#nick fowler x poc!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaashni · 2 years

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Dollar, Dollar Bills

Warnings: Sexworker!AU. Smut. Gunplay. Possessiveness. A little unhealthy. Toxic Nick Fowler. Some obsession. Groping. Slapping. Blowjobs. Choking. Hair pulling. Unfair power dynamics. Aggressive sex. All that. And yeah, Printesa.

Hot pink nails curled around your second free drink of the night, you rolled your shoulders, the delicate body chains wrapped all around your body and looped over your bralette sparkling as you sauntered towards the man, his sharp cheekbones and eclectic blue eyes drawing you in closer.

It was easy to forget you were the temptress when it came to Nick Fowler. Beautiful as he was, his words held an engaging darkness, struggling to rip free, crossing you in your own game and luring you in every time he decided to visit you.

"Nick Fowler." You eyed him up and down, eyes lingering at his belt, lingering at the gun he had strapped in there before snapping back to his lustful ones, keening to see that you were the object of his attention. Even now. "What brings you to me, huh?"

His chuckle was dark and expensive, just like everything else about him, the lustrously ardent eyes flickering with darkened flares as he sized you up and down, looping an arm around your bare waist, fingers itching to caress the lace of your bra. "Nothing can ever keep me from you, printesa."

You rolled your eyes, keeping your glass on one of the tables and pressing your palm on his chest, walking away, swaying your hips with grace, just the way you knew he liked. Somewhere behind you, you knew he had a tick in his jaw, his fists clenched. You could almost feel the roll in his eyes as he followed you, eyes trained on your legs. Even in the booming, lush tunes of the strip club, you could hear him thinking of ways to rip off the nylon stockings and stake his claim over your skin, tear down the curvatures of your body with his touch, mark it, brand it.

Of all the things about Nick Fowler, his possessiveness was what you understood.

Possibly because you were always looped in an uncertain web of its existence, the coils which held you hostage loosening and tightening according to <his> convenience, but never really setting you free. Like a trapped butterfly, Nick let you flutter your wings all you want. He'd have no qualms with you dancing the night away, swinging from man to man all through your shift at the club, but the moment you'd get too close- intimately close- his words, not yours, he'd riot.

Your pussy would burn and sting all through the next two weeks if you ever directly indulged another man's advances, especially when you were done with the transactional elements of your job. Ethics, he called it, often using it as his excuse to get away from stuff. Disappearing randomly for months? Work stuff. Classified. Wouldn't disclose because of 'ethics'. Making you slip pills into the drinks of potential targets so he could take them away from getting interrogated? You were helping the country. Ethics.

Ethics was the reasoning he gave when he wanted you to snoop on men who arrived at your club, jokingly calling you his 'asset', all dressed in lace and high boots, ready to kill if he asked you to.

"Where do you think you're going?" He caught your wrist, spinning you around and pulling you flush to his chest before his hands were on your hips, pushing you against one of the booths and pressing his body to yours.

He wasn't mad. Not yet. His pupils blown wide, you could barely discern the cerulean ring cuffing the exterior of the black pits as he hungrily took you in. Holding the same vehemence in those irises when he was buried inside of you, his glare was cutting through your lashes and searing into your brain, leaving you helpless in his hold.

Almost.

"Away from you." You bit back, hands pressing to his chest in an attempt to get away from him, legs sliding between his to aid you in your struggle but Nick just held on tighter, chuckling darkly.

Condescending. Mocking. Lying. It still made your cunt weep, and you would still be furious at yourself for letting him leave traces of himself all over you when you'd wake up in an empty bed.

"That's never going to happen. Not untill you unload a gun in my chest."

You scoffed, glaring at him. "Don't take your chances. I will."

Nick chuckled a little more, looking down at you like the very idea was amusing and childish in the least, still holding you close to him.

"And I wouldn't appreciate you taking the chance to run when I'm not finished talking." His knuckles ran down the apples of your cheek, sliding down to your jaw from where his thumb reached over to your lips, smirking as he smeared some of your lipstick out of the corner, onto your skin.

You rolled your eyes, removing your hands from his chest and backing up against the wall, tilting backward in your heels. "And you think you're the fucking President that I would listen to you?"

He shook his head, clicking his tongue and placing the fault of his palm over your stomach, his nails digging into the skin, leaving tiny crescents in their trail. Marks. He loved placing them on you, from his hands, his teeth, his rings. Sometimes his belt. He had his ways to make you bend, be it the leather flogger you kept in your bedside stand or his thick cock being drilled up your walls.

The choice was always for you to listen, or so he claimed. You didn't believe him.

Nick Fowler was a fucking liar. You told him so, spat it at his face only to be held tighter, like he was apprehensive you would bolt right after, a steelier look in his eyes, assuring you he wouldn't let you get too far.

He had you addicted to his lies. To his touch, more possessive than a wolf's, he trailed you like a predator circling its prey, always out of sight for you to find him, always too close for you to erase him.

