyed with this woman. He grabbed the empty bottle from where she left it. “Now, you can either leave on your own or I will be contacting the authorities and they will remove you from the premises and you will be banned.”

He held out the empty bottle just before she snatched it, her nose turned up as she scoffed, turning on her heel and leaving out the door. “Okay, you two go, I will lock everything up.” He waved them off. Smiling thankfully, Y/N grabbed her thin sweater (which was JJ’s) and her empty plastic bottle of water, tossing it in the recycling bin.

“Thank you, Gerry. Have fun tomorrow.” She waved bye to him as the new cashier trailed quietly behind her. Pulling the hoodie over her head, she left through the same door the woman had, seeing her fancy silver audi sitting in the parking lot. From inside, she could see her phone pressed to her ear as she yelled.

“Hey, sweets,” JJ greeted her, pushing off from the wall he leaned on. Y/N smiled, saying a quick ‘see you’ to the quiet girl as she bounded over towards her mother’s car. Her feet not moving, she held her arms open for JJ, signalling she wanted a hug. JJ complied, striding the short distance to her and wrapping his arms around her waist. Naturally, her arms rested on his shoulders, enjoying the relief and comfort his hug brought her. It was like every ache in her body left and the weight that was crushing her lifted. “Long night?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She hummed. “Long week.” She corrected him, snuggling into his chest. He laughed lightly, not wanting to jostle her as she clung to him.

“As much as I would love to stay here hugging, we should really get you some food then to bed.” JJ started to pull away. Whining, she released him, the growling and uncomfortable feeling in her stomach too persistent to ignore, but her face remained planted into his chest.

“Carry me to the bike?” Her voice was muffled as she spoke.

“Sorry, sweets, the bike needs gas and I don’t get paid until next week.” He informed her, hands on her shoulders and pulling her face from his chest, just enough for him to see her face. Instantly, he was met by a pout and a whine from her.

She blinked at him, puppy dog eyes in full effect. “But I’m too tired to walk, JJ.” She told him. And looking at her, he could see she was. The eye Bags under her eyes were so deep that the concealer couldn’t even hide them. Her shoulder drooped so much it looked like she was lugging a bookbag that weighed fifty tons on them. And, not to mention, the way her eyes blinked lazily, looking a second away from closing in slumber.

Aside from her appearance, he could tell over the past few days she was completely exhausted. The way she kept falling asleep on his shoulder at lunch or as they skipped their respective classes in favour of cuddles. She only skipped classes when she wasn’t sleeping properly or she was bored. The way she was extra clingy (like right now). Or how she nearly face-planted into her breakfast this morning. “I know, Sweets. But the bike didn’t even have enough gas to drive here.”

Sighing, tears welled in her eyes. A mixture of exhaustion and stress filled her, creating tears. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to waste all that gas driving me here and back home.” She weeped, sniffling as she blinked frantically.

JJ, nearly shitting himself at the sight of tears, jumped out of his skin in fright. “No, no, Sweets. Don’t cry,” He shushed, wrapping her up in his arms so tight her eyes could pop out of their sockets (not really because he would never hurt her). She sniffled into his sweater, tears hitting his sweater. “I didn’t waste gas driving you. I can never waste anything when it comes to you. I let the tank get that low, it’s my fault. I thought I had enough but John B hit a pothole the other day and I needed to go help him change the tire, that’s where the gas went. It’s all John B's fault for being on the mainland and driving like an idiot.” He rocked them from side to side until the tears slowed and the sniffles seemed to quiet down.

“John B made you drive all the way to the mainland to help him change the tire?” She asked, pulling her face from his chest, but his arms didn’t let go over her, keeping her pressed to him. Her eyes were watery and puffy, a red tinge to the whites of her eyes. Her face was puffy and blotchy, trails of dried tears running down her cheeks.

JJ nodded, moving his arms to grip her face, thumbs lightly rubbing the tear streaks. “Yeah. And the idiot also decided to take everything except the jack out of the van so we had to go get a lug nut wrench which ate up more gas.”

“He never learns his lesson, does he?” She laughed. It was wet, her mouth thick from the tears still.

“No, he doesn’t,” He whispered, his voice low as he stared at her. “Now, let’s get you home before you fall asleep standing here,” He stepped back, putting distance between them. She watched with furrowed brows as he turned his back to her, crouching down, practically kneeling on the sidewalk in front of the store. “Hop up.” He told her, arms to his side, stuck towards her slightly, waiting for her to climb onto his back.

