Hi everyone. For anyone who is Following my new Daryl x oc story on Wattpad. I decieded to change my oc character's name. The way i have thought the story going, its best if her name isnt samantha. even if i love the name for her so much. I have a plan, but that wont be happening for awhile. Also, working on chapter 2 now, so it will be out hopefully in the next few days.
Also for anybody wondering why i havent put it on tumblr. It's because I have heard to many stories on poeple getting their stories stolen from here and havent heard it hapening to Wattpad, at least not alot anyway.
oh I just had a wicked, awful, horrible thought thot
Captive!Ransom torturing you and your sister...
always public displays of affection in front of your sister
perhaps sneaking you away into your sister's childhood bedroom while visiting your parents, and definitely having his way with you in there
making you fall apart around his cock in earshot of your sister (in the next room, around a corner, etc)
and he's genuinely wanting you, but it's just this incredible icing on the cake that he can use his own pleasure to torture and punish you both
...
ok, I'll see myself out
This isn’t just wicked, it’s W I C K E D
And I fucking loooove it lol 😮💨🤌🏻
I mean looook. As hard as you tried to do good by her, your sister isn’t exactly a great person. At the end of the day, she wanted to use Ransom. She doesn’t have genuine, deep feelings for him, and she didn’t think of you much unless she needed something, so. I’m not gonna feel too badly about this one 😈
The only reason Ransom was even able to herd you into your sister’s childhood bedroom in the first place was because of your damn pregnancy hormones.
Despite everything, and the way he had torpedoed your life—ruined it—he was very gifted when it came to sex.
And lately, it didn’t take much at all for you to go pliant for his spicier attention.
To beg for it even.
You didn’t have many functioning brain cells left once he had you perched on the edge of your sister’s old dresser, and once he worked his hand beneath your dress, your panties were absolutely soaked by the time his fingers invaded them.
“Look at you, so wet and willing for me, huh, kitten?” Ransom cooed.
He laughed when you whined and tried to hide your face against his chest. Instead, he gently gripped your throat and guided your head back against the mirror behind you so he could trail lingering, open-mouthed kisses down the length of our throat.
Because if there was one thing Ransom loved, it was how responsive you were to him, especially in moments like this. Especially after everything.
You gasped his name so sweetly as he eased two thick fingers into your cunt, and it only took a few strokes as his thumb circled your clit to have you coming with a sharp cry.
“You make it so easy, baby,” Ransom laughed breathlessly before pulling back to quickly undo his pants. “And you got me so fucking hard for you.”
And the icing on the cake?
When his eyes flickered up to spy your sister peeking into the room—an avid audience with a hateful look adorning her pretty features.
It made his cock throb and dribble another deluge of precum as he pretended not to see her, and delighted in the fact that you genuinely hadn’t seen her, because you were so fucked out and head empty already.
So you begged so sweetly as he forcefully slotted himself between your legs and forced them wide. Pressing another kiss to your willing lips as his free hand cradled your swollen belly.
“If you weren’t already knocked up, I’d breed you right here, I’m so fucking hard for you,” he husked, making sure his voice was loud enough for your sister to hear. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me this fucking desperate, kitten.”
Dropping his forehead to yours, Ransom lined himself up, reveling in your wanton keen as the thick head of his cock stretched your drippy hole.
His eyes peeked up from beneath the flop of his hair, looking in the mirror, seeing your sister watch as he slowly impaled you on his cock. He grinded his hips in that way he knew made you go wild, made you give this breathy cry of his name as he bottomed out and nearly came right then and there, just from the fucking thrill—and victory—of it all.
oh I just had a wicked, awful, horrible thought thot
Captive!Ransom torturing you and your sister...
always public displays of affection in front of your sister
perhaps sneaking you away into your sister's childhood bedroom while visiting your parents, and definitely having his way with you in there
making you fall apart around his cock in earshot of your sister (in the next room, around a corner, etc)
and he's genuinely wanting you, but it's just this incredible icing on the cake that he can use his own pleasure to torture and punish you both
...
ok, I'll see myself out
This isn’t just wicked, it’s W I C K E D
And I fucking loooove it lol 😮💨🤌🏻
I mean looook. As hard as you tried to do good by her, your sister isn’t exactly a great person. At the end of the day, she wanted to use Ransom. She doesn’t have genuine, deep feelings for him, and she didn’t think of you much unless she needed something, so. I’m not gonna feel too badly about this one 😈
The only reason Ransom was even able to herd you into your sister’s childhood bedroom in the first place was because of your damn pregnancy hormones.
Despite everything, and the way he had torpedoed your life—ruined it—he was very gifted when it came to sex.
And lately, it didn’t take much at all for you to go pliant for his spicier attention.
To beg for it even.
You didn’t have many functioning brain cells left once he had you perched on the edge of your sister’s old dresser, and once he worked his hand beneath your dress, your panties were absolutely soaked by the time his fingers invaded them.
“Look at you, so wet and willing for me, huh, kitten?” Ransom cooed.
He laughed when you whined and tried to hide your face against his chest. Instead, he gently gripped your throat and guided your head back against the mirror behind you so he could trail lingering, open-mouthed kisses down the length of our throat.
Because if there was one thing Ransom loved, it was how responsive you were to him, especially in moments like this. Especially after everything.
You gasped his name so sweetly as he eased two thick fingers into your cunt, and it only took a few strokes as his thumb circled your clit to have you coming with a sharp cry.
“You make it so easy, baby,” Ransom laughed breathlessly before pulling back to quickly undo his pants. “And you got me so fucking hard for you.”
And the icing on the cake?
When his eyes flickered up to spy your sister peeking into the room—an avid audience with a hateful look adorning her pretty features.
It made his cock throb and dribble another deluge of precum as he pretended not to see her, and delighted in the fact that you genuinely hadn’t seen her, because you were so fucked out and head empty already.
So you begged so sweetly as he forcefully slotted himself between your legs and forced them wide. Pressing another kiss to your willing lips as his free hand cradled your swollen belly.
“If you weren’t already knocked up, I’d breed you right here, I’m so fucking hard for you,” he husked, making sure his voice was loud enough for your sister to hear. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me this fucking desperate, kitten.”
Dropping his forehead to yours, Ransom lined himself up, reveling in your wanton keen as the thick head of his cock stretched your drippy hole.
His eyes peeked up from beneath the flop of his hair, looking in the mirror, seeing your sister watch as he slowly impaled you on his cock. He grinded his hips in that way he knew made you go wild, made you give this breathy cry of his name as he bottomed out and nearly came right then and there, just from the fucking thrill—and victory—of it all.
Hey Siri! I was talking to Veni yesterday about Bratty Beta universe and now I can't stop thinking about it...
How would Ransom react if the Reader got pregnant? I remember he had a hard time accepting being a beta in our amazing trouple.. Is he jealous? Happy? Does he feel excluded?
Thanks!🫶🏻
Unshakeable
Pairing: Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader x Ransom Drysdale
Word Count: 1,678
Summary: You receive some shocking news, and you’re worried it may drive Ransom away.
Warnings: Explicit language. Omegaverse AU. MFM trio. Mentions of birth control. Unexpected pregnancy. Tiny bit of angst, and lots of feels.
A/N: This ask ate away at my brain since the moment I read it, and I’m so happy I finally had some time to write this lil oneshot. Tbh, I’m not sure if this is canon for this trio, or maybe an AU scenario, but you can decide for yourself. I’m leaning towards canon on my end. I think this is the family and happily ever after Ransom needs in his life 🥹
Bratty Beta Masterlist
It was wildly unexpected, because you had been on birth control.
But then again, with as often as you were filled with Ari and/or Ransom’s cum, you supposed it wasn’t really that shocking.
Only, it was.
It so was.
You were beyond shocked–shaken, and scared.
Because this wasn’t the plan.
Your pack had had exactly one conversation about the potential for future pups once Ransom was fully integrated into your trio, and he had seemed so against the idea that you and Ari had agreed to revisit the discussion at a later time.
But it seemed as if that discussion would never happen, because the Universe had butted in and made this decision for all three of you.
And now you couldn’t help but wonder: what if this drove Ransom away? What if this made him hate you? Despise you? Never want to have anything to do with you or Ari ever again?
What if you had ruined the best thing in your life–the pack that you loved so very, very much?
At that thought, a swell of devastation nearly took you out. It was an emotional overwhelm you had never felt before, and it was insane that you were already experiencing hormonal changes.
But you were.
Because you were pregnant.
You were pregnant.
It took you all day to gather the courage to tell your alpha and beta.
Of course they both knew that something was up, since you had spent a majority of the day hiding from them.
Locked away in the spare bedroom, you had gone over how you wanted the conversation to go a million times in your head. As much as you tried to remain optimistic, the only outcome you could foresee was Ransom's utter disgust at this new and unexpected development.
You knew Ari would be happy–thrilled even–but your sensitive beta?
Your greedy-for-your-attention-always beta?
When it all became too much for you to handle alone, you finally emerged from the spare bedroom to join Ari and Ransom in the living room. They had been watching TV together, but at your sudden appearance–and anxious demeanor–Ari turned it off as they both turned their full attention to you.
You struggled to meet either of their gazes as you tentatively sat in the armchair adjacent to them so you could see them both, even if you were actively avoiding their gazes now as you tried to hang on to the frayed thread of courage within you.
Leg shaking to try to offset the swell of nerves that were close to consuming you entirely, you couldn’t help it as you peeked up and caught Ari’s gaze.
His brow was furrowed in concern at your soured scent and hunched shoulders. But you saw it–the moment he knew without even being told. His nostrils flared as he inhaled your scent, a scent he was so familiar with by now, that he knew every layer to, and he could instantly detect the new and unfamiliar layer that indicated your condition.
You watched as Ari’s eyes widened before his lips split into a joyful grin, but when he saw you were still looking distressed and terrified, his grin faded into a small, worried frown.
“What is going on?” Ransom huffed, having witnessed the weird, wordless exchange between the two of you. “Is this about our summer vacation plans again? I already told you I am not un-vetoing Florida, because ew. Fuck that humidity.”
“No,” your voice trembled as your gaze shifted from Ari to Ransom.
Just rip the bandaid, you urged yourself. Just get it over with.
Taking a deep breath, you did just that, whispering, “I’m pregnant.”
It was immediate the way Ransom’s face shuttered. There was the most fleeting look of shock across his handsome features before his indifferent mask slid into place–something he rarely, if ever, used with you and Ari anymore–and everything about him just went blank.
Like he had shut off.
Like you had broken him.
Which in turn, broke you.
You couldn’t help it as you promptly burst into tears. All of the fear and anxiety you’d been stewing in all day finally got the best of you, like an emotional tsunami sweeping you away.
You were so lost to your devastation at the thought of losing Ransom, your body wracking with heaving sobs as you curled in on yourself, that you didn’t realize you were wrapped in two pairs of strong, comforting arms, instead of just one.
“Oh my god, fine, we can go to Florida!” Ransom huffed, trying to make light of the situation–of your complete and total meltdown–but his voice was off, and so was his scent, both laden with unrestrained panic.
You sniffled as you peeked up at him, your instinct to comfort him nearly bowling you over, even now, and you were relieved to see that Ransom’s bright blue eyes were no longer closed off but shining with concern and his own distress as he watched you.
“You don’t hate me?” You trembled, your shaky fingers reaching for him and clinging to his forearms.
Ransom scoffed. “What? Of course not! Does being knocked up make all sense evaporate or something?”
“Beta,” Ari rumbled the warning softly, his stink eye aimed at Ransom nearly making you giggle.
Ransom just rolled his eyes in response. “I’m just saying! It’s not like it’s her fault and hers alone. Pretty sure we had a hand in it too. Well, not ‘a hand,’ more like a different part of anatomy,” he snickered.
“This doesn’t change things for you?” you pressed, worried Ransom’s jokes were just a facade, a different kind of mask than before. “It doesn’t make you want to…” you struggled to even say the words aloud. “It doesn’t make you want to leave us?”
“Pffft.” Ransom waved a dismissive hand without hesitation. “As if you could ever get rid of me that easily. We all know I’m the glue that holds this pack together.”
His reaction seemed too good to be true, and you couldn’t help it as you continued to watch him, still terrified and unsure, even as a tiny bit of hope began to spark to life deep inside you.
As Ransom drank in your big, tearful eyes and look of distress–your blatant fear–his handsome features softened. Sighing, he reeled you close, dipping his head to intentionally meet your gaze head on, without wavering, so you could see how much he meant his words as he spoke them.
“I’m not upset,” he said firmly. “Shocked? As fuck. Mad? No. Annoyed that now there will be yet another member of our pack vying for your attention? Undoubtedly. Excited to see you get all cute, round, and glowy with our pup? Fucking hell yes.”
You heaved a deep exhale of relief that sounded more like a muffled sob as you sank against him, sniffing back more tears.
“You were meant to be a mother,” Ransom murmured against your hair, causing a shaky chirp to fall from your lips. “Even if I’m scared shitless at the prospect of… yanno, being a father,” he whispered the last part so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.