"Son of a bitch." You cussed, eyes tracing the hard line of his jaw, the flare of that nerve on his temple, the twitch of his fingers. "Agent or not, I'm not going to help you find dirt on your gangs. Not for that dick of yours."

He claimed he was an agent. Showed you a CIA card too for assurance and somehow sharing the little secret with him caged you in further, like he had set the tracks of his confession to manipulate you to find your way back to him. Wait for him. Stay for him.

Nick cursed, pinning you to the wall of the booth, some giggles from inside letting you know at least someone was having a good time. "You're being a brat."

You rolled your eyes, snorting,the palm of your hands digging to his abs and succeeding in pushing him a few inches away, much to his chagrin. "C'mon Nickey boo. " you taunted, "You handle so much, you've got to work. Disappear for weeks and come back like you own me, which," you raised air quotes, "Newsflash- you don't."

The murder in his eyes, the feral madness which haunted you whenever you were out in the streets and someone got a little too close to you, radiated out of him with such intensity you had to take a moment to shut up, before your eyes were lighting up again, fuelled by the outrage building in his eyes.

"Can't you handle me being a little brat? Think you can't control me?" You contemplated mocking him some more before you shook your head, looking straight into his eyes. "I'm not doing shit for you. Find someone else to do your dirty work."

With that you ducked, attempting to sweep out from under him and go back to the business area, find a potential client to grind on, even take one home because you had already lit the spark, you could as well have some fun before the incoming explosion tore everything down.

Nick had other plans.

A hand clamped around your throat before you could even swoop down, hauling you into the booth and pinning you to the wall behind, his gun pressed under your jaw. Behind his broad frame you saw the group of inebriated friends get up from their happy bubble, confused and frankly scared out of their mind at what they were seeing.

"Leave." You ordered, glaring at them, overall salty at the few couples in there who were all over one another.

They had something you could never.

"The fuck are you waiting for? Out." Nick barked, the barrel of the gun digging into the skin of your exposed waist, his hand tilting your chin up, glaring deep into your soul.

"I know someone who has connections with this guy you're searching for. Seemingly stole a lot of money from him and loves to gloat about it. He can help you. Leave me out of this." Nick had come back for business, hadn't he? If he wasn't getting his dick wet, he was asking you for favours, requesting you to find more about people he was supposed to do whatever with, and you had done it. Out of infatuation, out of the sheer need for the dollar bills he handed you. You were not going to do that again.

"Oh babygirl," Nick chuckled, shaking his head. Your eyes followed the gun as he raised it up, snapping back to his feverishly fanatic ones as he ran it down your face, digging it right under your jaw, using it to angle your face upwards.

"Stop trying to find your way out of this and do as you're told." Voice silky and cuffed with restraint, barely comparable to the unhinged look in his eyes, you felt the heat in them drip right to your core, your anger from being abandoned stemming into arousal with each rough action of his.

You still said nothing, keeping your face on a frustrating neutral, unphased when he brought the gun over to your lips, a soft gasp betraying you when his hands curled around your jugular. "I've been going too easy on you, isn't it?"

"That shouldn't be a surprise when you're never around, dipshit."

"On your knees. Another word and I cut out your tongue." He wheeled you around, away from the wall you were squashed against, slowly reducing the pressure on your jugular, domineering eyes beckoning you to follow his orders and melt under his control like the obedient girl he wanted you to be. Deeply ashamed of yourself for having ruined your panties over this, you lowered yourself down to your knees, your heels clicking against the tiles as you reposition yourself, keeping your thighs spread open the way he liked you.

"I expect to make a whole lot of money out of this, you get it?" You sassed, rolling your eyes at him, ignoring the way you were frothing in the mouth as Nick unbuckled his belt, his hand curling around his semi while he pointed his gun at you, pressing the barell of it to your cheek.

"You'll get it." He slid it down, pushing the barrel past your lips into your mouth, precum dribbling out of his cock. "Just a few dollar bills, a few orgasms and you can do anything I want you to do, isn't it?"

He pushed the gun deeper, watching your lips roll over and then pulling it out, a feral look in his eyes. "You know what to do."

Inching forward, you curled your digits around his cock, stroking the length before spitting on your hand, expertly smearing it all over the length. Nick's hand buried itself into your hair, the body chains sliding along your body and getting entangled with one another as you leaned forward, licking a teasing stipe over his tip, smirking at the hiss above you.

"Your dick's the only good thing about you" you sassed, not waiting for a reaction before slipping him into your mouth, hollowing up your cheeks and stroking your tongue all around him, taking him halfway and bobbing your head. Nick cursed as you broke the line of spit connecting his cock to your lips, his hands digging into your shoulder, past the chains and the lace, marking you up again.

"Being a bitch isn't getting you out of this."

