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queers-gambit · 2 months

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Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

title citation: Hamlet

prompt: similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: The Truth Will Out - coming soon collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 18.3k+

note: SLUTTY ANGST CLUB, COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!

warnings: not edited. heapings of angst, hurt and no comfort, fuck your feelings. tweaked timeline, cursing, Bridgerton influenced, Aemond's both a bestie and an outstanding, fucking asshole - so is this vilified Aemond? eavesdropping trope, nicknamed reader, insecurity, insults, betrayl, abundance of ye ol' misogyny, self destructive tendencies; a single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure. there's men being men, men being gossipy little bitches, and the most random Lord of the Rings quote that kinda breaks the fourth wall?

Bridgerton - available to watch on Netflix 🍒 this fic was written before season three premiered

Jacaerys Velaryon version: coming soon

Tonight was a celebration that echoed across the entire Realm. Lords and Ladies alike with their service maids, House guards, any available singletons flocked to King's Landing for the courting season. They did this annually. Three solid months for eligible singles to make a match and attempt to secure their bond in matrimony.

Ladies wore layers of multicolored fabrics. Lords dressed in embellished tunics. Ladies tied on tight corsets to push their breasts to their necks. Lords shaved their facial hair, appearing "cleaned up". Ladies smelt of exotic perfume and Lords stood in shiny boots. All wore sparkling, gaudy jewelry.

While the Starks of Winterfell and the Umbers of Last Hearth traveled over a month to reach the capital, your family, the Tyrells from Highgarden, had a much more comfortable commute. Greyjoys and Mormonts sailed in from the Iron Islands and Bear Island, Tullys from Riverrun, Royces and Arryns from the Eyrie. Single, available, eligible Hightowers returned under Queen Alicent's sponsorship, Lannisters prowled in from Lannisport, and select few Martells arrived in gorgeous, gloriously golden carriages from Dorne.

Everyone who was anyone descended onto the Red Keep, eager to earn King Viserys' stamp of approval - being that he only granted one couple his presence at their ceremony. It was the highest of honors, a prize to be won, a chance to show off and show out; giving the two bonded families bragging rights until the next season. Plus there's a superstition that all weddings the King attended were prosperous, healthy, and long lasting marriages. There was a buzz in the air, a static of excitement and mystery; tension brewing when the members of court arrived and sized each other up for that first week. You thought they were silly for this energy, akin to strutting peacocks, treating their own like competition, treating bloodlines like currency.

You never realized how many purists there were.

While the other Houses had to travel, you were most lucky to already host residence in the Red Keep. Your uncle, Evin Tyrell, had once been in line to assume lordship over Highgarden, but after losing his son to the War of the Stepstones, Evin turned away from his inherited responsibilities; forcing it onto your father's shoulders. You had several siblings, both younger and older, and eventually got lost in your bustling, busy, arguably large family. Evin had no more children, wife long departed from this life, and was excited by the prospect of being a guardian; insisting you come with him to King's Landing, where he accepted a tutoring position for the King's children and grandchildren.

You were absolutely romanced by the idea of existing among the royal family, telling your father it was your one chance at a decent, higher education - an opportunity to study under the Targaryens being once in a lifetime. Truth be told, you're not entirely sure Lord Tyrell even processed your words, approving with a distracted grunt and a wave; gone by the next morning without even breaking your fast with your family. Evin hooked both your beloved horse and one of your father's young stallions to a wooden cart you shared, using the journey to King's Landing to prepare you for the life you were soon to live.

You had always been a little wild child, so, Evin felt it necessary to remind you of your manners; brushing up on your etiquette, quizzing you on members of the Royal Family, explaining what would be expected of you now that you were a guest to the royals.

For well over a decade, you were the single wildflower blooming through dragon fire, earning the moniker Rose of the Realm; living under Queen Alicent's good grace. She seemed to like you well enough, going as far as to invite you to family events after noticing the bond between you and her openly favorite son, Prince Aemond. Years ago, when you were fresh and new to the Capital City, your uncle brought you to attend Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral on Driftmark at the King's invitation. You already had a friendship with the young royals; keeping Helaena company, trying to sneak Aegon's chalices of wine out of his grip, and when the time came, rushed off over the sandy dunes with your best mate after he told you his plan to lay claim on Lady Laena's dragon, Vhagar.

After the King's heir, Princess Rhaenyra's (rumored) bastard son, Lucerys, slashed Aemond's eye from his socket, you became incredibly close. Impossible close. Like unbelievably close; being thick as thieves, joined at the hip, magnetically pulled towards one another before clicking into tight place. You were his pillar of support, his anchor to reality; and he was your salvation.

You realized you were in love with him when you turned ten-and-six. It was something strange, the two of you studying together in the library and when you looked up from your book to meet his eyes, you just understood. Something in your brain clicked, heart cemented in knowing, guts twisting in sudden realization, words caught in your throat and only letting out an inaudible gasp. Ever since that day, you were acutely aware of anything the Prince did; from the way he would caress the back of your head at each embrace, to his eye darting to look at your lips during conversations. From how he took almost every meal with you, to the way he insisted upon your invitation to family, public, and / or royal events. From the way he absorbed your secrets and opinions, to the way he shared his own - getting back what you put forth, forever mutual.

Being friends - best mates, even - with Aemond was easy. So easy, in fact, that nobody ever batted an eye when they saw the two of you unchaperoned. Your friendship was wholesome, endearing, supportive, enlightening, and pleasurably challenging in the sense that Aemond liked pushing your envelope; testing your boundaries. He set new standards and helped lift you to meet those goals, made you think harder, consider new points of view, expand your humanity.

What more could anyone ask for?

About half way through the current season, your uncle sent for you to join him for afternoon tea in the gardens. "Do you recognize these?" He asked when you arrived at the pavilion he sought shade under, admiring the bushes of florals surrounding the bannister.

"Of course," you smirked, hands behind your back as you stood at his shoulder, "they're honeysuckle."

"Native to only Highgarden, just like I called you in your youth," Evin added, plucking a bloom to admire. "Do you know why they're planted here?"

"I imagine through pollination?"

"A sound guess, but no," your uncle handed you the flower. "These were imported years ago, but have only bloomed now."

You nodded, sucking the bud to extract its honey-sweet taste, asking through puckered lips, "Imported by whom?"

"Do you remember your 17th nameday?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess, it was only a few years ago. You weren't here, you were on some diplomatic matter, right?"

"Inna way. After I concluded my affairs, I returned to Highgarden. You see, Prince Aemond confided in me how he wished to do something special for your birthday and knew you missed home. He asked me to bring these seeds back."

"Aemond asked you to plant honeysuckle?"

"Specifically here," Elvin grinned, "so they were within easy reach."

"So why have they only just now bloomed?" You tried to keep the jittery excitement out of your voice; baffled yet giddy from hearing about Aemond's kind gesture.

"There's an old legend," Evin gestured you to the patio table and chairs that was dressed for your social visit. "It's said, when the honeysuckle is gifted from lover to lover, they will only bloom when love surrounds them. I believe they have come to life this season as a portent to an impending match to be made."

"You spend too much time with Otto, Uncle, you're starting to sound like him - veiling your words and talking in riddles. Tell me why you called me here, Uncle, I know it's not for a botany lesson. Out with it, please, for the sake of my sanity."

Evin chuckled, watching you lean forward to pour two mugs of tea. "I was wondering, sweet niece, what the nature of your relationship is to the Prince Aemond?"

"Oh," you blinked, adding a sugar cube to your brew before stirring in a bit of milk, "well, I hate to disappoint, but I don't know what to tell you, Uncle. We're friends, nothing more or less."

"You seem real chummy."

"We're close, yes."

"Romantic?"

You scoffed, "Uncle, please - "

"Tell me the truth of it."

"Nothing inappropriate or unseemly nor nefarious has occurred between us, Uncle, I promise you. The Prince and I are just friends."

Evin sipped his tea, nodding slowly, "Well, humor me. If I asked who you would marry, who would you choose?"

"Well, as of right now, I'd choose myself since I don't know the men at court yet, only rumors and whispers."

"And if the offer of marriage presented itself, would you marry the Prince?"

"I would do my duty to our House, no matter the suitor."

Evin nodded slowly, "If I said I had struck a pact with the Queen and Hand, what would you say?"

"That despite what I've just said, if you marry me off to Aegon, I'll pitch myself from a window."

Your uncle's head tilted back as he belted short laughter. "I would never condemn you to such a fate, honey girl! Have more faith in me. I speak of Prince Aemond - it's why I asked about him."

"Uncle, speak plainly. Have you attempted to make such a match between the Prince and I?"

"Pending a few logistics, the Crown's interested in the match."

The words echoed in your mind on an obnoxious repeat for the weeks to come, surely living a dream. The longer you dwelled on the impending match, the giddier you felt; a secret smile brightening your features, small spring in your step, an air of positivity hanging around you that even the tiresome Rogue Prince wouldn't be able to taint. The One-Eyed Prince has long been your best mate for a decade, surely, this match would've been offered sooner or later; it was a smart choice, the definition of compatibility.

Some might've referred to this elation as "cloud nine", though you'd say it was cloud 10, 11, 12, 100! You were flying high, feeling good, and mistakenly allowing your hopes to heighten while imagining what marrying your best friend would be like.

You prepared for that evening's courting session with a dreamy, dazed look in your eyes. Even your ladies-maid picked up on your joyful spirit; questioning through her smile, "What's got you so distracted, my Lady? You've been staring off into nothing with that smile for an hour now."

"Huh?" You met her eyes through the vanity mirror, the woman standing behind you to intricately braid your hair. "Oh, no, no, nothing, I'm only lost in thought."

"Which thought?"

"It doesn't matter, it's just a thought. When it becomes a notion, I'll tell you, my friend."

She repeated with a grin, "'Yeah? When's that? Are you expecting good news?"

"Perhaps."

"Fine, fine, keep your secrets," she playfully tugged your hair. "Do you know which dress you'd like to wear tonight?"

"The lilac one," you answered, lips stretching your smile.

"You mean the dress that matches Prince Aemond's eye perfectly?"

You both giggled girlishly.

When you arrived at the Throne Room, there was already more than 75% of guests in attendance; getting a jump on their mingling. You greeted several familiar faces, locating your best mate standing at the side with his arms crossed and shoulder leaning on a pillar. "Well, you certainly look happy to be here," you teased when at his side, leaning on the other side of the intricate column.

"It was Mother's idea, Rosie, you know I do not dance," he frowned. "She's not given up the hunt to make me a match. She's adamant this is the year."

"Perhaps if you participate, you could organically meet your future wife."

"Hmm," his eye rolled, thin lips quirking in a smirk; gaze turned on you, watching you scan the room.

There was another 20 minutes of mingling before dinner was called, laid out on tables that stretched the entire length of the Throne Room. Naturally, like every single day, you and Aemond took side-by-side seats together at a risen table that hosted the royal family which provided an incredible view of those in attendance this eve. With your elbow, you nudged Aemond's bicep, making him lean over instantly so you could speak in his ear quietly. "Looks like Lady Fell and Lord Blackwood are gonna jump each other's bones," you mused, smirking, adding, "though I heard she's already hiding a growing belly and is trying to nab herself someone more mature in age with the intent to trick the Lord into thinking she's having his baby."

"No," he scoffed in amusement.

"Yes!"

"That's diabolical. Blackwood's the father? Truly?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Good for him, good for Blackwood - didn't know he had it in him." He paused to take a pull from his goblet of wine, continuing, "Hm! Look, look," he grinned coyly, "do you see what I see?"

"It's packed in here, so... No, I don't see whatever you're seeing."

He snickered, "Lady Mormont looks smitten with Lord Greyjoy, looks like she wants to eat him."

"I thought he was romancing Lady Redwyne?"

Aemond hummed in amusement, "Perhaps he is considering options, courting more than one lady. Are we taking bets this season, again?"

You grinned, "Of course."

"Lay out the criteria, what're the parameters?"

After thinking a moment, you answered, "The pairing and timeline of impending weddings?"

"The stakes?"

You just shrugged, "Bragging rights?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rosie," he tisked.

"Fine, uh, how about... 10 Gold Dragons?"

"Both our families have enough money."

"Then you decide the rewards."

He lowered his voice, ensuring his family couldn't eavesdrop, "If you win, I'll go to Highgarden with you next time you visit. But if I win, you have to come flying with me on Vha - "

"No," you snapped instantly.

Aemond smirked, "Those are the terms, my Lady. Do you accept? Or will the Rose of the Realm shy away from challenge?"

Well, when you put it that way...

"Fine," you relented. "You're eager to lose so bad, let's do it. Who do you think will couple first?"

"Does it count if I get at least one correct? Such as, if I predict Lord Umber and Lady Lannister, but Umber marries Lady Tully, does it count that I still predicted Umber?"

You mulled his idea over, humming, stabbing a piece of roast goose from your plate to place in your mouth and chew thoughtfully. "Hmm, no, no, you gotta get the couple completely correct."

Aemond nodded, accepting your terms, "You really don't wish to go flying, do you?"

"What gave me away?"

Sharing a chuckle, Aemond finished, "All right, Rosie, bring it on."

When dinner concluded, once more, patrons were allowed to mix and mingle; dancing to the live band, drink spiced wine to their heart's desires. Like the common wallflowers you were, you posted at the side of the room with Aemond, content to watch the sea of vying adults trying to establish and rush courtship. It was the most comfortable you could be at these events, being anxious in judgmental crowds and seeking salvation from Aemond's domineering aura.

"Lady Tyrell," Jason Lannister purred as he approached you with his chest puffed out, "I was hoping to hold your ear tonight. Your father was telling me about your love to ride horses."

"Oh, my father said that?"

"That's who he said he was - "

"My father's in Highgarden, my Lord," you corrected, knowing for fact that Evin always described himself as your uncle.

"Ah, well, right," Jason cleared his throat in embarrassment. Did this pompous arsehole just lie about talking to your father to give the illusion he was an honorable man? That your father approved of the golden headed Lannister? "Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"

"Perhaps not," Aemond cut in sharply, bringing the tension to focus.

"My Lord," you distracted, on behalf of Aemond's anger, "uh, thank you for asking, that's very kind of you. Though I'm afraid, I'm all, uh, danced out. I won't be on my feet much longer."

"Means fuck off, Lannister," Aemond growled, appearing positively murderous at the honey blonde's audacity.

Jason eyed Aemond, stiffly bidding, "I see. My Prince, my Lady, enjoy your evening."

You bid the older widower the same, Aemond chuckling the moment the lion was swallowed by the crowd. "As if you'd ever dance with a Lannister, let alone court him," he mused, looking down at you. "But he had the right idea, you need to dance at least once. Shouldn't waste this dress standing on the side with me."

"I'm quite comfortable here with you," you shrugged off, seeing your uncle at the royal banquet table exchanging hushed words with King Viserys and his Queen, Alicent.

"C'mon," he held his hand in offer, palm up.

"What? No, no, Aemond, I'm not dancing - I've two left feet!"

"You can break every toe on my feet and I'd still ask you. Just one dance. With me, Lady Tyrell."

"You don't dance!"

"Perhaps the mood has taken me. C'mon, petal."

Your head turned from left to right as if looking for someone spying on you. The moment your hand laid daintily in his, you melted right there on the spot, not having any coherent recollection about how you ended up in the middle of the overzealous contenders. You realized you'd follow this man anywhere.

Beating off your immense anticipation and overwhelming excitement to join The One-Eyed Prince for an intimate activity, you kept your composure amongst everyone else. But, my Gods, did you want to scream in delight the moment he placed one hand on your waist and the other clasping yours to raise in the air at your side. But in this position, you could feel the ridges of his stomach - making you briefly feel embarrassed, wondering how you must've looked to the members of court.

"You sure about this?" You whispered nervously, but you had a feeling that was due to the intense concentration he pinned you with.

"We'll be fine, Rosie, just breathe and follow my lead. I got you."

So launched your dance with Prince Aemond Trgaryen, second son of King Viserys. You couldn't divert your gaze from his porcelain, angled face to save you from overthinking your dancing skill - or lack there of. A few times, he'd smirk and whisper how good you were doing, mind flashing to an image of you and he, married, tumbling in bed sheets together while he praises you. Everything he did became sinful to you; every touch, every glance, every smile, every private studying session setting your skin on fire and heart to beat rapidly.

It was a longer song, string instruments creating a pleasant, ideal, slow-paced, soft environment. Yet you couldn't hear the music, too focused on Aemond's single piercing eye and quirked lips. It was as if the two of you existed outside of time and reality, forgetting the people packed in the stuffy room. Aemond told you softly, "See? You're not so bad at dancing - you just need the right partner."

You wanted to be partnered every single dance from now until your death with Aemond.

"I thought you couldn't dance?" You coyly questioned.

"I said I don't dance, not that I couldn't."

To your idle shock, Aemond gave you a few twirls that made your hair and dress fan around you in an angelic motion. Dare you say it, you even laughed with mirth when you found yourself enjoying the courting season more than ever before - all thanks to your best friend and hopefully, soon-to-be intended. You were acutely aware of his hot and heavy hands holding your flesh, knowing this feeling would burn into your skin to remind you of his closer-than-close proximity. To remind you of his gentleness, to remind you of this dance and the way he gave you his complete and undivided attention.

When the musicians concluded the song, you were grinning authentically while joining in the applause to show appreciation towards the artists.

"Gods," you panted, "that nearly winded me. Think I'm out of shape."

"And you said you had two left feet," he mocked with a scoff, head shaking, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't serious. "You're a natural, Rosie."

"You're not such a bad dancer yourself, my Prince," you complimented, the applause subsiding as a new song began. "Though you'll have to excuse me while I get a drink."

You parted way in search of two empty goblets and one of the servants carrying decanters of spiced wine. After being served, you rocked on your toes to try and gaze over the heads populating the room. You were unsuccessful, so, you backed up to the edge of the crowd and moved around the involuntary empty loop along the wall, behind the pillars. There was no reason finding the white haired prince with an eyepatch would be this difficult, yet, you got more than halfway around the room before finally locating him.

Once again, he was leaning on a column, but he wasn't alone. No, there was a gaggle of Lords around him, all exchanging chatter about the Ladies they had to choose from this season.

"Well, c'mon, what about you, Aemond?" Cregan Stark pondered. "Things with The Rose look like they're escalating - congrats. Are wedding bells on the horizon?"

Hearing your name, you quickly scurried behind the same pillar, just out of sight but able to still listen. Look, eavesdropping was highly frowned upon, you knew it was bad manners, but if you heard men gossiping about your name, you would've done the exact same!

Aemond scoffed in pure amusement, "Come off it, Stark."

"No, c'mon, mate, I saw you two," Cregan continued, "dancing together, pressed all close."

"You two make a handsome match, logistically speaking," Paxtan Florant labeled. "Could marry someone abundantly worse, I think you two are quite the pair."

"Handsome and logical as it may look, there's no possibility I'd court the Lady Tyrell, let alone marry her," Aemond declared with a chuckle, your heart stalling and brows wrinkling together. "The Tyrells only just obtained their name in court, they're still too low born for a prince to entertain. Peasants like that are uneducated, prominently not intelligent enough to be my counterpart; uncultured, unwise, unable to retain most information we study during lessons."

You blinked in shock. If anything, you were Aemond's ONLY intellectual counterpart!

"So, she's not as smart as you, mate, so what?" Cregan cocked his head. "You don't need smart, you need fertile and capable."

Though he was attempting to defend you, Cregan's words made your skin prickle. How could they think you weren't intellectually on their level? Was it because you were a woman? You read the same books, attended the same tutoring sessions, was questioned on the same material they were and hardly ever answering incorrectly! And yet now you're reduced to your reproduction system?

The Prince scoffed, "Think about it, if I married a Tyrell, their lowly standing would taint the Targaryen bloodline."

"So, it was all an act?" Paxtan snickered, "C'mon, mate, you two looked dazed, all enamored with each other. Can't convince us there's nothing there, not after that."

Aemond chuckled, "You want the truth?"

"Lay it on us."

"I shared a single dance with her because I pity her. Don't any of you? The way she all but repels suitors? Surely, you've noted her dresses as well? They're terribly revealing, unlike anything a proper lady would don. No self respecting woman nor future princess of mine would wear something like that. It's as if she's so desperate for attention that she has to flaunt her flesh just to get a man to look at her since her personality surely doesn't reel suitors to her."

The men laughed, your mouth dropping open in offense. You're not chasing men away - look what happened with Jason Lannister! It was Aemond who told him to fuck off! After years of friendship, was this truly what Aemond thought of you? How did it come to this - the man you loved, the man you considered your best mate, slandering your name to any able ear willing to listen? How could he speak such calamities about you? Was this entire friendship a folly, just a cover for his pity? Was he only your 'friend' to entertain his own selfish boredom?

Was everything just in your head?

"I don't know, I like how she dresses," Tyler Lannister mused, the teenaged son of Tyland Lannister, Jason's twin brother.

"None the less, I find desperation unattractive in a woman," Aemond rejected, tears gathering in your eyes to silently stream down your cheeks. "Besides, Lady Tyrell isn't my type, she talks far too much. Truly, there's never a moment of silence, I cannot even hear my own thoughts when she's prattling - and it's never anything of substance, just useless nonsense. It's as I said, it was a pity dance, I felt sorry that she has little to no suitors."

"Seriously, mate, have you considered the reason she has no suitors might be because of her proximity to you? They might stay away because they feel threatened by your friendship, thinking she's spoken for - and trust me, no man here would dare compete against a prince for a lady's affection," Cregan scoffed, mildly disgusted by Aemond's choice words.

"The courts know there's no affection shared between Lady Tyrell and I. We are simply friends - no more or less - and that's as far as our relationship will ever progress."

Cregan hummed, nodding his head sarcastically. Then his curiosity questioned, "Answer this: are you attracted to her?"

"Truthfully, I just don't think she's... Attractive enough to be my wife. She's a pretty lass, I'll admit, but if she's called the Rose of the Realm, I fear to learn the appearance of other ladies from Highgarden." A few lads chuckled. "Additionally, there will be public outings I must attend, and as my wife, the people will expect to see someone alluring - someone qualified and fit for the position as a princess of the Realm. Someone stunning and worthy of the title, able to fulfill royal responsibilities."

"Gods, why're you so against this match? You're being terribly superficial, judgmental, and defensive - she's your friend, after all. Wouldn't this be a love-match? Do you know how rare those are?" Luras Arryn snarled, sounding genuinely distraught and jealous.

"And if you're so against her, why do you constantly escort her to formal events?" Arnas Blackwood tacked on. "It creates the illusion that you're courting, my Prince, surely you're aware of that."

"As I stated, her blood isn't pure, but she's also criminally clingy. She's always lingering around and I feel awkward not inviting her to royal events - since she's right there, all alone, in front of me. I only invite her out of obligation. Again, I take pity on the girl, knowing when she leaves the Red Keep, she'll never experience this life again."

"Well, if not the Rose of the Realm, who do you have your sights on?" Luras Arryn asked stiffly.

Aemond's smirk was clear as day, answering swiftly, "The Lady Floris Baratheon is appealing enough."

The lads obnoxiously cheered in supportive approval, directing the conversation in a new direction about how bloody gorgeous Floris was - one of them even mentioning she deserved the nickname, Rose of the Realm.

You heard enough, more than enough, more than you ever wanted to know in an entire lifetime; rightfully insulted past belief and violently nauseated, feeling cold and mechanical. As swiftly as you could, you rushed to set the goblets down and speed walk towards the doors, shoving past both individuals and couples; not wanting to linger where you're clearly not wanted. Where you were apparently not welcome. After making your inconspicuous getaway, tears fell faster than earlier, mind replaying Aemond's words while sprinting to your chambers.

Describing you as clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Dubbing you an improper lady who lacked self respect. Thinking you talk too much - that you prattle nonsense. Labeling you unworthy and unqualified to be his wife or assume the title princess with all the relating responsibilities. How he pities you and doesn't ever want to be more than your friend; thinking you're uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Declaring House Tyrell peasants who would taint his family's pure bloodline. How you 'have' to flaunt your flesh to attract suitors - since your personality did you no favors. Marking you a friend out of obligation...

Were you even friends? Did you even understand the definition of a friend? Have you been operating in a delusion this whole time?

In the words of King Théoden: how did it come to this?

Feeling utterly humiliated, you ran away from your peers; lungs heaving, huffing and puffing, panic ready to overflow. You burst through the wooden door, fully sobbing by now, engaging the iron lock and dropping to lean your weight against it.

Most, if not all, of your insecurities were aired out like soiled bedsheets for all eligible bachelors to know. Aemond might as well have hung a painted wooden sign around your neck: DESPERATE AND CLINGY LOSER - DO NOT ENGAGE.

Nothing about this situation felt normal, it all felt terribly impossible; absolutely heartbreaking and vile, like it was some kind of bad dream. But everyone woke up from dreams. You'd never wake up from this, you'd be forced to remember and relive it day after day. Tonight would haunt you, cast a dark shadow around you as if a thick, temperamental, torrential storm. Yet every storm eventually breaks, but tonight, there was no remedy, no shelter, no protection - you had to weather this alone.

It felt foreign, enduring anything by yourself. For years, Aemond was your partner, always at your side, level headed, insightful and wise; supportive, protective, calming, and something like a safety net when you faced trouble. Now, he's left you devastatingly alone; where after tonight, the very idea of being in the same room as him made you nauseated and anxious, fearful and small.

In that moment, your brain screamed that you were no longer welcome in the Red Keep - Uncle Evin's position be damned.

You sat on the stone cold floor for the better part of half an hour before your bottom turned painfully numb. After sluggishly hiking up your dress skirt, you removed your shoes and tossed them aside, standing to swollen feet to unhook your jewelry and place everything in their safe and proper place. Then, a particular necklace made of red rubies set in a thinly crafted Valyrian Steel chain caught your eye and mocked you. It was Aemond's gift on your ten-and-eighth nameday, laid in a plush velvet case for adequate preservation. This simple piece of jewelry was your absolute favorite in your collection, a treasure beyond words of appreciation that you greatly admired, now rusting in salty tears.

Being gifted this necklace had once convinced you Aemond might've felt the same for you as you do him. You remember even trying to rationalize it as a sign that the One-Eyed Prince was at a loss and didn't know how to confess his feelings. That he was shy, perhaps afraid to ruin your friendship if you didn't feel the same.

Angry tears of betrayal fell like acid over your cheeks, gritting your teeth, clenching your jaw as you snapped the velvet box closed and with a barbaric grunt, hurled it (with impressive strength) across the room. You felt so confused, so lost; deceived, lied to, and puppeted - and then the anger flared again when you realized what family you were angry with.

Why bother being upset, emotional, distressed? You had no right because your feelings truly didn't matter - not in the grand scheme of things. Nobody cared about your trivial feelings! You were just a Tyrell and by comparison, a peasant nobody who never deserved, earned, warranted, or was bestowed respect. In fact, to the Targaryens up on their mounted pedestals, none of you mattered - not a citizen in all Seven Kingdoms.

In fact, it was almost treated as a curse to not be a Targaryen. Some kind of punishment for daring to exist amongst the privileged royals as a lowborn - which, despite your family's newly established status in court, you were still characterized as. In their eyes, anyone NOT a Targaryen was lowborn; deemed unworthy to the white haired bloodline, being merely tolerated for the sake of politics, strategy, and reproduction. It was a sick game, and the Targaryens always won.

They do what they want, when they want, with no consideration towards other people's safety, emotions, wellbeing, stability, or comfort. The Targaryens were always stationed above everyone because, after all, they were closer to Gods than men; entire family spoiled, entitled, narcissistic, holier than thou, avoidant of any and all consequence.

They're legendary. Untouchable and worshipped.

And you? You're just a Tyrell, the tiny beetle trampled under the God's boot. Beetles were essential to any ecosystem, similar to the Tyrell's providing to the Realm productions of wheat, grain, barley, and corn. Similar to your family, beetles are also disposable - meaning the Targaryens might tolerate you, but they never need respect you. They could stomp you into the ground whenever they wanted because where one beetle died, three more takes place. Where one House might falter and fall, become doomed, eradicated, or subcomes to tragedy, others step up in an effort to establish their usefulness; prove their House's necessity to the Realm's ecosystem, attempt to diminish the threat of being razed to the ground by dragon fire.