“Bold of you to assume you’re the one that got her pregnant,” Ari joked, easing into the conversation now that your greatest fear had been alleviated.
Ransom scoffed again, shooting your alpha an arrogant look. “Puh-lease, my swimmers have swimmers, I’m so virile.”
You giggled, and it was watery, but it was happy, relieved tears that streamed down your face now as you reeled both men close and shakily breathed them in, drowned in their familiar, comforting scents in a moment when you needed it most.
“I’m really scared,” you confessed. “This wasn’t what we planned for. Wasn’t even on the radar anytime soon. What if–“
Ari kissed you quiet, muffling your concerns against his lips as he swallowed your gasp and hummed as you sank into him with a helpless whine.
He was slightly breathless once he pulled away and told you, “Ransom’s right, omega, you will make an incredible mother. And you won’t be doing this alone. Ever.”
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ransom muttered. “I am recusing myself from diaper duty. Ever.” At Ari’s glare, he huffed. “But I will obviously make up for it in other ways! Like spoiling this kid rotten. They will wear the best name brands money can buy. Their sweater collection will give mine a run for its money. They’ll–“
This time, you were the one kissing Ransom quiet. You framed his face between your hands as you pulled away, giving him a soft, dopey smile as you told him, “I love you.”
Ransom gaped at you for a beat before his cheeks went pink and he tried to play off his delight with a sassy, “Rightfully so. I’m amazing.”
Laughing, you turned to Ari, pulling him in for a soft kiss, then pressing your forehead to his as you lingered close. “You’re happy?” You checked in, eyes flickering between his.
But his gaze was as direct and warm as ever. “I’m ecstatic, sweetheart. This is such a gift, and so are you.”
“I love you,” you whispered just before his lips touched yours.
“Love you more,” your alpha hummed once he retreated.
Then he turned to Ransom and yanked him in for a steamy kiss, grinning as he pulled away to find your bratty beta dazed and even pinker than before. “And we are definitely working some teeny tiny crop tops into the baby’s wardrobe. No changies.”
Giggling, and feeling much lighter than you had when you first saw the positive pregnancy test, you cuddled close between your alpha and beta. As they bickered about your baby’s future fashion sense, you couldn’t help the big, happy grin that split your lips.
Because even the most shocking and unexpected revelation hadn’t shook them, hadn’t shook your pack, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that no matter what may come your way, you would never need to handle it alone.
You were in this–all of this–together.
🥹🥹🥹 No thoughts, only feels 😭
—
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Eeeeep! I’m so glad you think I did the contrast of their reactions justice! I honestly was a little worried because my plan was for Ranson to have more of a meltdown, but when I was writing it, it just wasn’t happening. Which I’m happy about honestly, for Reader more than anything. She was in such a vulnerable position 🥺
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
Reader pronouns: she/her
Words: 4,490
Warnings: None! Oh, language per usual haha
Era: The Whisperers
Summary: Daryl can't seem to get you out of his head. And things at Hilltop turn even more tense.
A/N: This one is mostly (important) plot development, but I promise the next chapter brings Daryl and the reader back together :D
Tara and Daryl walked across Hilltop together. Dog trotted at his side. “You’ve got to be exhausted, huh? A lot has happened in the last few days. Too much,” she said quietly, her expression turning sad, and Daryl knew she was thinking of Jesus.
He put a friendly hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Hilltop is lucky to have ya, Tara.” She returned a tight smile, her eyes glistening a little. “Where’s Henry at?” he asked.
“I pulled him out of the cell. He’s back to training with Earl. He hasn’t caused any more trouble so far. I think he learned his lesson. If you ask me, he was just trying to find his place, fit in. But he’s been asking to see the girl. A lot,” she said, her eyebrows lifting.
Daryl nodded, adjusting his pack, and raised his hand to nestle the edge of his thumbnail in between his teeth. He chewed it thoughtfully for a moment. “Maybe we can use that,” he drawled.
“Yeah. I had the same thought,” she agreed. “But they’re also just kids...”
“Yeah...” he agreed. “She hasn’t said anything else? Ya get anythin’ outta her?” Daryl asked.
Tara shook her head. “No. She was asking a lot of questions though. Mainly about your new friend,” Tara said pointedly.
“Y/N,” Daryl said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck almost nervously as he spoke your name. The motion wasn’t lost on Tara.
“Oh, you actually got her name?” Tara laughed a little. “Y/N. Okay. Well, Lydia was asking about her quite a bit.”
“‘Bout what? I mean, specifically.”
“She wanted to talk to her again. Privately. I told her she wasn’t here anymore.”
“What’d she say to that?”
Tara hummed thoughtfully. “Not much. But if I had to guess I think she was actually a little upset to hear that she was gone.”
“Did ya tell Lydia what Alpha did to Y/N? Almost killin’ her?” Daryl asked.
“No. You think we should? Would it make a difference?”
Daryl shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “It might. They were, uhh—they were kinda close once.”
Tara stopped walking and fixed a curious and somewhat surprised gaze on Daryl. “You got some of her backstory, didn’t you?”
Daryl shrugged. “Kinda. I mean, enough to better understand her anyway. A bit,” he said, ducking Tara’s eyes.
“Anything else I should know?” Tara asked. “About her?”
“Not really. Nothin’ ya prob’ly couldn’t guess on yer own. It—it ain’t my story to tell, ya know? But she told me a little more of what she knows ‘bout these Whisperers. And I think we got reason to be worried. Lydia bein’ here might put us into some deep shit, even beyond what we already know about them bein’ able to guide the dead.” Daryl hesitated. “Lydia is the leader’s daughter. Alpha. And according to Y/N, there’s a good chance she’s gonna come lookin’ for her.”
Tara’s brow furrowed low over her eyes. “How many of these Whisperers are there?” she asked.
Daryl shook his head. “I dunno. Enough. They’ve got a decent sized camp somewhere from what I could gather. And—she said Alpha has a horde. She uses it to destroy anybody she feels like gets in her way.”
The color seemed to drain from Tara’s face. “So, what do we do if this Alpha comes looking for her daughter? Give Lydia up?”
“Lydia would be our only real leverage but we might not have a choice. But from what Y/N told me, even if we think we make some kinda deal, it might not matter,” he said darkly.
Tara frowned. “What do you mean?”
Daryl cleared his throat. “We just—we can’t trust ‘em. Anyway, ’m gonna talk to the girl. See what else I can get. And maybe if I can’t, maybe Henry can. I’ll see ya later.”
Daryl headed for Lydia’s cell. On the way, he stopped by Earl’s blacksmith workshop. Henry was already there despite the early hour. He looked up when Daryl and Dog came walking up and stopped across the workbench from him. Henry gulped nervously. “Ya learn yer lesson?” Daryl growled.
Henry hung his head. “Yeah... Hey, where have you been? Enid only said you had to leave.”
“Outside the walls,” Daryl said.
“Doing what?” Henry asked.
“Doin’ none of yer business. Just focus on your trainin’, alrigh’?”
He started to walk away but Henry called him back. “Hey—they won’t let me see Lydia. Do you think—?”
“We’ll see,” Daryl growled. “But she might not be here long,” he said, turning to walk away.
“Wait! Daryl—wait!” Henry nearly stumbled over himself getting around to the other side of the bench. “What do you mean?”
“Her people are probably comin’ for her. And we might not have a choice but to send her back in exchange for some kinda peace if it comes to that,” he said.
“No, you can’t do that. You can’t send her back there,” Henry said urgently, his eyes wide.
Daryl’s, however, narrowed. “Why not? She tell ya somethin’?”
Henry gulped and shifted uncomfortably. “She—She told me about how they live. We can’t send her back to it. She got messed up out there...” he trailed off.
Daryl said nothing, hoping Henry would go on, and he did.
“She’s—she’s got these marks on her arms,” Henry said.
Daryl’s face seemed to cloud over with a shadow and his eyes narrowed sharply. “What kinda marks?”
“Scars. Like from being—whipped with something. I think something really bad has been happening to her, maybe for her whole life,” Henry said.
Daryl found himself gulping thickly at a sudden lump that materialized in his throat. “Stay here. Do your work. I’ll be back,” he said. And he and Dog were off again, leaving Henry standing there in the dust. He burst into the cellar and when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he found Lydia huddled in the corner like a frightened animal, cowering away at the unknown that was entering the room. Daryl came to stand at the bars. “I think we need to talk,” he drawled.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Lydia was sitting on the floor close to the bars, her posture the most open Daryl had seen it since he’d put her in there himself. He’d pulled up a crate to sit on, close on the other side. She looked up at him through teary eyes. “No one’s comin’ for me. If someone gets taken or killed, they just move on. Like they didn’t exist.”
Daryl paused thoughtfully. “That ain’t what she thinks. She thinks yer mom is gonna come for ya. Didn’t hesitate about that.”
Lydia fiddled with the filthy hem on her sleeve. She shook her head. “That’s against the rules. Her own rules. It’s not what we—what they do,” she corrected herself.
Daryl laced his fingers together and sighed. “Why didn’t you leave with her?” he asked Lydia suddenly. She looked up at him with wide brown eyes.
“What?”
“Back then. With Y/N. Ya helped her escape and she told me that she tried to get ya to come with, to leave. But ya wouldn’t.”
The tears shining in Lydia’s eyes broke out over her cheeks and ran down. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she said. “I was—I was little and my mom was all I’d ever known and being out there with her and with them felt like my whole world. I was scared. I—”
“S’okay,” Daryl interrupted. “It ain’t yer fault ya didn’t go. It ain’t that easy. And yer right, ya were just a kid.” He sat up. “She knows ya saved her life though. And I think—she regrets that she couldn’t talk ya into goin’. If I had to guess, anyway.” He stood up. “Eat. I’mma find ya some clean clothes and get ya some things so ya can clean up.”
There was some shuffling behind him as Lydia climbed to her feet. “Hey—can I—I mean—do you think I could talk to Henry again?” she asked nervously.
Daryl looked at her carefully but finally nodded. “Yeah. Once yer all cleaned up and ya’ve seen the doc. I’ll bring him down, okay?” He turned to leave again but she said his name one more time.
“I just—wanted to say thank you,” she said. “For—for not... being like she said you would.”
Daryl’s brow furrowed. “What d’ya mean?”
“My mom says that places like this don’t exist anymore. Places like this—they’re fighting against what the world is now because they can’t accept it. And she says that—people who aren’t ours are bad people. She always says that however bad things get with the way we live, there’s worse out there.”
Daryl nodded slowly. “Did yer mom ever tell ya what she did to Y/N’s people?” he asked.
Lydia looked suddenly pale and shook her head. “No. But—I could guess,” she said. “I’ve seen her do things before.”
Daryl nodded. “Yer mom is part of the reason why there ain’t more places like this,” he said. “I’mma go get ya those clothes.”
When he came up from the cellar stairs, Henry was standing not that far off. He rushed toward Daryl immediately, looking eager for news of Lydia. “Shouldn’t ya be workin’?” Daryl growled at him.
“I’m on a break,” he said. “What—what were you talking to her about?”
“Dun worry about it,” Daryl said.
“Can she stay here?”
Daryl stopped walking and rounded on Henry, fixing a stern look on him. “I hope so. But that might not be up to us. If her mom comes for her—”
“I saw those scars on your back. You know better than anyone what we’d be sending her back to,” Henry said hurriedly.
The muscle in Daryl’s jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth together. “Some things ain’t up to us, kid. It sucks. But the sooner ya figure that out, the less disappointed you’ll be. Now, go on. Get back to work.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
Daryl could see a heap lying ahead on the forest floor. Dog approached it quickly but the lack of raised hackles or growling told Daryl all he needed to know. As he got closer, the cloud of insects confirmed it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as the smell hit him—thick and heavy enough that he could taste it. “Dog, get outta there,” he said. Dog backed off and Daryl bent down to investigate the corpse.
There was a trickle of deep black blood on one side of the head and he stood again to roll the body over with his boot.
Just as he thought; the lacing on the back of the mask was visible on closer inspection. He pulled the grotesque skin mask off and tossed it to the ground with disgust. The hole in the side of the skull looked like that which an arrow left, but there was no sign of the projectile. Daryl sighed and stood up. Another dead end. But he had a gut feeling that at least some of the dead walkers and Whisperers he’d found (only a handful) had been left behind by you. Or maybe he was just hoping they were, because at least that would tell him you were doing okay. On an earlier trip, he’d heard the throaty call of a raven more than once and the hair had stood up on the back of his neck. Had it been Achilles?
This was the fourth time he’d been out searching for you, but with nothing concrete it was hard to know where to look next. For all he knew, you could be watching him from the treetops right now. Or you could be a hundred miles away.
He looked up into the canopy. The shroud of leaves was impenetrable. He didn’t really know why he kept looking for you. He supposed perhaps he still felt some responsibility for what you’d done for him and for Alden and Luke... and it had almost killed you. And he was truly fearful that something bad was going to happen to you and it was going to be because of the Whisperers. Daryl rubbed a hand over his face and tried to quiet his swirling thoughts.