"Oh, I fucking know." And you were deepthroating him again, revelling in the way his hands clung to your shoulder, his gun thrown to the side as he grunted, your tongue and mouth on him. You liked how this was the way you could exercise some control on him, however fleeting and frail. It was satisfying, watching such a man, dangerous and obsessive with having the upper hand crumble right under your mouth, your touch, your lips.

The hand tracing your collar bones curled around your throat, pulling you up and flipping you around in the blink of an eye, your tiny skirt flipped up. Bending you over the very table where the couples had been exchanging filthy love promises. One hand caging your wrists, keeping them pinned behind your back, Nick ripped the nylon off your ass and thighs, his hand striking against the flesh. Hard.

You could almost feel the handprint form on your ass.

Thinking you'd go back home with that, his cum full inside you, possibly plugged up, evidence of him mapped all over your skin, had this intangible thrill burn through you. Only Nick could give you that. That was your twisted reasoning, the lust of that unachievable fire he possessed in his deranged veins, that was exactly what kept you hovering around in his clutches.

"Been too fucking long, isn't it? My beautiful princess needs me to come around more, give her more." He let go of your hands, grabbing fistfulls of your ass with both bands, kneading and rolling them. "Needed my attention so bad didn't ya? Wanted me to come back, toy with you a little and have you crying, bent over something. Isn't that it?"

You gasped, shivering as Nick dropped to his knees, his hands lifting your hips up and placing your dripping cunt right over his face, eager hands ripping off more and more of your stockings, till your calves were exposed and under the mercy of his demanding fingers.

"You were gone. For weeks." Your accusations felt weak when they were melted in a sea of pleasurable moans, his tongue teasing your nub and snaking against your folds with such ease, like he knew exactly what would have you squirming, like Nick had never left.

Buried between your thighs, he groaned, smacking his lips over your clit and sucking it filthily, his moans vibrating over your cunt, your grip on the edge of the table hard, your face pressed against the wood.

"Doesn't take long to get you squirming." Nick spoke right over your pussy, words muffled by your moans as the vibrations rung through you, a sob stretching out of your lips. "Cause you're mine. Your body knows that. Your mind accepts it too."

He landed a smack on your ass, smiling against your dripping lips at your startled gasp, shoving his tongue into your hole. "You think I don't see it? Past that bratty little mouth?" This man, your nemesis, chuckled, tongue lapping up your juices as you squirmed and moaned, "I know how much you want me. Letting me fuck you in a club, where your silly little friends can see you get fucked stupid. Your dipshit customers too"

The hard smack on your pussy had you barrelling forward, and you felt Nick stand behind you, his meaty thighs landing on each side of your hips, hands dancing over your back to the sides of your boobs. "I know you want it. Being claimed by me? You love it. You love how feral I am for you, how much I hate being away from you."

His hands danced over the thin strips of lace holding your bra together, loosening it and sliding under the body chains over to the side of your boobs. "Will be marking them up later. All night long if that's what is needed for you to remember."

As you cursed under your breath, Nick lined his cock against your folds, teasing the tip all the way down your length before sliding an inch into your hole, chuckling darkly when you tried to push your hips back on his cock.

"Fuck me properly, asshole." You seethed, knowing how his expression would go all sinister and mean after this, eyes clouded with the feral unhingedness you seeked in every man you performed for. His hand dug into your hair, pulling the roots harshly, some tears pricking into yours.

"That's what you want, babygirl?" Without another warning, he snapped his hips, drilling his cick inside, the moan dancing at the tip of your tongue knocked out in full force as he began thrusting in hard and fast, leaving you panting and drooly as you tried to match back to his thrusts. Holding your hair still, he chuckled when your boobs slipped out of your loose bra, your curses incoherent in the sea of pleasure. Rolling his hips, Nick slowed down, only to cuff the back of your neck and press his digits into the dip of your collarbones, plunging his cock in, tearing some sobs out of your lips. He chanted his claim away, mouth mapping down your bare back, tongue caressing every dip and freckle of your skin, claiming every spot that made you shiver as his.

Nick filled you up the moment you had stopped convulsing from the effects of your orgasm, mouth latched over your shoulder, your face smeared with tear tracks and mascara lines, perfectly disheveled.

"That a good enough homecoming present for you, Princess?" He asked cockily, taking in your face, scoffing at the smirk you gave him.

Now's your time.

The gun he had thrown carelessly aside now rested in your hands as you managed to slip out and flip around, pointing it at him. Nick looked unphased for the most part, a little impressed at most.

"What do I have to do to get you to stay?" You implored, the gun pressed to his forehead. Nick chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm never gonna leave, babygirl."

"Liar."

"You love the way I lie," he smirked, pulling the gun out of hold easily, one of your boobs exposed. His hands went to your nipple, twisting it darkly, chuckling when you winced.

"And I love it when you stay here and wait for me like a good girl." The gun pressed to your cheek, he toyed with your breasts, tweaking your nipples and swatting them. "You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?"

You nodded. This was a losing game anyway, so you set your sight on the wad of cash he placed next to you, your second best bet.

"Good -fucking- girl."

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