“JJ,” She exclaimed. “You’re not going to be able to carry me all the way to John B’s!”

“Yeah I can. I’m eighteen, not eighty,” He told her, pointing to his back. Sighing, she knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. On top of that, he would find another way to carry her. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she hopped onto his back. His hands instantly gripped the bottom of her thighs, securing her there and he stood up to his full height. She let out a small squeal at the sudden change in height, kicking her feet slightly at the feeling of them not being on the ground. It always took her a second to get used to being held on his back. “And even when I’m eighty, I am sure as hell gonna still give you piggy back rides.”

“Sure, we’ll revisit that when you are hunched over because you gave me so many piggy back rides now.” She laughed, her arms lazily moving to rest closer to his neck, her chin resting on her bicep as he started to walk towards John B’s.

“Why do you think I am in such great shape? I am training to carry you around my whole life.”

“If that’s the case, might want to lay off the weed and the booze.” She poked him in the pectoral teasingly. He squeezed her thigh playfully back, laughing as she pressed a kiss to his cheek the best she could before resting her head back on her arm, letting the pattern of JJ’s gate relax her, her eyes growing heavier by the second. She really did hope that when they were eighty, they didn’t lose any of their playfulness - no matter if JJ could carry her or not.

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robertreich · 1 year

Video

youtube

The Biggest Economic Lies We’re Told

In America, it’s expensive just to be alive.

And with inflation being driven by price gouging corporations, it’s only getting more expensive for regular Americans who don’t have any more money to spend.

Just look at how Big Oil is raking it in while you pay through the nose at the pump.

That’s on top of the average price of a new non-luxury car — which is now over $44,000. Even accounting for inflation, this is way higher than the average cost when I bought my first car — it’s probably in a museum by now.

Even worse, the median price for a house is now over $440,000. Compare that to 1972, when it was under $200,000.

Work a full-time minimum wage job? You won’t be able to afford rent on a one-bedroom apartment just about anywhere in the U.S.

And when you get back after a long day of work, you’ll likely be met with bills up the wazoo for doctor visits, student loans, and utilities.

So what’s left of a paycheck after basic living expenses? Not much.

You can only reduce spending on food, housing, and other basic necessities so much. Want to try covering the rest of your monthly costs with a credit card? Well now that’s more expensive too, with the Fed continuing to hike interest rates.

All of this comes back to how we measure a successful economy.

What good are more jobs if those jobs barely pay enough to live on?

Over one-third of full time jobs don’t pay enough to cover a basic family budget.

And what good are lots of jobs if they cause so much stress and take up so much time that our lives are miserable?

And don’t tell me a good economy is measured by a roaring stock market if the richest 10 percent of Americans own more than 80 percent of it.

And what good is a large Gross Domestic Product if more and more of the total economy is going to the richest one-tenth of one percent?

What good is economic growth if the way we grow depends on fossil fuels that cause a climate crisis?

These standard measures – jobs, the stock market, the GDP – don’t show how our economy is really doing, who is doing well, or the quality of our lives.

People who sit at their kitchen tables at night wondering how they’re going to pay the bills don’t say to themselves

“Well, at least corporate profits are at record levels.”

In fact, corporations have record profits and CEOs are paid so much because they’re squeezing more output from workers but paying lower wages. Over the past 40 years, productivity has grown 3.5x as fast as hourly pay.

At the same time, corporations are driving up the costs of everyday items people need.

Because corporations are monopolizing their markets, they don’t have to worry about competitors. A few giant corporations can easily coordinate price hikes and enjoy bigger profits.

Just four firms control 85% of all beef, 66% of all pork, and 54% of all poultry production.

Firms like Tyson have seen their profit margins skyrocket as they jack up prices higher than their costs — forcing consumers who are already stretched thin to pay even more.

It’s not just meat. Weak antitrust enforcement has allowed companies to become powerful enough to raise their prices across the entire food industry.

It’s the same story with household goods. Giant companies like Procter & Gamble blame their price hikes on increased costs – but their profit margins have soared to 25%. Hello? They care more about their bottom line than your bottom, that’s for sure.

Meanwhile, parents – and even grandparents like me – are STILL struggling to feed their babies because of a national formula shortage. Why? Largely because the three companies who control the entire formula industry would rather pump money into stock buybacks than quality control at their factories.