It would be dark in a few hours. He should head back to Hilltop and check in. He’d been out for several days and he felt a prickle of guilt as he thought of Lydia and Henry. Hopefully they were both keeping to the straight and narrow, not making any more waves.
Time to head back.
¬_ _ _ _ _ _
As soon as Daryl and Dog pulled into Hilltop and he cut the engine of his bike, he knew something was wrong. The settlement was unusually quiet and the air felt heavy. There were small groups of people milling around. At first, he told himself it was just the leftover haze of grief from Jesus’s death. But he sensed it was more than that. People’s eyes seemed to be on him as he unloaded from his bike and the weight in the center of his chest grew heavier.
He quickly headed toward the big house up on the hill and found Tara pretty immediately after he pushed inside.
She rushed up to him before he could say a word.
“Daryl—”
“S’goin’ on?”
“Those Skins,” Tara started, her jaw clenching. “They showed up here.”
“What?” he growled. “What d’ya mean? How many?”
“I don’t know. Maybe twenty? But she was with them, the leader.”
Daryl expression darkened. “Where’s Lydia?” he asked urgently.
Tara looked wide-eyed. “She and Henry—”
“Fuck!” He swore before she could finish the sentence. “They ran?” he growled. “How long they been gone?” He started back outside, bursting through the front door and heading back toward his bike with Tara on his heels. Dog ran to meet them, barking.
“I don’t know exactly. We think they snuck out early this morning,” Tara said.
“What the hell are they thinkin’? They’re gonna get themselves killed out there,” he snapped. He headed straight for where Henry had been staying and burst inside. His eyes searched the room and then landed on a discarded t-shirt. He seized it and then turned on his heel to head back toward the gate.
“Daryl, she threatened to bring her horde here if we didn’t give up the girl,” Tara explained.
“Course she did.” He finished unstrapping his crossbow from his bike and swung it up onto his shoulder, letting out a long sigh. “Even if we give Lydia up, ya can’t trust any kinda deal with Alpha. Tha’s what Y/N said.”
Tara tensed. “So, what do we do if they come back?”
“Ya get ready. I’mma take Dog and see if we can track Henry and Lydia. Hopefully, I can find ‘em before Alpha does.” His heart was pounding. He thought of Carol. He had to find Henry and keep him safe. If Lydia had to go back to her people, she had to go back. But Henry was his responsibility. “Look, just get everybody ready in case they show up for a fight. Okay? I’ll be back as fast as I can. Hopefully they haven’t gotten too far yet.”
Tara nodded and grabbed him in a brief hug. “Be safe.”
He nodded and then called for the guards to open the gates. “Dog, track,” he commanded, holding Henry’s t-shirt down for him to sniff. “Track!”
Dog took off and they left the walls again.
_ _ _ _ _ _
You stared down at the small swirling herd below. It was perhaps fifty, maybe sixty walkers and you knew that The Shepherds were among them. No lone herd of walkers stayed stationary like that, swirling in place. And when the wind blew through the branches you were hidden within, you could occasionally hear a frail whisper on the air. You tucked your bow more tightly against your side.
You’d been ghosting along above this herd for almost an entire day as they picked their way slowly through the forest. Often they stopped to swirl below you, and you used those times to try and pick out which of the below figures were the undead and which were living. But the Shepherds with this herd were no amateurs. They hid themselves well and so far you’d be unsuccessful in spotting them.
You shifted to lean your back against the trunk behind you and there was a pang in your side as you adjusted your position. You lifted your shirt to peer at the now closed wound where Alpha’s knife had struck you. The skin had a somewhat purplish-pink tinge to it where the scar tissue zigzagged across your side. You sighed and let your shirt drop again.
You were contemplating giving up on this herd when suddenly there seemed to be purposeful movement starting again. You peered down through the trees and saw another small group of walkers inbound toward the swirling mass of the group you’d be stalking. And on the air—whispers. You strained your hearing.
“Close. She’s close...”
The hair stood up on the back of your neck and you lifted yourself into a crouching position, readying yourself to flee through the trees. Your heart started to pound. They’d spotted you? How? You’d been so careful. You’d been—
“The girl. The girl... She’s close... The girl.” Another whisper rose. “She’s not alone. There’s a boy. Find them. Get them,” the other voice hissed.
The girl. And a boy.
And you knew. You just knew. Lydia. And that boy who’d been in the other cell back at that community? What the fuck were they doing out here?
But you barely had time to mull this over. The herd was moving off with purpose. The Shepherds were on the move and they had a clear target.
You had to get to them first.
You rose to your feet and walked smoothly along the branches, jumping gaps between trees as silently and swiftly as a shadow. You overtook the herd but just as quickly realized you didn’t know what direction to go next. You had no idea where those two were...
Your eyes lifted to the canopy above you and the sky beyond. You let out a high-pitched whistle that mimicked birdsong and, in a few seconds, you heard a distant croak respond. You smiled. Achilles would find them.
His black silhouette came into view and soared ahead, wheeling in wider and wider circles. You continued moving through the trees, the growls and stench of the dead falling farther and farther behind. In another few minutes, Achilles returned and hovered over the tree you were in. He let out two raucous caws and then flapped ahead with direction and purpose. You smiled. He’d found them.
By the time Achilles alighted in the top of a tall pine you were out of breath and sweating from your journey through the treetops. You climbed lower and soon heard quiet voices. Sure enough, there was Lydia and the blond-haired boy who had been in the other cell at the Hilltop. They were resting in the shade of the large tree Achilles had perched in. A creek trickled past them and it would have been a nice spot for a rest if there wasn’t a herd of the dead and psychos wear dead faces just behind you.
You climbed onto the lower branches and observed them for a moment, straining to hear what they were talking about.
“Maybe we should just go south,” the boy was saying. “You know, where its warmer and stays sunny all year. My mom told me they have beaches with white sand down there.”
Lydia was smiling at him, though you could see anxiety on her face too. “Yeah. Maybe. Wherever we go, it has to be far away. Or she’ll find me.”
You took your opportunity and lowered yourself to dangle from the branch you were on before dropping lightly down onto your feet into the soft pine needles. The two of them startled and scrambled to their feet. The boy stepped in front of Lydia and brandished the stick in his hands. “Wherever you go, it won’t be far enough,” you said.
The boy’s jaw clenched and he had a stony expression on his face. Your hand reflexively went to your still healing side as you straightened up.
“Who—who are you?” he demanded, in a voice he probably hoped sounded more threatening than it did.
Lydia was peeking out from around his shoulder. “You?” she said in surprise.
It was about then that the slight dawning of recognition hit the boy’s face too. “Wait—you were at The Hillop,” he said. “You came down to the cells.”
You crossed your arms and surveyed the two of them as Lydia stepped forward beside him. “I really would have thought you were smarter than this, Lydia. What the hell are you doing? You’re going to get both of you killed,” you said. Your tone was a little harsher than intended.
“I know what I’m doing,” she said, but her voice was thin and unsure.
“I won’t let you send her back there!” the boy announced, stepping in front of her again.
You approached him slowly, studying his expression. He was determined, you had to give him that. “I have no intention of returning Lydia to the Shepherds.” Your eyes slid back to her again. “But Alpha is going to get her hands on you, one way or another out here. You know that.”
“No, she won’t,” the boy said firmly.
You met his eyes again and sighed. “What’s your name?”
He shifted, nervous. “You first,” he said. “And what do you want?”
You smiled at him wryly and then flicked your knife out of the sheath at your hip in one smooth motion. You flipped it around absently in your hand and then backed off and sunk down, still a little gingerly, on a nearby log. You nodded toward Lydia. “She knows. Her people call me a few different things, most of them insulting,” you said, flicking your thumb against the honed edge of your blade. “But The Ghost is my personal favorite,” you said. Overhead, Achilles let out a series of noisy caws and you glanced up toward the canopy, marking them.
Confusion muddled the boy’s features and he glanced at Lydia.
“They’re not my people anymore,” she said. “And we don’t need your help. So... why don’t you just go your way and we’ll go ours. Come on, Henry,” she said softly reaching for his arm.
“Henry, is it?” You spun your knife in your hand again and then snapped it back into its sheath unbelievably fast.
He stared back, still uncertain.
“How do you feel about taking on a herd of about 70, oh, maybe 80 dead. Along with some of her people in the mix? You know, the ones that wear these...” You reached into your canvas bag and pulled out a skin mask you’d taken off one of them just the day before and tossed it to the ground.
His expression stayed stony but his eyes landed on the mask and didn’t leave.
Lydia was even more ill at ease and grabbed at him arm again. “Henry—”
“Because they’re only a short way behind me. How do you think I found you?” You pulled yourself to your feet and sighed. “They’ve already spotted you. Alpha has eyes everywhere.”
“You’re lying,” Henry said.
You smiled grimly again. “Wish I was, kid. So, what’s your plan? Run to Florida?” you asked, your eyes flickering between them. “Hmm? Better get a move on.” Neither of them answered. “You should turn around right now and run back to where you came from,” you instructed. “At least that community has walls. And at least some of the people in them seem to know how to fight.”
“We’re not going back there. They’re going to send her back to her mom,” Henry said. “So, we can’t go back. We won’t.”
You mulled this over for a moment. “She found out?” You directed the question at Lydia and you didn’t need her to answer. You knew Alpha had located the settlement that had been holding her daughter, which also meant that The Hilltop was in an impossible position now. Regardless of what they decided about Lydia, they would have to fight Alpha and her army of the dead. “We have to move. Come on. No point sitting here trying to solve an impossible problem,” you said. “The dead and the Shepherds are right behind me. I wasn’t lying.” You started off through the brush at a brisk pace, moving in the opposite direction from the herds you’d observed merging and whispering, but you were on edge now. You knew the Shepherds had many scouts who served as eyes for the whole network of those who walked with the dead. You readied your bow with an arrow and then paused to see if the kids were following. “Come on,” you urged them. “We have to cover ground.”
They exchanged a final look and then Henry gripped Lydia’s hand and they started following behind you. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“Keep your voice down,” you growled at him over your shoulder. “Right now, just away,” you said. “We need some space from that herd.”
“Okay, but then where? It’s going to be dark soon,” Henry said.
You let out a huff of a laugh again. “I’m starting to think you didn’t think this whole running away thing through,” you retorted. You climbed over a downed tree and then froze as Achilles croaked overhead and his silhouette disappeared. You swore under your breath. You nocked an arrow on your bow and then stopped, turning in place. Your eyes searched the surrounding trees, looking for movement. “We’re not alone,” you murmured.
I love the way you think, and I apologize in advance for being so predictable…
Happily Ever After: Curtis - But OF COURSE I am picking my buzzed cut beloved as my HEA 😌 I just feel like Curtis would be so doting in his very quiet way 🥺 Like you never need to ask him to do anything, he’s just reliable and thoughtful and does it all. Leaky faucet? Fixed before you remember to tell him about it. You never run out of milk or eggs. When you mention you think you may be getting sick, you come home to homemade soup for dinner and restocked cold supplies and also Curtis constantly touching the back of his hand to your forehead with a 🥺 look to make sure you aren’t getting a fever. HE’S A KEEPER 😤
One Night Stand: Colin - One can only assume he has a queue of ladies lining up for a reason, so you may as well join in on the fun 😏
Epic Regret: Cole - Cole can’t always get his happy ending, and neither can you, since he has you locked in the spare barn on his family’s property until your new basement home is complete 🫠
Summary: He picked up the phone. He ignored the shake in his hand as his thumb pressed a series of digits he’d long ago memorized, just in case he ever had to call you from a phone that wasn’t his, on a line that couldn’t be traced. This was one of those times.
AN: This can be a stand-alone one-shot, but it fits well in the Every Second Counts-verse — between Bubbly and Breaking Point. (Inspired by 3x22 but not set in that episode.)
Posted on Patreon: May 29, 2026
Word Count: 2.7K
Tags & Warning: Angst, blood, “last words,” Colter sighting, hurt/comfort, tinge of spice and implied smut
You were really gonna kill him this time.
A grunt passed between his lips as he moved his hand back an inch, catching a gnarly glimpse of oozing blood and raw flesh under the soaked bandage square.
Yep. Smothered in his sleep, that was his bet. Or maybe a little Raid sprayed on his food—that would be creative. Because you knew he couldn’t resist your cooking.
Russell groaned and tried to push himself off the wall, but his body wouldn’t budge.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
He was a sitting fucking duck here. Literally.
A labored breath escaped him, along with another rivulet seeping through his shirt. His free hand itched for the cell phone lying beside him on the cement. Backup was on the way, taking a bit long though.
Time was always the question and the challenge. The decisions in between were what he was usually good at, even in moments like these.
He picked up the phone. He ignored the shake in his hand as his thumb pressed a series of digits he’d long ago memorized, just in case he ever had to call you from a phone that wasn’t his, on a line that couldn’t be traced. This was one of those times.