Why be so upset with the Targaryens when they can do no wrong? What right did you have? And how could you ever think a Prince of the Realm would remotely be romantically interested in you?

You felt delusional and pathetic, crying over a man who was never in your league. Yet betrayal gutted you like a fish, a bright reminder that your friend would expose you like that; offer loud disrespect, speaking hatefully, to finally voice hidden malcontent. It felt impossible to stomach that your first friend, your favorite person, secretly hated you.

Because how could he not? You did not love anyone you could speak so lowly of.

Sobbing harder, you yanked pins out of your hair, working at break-neck speed to strip from your gown, then freezing when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looked distraught with exhausted red eyes; glowing in defeat, in a desperate need for a long, hot soak in the washtub. With shaking hands, you tossed a spare blanket over the mirror, despising the sight of yourself as Aemond's words continued to ring on a loop in your ears.

Clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Improper, lacks self respect, talks too much, lacks suitors. Unworthy, unqualified, pitiful, never desiring to bloom past friendship - which is constructed around obligation. Uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Unfit, tainted, lowborn blood with a lowly personality. Revealing, tempting dresses.

Your mind, heart, and head screamed that no matter how hard you hoped, prayed, and tried, you'd never have a place among the Targaryens. Yelled that Aemond's right: you're ugly on the inside and out; damaged goods, undesirable - all because you were not born amongst fire and blood. Bellowed about your lack of quality, purpose, contribution. Reminded you that the one person you trusted unconditionally never truly wanted to be your friend; that he spoke horrendously on your name when absent, didn't value who you were - and never did.

He took every insecurity you confided in him and weaponized it; used it against you, made it into a joke with people you didn't trust nor want to know about you...

You sunk into the bath water, submerging as if to hide from your own thoughts.

The knock at your chamber door didn't surprise you. Servants and your uncle had been coming and going since you first refused to leave the morning after the ball. You figured Aemond would come around eventually, too curious for his own good and still under the impression he had to play "friend", thinking his deceit was unknown to you.

Aemond called your name through the door, asking, "You awake? Could I come in?"

You didn't answer.

He sighed, "C'mon, I know you're there. You haven't been seen in four days, you have to eat. You should get some air, feel the sunshine."

Silence.

Aemond frowned, "When you're ready, come find me, petal. I'm worried about you."

You wiped the tears off your cheeks, pulling your knees to your chest. For four days, you couldn't stomach the idea of running into the Prince, just wanting to avoid anyone or anything that would remind you of what Aemond said. You understood there were several decisions left to be settled, lost in an endless rampage of confusing emotions, maids bring you full trays of food and removing them with more than half still left.

Humiliation knotted in your chest, the harrowing thought of punishing yourself for being so stupid something you couldn't fight. All you registered was the feeling of betrayal, something that inked into every single thought you had, but with it came sinking realization that you were done. Simple as that.

On the sixth night, you sat with Uncle Evin, forking through your full plate and blurting, "Don't do it."

He paused to finish the bite in his mouth, "Do what, honey girl?"

"Don't - Don't make a match with Alicent and Otto. Don't make the arrangement with Prince Aemond."

Evin nodded slowly, washing his bite down with a mouthful of wine. "There a reason for your change of heart, love? The Queen thinks it's a handsome pairing. Just before, you seemed content with the match - dare I say, you seemed pleased?"

"Things change, Uncle," you spoke evenly, "and I can't shoulder this responsibility. In fact, I... I do not think I'm capable of making my own match. I will be stepping away from courting for the time being."

Your eyes seemed distant and dark, proving serious. So Elvin agreed easily, allowing you to withdrawal from the current season officially. He understood something was deeply amiss and didn't want to make worse whatever turmoil you teetered in. He didn't want to upset you and make things worse - you obviously had enough going on.

Aemond knocked again the next day, "Petal? You awake?" But you didn't answer. He sighed, "You've been missing lessons, love, and I just... I brought you some books. Thought maybe you'd like to catch up?" When there was no answer, he ended, "I'll just leave them here for you, petal... I'm not sure what's wrong, but I hope you're all right in there... I miss you."

You scoffed quietly, wiping your tears.

Ten days after withdrawing from the courting season, you left your chambers for the first time. But it wasn't like anything changed - it was still as if you were invisible, like a ghost. Losing your best mate turned you silent, refusing to attend lessons and since Aemond was your source for solace, had turned to seeking shelter at the Sept. It was the easiest way to avoid everyone - mostly Aemond.

He had shunned the religion the older he got, though respected his mother's devotion to it in trying times. He couldn't remember the last time he was in the Sept... So, it was perfect for you; a safe space.

You were no longer seen in the library - a once daily occurrence. If you ever wanted to read, you sent your ladies maid to collect content for you; but the drive to learn and read had abandoned you as swiftly as Aemond's loyalty. The stables grew cold in your absence, refusing to ride; something that troubled your uncle gravely. No longer did you take meals with family or Aemond, always seeking solitude to eat alone in your room or the physical kitchens; the Red Keep growing dark over your lack of sunshine - that had shone so brightly in the previous weeks. Even then, when you ate, it was in small quantities to only sustain yourself; mostly feeling nauseous when food was put on your stomach.

The first time Aemond saw you, you were returning from the Sept in a dress that reached close to your pulse point of your neck. He tried to get to you, but you slipped through the cracks of the Keep and disappeared when he dodged around a set of Kingsguard. Yet it was still a comfort to him to know you had left your room finally.

He knocked on your door about half an hour later, but like usual, you didn't answer.

"Rosie?" Aemond called, sighing. "I know you've not been feeling yourself, but, uh, tomorrow's Helaena's nameday. We're having dinner for her on the terrace..." He waisted, not hearing a single thing from within your chamber. "You're invited, as usual, petal. Your uncle said he'd attend, wanted you to know you're always welcome at our table."

But you didn't show up, you couldn't bear to see any of them.

You didn't eat that night, you were far too anxious and spiteful against yourself that you refused to allow yourself to indulge in celebrating your companion.

Despite withdrawing, you still heard rumor of all the matches being made and the courtships established through your ladies maid. A cord struck in your gut when you heard the couples you had bet upon were public and engaged, but so were Aemonds... Which meant you both won; and if things were different, would mean a flight on Vhagar to visit Highgarden. On nights of merriment, you would sit alone in the Godswood sometimes; attempting to connect to the Old Gods, but they never spoke back. They never connected with you.

Tonight, you were under the blood red leaves in earnest curiosity; quiet, just as you had been since the day you found out Aemond's betrayal and discouraged your uncle from making a match. It was there Elvin found you, frowning as he took a seat beside you in the grass.

"The Old Gods do not speak to me," Elvin offered softly.

"Nor I," you whispered.

"Yet I always feel at peace here," he nodded, sighing deeply. "I must ask you something, honey girl."

"Hmm?"

"Do you... Do you wish to depart? From King's Landing, I mean?" He questioned. "I ask because I intend to ride for Highgarden, your father's nameday nears. Your mother intends to throw him a grand celebration, since turning 50 seems such a milestone."

"You ride for home?"

"Tomorrow morning."

You paused, then answered, "I would like that... There's nothing left for me here."

Aemond's words had done irreparable damage, making you feel worthless and alone. Bitter. Damaged and unworthy of any such match; forever worrying if your best friend could harbor such ill will and hatred for you, surely, a husband would as well. Yet you were not new to being a woman; you knew the role you were to play, how marriage was strategic and calculated. Political. You could be a wife, you were so sure of it; but would you ever feel worthy of love? You feared you never would.

"We will stay a few weeks."

"I don't know if I would like to return, Uncle."

He offered a sad smile, "I figured as much. But should you want to, feel able to, you may return. You, my sweetling, are always welcome at my side."

You leaned into his shoulder, sighing softly. "I should thank you," you whispered in the wind.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me all these years," you lifted off him to meet his eyes. "You didn't have to, but you wanted to... And you've shown me a father's love when I thought it gone from my life. Thank you, Uncle."

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, humming, "Don't tell the others but you were always my favorite. I consider it a great pleasure to raise such a gorgeous young lady - and I mean that, honey girl. Inside and out. Now," he pulled back and found his feet, offering his hand to you, "come, we've packing to complete."

"Of course."

However, while in the midst of packing, you felt a jolt in your heart. This had been your home of a decade or more; these people were who you grew and learned with. Who influenced your life in the best and worst of ways; they did not deserve to read your praise and thanks for friendship in a letter... So, you swung a cloak on and ventured out of your room.

Otto was first since he was the easiest to say goodbye to. He was gracious of your parting words of thanks; telling him how much you appreciated his wisdom and riddles.

Aegon was next. He insisted you share a last goblet of wine together - since you did not intend to delay your parting. It turned into a bit of a drinking game with his mates, but you didn't mind; far too used to the company of these debaucherous lechers. Dare you say, you enjoyed yourself.

Helaena was after, your words harder to say as your emotions strangled you. She was a sweet girl, an endearing companion, constant and dependable, albeit a bit strange and unorthodox. But you loved her all the same and cried tears of sadness when hugging her tightly as a last ditch effort to convey your gratitude for her authentic and generous friendship.

You only offered Ser Criston Cole a soft, "Farewell."

Alicent was perhaps hardest to say goodbye to. After Aemond, you were probably closest with the matriarch and found her wisdom and lessons a privilege to learn. She was kind to you; usually with a stern hand, but that was because she could recognize the little girl you once were who missed her mother tremendously. She introduced you to religion, another common bond. She encouraged you, supportive and curious; sharing affinity for the histories, often reading to one another for moments of peace.

Saying goodbye to Alicent hurt. You both shed tears of sorrow, the Queen wishing you the very best and insisting you return for her nameday and other celebratory events. She told you to write, told you to keep in touch; insisting if and when a match was made, to invite her since she would love to attend your wedding. Truly, Alicent considered you one of her own and to know you were departing in pain wounded her.

King Viserys was last. He was already in bed, half-asleep, a Maester at his side; but still, he accepted your audience. You thanked him for his hospitality and kindness - especially to your uncle. You thanked him for hosting you, for allowing you residence at the Keep and the for the years living under royal privilege. You told him you'd not forget his generosity.

You returned to your chambers after that and finished packing. You didn't sleep.

When morning broke, you stood in the courtyard with Elvin; packing the wagon you would use, your horse tacked and waiting as you both intended to ride. Alicent and Helaena came to see you off, hugging you tightly one last time before the Queen offered you a handheld velveteen case. "Just a little something to remember us by," she smiled lightly.

"Oh, as if I'm in a hurry to forget you?" You mused. "My Queen, this is too much, I cannot accept."

"You have not opened it."

"I do not need to, I know you," you smirked. "Your leadership these years is enough gift, my Queen."

"I'm not taking it back, you might as well accept it," she insisted. "Helaena and I picked it out together..."

You lifted the case lid, blinking in shock and gasping lightly. There laid a gorgeous chain necklace of Valyrian Steel, a dragon pendant dangling from front with gems of bright emerald - surely a representation of the Hightower side.

"Thank you, Your Grace, my Princess," you breathed, closing the case and caressing it to your chest. "It's more generous than I deserve but will treasure for the decades to come."

Queen Alicent nodded and pecked your forehead, leaving you alone with Helaena to speak with Elvin. The moment her mother was gone, the Princess asked, "Did you say goodbye to Aemond? I'm surprised he's not here."

"No," you spoke softly, "I cannot, Helaena, it is too painful to even look at him - let alone share words of parting. I have nothing left to say, no more words for him."

She frowned, "You know... I don't think he meant what he said. He says things he does not mean when anxious or feeling as if he's cornered."

Your head cocked, "What? H-How do you know what's been said?"

"I saw it - in one of my dreams."

You sighed, "I know you mean well - "

"I just do not wish for you to think that is his honest opinion about you."

"If it wasn't, he would not have spoken so loudly for so many to hear. Your brother has never sounded so sure, Helaena, I do not wish to relive it."

She sighed and nodded, "Will you write?"

"Every week," you promised, the two of you meeting foreheads and breathing as one. "Take care of yourself, Helaena."

"You, too, Rosie," she smiled, letting you depart. Alicent clipped your new necklace in place and gvae you a final hug, watching you mount your horse, stare at the pair for a moment longer, then follow your Uncle Elvin out of the courtyard.

As you rode down the streets, Aemond came sprinting out of the Keep in a blind panic after running into Aegon in the hall. Normally, Aemond wouldn't have bat an eye at his hungover brother, but he had said something about you drinking him under the table and demanded to know what Aegon meant. Upon hearing you had "left", Aemond sprinted to your bed chambers and didn't even knock - just burst in.

Never before had the Prince felt such anger as when he learned you had left King's Landing without saying goodbye. Without a single word to him - as if the past decade+ hadn't meant anything! He needed to know, Aemond needed to see for himself the truth because surely, someone was mistaken. His brother, surely still drunk and misremembering because there was no possible way you could've left! Not without Aemond! Not without a word! He refused to believe it.

He panted, tears gathering in his eye, finding your room bare and stripped. Aemond's breathing picked up in panic, hands shaking as he stepped into your room; looking, desperately, for any sign of life. But there was nothing... Nothing, save for a letter addressed to him left on your table with the ruby necklace he gifted you for your 18th nameday.

Gingerly, Aemond reached out and plucked up the necklace. He frowned, petting the jewels in disbelief; noting the way a few were missing, some loose - evidence of your anger. Slowly, Aemond sunk into a chair and with the necklace still in hand and his heart hammering in his chest in a rattle, opened your letter.

Aemond ― I know you'll be the one to find this, of that, there's no doubt. Sooner or later, you will learn of my departure and come looking, and for that, for being unable to say anything in person, I am sorry. Though this might come as a shock, it shouldn't as I would hate to give you the satisfaction of being right by burdening you with a desperate goodbye. I would hate for you to think I am clingy, even after our friendship died. So, I figure a letter is better than nothing. Goodbye, Aemond. Though all a lie and dedicated ruse, thank you for the years of friendship. You made time in the Red Keep pleasant enough. ― Rosie

Aemond sprinted to the courtyard, flinging open doors and shoving past patrons; desperate to find you, understanding you overheard him all those weeks ago and needing to apologize. He needed to explain himself, the confirmation now that Aemond was the cause of your pain and reclusion? His heart was about to burst. He skidded to a halt in the dirt, turning left and right and in a circle as he realized the gates were open and you were not in sight.

"Aemond?" Helaena questioned softly, Alicent taking to her side. "Brother?"

"Wh-Where is she?" He panted. "Rose - Rose - Rosie, where is she? Where is she!?"

"She's gone, Aemond," Alicent frowned, shaking her head slowly; startled by his desperate tone, "gone with her uncle back to Highgarden."

"When? When? When did they leave!?"

"She's gone, brother," Helaena snipped, sending him a look of disappointment; ears ringing from her dream, repeating what he had said to you.

Aemond swallowed harshly, asking his sister, "She heard me, didn't she? I know you know, Helaena, please, tell me. She heard me?"

The Princess nodded and walked away, the One Eyed Prince turning to his mother in desperation and for the first time in 10 years, perhaps more, he collapsed in her arms. Emotion clawed at his chest and into his throat, starting to tremble, sniffing heatedly; his mother's arms tight and comforting.

"I love her," he whispered.

"I know," Alicent answered, "but she should've been the one you told." A pause and her hand lifted to caress the back of his head, just like when he was a child. "It's too late now, Aemond. She's gone."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

does this count towards the Clingy Baby collection? since Aemond technically calls her clingy amongst other things?

576 notes · View notes

madelynraemunson · 8 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Chapter 016: 86 It, Baby

When they find out about you and Eddie, his cult following of jealous dancers team up to make your life a living hell. How much of it will you be able to tolerate? And how much of it will Eddie actually allow?

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

* = somewhat smutty chapters ** = smut chapters

word count: 8.1k words

disclaimers — fluff, smut, angst, oral (fem-receiving), pussy worship, office roleplay, fingering, boyfriend!eddie 😍 • bullying, body dysmorphia, body shaming, humiliation, sabotage, profanities, spreading rumors, billy being a narcissistic fuck again

(x)

Chapter 015 recap

"You sure you want to sign up for all of this?"

• • •

From here on out, it's going to be Shy Girl and Eddie... and nothing... NOTHING will ever change your mind or get in the way of that.

“Sugarcoated lies unfolded…”

Chapter 016

♡

“OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!” Dustin shrieks.

“CORNER!” Mike hollers. “Hot plates coming through!”

“Shit shit shit shit!” This is the third order Lucas has messed up. “Argyle’s gonna kill me. Where the fuck is Eddie?!”

It’s Hellfire’s busiest Tuesday and the owner is nowhere in sight. And neither are you — Hellfire’s number one dancer.

Surely that has to be a coincidence. Because the last thing on your mind while everyone is going crazy looking for Eddie is going crazy in his office, your legs spread out on his desk while riding his tongue, his mouth and fingers penetrating your sensitive clit with calculated strokes and thirst-quenched laps, Eddie’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as he prowls for your release, the remnants of it trickling down the wooden table and soaking all of his nearby paperwork.

…Right?

“Have you seen Eddie?” Nancy demands as she waves her dead curling iron in the air.

“No!”

“Will…have you seen Eddie?” Jonathan asks.

“No!”

Argyle isn’t having any better of a day.

“Ayo, who THE FUCK keeps ringing in the Eddie Special?! We 86’d it an hour ago cuz we’re out of thousand island!”

The frazzled cook shifts his focus back to the grill, wiping sweat away from his forehead in exhaustion. He then bolts to the fryer, ignoring the mountain of tickets piling up on the line.

A few muffled curse words escape his mouth. Goddammit Eddie. Where is that fucker?!

“Eddie?!” Dustin calls out as he’s directed to voicemail.

“Eddie!” Chrissy attempts.

“Eddie?!”

“Eddie!”

“EDDIE!” you moan. “Oh, fuck. Eddie…”

“Thought I told you to call me sir.”

Eddie’s lips hum against the ones between your legs as he devours you, tip of his tongue flicking across your folds before circling inwards, licking…sucking…moaning and spitting as he reels you in for a delicious rotation of all possible combinations.

“My sweet, sweet secretary,” Eddie playfully swoons. “They’re gonna have to wait baby, you taste so good.”

It should come as no surprise that a Dungeon Master like Eddie is obsessed with role-play. Yet it stuns you like it’s the first time, watching him devour you like a starved man in the wild, the heels of his palms anchoring you to his desk by how they hook your thighs in place.

“Love the skirt you wore just for me,” Eddie blubbers. The easy access just does something to him. And the way it hugs your body... Eddie is practically scraping his knees on the floor trying to make you feel good. “Love your sweet pussy. Love everything about you…”

“Ohhh…fuck…” you mewl as the echos of your wet cunt filter the air around you. “Yes, Eddie…”

“You my naughty little secretary?”

“Yes, sir…”

Eddie hums again while you toss your head back, bliss-filled and fucked out, squirming underneath him as your ankles dangle limply at his shoulders. Your pornographic moans that bleed into desperate squeals cause Eddie to subconsciously buck his hips and thrust, eagerly sinking his mouth further into you as he sucks harder on your clit. And just before he can pull down his pants to pound you senseless around his office, another type of pounding awaits for you two at the door.

“EDDIE OPEN THE FUCK UP!” Henderson screeches as he knocks. “Our ass is grass out there, what are you doing?!”

Eddie sighs in anguish, irritibably looking over at the ruckus waiting for him on the other side of that door. "I'll be right back, babe.”

You use this time away from Eddie to gather yourself and your belongings. Since you had been folded up for a while, your legs wobble like jelly when they meet the floor.

You’re a little bummed that you two didn’t meet your goal of Orgasm #5 of the day, but you’re content in knowing that there is always an opportunity to later in the night.

The door swings open abruptly causing you to jolt. Eddie’s back.

“Shy Girl,” he huffs.

“Eds,” you respond.

“I never thought these words would ever come out of my mouth,” Eddie warns you. “But please put your clothes on.”

“Huh?!”

Eddie fills you in on the shitshow that is taking place outside. Hellfire is in desperate need of an extra server, and you are the only one with qualifications that can do it. But as much as you want to help, you are reluctant. It is a huge pay cut on your end if you took that deal.

“I make way more stripping than serving, Eddie,” you frown. “I need to pay the bills.”

“I can give you a cash advance,” Eddie bargains. “A-and even all my tips from the tip-out tonight. We just really need someone, baby. Just this one time, please. Only for today.”

Your man starts towards you with a flirtatious demeanor now, swooping in to grab your hips that he adores oh so much. You bite your lips, trying your best not to cave.

“And…” he lowers his voice huskily. “I’ll be sure to have another kind of tip waiting for you at home…”

You giggle into his chest, laughing at the clever pun that he had up his sleeve. And because he’s so charismatic and convincing, you take him up on the offer.

“Okay, fine,” you agree. “Just this one day.”

When you’re fully clothed again, Eddie hands you a Hellfire baseball tee and apron for you to wear as you switch from dancer to waitress. And after one final look at yourself, you reach to turn the knob of Eddie’s office door to go outside. Someone is already waiting by the foot of it when you pull it open.

Henderson.

Confused, Dustin looks at you. You look at Dustin. Dustin’s eyes wander over to Eddie whose got the most devious smirk on his face. Finally Henderson looks back over at you and sighs, issuing you a “do I even want to know?” type stare.

You clear your throat, attempting to brush off the awkwardness that just took over.

“Well…we going out there or not?”

“Hey. Look over there.”

Your ability to take up space in more forms than one inevitably catches the attention of the other dancers. Justice and Emmy in particular. The two watch as you strut around Hellfire with the club t-shirt on instead of the Nothing that they’re used to, ordering the younger gentlemen of Hellfire around like you were the shift lead.

“Lucas stay back here and help Argyle cook the food,” you instruct. “I will run it out. Mike, you start bussing and sweeping so the area looks nice. Dustin, I need you to make set-ups. Will, I need you up front as host and cashier. Someone needs to be at the front at all times. When everything is less crazy, we can all assume our usual positions. Right now it’s just DAMAGE CONTROL.”

Hellfire is not like a standard sit-down restaurant... for obvious reasons. However, the foundation remains the same. Everyone has a lane. They need to stay in it.

The boys are more than receptive to your instructions and follow through almost immediately. Eddie observes as it all goes down. He beams at you in awe, fantasizing about the situation because it's all his mind knows when it comes down to you.

“It’s like she’s leading them into battle…" he sighs breathlessly. "She’s so hot.”

“HOT!” Argyle screams as he dishes an appetizer onto the line. “Someone throw some chives on there for me, yeah?”

Just when you're about to crash, Steve and Max make their way inside the club, clearly worn out from their shift at Newby's, and stunned by the turnout for Hellfire at the beginning of the week.

“Holy shit, why are men so horny on a Tuesday?” Max exclaims.

She hands you your coffee that she made for you herself.

“This drink’s called The Pollywog. Dark and earthy, should do the trick.”

“Coffee does for me what crack cocaine would do for others,” you remark. “Thanks sis, I owe you.”

You pan your gaze over to Steve, because you know that he and Max usually like to order food and sit around for a bit before he drives her home.

“Uh, just two waters,” Steve mutters. “Max and I will order when you guys are less slammed.”

You smile at him, resting a grateful hand atop his shoulder. “‘ppreciate it, Stevie.”

The strippers eye you. Again, intently. You’re close with his roommate too? Little do they know you were also fucking his roommate for a short period of time.

This goes deeper than any of them thought. You and Eddie must be exclusive. And to them, it seems like you’re getting special treatment, fucking your way up to the top like a certain woman once did.

“Looks like we might have another Isabelle on our hands.”

“Look at her walking around like she owns the place.”

“She thinks she can take over Hellfire because she’s fucking Eddie huh?”

“I mean why wouldn’t she? She’s also friends with Chrissy. Birds of a feather.”

𓆩♡𓆪

It feels like you’re submerged underwater judging by the increase of pressure in the room.

The dressing room is eerily quiet. Everyone is whispering instead of the usual singing and shouting. Your intuition senses that people are staring... almost in a way that makes you feel like an art display, or that you have food in your teeth. The only ones who are still acting normal are Chrissy and Nina, while the girls you usually joke around with at their respective vanities have gone radio silent.

Just then, there's a knock on the door.

“Hi my beautiful girls,” Eddie coos as he makes his way into the dressing room.

He keeps his eyes covered until everyone says it’s okay.

“Quite the lunch shift huh?”

“You have no idea, Eds,” Nina sighs. "But it sure as hell paid off."

"Yeah, Eddie," Chrissy agrees. "We all got tipped so well, your tip-out is probably astounding too!"

Speaking of which...

"Just what I came here for," Eddie points a finger gun at you before unveiling to you a huge wad of cash. “Here are my lunch tips, like I promised.” You reluctantly take it from Eddie as he ruffles your hair endearingly.

Eddie's first mistake was not only making you the center of attention, but giving his tips to you — on top of the tips you already had from serving — in front of the other girls. In a way, those were their tips. They only became his, well, yours now, because of the tip-out policy.

Now they're really annoyed. The girls who have you on their radar wait until Eddie leaves to approach you. And when they do you're almost taken aback.

“You’re starting to do a lot of the positions,” Emmy observes.

"Uh, yeah from time to time," you respond gently. "Today Eddie really needed an extra server on the floor so I jumped ship to help the boys."

“Must be a natural at taking charge.”

"Oh…I'm hardly ever a dom," you try to laugh it off. "If I am it's usually just for show. I'm more of a soft dom and sub if you ask me."

"Just for show, I see," that's all Emmy seems to get from what you said.

"I'm sorry... did I step on some toes here?" you question her. She's almost shocked at how ballsy you are. But then again, she doesn't know you. "Because you seem pretty fed up with me today, Emmy."

“We’re just really protective of our Eddie,” she replies dryly. "That's all."

“Girl, trust I don’t want any trouble,” you try to sound confident but your voice fails you. Why would you say that? You shouldn't say that, you're his girlfriend. They should be the ones treading lightly.

“Oh we would hope so too,” Emmy glares. “Cause we’re watching.”

And just like that, the girls you thought you were on good terms with strut back outside in a single file line, their icy stares fixed on you until they are out of sight.

The atmosphere feels arctic now. Eerie. Unwelcome. It's like the remnants of Isabelle Munson still linger after all.

“The hell what that all about?” Nina questions when she walks over to you.

“It’s a looong story,” you huff.

STRIKE ONE

"And then Emmy says to me, wE'rE jUsT rEaLlY pRoTeCtIvE oF eDdIe AnD wE'rE wAtChInG yOu da-da-da."

You stop your frantic pacing to plop onto Eddie's bed in exhaustion.

"Nina and I were just standing there like... the fuck?" you continue. "WHAT is this bitch's deal?"

Eddie chuckles at your recap of the events from the day before, lazily strumming along to a Metallica song he's learning on the guitar. You're displeased with your man's lack of concern for the issue at hand.

You shoot back up quickly.

"Matter of fact, what’s everyone's deal?" you demand. "They were all chill and nice to me when I started Hellfire but the SECOND they found out we're seeing each other it's like I'm their mortal enemy. And for what? It’s not like any of them stood a chance with you anyway. Thirsty ass bitches.”

"OH!" Steve hollers from the living room, causing you and Eddie to flinch. "TOUCHDOWN TAYLOR! Wooo hooo! That's what I'm talkin' bout baby."

Eddie puts his guitar down and starts towards you, realizing now how much this has taken a toll on your mental. He also closes his bedroom door all the way, allowing for privacy between you and him, and Steve with his precious Colts game.

"I'm really sorry the girls made you feel that way," he sighs. "It's just been a while since I have been exclusive with somebody. They know how badly Isabelle broke my heart. And well, ruined my life.”

You scoff, looking away. Eddie is there to ground you once more, placing his index and middle finger on your chin, using them to redirect you back to his reassuring gaze.

“They're just looking out for me,” he assures you. “Promise."

"They thought I was gonna be another Isabelle," you pout. "That's really offensive, you know."