Traditionally, our economy’s health is measured by the unemployment rate. Job growth. The stock market. Overall economic growth. But these don’t reflect the everyday, “kitchen table economics” that affect our lives the most.

These measures don’t show the real economy.

Instead of looking just at the number of jobs, we need to look at the income earned from those jobs. And not the average income.

People at the top always bring up the average.

If Jeff Bezos walked into a bar with 140 other people, the average wealth of each person would be over a billion dollars.

No, look at the median income – half above, half below.

And make sure it accounts for inflation – real purchasing power.

Over the last few decades, the real median income has barely budged. This isn’t economic success.

It's economic failure, with a capital F.

And instead of looking at the stock market or the GDP we need to look at who owns what – where the wealth really is.

Over the last forty years, wealth has concentrated more and more at the very top. Look at this;

This is a problem, folks. Because with wealth comes political power.

Forget trickle-down economics. It’s trickle on.

And instead of looking just at economic growth, we also need to look at what that growth is costing us – subtract the costs of the climate crisis, the costs of bad health, the costs of no paid leave, and all the stresses on our lives that economic growth is demanding.

We need to look at the quality of our lives – all our lives. How many of us are adequately housed and clothed and fed. How many of our kids are getting a good education. How many of us live in safety – or in fear.

You want to measure economic success? Go to the kitchen tables of America.

#youtube #videos #economics #inequality #video #politics #money #cars #housing

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springseasonie · 10 months

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Auralism Pt. 2 | PJS (M)

Voice actor Jisung x fem reader

Part 1. Part 3.

Summary: just another night of your nightly routine except you've become a little more delusional than before.

Warnings: sexual content, auralism (voice kink), masturbation, guided masturbation, praising, degrading, parasocalism (it's bad for you)

Word count: 1,2k

A/N: I'm very glad all of you liked the first one so much. I had no idea people liked the thought of erotic voice actor Jisung as much as I did but I'm glad y'all all also see the vison lmao. Feed back is loved an appreciated 🩷🩷

"Hi baby."

"Jesus," you sighed breathlessly. Another night, you're laying in your bed on your back staring up at your ceiling. It's almost embarrassing how much you keep coming back to this specific audio. It's the first one you ever heard, but nothing will ever compare to it. "Stress relief" is what it's called, and it's exactly that. You only listen to it on your toughest days, and you're bound to have some tough days working a minimum wage job.

"For this audio, please calm your body down. Take a deep breath, okay? Close your eyes and feel the space around you."

You did just that, closing your eyes and sinking into your bed as you calmed your body down. At that moment you started to feel all the aches and pains from your day settle in.

"Try to forget about your day and just be present with me. I'm the only thing in your mind right now. I'm the only person you can hear. Focus on what I'm saying to you. You're gonna be a good girl and follow my directions like always aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna be a good girl," you mumbled quietly to yourself. You'd crawl in a hole and die if anyone had to bear witness to this exact moment. You're in a room by yourself responding to a man who's only making audio porn to pay his bills. But it's not your fault no one can live up to the expectations of his voice alone.

"Today, I just want you to relax. I want you to pull your clothes off for me. You can pause while you do so, I'll wait for you."

You paused it, taking everything off your body till you were on your bed completely bare. You quickly started it up, sighing when hearing his voice again.

"Now I need your undivided attention okay? Rile yourself for me. Run your hands all over your pretty body. Press your fingertips into your skin and feel yourself. Run your hands over your nipples. Pinch, squeeze them. Aren't they sensitive?"

That they were indeed. And so was your cunt. If there was a thing you needed to fuck more than right now it would be him despite not knowing what he looked like. You need that voice in your ear telling you that you touched him so well, that you made him feel good. It was going to drive you insane for the rest of your life probably. You pinched your nipples, hissing at the sting on the sensitive peaks. You did this every single time, listening to every word he said and it never got old.

"Move your hand to your mouth. Suck on those fingers for me. Yeah, just like that. You look so good, beautiful."

You put your fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the digits coating them in your saliva. You were so turned on at the point you would probably burst.

"Take your fingers and put them between your legs. Rub your clit for me. Get it nice and wet. I bet that feels real good. Don't you wish it was me touching you? I bet you do."

You rubbed your clit slowly in a circular motion, deep breaths slowly quickening. Your legs spread wider as your other hand squeezed your breast, the ecstatic feeling spreading all over your body.