The line rang so long, he was losing hope that you’d answer.
Until your voice finally greeted him, with a raspy clearing of your throat and sleep-laden confusion.
“Hello?”
His lips raised toward a smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I woke you.”
“Russ? Hey…what’s this number you’re calling me from? You okay?” you asked. He heard the shifting of fabric.
He could imagine you sitting up in bed, leaning on your elbow as the sheets slid down your body a little. He closed his eyes. He could pretend he was there with you, sliding in from behind and burying his face in the familiar hollow of your neck and shoulder. Your hair would tickle his forehead, but he’d get the flowery mix of your soap and body lotion stuck in his nose, rather than the copper tang of blood.
“Yeah, everything’s cool,” Russell said. He bit the inside of his lip as the gray ceiling momentarily turned charcoal in his vision. There was numbness in his fingertips. “Just had a minute, wanted to check up on you.”
“I’m good,” you said. “Miss you though.”
He was trying to keep his breathing shallow, but he needed a deeper one then.
“Miss you too, baby.”
“When will you be home?”
“Soon as I can,” he said, stifling another pained grunt as he shifted against the wall. “Keep the lights on for me.”
“Yeah? Last time you said that, you were held up for three weeks," you said wryly. "Think I need to collab with Dory and invent a virtual lie detector."
“You know what, maybe you should just tell me what you’re wearing. Give me some ideas on how to make it up to you when I get home,” he teased, though it ended on a shallow cough.
His gaze wandered the warehouse. It looked like it hadn’t been in use for a while, but he could smell the remnants of sawdust and mildew in the air. The only light came from the slivers filtering in through the closed exit doors, and a small window for ventilation near the ceiling.
He didn’t think he’d go out in a fucking backwoods middle of nowhere place like this, but it was as decent as any he could expect in this line of work. Good enough, if he got to talk to you first.
But you didn’t laugh like he expected.
“Baby,” you said. Concern crept back in. “For real, are you okay? You don’t sound right.”
“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just a little tired. Waiting on someone to get here, so we can get this show on the damn road.”
Just then, he heard the sound of wide tires pulling to a stop outside the warehouse. Russell didn’t relax just yet. That could've either been his backup, or his target's delayed reinforcements. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder on his right side, wincing at the pain the movement caused as he reached for his gun.
“Actually, they just got here. Gotta let you go,” he said.
“Russ, wait.”
“I love the sound of your voice, you know that?” he said, flickering at a smile. “And I love you.”
“…I love you too,” you said, on a slightly unsteady breath.
He knew he hadn’t convinced you that everything was fine. You were too smart, knew him too well by now.
Regardless, he had to hang up. Then he raised his gun at an angle that still kept his elbow steady, resting against his side.
The door scraped against the ground as it opened. The man’s tall gait came in swiftly, then picked up speed. Russell’s vision might've been blurring on the edges, but he recognized that blonde head. He was able to relax, lowering his gun.
“Russ,” Colter said, grabbing his brother’s shoulder that didn’t have a hole shot through it, just inches below. “Hey, you with me?”
“Mhmm,” Russell said, as his eyes closed on him for a second. He forced himself to stay awake through sheer willpower. “Not goin’ anywhere, little brother.”
“That’s right,” Colter said more firmly. The worry was clear in his brown eyes, but he smiled anyway, digging into the small duffel he brought with him. He went for the antiseptic and the bandages first, then the pliers. “You’re lucky I wasn’t too far.”
He moved back Russell’s jacket, then tore at the collar of his grimy, blood-stained shirt.
“Who me? I’m fine,” Russell said. “I’ve had way worse than this.”
“You don’t look fine,” Colter said, trying to gently pry Russell’s hand away from the wound. “Here, let me see.”
“I’m good.”
“No, you’re not. Move your hand so I can see?”
Russell smirked. “So bossy.”
Despite himself, Colter shook his head in amusement.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. You should see the other guy.”
“Right. That’s why you called me, because you have this all handled.”
Russell’s body seized up with a flinch at Colter’s pliers seeking the fat piece of bullet still lodged inside his chest.
“Hey, have a heart, huh?" Russell complained. "Some anesthetic, please.”
It was another 18 hours before Russell’s Chevelle Malibu crossed the threshold of Wyoming’s state line, and another two before he stopped in the driveway outside the modest house he now called home.
He was slow moving as he hefted his duffel bag. Every step was a calculated trudge up the wide, white stones of the pathway. The neighborhood was quiet after dark, but the porch light was on. It was his target, and his beacon.
He unlocked the front door with his keys and found mostly darkness, except for the warm glow of the hallway light. He didn’t have time to make it there though—not when you were already hurrying out from the master bedroom to meet him.
He smiled at the sight of you in a tank-top and your most well-worn sweatpants, but you looked more relieved than happy. The kind of relief that wasn’t calm, even when your hands were on him, gripping his leather jacket like you were making sure he was actually there. He let his duffel fall those few inches to the hardwood floor.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, though he stiffened and grunted in pain when your hands landed on his shoulders. Specifically, his left.
You pulled back on reflex, gasping softly. You stared up at him in worry. He looked so pale...
“It’s okay,” he said, holding you by your waist. “It’s just—”
You didn’t wait for his inevitable lie. You were verging on angry as you carefully pulled down the zipper of his jacket.
“Uh, wait a minute,” Russell said, but you couldn’t be placated. You wouldn’t let him stop you from finding whatever he didn’t want you to see.
Soon, you almost wish you had.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, though it was choked by tears as you took in the blood covering the entire left side of his gray plaid.
He had a red-tinged bandage covering the area just above his heart. It was held in place by medical tape and stretchy gauze that wrapped around his shoulder and under his arm. His chest and stomach were stained with crimson blotches leading from the wound. He smelled like rust and antiseptic, grime and sweat.
He watched every shade of your reaction, from shock to dismay. In hindsight, he should've at least tossed the shirt.
“Russell, what the fuck?” you said shakily.
His hand raised to cradle your cheek, earning your attention back up to his face rather than his body. His thumb caressed your skin, brushed away some tears.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said.
You shook your head. “You need to go to a hospital."
“I already got patched up. It’s okay, just need to sleep it off,” he replied. Colter had stabilized him enough to take him to the closest ER for the stitches. Colt even stuck with him until the doctor was done, probably to make sure Russell actually sat through the whole process.
“It’s not okay,” you snapped. “It’s not fucking okay.”
You stepped away from him and retreated back into the bedroom, holding a trembling hand to your mouth as you went.
He didn’t exactly know if he was welcome, but he really needed a shower and a solid night’s sleep, and he never slept better than when he was beside you.
But you avoided looking at him as you got ready for bed, haphazardly ripping off throw pillows and pulling back the comforter. Russell noticed your laptop on the nightstand, no less than three half-drunk mugs of coffee pushed back by the lamp, as well as a small hoard of candy wrappers and a bowl of popcorn on the floor. It was near four in the morning, and you hadn’t even tried to go to sleep. Or more likely, you couldn’t.
Russell carried the weight of that guilt into the adjoining bathroom, where he started by slowly trying to take off his jacket. He got halfway through peeling the sleeve off his left shoulder before the sharp pull of his wound forced a hiss from between his teeth.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath. There were more grunts and struggles, though he tried to keep it quiet. Once the jacket was a useless pile on the floor, he got a better look at his tattered shirt and released a steadying breath, almost shrugging at himself. All right, here goes.
He pulled back the collar of his shirt, but dried blood had adhered the fabric to the sensitive skin around his wound.
“Goddamn it,” he said lowly.
The bathroom door slid open. You paused in the entryway and crossed your arms, taking in every ridiculous part of this.
For once, Russell didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to upset you (anymore), and he had a feeling you’d appreciate a you should see the other guy joke even less than Colter had.
“Sit,” you said, pointing at the closed toilet lid.
“I got this,” Russell said. But you pinned him with a sharp look.
“Russell, sit down.”
He quirked his head. “Okay. Yes, ma’am.”
Your lips almost curved upward, but you remained firm. Your hands were gentle though; they grasped his arm and helped him sit. You started with the easiest part, kneeling down on the tile floor to unlace his boots.
Russell wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to do it, but he also didn’t want to rile you up again. Instead, he steadied himself by grabbing the edge of the counter. Guilt twinged more heavily in his heart as he watched you slide off his left boot. He tried to help you with the right one, hooking his foot behind the heel, but you laid a hand on his knee.
“I’ll do it,” you said, your gaze flicking up to his. “Just stay still.”
Russell paused, but he conceded. Soon you’d worked off his boots and socks, then slowly, his shirt. He held you to him afterward, by your hips. You saw that even his hands were stained pink. Either he’d scrubbed them raw or hadn’t scrubbed them hard enough.
“What happened?” you asked.
“Just…you know, got clipped,” he said. “It’s no big deal. As you can see, I’m fine.”
You shot him a flat look. “How did it happen?”
He sighed. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
That you did, but you hated it anyway. Your gaze once again drew to the web of bandages wrapped around his right shoulder. Your fingertips landed just beside the thickest padding above his heart. Russell’s hand covered yours.
“Thank you...and I’m sorry,” he said at last. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”
Your lips pursed. You took his face in your hands, a touch softer as you stroked his bearded cheeks. He was still too pale, but nonetheless, unfairly handsome.
“Please don’t do this to yourself anymore,” you said. “Don’t do this to me. You promised you’d be done with Horizon by now.”
Russell nodded. “I know.”
“You know?” Your brows rose. “Do you know what the past 24 hours were like for me since you called me in the middle of the night like that? I could hear it in your voice. You weren’t sure you were going to make it home.”
Your voice wavered as tears welled up in your eyes again, despite your attempts to blink them away with a sniff.
Russell didn’t have a clever retort this time. No way to downplay or tease. He had come back with a few scrapes and sprains before, but this was different. That look on your face when you opened his jacket, saw the blood and bandages, probably picturing a horror show underneath...
He wasn't ever going to forget that look. And it was better he didn't. He had to remind himself that you were a civilian. You weren't used to all this shit, the hazards of the job.
“You’re right. It’s not fair to you,” he said. “Just uh…give me a month or so to wrap things up. I already signed on for a couple more contracts.”
“You better mean it, Russ,” you said. You tilted his face upward, making sure he met your eyes. “You gave me your word.”
“I know, and I’m gonna keep it,” he said, squeezing your hips. He smiled. “To prove it, how about we reseal the deal, huh?”
You stared down at him, heaving a more exasperated sigh.
“Come on,” he said, biting his lip on a smirk. “We both know you wanna kiss the hell out of me.”
You wanted to slap him, more like.
You shook your head and pressed his face between your hands, grunting in sheer annoyance. But you still bowed your head and kissed him.
He smiled against your lips. His arms slid around your waist and trapped you against his body. He hummed at the feeling of you, of every soft curve that fit just right against him.
Your fingers slipped through his hair, gently at first. But you reminded him of your resolve with a tighter grip.
“I'm serious,” you warned, between kisses. Each one meant something different—relief, fear, yearning, passion, love, and long-suffering all at once.
He nodded, though he groaned, palming your ass as your tongue slipped against his.
“I got it, sweetheart,” he said. "Not happening again."
His hands then wandered down your back, dipping under the waistband of your sweatpants. He found you bare underneath, no panties. He was pleased at the thought as he pressed a line of open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, earning your soft moan. His fingers trailed under your tank top next, pushing the fabric up higher and raising goosebumps in his wake.
“Take a shower with me?” he asked, with lips pressed to your skin.
“Hmph. You definitely need a shower,” you said through slightly panting breaths. You helped him stand so you both could work on getting off his jeans.
He grinned. “So that’s a yes?”
Your lips threatened a smile in return.
“That’s a, get your ass in there,” you said, but you grabbed his elbows to steady him when his broad frame teetered on his feet. “Be careful.”
His hand fell to your shoulder gratefully.
“Yes, ma’am.”
AN: lol what are we gonna do with him? 😅 I think this helps make even more sense why reader's so mad at him in Part 1 of Breaking Point.
And I seriously hope Russell comes back more regularly for season 4. That twist at the end of 3x22 is more interesting than any other episode/arc in S3 imo. Until then, hope you enjoy some angsty hurt/comfort!
Let me know what you think in the reblogs/comments! 💙🩵💛
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She's gonna slap you when you're feeling better for doing that! This moron calling it a flesh wound. 🙄 I totally get her being pissed but still taking care of him, especially when he's not fully truthful.
This fits in so well in the ESC timeline and that "why are you still working for those people" issue. I hope Russell is back more in S4 too! He really elevates things and gives Colter someone to play off of!
༊*·˚ main materlist | pete’s place’s opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ pairings & future pairings:
pete brenner x female!reader.
lloyd hansen x female!reader.
ari levinson x female!reader.
curtis everett x female!reader.
steve rogers x female!reader.
jake jensen x female!reader.
(and others that will be revealed at a later date.)
word count: 9083 | series rating: explicit. ༊*·˚
warnings: implied abusive relationship, homelessness, alcohol, general sadness, advances, pete being a scumbag.
this is a dark au. minors are not welcome here.