"They said that with Chrissy too when she was new," Eddie recalls. "I mean…You should've SEEN the amount of drama that unfolded whenever she and I would even breathe the same air. You would've thought at one point, they were gonna chop her head off and parade it on a wooden stake like in Lord of the Flies."

You fold your arms irritably.

"This isn't Lord of the Flies, Eddie. This is real life."

"Lord of the Flies is also real life. In a way."

“Not sure which side of the battle you're on here, babe.”

Eddie then goes onto explain that Chrissy also faced the wrath of Eddie's OG dancers. But after the Hellfire Girls realized that Chrissy was not going to be a threat, they backed down.

Every explanation earns him an eye roll. Eddie needs to realize that being seen as a threat should never be an excuse to be mean to someone. Especially since those girls have been buddy-buddy with you before.

"Strip clubs can be... very catty," Eddie concludes. "The longer you work in the industry the more you'll realize. Take it with a grain of salt, okay baby? All that matters is us."

You don't budge. A part of you still feels discredited, despite kind of seeing where Eddie is coming from. Unless this worsens, he can’t 100% take your side. Eddie needs to be mediator for now.

He scratches his head.

“I also…need… my dancers,” Eddie points out. “So from a manager-slash-owner standpoint, there isn’t much I can do about Mean Girl shit other than keep it under my radar. But you’re a Hargrove, honey. You hold your ground, get your check, fight some chicks outside the club if you have to…”

You giggle at the last part. Eddie reels you in.

“…and then come home to me.”

And then he flashes you the Munson smile, that ever-so-charming million-dollar attribute that won your heart in the first place. It all causes you to blush.

"Okay," you say.

Before you two could swallow each other whole, Steve knocks on the door. Eddie pulls it open.

“I’m ordering pizza, any of you guys want some?” Steve questions. “Hope you don’t mind pineapple.”

Eddie grimaces. “You’re fucking disgusting. Make half of it a Meat Lovers and I’ll pay for it.”

“Fine,” Harrington huffs. His eyes travel over to you longingly. “Hargrove? You okay with pineapple?”

“I’m okay with whatever,” you mutter. “Anything’s better than a can of worms.”

Steve's eyes peer over at you then over at Eddie. He doesn't quite understand your analogy, but still seems supportive of you nonetheless.

“Okay…” Harrington mumbles before closing the door. “Pineapple and Meat Lovers it is.”

𓆩♡𓆪

It all makes sense why you ate most of Steve's pizza instead of him a couple days ago. You were clearly PMS-ing, and today you started your period.

At least now you know the Plan B you took was effective.

As grateful as you were, you're still having an awful time 'surfing the crimson wave'. Mood swings were also at an all-time high. Anything anyone was going to say to you was surely going to make you combust.

You're also bloated, a huge insecurity of yours because what you packed for today is rather skin tight. What typically would make you look snatched today looks relatively unflattering today. You try to give yourself grace. Body changes during a cycle is normal. It's part of being a woman.

"Shy Girl!" Eddie calls out to you from the other side of the dressing room. "You gonna be out soon, baby? Got a few regulars of yours at Vecna's Lair!"

The Hellfire Girls' ears perk up when they hear "regulars". Whatever is up their sleeves today cannot be any good.

You call back out to Eddie as you make your finishing touches. "Yes, coming!"

"I don't know," Emmy says, projecting her voice slightly louder than she usually does. You look towards her general direction as she talks. "I feel like a lot of people are uneducated about dressing for their body type. Cuz when you don't dress correctly for your body, it just makes everything look so unflattering."

You look down at your body and start to feel a little sad. Although the conversation was between Emmy and Justice, you can't help but feel attacked.

You decide to make your way over to the DJ and show him your songs for the night. Your choice for the evening is Candy by Doja Cat because its slow and sexy rhythm will allow you to move in a manner that is flexible for this particular phase of your cycle.

After thanking the DJ, you confidently strut back down from the stage, channeling your inner Marilyn Monroe walk as you continue to move around.

"Oh my god," you hear Justice say. "That's kinda really embarrassing. Can you imagine?"

Suddenly, you hear Eddie's voice trail after you. Out of all people.

"Baby!" he exclaims.

Stunned, you turn around. "Yes?"

"I uh," Eddie stammers. "Let's get you back into the locker room huh?"

You're confused. What could possibly be going on to cause such panic in Eddie's eyes? Why was he so frantic, pushing and hauling you into the dressing room — and not in a way you'd like.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Eds, slow down!" you exclaim. "What is it?"

Eddie gulps as he tries to catch his breath. You wait for him to talk, but he's too busy grabbing some spare towels and even some paper ones.

"Respectfully, Hargrove," Eddie says as he strides back over to you. "You need to change outfits or something."

Like Billy, you immediately go into defensive mode.

"OH IT LOOKS THAT BAD, HUH?” you demand. Your mini-freak out earns you some laughter from those girls, but you're too aggravated to give them your attention. “Sorry that I'm a little bloated today! Sorry that I’m a normal human being whose body is different depending on the day."

"It's not that, baby," Eddie insists. "It's just that... your bleeding? It went through."

Looking in the mirror now, you see a HUGE blot behind you. Your tampon had gotten dislodged and now there is blood all over your cute baby blue set. Heat begins to simmer at your cheeks.

Those fucking Hellfire Girls. How dare they not tell you?

When you glare back over at them, the Hellfire Girls are trying to conceal their laughter. What's even more infuriating is that Eddie doesn't seem to notice. But to be fair, he's too fixated on you to pay other women any mind. You want to pop them all, see how funny it is after.

"Seems like you're having a rough day," Eddie comments as he strokes your back.

"I am," you admit. "I tried to tough it out and come to work today, but nothing is going right." The air is quiet again when the girls see Eddie touching you lovingly.

You turn your body back towards the mirror and look at your ruined set in dismay. Eddie hates seeing you upset. Resting his gentle hands on your shoulder, he begins to barter.

"How about…” Eddie says. “You take the rest of the night off? I’ll take you home right quick. To my place.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” your man nods, causing you blush. “Harrington and I have a shit ton of ice cream so you can help yourself. Lay in my bed, watch something on Netflix... When I'm off work and done visiting Wayne, we can cuddle, and I can give you belly rubs. Sound good?"

"Sounds like heaven, actually."

You don’t know what you’ve done to deserve him. Eddie is so tender and sweet when he lets his walls down. You’re grateful that he decided to lean into the unknown when it comes down to you. Such a good boyfriend already.

The Hellfire Girls can’t help but eavesdrop on your little exchange. Suddenly, Eddie speaks again.

“Are we okay?” Eddie questions you with his beady eyes.

“Yes,” you smile. “We’re more than okay.”

Eddie kisses your cheek. He leaves his peck there for a few seconds before letting go. "I'll come scoop you in 10 once I get everything squared away. Then it’s junk food and cuddles all night long.”

Eddie makes sure that the girls hear this entire conversation. As you start to pack your stuff, Nancy drops in with a graceful smile, spoiling you with pads, tampons, and some ibuprofen. Meanwhile, Jonathan packs you a Sprite in a to-go cup with a smiley face, and Argyle spoils you with your usual — chicken wings, flats only.

The Hellfire Girls are fuming. Their attempt to embarrass you didn't go as planned. Instead, they got a lovesick Eddie with a Shy Girl on her way to his house to drink hot tea, scarf down some junk food, and relish in a heat pack of sorts and cuddles all night. And Eddie’s friends indirectly rushing to your defense.

But this humbling experience doesn’t stop their games. No no, it only just issued them a new set of information and ammunition for more intense blows.

The torment isn’t stopping here. The girls are going try harder.

---

STRIKE TWO

It didn’t stop at the subtle jabs.

If there was an opportunity to inconvenience you, the Hellfire Girls took it. Like calling Eddie on his day off — while he’s out with you — to come scope out a problem that could’ve been fixed without him. Or stealing your song choice when they heard you talking about it with Chrissy, and how you planned on using it for your set. Or “dropping” breakable items like your nail polish on accident and blaming it on their ‘complete and utter clumsiness’. Funny, because Eddie is always talking about how poised they are and a myriad of other good things…because that’s just who your boyfriend is at his core: a lover and supporter of women. Unlike some people.

It was Dustin’s turn to grocery shop one day. And while the Eddie Special is back on the menu, it was the waffle fries’ turn to be 86’d. Mike’s girlfriend, Jane keeps eating them and Wheeler of course always forgets to take inventory.

"So what does 86 mean?"

You're eating lunch with a couple Hellfire Girls in the dressing room when service industry lingo is brought up. Everyone eyes you, from Emmy to Lady to Kassidy. Justice seems to be holding her breath.

"86?" you repeat just to make sure.

Kassidy gives you a look, almost a "duh" kind of look that makes you feel slightly stupid.

"Yeah, heard you talking about it with the kitchen staff."

"Oh," you say. "Oh well 86 means to get rid of something. Maybe because it's not available anymore, or out of stock. Not needed, even."

"I see..." Kassidy responds.

"Wish we can '86' people," Lady mutters.

The comment earns her a snicker from Kassidy and Lady. It makes you feel weird inside. They couldn't have possibly been talking about you, right?

You walk away to throw away your food, and while you’re away from them their laughs intensify. Now all they could talk about is ‘86’ and their own personal spins on it.

Oh they were most definitely talking about you.

You decide to leave the dressing room and hang out at the hookah lounge before your next set. It was clear you weren’t welcome and you weren’t about to be in the company of people who were only going to drain your energy.

The audacity of it all still leaves you appalled. Plotting behind your back is one thing, but the fact they had the guts to say it and do things in front of you now is scary.

𓆩♡𓆪

“And then they said, ‘Wish we could 86 people’,” you recall angrily. “That basically implies they want to get rid of me.”

“That sucks, sis,” Billy sighs. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it sounds like.”

You’re on the phone playing catch-up with Billy on your day off. Meanwhile, Eddie is playing a video game with his online friends, allowing you to use his room to pace around in frustration.

“And one time when I was on my period, I bled through,” you continue. “And then Eddie-”

Billy interrupts you before you could positively advertise your man. You would think your brother would want to know that his twin sister is in good hands judging by the way Eddie took care of you when you were feeling like absolute shit…how instead of forcing you to perform he sent you home early and ate junk food with you and gave you a heat pack and belly rubs to help with cramps…But no.

“I don’t wanna hear about that girl stuff,” Billy gags. “It’s fucking disgusting.”

Classic Billy.

“…okay,” you huff and digress. “But you get the picture, right? These girls have it out for me.”

“Oh for sure,” Billy agrees. “It’s one-sided beef because they’re intimidated by you. I hope they get the shit pimp-slapped out of them for being dicks to you.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that…” you mumble.

“But I would,” Billy laughs pridefully.

No matter how awful the girls were being to you, you wouldn’t wish anything upon them like Billy described. They were already miserable anyways, judging by how awful they were being to you for no reason. If anything you’d wish them healing and some love because they clearly needed it.

“I wish I could go over there and give ‘em a piece of my mind,” your twin brother continues, the thought of violently attacking women quite possibly giving him a hard-on via the other line. “No one can be mean to my sister BUT ME.”

The execution of his words makes your stomach turn. Because as those words are uttered, you’re back in the San Diego rental, screaming and crying, clawing at Billy to get him off of you because apparently your change in tone towards him was enough justification for you to be accosted against the wall.

“That was really uncalled for, Billy,” you scold him. “Time and place, please.”

Suddenly, the vibe changes. You can practically feel the heat through the phone.

“What, you’ve never heard of that expression before?” Billy demands. “It was a fucking joke, don’t get so butthurt.”

“Is it really a joke?” you hiss. “Because if we revisit the timeline, you haven’t been exactly nice to me either.”

“OH MY…” Billy sighs in exasperation. “I can’t say SHIT to you without you crying about it. Maybe those bitches are onto something. Maybe YOU’RE the fucking problem.”

“How can you say that?!” you shout.

The change in your tone causes Eddie to look up from his computer. Like second nature, the tears free fall from your eyes as you scream at your brother through the phone.

“After I vent to you about EVERYTHING, Billy, really?!”

“I don’t know, maybe since so many people have a problem with you…including ME,” your brother snaps. “'Think it’s time we look at the common denominator.”

“YOU KNOW WHAT FUCK YOU! I don’t know why I tell you anything anymore!”

“YEAH WELL FUCK YOU TOO BITCH!” Billy screams back. “I’m GLAD you and that scrawny red-headed BRAT moved out. My life has NEVER BEEN THIS PEACEFUL!”

“Yeah cause you were SO unbothered you had to FLY HERE and CONFRONT ME AT MY JOB, RIGHT?”

It’s a few more nasty exchanges of words and threats before you hang up and chuck your phone at the wall. Startled, and probably reminded of his own traumas, Eddie’s first instinct is to duck. You watch as he trembles slightly, like a puppy during a thunderstorm, before removing his cupped hands away from his ears.

He then makes his way over to you, demeanor shifting from alarmed to alarmed for you.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers to you in consolation. “Hey hey hey hey. Come here. Come here.”

He rocks you in place. Immediately you collapse into Eddie’s arms. You’re absolutely tired. Tired of the Hellfire girls. Tired of putting on a happy face for your little sister 24/7. Tired of Billy. Tired of feeling like a burden.

“I fucking hate him,” you wail. “I hate him, I hate him. I hate him.”

“You don’t need him.”

“I don’t need him.”

“You don’t need him.”

“I don’t,” you tell Eddie, and yourself. “Fuck him. Fuck California. Fuck everything.”

“That’s right baby,” Eddie whispers. He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead. “You’re staying here with me.”

“With you.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Eventually you do get over it and decide that Billy and the Hellfire Girls don’t deserve any of your time and energy.

Just in time for another work shift. Today you’re doing personal lap dances at VECNA’S LAIR, but it’s not too busy so you’re essentially scanning the room in search of clients for the first hour.

Your eyes light up when you pinpoint a few regulars. You skip on over to the first one.

“Hi, Barry!” you exclaim. “How are you?”

“Oh, god! Hello Shy Girl!” Barry replies. He looks happy to see you, but oddly not particularly excited. “How…have you been?”

“I’ve been well! Long time no see!” you smile. “How are your boys?”

“They’re doing well,” your regular nods. “They’re working on their college applications right now, and the younger one has been scouted for some schools on the East Coast for football.”

“You must be so proud.”

“Very!”

It seems like Barry has cut the conversation there. Strange, because he almost always requests a dance. You decide to push for more information.

“Sooo, are you in the mood for a dance today?”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Barry blushes. “But no thank you, not today. I’m trying to save money so I’m just gonna have a drink and go.”

Now THAT’S really odd. First of all, Barry is LOADED, hence being a regular. And even if being frugal was the case, what was his ass even doing at Hellfire? You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by prying further so you just leave it at that, wishing Barry a lovely rest of his day and going about your day.

When you leave, you’re taken aback when Justice makes her way over to your client and asks him the same question.

“Hi, Barry. Would you like a dance?”

“Oh, hi! Yes, I’d love one!”

You nearly get whiplash just by how fast you crane your neck back over to them. What the actual fuck? Eyeing them curiously, you watch as Barry slips a 20 over to Justice, to which she takes from him seductively as she sinks onto his lap. Her eyes trail over to you, somewhat satisfied with herself when she sees you watching. Your blood starts to boil. She just took your regular. And in a sense, your money.

But that’s still something you don’t have time to entertain. So you strut over to your next regular, Asher.

Sweet, sweet Asher. He’s significantly younger than Barry. Finance major, freelancer, only child in his early twenties and his parents are rich. Asher has always been nice to you, and like Steve, spoils the fuck out of you when you’re his dancer.

“Hey you,” you bat your lashes at him. “Long time no see!”

“Oh my god, Shy Girl!” Asher exclaims. He doesn’t hug you like he usually does, but he’s still happy to see you. “It’s been a minute. I actually didn’t think you were coming in today.”

“I’m always on Thursdays,” you point out. “You always get a dance from me.”

“Ohhh, that’s right,” Asher recalls. “You and Eddie call today Friday Junior Junior.”

“Yeah, silly!” you giggle. “Speaking of dances, would you like one?”

Your question generates a similar reaction from Asher like Barry had given you. It was then that you knew something had to have been up. But nothing could’ve possibly prepared you for what Asher was about to say.

“Oh, no thanks!” your client gracefully declines. “I think I’ll wait until you fully recover. I hope you’re okay with that boundary of mine.”

Appalled, you try to construe what he meant by that.

“Yes, I respect your boundaries of course…” you say. “But, what do you mean by get better?”

“Aren’t you sick?” Asher questions. “And like…taking antibiotics for something serious? Cause if you are, you shouldn’t be at work.”

Asher respectfully ends your conversation right then and there. It’s like a mental door has closed on your face. Completely distraught, you walk away from your other reliable regular, just to have Lady walk up to him and be granted permission to give him a dance.

This is ridiculous. You need to get to the bottom of these rumors right away. On your way to the bar, you run into Nina. She extends her arms out to you, eyes widening as you walk towards her.

“OMG, Shy Girl!” Nina exclaims, rather panicked. “What are you doing here girl, you need to be home recovering?!”

“Recovering from what?” you snapped. “I just had TWO regulars turn me down but then say yes to dances from other dancers. Why did I have to learn through the grapevine that I’m sick?! Which I am not, by the way.”

“So… you don’t have gonorrhea?”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head.

“WHO THE FUCK SAID I HAD GONORRHEA?!”

Nina’s face drops when she realizes. You don’t even have to pry any further now. The pained look on your friend’s face told you EXACTLY who started that rumor.

Now those girls are pushing it. Because now you’re losing out on money and clientele. Absolutely aggravated, you storm back into the dressing room to collect yourself because you’re sure as hell not going to let them see you fall apart.

When you slam the door, you allow yourself to have a good cry. Luckily, Nina and Chrissy are the only ones in there with you. The only girls you trust at this establishment besides Nancy.

You’re not sad. You’re crying because you’re angry and frustrated. Nina and Chrissy understand, swarming you with hugs and validating back pats, letting you cry until you had no tears left to do so anymore.

“Shy Girl,” Nina frowns. “I have no words.”

Your bottom lip quivers profusely as you shake your head.

“I just don’t understand,” you choke. “Why are they so horrible to me? I didn’t do anything to them.”

“I’m really sorry love,” Chrissy rubs your back as she lays her head on your shoulder. “Unfortunately, I understand that all too well. They did the same thing to me too.”

STRIKE THREE, YOU’RE OUT.

“God, you need a new car, Munson.”

You’re smoking with Eddie in his van during your ‘joint’ lunch break. It’s become a tradition now for you two to take your meals at the same time to spend time with each other because you’re both way too busy to be affectionate work.

“Babe, really?” Eddie huffs jokingly. “Put some respect on Shiela’s name. She’s been through hell and back with me.”

You giggle as you take a huge drag from your blunt, inhaling then expelling, coughing up the remainder and taking in the slight comfort of a warm chest. You pass Eddie the blunt to finish it.

“But you’re right though,” Eddie admits with a sigh. He fiddles with the blunt before putting it out on his ash tray. “The good news is I’m caught up on Wayne’s bills. Next 'big boy' purchase is a new whip.”

“That’s awesome baby,” you smile. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Or a motorcycle,” Eddie smirks. “I’d love a bike.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” he quips.

Eddie leans over the center console to kiss your temple. When you hum in pleasure, he begins trailing down your neck.

“Thought you liked bad boys.”

You and Eddie proceed to have a healthy debate. It isn’t about the bad boy aesthetic like Eddie thinks it’s about, but more so the practicality of the situation. Eddie needs something to lug groceries in when he's out running errands, and with Wayne still getting active cancer treatments, the old man needs a ride to his appointments. And that poor man has aged out of the Bad-to-the-Bone 'cyclist scene, you’re afraid.

“Speaking of practicality,” Eddie says. He nods towards your red Toyota Camry that’s parked on the opposite end of the lot. “Why’d you park there? Move your car closer so I don't have to walk you too far tonight.”

You look through the rearview mirror to locate your baby. Eddie was right. It was parked further than it usually is, and if your boyfriend isn’t the one escorting you to your car tonight it’s going to be Henry or one of the other boys who are sure to complain. By the door would be convenient for everyone.

“Okay,” you say. You kiss him. “Be right back.”

You climb out of Eddie's van and make your way over to your car. After several tries, you hit a scary realization.

Your car won’t start.

You try again. And again, and again. Still, to no avail. Eddie eventually pops his head out, wondering why the ordeal is taking you so long. You exaggerate a shrug to him so he could see your sense of panic from a distance.

"What happened?!"

"It won't start!"

“Let me at her,” Eddie replies. “I was a mechanic before I started a business…”

You and Eddie switch places and you decide to wait for him by the door. Jonathan startles you a moment later when he opens it abruptly.

“Sorry, Shy Girl. The boys need Eddie for a minute can you go grab him for me?”

“He’s taking a look at my car, it won’t start,” you explain.

Jonathan’s face drops. “Oh no, that sucks. Hope you don’t have to take it in.”

“I hope so too. Either way I’ve got a ride home. It’s just inconvenient.”

Jonathan, whose knowledgeable about cars too, starts asking you some screening questions to help identify the problem. You assure him that nothing was wrong with it throughout the week, and there surely wasn’t anything wrong with it earlier.

Soon Chrissy comes out too.

“Hey!” she chimes. “Where’s Eddie? The boys are looking for him.”

“He’s looking at my car, something’s wrong with it,” you explain again. “It was fine this morning but when I went go move it, it kinda just—”

“Found the culprit,” Eddie grunts uneasily.

Your boyfriend waves you three over and you all follow suit. There's soot and grease all over your man's hands, but that is a kink to be explored much later. For now, the astonished look on his face is one of the main things to worry about.

Eddie points to your gas tank.

“There’s a shit ton of sugar there. The fuel in that tank is practically semi-solid.”

Sugar in your gas tank. THOSE BITCHES PUT SUGAR IN YOUR GAS TANK. You and Chrissy look at each other immediately, both of your suspicions about whose responsible practically ringing true.

“I know who fucking did it,” you shake your head.

“I-” Eddie’s face drops. He is utterly disappointed in the Hellfire Girls. “I just don’t even know what to say.”

He reaches into his pocket to grab his phone. Suddenly, your phone pings. It’s a Venmo notification.

“But less saying more doing, right?” Eddie tries to chuckle optimistically. “I just sent you $2K. Wayne’s cancer is acting up again, and I have to take him to his oncologist tomorrow. You let me know if they quote you for more than that.”

“Two grand?!” you shriek. “It’s bad huh?”

“Yeah…I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it, sweetheart,” Eddie frowns. “You might need a fuel tank replacement.”

Now you and Chrissy are fuming. Nina eventually comes over to check on everyone as well and is stunned by the news she hears. She starts to angrily take off her hoops, those fucking cunts, but Jonathan stops her.

“I’ll fuck ‘em up!” Nina insists. “I’m from Nocturna, baby. We don’t mess around there.”

“My ex was from Chula, and my brother is Billy,” you tsk. “We don’t play around either.”

Eddie puts his hands on his hips. “I guess we’ll call the tow company to come take it to Dave’s. I can take you home tonight, baby. It’s no issue.”

“No!” Chrissy snaps. “Nina and I are taking her home. If there’s no issue here, fix the evident ones inside!”

“Let’s go back inside Shy Girl,” Nina grumbles. “This is ridiculous.”

Your two friends are at either sides of you, linking your arms with theirs in solidarity. Those girls inside are about to get an earful. NO ONE messes with YOU and gets away with it.

“EDDIE,” Chrissy forewarns before slamming the door. “FUCKING PUT THEM IN CHECK, OR WE WILL.”

You’re too distraught to say anything. Otherwise, you would totally be ripping some cheap extensions out out some heads right now. You can’t believe these girls would go as far as to damaging your property, all because Eddie found someone who made him happy after his shitty divorce. If you did to them what they did to you, you know they definitely wouldn’t like that.

CLOSED FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT DUE TO STAFFING ISSUES. SORRY FOR EDGING YOU :/

It was Eddie’s decision to close early because there was just so much that needed to be taken care of. But hearing Eddie scold and hold the girls accountable in his office, you know — the same office he was screwing you in — was music to your ears.

But even that state of bliss is short-lived. Because like a deadly virus, when the smear campaign doesn’t work, it mutates into a much larger issue: retaliation.

“See what happens when you snitch?” a voice demands. “Eddie loses out on business.”

You turn your head around to see Justice mad-dogging you with her arms crossed. You inflate your chest and stand up to her, showing no signs of intimidation.

“You’re fucking his shit up, just like his sorry ex wife,” she says to you.

You start to walk closer to her, to which Chrissy and Nina go after you right away.

“Woah woah woah there sister!” Chrissy stops you.

“Hey hey hey,” Nina joins in, helping her pull you away.

But Justice isn’t scared. Why should she be? She’s been here longer than you. She’s known Eddie longer than you. But she still has no business butting into Eddie’s. Especially if it fuels the fire that she and her friends desperately wanted to start.

“If I were y’all… I’d back the fuck up,” you advise her. “I don’t think you realize, but you’re fucking with a Hargrove.”

“Okay… and you’re fucking with Eddie’s Day Ones,” Lady comes to Justice’s defense, sneering at you condescendingly. “Sorry, Valley Girl, we don’t know what that means here in Hawkins.”

“Oh but you will. After damaging my rep AND property.”

“Oh was that a threat? You’re threatening us now huh?”

“Eddie’s not gonna fuck you,” Nina spits at them. “You do realize that right?”

“I mean…good,” Kassidy chuckles. “Wouldn’t wanna fuck him after Miss Gonorrhea did.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Do you accept the risk? Do you accept the risk?

All this time you thought Eddie was asking you because he knew he still had some baggage to sort through. But now you’re starting to wonder if there was a double meaning.

Eddie’s OG dancers are obviously in love with him, there’s no doubt about it. It stopped becoming a matter of “protecting Eddie” when they started sabotaging your experience at Hellfire after learning of your involvement with him. Had you been just another dancer, this would never have been the case.

Eddie tries to text you. But you don’t have the strength to reply. The next few days is spent in isolation, using this time alone to contemplate about what it is you truly want.

You came to Hawkins to escape Billy’s never-ending torment. Now that torment has seemed to take on a new form, and your inner peace is something you’re never ever going to sacrifice again.

Your first Monday back, you make your way over to Eddie’s office. And it’s almost like Eddie knows. As much as you know how deep that abandonment wound sits in Eddie’s soul, you knew you still had to put yourself first.

“Hi, Eds.”

“Baby…” Eddie pleads at a whisper. “Don’t do this. I can already see it in your eyes.”

You weren’t leaving him. You want to be with him more than anything. But this extension of him? You can love it to bits but still not want anything to do with it. Especially if the environment is unbearably toxic.

“I just think…our relationship is bleeding into work,” you swallow hard. “And I probably need to go somewhere else if we want this to last.”

“Please don’t word the first part like that…”

Eddie doesn’t tell you because he knows it’s not your intention, but it starts giving him war-like flashbacks to when his marriage with Isabelle started bleeding into work. The abandonment wound with her — and everyone in his life except Wayne — cuts so deep. He NEEDS that bandaid. But for your well-being, you needed to rip it off.

“It’s what we get for shitting where we eat, I guess,” you sniff, trying to laugh the burden of it all away.

“I warned you,” Eddie chokes. “Didn’t I?”

“I know,” you sigh. “But I just couldn’t help how I feel about you.”

“Then stay!” he begs. “The good outweighs the bad, sweetheart. Our friends love you so much.”

“I love them too, but if I’m gonna get verbally accosted, harassed, laughed at, and have sugar put in my gas tank then what’s the point?”

The tears leave Eddie’s eyes easily, and he doesn’t stop them from doing so. If only the Hellfire girls saw the pain they have caused you AND this man — the man they swore up and down that they were ‘protecting’.

“It’s either that or you fire 60 percent of your dancers and I WON’T let you do that,” you gulp. “It’s best to get rid of just one.”

“Just please, let’s talk it through.”