"Keep touching yourself for me. You're such a good girl you know that? Pretty, beautiful, good girl."

You kept going, soft moans now falling from your lips. All that was in your head was him, his voice. What else were you supposed to think about? Your brain had gone numb the moment you heard him say baby.

"Now I want you to finger yourself for me. I want you to stuff that pretty pussy with your fingers."

You did as he said, eyes rolling back at the stretch You've been aching to feel all day. It's been fucking with you all day, wanting to hear his voice even just for a second. You were addicted.

"Does my voice turn you on?" He chuckled softly, making your brain turn to mush like always. "Does my voice make your pretty pussy wet?"

"Yes, yes it does," you sighed as you fingered yourself. The sounds coming from your body were shameful. Panting and whimpering filled the room, your body getting hotter and hotter as your sheets stuck to your legs.

"Keep going. God, I wish I could see you right now. All cute and wet for me, legs spread wide. You're such a little slut for touching yourself to my voice, you know that? My little slut."

You nodded, a small smile tugging on your lips as his deep sultry voice landed on your ears. You wish you weren't so crazy and delusional but when he talks to you like that you turn to mush all over again. Your fingers grew in pace, palm of your hand also stimulating your swollen clit.

"You wanna cum pretty girl?"

"Yes, yes I do." You were whining, the sounds growing in pitch and volume the more you moved your hand. "F-fuck, oh my god.."

"You can cum. Cum as hard as you want, but don't you dare stop."

You kept going, fingering yourself harder and harder. The moment you curled your fingers inside of you, you came hard, vision turning blurry and mind going fuzzy. You were already so sensitive, but you were a good girl so you didn't stop. You wouldn't dare stop.

"I want you to cum for me again. I love it when you cum for me. I wish I could see it. I wish I could feel it. Feel that tight pussy around my cock squeezing me tight. I know you want that too. I know you want my big cock to stretch you good."

Your moans bounced off the walls, back arching off the bed as you kept thrusting your fingers. It was too much, but it felt so good. Too good. Your cunt was squeezing your fingers once again, wet squelches coming from between your legs.

"If I had you, I'd fuck you so good you wouldn't remember your name. You'd love that wouldn't you?"

"Yes, fuck yes.." You were gasping for air, eyebrows scrunched together right as you stared down at your hand, watching your fingers go in and out of you.

"But for now, I just need you to cum in your perfect, soft hands. Make a bigger mess for me. You can do it."

"J-Jisung, shit.." You came, and you said his name. You've never done that before. Maybe you're a little in too deep, but Jesus, there is no one that could make you see stars the way you did just now. There's no one who can make you shake by just talking the way you did just now.

"Do you feel better? Are you still stressed because if you are, I guess I didn't do my job. But when have I ever failed, hm? Now clean yourself up and get some rest for the next day, or the rest of your day. Bye beautiful."

The audio finished, leaving you heaving on top of your covers. Usually, you would just get up and clean up, but you felt different now. You moaned his name out loud like a crazy person. You were definitely in a little too deep. Maybe you needed to take a break from your nightly routine.

Just as you were about to close the app on your phone another notification popped up.

"surprise :)"

And just like that your night got a whole lot more interesting.

#nct #nct u #nct fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct oneshot #nct scenarios #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #nct jisung #park jisung #jisung imagines #jisung oneshot #jisung smut #jisung fic #jisung fanfic #jisung scenarios

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deathbystero · 5 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 - 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐨

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐠𝐞 (𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟔) - 𝟏𝟖 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 - 𝟏𝟗𝟏𝟖

Marko grew up in the early 1900s with his mother and siblings in a little house in Italy. He knew very little about his father for the man had died in a work related incident a little after he was born and his mother never seemed very open to discuss the topic further.

The family lived in poverty, rarely able to scrape together enough money from their meagre wages to feed everyone, and more often than not, there was no food at all. Marko did what he could to help out, but it was always down to his older siblings to bring in the money. At times, he was left feeling rather helpless, as if he was just an afterthought, an unwanted burden on his mother's shoulders. He was another mouth to feed, another being to clothe and shelter.

When there was nobody home, his siblings were usually forced to take him along when they went into town to sell their wares. As far as Marko knew, none of them ever made much money. His mother would make her own way in the world by sewing dresses and selling whatever she could find but it wasn’t enough.

