Afternoon Delight
Pairing: Firecracker x reader
Summary: Set in 4.02. Sometimes the most forbidden pleasures happen in secret, in a convention center bathroom.
Warnings: 18+, dark subject matter. Read at your own risk.
Notes: @revleftshark and @jae-fae were both absolute babes, indulging me and helping with research.
Editor: @midnighthazemeow (best editor ever)
"I'm so fucking close!" you grunted.
It took everything in you to say those words, to spit them out right on the edge of pleasure, so fucking close you could almost taste it.
So close… yet so far away.
At the literal hands of the person, you shouldn't have trusted — not with this, not with yourself — yet, for some unexplained, fucked up reason, she had more — way more — than just your trust.
She had your heart.
You had given it to her.
Stupidly.
Willingly.
A tragedy in the making, you were sure, but it was moments like this that made it worth it. That made her worth it.
Pathetic.
"Don't I know it, babydoll?" Firecracker teased, dragging the pet name out in that drawl of hers, the one she knew you found delectable. A cat with a mouse in its sharp claws, playing with her food for as long as the situation allowed — not nearly as long as you would have preferred (she had a show to host, after all), but enough to get you all hot and bothered, to release some of the tension a day like this always brought you.
Technically, you weren't even supposed to be here. If you were to attend TruthCon — and that was a big if; conspiracies, especially the far-right kind, weren't your thing, but Firecracker always invited you as a courtesy. You were supposed to blend in with the crowd of nutsos she performed for, just another sheep in a herd of suckers that had no idea they were being used. Just another forgettable — or so they were supposed to think — face in the blinding crowd.
But Firecracker knew these escapades always turned you on, so she snuck you in as she had many times in the past. And now, here you were…in her bathroom, pressed against the wall with one of her hands keeping you up on your trembling legs and the other one on your soaking pussy. Her perfectly manicured fingers gliding in and out of your swollen lips in that all too familiar thrust that somehow always felt new and exciting.
"God, you're wet," Firecracker groaned in absolute delight, like she couldn't believe she did that to you. Like she'd never done it to you before. "All that for me?" she whispered in your ear.
Always. You swallowed a gasp. "All for you."
"My honey's so good to me." Her forehead fell against yours, eyes glued to your crotch housing her teasing hand. "So good."
You knew what that meant.
Your pussy pulsed with the same anticipation that made your heart burst.
"Do it," you said meekly, at her full and utter mercy. A lamb for her to slaughter.
Firecracker smirked. "Do what?"
She wanted — needed — you to say it. To ask for it. To beg for it.
But what would be the fun of that?
"Come on. Do it." You whimpered breathlessly.
That elicited a snort that had no right to be that adorable. "I don't know what it is you want from me. You're gonna need to be clearer," she teased. Her lips curved in a menacing smile.
"Do the thing."
"What thing?"
"Come on."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice rose in feigned ignorance.
"Please?"
She nuzzled your nose like the sweet, innocent thing she never was. "Please what?"
"Make me come."
You were so close. So, fucking close. A single spark was all you needed to push you over the edge. A teeny, tiny flash to ignite the fire that was brewing within you, a volcano begging to erupt.
"And how do you suppose I do that, sweet pea?" Firecracker asked in her loveliest tone.
Your hand slid down, fingers slithering over to hers. You looked her in the eyes. A command without a single word. An order she knew she had to obey for it delighted her as much as it did you.
"Please." You whispered desperately, your tongue licked your parched lips.
That one was a gift, a tease of what was to come tonight if she were to do as told.
Firecracker moaned.
Then she clicked her fingers and static exploded on your clit, one titillating shock after another like your own, private fireworks show, one of a kind, made for your pleasure only.
And, just like that, you were undone.
It hit you in an instant, a wave of everything that's been building up, that's been coiling and curling and brewing spilling over and tipping you over the edge. Your already weakened legs buckled; Firecracker, instinctive as she was, tightened her grip to keep you grounded.
A few sparks. That was all it took to render you a sopping, writhing mess in her hold.
The woman had too much power over you.
Yet, as inexplicable as it was, you didn't regret giving it to her.
Not for a single moment.
"There you go," Firecracker whispered directly in your ear, her accent thick and delicious, exactly as you liked it. The same voice that had managed to swindle hundreds, and here it was, helping you come down from your intense high. The dizzying rush that fired from every single synapse that she herself had inflicted on you.
A part of you felt proud. Exhilarated.
What her audience wouldn't give to be in this position.
What her weirdo friend whose gaze always lingered on her a little too long, Splinter, wouldn't give to trade places with you.
What those nutjob alt-right men who clung to her every word as if it were gospel wouldn't give for a sliver of what she was exultating upon you.
That was the difference between you and them.
What she was giving you wasn't some manufactured nonsense.
It was real.
It was true.
Hidden away in a convention center bathroom because she had an image to uphold, after all, but true, nonetheless.
"There's my good girl," she praised in your ear, the vibrations sending another jolt down your spine.
"Oh, fuck, that was…" The rest of your sentence was taken over by a gasp. You moaned long and hard.
You struggled to force your legs to behave, your knees buckled to keep your body upright without her help. Your heart thumped rapidly against your ribs, pounding so forcefully as if trying to escape the cage of your chest. You took slow gulps of air to steady yourself.