But there’s nothing left to talk about. No Eddie, you shake your head. What’s done is done, and what needs to be said has already been communicated. And as Eddie hangs his head in shame, you tug at the drawstrings of your cloak, fold it up neatly, and set it down on his desk.

“I’m quitting Hellfire.”

🏷️ tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay

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haerenven · 24 days

Text

RED HAIR, CHERRY LIPS

summary. When a sea emperor and captain of red-haired pirate fall for a stripper dancer

warning. Mention of profanity, mention of male genitalia, violence

The Red-Hair Pirates stopped on a certain new island where bars and night shows were quite popular there, they stopped on one of those popular nights shows clubs for drinks, until a fine looking guy with suit show up on stage, “ladies and gentleman’s, welcome for the highest finest show for this season, the 'rude nude' show, give us huge welcome on stage and raise your toast’s for the one and only ‘MISS LADY, Y/N” currently performing in front of the pirates but Shanks suddenly caught off guard by a lady show up with all spotlights on her mesmerizing beauty aura.

Shanks's attention was snapped away from the male performer as a new figure stepped onto the stage, a vision of radiant beauty and alluring stage presence. The spotlight fell on her, the glare of the light illuminating every feature, every curve, every movement as she moved with a grace and confidence that was unmistakably captivating. She commanded the stage with an aura that demanded attention, and Shanks couldn't help but be drawn in by her magnetic presence, his eyes following her every move intently.

High-Looking gorgeous incredible lady , with perfect seductive hourglass feminine body with her allure stunning aura, She is an angel on Earth, a vision of unparalleled beauty and grace. Her flawless hourglass figure is the epitome of femininity, her curves perfectly defined and in all the right places. Her aura is a captivating force, drawing the eye and holding the attention of all who behold her. From the way she carries herself to the way she moves, there is an allure that is both captivating and seductive, a presence that is impossible to ignore.

The stripper's dance outfit was as flawless as her performance. It consisted of a high-cut fishnet bodysuit that hugged her body in all the right places, showcasing her perfect hourglass figure. The sheer black material revealed glimpses of her smooth, taut skin, adding an air of sexiness and allure to the look. On her feet, she wore a pair of shiny black stilettos that made her legs look impossibly long and toned. Her makeup was dramatic and seductive, with dark eye liner and a bold red lipstick to enhance her features.

She stepped gracefully towards the pole, her movements fluid and sinuous like a snake. She wrapped her hands around the pole, gripping it tightly as she raised herself up, her body arching perfectly as she twirled around. Her hips moved in a slow, sensuous circle, her movements both languid and seductive. She twirled and twirled, her body moving with a grace that defied gravity, each twist and spin a performance of pure elegance and sexuality. As she danced, her eyes flicked towards the audience, full of a sultry, alluring gaze.

Shanks' eyes were transfixed on you, he could practically hear his crew members' jaws drop as they watched your every move, but Shanks couldn't look away. He was mesmerized by your beauty, both in looks and in the way you danced. Your every move was like a work of art, and the way you moved spoke of a grace and sensuality he has never encountered before. He was both intrigued and captivated by you. He watched you intently, his arms crossed as he leaned against the back of the bar as you continued your dance.

As the performance continued, Shanks found himself enthralled by your every move, his eyes tracing your every step, watching in complete fascination as you danced, twirling and spinning around the pole like it was an extension of your own body. The air in the room was electric, the atmosphere charged with the energy of everyone watching, entranced by your performance. It was clear you knew how to command the room and had the audience under your spell, including Shanks himself.

The woman's slim hourglass body glides across the smooth iron pole, her movements a mix of fluid, sinuous grace and a hungry, desperate need. Her fingers trail lightly along the cold metal, her touch both sensuous and needy as she arches her body around the pole, her skin glistening in the dim light like a beacon. She grinds against the iron, her hips twisting and gyrating in a sultry, seductive dance, the heat of her desire visible in the hungry look in her eyes.

Shanks found himself leaning closer, his eyes glued to your every move. The way you moved around the pole was both mesmerizing and enchanting, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. As you ground against the pole with your hips, the heat in your eyes only added to the sensuality of the performance. Shanks could feel his heart racing, and he wasn't the only one. He could hear his crew members muttering amongst themselves, clearly in awe of your skills.

The woman's movements grow wilder and more desperate, her body contorting in ways that seemed to defy physics as she writhes on the pole. As she spun around, her leg hooked around the slender bar, her body hanging upside down. She arched her back, her hair falling in a curtain around her face, her body twisted in a way that only accented her already stunning curves. She spun and twirled a few more times before sliding down the pole

The show had reached its peak, the woman's energy and confidence flowing through her every movement. With a final, spectacular move, she brought the performance to a close, her body coming to a stop on the floor, her body posed in a seductive, captivating stance and her chest heaving as she drew in labored breaths, the A hush fell over the audience, a collective gasp of admiration and appreciation for the breathtaking performance they had just witnessed.

everyone was stunned and entranced by your performance. Shanks found himself at a loss for words, his eyes still on you. He wasn't the only one either, the whole crew sat in stunned silence, unable to tear their eyes away from you. It wasn't just the performance that had them in awe, it was the sheer presence you commanded. Shanks was completely caught off guard by your aura and your undeniable charm.

She stepped off the stage, her body still buzzing with the energy of the performance she had just given. The audience's applause followed her as she walked down a dimly lit hallway, the sound gradually fading as she moved further away from the stage. She was now backstage, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the behind-the-scenes crew, the sound of stagehands preparing for the next act filling the air.

Shanks and his crew remained seated at the bar, watching as you disappeared into the backstage area. Shanks couldn't shake the feeling of awe and intrigue that had come over him during the performance.

Shanks watched as you walked off the stage, disappearing behind the curtains. He stayed sitting, his mind still reeling from the performance you just gave. He could still see your every move in his mind, the way you twisted and twirled around the pole, the grace and sensuality in each move. He couldn't get you out of his mind.

He turned to his crew who were still stunned into silence. "That was quite a performance, eh?" Shanks said, trying to sound casual, Seeing his crew members were in such awe.

He turned to his first mate, Benn Beckman, who was sitting next to him, breaking the silence. "Have you ever seen anything like that, Beck?..”

Benn took a drag from his cigarette., his eyes following your path backstage. When he blew smoke in the air, "quite impressive" he responded, a hint of admiration in his voice. and his poker face

completely focused on you. He watched as you moved through the backstage area, the hustle and bustle of the crew around you only serving to contrast with your own aura. Shanks couldn't believe how easily he was drawn to you, and as he watched you disappear behind a door, he found himself filled with a strange mixture of curiosity and desire to know more about you.

I was backstage, surrounded by my staff as they helped me into a robe to cover up. Then, my manager, Manon, appeared next to me, a smirk playing on her lips as she took a draw of her cigarette. "Well, that was quite a performance out there, dollface," she commented, a twinkle in her eye. I smiled back, still feeling the adrenaline rush from the show. "Just doing what I do best," I replied, shrugging my shoulders modestly.

Manon chuckled in that low, sultry tone of hers, blowing a stream of smoke from her lips. She looked me up and down, a smirk on her face. "You did amazing out there," she repeated, her gaze lingering on me. I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my chest at her words. "Oh, you noticed?" I replied, feigning innocence with a playful smile. "You look quite good today yourself," I added, admiring her attire for the night.

Manon took another draw of her cigarette and exhaled, a puff of smoke swirling around her like a protective cloud. "Yeah, I noticed," she replied, her eyes never leaving me. "You have a way of catching people's attention, dollface, always have." I felt a flush of pleasure at her words, the compliment bolstering my confidence. "Well, I do try," I replied, a sly smile playing on my lips. Manon threw her head back with a light laugh, the sound low.

“and about my good mood for tonight, well…let’s say there was a wealthy great guy wh—“, I interrupted Manon as she started to speak, my voice firm. "Manon, no. For the last time im telling you I'm a dancer, not a 'slut,'" I said, my tone firm but polite. Manon sighed in response, frustrated with my stubborn attitude. "You are such an airhead, you know," she replied, shaking her head. "If I had your face and body, and all these stupid wealthy guys willing to spend all their money on me, I wouldn't be complaining," Manon continued, her words laced with a hint of envy and mock.

I rolled my eyes at her words, unamused by her remark. "Well, I have standards," I replied, my tone still firm. "I'm not just here to entertain these rich bastards and their wallets. I have a bit more dignity than that." Manon laughed, a cold and bitter sound. "Dignity? In this place? You're in the wrong business, dollface" she said, taking another draw of her cigarette.

I felt a pang of disappointment at her words, knowing that she was partially right. The world of stripping and dance was full of compromises and sacrifices, and it was easy to lose sight of one's dignity in pursuit of success. But I was determined to maintain my self-respect while still succeeding in my craft. "Maybe," I conceded, my voice quiet. "But I don't want to be just another piece of meat for these rich guys to drool over. I have to hold onto something.”

I had had enough of her persistent attempts to convince me to lower my standards. I squared my shoulders and looked her dead in the eye, my voice firm and unwavering. "Listen to me, Manon," I said, my tone final. "If you wanted that much money, then go for them, and let them fill YOU with their old cocks. I don’t care of what do you want. That's not what I want."

Manon looked taken aback by my bluntness, her eyes wide. "And for the last time, I'm telling you," I paused, gathering my thoughts before continuing. "Don't talk to me about this ever again," I repeated, my eyes narrowed. "And trust me, it will be the last time you see me if you do.” My voice was steady and resolute, leaving no room for doubt or negotiation. Manon stared at me for a moment, clearly shocked by my response. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps fading into the distance.

I let out a deep breath, feeling a mixture of relief and tension. I knew that standing up to Manon like that would have consequences, but I couldn't let her pressure me into something I wasn't comfortable with. I stood there for a moment, the silence of the backstage area surrounding me.

I made my way to the changing room, relieved to have a moment alone to collect my thoughts and change out of my stage costume. The adrenaline from the performance was slowly ebbing away, leaving me feeling both emotionally and physically drained. As I entered the changing room, I closed the door behind me with a soft click and sat down on a small chair in front of a mirror.

I took a deep breath, looking at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was slightly disheveled from the performance, my makeup smudged by the sweat. But my eyes were still bright and alert, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I began to unbutton my costume, slowly and methodically, peeling the fabric away from my skin.

Shanks was sitting in the club bar enjoying his crew usual silly activities, until catch his attention the same stripper came out of backstage, As you stepped out of the stage room, Shanks' eyes widened in surprise. Your outfit was both classy and rebellious, somehow managing to match your aura perfectly

white silk top, with a few buttons unbuttoned, teased at her cleavage and emphasized the generous curves of her figure. Overneath the shirt, a burgundy leather jacket provided a touch of edge, creating a contrast that was both captivating and intriguing. A pair of black pants hugged her legs, accentuating her toned physique. Her hair was swept up into a high ponytail, showing off the confident line of her neck. Smoky eye makeup added an air of mystery to her gaze, while a sleek neck-high heel gave her an extra boost of height. Glinting

The silk of her white top feels cool against her skin as she moves, the fabric caressing her every curve. The unbuttoned buttons reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage, a subtle tease that's both provocative and playful. The burgundy leather jacket slung over her shoulders adds a touch of ruggedness to the otherwise delicate silk, creating a pleasing contrast in textures. The black pants cling to her legs like a second skin, emphasizing the shape of her thighs and the lean lines of her calves.

Shanks couldn't help but let out a low whistle, his eyes taking in every inch of your appearance. Your outfit was elegant and provocative, hugging your figure in all the right places. He could feel his heart rate increase just looking at you, and his crew members were no better. They were already whispering to each other, their eyes lingering on your form.

Shanks downed the rest of his drink before standing up. He made his way towards you, his eyes fixed on yours as he approached. He could feel himself getting more and more enthralled by you, your presence was both captivating and tantalizing. His crew members were still watching, their eyes flickering between you and their captain, curious to see what was about to unfold.

As she was minding her own business, Shanks came to a stop in front of you, she suddenly found herself stopped in her tracks by a tall figure blocking her path, his eyes roaming over you again before he spoke. "Impressive performance back there," he said, a hint of a smile on his lips. His voice was low and gravelly, but there was no mistaking the admiration in his tone.

She looked up at the man with a bemused expression, her eyebrow raised in question. "Um, thanks?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion at the unexpected situation.

Shanks chuckled at your response, seemingly amused by your reaction. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he continued to regard you with a cool, appraising gaze. "You don't seem very surprised," he observed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

She couldn't help but find his reaction perplexing. Why was this man blocking her path, and why did he seem so nonchalant about it? She took a step back, her eyes locked on his face as she tried to make sense of the situation. "Should I be?" she countered, her voice steady despite the growing unease she felt in her chest.

when he parted his lips to respond, She let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes, preparing to step around him and continue on her way. But before she could move past him, he shifted his weight, his body blocking her path once more.

As he blocked her path, preventing her from moving past him, she let out an exasperated sigh, her annoyance evident in her expression. With a swift and graceful motion, she pulled out a cigarette, placing it between her red-lipstick lips. The sight of her lips wrapped around the cigarette's edge was nothing short of seductive, and as she lit it and inhaled a slow, measured draw, it seemed to only serve to heighten the tension between them. Exhaling a plume of smoke, she turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in what almost seemed like a challenge. "Would you buy me a drink?"

Shanks watched you as you pulled out a cigarette and lit it, his gaze unwavering as he took in your every movement. The way your lips wrapped around the filter was strangely captivating, and the sight of you exhaling a plume of smoke only added to the tension that was building between you. His lips curled into a small smirk as he heard your request, and he responded in a low, gravelly voice, "Sure, I'll get you a drink. As long as you tell me your name first."

She took another drag of the cigarette, her gaze never leaving him. The air around them seemed to crackle with a simmering tension. When he agreed to buy her a drink, she smirked, the corners of her lips twitching slightly. She exhaled a cloud of smoke and considered his question for a moment. "And if I don't want to tell you my name yet?" she asked, her voice low and provocative. "What then?"

Shanks chuckled at your response, clearly enjoying the game you were playing. With a nonchalant shrug, he replied, "Then I suppose I could just keep calling you 'dancer', seeing as you seem to be avoiding telling me your name." His eyes darkened a bit as he continued to regard you, his gaze roaming over your figure slowly and deliberately. "But I have a feeling you're not the type to give in so easily."

She let out another exaggerated sigh, clearly feigning annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," she replied, her voice holding a hint of impatience. "Just buy me a drink." Her tone was brusque, yet there was something almost seductive in the way she spoke, as if she was trying to tempt him into satisfying her request.

As they made their way to the bar of the club, the music surrounding them was a thumping, pulsating beat that seemed to vibrate through the air. The dimly lit space was alive with the energy of the dancers and clubgoers, creating an atmosphere that was both exhilarating and electric.

Shanks led you to the bar, keeping a close eye on you as you walked. The thumping music and dim lighting only added to the sensual atmosphere, and Shanks couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. He gestured for you to take a seat on one of the stools before signaling to the bartender for two drinks.

As the drinks arrived, Shanks picked up both glasses and handed one to you. As he did so, his fingers brushed against yours, the touch deliberate and subtle. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't help but notice the way your eyes flickered at the brief touch.

She took the glass from him, her fingers briefly touching his, sending a subtle shiver through her as well. As she took a sip, she couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on her face, studying every curve and contour intently. The air between them was charged, the chemistry undeniable.

He took a seat beside you, placing his glass on the countertop before turning to face you again. His eyes were fixed on yours, studying you intently as he took a slow sip of his drink. The air around you felt charged with a strange mix of tension, curiosity, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. "You know," he said, his voice low and gravelly, "Most women would be tripping over themselves to tell me their name by now."

She raised an eyebrow and regarded him with a sly smirk, clearly not one to be outdone by his charming words. “Is that so?” she replied, her voice dripping with feigned nonchalance. “Well, no one care.” As she took another slow sip of her drink, her gaze locked with his, a flicker of challenge in her eyes.

Shanks chuckled at your response, his eyes glimmering with amusement. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping an octave lower as he replied, "Oh, I have a feeling you don't care for many things, do you?", There was a hint of admiration in his tone, even if it was delivered with a hint of mockery. He took another slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued to stare at you, studying your every expression.

“Oi, captain, she got you there” yasopp said mockingly, and all of his crew laughed with their usual silly attitude,

Shanks shot a quick glare at Yasopp, a silent warning in his eyes, which only served to make his crew laugh even louder. He didn’t take his eyes off you, even as he responded to his crew. “Quiet, you idiots,” he called out in a mock-scolding tone. He shook his head, then turned back to you with a smirk. “Don’t mind them, they always like to act like children.”

With a nonchalant flick of her wrist, she exhaled a cloud of smoke, her eyes never leaving his face. "Trust me," she insisted, her voice steady and unwavering. "I'm here for a free drink, nothing more." As she spoke, she took another sip from her glass, her cool demeanor hinting that she wasn't intimidated by his presence.

Shanks chuckled once more at your words, his eyes darkening further with intrigue, He leaned back a bit, his arms resting on the countertop behind him, and regarded you with a sly smile. “A free drink, huh? That's all you're here for?” His voice was a mix of mockery and genuine curiosity.

She let out a low chuckle, a hint of amusement in her voice. "You think I came here for you?" she repeated, her tone laced with mockery. "Oh please, I'm here for the free drink, not your charming presence.”

Shanks laughed at your sarcastic tone, the sound deep and rich. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes never leaving yours. “Oh, I’m crushed.” He feigned a heartbreak, placing a hand on his chest dramatically.

“But tell me,” he continued, leaning in closer. “If not for my charming presence, then why did you let me buy you a drink?”

She took another sip of her drink, a sly grin playing at the corners of her lips as she replied, "For free drinks. Plural. I didn't come all the way here just for one measly glass.”

Shanks chuckled once more, his eyes glimmering with amusement at your wit. He found your unabashed bluntness to be both refreshing and captivating, He took a slow sip of his own drink, his gaze still locked on your face. “I see your game, you know that, right? You’re trying to finesse me for as many free drinks as you can get.”

She leaned in a bit closer, her voice dropping to a mock-whisper. "You want the truth?” She didn't wait for his response and continued, "I am 100% here for the free drinks. I'm not playing any dumb games or tryna scam you."

Her attention was suddenly diverted, her gaze shifting to a small commotion nearby. A lady was being harassed by a man whose behavior was nothing short of repulsive. The woman was obviously uncomfortable and trying to make him leave, but he persisted, with a smug expression on his face, Her expression darkened A mix of anger and concern passed over her features, as she quickly throw her useless cigarette away and stand up confidently with her slim hourglass frame, and made her way to the table where both of the lady and the disgusting guy were at.

Shanks' gaze followed yours, his eyebrows furrowing as he saw the commotion unfolding. As you stood up abruptly and made your way to the table, he found himself strangely drawn to your confident stride. He watched as you approached the couple, curious to see what you were going to do.

Meanwhile, his crew members had noticed the commotion as well. They exchanged wary glances, uncertain about what was unfolding but ready to leap into action if necessary.

Disgusting Guy spoke with his devilish gross smirk "Come on, sweet cheeks, give me some attention. You know you want to.", the lady was yelling even when music in background was hidden her voice "Stay away from me! I already told you, I'm not interested."

Her eyes, a mesmerizing pool of black with a hint of smoky shadow, narrowed as she took in the scene unfolding before her. Her lips, painted a deep scarlet, curved into a slight frown as she spoke up, her voice even and cool. "What's going on here?" she repeated, her tone betraying a trace of steel beneath the velvet.

Disgusting Guy glanced at you "Mind ya own damn business, missy." He shot a dismissive glare at you, his eyes roaming over your figure with a lewd expression. The lady, meanwhile, looked visibly relieved to see you.

She met his glare with an unwavering stare, her eyes cool and unflinching. Her expression hardened at his disrespectful tone, her features now rigid and cold. Her gaze then shifted to the lady beside him, noting the relief on her face,Her voice was sharp and authoritative, cutting through the tension in the air like a knife. "When I see you stop annoying this lady,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving his face. Her stance was firm, her body almost coiled with tension, yet her expression revealed an unyielding determination to not back down.

“Oh, ain't you bold. I ain't annoying no one. She's just playing hard to get, ain't ya, sweetheart?" He turned to the lady, his eyes filled with mock kindness. The lady seemed uncomfortable by his blatant display of disregard for her feelings.

Her jaw clenched at his words, her eyes narrowing into a cold glare. The air around her seemed to drop a few degrees, her voice now as frigid as an icy frost. "Hear me out, bitch," she retorted, her voice low and steady. "You are here to take off your clothes and dance around a pole because you’re a 'whore'. And I'm here to have a good time without dealing with your disrespect."

As Shanks and his crew listened to the exchange, Shanks felt a growing sense of unease. He was about to get up and intervene when he saw her sudden, swift attack. His heart skipped a beat as he watched her handle the man with a surprising amount of skill and confidence. In that moment, he realized he really didn’t know anything about her, despite feeling compelled to defend her just a moment ago…BUT

She held his gaze with icy determination, the sharp lines of her makeup accentuating her fierce expression. Her movements were smooth and deliberate as she pulled out a cigarette, her lips wrapping around the tip in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. With a slow, measured draw, she lit the cigarette, letting it dangle from her fingers as she exhaled a steady stream of smoke. In a flash, she grabbed a glass cup, turned to look at the lady for a brief moment, and then swung it hard at the guy's head. In a swift, decisive move, she grabbed his hair from the back of his head and yanked it, forcing his head downwards. With a forceful push, she slammed his face onto the hard surface of the table. The impact made a loud thud, the sound reverberating through the air as his body slumped over, unconscious, and she casually took the cigarette back between her fingers

Shanks' eyes widened in surprise, completely taken off guard by your swift and unexpected maneuver. His crew members had also turned their attention to the scene, their jaws dropping in shock. He found himself frozen in place for a moment, his mind racing to catch up with what he had just witnessed. You had handled the situation with such speed and precision that it was almost mesmerizing. He couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of fascination and admiration for the way you had just taken charge and dealt with that guy.

“I need her in my ship” shanks muttered with his glance still placed on you, benn smoke a drug of his cigarette and blow it slowly in air “uh ha?”, Shanks chuckled at Benn's skeptical reaction, his eyes never leaving her as she stood over the unconscious man. "as a crew member," Shanks repeated, his voice holding a note of determination.

His crew all looked at him incredulously, clearly surprised by his statement. "WHAT?!" they echoed, their voices laced with disbelief.

Note. Yep, you know what sly, I ate this, anyone this is kind part one, KINDA, cause I’m not sure yet what next but I love this until now, so write your thoughts and what do you think or feel about this .⋆𐙚 🍒₊˚⊹💋˙✧˖°

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steddieas-shegoes · 9 months

Text

swindled for the hole

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘hole’

wc: 404 | rated m | cw: sexual innuendo, implied sexual content | tags: modern au, established relationship, date night, Steve is actually very good at top golf but lies about it to win a bet

⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️

“And that’s…nothing.” Steve sighed. “How are we both so bad at this?”

“Well, I’ve never been good at sports. Not sure why you thought taking me to Top Golf would be the start of my shining golf career,” Eddie mumbled, chewing on a fried macaroni and cheese bite. “Food’s good, though.”

“But I’m usually good at this stuff!” Steve huffed.

“When have you ever golfed?” Eddie sipped his beer.

“Not golf necessarily! Getting balls in a hole!”

Eddie snorted so hard, beer came out of his nose. “Sweetheart, you have to know how that sounds.”

Steve clearly didn’t, the redness on his cheeks spreading rapidly down his neck.

“I do now.” Steve sighed, setting his club back in the compartment. “I have 4 points. And I don’t even think they’re supposed to be mine.”

“Well it’s better than my 0.”

Steve took a sip of his Long Island iced tea, then another, then drank the rest.

“Let’s make this interesting.”

Eddie glanced up from his mozzarella sticks and smirked. “Yeah?”

“Yep. I get one ball in the middle circle of any hole and I win. I win, I get in another hole.” Steve winked. “You win, you get the same.”

“You got a deal.”

Eddie chugged the rest of his beer and stood up to take his next turn.

He randomly chose the driver, figured maybe if it was bigger, he’d have a better chance of getting the ball further.

On the first swing, it did actually manage to go far, but it landed in the grass and got stopped by another ball.

He could feel Steve’s eyes on his back, but didn’t turn around, didn’t want to be distracted from winning.

He had two holes to get into.

His second swing was slightly better, and he managed to get the ball into one of the outer rings.

His third and final swing was terrible. His confidence was gone.

Steve brushed past him with a mozzarella stick in his mouth, smirk on his face.

“Wedge? Or nine iron?”

“You don’t even know what that means.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Steve raised his brows in a challenge before grabbing one that looked smaller than the driver, but bigger than the first one Eddie used.

Steve swung.

The ball flew through the air.

It landed directly in the center of the middle circle.

He turned to Eddie with a smile.

“One hole down, one to go.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjanuary #established relationship #innuendo #modern au #so glad this is the first thing I wrote this year

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nina-ya · 11 months

Note

Can you do something where the first introduction the strawhats have to a weapon welding reader is when they throw their weapon to the opponent because they think they opponent will need it if they want a fair fight? Like the opponent thought, they could fistfight the reader, but the reader thinks they're weak.

Racing through the crowded streets of the island, you were determined to avoid any unnecessary conflict. Your self-defense skills were unquestionable, yet you preferred to keep such altercations away from innocent bystanders. You sharply turn a corner, hoping to get away without a fight.

However, your new adversary seemed to anticipate your moves, magically appearing in your line of sight, sprinting toward you from the opposite end of the street. Your movements halted, both you and your opponent in a tense standoff. The crowd parted to observe the unexpected encounter.

Amidst the onlookers, hidden in the crowd, were several familiar faces carefully disguised among the spectators. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Sanji, Usopp, Chopper, Robin, Brook, and Jinbe of the Straw Hat Pirates stood in their disguises, their presence concealed to avoid drawing attention to themselves. They observed the unfolding situation, attentively watching both you and your mysterious opponent.

The towering figure in front of you was a colossal, brooding pirate, standing no less than seven feet tall, brandishing a spiked iron club. His gaze swept up and down your form before he emitted a deep, rumbling laughter, seemingly finding the situation highly amusing. With a reverberating thud, he carelessly dropped his club to the ground, taking heavy, purposeful strides in your direction, his hands flexing and knuckles cracking, preparing for an imminent, forceful strike.

In response, you swiftly retrieved your own weapon, a large battle axe that rested upon your back. You swung the hefty weapon a few times, stepping forward and closing the gap between you and the opponent. When you had closed the distance enough, you forcefully swung, releasing the axe from your grip. It flew through the air, landing at the opponent's feet.

An air of visible confusion enveloped the pirate as he glanced between you and the weapon at his feet, his laughter filling the air once more. Amidst the crowd, whispers of shock and concern reverberated, including distinct, alarmed comments from the concealed Straw Hat Pirates. “What are they doing?!” “Are they insane?!” “They’re going to get themselves killed!” Zoro, particularly alarmed, instinctively reached for one of his swords, ready to intervene if necessary. However, you stepped forward, addressing the towering figure before any further action was taken.

"Come on, pick it up," you remark casually, indicating the weapon at his feet. Your straightforward statement halts his laughter momentarily, his expression registering surprise at your unexpected response. You repeat your command, your tone unwavering, insisting, "What? Was I not clear? Pick it up."

The opponent remains in disbelief, staring at you with an open-mouthed expression. "You're joking. This has to be a joke," he scoffs, reaching to discard the weapon. However, before he can act, a sudden sharp pain pierces his abdomen. His startled gaze shifts downward to find you, your heel planted firmly in his gut in a lightning-fast movement that seemingly materialized out of nowhere. The force of your strike propels him backward, hurtling across the street and colliding heavily with a nearby building.

A collective gasp echoes through the crowd as they witness the display. A stunned silence followed. Among the crowd, Luffy, couldn't contain his amazement, his eyes wide with excitement as he gawked at the impressive feat. With a loud cheer, he dashed forward towards you.

"Whoa! That was so cool!" Luffy exclaimed, a broad grin stretching across his face. "Hey, you're amazing! Join my crew! We could use someone as strong as you!"