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ notes:
two years later and the first chapter is finally here.
i really have missed you all dearly and i'm so excited to share this with you.
the second chapter will kick off the darker elements, but enjoy the set up! and i promise to not take two years to give you the second chapter.
as always, please tell me what you think, i really enjoy hearing your thoughts, opinions and guesses on whats coming up next.
adore you, mwah!!!
all mistakes are my own. already had to go back and take out a section. that's what i get for not separating my notes from my actual writing. whoops.
A year after you packed brown boxes scrawled with black ink, clothes stuffed into various bags, and the hope of your true love, into the back of your car, to move across the country to live with your ex-boyfriend, you find yourself one night in a heart pounding screaming match. Thrown dishes, broken glass, picture frames on the floor. The remnants of a lost love etched by the sounds of your cries into the tattered walls of the home you shared.
With pleading cries, tear stained cheeks, and heart in your throat, you’re grabbed and shoved out the door in nothing but a pair of sweats, and shirt with a coat being darted at you whilst you laid on the ground. One too many hours were spent afterwards pounding your fists against the front door, begging to at least have your purse so you can get a hotel room.
Just as you were about to leave, looking down at your battered, red hands from pounding on the door, your purse dropped out of a window; the contents spilled onto the grass below. With a sigh, either sadness or relief; you weren't sure which, you bent to pick up your scattered belongings, cursing the man during.
Luckily, you had everything you needed; cash, ID, and your shitty, overused phone.
You called around for a cab, numb fingers shaking as you pressed the blurry numbers, but with it being Friday night, you were looking at a long wait so instead, you decided to cut your losses and walk to find the nearest hotel.
The downside of moving, and being essentially trapped within the same four walls for months on end, is that you quickly found yourself lost– and being lost on Skid Row was the last place you wanted to be. You willed your tears to not fall after you walked by tent after tent, stranger after stranger, clutching your purse tight, old keys spread between your fingers, and finally found yourself outside a rundown hotel. You laughed to yourself in disbelief of having to head inside and get a room; but nonetheless, you did just that.
Lying on a dingy bedspread, surrounded by more nicotine-stained walls, you muffled your cries behind your hands and slowly fell into a somber slumber and wondered just how the fuck you had gotten yourself here.
Over the next few days, you walked around, getting to know your surroundings and applying for jobs left and right. You were forced to ration your food while you looked around for cheaper hotel rooms. You were trying your hardest to avoid the sprawls of clubs begging for dancers but after finding yourself downtrodden as you’re dismissed after applying for yet another job and getting immediately dismissed, and it was then when you were suddenly blinded by a huge, purple neon sign:
Pete’s Place.
Underneath a small notice hung from the sign read: Dancers Apply Within.
You looked around and whined quietly while you watched patron after patron enter the club. Two heavily built doormen eyed you. You shook out your bundling nerves, hung your head and followed the thump of the bass into the belly of the seedy club. You handed over your last twenty bucks to the red-head woman that was sitting behind a platformed desk, smiling sheepishly and giving a small nod before pushing through the curtains that framed a doorway. Purple and blue hues guided you into the belly of the club where you found red booths filled with drunk bodies that circled small stages. Girls with perfect form swirled around the pole, capturing the attention of everyone inside.
‘’And who might you be?’’
You turned to find a man staring intensely, glass warm in hand, sharp suit and sea-blue eyes. Your mouth hung, mind blank for a moment before sputtering out,
‘’Oh, I– I’m looking for the owner– I was hoping to… Audition…’’ You trailed off as the man began to circle you, fingers pried away your coat slightly, gaze wandering over your body. Calloused fingers tilted your chin upwards while he inspected your face before a slight smile appeared on his lips. ‘’If you’re still looking for dancers.’’
‘’Oh, we’re always looking for new girls, Sugar.’’ He gave you another once over before grinning, voice low and honeyed, ‘’Yeah, you’ll do,’’ He concluded, hand dropping from your chin before he began to walk away. ‘’Follow me.’’
‘’I take it you’re the owner,’’ you inquired as you followed the man to the other side of the club and down a dimly lit hallway, smiling back at, what you assumed was, one of his girls. ‘’You’re Pete?’’
‘’That’s me,’’ he confirmed as you’re led into an office. ‘’Gonna need to see ID, need you to sign a couple contracts, and for you to take your clothes off,’’ he quickly fired as he sat himself in his chair and threw a small stack of paper across the table.
‘’Contracts?’’
‘’All my girls sign to stay loyal to the club, I don’t need anyone running off and taking my profits with them– helps limit competition, and I need to see what I’m working with here, you’re not exactly gonna be wearing a winter coat out there. Usually you’d come during the day, work the pole but, I got three of my regular girls out tonight, so it’s your lucky day.’’
‘’Oh,’’ You answer simply, pausing before a moment. ‘’Right, yeah, lucky me– Of course,’’ you stumble out as you reach into your pocket and slide your ID on to his desk before peeling your jacket off and taking in a heavy breath before lifting your shirt over your head and sliding down your skirt with shaking hands.
‘’You got any experience?’’ He asked simply.
‘’Uh, no,’’ You answered, kicking your skirt to the side, fussing with your hands due to having no idea what to do with them. ‘’I’ve never done this before.’’
You dropped your head, feeling your cheeks heat up. When you finally looked back up, Pete was lounged back in his desk chair, eyebrow raised with a slick smile on his face. He didn’t look disappointed, he looked delighted, like the idea of a novice seemed to amuse him. Pete stood with a long intake of breath, leaving his station and stepping around the desk and moving towards you with a slow, almost predatory grace. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander the same way he did, eyeing the well tailored suit that left nothing to the imagination, large biceps crinkling the fabric as he crossed his arms. You let out a small gasp as he began to circle you, hand reaching out to smooth down your back, fingertips ghosting your sides. The floorboards creaked with each footstep until he was standing back in front of you. He reached out a hand to pluck at your bra.
‘’Loose this,’’ he instructed casually.
You gave a shaky nod, reaching behind to unclip your bra, slowly letting it fall down your arms before it was discarded on the floor with the rest of your clothes. You eyed him shyly, unsure if you were wanting the ground to swallow you up or if you wanted him to reach out and touch you.
And touch you, he did.
The back of his hand stroked down your stomach, knuckles grazing the softness of your lower belly. Nerves began to take over, you felt yourself trembling a little, and you knew he felt it by the way his mouth poked up at the side. Although, he was very obviously attractive, the bile still rose in your throat when you felt a familiar warm ache tug at your legs.
‘’I-I’m a hard worker,’’ You said hesitantly, desperately needing to fill the silence.
‘’Hard worker,’’ Pete snorted, lips tugged up in a mocking smile. ‘’I don’t care about your worth ethic, Sugar. I care about the view.’’
‘’And?’’ You probed.
His hand slipped around to your back, pulling you in close as he stared down at you, eyes flickering across your face.
‘’Views are good,’’ He judged. ‘’You’ve certainly got a… Desperate innocence vibe going on. Guy’s are gonna eat that up.’’ He nodded as he stepped back, moving back towards the desk, propping himself against it. ‘’Here’s the deal: You’re gonna show me what you got, so I know whether you’ll need a few days with some of my best girls to work on those skills. Doesn’t mean you can’t work, but it means you’re limited to laps, and it’s just a bit less money. Base pay at the end of the week, tips are handed in and the house takes a cut and redistributed back to the girls. Be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.’’
You stood awkwardly nodding, arms crossing over your chest which made Pete laugh.
‘’Drop ‘em,’’ He ordered, wagging a finger downwards. ‘’Just me and you, Sugar, how are you supposed to handle it being out there? Put ‘em down.’’ You complied as Pete carried on explaining: ‘’Pay the door, same way you did to get in, but my girls pay half to work. You gotta give to get in here, baby. VIP is for my more seasoned girls, better money, but we’ll talk about that further down the line. The contract…’’ He reaches behind himself to grab the small stack of paper. ‘’...Is so you understand that every single cent that your hand touches goes through me. No making deals with my clients, no outside work with the men that step into my club. That’s what VIP is for. There’s no need for you to be bent over in the back of some rented Bently, okay? You fuck me and you’re back on that street and you can’t go to any other club.’’
You nodded. ‘’Didn’t plan on it.’’
‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised. ‘’Or, you will be, when you sign.’’
‘’So, I would start tonight?’’
He nodded and rattled the paper.
With some hesitancy, you took the paper and the pen that quickly followed and stepped around him to lean and sign the dotted line, looking back up to find him staring down at you. He slipped the contract off the desk and stood straight, moving around the other side to slide into a locked draw before grabbing his glass and wandering over to a small couch in the corner of his office. He sat down, thighs spreading open, gaze locked on yours as he took a long swig of the amber liquid that sloshed in the crystal.
‘’Come show me what you got, Sugar.’’
You let out a shaky breath, attempting to rid your body of the nerves, as you slowly stepped towards Pete’s open thighs. You turned in a fluid motion, hoping to God that it looked good, and lowered yourself onto his lap. Using the muted thumping from the club's belly, you began to wind your hips, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. The cigarette smoke that clung to his suit assaulted your senses, mixing with the alcohol on his breath, making your head spin. Your eyes closed, breathing unsteady as you continued your dance. You heard the soft thump of his glass being placed down and soon felt his fingers on your chin, guiding you to look behind.
Your eyes fluttered open and were met with his intense gaze. Your breath hitched as his hands then found your waist, helping to guide you into a better rhythm. He hummed low in his throat, taking in a deep breath as his other hand slid over your thigh, goosebumps following in a traitorous line.
‘’There we go, just like that,’’ He coached, voice low and breathy. ‘’Gotta look at ‘em, Sugar. Gotta make sure they feel like the only man in the world, but they don’t touch you like I am, okay?’’ You begged your heart to slow as his hand smoothed over your stomach, heavy and strong. ‘’You’re good, Sugar, but you’re not ready to be out on the pole yet. You gotta put in some work, gonna set you up with one of my girls.’’
He tapped your thigh and motioned for you to stand. He followed suit, getting to his feet and looking down at you. He swept a stray lock of hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.
‘’You can work tonight. You got anything to wear?’’
You shook your head. He let out a little laugh.
‘’Didn’t come very prepared, did you, Sugar?’’
‘’I– I used my last 20 bucks to get in here. I didn’t plan on coming in–’’
‘’You did what?’’ He questioned sharply, eyebrows raising. He sighed when you nodded your head.
‘’S’why I really needed this to go well. I promise I’ll get better–’’
‘’Yeah, yeah, I don’t care about that right now,’’ Pete cut off. ‘’Where are you staying?’’
‘’The hotel at the end of the street, the–’’
‘’Yeah, the shitty one. How long have you got the room for?’’
‘’Three more days,’’ You confessed.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the silence was heavy with the weight of him knowing the situation; with admitting just how fucked you were. You searched his expression, he didn’t look even the slightest bit sympathetic. He looked like he had just found a really good loophole in his contract that made a smirk tug at his lips.
‘’Totally broke? Not a dime?’’ He asked, and nodded his head and let out a slow hum of contemplation when you confirmed. ‘’Alright. I can help.’’
You reached down for your shirt as he walked to his desk.
‘’I can’t really have you sleeping on a park bench. I need my girls at their best, so, here’s what I’m gonna do.’’ He sat down at his desk, elbows resting on the wood, his gaze getting more intense as he lingered on you as you dressed.
‘’I’m gonna give you… An advance, you could say…’’ He trailed off, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a book and an envelope. He plucked a pen from a pot and clicked it before flicking open the ledger, and scrawling inside. ‘’I’m gonna take a little bit more of a cut until it’s paid off, but it means you can pay your door fee, you can eat, have a roof over your head and have a bit of time to work on those skills. It also means, you won’t actually have to work tonight if you’d rather rest up and spend the day practicing.’’
‘’Are you sure?’’ You raised a brow. ‘’Why would you–’’
‘’Consider it good faith, taking a chance,’’ He quickly interjected. ‘’Shows how sure I am that you’ll be one of my best.’’
There was a look in his eyes, predatory, and you weren't sure if he was throwing you a lifeline or a noose. ‘’What do you say, Sugar?’’
He held out the envelope. You hesitantly reached out for it, feeling like you were signing a deal with the devil. Your eyes locked on his as your fingers gripped the paper, an easy smile pulling at your lips in response to the smirk on his.
‘’’Atta girl.’’
You lowered your head, looking down at the dusty patterned carpet. The weight on your shoulders felt heavier than ever, but at least you could get a decent meal.
‘’I really don't have to work tonight?’’
‘’Nope,’’ He said, popping the ‘P’ and reaching over the desk to hook a finger under your chin as he stood, drawing your gazes back to each other. ‘’But, I wouldn’t mind a ‘thank you’.’’