Eventually, when Marko had just turned thirteen, the dreaded letter came through the post, giving the family a month’s notice to pack up everything they owned before they were evicted and forced out onto the streets. It was a cold hard truth that had been long awaited, one that everyone in the family had known was coming but which none of them had truly believed.

His siblings hadn’t stuck around, running off to start new lives just days before the eviction, while Marko was forced to stay behind, clinging to his mother like a scared child. She couldn’t afford to pay rent on even the cheapest of places and they didn’t have any relatives willing to let them stay over until they could get back onto their own feet again. So, with little left to offer, they packed whatever items they had left and ended up on the streets, surviving on the bare minimum.

Marko's mother found a job washing dishes at a small inn, spending the money she made on alcohol and drinking herself into oblivion every night. He was forced to watch helplessly as she fell apart, unable to do anything other than be there for her as best he could, cleaning up after her and keeping her safe at night.

While she was at work, Marko roamed the streets, stealing whatever he could get his hands on and eating what scraps he could find. He found himself hating his siblings, hating the idea that they'd gotten away so easily while he was stuck here with no money and an alcoholic mother to take care of. They were lucky. He wasn’t.

One evening in August,when Marko was sixteen, his mother disappeared, never returning from work. He had tried searching for her, running up and down the streets like a lost puppy, wailing and calling out for her, but it was futile. The woman was gone and he was alone.

He returned back to their pitiful shelter and wept into the night, praying desperately that someone would come for him, would care for him. That night, he cried himself to sleep, exhausted and starving, whilst he dreamt up a carefully formulated plan; a plan to flee the country and start anew.

There was a boat, Marko discovered, set to leave early the next morning, taking both cargo and passengers to America. It was his only chance and so he grasped it eagerly, leaving their sorry shelter behind in search of freedom and adventure.

He snuck his way into the storage hold where the ship was docked and hid under a blanket until dawn broke, the ship pulling away from land and taking him away from the only place he’d ever known and to somewhere entirely foreign. He held onto the hope that maybe things would improve once he found his way there, but deep down he knew he was being foolish. He was a sixteen year old boy, underfed and poor, who hardly spoke a word of English and had no family to fall back onto if all things went downhill. What could he possibly expect to find? A life amongst strangers would not give him a better chance than he already had, who wouldn't spare him an ounce of pity even if he begged on his hands and knees? What was he thinking? He had to have been totally crazy. No sane person in his right mind would risk their life like this. And yet, here he was still trying. Still trying his hardest to make something of himself.

The ship docked in America about a week after it’s departure, and Marko was greeted with a strange mix of excitement and dread. He'd been expecting something akin to Europe, but what lay before him was anything but glamorous or fantastical. He felt completely at odds with the people that walked past him, some laughing and chattering loudly, others barely sparing him a passing glance. He was surrounded by strangers and so incredibly out of place. If anyone should've noticed him in the crowd, they gave no indication of it as they continued talking and laughing and chatting around him with equal gusto, unaware of his plight.

He wandered about the bustling streets for hours, eventually finding an alleyway to curl up in and wait out his hunger pangs. He’d found very little food on the boat, taking what he could from crates and boxes without much thought, not caring if he was eventually caught. His clothes were dirty and tattered, worn thin and threadbare, his shoes covered in dirt and grime, and he was positively sure he looked absolutely deplorable. Biting his lip against his inevitable tears, he buried his face into his knees, hugging himself tightly, shivering violently. Sleep seemed like a far off thing, impossible to come by as his thoughts kept circling around how utterly hopeless he felt, how utterly alone he was.

It wasn’t until several days later that his luck seemed to change, a not so dim light appearing at the end of the tunnel. He'd found a little abandoned warehouse full of art supplies; crates of leftover paint, paint brushes which had certainly seen better days, and canvases, most of which were torn and tattered, but usable nonetheless.

Marko has gathered up everything he could get his hands on, seeing an opportunity to make some cash, and spent almost the entire day painting whatever came to mind. He was surprised at himself - he didn't remember the last time he painted, but somehow this was different. Like he was drawing for the first time, like he was creating something entirely new. There was a sense of wonder that he couldn't explain, an awe he hadn't known since childhood. This wasn't about making money. This was about finding himself.