The offer caught many off guard, including the onlookers, and even the concealed Straw Hat Pirates. As Luffy stood there, practically bouncing with excitement, eagerly waiting for your response, the crowd sirred, whispers being exchanged all throughout when suddenly, "Th-that's Straw Hat Luffy!" a voice among the onlookers exclaimed in a fearful tone, setting off a wave of alarmed murmurs within the crowd. Suddenly, a groan was heard from the onlookers "Luffy, you idiot! Why’d you do that?!" Nami's voice rang out in frustration.

The chaos grew, when a commanding voice boomed, "Hey, you guys, stop right there!" The source of the command became clear as a group of marines charged toward the commotion, intending to restore order to the unfolding scene.

Luffy's eyes widened at the sight of the approaching marines. Reacting quickly, he grabbed hold of your wrist, determined not to let go, and with determination to protect you, he pulled you along, darting away in an attempt to escape. There was no way Luffy was letting you slip away now that he had found someone as impressive as you.

#one piece #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #strawhat pirates #strawhats x reader

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moonshynecybin · 8 months

Text

short fic (1.6k) continuation of @kingofthering's forced coming out au where i read what they say and my brain immediately spirals ! context here... this is my take on the resolution where vale is god's guiltiest little motorcycle racer

Vale looks him square in the eyes, shakes his head like he can’t believe Marc doesn’t get it. He takes a sip of his beer and shrugs. Like it’s nothing.

“Marc, it’s my fault.”

“What? No, it isn’t.” Marc replies, instinctual. He had been the one on his knees. The one everyone could see in that photo. Vale hadn't needed to— Vale had done this because of him, the Honda PR person had said. He could’ve denied that he was even there that night, the way Yamaha had wanted him to.

Vale laughs bitterly. “It is. I asked you to do that. I told you to— I found you, that night.” Vale breaks off again, lip curling. He’s working through something, face uncharacteristically serious, and Marc knits his brow. Vale’s never like this, always quick with a joke, a comment, a deflection. Anything but the pain of the truth. Show.

Vale tilts his head, tries to find the words. “After Sepang I wasn’t going to—"

Marc folds his arms. He doesn’t know how Sepang has fucking anything to do with this.

“You broke it off.”

Vale’s face twists, he tugs on his earring, jitters his leg. “I know,” He says, quiet. Continues: “I was. I could see myself.” he takes a big breath, looks up at the sky. Marc keeps his eyes lasered on him, on the long line of his neck. The hinge of his jaw. The narrow spread of his shoulders. Marc inhales, draws his anger tight around him. He deserves an explanation.

“I should’ve been able to stay away from you.” Is what Vale settles on, with conviction. As if he hasn’t said the most confusing thing possible.

“What?” Marc says, caught out.

Vale scrubs a hand over his face, through his hair. Makes eye contact with the ground. He speaks slowly, like it’s hurting him.

“After Phillip Island. last year. I think— that I told myself that I had gotten too… invested. In you. In us. It didn’t make sense to me. I thought I couldn't be with you and win at the same time.”

Marc feels that hit him. Blinks fast. He curls his palm to rest over his elbow, digs a nail into the skin there. Flashes of that press conference imprint themselves on his memory, as tangible as touch. The waxy texture of the table, the flash of cameras, the sweat on the back of his neck. The sickening confusion, like a black hole in his stomach.

“Is that why you said what you said?” He asks, keeping his face blank, his voice even. He feels like live bees are thrumming under his skin, frenetic and disordering. He remembers the last time they’d fucked— not in the alleyway, but at Philip Island. How Valentino’s fingers had trailed over his back after he’d come. Gentle. How’d he’d been gone by the morning, the bed cold. “In Sepang?”

Vale looks at him, finally, and Marc inhales sharply. He's never seen him like this, with this precise expression on his face. He looks— vulnerable. Nervous. Scared even. Vale bites at the nails on one hand. Stares at the label of his beer bottle. Comes to some sort of decision.

He nods.

“And that night?” At the club, Marc means. In the alleyway.

Vale nods again, huffs a weak laugh. his eyebrows jump a little in an ironic expression. “I wanted to see you. If i hadn’t—“ He waves a hand through the air, a small gesture for such a huge, alien concept. “Then we wouldn’t be here. Doing this. It's me. My fault.”

Marc digs his nails harder into his elbow for just a second, then releases, a disbelieving spasm. HIs pulse is racing. He leans forward, putting his forearms on the table, until Vale looks him in the eye.

“No.”

“No?” Vale asks, looking confused and just a little miserable.

“No.”

Marc pinches the bridge of his nose. Takes a second to process.

“You want me?” He says, and it still feels like a risk, enough adrenaline coursing through his system he might as well be on track. It focuses him a little, like it always has. Simplifies things.

“Marc,” Vale starts.

“No, no. This is serious. Not just for sex. Not just for— all this,” What we’ve been doing, he means. The pretending. The show. How he’s been kissing Vale any chance he gets in public and then going back to ignoring him in private. Engineering ways to be seen together, just on the off chance he could get Vale’s hand on the small of his back. And how Vale, Marc is realizing, has been matching him every step of the way. Has been finding him in the paddock just so he can trail his fingers over the inside of Marc’s wrist, can kiss him good luck before a race. He had been the one to make the first move at the club, Marc remembers. Had been the one to find him in the alleyway. “For real. You want me?”

“Yes.” Vale says, after a moment eyes soft, the low light turning his curls bronze.

Marc thinks he means it.

He closes his eyes, breathes deep. There's other things he wants to talk about, that they need to talk about, but that’s something. Vale wants him.

“I was there too. That night. You—“ Marc swallows, “You were awful to me. For months. You made everyone hate me. I lost sponsors, I lost you. and I was still there. With you in that alley. You asked and I came. It’s not just your fault.” Marc says, and Vale shakes his head.

Marc leans forward, grabs Vale’s hand.

“When those pictures came out,” He says, “Did Yamaha give you a choice? To ignore it or to come forward?”

Vale takes a second to respond. “Yes.”

“And you wanted to come forward?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

And the silence breaks, Vale laughing that laugh of his, the one Marc used to do anything to hear, big and loud, like Marc’s said something insane. Something ridiculous.

“Marc. I don't know how many more ways I can say it.” He says, and Marc’s heart is racing in his chest, eyes meeting Vale’s like a lifeline.

For me, Marc thinks. Turns over in his mind until it feels like it might be the truth. He did it for me, to protect me. To make sure I could race.

Because without Vale, Marc doesn’t know if that would’ve been allowed— too big a PR risk after Sepang, especially with the way he rides. MotoGP is ruled by money, by advertising, and Marc as the only gay rider on the grid might’ve put him over the edge. Made him too much. It's harder to sell energy drinks after you’ve been photographed with a dick in your mouth.

But Vale had stepped forward too, spun the narrative. One of his best talents. One of his worst. But he’d flipped here, done the exact opposite of what he’d done in Sepang, and Marc and him had suddenly been something for people to root for— not an outlier to be exiled, but a team. The two biggest names in MotoGP much harder to get rid of as a unit than as individuals.

Vale had made sure Marc could get on his bike again. And that’s— that’s everything.

“Those photos…” Marc says, remembering what they were talking about. The whole reason why Vale felt he had to do this.

“You know, I don't actually mind the photos!” Vale says, his impish nature poking through a bit, sensing something from Marc and breaking the tension like he always does. He’s allowing himself to flirt, visibly assured by Marc’s hand on his, by the possibility that this conversation might be going well. “You looked very good on your knees. I might make copies.”

Marc closes his eyes, can’t help but smile. “Vale.”

“I might get them framed!” Vale toasts his beer, eyes crinkling at the corners. “In some ways, it’s our anniversary.”

“Vale!” Marc laughs, then taps him on the inside of the wrist, gets him to pay attention. There's one more thing he wants to know. He bites his lip. “Without those photos, what would’ve happened?”

Vale thinks, tilts his head to the side and shrugs. “I don't know.”

Marc nods, waits. He can tell Vale has more to say.

Vale raises a finger. “But here is what I do know: I love you. And we should do this, for real. No more pretend.”

Marc puts his head in his hands. Thinks about the last year, how awful it’s been. About how all the worst parts have involved Valentino. About how all the best parts have involved him too. About Vale deciding to do this with him. About that night at the Gala in June, when he’d thought Vale was going to kiss him, just the two of them, and how badly he’d wanted it. About Vale pulling him closer under his arm in that first press conference, and deflecting all of the worst questions like it was nothing, protecting Marc. About the precise shape his hand makes when it curves around Marc’s hip. About how he makes him laugh.

Marc smiles.

He picks his head up, laughs and feels a little like crying. Feels a little like flying. His brain won’t stop whirring. “We’re going to have to tell the factories. Honda and Yamaha.”

“Oh that’s easy! We find an alleyway—“ And Marc pushes him, doubles over laughing. Warm down to his toes, happy in his bones. This is going to work. They were always going to end up here. “What? It worked the last time.” Vale says.

“I'll think about it,” Marc says, still giggling, and feels Valentino’s ankle press against his under the table.

“I would enjoy that.”

“Mmm, I’m sure you would.”

“And in the meantime, I have those photos to hold me over.”

“Vale!”

#thought about writing this whole goddamn fic but then decided just to do the fun parts: beginning and end. who needs character development #skip all that. fast forward. follow your heart. the audience will fill in the blanks.#anyways this is after vale has had some REALIZATIONS and divested himself from delulu island and is basically miserable. slay.#callie speaks #motogp #rosquez #forced coming out au #my fic

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lunarubra · 7 months

Text

Hi :) this is the first chapter of the Shadow of the Sea, let me know what you think about it in the comments. A big thank you to @cillmequick for beta-reading and being the sweetest person ever. I wouldn't have published it without her assurance that it doesn't completely suck.

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan)

Summary: In this AU set in 2010, Cillian has just finished filming 'Inception'. He has never been married, and after a few disappointing relationships, he finds himself feeling blocked in his personal life, even as his career continues to rise.This is a completely fictional story, not based on real life. I wrote this with the utmost respect for the man and his family.

Warning: Homesickness, Family Distance, Mention of Sexual Assault (not between OC and Cillian), Sexual Harassment, Date Rape Drug/Roofies

Words: 2700

Next | Masterlist

Part 1: Eire's Depths

Closing the laptop with too much force, Jiyan started massaging her temples, hoping to alleviate the tension and praying she wouldn't have to deal with a migraine anytime soon.

The library was silent; the only sound was the rain against the windows, soothing the last students. Even if the new semester just started, there were only a few people left in the study area on a Saturday afternoon. Most students had already headed to the pub for a pint or were getting ready for the clubs later.

Jiyan checked her phone, noticing too many messages she had been ignoring since the morning. Sighing, she opened her brother's chat and found three unread messages.

14h11: Ready for a call later?

16h22: Mom is pacing, almost started ironing. You need to call tonight.

18h42: Seriously sis... if you don't call tonight, I will sedate her and take the first plane to yours.

Jiyan chuckled and quickly answered Mikael.

19h13: Ironing, huh? Almost need an intervention.

19h13: Will call soon, little bro. Don't despair.

Clearing the table of books and notes, she put her laptop and the last few things away in her backpack.

Outside, it was raining. Again.

And it was dark. Already.

Coming from a country where the sun kissed Jiyan's skin almost every day, the continuous rain on this island pierced her heart each time. She was tired and hoped to get home, have a cup of tea, and finally make the call she had been postponing for the last two weeks, perhaps even forgetting what she was doing on this verdant yet depressingly weathered island.

The ride to her place was fast, and the bus was on time, something she was gradually getting used to. Entering the small studio made her feel restless and anxious, intensifying the pressure on her temples. Looking around the space she had started calling home in the last few months did ease her discomfort a little.

Having spent her childhood moving to different countries, Jiyan was acutely aware of the housing crises almost everywhere. Still, she was taken aback by the difficulty of finding a flat in Dublin.

After a month spent in a hostel dorm and countless useless house visits, her desperation reached a point where she considered a dubious Craigslist post seeking help in renovating an old studio.

When she first checked it out, she realized the studio was actually above a car repair shop, and apparently, no one had lived there for about 30 years. Sean, the guy who owned the shop, almost cracked up when she asked about costs and materials. It took her a good 5 minutes to persuade him that she was capable of almost any woodworking task and that she could undertake the restorations in her spare time and during weekends if she could live there. They struck a deal: Sean would foot the bill for materials, and until the renovation was done, she'd cover her living expenses by doing all the work herself.

After two months of solid effort, she'd managed to put in new wood floors, set up a functional bathroom with a brand-new shower, and even start building herself a kitchen. Sure, the place was small, didn't have central heating, and still looked like a bit of a mess, but the one thing that sealed the deal for her was the wood stove. It reminded her of her mom’s cabin up in the mountains, where she'd spend lazy afternoons by the fire, lost in a good book with a cup of tea in hand. So, if she could bring a bit of that cozy feeling into her new place, she figured she'd be all set, even with juggling her university work and research study.

It took a couple of minutes to get the fire going and put the kettle on for some fresh mint green tea. Once she finished her first cup, she dialed her little brother's number.

"Finally, are you becoming such a loser that you're spending your Saturday at the library now?"

"It's called work, Mika. Something you'll learn soon enough."

"Yeah, of course, like I'm not living with a psychopath right now. She almost started ironing the bed sheets, Aji. We need an intervention here, immediately. Mom never cleans; she moved from Turkey because she couldn't stand spending her time cleaning. You need to convince her that you're fine."

"I am fine," Jiyan repeated for the thousandth time. "And Mom moved from Turkey because we're Kurds, and she wanted to avoid spending her time in jail for teaching her language in school."

"You're fine?" Mikael said incredulously. "You're living in the land of Mordor. It's been a week since you've seen any sun; I checked the weather!"

"It's not that bad. I'm starting to like the rain," Jiyan said, convincing no one. "And I like the job."

"Is that Aji?" she heard her mom in the background, stealing the phone from her brother.

"Aji, how are you?" her mother's worried voice asked.

"Hey Mom, I'm good. Mika told me you need an intervention."

"Your brother should be studying for his finals, focusing on his Latin test," Jiyan's mother said after a pause. "It's been weeks since we've heard from you, Jiyan."

Jiyan stared out of the window, feeling guilt and pressure rising in her chest.

"I'm sorry, Mom. It's just... I'm super busy with work and renovation here. I started building the kitchen from scratch, and most of the time, I forget to check my phone. I'm fine, really," she tried to reassure her.

"You're avoiding, little star, and today is a difficult day for you. You should be here, not alone on an island without sun," her mother insisted.

Jiyan really didn't want to have this conversation; she moved to this island to avoid this topic.

"It's all good, Mom. It's not a big deal," she said. "Also, I'm meeting new people; it's a good change," she added, feeling the lie stinging her tongue.

She heard her mom sigh. "I miss you, little star."

"I miss you too, Mom. Also, Mika, I need to go now. I'll call you next week."

"You do that, or I'm sending your brother there to check on you."

Jiyan chuckled and smiled. "We'll lose him at the first change of trains."

"Every battle has its losses."

Now really laughing, she closed the call. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, little star."

Jiyan put down her phone, staring again at the window. She knew she needed a distraction and couldn't spend the rest of the day inside alone. Not even building furniture could distract her today.

She put on her jacket and boots, grabbed the keys, almost sprinting outside in the rain.

Again.

Snap.

5 points.

Snap.

5 points.

Snap.

15 points.

Sighing disappointedly, Jiyan walked over to the dartboard to retrieve the darts. It had been two weeks since she discovered this pub near her place. The music was usually pretty good, and it could be a cozy spot during weeknights. It wasn't usually too crowded, which suited her just fine. She'd come in to have a soda and play darts, avoiding the regulars and the occasional group of tourists who tried to strike up a conversation.

She knew she stood out as a woman in a pub on a Saturday night, playing darts alone. That night, she had already dodged two American tourists who tried to flirt and offer to "teach her" how to play.

On the other hand, the regulars, after giving her strange looks for the first couple of nights, now hardly noticed or bothered her, accepting the odd loner who didn't drink beer and spent hours throwing darts. Tonight, unfortunately, the pub was busier than usual, with some tourist groups disturbing her vibe.

Feeling a presence behind her, she tensed up immediately.

"Hey, baby, what are you drinking? Can I buy you the next round?"

Jiyan turned around to face a stranger who looked like the typical Chad character from any American high school drama.

"No thanks, I'm good," she replied shortly, turning back to focus on her game.

"Come on, I saw you looking at me. You were checking me out, I saw you."

"Excuse me?" she said, annoyed, not having a clue what he was talking about.

"Yeah, when you went to order your drink, you smiled. The guys and I are having a blast; you could come join us. I promise you a great night."

Jiyan took a deep breath, trying not to get too annoyed. "Listen, Chad, if that's even your name—I don't care. I'm not here to make friends or have a good time with your guys. I was having fun until 30 seconds ago when I didn't even know of your existence. Can we go back to that, please? Thanks, bro."

"My name's not Chad," he replied, irritated.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Jiyan said dismissively, hoping the conversation would end there, and she could get back to her new form of therapy: throwing darts.

Chad returned to his table muttering something about a "stupid bitch," but Jiyan didn't have the energy tonight to educate a stranger about basic respect and boundaries.

She took the last sip of her lemonade and headed to the bathroom, ordering another one from the bartender. When she returned, finding the new bottle of lemonade near the dartboard, she resumed her evening.

Cillian was onto his second pint when his attention wandered again to the peculiar woman in the far corner of the pub, throwing darts.

She seemed to be in her late 20s, sporting a hand-knit beanie that partially obscured her long dark hair. Her frame was small, drowned in a pair of jeans and an oversized dark hoodie. Each time she retrieved her darts from the board and turned around, Cillian found himself momentarily distracted from the conversation, captivated by her large green-leaf eyes.

Despite her efforts to blend in with her dull, oversized attire, every straight man in the pub couldn't help but notice her attractiveness.

Dermot, noticing Cillian's repeated glances, remarked, "She's new around here, lives in the area, spends her nights alone playing darts. Connor was annoyed the first night because she doesn't drink or eat, but apparently, she tips well, so we see her almost every night now."

Cillian raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Do you stalk all the newbies at the pub? Should I be worried? Should I give Connie a call?"

Dermot chuckled. "Like you didn't glance in her direction every five seconds. Just doing you a favor, pal."

Snorting, Cillian covered his blush with a sip from his pint. "I was just curious, and I wasn't staring at her the whole time."

"Sure, sure. Maybe we don't need to worry about you after all. You've been holed up in your basement for a month, and now look at you! You should go talk to her."

Cillian shook his head. "I'm gearing up for the new role, and it's been busy..."

Dermot glanced at his friend. "It's okay, you know, to try again? You're not a bad guy, and not all stories work out, mate."

Cillian looked down at his pint, taking another sip. He hadn't wanted to go out tonight and dwell on his last relationship. After a couple of weeks of seclusion, he was finally finding his balance. It wasn't that he missed her; they both knew the interest had faded months ago. They had reached a point where they were uncomfortable around each other and only ended up hurting one another.

He was just tired.

At 34, he was already questioning if this was it, his life—filled only with jobs he loved and relationships that would fill his life for a few months before inevitably ending.

Glancing up, he noticed a tourist from a nearby table approaching the young woman. Dermot and he said nothing for a moment, watching with interest. She appeared mostly annoyed and seemed to handle the situation well. After a brief exchange, she returned to her darts, and the guy slunk back to his table looking disgruntled.

Dermot chuckled after a sip from his pint, jesting, "Or maybe not the best idea, it looks like not even your piercing blue eyes would work this time."

Cillian snorted. "I think Enda would kill me if I showed up tomorrow with anything less than perfect condition. He owns me until the end of this play."

"Best not risk it, then."

They spent the next half-hour joking, with Dermot updating Cillian on Corinna and their new pregnancy. Cillian tried not to glance at the dartboard anymore, but he couldn't help but notice the American guy hurrying back to her corner after she ordered something from the bar, only to return to his table before she came back. Hopefully, he had finally realized she wasn't interested.

Around 11, they both decided to settle the bill and end their Saturday night.

Connor asked if everything was okay, and they both tipped him generously. It had taken some time for Cillian to find a place where no one cared about him or his career, and he didn't want to ruin it.

While Dermot quickly went to the restroom, Cillian cast one last glance at the dartboard, only to find the corner of the pub empty, with only her half-drunk bottle remaining.

Connor followed his gaze and grunted. "She forgot to pay, these damn tourists."

Surprised, Cillian looked at him. "I can cover her tab..."

"Why should you?" interrupted Connor, waving his hand dismissively. "She's here most nights; it will be covered, don't worry."

While waiting for Dermot, Cillian's eyes wandered to the American group's table, where they were laughing and shaking their heads conspiratorially. He noticed almost immediately that the persistent guy was missing and a bad feeling washed over him.

"Ready? Conie's going to kill me if I get home too late again, and maybe this time I can avoid sleeping on the couch," Dermot said, noticing Cillian's worried expression.

"What?" he asked Cillian.

Shaking his head, Cillian replied, "Nothing, let's go. Goodnight, Connor."

"Goodnight, lads."

Stepping outside, the cold, fresh air jolted Cillian awake. The street was quiet, unusually empty for a Saturday night. Glancing around before bidding farewell to Dermot, something caught his eye. In the corner of the street near the alley that led to the back of the pub, he noticed a jacket he recognized from inside. Dermot was saying something to him, but he wasn't paying attention, drawn closer to the alley where he found the guy from inside with his arms around an intoxicated young woman. She seemed unaware of what was happening and unable to stand on her own.

"Hey! What are you doing to her?" Cillian exclaimed, getting the guy's attention.

The guy jumped, almost letting the girl fall to the ground.

"Just helping her, man," he replied quickly. "Mind your business and go back inside."

Dermot, who had reached Cillian by then, also saw the scene unfolding before them. "What the fuck is happening here?"

The guy appeared more concerned now and, realizing Cillian wasn't alone, released the woman he was carrying, pushing past Cillian to leave the alley.

Cillian quickly moved closer, trying to catch her before she hit the ground. She now looked unconscious, and he gently laid her down, checking her vitals.

"What the fuck, man, this is so fucked up," Dermot said.

"Dermot, call 999. I'm not sure if she's breathing properly," Cillian said, alarmed. "Who knows what the fuck he gave her."

He wasn't paying attention to his friend but was focused on trying to make her a bit more comfortable. After a few moments of cradling her head, he noticed her scrunching her nose and grimacing. She opened her eyes, and Cillian found himself momentarily lost in them.

"Hey," he said softly as she stared at him. "It's going to be okay, alright? Just breathe; the ambulance is coming."

She didn't respond, just continued gazing at him with those beautiful green eyes, looking a little confused.

"It's going to be okay," he repeated, even softer this time. "I'm here. You're not alone. Just rest."

And she smiled, causing his heart to skip a beat, before closing those bright jade eyes once more.

Next | Masterlist

Thank you so much for taking the time to read. Your feedback, in any form, makes me happy. See you at the next one :)

amazing dividers from cafekitsune

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x oc #cillian x fem!reader #ari's little corner

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dragonbma · 8 days

Text

Miscellaneous Sky City folk (mainly Reginald and Milo) rambles because I can:

Being the head guard, Captain Reginald’s main priorities are tending to Benedict and Isa. What time he doesn’t spend with them, he’s usually at the jail making sure order is maintained and prisoners are well-kept. Because of this, he doesn’t spend much time outside with the residents of Sky City like the other guards do.

Being so close with Benedict, Reginald understands how crucial every little resource is. In his eyes, the worst crime (aside from harming the Eversource) is to purposely throw something into the void.

Reginald first met Milo when he was imprisoned for “egregious wasting of resources.” The captain was appalled to hear someone had dropped a block over the edge, but upon overhearing a conversation between Milo and another cellmate, he quickly learned it was an accident and felt bad for the poor man lamenting the loss of his garden. He did attempt to convince Isa to let Milo out, explaining things as a misunderstanding. However, Isa declined, stating that if she bent the rules for one person, she’d have to bend them for everyone. Although she did entrust a dirt block with Reginald to plant near Milo’s inn to replace the one he lost. :]

Time in the cell made Milo bitter. Before that, the innkeeper always been an upstanding citizen. He felt betrayed that his little mistake had not been seen as an accident considering he had no previous record of troublemaking. (Unless you count advocating for a less strict system of resource distribution troublemaking.) Chatting with Reginald was one of the only things that kept him sane in the dungeon. Milo often asked how his inn was faring without him and had occasional questions about the Eversource. I don’t have a good idea of how long he was imprisoned, but he does describe it as “a very, very long time” so I’m lead to believe a few years at least. (Maybe 5-10 or 15 at most?)

WOW WHERE HAVE I HEARD THAT BEFORE?

JOKING. I highly doubt he was in the cell for 30-40 years.

Ok sorry back to the rant. When he was finally released, Milo was overjoyed to find a dirt block with a small flower waiting for him outside the inn. He assumed one of his friends requested it for him.

The punishment for discarding resources over the edge is not only time in jail, but also having your requests for more resources revoked. This ensures that no one maliciously continues wasting materials. This is also a major reason Milo started Build Club: the law no longer allowed his requests for resources to be granted. :[

Build Club spawned out of Milo’s idea of a better world where he and his comrades had the freedom to create whatever they wanted with no regulations. It started with him rambling about his ideas to those who stayed in the inn and to his surprise, his beliefs were shared among many of them. Eventually his friends opted to save their requested resources to create the hideaway that would harbor the rebellion. Milo also had suspicions that land existed beneath the city, but Isa forbade him from trying to test his theory as it was dangerous and would likely result in loss of resources if he didn’t get himself killed first.

Guards seem unphased by outsiders which leads me to believe that people do occasionally enter Sky City, but probably use ender pearls to travel between islands? Honestly I have no good explanation for why the guards are so nonchalant to “strangers.”

The iron golem Jesse created in Build Club looks out for the residents while they get accustomed to life on the ground. It especially likes following Milo and the club members around. Isa probably questioned where the heck it came from and Milo accidentally let slip that it was from Build Club. “WHAT IS BUILD CLUB?” “Uh… oops.”

It took everyone a while to warm up to the Aiden after everything that happened, but the Blaze Rods did eventually redeem themselves.

The creeper explosion left Captain Reginald with burn scars. While he still does his best to take care of the founder, the sight or sound of a creeper causes him to freeze up.

Reginald calls Benedict “ma’am.” Send post. 🐓

Most of the folk in Sky City are tall. Not Milo though. He’s short.

Bonus: When I first played Order Up, it took me forever to choose whether to turn myself in or flee because I couldn’t decide whether I liked Reginald or Milo more. (Too many of my decisions are based on me wanting to get character dialogue.) Having played through both their paths MULTIPLE TIMES, I still can’t decide. They’re both neat.

That’s all I have. See y’all on the other side.

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm reginald #mcsm milo #mcsm isa #mcsm benedict #bermuda brainrot hours #bermuda ramblings #bermuda scriptscrawlings

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sailor-aviator · 11 months

Text

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Series

Hi! Here is a list of the series I'm writing for Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw! Each series has multiple chapters and you can find their brief summaries underneath the titles! If you would like to read more you can head on over to my Masterlist! If you enjoy my writing, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Masterlist || Top Gun Masterlist

Singing in the Sanctuary (Incomplete, Ongoing)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw of the western territories has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town? (Western!AU)

Down By the Bay (Coming Soon)

Writing was your passion until you hit a major bout of writer's block. Looking for your next big burst of inspiration, you take up your cousin's offer to spend the summer in a tiny town called North Island in North Carolina with her and her friends. It's a cute town, but something strange is definitely going on. Some FBI agent is poking around talking about mermaids and your cousin's friend, Bradley, is definitely acting even weirder. Will you find the peace you need to write your next bestselling novel, or is there more than meets the eye in this small town? (Mermaid!Siren!AU)

Two Birds (Incomplete, Ongoing)

Growing up in the midwest meant that you weren't exposed to many of the dangers of the world, and it also meant that you missed out on some of what life had to offer. Taking a leap, you move to New York City with a few personal belongings and the little money you have left in your savings. You become good friends with your roommate and, by extension, the people at the club she works at. However, it isn't long until you catch the eye of not one, but two mafia bosses that rule the city with an iron grip. Will you stay out of their clutches, or will you give in and become another pawn in their wicked games? (Mafia!AU)

Lord of Thieves (Coming Soon)

Taxes were too high and they were only going to get worse. King Pete "Maverick" Mitchell was nowhere to be found, and the people were wasting away as the Sheriff of Nottingham, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, came to collect under the authority of Prince John. But there's whispering in your town about a man who's been stealing the money only to give it back to the poor. Who is he, and how will you help him? (Robin Hood!AU)

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melanieph321 · 1 year

Text

Ruben Dias x Reader - Top Spies Part 5/8

Okay, now I'm happy! 😄

Ruben and Reader are super spies, who have to pretend to be a married couple on vacation as a co-signed mission. A enemies to lovers fic, very sweet and funny!