He didn’t release his hold as he guided you around the desk, the smell of stale cigarettes, alcohol and a woody aftershave assaulting your senses again. Your heart kicked up speed, like someone had set off a tiny jackhammer in your chest, as you stepped into his space. You lifted onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, sucking in a breath and praying that it’ll be enough to please him. His touch moved to the side of your neck, his hand heavy and splayed across the column as he leaned down.
‘’S’that all I get, Sugar?’’ He teased, hushed and sickly sweet. ‘’Not got anything else for me?’’
You swallowed the lump in your throat and opened your mouth to speak, but nothing wanted to come out. You took to shaking your head instead and gripped the envelope tight and pushed it against his chest as you turned your head. Your eyes closed and shoulders sagged when he let out a laugh, dropping his head to your shoulder and releasing the hold he had on your neck.
‘’I’m fucking with you,’’ He chuckled darkly. ‘’Go on, get out of here before I decide to charge you for breathing the same air as me.’’
You stepped back, a small smile tugging at your lips and you reached for your bag from the floor.
‘’I’ll walk you out, actually. Need to check on my girls.’’
He walked to the door, swinging it open and motioning for you to step through. As you did, his hand found the middle of your back, heavy and guiding. The thumping base hit you as you walked back into the neon-lit chaos of the club, the night still in full swing. Pete nodded to several men on the way to the exit, hand slipping to your waist, pulling you close and keeping a tight grip and by the time the cold night breeze hit you, his warm palm was sitting on your ass.
‘’I’m gonna be here at twelve tomorrow, I want you here,’’ He instructed, guiding you to face him, his voice taking on a sudden professional coldness. ‘’Do not be late, hmm?’’
You nodded. His eyes scanned you one last time, sea-blue eyes still holding that uneasy glint that made your stomach turn and your toes curl.
‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised with a tap to your backside before stepping away. ‘’See you tomorrow, Sugar.’’
You sucked in a breath and began your walk back to your hotel, the envelope weighing down your bag and filling your throat with bile. The neon sign buzzed in your ears as you watched the purple hue on the sidewalk fade. The rest of the walk was a blur, your mind filled with the flashing of lights, the booths of men, the smell of smoke and sweet drinks and the terrifying anxiety that clawed at your chest when you thought of having to sit in those men’s laps, strip down on a pole, vulnerable and exposed, for the sake of a roof and warm food; all while owing a man you’ve just met.
The next day, you made your way back to Pete’s Place.
The seedy club seemed less terrifying in the daylight. The neon sign hung unlit, the velvet red rope enclosed the open air and not the multiple bodies of men waiting to feast their eyes on women who couldn’t give a single shit about them, and Pete… Stood with his hand in his pocket, the other lifted to his lips as he took a long drag of a cigarette, eyes gleaming as he caught your eye.
‘’There she is!’’ He greeted, cheerful and honeyed. ‘’My new favourite, fresh and ready for the day. How’d you sleep, Sugar? Room booked for a little longer?’’
You nodded, ‘’All secured for the next two weeks, and I’m gonna go and get some groceries when I’m done–’’
‘’Yeah, sounds all golden, Sugar,’’ He laughed. ‘’One of my best is waiting inside for you. She’s gonna show you the ropes, how to shake that ass good enough to empty some wallets for me. I’m gonna come and see you in a few hours and see how you’re getting on and hopefully we’ll get you on that pole and not stuck in laps.’’
With that, he stepped out to the curb as a black Sedan pulled up.
‘’Off you go,’’ He ordered.
You nodded once again before heading inside of the club.
You searched the club’s belly for the woman but she was seemingly nowhere to be found until you made your way into the dressing room. The atmosphere was stifling despite it being empty. It stunk of hairspray, multiple different perfumes blending together and smoke. The vanities were a thing of chaos, make up strewed, rollers and different hair tools. Rails of sequins and fishnets and a wall of lockers that were decorated in different styles, showing off the aesthetics of each woman that owned them.
You turned to leave when you bumped into a woman, already kitted out in something Pete would absolutely have chosen, she gleamed brightly, seemingly genuinely happy to be here.
‘’So, you’re the new little lamb Pete picked up?’’ She asked sweetly, cigarette hanging from her lip and adjusting the band under her bust. She moved into the room and towards the railing of clothes with a grace and confidence you prayed to acquire as quickly as possible. ‘’I’m Rachael, Pete’s asked me to show you how to not get eaten alive tonight.’’
She plucked a simple, sheer black slip and held it out, ‘’Let’s see if you can actually move, or if you’re just a pretty little lamb.’’
After you changed you gave yourself a second, third and fourth glance over before she playfully rolled her eyes and pulled you out to the club floor and towards one of the smaller side stages. She left to flick on the club lights, shy under the sunlight that waved through the balcony windows and clicking around inside the DJ booth until the bass rattled through the floor. The polished chrome gleaned under the purple and blue lights, cold and intimidating as she made her way onto the stage. She demonstrated multiple moves with an effortless ease, her heels clicking softly against the platform floor, fluid and languid.
‘’You see, it’s not about dancing, not really,’’ She said as she swirled around, leg hooked around the pole. ‘’It’s about the tease. You never give it away all at once, you gotta make them ache for it. You gotta make ‘em think that if they throw just the right amount, they might just get a chance to touch you, have your attention.’’
You nodded watching her closely.
‘’Now, get up here and try a basic spin. Just copy exactly what I did.’’ Rachael slid down and stepped off the stage, motioning for you to step up.
‘’I’ll try my best,’’ You said earnestly.
‘’Your best doesn’t pay the bills, honey. Confidence and ass does.’’
You stepped onto the platform, the polished surface feeling slippery beneath your heels. You wrapped your hand hesitantly around the pole. You attempted the spin she had demonstrated, but instead of a fluid glide, your foot caught the edge of the stage and stumbled. You cursed yourself as she smiled and waved for you to try again which while the second attempt was better, the grace Rachael had exhibited was nowhere to be seen. She circled you like a hawk, eyes watching every move, often reaching out to make you arch your back more, to drop your shoulders, to reposition your legs.
‘’You’re like a newborn lamb, stop thinking about it so much,’’ She giggled, sweet and light until her tone suddenly turned serious. ‘’Never look them in the eye for too long. Makes ‘em think they own you. Keep it light, fleeting, make them chase it,’’ She coached. ‘’The pole is a tool, it’s your friend, use it to hide what you don’t like and highlight what you do like. Use it to your advantage. Do not fear it.’’
The next few hours passed in a blur of twirls, clicks of heels and red knees. Exhaustion clung to your skin, damp and slick under the spotlights, the sun dipping behind the clouds casting a golden glow into the club as you spun and dipped for the hundredth time, finally gaining some semblance of control of the cold metal. Rachael gleamed and squealed when you would find your footing, hit a dip in time to the music and get through at least a minute without a stumble.
You were trying to follow another of Rachael’s demonstrations when a familiar voice cut through the air and drifted its way over to the stage. Pete had returned, leaning against a pillar on the far side of the club floor, drink in hand and watching with an amused glint in his eyes, tracking you carefully.
‘’What a clumsy little thing you are, Sugar. Tell me, baby,’’ He said, a tinge of playful annoyance coating his words as he sauntered forward and towards the edge of the stage. ‘’You always like this or is it the thrill of being in my presence?’’
Rachael rolled her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
‘’She’s getting there, she’s just… A little cautious… Shy– It’s cute!’’ She defended, a sweet grin as she returned the kiss to Pete’s cheek and then looked back at you with a wink.
‘’I don’t need cute, I don’t need cautious. I can’t sell that,’’ Pete spoke, short and to the point. ‘’It doesn’t make me money. Desire does.’’
He made his way to the base of the stage, looking up at you. The spotlights casted deep shadows across his face, making his eyes seem black. You let out a breath as he eyed, not as a person, but as a product that was ineffective. He rapt his knuckles on the platform floor, his voice dropping,
‘’Get down here.’’
You practically leaped from the platform, steading yourself on his arm as your footing faltered, your chest heaving from a mix of exhaustion and nerves. Up close, the scent of his cologne overwhelmed your senses, your head spinning as he pulled you in closer. He looked you up and down, shaking his head with a disappointed frown. You couldn’t help the shakes that swam under your skin as he peered into your eyes. He walked you back slowly, the back of your thighs digging into the edge of the stage.
‘’Look at you,’’ He began to scold gently. ‘’Shaking like a leaf, like you’re waiting for the firing squad rather than a paycheck.’’
Pete then reached up a hand, finding the back of your neck, his thumb pressing firmly into the dip at the base of your skull, forcing you to keep your gaze on his. The amusement was long gone and replaced by a demanding, icy intensity. He leaned his head down, breath hot against your cheek.
‘’The men that come through those doors do not pay for ‘nervous’. They pay for a fantasy. A fantasy of a woman who knows exactly how to drive them crazy. If you walk out there looking like a lost puppy, they’ll smell the fear, they’ll take advantage, and then you’ll owe me for that nice advance I gave you and I’ll want it in full and I know sure as shit…’’ He leaned down further lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered in your ear. ‘’You don’t have it, and we’ll have to work something else out, won’t we?’’
He released you abruptly, and you fell against the edge of the stage, willing the tears to stay at bay as he stepped back and guested at Rachael and then towards the stage.
‘’Keep working her. I want her ready.’’
The next two hours were full of exertion, exhaustion, sweat and damn near tears until it finally came time to go back to your hotel to rest up for your shift. Rachael seemed happy with where you managed to get to, she had taught you how to use your shyness as a weapon, how to perfectly arch your back and how to breathe through the nerves but whether Pete would end up sharing the same feelings was still to be determined. Your muscles ached and cried out with each step back to your hotel, palms raw from the friction of the pole, and the fear of ending up on the street sat heavy in your stomach along with the feeling of feeling less like a woman and more like a piece of property, catalogued and highly priced.
The night swept in with a heavy tension, the club hummed; scattered voices from the line outside as you walked through the front with a nod to security and a crisp ten slipped into the hand of the woman on the door. You shucked up your bag higher on your shoulder, watching as the staff at the bar moved with a frantic energy, attempting to keep up with the hoards of men tapping their fingers for a drink while their eyes leeched on the dancers at the pole.
You made your way to Pete’s office, rapping your fingers on the doorframe and smiling when he looked up at you with a grin.
‘’Hey, Sugar, what d’ya need?’’ He asked, stepping from around the back of his desk and moving towards the door.
‘’Is it okay if I borrow an outfit for tonight? I didn’t get a chance to run and grab anything– Maybe a pair of heels as well?’’
Pete nodded, ‘’Yeah, take what you want from the rails in the dressing room, shoes are underneath. Just make sure they’re returned or I have to charge you for it.’’
‘’Thanks,’’ You replied sweetly.
Pete then pressed his hand to the small of your back, leading you towards the dressing room. The girls were in full swing, the clatter of make up and the clicking of straighteners and curlers mixed with their laughs and banter as they applied finishing touches.
‘’Alright, my lovely ladies, this is Sugar,’’ Pete addressed loudly, adopting the nickname he gave you as your dancer name without giving you a chance to argue about it. ‘’She’s the newest addition. Be nice, look after her, she’s a shy one… And get out there and make me some money.’’
You felt cornered as the other dancers scanned you from head to toe, receiving a mixture of curiosity, warm welcome and cold competition. You wrung your hands together as Pete stepped away to grab an outfit from the rack, bending to snag a pair of shoes and walking back over to you. It may as well have been a collection of strings rather than an outfit; baby pink and covered in sequins.
‘’You’ve got twenty minutes and then I want you on that stage,’’ He ordered, firm but oddly sweet. ‘’I’ll be watching from the balcony booths so don’t fuck this up, alright, Sugar?’’
You hummed in agreement as he bent down, presenting his cheek to which you quickly pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Pete grinned and gave a wink, and without saying another word, he laid a soft tap on your ass and walked out the door, leaving you with a tightness in your chest and a sinking feeling in your stomach. You walked to a spare vanity, setting your bag down and started at the reflection, finding a girl you barely recognised anymore. Even more so once you had changed, the baby pink set Pete had chosen, clung to every curve and valley, and left nothing to the imagination. The soft colours contrasted painfully with the dark circles of fatigue which you had tried your best to cover with multiple swipes of concealer.
You wondered if this is exactly how Pete wanted you; looking like a daydream on the verge of a deep, dark nightmare.
‘’Hey,’’ A voice spoke, drawing you away from your thoughts, and you looked up to find a woman standing behind you, a smile on her face and dressed in green. ‘’He’s really trying to push the ‘barely there’ look tonight, isn’t he?’’
You nodded, a shy smile on your face as you smoothed down the outfit.
‘’I’m Crocki. Like, crocodile. Pete found a stuffed crocodile in my bag once– totally forgot it was there, and hasn’t let me live it down since,’’ She laughed, genuine and comforting. ‘’Just do your job, keep him happy and you’ll have no issues. Most of the girls here are really nice. They just wanna make their money and dip. It’s not all bad, okay?’’
You nodded again, struggling to find the words to speak, nerves were eating at your vocal cords and tugging at your throat.