How is she capable of leaving you so breathless?
A shit-eating grin spilled over Firecracker's mouth. "There's plenty more where that came from."
After what seemed like forever her hand lifted off your folds. Her fingers, slick and sticky with your release. All that you’d given her, with what she'd taken from you, seamlessly clicked.
A spark ignited.
Crack.
The mere sound was enough for your pussy to clench with want, with need for more, more, more.
She really was a firecracker. In all the best ways.
"You promise?" you said with a smile, which elicited one of her own.
"You know it. But first…" Her eyes trailed your swollen lips before she shoved her drenched fingers in her mouth and licked them clean off, all the evidence of you gone as if you'd never stained her skin.
It stung, not that you would ever admit it. The people out there — her fucked up fans — should know that she was yours. The selfish, possessive part of you wanted all of them to know. They should know that, as much as they fantasized about her, it was you she went to bed with almost every single night. It was you she called the sweetest names and whispered to the loveliest nothings. It was you whose hand she held, and whose tears she wiped when you were at your worst, and whose nightmares she chased away in late hours when you dreamed that she was gone. It was you whom she was fucking right here, right now, instead of preparing for the lies she was to about to feed them.
You wanted them to know it all.
But they couldn't.
No one could ever find out what she was really about.
"You coming later?" you asked, already missing her, and she hadn't even gone anywhere.
"Why, of course I am." Firecracker smirked, looking down at your crotch and then back up at you. "You owe me one." Her brow rose expectantly.
"I can take care of that right now." The words fumbled out too eagerly. Wishful thinking on your part for you knew you couldn't. Your eyes drifted down, a pout forming your lips as the disappointment tightened your chest.
Firecracker placed two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at her, the scent of your arousal on her skin, “We ain't got time, babydoll. I gotta get ready. Can't go out looking like—" she pauses.
"You just fucked my brains out?" It came out a tad more bitter than intended.
Firecracker's smile faltered, but she quickly recovered. Ever the showgirl "You're welcome to watch."
And hang around far-right nutjobs as they screamed at nonsense she fed them, most of which she didn't even understand, let alone believe?
"You know I don't like that shit," you said dismissively.
She always extended the invitation, and you always denied it, the pattern tightening each time into something tense, familiar, and impossible to break.
"That shit pays the bills, hon," Firecracker said matter-of-factly. She didn't even try to defend it.
She turned to the mirror, fixing her smeared lipstick.
There was nothing to defend.
It was simply the reality.
She needed to eat. The far-right crowd was willing to pay for someone to tell them they were special, that they belonged, that they weren't as crazy as the rest of the world considered them to be. It didn't need to be true. They just needed someone charismatic to say it in the right tone of voice, with the right cadence, with just enough conviction that it didn't come across as condescending.
Firecracker was naturally… the perfect person for the job.
So what, if she fingerfucked an inch of your life mere minutes before giving a speech about the sin of homosexuality?
It didn't need to be true.
She didn't need to believe it.
She just needed to sell it.
"Well, you go pay your bills, and I'll wait to pay you back," you said.
"Sounds like a plan."
She snapped her compact shut with total finality, then turned slowly and pressed her mouth to yours, soft and sweet. Slightly sticky with your juices. A farewell gift. A promise that she would be there later, like she always was.
Firecracker was many things, but she never broke a promise.
"I don't suppose you can stay?" you whispered against her mouth, hating that she had to leave. Hating that you were okay with this arrangement, even as fucked up as it was. Loathing yourself for letting her talk you into it.
"You know I can't, sweet pea," Firecracker said gently, her voice breaking longingly.
You reached for her hand and squeezed it. Just a little longer. That was all you needed. For her to stay.
For her to choose you over the grift.
But she never did.
Because, as she'd said so many times, the grift paid the bills. The grift had afforded your dinners and drinks and presents you didn't ask for but had been accepted because they were from her. The desperate part of your clinging to whatever morsel you could have of her. Even as it manifested in material form.
"Misty…”
"No one calls me that anymore," she snapped, her voice sharp with frustration.
You edged closer, your voice quiet as you said, “I do.” You were among the few who knew who she really was, beyond the role she played and the face she offered the world.
Firecracker's expression softened. "I'll be there tonight. I promise. You can leave out the back. I told my people to steer clear," she said with practiced ease, because no one could see her with you.
Because Misty Tucker Gray, a conspiracy theorist, a self-proclaimed two-faced fucking bigot of pretty much any kind, couldn't be caught dead fucking a woman.
You nodded slowly, ever obedient. Always a secret.
Firecracker's hand gave you one final squeeze before it slid out of yours. With a final, lovelorn glance, she stepped through the door and she was gone.
And you were alone in the void she left.
Just as you always were in the end.
You were hers, in heart, body and soul, but always…alone.
A secret abandoned in a cold, blindingly bright bathroom.
Because bills needed to be paid.
The tongue that licked what remained of you from Firecracker's fingers, inside the mouth that still tasted of you, had to condemn that very act.
That beautiful hypocrite.
She knew what she was, but she didn't care, and, to be perfectly honest, you weren't as bothered as you should have been, either.
The show had to go on.