Enjoy!

Things weren't awkward between you and Ruben since your little rumble in the sand, they were just different.

"So what are your plans for today?" You asked. Ruben was just returning from his morning jog, shirtless and dripping in sweat. You sat on the villas front balchony, enjoying a light breakfast.

"Not much, you?"

"Alejandro has invited us to play golf with him and his family this afternoon."

Ironically you and Ruben had settled in quite well with Alejandro and his family. They would often insist that you join them for a day on their yacht or a day kayaking in the sea. Ruben would usually try and come up with excuses why you shouldn't go, but Alejandro and his family kept insisting.

"What did you say?" Ruben asked.

"Well I said that you weren't much of a golfer and that it would probably be just me."

"Bet Alejandro liked that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You frowned.

"The guy is clearly into you Y/N. He's just waiting for me to let you out of my sight."

"And will you?"

The scent of man invaded your nostrils as Ruben stepped up to you. For a moment you thought he was going to bend down and kiss you, however he paused as his lips hovered above yours.

"Never."

He snatched a grape from your plate. You admired the way his back muscles moved as he headed inside to shower. A part of you wanted to drop your skirt and join him. A very dominant part of you imagine what it would be like to fuck Ruben. Would he be gentle or rough? Handsy or tough?

Your guess was a bit of both.

********************************************

It was very obvious that Ruben wasn't much of a golfer, that he had never even held a club before. He was fine leaving you to it. Alejandro's nephew was eager to show him his collection of torphies instead.

"That's alot of golfballs." You acknowledged.

Arriving at Alejandro's golf course there were several piles of them overflowing the ranch.

"I'm thinking of expanding the resort with four more courses across the island, all with a view of the coast." He said.

"And for that you need more golfballs, makes sense." You nodded. "You should ad some more obstacles to the course, like a pond."

"No. Sand is fine. With water it gets too complicated with the golfballs."

You understood what he meant. It really was a hassle fishing golfballs out of the water, most of them got lost forever.

"Have you ever played golf professionally?" Alejandro asked. He was observing the way you picked your next golfclub, carefully weighing it in your hand, giving it a light swing.

"I stopped in the junior categories due to lack of funding from my parents."

"A shame. I would have stepped up as a sponsor if I knew you back then."

"Well that's very kind of you to say."

You learned that Alejandro supported alot of youth golfers in Portugal, including his nephew. You truly shared the passion for the sport, him a bit more since he was willing to invest in many young players careers.

"If I may ask, what was your maiden name before you got married?"

"It's was....."

You almost said it. You almost blew your cover revealing your real name.

Alejandro noticed your hesitation, tilting his head in curiosity. "I'm sorry for asking so many question but it feels like I should know who you are based on your merits. I've been on the board for the junior championships for over fiftheen years."

"No need to apologize. My junior career isn't somthing I'm really proud of. It basically eneded before it started."

"I see. And your maiden name was....?"

"Y/N!"

Thank god for Ruben. He interrupted you and Alejandro just in time.

"Yes?" You asked since he looked to have seen a ghost.

"Our reservations.... "

"Our what?"

He looked over your shoulders where Alejandro stood and that's when you realized that somthing was definitely up.

"Right, our reservations." You played along.

"You have reservations?" Alejandro questioned.

"Yes, to the spa." Ruben said.

"I'm sorry." You apologized. "I totally forgot about it."

Alejandro shook his head. "It's no worries. I can have Beatrice rearrange the reservations for tomorrow."

"That's very kind of you." Ruben said, already dragging you along with him. "But my wife and I need to relax today."

You left the golf course but did not stop at the spa nor the villa. Ruben drove you all the way to the marina before you finally asked him. "Whatta fuck?"

"There is a submarine." He said, a bit exhilarated about the fact.

"A what?"

"Alejandro's nephew told me that his uncle has a very big boat, like a whale. A whale that can dive underwater."

"What should we do?"

"Report back to Captain. But by then it might be too late. If the Drugs are here on the island I'm sure it's getting ready to get devided and split up in more portable amounts."

"I don't know Ruben, sounds like you want us to make the bust ourselves. I don't think that's such a good idea."

He turned to look at you, seeing the concern in your eyes.

"We won't do anything to jepordize the mission let's just assess the situation and gather evidence."

There was somthing in his eyes. He really wanted to do this.

"Fine, let's find this submarine of yours."

It was later in the evening when you choose to search the bay for a 100 meter submarine, lurking in the calm waters, however with no luck of finding it.

"They can't hide it underwater, another ship might run into it." Ruben said. "But what place could be big enough to hold a submarine, let alone hide it from an island full of tourists?"

"The caves at the golden cliffs!" You exclaimed. It's where Alejandro's family had taken you kayaking a couple of days ago. You never entered the dark caves with the kayaks, but surley they appered large enough to hide a submarine.

"Fuck Y/N, what would I do without you?"

You and Ruben traced the submarine to a hidden cove on the coast of the island, where it was anchored deep in the water.

"I can't believe it." You laughed. Ruben was right all along.

"We'll have to report back to the agency once we get our hands on the evidence. Call captain Harlow and tell him to prepare the team to demand a warrant for the arrest of Alejandro Martinez."

"Ruben your seriously not thinking about going down there are you?"

He looked eager to investigate further.

"Y/N, entering the ship is the only way I'll get a hold of the evidence that we need. Trust me, I won't be long."

Trust wasn't the problem, you thought.

Ruben took notice of this too, how your steps altered, your expression indecisive. All because you didn't want him to enter the ship and leave you behind.

"Hey." Ruben closed the gap between you, letting his hand stroke your cheek.

"Ruben I don't want you going down there."

"I know. " He nodded. "But I have to, it's our chance to finally put this guy behind bars."

"I know but..."

"You won't lose me Y/N. We're partners, remember?"

You smiled as his thumb swiped across your bottom lip. Either it was you who tilted your head up to kiss him or the other way around, him tilting down to kiss you. Nonetheless, you were kissing, a real kiss, soft and sweet.

You lips parted with the echoing sound of the cave, Ruben's forhead knocking against yours.

"Wait for me here."

You nodded. "Okay."

As you made your way closer to the submarine, you suddenly heard the sound of footsteps behind. You and Ruben turned to see the shadow of a burly man, sneaking up on you.

"You're not supposed to be here!" The man growled, pulling out a gun.

He stepped into a spring of light, revealing his face. It was Andrés, Andrés Fierro.

"Alejandro won't be happy to know that you're here."

You and Ruben acted quickly, drawing your own weapons and taking cover behind a nearby boulder. You exchanged a quick glance, and then Ruben nodded.

"Ready?" he whispered.

You nodded, heart pounding in her chest. "Ready."

The battle was intense, with bullets flying through the air followed by the loud echoes exploding in the distance. You and Ruben had Andrés Fierro cornered. But as you made your way closer to the submarine, you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your shoulder.

"Ruben..."

You crumbled to the ground seeing the wound from the stray bullet.

Ruben saw the look of shock on your face and rushed to your side, pulling you behind a nearby boulder.

"Y/N, no!" he shouted, his voice filled with panic. "You've been hit!"

"Don't let him get away!" You said through gritted teeth. "He'll blow our covers."

Ruben looked conflicted, but he knew there was only one right thing to do.

"I'll be okay," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just finish the mission."

Ruben nodded, his eyes filled with determination. He knew that he had to get to the submarine. With a fierce cry, he charged forward. You heard two gunshots and the crumbling shouts of a man. The cave fell silent, however you were never in doubt, Ruben had killed Andrés Fierro.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

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obxone · 2 years

Text

Assumptions (Part 2)

Rewritten/Edited. ~3.15k words

Master Page

This includes a scene from OBX S1E4. I don't own the rights to it. I merely inserted the character into it.

A few days have passed since your supposed date with Rafe, but true to your word, you missed it. You have managed to avoid him since the beach, even going as far as to camp out at Kie’s house for a few days, including the night you were supposed to go on your date. But tonight, Kiara has made it her mission to drag you along with JJ and Pope to a movie night at the Island Club. It happens every summer. You have come with her every summer since you could remember, except for her kook year. That had been a different story.

“I don’t understand why I have to be here.” You look at Kie, lips pressing into a thin line. “As someone who is helping me work really hard to avoid Rafe Cameron, you have managed to bring me right to him.”

She shakes her head as you exit her car and start across the grass to the screening area. “He won’t be here. This isn’t something he’ll be into, trust me.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m so glad that they’re still doing this,” she says, her tone shifting to be lighter, as you walk to a spot on the grass together. JJ and Pope follow close behind. “Keep calm. Carry on. Back to OBX life. Do you know? Aren’t you glad I made you come?”

“Ecstatic,” Pope says. But you do not respond. She already knows how you feel.

JJ clears his throat, playing with the bill of his ball cap while Pope begins to set up the beach chairs, and you focus on laying out the blanket you had insisted on bringing instead of a chair. You toss the bag of snacks you have brought in front of Pope and Kie’s chairs.

“My couch was pretty comfy, I’ll be honest,” JJ quips.

“Do you want to come with me to get drinks?” Kie asks you when Pope and JJ begin to talk to each other in hushed whispers.

You bite your lip, trying to ignore that nagging feeling in your stomach that Rafe is bound to show up tonight. “Sure.”

You walk with her to the drink stand and smile at the vendor.

“Hey, uh…. Can I get three Pepsis, please?” She asks.

“Sure,” the vendor responds, and she fishes out some cash from her pocket.

You glance around you, surveying. Your gaze falls on none other than Rafe, who is headed right for you. A teasing smile pulls at his lips once he realizes you have spotted him. Dread fills you, and it blooms to panic at the thought of how he is going to respond to you avoiding him. Rafe is a dick to almost anyone, and it unnerves you at being the one his sight is set on currently.

Your hand finds Kiara's forearm without looking away from him, and you squeeze her arm to pull her attention right as Rafe calls your name and then Kie’s as he approaches from your left. You turn to look at her with eyes widened in alarm.

“I’m so sorry,” she says under her breath. “I didn’t think he’d be here!”

“Too late for that now,” you whisper before he gets too close. His hand touches you once he is next to you. His touch is firm against your back. It felt like a searing hot iron has been pushed against your skin even with your t-shirt separating your skin from touching.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, standing way too close for comfort. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Kiara responds quickly before you have to. You look away and then down at the grass, which is perfectly manicured and similar to all the houses in Figure 8.

His focus locks onto you, a small smile tugging at his lips. The urge to run sets in, but if he is like any other predator, you would only entice him if you are to run now.

“And you?”

“Fine as well, Rafe.”

“Good, good.” A twitch of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can not help but appreciate how good he looks in his backward ball cap and a yellow t-shirt that hangs loose but still shows off that he works out. “Um…Also, tell your boy that we know what he did.”

Kie shrugs, looking away at the people lingering around and then back to him. “Sorry, what boy are you talking about?”

“Uh, he’ll know,” he says, rolling his shoulders.

She does not say anything, instead turning and heading back to the others with the soda cans in hand.

“Bye." Rafe calls as you scramble to go after her.

“Douche,” she responds.

Rafe stops you before you can get away from him. His hand wraps around your wrist to stop you. You groan under your breath. “Can I help you?”

“I came to your house to pick you up. You weren’t there.”

“I know,” you respond, pulling your elbow free and looking towards Kie, who waits for you a few feet away. Her face scrunched up in disgust at him.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want a date.”

He nods, looking away, and you can see the disappointment on his face, but you leave him standing there, unable to soothe him without giving him false hope. You link arms with Kie before you walk back to the other two. The urge to look back over your shoulder for him gnaws at you, but you do not. You ignore it and lift your chin as you walk arm and arm back to your friends.

“Just saw Rafe,” Kiara says once you are back to your movie spot, and she hands JJ and Pope each a can. “And he said, and I quote, tell your boy that we know what he did.”

“What is that?” You ask, crossing your arms over your waist as you stare at them.

“Um…Where is he?” JJ asks.

“Right there,” Kie says, looking over her shoulder as she sits down. The rest of you turn to see Rafe, Topper, and Kelce lingering at the back of the crowd. Topper smirks at them, cup in hand, while Rafe drinks from his cup, but his piercing blue eyes are on you instead. You attempt a small smile before taking your seat on the blanket out of his sight.

“Great, the whole death squad,” Pope says, his voice tense and edging with worry. You smile a little, you like that nickname, and it is very fitting for the trio not fifty yards away.

“Don’t stare, bro.” JJ tries to turn his head back around with his hand on top of his head.

“Ah!” Pope exclaims, turning back around promptly. You and Kie exchange a look before turning your attention to the other two.

“Just warning you, bro.” JJ begins, removing his fingers from his lips. “If they corner me, I’m coming out swinging, okay?”

“Yeah,” Pope nods, adjusting his cap. “Yeah."

“Slice and dicin’. I’m on edge right now.” You watch JJ reach down and lift his backpack. “If that doesn’t work, I got this right here.” And then he shakes the bag. Your eyes widen, and your hand touches Kie’s knee, knowing what he is referring to.

“Yeah. Yeah. So, we just gotta stay in the group.” Pope offers. “They can’t come get us in the group.”

“Like a school of fish.” JJ agrees.

Pope turns his head, nodding along. “Stay in the school. Can’t leave the school.”

JJ sips from his can, his shoulders not relaxing.

“I’m sorry, JJ…” Kiara begins.

“Stay in the school,” Pope repeats in an attempt to reassure himself. You watch them warily.

“Please tell me that you did not bring a gun here,” Kie snaps quietly, aware of the families sitting around your group. “JJ, there are kids.”

“That’s not safe JJ,” you add.

“No Kie, I didn’t bring the gun.” He looks at her, trying to have an easy smile, but you see right through it as he turns to you. “Everything’s fine, okay?”

She sits back in her chair. “Oh wow, thank you. That’s really convincing. I love that JJ.” She mutters.

You exhale, the tension growing thicker. You glance around at all the families when the announcer starts the introduction to begin the night.

“Founding principle, you guys. No secrets amongst Pogues. What is Rafe talking about?” Her voice was stern, commanding, and pulling your attention back to her.

Pope leans up, his hand on her shoulder. “Kie, it might go down tonight.”

She leans in. “What does that mean? ‘Might go down tonight.’”

“What did you guys do?” You ask, leaning past her to stare at the other two. "What happened?"

JJ looks down at Pope, who nods as JJ whispers to him. You cannot hear it, but you know it is not good.

“I have to pee before the show starts.” You stand, brushing out the wrinkles in your shorts. "You two better tell Kie before I get back."

JJ scoffs at you, but you know he understands that you mean business as you slip through the crowd toward the bathroom without a second look. The stress of their secrecy weighs on you as you pass by the clusters of families. You look up and instantly regret your decision to go alone when you see Topper, Kelce, and Rafe still lingering at the back. You turn, slipping by a man on his cell, hoping to keep out of their line of sight as you jog up the stairs and into the Island Club.

You finish and come out to go back to your group. An exhale of relief falls from your lips that you have made it successfully. But then you are coming to a stop so suddenly your sneakers squeak on the floor. Rafe leans against the wall in the hallway, his stance casual, but his gaze locked on you as you approach. His blue paper cup is still in hand as he waits for you. He grins, flashing those perfect white teeth once you freeze at the sight of him

“What?” You ask as you start to pass him. He reaches out, the fingers of his free hand hooking in the back pocket of your shorts to pull you back to him.

“Why won’t you go out with me?”

You close your eyes before reaching to remove his touch from you. “I am a pogue, Rafe, and you are a kook. We don’t cross that line.”

“I want to,” he shrugs, sipping his cup and staring at you. His head tips, and he bites his bottom lip. You look away, clearing your throat. “I think you want to too.”

“Ha!” You reply sarcastically. “In your dreams, Pretty Boy.” You leave him behind and make your way through the crowd even though you can feel him following behind you. Once you are to your blanket, you glance over your shoulder to see him rejoining Kelce and Topper, who both smirk at him, aware of you both returning at the same time. He shakes his head to answer their question, and Topper’s gaze flickers over to you. A smirk on Top’s face, but you are drawn back to Rafe, his gaze still locked on you until you disappear out of sight by sitting down on your blanket.

The movie night seems to be going smoothly once you are settled, and the movie begins to play. You are enjoying it as you sit crisscross on the blanket leaning back on your hands for support. The black and white film makes you smile.

JJ and Pope start to slink away, and it catches your attention along with Kie. “Hey, where y’all going?” She asks.

They both turn back, and JJ shrugs. “We gotta wring it out.”

“You gonna hold it for each other?” She asks, and you laugh lightly, staring at them as they weave through the clusters toward the front. She turns to you, and you shrug before looking back at the screen. “Whatever,” she mutters.

You glance over your shoulder to see Rafe sitting with his face resting on his hand, eyes on the screen. You turn back around right before he glances over at you. You miss the smirk on his face at knowing you are looking at him.

After a beat, you turn to look again, but he is gone. All three of them are. “Kie,” you whisper, leaning into her. “I have a bad feeling. The Death Squad is missing.”

“Oh fuck,” she breathes before grabbing JJ’s backpack and your hand before you both head to look for the other two. You weave through the clusters with as much care as you can since it is dark, and you do not want to step on anyone. “Come on!” She urges.

“Do you see them?” You ask, but she does not respond. Instead, she sprints around the left side of the screen, and you follow, turning the corner just as she uses JJ’s backpack to slam against Topper’s back. Topper is fighting with Pope, and it looks like Pope is losing.

“Let go of him, Topper! Fascist asshole!” She is swinging the backpack and hitting him as he continues to swing at Pope.

Your focus shifts to Kelce holding JJ as Rafe delivers a punch to his ribcage. “Rafe!” You snap and surge forward to stop him. He swats his hand back against you when you make contact with him.

“Stay out of it!” He yells, but you do not give up, instead, you shove at him. Rafe punches JJ in the face, and you shove harder against his side. He moves back, his rage-filled eyes flashing to you. His hands move to grab yours, his fingers wrapping around your hands to pull them off him. You see Kiara on Topper’s back, hitting him over Rafe’s shoulder, and he turns to see it too. His touch disappears, and he turns to help Topper, so you take the opportunity to help JJ.

“Let him go Kelce!” You reach for JJ as Kelce holds him back by his throat. JJ is gasping for breath, and that floods you with worry. Your nails bite into Kelce’s forearm, and you try to pull his arm away from JJ’s throat.

“Kie, you okay?!” Pope calls, and you glance to see Rafe coming towards you with Kie now on the ground on her back.

Rafe’s arms hook around your waist to lift you away, and you can only assume he is about to do to you what he did to Kie.

“Stop!” You yell, smacking at his hands. “Rafe, stop this!” You squirm in his arms, slapping at him before he drops you a few feet from Kelce and JJ. You land on your feet, surprised that he did not toss you like Kie.

“Finish him off Top!” Rafe yells back at his buddy before his attention is on you again. His hands press you back as you try to surge forward. “No!” He says, hands firm against you. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“They are my best friends!” You snap at him and try to slap at him, but he catches your wrist, his long fingers wrapping around it tight enough to stop you, but not to hurt yet.

“They deserve every bit of it,” he breathes, yanking you closer. His breath fanning over your face. “I don’t want to hurt you, stop it.”

“You are hurting them, and that is hurting me!” You snap back at him, and he groans, his face masking into something unreadable.

Before he can utter a reply, the screen catches fire. Rafe turns to look at it, and your eyes widen when it spreads quickly. You find Kie kneeling by it, lighter in hand. Rafe steps away from the screen, his hand on your hip to keep you behind him.

“Kie!” You call as she stands, taking a few steps back, but she does not hear you. You start to shove past Rafe, but he stops you. Your chest collides with his, and his fingers grip your hips.

“It’s not safe,” he says, his fingers flexing as they come into contact with your skin. The feel of branding iron on your skin threatens to consume you, but you shove it aside as the worry for your friends increase.

“I don’t care,” you huff, looking up at him. He towers over you, it makes you feel small, vulnerable, and you hate it. His large hands wrapped around the swell of your hips do not help the feeling at all.

“I won’t let you get hurt,” he murmurs, his voice low. Your heart clenches at the shift in him. You open your mouth but stop short when he looks over his shoulder at his friends. “Guys! Guys!” He calls to them.

“Get off him!” Kie yells at Topper, who is still holding Pope in a chokehold.

“Rafe, let me go,” you snap at him before reaching down to remove his hands. You shove his arm away with all your strength and go towards JJ and Kelce before he can grab you again. “Kelce, let go of JJ!”

He does, shoving him as Topper and Rafe near each other. JJ coughs and your hands touch his chest while Kie checks over Pope.

“You okay?” You ask him. Worry creases your forehead as you take him in. His breathing is ragged. He nods, wincing and pressing his hand to his ribs while the other presses yours against his chest, and you can feel him heaving for air.

“Fucking assholes!” You yell towards the Death Squad. Rafe is laughing, gripping the shoulder of Topper’s shirt, but he turns to look at you. His laughter fades when he sees you touching JJ and glaring at him.

“You good?” Kie asks Pope before looking at you and JJ. “We’re okay.”

“You’re a freakin’ idiot,” Pope says, and you cannot help but smile a little at her choice to light the movie screen on fire.

“I saved your ass,” she returns. “Come on!” She and Pope hook arms over the other, and you wrap your arm around JJ’s side, leading him away as he stares at what is left of the screen. He scoops his backpack up when you pass it. You exhale, resting your head against his shoulder as you walk. The adrenaline still lingers along with the feeling of Rafe’s hands on you. You shudder, trying to ignore the thoughts racing through your mind about his behavior towards you and only you.

“Did he hurt you?” JJ asks, looking down at you. His face is worried as he analyzes what he can see.

“No, but he hurt you.”

He frowns, squeezing your hip against his as you make your way back to Kie’s car. You do not look for Rafe, but you have a feeling he is not far. Likely celebrating with his buddies on fighting with your friends.

Part III

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #obx fic #obx rafe cameron #outer banks rafe cameron

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whitherwordswither · 28 days

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05: Wrapped Up For Your Dreams, Again

Old Town, one of my favorite districts in the whole city. I had a lot of fond memories here. From hanging out at the local pizzeria and brew pub, to wandering aimlessly along the waterfront. The cherry blossoms in spring, late drunken summer nights and questionable choices.

Today, the streets were empty. Abandoned. That should have been somewhat concerning, but the sun was sparkling in the sky and a nice breeze was drifting along. It wasn't my focal point, so it didn't come off as out of place at all. My attention was glued on the two sophonts I was walking with.

These were friends I hadn't seen in I don't know how many years. We were idly chatting about our thoughts on the latest animatronic body horror jazz club ghost inception movie, Hyperbole, while we made our way toward one of the city parks. That was where Rachel's new house was. In a tree. She was very excited to have the owls over for tea and board games. My other friend, also Rachel, said we should all form a book club and read Derrida.

I wasn't sure he had all the words to keep the water wheel turning.

It wasn't long before I found myself losing focus, the Rachels faces becoming blank and featureless as their words turned from coherent to muffled gibberish. The world slowed and my vision tunneled toward an alley up ahead. All manner of vegetation and vines crept around the sides of the buildings, spilling out in to the streets like a thick viscous sewage from an old drain pipe. Pink and purple flowers blossomed between large, leafy fronds. Thorns pierced concrete and asphalt. Time froze. Everything aside from myself and the plant growth turned lifeless and gray, a scene of cement statues. My friends crumbled to dust.

The city followed suit in a cacophony of screaming birds. The vines beckoned patiently despite the collapse and chaos. I raced ahead to greet them as the dream destabilized behind me. They seemed delighted as they reached out, wrapping around my wrists and ankles, my waist, lifting me up and pulling me in to the alleyway. A very large, voluptuous venus flytrap was growing out of a pile of nondescript rubbish. It opened its maw in a yawn as I was brought toward it. I felt no fear response. No panic rose with bile in the back of my throat when the gaping mouth closed around me. The trigger hairs on the inside of the plant's lobe tickled my exposed skin and… I happily let it swallow me whole.

My next moments were spent tumbling down a membranous sinkhole of darkness, walls of silk squeezing around me, pushing. Further. Deeper.

The world turned upside down and inside out. Scenes and places from dreams I had superb recollections of… and also ones that I had forgotten through the years spiraled around me. I felt the distinct impression that I needed to choose one. I reached a hand out and grasped at the first scene that called to me. Ironically enough, it was a dream I had as a child. The setting was the house I had grown up in, my father's residence on the outskirts of the small town where Trimixthis had saved me from myself. The only difference was, in this dream, exactly as it had been before… the interior of the house was covered in wonderful and vivid flora. Small pools surrounded by crystals and minerals were in the spots in the living room where the furniture would have been. The windows still looked out over the deck and the pond below.

Thick fisherman's netting stretched across the arch leading to the kitchen, the island table strewn with all manner of urns, vases and pots of varying color. Succulents of all sorts grew, shivering and breathing in a more animate living state. The scene was so very surreal. I imagine I had chosen it because it reminded me of Trimixthis. It felt right.

And there they were. In the middle of the living room, connected with the dreamflora, smiling that strange and wondrous smile of theirs. I settled before them, looking up in to their all at once reflective yet depthless eyes, a few of their thinner vines caressing my cheeks and tracing the line of my jaw. When they spoke, it reverberated through the entire foundation, rippling outward. It made my skin crawl in a uniquely tantalizing way. "I am always amazed at how certain things remain so elegantly engrained in the human psyche. You haven't had this dream in…"

"Twenty-nine years or so…" I found myself answering, tethering on the entrails of their words.

"Fascinating, truly~" Trimixthis emitted what I took for an approximation of a chuckle as they smiled down at me.

A silence stretched between us, each caught momentarily admiring the other. I did notice a difference in the dreamscape then. It was much more than it had been, where as I only could recall the particulars of the scenery, how things looked and felt. Trimixthis presence seemed to add another level of life and flourish to it. Their song permeated through everything. If I wasn't careful I knew I would lose myself in that music, so I let my perception branch out… almost as if I could feel along their vines as they could. The house hummed its own song of being. Plants rustled in a calm wind that blew in through the open windows. The trickle of the stream that fed the pond and the bluegill grazing the surface of the water. Even the gentle sway of the large pines along the water's edge.

I ended up losing myself in a multitude of different songs until another rhythm broke me from my expanding absorption. A single vine tapped my left shoulder. I didn't notice it at first, but its continued persistence eventually brought me back to the living room and Trimixthis. They were still smiling. That same vine caressed my cheek. "My, my~ How easy you get tangled in the whirling essence of everything~"

I felt a heat rise on my cheeks as I dropped my gaze to the floor, hands idly occupying themselves with a still tendril that rested upon my lap. "Sorry," was all I could think to say.

"Don't be, sweetling. It's quite pleasant to observe. And quite a useful skill to have if you hone it correctly and not allow yourself to disperse in to obscurity." Trimixthis seemed to ponder something for a span of seconds. The notion was filed away as they shifted closer. "Earlier I asked if you had any questions. I believe you were a little too… wrapped up… to answer?"

My face scrunched in thought. Questions? I tried to retrace my morning despite the brainfog. Once I was able to pull apart the sparse memories of clothing myself and climbing up on to the couch where things really started to fuzz out, I found the inquiries I had not voiced at the time. They all jumbled together and came floundering out of my mouth at once. "Are we on… and the terminal… ship… space and… the doors lights?"