‘’I’ll see you out there, you’ll be great, don’t worry,’’ Crocki reassured, giving a comforting rub to your arm before disappearing out of the dressing room.
The other girls soon left, leaving you on your own. You took another minute to breathe deeply, eyes closed; the thumping of the lion’s den pounded in your ears.
The transition was jarring to say the least; one moment you were safe in arms of bulb lights, perfume and mirrors and the next you were willing your footing to not falter as you stepped into the club’s belly, the music shifting and deepening into something primal, visceral. The lights were a bruised purple, the smoke from cigars and cigarettes acted as a map to the men huddled around the stages and perched in the booths. It merged into a hungry roar and you were the meal.
High above the main floor, a singular familiar figure leaned over the railing, elbows propped against the metal, swirling a drink with keen eyes locked on your every move. Pete gave you a grin, nodding towards the stage, that predatory glint on full show; it crawled over your body like a physical touch, sending a shiver down your spine and forming a lump in your throat.
You made your way to the stage as another dancer collected the cash from the floor, the crowd dying down a little as the smell of alcohol, flashing lights and the sea of hungry eyes waited in a subdued anticipation as you climbed the steps and clicked onto the stage. You smiled weakly at the dancer as she passed you and gave one last glance at Pete before gripping the pole.
A heavy, industrial beat slammed into the room, the bass rattling the panels of the stage as your body began to react to the rhythm. The sequins caught the strobe lights, sending shards of glitter and gold dancing on the floor and faces of the crowd. You focused on the pole, remember your tutelage, hiding your sloppy footwork behind the pole and using it as a grounding point amidst the chaos, spinning and arching your back.
The atmosphere shifted to expose a raw hunger, men leaned forward, their eyes fixed on your every move. You earned whistles, dollar bills and captivated silences from others. You dared to glance again up at the balcony, finding Pete still stood in the same spot, watching you with an intensity you just couldn’t pinpoint, the cigarette in his hand glowing a cherry-red as he took a deep drag and blew out the smoke slowly. It didn’t seem like he was looking at you like just another dancer; more like an investment he was ready to wring out for as much cash as possible.
The next song started, giving you no time to recover, switching to a slower, haunting ethereal pull. The lights dimmed a bit further, the purple lights casting a shadow across your body which helped you feel more hidden. You relaxed a little, finding a hidden ease in the slower, more languid movements. You transitioned into a slow descent on the pole, body arching, a softness that was stark against the grit of the club. The air felt thick and charged as you locked eyes with Pete once again, a smug satisfaction written across his face as he stubbed out the cigarette and took a swig from his glass.
As the song reached its end, you gave a slow swirl around the pole with a lingering, new found seductive grace, and slowly dropped to your knees. Your chest rose and fell heavily, hand still gripping the pole as money rained and Pete grinned. He didn’t move an inch, his stare was like a physical weight, like he was claiming every inch of your skin by his force of will.
You stayed in that pose for a short moment, before getting to your feet, and quickly scooping up the bills. You didn’t dare to give another look towards Pete as you left the stage. The adrenaline hummed through your veins, crumpled bills sticking to the sweat of your chest as you made your way back to the dressing room to have a moment to gather yourself before heading back out to the floor.
The transition from the blinding lights, to the grim reality of the backstage area was discordant and bleak, but the weight of the cash in your hands felt like a small victory, one worthy of essentially selling your soul. The other dancers glanced with small smiles and nods of newfound respect. As you reached your locker to stow your earnings until the end of the night, the door to the dressing room opened with a slow, deliberate creak. The girls quickly cleared out, pressing kisses and giving hugs to Pete as they exited.
He stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, hair disheveled and shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, his large biceps bulging under the thin fabric as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. He looked less like the shady business man you met the night before and more like a predator who had decided to stop watching and start pouncing. He didn’t say anything at first, simply stared at you, eyes seemingly peering through you and the way you clutched the money in your hands.
‘’Quite the show, Sugar.’’ His voice was low, dangerously sweet. ‘’Didn’t know you had it in you. Proves hard work pays off when you really want something.’’
He stepped into the room, the click of his shoes sounding like a countdown. He stopped just inches away, his presents suffocating and overwhelming; the scent of bourbon and expensive tobacco enveloping the air around you both. He reached out, fingers sliding under your chin to keep your gazes locked.
‘’You enjoy the attention, baby? The money make you move like that?’’ He asked in a hushed tone, breath ghosting your cheek. ‘’You playing me, Sugar?’’
You shook your head, ‘’Beginners luck, I guess.’’
Pete let out a soft, dark chuckle. The grin didn’t reach his eyes as he grazed your lower lip with a gentle, but possessive pressure.
‘’Beginners luck,’’ He parroted, husky and contemplative.
He didn’t release the hold on your chin; his grip tightened, ensuring you couldn’t escape his eyes. It was heavy, stripping you bare more effectively than the skimpy bundle of strings of your costume ever could. He seemed to be savouring the simplicity of your answer. He then shifted his weight, pushing you back against the cool metal of the lockers. The heat from his body crept over your skin, pricking at your senses as he leaned down, his voice barely a whisper.
‘’You’re a terrible liar, baby. I saw the way you looked at them; saw the way you looked at me.’’ His lips grazed your ear, his other hand gripping at your waist, bringing your middles together, eliciting a muted gasp that settled in your throat. ‘’You played the room, the hunger… And now, you’ve got me wondering how much more of that ‘luck’ you have hidden away.’’
He looked down at your hand as he stepped back, his expression shifting to something more demanding; the softness vanishing and replaced by the cold authority of the man who owned your entire being.
‘’Hand it over, Sugar,’’ He commanded, gesturing to the cash bundled in your hand, palm up and waiting.
You placed the money in his hand and sighed as he counted the bills with a rapid, well seasoned motion, eyes flicking over the amounts. The soft snap-snap-snap of the bills drummed in your ears and drowned out the muted thump of the bass as you waited with bated breath to see how much your cut would be.
Once he reached the total, he folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket and then reached out to pull a smaller, measly stack from the other, holding it out to you with a satisfied grin. You took it, splaying out the few bills between your fingers, a lesser amount than what would even be considered a fair pay, but regardless of your feelings you looked up and smiled with feigned gratitude.
‘’I had to deduct your newcomer's fee, and the prime slot on the main stage, of course,’’ He said casually, arms folded across his chest again, he watched for your reaction with a cruel sort of curiosity. ‘’An investment in your future here. You understand, right, Sugar?’’
You nodded with a strained smile. He didn’t wait for you to say anything else, he turned his gaze towards the door, checking you were still alone, before he looked back at you with that same predatory, hungry gaze.
His voice dropped to a low, purr. ‘’You’ve got a lot of potential, Sugar. I can’t wait for the day I get to be on the receiving end of it.’’
He reached out again, his hand sliding around your waist and pulling you flush against him for one last, possessive moment. He lingered, nose brushing against your temple, taking in a small inhale and making your heart jump in your chest.
‘’Get back out there, Sugar.’’
Pete released you abruptly and sauntered out the room, door clicking shut behind him. The tension that had brewed broke instantly and you exhaled sharply, unaware of the breath you had kept clutched in your chest. The silence in the room felt a thousand tons heavier than the atmosphere on stage, the few bills in your hand felt like a slap to the face; the feeling of the effort you had put into being stage-ready felt wasteful and sour. You wondered if this was going to be worth it, if you should keep putting all you had into pleasing a man who wanted you rob you blind and keep your livelihood wrapped in his hands.
You were pulled out your thoughts by a group of dancers making their way back into the dressing room, some giving empathic glances.
‘’Welcome to Pete’s Place, babe. Hope you like pennies,’’ She said simply, a tight smile on her lips.
Another was re-applying her eyeliner when she spoke; ‘’Don’t let him see you cry. It’s like he smells it, like a shark.’’
She didn’t offer anything else; in this place, empathy seemed to be a luxury only a few could afford. They all continued their routines like the small conversation never happened, the sounds of brushes and small talk the only sound in the room. You stuffed the cash in your bag, shutting the locker with a frustrated slam before sucking in a sharp breath and heading back out into the club.
A few hours later, after spending the rest of the night in laps and grinning sweetly at horrible men, you moved in front of your locker as you changed, movements mechanical as if all parts that were human had been stripped away and shoved inside a box. As you pulled on the clothes you had arrived in, you felt a cold knot forming in your stomach; the desperation that had dragged you through the club's doors was starting to form into a quiet rage.
As you stepped out of the club and into the night's cool air, the neon sign flicked overhead and the meager amount in your pocket laughed at you as you sulked back to the dingy hotel room. The click of the lock sounded like a gavel, finalizing your sentence of struggle. You slid down the door, the cold wood pressing against your spin as you melted into an exhausted puddle. You stayed there for a while, staring down at the carpet, breath coming out in ragged hitches as the adrenaline of the night wore off.
You looked down at your shaking hands as you mulled over the contract, the debt, the sick smile on Pete’s face— his hands, his arms, his smell. You groaned and covered your face with your hands, hating how he continued to invade your thoughts despite the hatred that pooled in your guts.
With the adrenaline long gone, it left behind the crushing weight of exhaustion. You let out a long, suffering sigh as you got to your feet. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that your first big night wasn’t just a hurdle to get over, but the beginning of a slow, wretched descent into Pete’s sordid world.
The following weeks were a blur of exhaustion and frustration. Every night followed the same pattern: the blinding lights, the squeak of the pole, the hungry eyes; the exhilarating rush of the dance, the red knees, bruises and blisters and the crushing disappointment at the end of the night when Pete handed you your pitiful earnings. Pete became increasingly bold with his touches, promises of bonuses were always tied to how much you were willing to tolerate his advances in the office, and having to deal with his monetary retaliations when you refused.
The heavy bass vibrated under your feet, tickling your toes through your high-platform shoes. Your hands clutched at the cold, silver pole as you delicately swirled yourself around. The past few weeks your skills had improved; although, not enough according to Pete; though you were dead sure that his thoughts were an excuse to pull you into his lap for impromptu lessons.
You kept your gaze loose, swinging from patron to the girls sat in laps with glowing smiles and fingers twirling through their hair as the grasped dollar bills. Blue and purple hues danced over your body as your hips swayed the best they could in time to the beat as you prayed for the song to finally be over.
The interest in you was dwindling; the allure of a shiny new girl was fading fast and you were no longer receiving tips just for being there. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, but you damn sure hoped it’d last long enough to pay your bill at the hotel. You had five days to come up with three hundred bucks, and by the measly few dollar bills in your pocket and the couple of fives on the floor; things weren’t looking good.
You made your way into the dressing room after your set, finding girls in various stages of getting ready and touching up their hair and walked over to Rachel's chair.
“Can I talk to you about something?” You asked, standing behind Rachel's chair.
“Yeah, anything, babe.”
She set her brush down and turned back to face you.
“I know I need to get better on stage, but how did you get Pete to let you into the VIP section?”
“You have to pay, didn’t he tell you that?”
“Yeah, I know that, but he keeps wanting me—“
“Oh, yeah, you need to pay him. Treat him well, look after him…” She trailed off as you looked completely lost. “Head, Sugar. The man wants head. Just do it. You’re gonna be doing more than that in VIP.”
“I thought it was just more private—“
“Nooo. No, no, no,” She snickered, grinning brightly. “They want more than just a dance, which is why you’ve gotta pay Nick to get through the door because they have to work harder to keep you safe.”
“I have to pay security?” You whined, throwing up your hands. ‘’Am I gonna have to start paying to breathe?’’
“Pay, tip, all the same. He’s really explained none of this to you?”
You shook your head as she gave an empathic smile before tapping your arm as she passed you to leave to go out the club floor. You stood for a moment, trying to find any other way to survive the next week that didn’t require sulking into Pete’s office and grovelling for another loan. You let out a pained groan when you realised you had no other choice.
You trudged into Pete’s office, heavy heels weighing down your steps as if trying to pull you back from your impending doom.
‘’Pete, I have a favour to ask,’’ You spoke sweetly as you stepped into his office.
‘’Shoot,’’ Pete replied, sorting through papers on his desk, brows knitting together as he discarded one after another, letting out huffed sighs. ‘’Quickly, now. Things to do,’’ Pete prompted sharply.
‘’I– I don’t have enough for rent– Well, the hotel bill–’’
‘’You’re still there?’’ Pete paused, eyeing you with a slight disgust. ‘’Why are you still there?’’
‘’Yeah, it’s cheap and no point wasting time finding somewhere else,’’ You explained, sighing and wringing your hands. ‘’I was wondering if you’d let me work in the VIP section, the girls said they make more money–’’
‘’Not happening,’’ He cut in sharply, pulling on his suit jacket.
‘’Why?’’ You asked, feeling already defeated and slightly offended.
‘’Because you refuse to do what the other girls do in order to work in VIP,’’ He snorted, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a familiar envelope. ‘’Gotta treat me like a VIP to get to the VIP’s, Sugar.’’
‘’I really need the money,’’ You pleaded.