When he finally emerged from the building, covered head to toe in brightly coloured paint stains and tired from lack of sleep, he decided he might as well try his best at selling what he had created, knowing that nothing else would provide him with any kind of income. It didn't matter that he lacked experience with art, that he was untrained. The paintings were his ticket. The only way out of this misery he lived in.

And so he set about selling everything he had, working his hardest, desperate to make every penny count. And, boy, did people pay. It was almost comical at how careless the rich were with their money, throwing it at him with no regard as to what it might go towards, as long as they got whatever it was they wanted in return.

Marko was soon able to afford enough money for food and clothes, settling into the little warehouse and sleeping on an old uncomfortable mattress stuffed into one corner, surrounded by crates of paint and brushes.

He took pride in the fact that he had made something of himself, having managed to carve out his own niche with a little bit of paint and a couple of worn out brushes. He felt good about the fact that he had managed to become somebody, somebody who had a purpose, somebody that mattered in the world.

When he turned 18, Marko took to wandering a little further into the city, searching for inspiration and finding plenty. It became routine for him; he worked late nights painting whenever he was able, waking up with the sun so that he could spend the morning wandering before returning to paint once more. He sold his creations out on the streets, bought meals and slept rough. He was happy. He felt complete. He should've been happy, content with his living situations, besides it was more than he'd ever thought he'd have, and yet he still felt as if something was missing. That loneliness still lingered, that hollow feeling that wouldn't go away.

In November of his third year on the streets, Marko met two men whilst out wandering at night, shaking off the disturbance of a rather unpleasant nightmare.

The first of the two was blonde, his hair messy in a styled kind of way, with piercing blue eyes and sharp, handsome features. The second was tall with dark hair and a strong jawline, seemingly just as striking as his friend. Both were dressed entirely in black and approached Marko much in the same way a predator would its prey, a smile adorning each of their faces.

“Can I help you?” Marko asked quietly, his accent thick and heavy, despite his best efforts to hide it.

The blonde one grinned, “You’re a runaway, aren’t you, kid?”

Marko hesitated for a brief moment, weighing up his options before nodding slowly.

The man reached out a gloved hand, offering to shake, “I’m David.”

“Marko,” Marko replied quietly, shaking his hand.

David nodded, seemingly satisfied. His friend said nothing. “Where are your parents?”

“My mother's dead…” At least that’s what he thought.

“Your father?” David pressed.

“Dead too…”

“So… it’s just you then?” David questioned, tilting his head slightly. Marko nodded, looking down at the pavement. What did these guys want? Money, drugs, sex? Who knows, but Marko certainly wasn’t too keen on finding out.

“Hey,” This time, it was the other man, the brunette one, who reached forward, his hand landing upon Marko's shoulder. “We ain't here to hurt you, kid. We're here to help.”

Help? Marko furrowed his brow. “I don't need no help.” “Of course not,” David interjected before the boy could say any more, “But that doesn't mean we can’t offer it. You're young, lost and all alone in this world. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a friend or two?”

A friend... That’s what he’d been seeking, someone to rely on. Someone to show him that he wasn't completely alone in this. But was it really possible for him to turn to these strangers, especially after everything he'd been through so far? Could he trust them? They were probably just playing a trick on him. They'd probably planned to kill him and leave his body somewhere and never bother him again. So why should he believe them?

“Look,” David began, “I know we seem shady, but I promise we'll do nothing to harm you. Right, Dwayne?”

The brunette nodded. “We just want to help.”

This was a mistake. These two men could easily kill him, leaving him to die on his own somewhere. Or they could rob him. Or beat him senseless. Either option would be equally horrible.... but something about them told Marko that maybe they were being truthful. Maybe they did actually want to help him. Maybe they meant what they said, because they weren't bad people.

“... okay…” Marko muttered softly, raising his eyes to meet theirs.

The two men smiled, sharing glances between each other before turning back to Marko. “Great! Let's get going now shall we?”

Marko stared at them for a while longer, trying to gauge if they were telling the truth or lying, before nodding slowly and following after them.

Marko became the third member of Max's family that night, and for the first time in his life, he felt complete.

A/N: This is way longer than I'd expected it to be, and, although it started of a little bit shitty, I think it got better towards the end. As I've said before, this is my own take on things; none of what I have written is canon in any way, shape, or form and is simply a silly little thing I came up with over the x-mas break!

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys imagine #marko the lost boys #the lost boys headcanon #this is my own take so please don't come for me

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