After that mess my mouth hung open in utter disbelief of its own transgression. How did words even? My brain hurt itself in its confusion.

The boisterous, beautiful sound that echoed through the dream was Trimixthis laughing. Flowers blossomed along their figure, vibrant and glowing. The sound carried on the wind and once more reverberated through the dreamland. They set a leaf beneath my chin and closed my mouth proper. "Oh, my stars… you darling thing~ Lets try that again. One at a time, shall we?"

Their vines smoothed through my hair and patted my head and I giggled sheepishly. It wasn't entirely my fault I was a pastiche of hazy recollections! But, oh what a joyous thing to feel their laughter. Every hair on my body stood on end. It was like being hugged by static that was giddy with warmth.

I cleared my throat with a nod and tried again to piece my words together in an order that would make sense for the both of us. "On… your terminal. There was a… ship. Departing…?"

"Yes. We are that ship. The terminal was displaying our trajectory leaving Earth. We should be arriving in orbit around Venus soon. I had Maraxus throttle our speed so we had time to get you a little more acclimated to things. I am afraid I have been… slightly careless with your xenodrug regimen. Honestly, I'm somewhat surprised you've maintained a modicum of self in all this. It was not my intention to foster an entirely vacant floret~ I only wished to pluck all the…" Their vines shifted much like I did with my hands when I couldn't conjure up the words I wanted right off the bat. "…unsavory petiole from your stem. Give you a… fresh start, so to speak."

I wondered about all that. Really. It took some effort, but a cursory poke around my addled mind revealed some disquieting blank spaces where I'm fairly sure, at some point prior to all this, existed… something. At the same time though, I wasn't overly concerned. The tiniest speck of a voice not unlike my own screeched pitifully from a far off void, begging for remembrance. I paid it no mind and even gave it the nudge it needed to plummet deeper and disappear. I didn't like the vibe it held. I didn't want to feel whatever it insisted I needed to feel. Instead, I beamed up at Trimixthis and clapped my hands together. "I thought never I'd get to going space!"

My head was patted again. I liked having my head pat. Trimixthis continued to smile. It was a such a lovely smile. "Chloe?"

"Yes?" I tilted my head and gazed up at them.

"Rephrase." They tapped my head once more.

Oh. Right. The words belonged in particular spaces in order to be understood. I licked my lips and thought real hard before allowing the words to leave my mouth again. This time though, I plucked them out of the air and arranged them accordingly. Because this was a dream and I could physically manifest my words if I felt like it! "I… thought… I would… never get to… go to… .." I hung on the last word, looking back over my sentence to make sure it was correct. "Space."

"Very good!" Trimixthis nodded. "I thought a nice trip off planet might be healthy for you. Now, do you want to know why we're traveling to Venus, sweetling?"

I had been curious about our destination. Venus was in no way shape or form hospitable for human life. But the affini were essentially plants, weren't they? Did Venus have something plants liked? A useful resource? I was trying my hardest to remember what compound Venus was in excess of, making strained little mouth noises as I tried to pluck the answer from the empty space between our bodies. Trimixthis pulled me on to their lap, and I cuddled up against them as I shrugged my shoulders, giving up. They seemed excited about it so all was well in my world.

"We've begun construction of an orbital platform for the collection of planetside resources. Primarily concerning the rich carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Along with the sulfuric acids present in the cloud layers, these two compounds are highly beneficial to promoting cultivation. We've developed some lovely technology that allows us to utilize them in regenerative growth." They spoke as they let their vines worm around my dreambody, stroking and petting as they saw fit. "Carbon dioxide is by and large considered a waste product by your species, I believe. What is that cute little Earth saying? One organism's trash is another organism's treasure?"

My head bobbed with affirmation. Ah! Venus was rich in those things, wasn't it? Humanity, to my knowledge, had a passing interest in the second planet for a while. The abandoned HAVOC project from NASA came to mind. Which really hadn't gone past the theoretical stage… and after further discovery, any deep exploration ideas were scrapped for other ventures. I was intrigued by the idea of a station though, my brain immediately wandering off to dredge up fragmented memories of the first anime I'd ever seen in my grade school days that had featured an orbital ring that surrounded the Earth. Tekkaman Blade, I think it was. I wondered if I still had those DVDs somewhere…

"That is not an entirely incorrect vision of what it may come to look like, sweetling~" A light trilling fluttered in Trimixthis' throat.

I just blinked up at them. Wait. Could they read my…?

"Oh, petal~ We're in your mind. Of course I can. Silly thing." Their delightful laughter trickled across the scene, this time causing the vegetation to shift through an array of pleasing colors.

I guess that made sense. I wondered what the station was going to be like.

"Currently, there is a sizable portion that is cozy and habitable. More is being grown as we speak. I'm sure you will find it quite incredible! It is also, however, part of my job. I am an interface engineer. One of my primary duties is to make sure all our systems can connect and speak to one another. So I may become rather busy. But… not to worry." Trimixthis lifted me up above their head like a puppy, smiling up at me. I more or less dangled there and grinned down at them. "I have arranged for you to meet a number of playmates to keep you out of trouble while I'm working. While I am able to do most things remotely, I prefer onsite inspections when it comes to the more delicate bundles of sensory passthrough and~"

A distant chime sounded, something foreign. Trimixthis' attention was instantly pulled away. I could feel it. Like they were suddenly in another place, only faintly tethered to this dreamform. I tried to focus on the sound myself, because it felt so out of the ordinary. This just led to me getting caught up in the web of sensations, the flux and flow of the dreamscape like before and this time there was no tapping vine to bring me back from the ledge. I felt myself disconnect and dissipate in to the whole of everything. It would have been an ultimately strange experience had I been able to maintain cognitive recognition. Alas, the fog began to roll in through… the trees…?

I blinked, looking around. I found myself laying on a bed of soft, sweet smelling grasses in the clearing of a forest. Tiny yellow flowers dotted the small glade. I knew this place. It was usually a buffer space I envisioned on nights where I needed to coax myself to sleep. The trees stood like guardian silhouettes, the fog a comforting shroud.

Trimixthis was gone. I felt a bit of sadness that began to well in to an awful sense of desertion. Their song still echoed in some awkward proximity, but it wasn't quite enough. It was like the entire foundation of being had been suddenly ripped out from under me. I curled in to a ball and shut my eyes, rocking back and forth on my side as I began to hum the song. To keep it near. To not forget. I didn't want it to go. Why had they left me alone here?

The forest was beginning to not feel like the safety net it was supposed to be. I couldn't concentrate, the song fading by degrees. The abrupt snap of a twig had me bolting up and scanning the immediate area. Fear began to blossom within the tiny beads of sweat on my brow. I could wake up now, right? Please?

"Trimixthis…?" I whimpered under my breath.

Another twig snapped to my left and I whirled about in attempts to keep whatever it was in front of me. A huffed breath and a faint clicking noise echoed off the bodies of the trees. I couldn't tell where it was coming from. The temperature dropped like my mood, my breath expelled in wispy ghosts that drifted up toward the fractures of night sky barely glimpsed through the canopy before the fog grew more dense and only a few feet of grass remained visible.

I didn't like this at all.

A soft, almost chittering-like noise came from my right. I turned again, scrambling backward as a shape took form in the fog and crept closer. The chill I was feeling was pushed back by an intense warmth extruding from whatever it was. In its own way, it was calming and my rising panic was lulled to a more manageable state. I sat up on my knees, trying to wipe the fog away by waving my hands through the air. A futile effort. I just… I wanted to be able to see…

That thought alone spawned a decrease in the atmospheric obfuscation. Oh, big words. My brain was working.

Crouched no less than two feet before me was a creature I'd never seen before. Certainly nothing I'd ever dreamed up before, either. I tilted my head to one side and it mimicked the movement. The elongated muzzle curved with a toothy grin as we locked eyes. It had a very canine-esque appearance that was somewhere between a quadruped, giving the look of its hindlegs, and a full on anthropomorphic embodiment, noting the more humanoid forelegs. It brandished six limbs altogether. A slightly smaller set of arms accompanied their main pawsy-grabbers. It also had a rather short tail that barely touched the grass that was currently twitching back and forth. That was a good sign, right? Not that I should be applying terran-dog logic to this dream-canid. I took a breath and managed to find my voice. "Hello…?"

"Hello?" It repeated. The voice was strangely pleasant. Just this side of sultry. Playful even, with overtones of mischief. Or maybe I was projecting because of the uncanny way the entity was smiling at me. It had a double set of triangular ears and two antenna upon its head.

"Who… are you…?" I asked, and unsurprisingly, it echoed the inquiry right back at me.

When it moved forward I found myself frozen in place, either severely unwilling to take my eyes off of the creature, or entranced in its gaze. I couldn't determine which. It circled once around me, leaning in close to sniff as if we weren't in a dream and scent was real. Could you smell things in a dream? I wasn't sure if I ever had olfactory senses in any slumber-space.

The dream-dog-thing settled back in front of me, raising its forepaws and placing them under my chin, tilting my head up as it looked me over. It tilted its own head from side to side as if inspecting a specimen. It's front bappers were more like hands than paws, I noted. It's smile widened, and my eyes did the same. "M-m-my… wh-what um… sh-sharp teeth you have…"

I had always wanted to use that line in some version of reality. This was probably a good enough place as any for it to be utilized. Mostly because I had no idea what to say and had more or less just blurted it out as I remained motionless in the creature's hold. The smile faltered on its twitching lips before it leaned back and barked a laugh. Before I knew what was happening it had plopped on its haunches and wrapped all four arms around me in a tight hug as it cackled, one of the paws petting my head. A series of trill-growls, strained crackling squeaks and chuffing noises were made. It sounded like an organic dial-up modem. But then the caniform spoke.

"Eeehee~ Mixi said y'was aaaaah-durable~ Rrrright as usually, they is!"

My brain completely glossed over the usage of a nickname for Trimixthis as I wriggled in the canid's grip, managing to gain enough leverage to lean backwards in its arms. I rather wanted to look at it while I spoke than mumbling in to its… distractingly super soft chest-fluff. Which my hands were totally, definitely not playing in. So warm. So soft. So inviting! Oh, right. I needed to focus. "Heh… I don't know about… um… any of that, but. I'm…"

"Chloe, yessss? We are Viremia! Pleasurable greetings!" Any fear that had cropped up in the last few minutes was all but washed away at this point. The manner in which the entity spoke and enunciated was oddly uplifting. I quickly found its demeanor to be infectious, in a good way. Even stranger was my inability to keep my hands to myself, as if I needed to explore every soft nook and cranny of this awkward alien-canine-valley of fur. And the smell! It weaved between peony and roses and fresh earth and something else that was indescribably enjoyable to breathe in. I guess that answered my question of dream-scent.

I buried my face in Viremia's neck as we tangled together and flopped over on to the grass. Trimixthis had said there would be playmates. Was this one of them?

Viremia made a content murring noise, stretching out and allowing me to more or less entertain myself in the daze of sensations their body offered. "We's been assigned t'keeps ya company while Mixi dealsss with ssssomethin' came-up-bruptly like. If y'wants t'bein'in th' waking-place, jus' say words. Rrrf~"

A reply of mumbled nonsensical acknowledgement sputtered from my mouth, my brain simply registering that I had been given a wonderfully soft waggy-tail organism to snuggle with while Trimixthis was doing Trimixthis things.

I could absolutely live with this.

#writeblr #queer writers #writing community #human domestication guide #hdg #sci-fi #creative writing

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liz-allyn · 2 years

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sugar and vice, pt. 12 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: paint it black.

words: 8.7 k

chapter warning: very graphic descriptions of drug use, sex, violence and gore. smutty sorta dubcon spicyness (under the influence), alcohol, clubbing, being stoned, dry humping, needles, small dick energy, **tw sa - groping**

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coercion. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Please don't date a mob boss.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you still can't name the Mambo #5 women then gtfo.

a/n - Part 11 and 12 were the same chapter until I looked at the word count. Read 11 first! Also, it might be fun to listen to the official Sugar and Vice playlist on Spotify for this chapter.

Go back to Part 11.

Part 12

Honey didn’t know this song, and she was nowhere near as coordinated as Felicia. Something something something about a monster and someone rapping really fast—fuck, this dress is so short!

Felicia had sectioned herself and Honey away from the crowd, up on an elevated platform two feet off the ground. It was a tiny island in the vast ocean of sweaty, pulsating bodies. She felt somewhat relieved up there, not worrying about strangers breathing down her neck or wandering hands feeling up her backside. Simultaneously, she felt exposed.

“Relax,” Felicia hollered over the sound of the music. The taller woman wrapped her lithe but toned arms around her neck, gazing down at her with a million-dollar smile. “No one’s looking at us, honey. And if they are, it’s eating them up inside.”

“Why?” she shouted back, her voice audible above the loud music. “I don’t want to make anyone... eat... themselves?”

Felicia leaned into her space as if whispering a secret, her eyes swimming with mischief. “Because they want what they can’t have. And we can have what we want.” She lifted her eyes across the room. “Speaking of which—Annabelle!”

Honey spun around to see a pink-haired woman with a long bob cut standing behind the bar pop her head up at the name. The two women locked eyes. Felicia said nothing, just smiled, pointed her index finger in her direction, then added another finger to form the number two. Inexplicably, Annabelle must have known exactly what the gesture meant because she nodded and went to work mixing cocktails.

“Come on, babe, let’s have a drink,” Felicia said, pushing back her platinum locks, slightly damped with perspiration. Honey followed her order, and carefully tread down the small staircase off the platform to floor level. Felicia cut across off the platform, marching her stilettos through the center of someone’s VIP table, then onto the seat of an open chair, then onto the floor.

She took Honey’s hand and led her to the bar. The sea of people parted in front of her as if she was Moses. Honey looked over at her in awe, as if she was a divine figure.

Danny Rand was in prime form tonight. Silk shirt half unbuttoned, skin flushed from alcohol, he poured a bottle of Cristal directly into the mouth of a fangirl on her knees front of him.

Rolling his eyes at the scene, Miguel’s voice rang out as he approached, “Well, look who it is!”

Eyes turned towards the uninvited guest as he sauntered up to the VIP table. Danny looked up from his game with a sour face, chest puffing up, nostrils flaring. He sighed heavily as he recognized the figure strolling towards him, curling his lip. Miguel held his arms outstretched and said with a boisterous tone, “If it isn’t the Boy with the Magic Fist!”

Danny tossed a dirty look at him. “It’s Iron Fist, bitch,” he growled, snatching his glass from the hands of one of his friends. The sudden shift in tone rippled outwards among his guests, the festive energy deflating like a balloon.

Miguel held his hands up in surrender. “How you spend your Saturday nights is your business. I’m here because the boss wants to see you.”

The young fighter downed his flute, emptying it. He glowered as he lowered the glass, breathing venom over it’s rim. “Your boss,” he sneered, pointing daggers. “Not mine.” He sat back on the sofa, wrapping an arm around his supermodel Barbie doll. He crossed his leg and leaned back smugly, glaring up at Miguel. “I’m no one’s lapdog.”

“Oh yeah?” he flashed a supercillious smile. “Why don’t you tell him that yourself?” Miguel leveled a hard gaze at him. “He’s here.”

The second he finished his sentence, the crowd shifted, like an icy chill blew through the area. Danny sobered instantly, his smile fading. His guests read his reaction, awkwardly averting their eyes, minding their drinks quietly.

“Hear that? Your whistle’s blowing,” Miguel added with a showy flourish of his arm. “After you, bitch.”

A little later, Honey, Felicia, and Eddie had taken over an unoccupied couch at a floor-level VIP table. It was unoccupied because Felicia had kindly asked the previous occupants to fuck off, here’s $2,000, go buy yourself a good time, handing them a wad of cash.

Honey didn’t know this song either, but she bounced her knee, pretending that it was to the beat of the music and not the beginning of a panic attack. Anxiously, she tugged at the her dress, pressing tightly against her thighs. “Does anyone know where Peter is?” she called out. “He’s been gone for an hour, right?”

Felicia chuckled, dancing in her seat as she sucked back the rest of her cocktail, “It’s been twenty minutes. Relax, Queen Bee.”

“Does anyone know what he’s doing?” she asked. “What’s taking so long?”

Eddie shrugged. He was leaning back on the couch nursing a beer, eyes redder than roses. He looked serene amidst the chaos, and Honey envied it.

Felicia met her with devilish eyes and a sultry smile, “Daddy’s workin’, hon.”

Honey gulped at the phrase, feeling her entire upper half flush red. She averted her eyes, anxiously tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Aww, so cute,” Felicia remarked smugly. “Why don’t you finish your drink so we can go dance?”

Honey looked down at the bright turquoise liquid, only a quarter-way drained from the highball glass. Something called an ‘Adios Motherfucker.’ She picked up the glass and sucked on the straw. The alcohol burned fire in her chest but did little to quell her nerves. An air horn erupted nearby. She jolted in her seat at the noise.

This was too much. This was all too much. This was stupid. She was stupid. She was down here drinking in the world’s shortest dress when if anything she should be with Peter, betraying him by digging up his dirt and feeding it to her shitbag of an ex-husband that threatened to murder her whole family—

“I can’t!” Honey overanxiously exclaimed. She brought her hands to her face, trying to seal off the stimulation, bordering on panic. “I-I can’t do this! I need—” She sighed, turning to Eddie, who looked like he was somewhere else. Maybe the moon. “Eddie!”

He didn’t respond, just stared at the spotlights, gently tapping his fingers on his thigh.

“Eddie!” Honey called again, louder this time. No response.

She carefully stood up and walked the short distance to stand directly in his field of view. “Hey!” she said, more forcefully. He snapped out of it, blinking bloodshot eyes up at her. She loomed over him with a straight face, her arms crossed. “Eddie? Hi. It’s me. I would like some drugs. Please.”

He blinked, stunned. Eyes wide. “Uhm, okay?” He stared up at her suspiciously. “That’s... not like you...?”

Her brows furrowed, offended. “How do you know?” she challenged defensively. “I can do drugs! I’m ready to do them. Give them to me. Give me drugs!”

Her voice echoed. He sat up, alarmed by the volume of her voice. “Shhhhhh! Okay, okay—first of all?” he said, whisper-shouting again. “Some discretion in public would be nice!” Apologetically, she tucked her neck into her shoulders, glancing around conspicuously. Thankfully, no one in the vicinity seemed to notice.

Eddie looked up at her, addressing her seriously, “What are we talkin’ here? Some Amps? Maybe some Bars? Some Vitamin-K?” Honey blinked at him, eyes wide. “Skittles? Slush-os, Squid Inks, Screamers?”

“The last one!” she answered. Her face crossed almost immediately. “Wait—I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“No, shit,” Eddie scoffed wryly. “Most of ‘em I made up just now.”

She sighed in frustration, folding her arms even tighter. Eddie inspected the area, with its loud noises and overstimulating lights. It wasn’t his scene either.

“Look,” he declared sincerely, “I just don’t think this is the time or the place.”

“What is wrong with you people?” Honey scoffed. She looked back at Felicia and Eddie, her frustration boiling over. “Why does everyone always treat me like a kid—like I’m stupid or something? I can make my own choices!” Eddie and Felicia glanced at each other uncomfortably. “I know what I want,” she demanded with resolve. “And I want to just... survive this goddamn night!”

Felicia looked away, a solemn look on her face.

She held Eddie’s gaze firmly, pleading with a steel expression. “Please.”

It was the desperation in her voice that skewered him. Eddie stared, turning her words over and over again until eventually his shoulders dropped. “Alright,” he groaned in admission, rubbing his hand down his face. “Okay, okay, I might have something.”

Relieved, she clapped her hands like she was 6 and had just been presented with the exciting prospect of getting a Happy Meal after school.

Grumbling to himself, Eddie dug through his pockets, eventually retrieving a long, thin tube. Discreetly, he passed it to her. She took it in her hands, examining the object curiously.

A honey stick. She looked up at him curiously.

He put a finger to his lips in a shush. “That one’s special,” he explained. “You’re gonna wanna ease into it, okay? Only half? Or maybe half of a half. Just to see how you react—”

She quit listening after that, ripping the end off the tube and pouring the contents down her throat.

Honey didn’t know this song, but loved this song. The beat buried itself beneath her ribs, the melody hypnotic. She swayed and rocked to the music, gripping Felicia’s hand—her hand is so soft, what is this song, what kind of lotion does she use, it’s been forever since I’ve gone rollerskating, do they still have rinks—?

Something magical was happening. She was ascending. Beyond the dance floor, beyond the city, beyond the earth. She had received the knowledge of the gods—Fruit by the Foot, what a novel concept—and had become like them.

She was a god. God was a woman. And it was her. Probably.

Fuck, this stuff is really, really great.

Her mind was buzzing—no, vibrating, like it was strapped on a rocket ship headed for the sun. She was sure if she’d had an MRI done—ooh, missed opportunity—her brain would be lit up like a summer thunderstorm.

Time was moving so slow. And then fast. And then too fast. Then slow again. Time was everything. It was the key to the whole universe. Time stretched out on an endless plane. Every moment an eternity. She was immortal. She was like the gods, with her newfound ability to slow down time.

She knew two other things for sure.

Number One. She had a new understanding of what terms like Death and Heaven meant. Death was the cessation of time. Heaven was the moment you want to live in for all eternity. For her, Heaven is the maple tree in her mom’s boyfriend’s backyard, the one she would climb and fantasize about her future. Fantasize about her Heaven. Heaven was also a log cabin in the mountains surrounded by white pine with a flowing river, just a mile away from an old campground. Somewhere there’s an oak tree with initials carved into it: M + B, with a heart enclosing them both.

Number One. Section A. Or Section B. Peter Parker is also there. She’s in love with Peter Parker. She doesn’t know who Ben Reilly is, but she knows Peter Parker—add to number one, appendix C, this song makes me feel alive—and Peter’s a good man who loves The Sandlot and wanted to build his home where his aunt first fell in love with his uncle.

Section B/C. Peter Parker is such a sap. He’s a romantic. He’s broken. He’s filled with love and darkness and passion and rage. He’s terrifying. He terrifies her. It’s terrifying, the things he makes her feel. It’s terrifying, how safe she feels with him. How fucked up is that? Surely, of either of them, she was the most broken of all.

Two.

...

She forgot two.

Fuck. She might be high.

“I’d say so. Why don’t you just drink some water and not worry too much about it?” Felicia said.

Honey glanced over at her companions. Her friends. Eddie and Felicia, staring at her patiently, charitable with their attention.

Oh shit. I said all that out loud?

“Yeah, you did,” Eddie nodded with a worried frown.

Honey gazed at him, blinking. Then broke into a giggle. “I’m-I’m sorry,” she laughed, as the giggle turned into a full-body hysterical laughing fit. Eddie and Felicia gave each other a look. “I’m sorry! You can read my mind, Eddie! We can mind-meld! God, it must be so noisy in there!”

He sighed, “I’m used to it.” Honey continued to laugh herself out of oxygen, tears streaming down her face.

“What the hell did you give her, Eddie?” Felicia snapped.

His shoulders touched his ear lobes, his face whiter than a ghost. “It’s weed! Just weed!” he defended. “Not even that strong! Like... the stuff that would make your grandma call you a pussy. An insanely tame amount!”

Honey grabbed Felicia’s hand, tugging gently. Unable to stop laughing, she chuckled out the broken sentence. “I.. I don’t wan’t... I don’t want... you to think.... I’m weird... I really don’t... I just... want to tell you... that I want to kiss you right now...”

Felicia shot Eddie a dirty look. Turning back to Honey, she smiled kindly. “Oh, you’re so sweet,” she said and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Sadly, I have to decline, honey bunny.”

“Do-Dou- d’you not.. wanna kiss me?” Honey suddenly blanched. “Is.. is it me? Is it... d’you hate me? Am I annoying? Am I being annoying? I’m being annoying, right? I’m sorry—”

“Shh, shh... Not at all, sugar,” Felicia crooned softly, wrapping a gentle arm around the girl’s shoulder. Honey felt her anxiety ease almost immediately. Felicia rubbed her shoulder gently, a warm smile on her face. “It’s ‘cos I don’t shit where I eat.”

Honey stared at her inquisitively, tilting her head. With a sharp snort that would put a hog to shame, she burst into another fit of laughter.

Felicia stared daggers at Eddie. “You’d better sober her up real quick. Pete’s not gonna like this—”

“Peter?” Honey parroted, her heart racing. “Where’s Peter? Is Peter here? Where is he?”

“Relax, relax,” Felicia replied with a soothing voice. “He’s upstairs working, remember?”

“He’s working?” Honey repeated her chest tightening.

“He’s in a meeting, hon.”

“A meeting?” Honey exclaimed with a shrill voice, filled with alarm. “An important meeting? What about? I have to know! With who? I have to be there!”

Felicia shook her head, shushing her again, but it was like trying to tame a wild horse. “It’s okay—”

“No, no, it’s not okay! Nothing about this is okay!” she protested, her voice nearly breaking. “This is not okay! I have to be in that room. I have to be in that meeting! It’s very important that I’m there!”

Eddie and Felicia shook their heads, trying to take her by the hands and lead her toward the exit. “C’mon, hon, let’s go wait in the car—”

“No, no, I need to be in there,” she pleaded. “He needs me to take notes! Very detailed notes!”

“It’s okay,” Eddie coaxed her. “It’s okay, someone else’s gonna take notes, I promise. You don’t need to be there—”

“No! It has to be me!” she shouted, tears brimming. Like a spooked cat, she took off, barreling up the stairs. Panicked, Felicia and Eddie ran after her.

“So they tell me you’re the underdog, despite all those wins,” Peter remarked, not unkindly. “The odds are uniquely stacked against you.”

He sat across from Danny in a secluded, private lounge. It was part of a third floor club that had been cleared out for Peter to use. The tone of this room was vastly different from the party outside. Miguel sat on a sofa adjacent to the two men, arms crossed with a terse expression. Beside him, Jessica lounged with her legs crossed, a martini in her hand, looking more relaxed than Miguel. The rest of Peter’s men lined the walls, along with a couple of Danny’s bodyguards that could’ve been former football linebackers.

Peter wasn’t concerned. Whatever Danny needed to feel safe. Remaining calm, he kept the tone light. “75-to-1, I hear.”

Danny’s temper was starting to unravel. The remark wasn’t stated with cruel intentions, but Danny glowered at it anyway. “Do I look scared?” he boastfully replied, surrounded by his three bodyguards. Peter subtly smiled. Danny muttered, “I’m in control of my own destiny.”

“I have no doubt,” Peter nodded in agreement. It was a somewhat patronizing tone, but it was the truth. “I have faith in you.” A shadow darkened his expression, “So does our old friend.”

The word slithered like a viper. Hearing it sent an uncomfortable shockwave through the room. Like they’d heard the ghostly moan of an apparition, everyone tensed, wary eyes being flicked towards one another. Danny froze in his seat, now aware of the context of this impromptu meeting. He frowned bitterly, crossing his arms. “What can I say. The fat bastard knows how to pick a good horse.”

Peter pursed his lips, dropped his gaze to the floor. “That he does,” he uttered, rueful and contemplative. He brushed his bitterness aside, meeting Danny’s eyes again. “In fact—he’s willing to bet the whole farm on it.”

The boxer lifted a brow curiously. Peter explained, “He put a hefty chunk of change up, betting you’d win the fight tomorrow. Take Crusher out before the fourth round. Millions of dollars, too. That’s not for nothin’.” Peter leaned back, sighing disdainfully. “‘Course, it’s all illegal campaign contributions and even a couple of sacked pension funds. But if you win, he’ll make a killing. And all that blood money gets washed clean.”

“Blood money,” Danny bitterly replied. “That’s rich comin’ from you.” Peter narrowed his eyes at the remark. “And it’s not a matter of if I win,” he added, as if it was written in stone. “It’s when.”

Peter flicked his eyes over to his closest colleagues. Miguel shared his same resentment, as did Jessica. Rolling her eyes subtly, she came to a stand. Stepped over to the bar to make herself another drink.

“You wanna jump on the bandwagon too?” Danny smirked at Peter. “Make a bet? Books are still open. Y’know, in case you’ve got any spare change you want cleaned.” The last sentence was thrown at him like a spear, followed by a wry chuckle.

Peter frowned solemnly. “Not this time, Danny,” he said tenderly. Apologetic. Almost. “In fact— need you to go down.”

The other man dropped his smile. His eyes went cold.

“In the third round,” Peter added. As if it was written in stone..

Danny stared. Silent. Confused. The room was quieter as a tomb, nothing but the bass booming beneath the floor. Then, he broke into laughter. “Whaat?” He glanced around at his buddies, snickering. He turned back to Peter. “You’re kidding, right?”

Peter’s face remained unchanged. Solemn. Remorseful. Even without words, Danny could read the response on his face. A fury ignited instantaneously, like the fuse on a stick of dynamite.

“Are you fucking with me right now?” he demanded, glaring. Danny glanced around anxiously at Peter’s crew, his rage rising steadily. He turned back to Peter, eyes flashing with vehement betrayal. “You’re serious?! You want me to throw the match?!”

“I’m asking, Danny,” Peter calmly replied, empathy weighing his words. “However you wanna do it.”

The humor evaporated in his hot gaze. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Peter turned his eyes downcast as Danny protested ferociously. “This isn’t some bullshit undercard match! I’m goin’ for the Belt!”

“I understand that.”

“It’s the biggest fight of my whole life!” he hissed, raising his voice. “And you just want me to walk away? To lose? In front of everybody?”

Miguel and Jessica gave each other a tense look. Pressure rising like the room was the inside of a tea kettle.

Peter retained his composure, sympathetic to his associate’s dilemma. “I know it’s asking a lot,” he reasoned, “and I respect that. You worked hard to get here—”

“Eleven million, Parker!” Danny barked back. “That’s just one endorsement deal on the table.”

“With Roxxon,” Peter nodded, a small bite added to his voice. “I know. There will be temporary consequences, I’m sure. But I’ll make sure you’re compensated fairly.”

“I don’t want your money, asshole!” he sneered. “I want my goddamn championship title!”

Peter huffed with frustration, attempting to reason with him. “You have my full confidence that you can take it in the rematch next year,” he suggested. He lowered his voice, pleading with him, “I just need you to take a knee on this one, Danny. It’s all I’m askin.’”

Nostrils flaring, he replied with poison packed in each word, “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Jessica’s breath caught in her throat. Miguel went still. Ominous, ghostly chains rattled, as Peter Parker’s patience evaporated like a rainstorm in Hell.

Peter’s eyes darkened, his gaze cold. “Because I’m asking you.”

It was both a statement and a warning. Danny bit his tongue, glaring.

“Because you hate Kingpin as much as I do,” Peter added, more composed. The next breath between the two men was calmer, composed by the clarity of having the same enemy.

“And not to mention,” Peter said matter-of-factly, “you owe me.” Peter had trapped him in his gaze. For once, Danny Rand had nothing to say, but Peter wasn’t listening for words. He followed the slowing beat of the athletic muscle, and instead listened to story his heart was telling him.

If the next words to come out of Danny’s mouth were lies, he’d know—

“No, I have to be in there, it’s an emergency!” Honey’s slightly slurred words pierced the bubble as the door swung wide open. All eyes turned towards the door as she walked through, barefoot and hold her heels, one in each hand. Desperately, one of Peter’s guards tried to wall her in with his body (keeping his arms stretched wide, hands clearly visible). It was a hopeless attempt to hold her at bay, a flimsy seawall against a hurricane. She rounded him, still babbling incoherently.

Peter raised his brows with alarm, jumping to his feet. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

“I hafta talk to him!” she barked at the guard, then turned to Peter. “I hafta talk to you!”

Miguel buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“What is this?” Danny uttered in confusion.

“It’s s’so important!” she said, almost desperately. Peter pinched his brows together as she waddled towards him, holding the hem of her dress down

“What happened?” Peter scanned her face urgently, hovering his hands above her cheekbones, observing how blown-out her eyes were.

“I-I-I’m here. I’m here!” she announced, as if that was some kind of relief. “Okay, um... I’m... here to tell you—” She hiccuped. “I have something very important to tell you! And... It’s-It’s a s-secret! An important secret!” He gazed at her pecularly as she looked up at him with bleary eyes. “I need to tell you—ugh, oof, I’m riding a surfboard, time is moving slow—Okay, you know how time is the key to the entire universe, right—?”

“Hon, come back here!” Felicia called after her, as she and Eddie rushed through the doorway. Peter turned over at them, tensing.

“What is this?” Peter demanded. “What happened to her!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Eddie anxiously mumbled. Both he and Felicia were suddenly at her sides, each taking one of her hands gently. “We’re just gonna go find some peppercorn—”

“Uh, we don’t have a kitchen here,” Jessica supplied warily, side-eyeing the dazed woman. “Maybe we have some behind the bar—?”

“This is just great,” Miguel sardonically hissed, glowering at Eddie.

“Answers,” Peter glowered at Felicia and Eddie. “Now.”

“Take it easy, will ya?” Felicia shot him a dirty look. “Don’t get your panties in a twist—she just got a little too faded.” Felicia said to Honey, “Which is totally okay, and why we’re gonna go home, right?”

Eddie rushed over to Peter, pulling him away. Felicia took Honey by the arm, now taking over the one-sided, stream-of-consciousness conversation.

“Okay,” Eddie explained, apologetic, “so she��s fine. She’s gonna be fine. It’s just a little edible—”

Peter’s gaze could skewer through stone. “Eddie. What the fuck, man?” He hissed through gritted teeth, bringing his fingertips to his aching temple. “Why is it every time there’s trouble your goddamn name is attached to it?” Eddie reeled back as Peter jabbed his finger into his shoulder, chastizing in hushed tones. “I can’t believe you’re that fuckin’ stupid! Drugging her up, here? Now?”

“First of all, I didn’t drug her up,” he declared defensively. “She asked!”

“You should know better!”

“Hey, asshole,” Eddie sneered through his teeth, his eyes flashing angrily, “she’s a grown-up. A goddamn, full-grown, life-sized adult. Did you know that?”

“Everyone’s talking so fast,” Honey breathlessly stated, turning to Felicia with wide, nearly-tearful eyes. “Everything’s so fast. Did I make everyone mad? Did I ruin everything?”

Danny snorted, amused by the exchanged, “This is fuckin’ great. You’re doin’ great.”

Honey glanced over at him, “Oh, hello. Do you do crime to? I just did drugs!”

Danny chuckled, nodding along, “Oh, is that right?”

“Hey, wait, I know you!” she said, recognition lighting up her eyes. “You’re famous. You’re on TV!”

“Right, you are, dollface,” Danny snickered, letting his eyes travel up her body. He grinned devilishly, “And what’s your name?”

“Fuck off, limp fist,” Felicia brushed him off with a glower, turning her attention back towards the two men bickering on the other side of the room.

Eddie and Peter were at each other’s throats. “She can make her own decisions, man!” Eddie argued. “What the fuck’s with you being so controlling all the time?”

Peter’s eyes went black. “What did you just say to me?”

“I’m just saying, she’s a grown woman!” Eddie whined defensively. “You don’t need to baby her all the—”

“Jesus, will you two knock it off?” Felicia groaned.

“I’m not talking to you!” Peter barked at her, pointing his finger in her direction, then turned his wrath back to Eddie. “And what the fuck do you know about it, Brock?” Peter snapped. “You never took care of anything in your life!” The other man grimaced at the insult, a stab in the back. “All you’ve ever cared about is yourself. You’re nothin’ but a fuck-up!” Peter’s voice cracked like thunder. “You’re just a fuckin’ drug dealer!”

The other man blinked wounded eyes at him, taken aback, as he simmered with disgust. Pursed his lips. Quietly seethed. Swallowed hard. And then Eddie walked out on him. Peter was left standing in his cold wake, panting like a maniac. His gazed dropped to the floor.

“Nice job, Pete,” Felicia muttered, arms and expression both cross.

“Don’t be sad, dollface...” Danny simpered as he leaned out of his chair with one hand on Honey’s wrist. They were still locked in their own private conversation while everything fell apart behind them. “Why don’t you come sit with me and let me cheer you up, yeah?”

His hand gripped her thigh at the hem of her skirt, fingers brushing up between her legs. She jolted—practically jumped out of her skin, like someone dropped a snake in her bed.

“Hey!” she cried at the slight, brows furrowed. “No touching! We have rules!”

Danny didn’t reply. Instead, his head went sideways, his whole body ejected from the armchair. She gasped as his body hit the floor with a thud, and felt an iron grip pull her away by her upper arm.

Suddenly, Peter was in front of her, eyes filled with fire, standing defensively between her and the sorrysonofabitch that groped her. The champion boxer groaned on the floor, dazed by the ringing in his skull.

“Get her outta here,” Peter muttered as he stood over the assailant, but Felicia was already at Honey’s side, whisking her away. Everyone else remained statuesque. Danny lifted off the ground and Peter met him immediately with another wrecking ball punch.

In the back of Peter’s mind, he heard shouting. Threats. Guns drawn.

But Peter didn’t care. Because that was only the first hit, and he had more to give.

Danny was flattened after the first blow.

The second loosened his jaw.

The third knocked out teeth.

The fourth and fifth cracked bone.

The sixth wasn’t for Danny, it was for one of his bodyguards who tried to tackle Peter from behind. In response, Peter lodged the man’s body into the concrete wall.

Gunshots rang out. He didn’t know from where. He didn’t know from who. Didn’t matter.

The seventh punch was the last thing Danny would ever see out of his right eye. As it left his body, so did the ability to fight back.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

“Pete! Stop!”

—don’t stop—

Miguel was there. Somewhere.

—teach him a lesson—

Eleven.

—savagry will be met savagely—

Twelve.

—no one goes unpunished—

Thirteen.

Honey had a point. Time really was the key to the whole universe.

Time was everything.

Uncle Ben used to say that all anyone has is time and what they choose to do with it. Ben Parker was a good man. Ahead of his time, in many ways, and also a relic of a time gone by.

Peter used to be obsessed with time, astounded by the significance of a single moment of his life. One little choice. He imagine what his life would be like if he hadn’t intervened in the convenience store. What if he’d just let it go? He should’ve zipped up his hoodie, tucked in his chin, took off down the sidewalk, and left well-enough alone.

Maybe things would be different. Maybe Ben and May would still be alive. Maybe Peter’s whole life would be different. Maybe he’d be more than just a monster.

It was just a moment. A split-second choice.

In less than 18 hours, Danny Rand was set to become the next heavyweight champion of the world, broadcasting and streaming all over TV and Pay-Per-View.

Now, he was going to spend the rest of his life eating through a tube. That’s what Felicia was telling him, right in this moment. She was pissed. She is pissed. Pissed at him.

what did she ever see in you anyway? — monster — can’t even stand the sight of you — parasite—you’re fuckin’ pathetic. a psycho-stalker creep—

“He’ll live,” Peter said emotionlessly, still lost in a cloud of darkness. He was standing in his foyer at the penthouse—how the fuck did I get here—and Felicia stopped talking.

Peter blinked again, and she was gone. He looked at the clock, brows furrowed with confusion. It was still night, but too much time had passed. How long had Felicia been gone? How long has he been standing here?

How long has it been since he was anything other than alone?

The sound of soft giggles filled the air, and his feet were moving towards them. He was outside of himself. Watching himself. Split in two. Torn apart.

And then he saw her.

Honey was dancing, twirling around the living room wrapped in a terrycloth bathrobe, her hair wet from a recent shower. The lamps were off, but the room was lit up by her presence. Behind her, outside of his 30 foot windows, the glittering backdrop of a sleepless city sparkled like fireflies in the night. She fluttered like a butterfly, her wings beating to a melody that only she could hear.

She was elated. Beaming. At the sight of her, he felt the darkness pull back and the shadows lift. He was hypnotized. The fog melted off of his brain, and everything came into focus. Time moved on, steadily, second by second. He watched her, a smile playing on his lips that he wasn’t even aware of. Relishing every moment.

“Ooh!” She stopped suddenly, slackjawed at his presence. Embarrassed, he brought a hand up behind his neck. He really needed to stop staring at her like that, he thought. It was pretty creepy.

Honey ran towards him with stars in her eyes. She threw her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. Her tight embrace took his breath away, but not from the force. His body tensed, trembling hands lifted away. Slowly, he brought his arms down around her, folding her into his arms.

If only he had the power to stop time.

“Yay! You’re home!” she crooned with childlike joy. “Did you bring muffins? I love muffins. We should get some muffins. I can make some muffins.” She lifted her gaze, looking up at him as she rested her chin on his chest. “Also, I think I’m high.”

He let out a soft chuckle, cracking a smile. “Yeah, you’re high,” he laughed.

“Like really high?”

“Really high.”

“Like astronautical?”

“Astronomical,” he replied. “And yes. Like Hubble telescope high.” She giggled, blessing him with an endearingly pure grin that drew his soul from his body. His eyes flitted around her face, inspecting her eyes slightly pink from dryness, her skin naturally glowing from her face wash, her dopey smile topping it off. He allowed himself to just admire her, relishing in the warmth of her embrace.

But soon, his smile faded. The memories of that evening trickled back in.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, eyes filled with concern. He pried his own hands from her body, allowing her to stand freely on her own. It was important that he respect the rule that he had nearly beaten a man to death to defend.

“Me?” She pointed at her own chest, as if she was unsure who he was talking to.

He laughed, “Yes, you. Are you okay? How you feelin’? D’you need some water? Need anything?”

“I drank water,” she nodded dutifully. “I love water. Your water tastes so good. Everything tastes so good. Have you tried muffins? They’re so good.”

“That they are,” Peter nodded. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

She sprang to life, eyes lit up like fireworks. “But I’m not even tired! I want to stay up... Stay up all night!” There was a teasing mischief in her eyes that made him dizzy every time he looked straight at it.

“It’s late,” he remarked with a sober tone, letting his eyes fall to the floor. “You should get some sleep. You’ll feel better.” A familiar pang thrummed in his skull, piercing behind his eyes. His fingers kneaded at the ache.

“But I feel great!” she chirped, bouncing over to the couch and plopping down on it. “Let’s watch a movie! Let’s watch—ooh, we should order pizza.”

He pushed a smile on his face, although exhaustion weighed down his limbs. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think you outta be going to bed.”

“Is that what you want? To take me to bed... Daddy?”

Time stopped. His stomach clenched painfully, like he’d been kicked in the ribs and tossed down a flight of M.C. Escher stairs. Timidly, he looked back at her.

Everything had changed. He had the urge to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

She was leaned back, propping herself up with her palms. Her body was draped scandalously across his sofa. The white robe she was wearing was dampened by her wet locks. The cowl hung dangerously low on her shoulders, revealing taut skin stretched over her clavicle that softly curved towards her cleavage. The belt was tied loosely around her waist allowing a peek at the inside of one of her thighs.

If her body was a sin, the look on her face was the devil.

The sweetness was gone. Seared off. Caramelized by a flame burning in her eyes that threatened to melt him. Her lip curled into a sultry smile, spicy heat dusted on her lips. The thought of tasting the fire there made him sweat.

This… wasn’t a dream. Was it?

He was gawking, he was pretty sure. Staring at her with an almost virginal awe. She bent one of her knees, sliding it higher up. Spreading her thighs a little wider. He swallowed hard, eyes trained on the pathway of soft flesh leading to her core.

“You like that, huh?” she cooed, her voice an intoxicating blend of coquettish mischief and innocent curiosity. He took a step backwards. Unwilling to trust his eyes. Or his body. “You have your little nicknames and I have mine,” she grinned. “You can call me Honey if I get to call you Daddy.”

The tips of his ears were burning red. The sound of his blood pumping was like an incoming tsunami. Rushing to the areas of him that had come alive with just a few words. He swallowed hard.

“Come over here,” she said, rolling her head to the side. “I wanna tell you a secret.”

His eyes were hyper-focused on the way her teeth pinched her bottom lip. His stomach was twisted into a pretzel. He considered the distance between them, a few feet of ceramic tile, and doubted it was enough space. Not with her looking at him like that. Like she was the predator. He felt unsafe in her gaze.

“I, uh…” his voice tremored, “I don’t think... that’s a good—“

“I have a theory,” she sang. “Wanna hear?”

He slammed his eyes shut, sealing them off from her seduction. “Is it about time?”

“No. It’s about power,” she said with a Cheshire grin. Curiosity pried his eyes back open. She was giddy, shimmying her shoulders, with a sing-song voice. “I never noticed this before but... I have all of it. And you have none at all.”

He stilled. Eying her, turning over what she’d said in his mind

“I can prove it too,” she teased, glowing. “Watch.”

She brought her arm up, curling her finger in a come-hither motion. He stared at the end of her finger like it was the barrel of a gun. He looked up at her face, seeing a hunger there for more than just food.

“Sit.”

The single word made his cock twitch. He swallowed a groan, holding back a grimace. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her body. Fists clenching and unclenching. Once he met her eyes again, the look there was pure lust, implanting sinful images into his brain.

Maybe she was right. If she was all-powerful, she’d just discovered that power and was flaunting it like a kid who had just found their dad’s gun.

He was trembling. Folding like a house of cards. He was so fucked. Slowly, he treaded to the sofa, stopping at the far end opposite her, and sat down. She watched him sit back with the distance of a whole continent between them. It wasn’t enough. It didn’t deter her.

She crouched onto her hands and knees and began a slow crawl towards him. He averted his eyes from the parting of her robe at her chest, staring forward again. His headache was getting worse. Everything was getting worse.

“Now, do you wanna hear my secret?” she whispered, stalking towards him like a lionness.

His jaw clenched. His fist clenched. “I thought you already told me your secret.”

She was suddenly at his side, pulling his gaze towards her by his chin. He felt pliable. Moldable. “I have lots of secrets,” she whispered dangerously.

Unsafe, was all he could think about, gazing in her lustful eyes. He felt like taffy in her grip, melting into the sofa as she climbed on top of his lap, straddling his thighs.

His breath hitched, feeling her heat everywhere—his chest, his belly, down to the hardness beneath his belt. She was electrifying him, burning him from the inside out. He didn’t need to touch her. In fact, his fingers were buried into the sofa cushions, tearing holes in the upholstery. Just feeling her up against him made him want to rip his own skin off.

Then she rolled her hips against his. His lashes fluttered shut. Brain exploding. Muscles straining. It was like she’d dug her fingers in through his chest and ripped out his insides. He was being torn apart. It hurt. Pure, blissful agony. It dragged an involuntary groan up from his lungs and out through his teeth.

His eyes opened, softly panting, knuckles white. The person staring back at him was more than a devil.

She was temptation incarnate, wrapped up in a bow.

“My secret,” she cooed tauntingly, “is that I’m not a good girl.” His eyes followed hers, neither of them blinking, like two serpents in showdown. Each one threatening to swallow the other whole. “I never was.”

She crushed her heat against his, letting her fingers trail up the buttons of his chest. The sensation made every hair of his stand on end.

“I’m not sweet.” She didn’t say the words, rather she moaned them. He felt the rumble of her chest against his, her lashes fluttering closed. He was hyper aware of the friction between them. The two of them were like magnets pushing towards one another. Every fiber of fabric that separated them felt like sandpaper.

Her hands traveled up his chest, fingers fanning out over the soft spot at the base of his neck. Like he was made of rubber, he dropped his head against the back of the couch. He breathed deep and slow, cock twitching at the feeling of the pressure she placed on his trachea. She was riding him, rutting against him at a tantilizing, torturous pace.

Staring up at her beneath heavy lids, jaw clenched tight, he struggled to not picture what they must look like. The image of her rubbing against him would brand itself into his brain forever. A picture like that would drive him mad, or even worse, he might rip apart her robe or the couch, or both. Instead, he drove his fingers into the sofa, as if attempting to push his fingers in between the threads.

“I’m not an angel,” she breathed, her voice trembling, “or a doll, or a peach, or a baby.”

From his neck, her fingers grazed down to his concrete shoulders. He was so tight. Biceps locked up, abs were steel, every other part of him was rock hard. He was hypnotized with lust, intoxicated with want. With her hands on his shoulders, she had better control—or at least the illusion of it. A particularly heavy grind pulled a whimper from her lips, and he was terrified that if he heard it again he’d come on the spot.

“I hate being called those things almost as much as I hate being bossed around,” she breathed hotly, her mouth falling agape. He licked his lips at the sight. “I can’t st-stand being controlled by... by anyone.”

She dragged her hips up and down. A breath caught in his throat as he realized he could feel her wetness seeping through his pants. He breathed deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring. His own voice was screaming in his head—don’t look down, don’t look at her body, whatever you do, don’t look at her—while another darker voice encouraged a primal response.

“I h-hate all of those things,” she groaned, her hips grinding steadily now against one of his thighs. He wasn’t sure if she could feel the outline of his cock through his slacks, but he could certainly feel her. Her heartbeat thrummed faster. With her mouth lewdly agape, she leaned her weight over his torso, tickling the shell of his ear with her breath.

“Except when you do them,” she gasped sinfully. His heart nearly stopped at her words. This wasn’t a dream. This was the gates of hell.

“Because when you do it, it feels good. I like the way it feels.”

Every word crawling through his brain like an earworm. A parasite burrowing deeper in his skull.

“Stop...” he breathed, his voice barely strong enough to carry the word.

—don’t stop—

“Everything you do feels good.”

—this isn’t real—

“When you tell me to come to bed...”

—desperate whore, wants it bad—

“When you dress me up in pretty things and show me off.”

—this isn’t right, she’s not right—

“Even when you hurt people to protect me.”

—filthy slut—

“When you look at me like you wanna fuck me in front of all of your friends.”

—this isn’t what she wants—

—she wants to hurt you. wants the pain—

“All my life everyone’s always made me feel like I was less than. Like I was worthless. But when you look at me, I feel special. I’m your favorite toy.”

—stop her—

—silver tongue—

“It’s sick,” she breathed, her voice edging on ecstasy. She dug her fingernails so hard into his skin it hurt. Every part of his body hurt.

—she’s close—

—none of this is real she doesn’t fucking love you and you know it—

—you’re unworthy—

“I’m s-so sick,” she moaned. “So-so br-broken.”

—stop this—

—don’t stop, you worthless fool—

An unhinged laugh bubbled up behind her words. “I fucking l-l-love it...” Her eyes rolled up in her head. Peter bit down so hard he could taste blood. “I... God, Peter, fucking break me apart—”

His hands were on her like a crack of thunder. Gripping her by the shoulders, he lifted her body up, twisting around and slamming her flat on the sofa. The force punched the air from her lungs. The whole world flipped, her head spinning from the dizzying speed. The drugs in her system were only stepping on the gas pedal.

Her wrists were pinned together above her head in a move so swift she barely registered it had happened. He loomed over her, eyes blown black, chest heaving. She felt her stomach flip, dropping down into the pit of a rollercoaster. Her muscles tensed, pelvic floor twitching—fuck me that feels so good fuck me fuck me Peter punish me—

His hand clapped down over her mouth, ice shooting from his lips. “Shut up.”

She gasped at the change in tone. Eyes wide open and frighteningly alert, she gazed up at his swirling visage.

“Stop means stop,” he breathed darkly, his voice trembling with a rage that she couldn’t fathom. His hands were frigid steel exposed to winter. Colder than a corpse. For a moment, everything was blindingly clear in her mind. Washed out with bright lights that burned her eyes.

Something was wrong.

This wasn’t safe. She wasn’t safe.

Soon her own thoughts were drowned out by the slamming of her heart in her chest. In a horrified daze, she stared up at him, too afraid to blink. She read the anger on his face. The lust. The sharp line drawn between his brows. Eyes black as onyx.

Solid black.

Everything was wrong.

Her chest jolted in short gasps. She struggled to take in air through the giant palm stretched across her mouth. Her chest was tight. Whole body pulled tight. Her hands felt glued together. Even if it were possible, she was too terrified to move. Her nostrils flared frantically. She was paralyzed. Bound by darkness. By the black of his eyes.

She couldn’t breathe. The world was going darker.

Fading to black.

When her eyes cracked open, it felt like they were covered in gum and her eyelids were made of sandpaper. Harsh daylight flooded in through the windows. Immediately, she felt throbbing at the base of her skull. She ached from dehydration.

Her body was a desert. A barren wasteland. A potato chip.

She groaned weakly, dragging her hands down her face. When her vision came into focus, her brow furrowed with confusion.

She wasn’t the bedroom. Not hers. Not Peter’s. She was in the living room, spread out on the couch wearing a bathrobe that was in danger of falling open and revealing her chest. Blushing, she yanked on the sides of the robe, covering herself modestly.

Her mind was covered by a fog. A thick haze made her memories feel like fleeting shadows. Glancing around the living room, she was even more baffled by the fact that she was alone. Not a soul in sight.

Drop by drop, her recollection of the night before revealed itself, like droplets of water streaking through condensation on a window. She had tiny slivers to peek through, and in those cracks she could see the club. The music. Her awful dancing. Felicia. Eddie. Alcohol.

Already, this was a bad combination.

Peter. His face full of concern. He was worried. He was protecting her...

He was killing a man. Beating him to death. The blonde sleazeball in the tiny shirt. The one who touched her.

Her stomach lurched and buckled. Nausea choked her. Fighting off her dizziness, she cupped her mouth and stumbled out of the living room.

What had happened after that? Why did everything feel off? Unsafe? Why was that part of her mind just... empty?

Her feet carried her as quickly as they could down the hallway, anxiety twisting her stomach into knots.

There was a hole in her memory. A giant gap. She hated it. She hated not being able to remember.

She stopped in her tracks in the hall. Stilled her breath. Listened intently, wondering if she’d heard what she thought she’d heard. A voice that she didn’t recognize. And a moan. A breathless whimper.

Peter.

The recognition had a whiplash effect. Her heart skipped a beat and sank at the same time. Something was wrong.

Through the stillness, she heard it again. This time as a grunt. Grinding out in pain.

Why couldn’t she remember? What was it—it was right in front of her mind, and yet... it was too dark to see. The shadow of an eclipse. A dark spot.

A black hole.

She crept towards the sound warily, her feet like falling snow. At the end of the hallway, the door to Peter’s office was cracked open. A light spilling into the dark.

Another moan.

Something is wrong. Everything is wrong. She shouldn’t be here. This is stupid. She should run. Whatever is happening is wrong and she didn’t want to know about it. Didn’t want to see who could be in there with him. Making him make that sound.

She heard that voice again. Dark. Could only make out a single word.

“parasite”

And then another groan. It was unmistakably Peter. Unmistakable agony.

Against her better judgment, her toes propelled her forward. Easing slowly towards the gap in the doorway. Staring through the blinding light.

A lithe body laid back against the side of his desk, long legs spread out across the floor. It was Peter, wearing the same clothes he did at the club the night before. But everything else about him was unrecognizable.

His skin was pale, corpse-like. Baggy circles beneath his eyes. His body shivered like he was fighting an icy fever. Dress shirt was shredded, torn open, with bloody claw marks on his chest that look like he’d been mauled by a lion. In his lap, he cradled one arm. The other hand trembled as he held the plunger of a hypodermic needle.

She watched in horror as he injected a substance into his twitching forearm. An ebony, oil-like liquid flowed from the syringe into his flesh, blackening a vein as it traveled up his arm. His eyes rolled back, head thumping against the desk.

The black stain spread like ink through water. Cutting through his body faster than blood could travel, branching out like black bine stems across his skin. Black oil oozed from the chest wounds, and after a few blinks, the lacerations vanished. Faded as if they were never there.

Jagged lines covered his body, as if someone took roads on a map and tattooed them on his skin. Soon the etched lines followed the path of his lymph nodes, up his neck, and across the sharp curves of his face. His eyelids opened to reveal onyx orbs beneath, glassy black and void of life. Void of light. Inhuman.

Monstrous.

She blinked rapidly, doubting her own vision. Questioning her sanity. Debating her own logic, even her wakefulness, as she watched the stain spread until it had consumed his body.

Not a stain. Not a tattoo either.

Whatever it was, it was moving. And it was alive.

Continue to Part 13

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