‘’Work harder,’’ Pete said bluntly. ‘’Learn how to actually dance, you’ve gotten better, but the shy, innocent, little baby out of place act isn’t gonna get you far, it doesn’t last long–’’
‘’Yeah, I know,’’ You muttered under your breath.
‘’What was that, now?’’ He questioned, making you shrink as if you were a child that had just been scolded and before you could say anything else, he waved a hand; ‘’Doesn’t matter. Look, you’re no good to me if you end up on the street and get swiped and thrown into a van, so I guess I can loan you the money.’’
‘’Thank you,’’ You gushed, rushing over to him and placing your hand on his forearm. ‘’Thank you so much. I swear, I’ll work it off for free–’’
‘’I’ll just take a higher cut until you’re paid up. Not much good to me either if you don’t have the energy to stand on the stage and do whatever it is you do. And it means you can spend more time here working on your skill… Oh, do you need more lessons, sweetheart? I’m always available for practice, you know that, right?’’
‘’I just need to work on my confidence, but thanks for the offer, Pete,’’ You said earnestly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and taking the envelope. ‘’And thank you for the money. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’
‘’Oh, you’re not done. It’s barely 1 A.M.’’ Pete huffed out a short laugh, hands stuffed in his pockets.
‘’I’m really tired and I’m just not getting any attention,’’ You replied, exhausted and pouting to hopefully gain a little sympathy.
‘’So work for it,’’ He commanded and guided you out of the office and departed with his usual tap to your ass.
You parted from him at the dressing room doorway, watching him as he disappeared into the club, the money feeling sickly heavy in your hand. You huffed as you sat in your hair, stuffing the cash into your bag and shoving it under your vanity.
‘’My advice,’’ Crocki said, matter-of-fact but sympathetic. ‘’Stop borrowing money from a man that already underpays you. There’s better things you can do.’’
‘’You can always find work on the side,’’ Alexa said, fiddling with a curl that wouldn’t sit just right.
‘’I thought we couldn’t go to any clubs. None of the restaurants or anything I can do during the day want to hire me. I mean, I get it, all I have are stripper outfits and a leather jacket,’’ You huffed as you threw down your makeup brush, smoothing out the edges of your eyeshadow with your finger.
‘’Not talking about another club, not talking about waitressing,’’ Alexa laughed. ‘’The girls do home visits, parties, entertainment; others do more. You just gotta talk to Pete, he sets it all up.’’
‘’I don’t think I could do that, I can barely give a lap dance, and plus, I asked about VIP, he won’t let me unless I sleep with him.’’
‘’He ain’t bad in bed,’’ Rachael smirked, hand on the back of your chair as she popped her hip, her brow jumping teasingly.
‘’I sleep with him for free,'' Navy cut in, giggling as she joined Rachael, smoothing a finger over her lip gloss.
‘’I did not need to know that,’’ You groaned, a little laugh. ‘’Seriously, how am I supposed to be alone with these men?’’
‘’Because here you’re surrounded by people, you’re both watching and being watched. You might find it easier within the privacy of someone's home. You could make some serious money,’’ Alexa explained, standing and fluffing her hair.
‘’Come on, we better get back out there,’’ Crocki probed, shooing you up and out of your seat.
It was on a rainy Tuesday night that an opportunity presented itself in the form of a man who eyed you all night. You were finishing a slow, grinding set when the man dressed in a charcoal suit with a look of wealth and hunger in his eyes approached the edge of the stage as you were collecting the cash. He didn’t toss any himself, but he leaned in with a low, urgent plea:
‘’You’re breathtaking,’’ He breathed hotly. ‘’I have a private booth, if you want to join me. I can pay you for your time, more than whatever that boss of yours would give you.’’
You contemplated, knowing the rules were explicitly clear: No off the book dealings. Then you thought of the dwindling cash in your pocket, your overdrawn account and the money you already owed Pete. You knew it was risky, but you found yourself offering a different deal.
‘’Not here. Write down your address and I’ll come get it from you after I give a few dances,’’ You instructed quietly and then motioned for the man to leave.
The man nodded frantically, excitement crossing his face and his gaze lingering on your body before he stepped away, blending into the crowd and up to the balcony booths. You navigated to the dressing room with a sharp focus, not paying any mind to the other dancers as you quickly stuffed the cash away and made your way back into the club and passed the time on a few laps before making your way up to the man. He slid his address in with a wad of twenties and you spent a song or two in his lap before rushing to change and leave.
You hailed a cab and met him back at his apartment.
With that single night, that simple exchange, began your secret hustle– right under Pete’s nose.
The following weeks became a dangerous dance of their own. You honed your art of your side hustle. You began to keep a mental note of regulars that eyed you with the specific, desperate hunger; the ones who had more money than sense and a certain distaste for Pete’s heavy-handed management. With folded bills containing addresses and phone numbers, the whispers of something more and thick envelopes pressed into your palm at the end of your nights, your stash began to grow.
You had to be careful how you spent your money, having excuses at the ready when you showed up with new outfits and shoes, passing it off as second-hand or cheap online purchases. For the first time in a long time, you felt a shred of agency; you were no longer having to beg, no longer having to be a victim of Pete’s scraps– you were creating a life of your own. However, the risk grew with every encounter, having to be wary about where you met them, how you kept in contact, keeping yourself hidden from them inside the club.
The most dangerous part though, wasn’t the logistics; it was the change in your own demeanor. As the list grew, so did your confidence. The desperation that once made you easy to intimidate was quickly replaced and you started to look at Pete with a secret, mocking amusement and no longer with fear.
Friday night was a blur of shimmering pale blue lace and the suffocating scent of cigars. Pete had suggested the outfit, claiming he just knew the attention it would attract and sadly, he was right. It drew in a specific breed of predatory men. You felt less like a dancer and more like a piece of sordid art that was subjected to lingering touches and hungry whispers. You spent time moving booth to booth, lap to lap, your movements fluid and hesitant, playing your usual role of the trembling innocent to practiced perfection while counting the seconds until the night was over.
As the night progressed, you made your way back downstairs, heading over to the bar to grab a drink of water when you caught the eye of possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen; the kind of man people wrote about, the type that you thought couldn’t possibly exist.
The man was an absolute mountain of a human being.
He had to be an easy six-foot-nine, he towered ridiculously over the other men at the bar, his broad shoulders blocking out the purple lights behind him, casting a halo around him. His open flannel showed off his tight black shirt, stretched thin over his muscle. His face was set in a stony, grumpy expression until he noticed you were looking right back at him which made him break out in a grin as you stepped closer to him. You took in the thick beard, long hair and sucked in a sharp breath as a warmth spread over your stomach.
You smiled shyly up at him and offered out your hand to him, and happily let yourself be guided into his space as he spoke in a low rumble which vibrated in your chest.
‘’You’re the new one,’’ He stated, wetting his lips as he pulled you closer.
The smell of expensive sandalwood and aged leather clung to him, making your head spin as he leaned down to hear you in the deafening noise of the club.
‘’Hi,’’ You said breathlessly, ‘’I’m Sugar.’’
‘’Hi, Sugar,’’ He replied, voice gravelly and honeyed. ‘’I’m Ari.’’
There was a look in his eyes, predatory, and you weren't sure if he was throwing you a lifeline or a noose.
Love this line!
You lifted onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, sucking in a breath and praying that it’ll be enough to please him.
I just know the innocence of this fucking delighted him lol.
Me at that ending:
Ahhhhh! The atmosphere you’ve created is so vivid and immersive! I love seeing Sugar evolve too. While I love her side hustle for her, I’m also scared for her. I just know Pete is gonna find out and there will be hell to pay 🥲
༊*·˚ main materlist | pete’s place’s opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ pairings & future pairings:
pete brenner x female!reader.
lloyd hansen x female!reader.
ari levinson x female!reader.
curtis everett x female!reader.
steve rogers x female!reader.
jake jensen x female!reader.
(and others that will be revealed at a later date.)
word count: 9083 | series rating: explicit. ༊*·˚
warnings: implied abusive relationship, homelessness, alcohol, general sadness, advances, pete being a scumbag.
this is a dark au. minors are not welcome here.
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ notes:
two years later and the first chapter is finally here.
i really have missed you all dearly and i'm so excited to share this with you.
the second chapter will kick off the darker elements, but enjoy the set up! and i promise to not take two years to give you the second chapter.
as always, please tell me what you think, i really enjoy hearing your thoughts, opinions and guesses on whats coming up next.
adore you, mwah!!!
all mistakes are my own. already had to go back and take out a section. that's what i get for not separating my notes from my actual writing. whoops.
A year after you packed brown boxes scrawled with black ink, clothes stuffed into various bags, and the hope of your true love, into the back of your car, to move across the country to live with your ex-boyfriend, you find yourself one night in a heart pounding screaming match. Thrown dishes, broken glass, picture frames on the floor. The remnants of a lost love etched by the sounds of your cries into the tattered walls of the home you shared.
With pleading cries, tear stained cheeks, and heart in your throat, you’re grabbed and shoved out the door in nothing but a pair of sweats, and shirt with a coat being darted at you whilst you laid on the ground. One too many hours were spent afterwards pounding your fists against the front door, begging to at least have your purse so you can get a hotel room.
Just as you were about to leave, looking down at your battered, red hands from pounding on the door, your purse dropped out of a window; the contents spilled onto the grass below. With a sigh, either sadness or relief; you weren't sure which, you bent to pick up your scattered belongings, cursing the man during.
Luckily, you had everything you needed; cash, ID, and your shitty, overused phone.
You called around for a cab, numb fingers shaking as you pressed the blurry numbers, but with it being Friday night, you were looking at a long wait so instead, you decided to cut your losses and walk to find the nearest hotel.
The downside of moving, and being essentially trapped within the same four walls for months on end, is that you quickly found yourself lost– and being lost on Skid Row was the last place you wanted to be. You willed your tears to not fall after you walked by tent after tent, stranger after stranger, clutching your purse tight, old keys spread between your fingers, and finally found yourself outside a rundown hotel. You laughed to yourself in disbelief of having to head inside and get a room; but nonetheless, you did just that.
Lying on a dingy bedspread, surrounded by more nicotine-stained walls, you muffled your cries behind your hands and slowly fell into a somber slumber and wondered just how the fuck you had gotten yourself here.
Over the next few days, you walked around, getting to know your surroundings and applying for jobs left and right. You were forced to ration your food while you looked around for cheaper hotel rooms. You were trying your hardest to avoid the sprawls of clubs begging for dancers but after finding yourself downtrodden as you’re dismissed after applying for yet another job and getting immediately dismissed, and it was then when you were suddenly blinded by a huge, purple neon sign:
Pete’s Place.
Underneath a small notice hung from the sign read: Dancers Apply Within.
You looked around and whined quietly while you watched patron after patron enter the club. Two heavily built doormen eyed you. You shook out your bundling nerves, hung your head and followed the thump of the bass into the belly of the seedy club. You handed over your last twenty bucks to the red-head woman that was sitting behind a platformed desk, smiling sheepishly and giving a small nod before pushing through the curtains that framed a doorway. Purple and blue hues guided you into the belly of the club where you found red booths filled with drunk bodies that circled small stages. Girls with perfect form swirled around the pole, capturing the attention of everyone inside.
‘’And who might you be?’’
You turned to find a man staring intensely, glass warm in hand, sharp suit and sea-blue eyes. Your mouth hung, mind blank for a moment before sputtering out,
‘’Oh, I– I’m looking for the owner– I was hoping to… Audition…’’ You trailed off as the man began to circle you, fingers pried away your coat slightly, gaze wandering over your body. Calloused fingers tilted your chin upwards while he inspected your face before a slight smile appeared on his lips. ‘’If you’re still looking for dancers.’’
‘’Oh, we’re always looking for new girls, Sugar.’’ He gave you another once over before grinning, voice low and honeyed, ‘’Yeah, you’ll do,’’ He concluded, hand dropping from your chin before he began to walk away. ‘’Follow me.’’
‘’I take it you’re the owner,’’ you inquired as you followed the man to the other side of the club and down a dimly lit hallway, smiling back at, what you assumed was, one of his girls. ‘’You’re Pete?’’
‘’That’s me,’’ he confirmed as you’re led into an office. ‘’Gonna need to see ID, need you to sign a couple contracts, and for you to take your clothes off,’’ he quickly fired as he sat himself in his chair and threw a small stack of paper across the table.
‘’Contracts?’’
‘’All my girls sign to stay loyal to the club, I don’t need anyone running off and taking my profits with them– helps limit competition, and I need to see what I’m working with here, you’re not exactly gonna be wearing a winter coat out there. Usually you’d come during the day, work the pole but, I got three of my regular girls out tonight, so it’s your lucky day.’’
‘’Oh,’’ You answer simply, pausing before a moment. ‘’Right, yeah, lucky me– Of course,’’ you stumble out as you reach into your pocket and slide your ID on to his desk before peeling your jacket off and taking in a heavy breath before lifting your shirt over your head and sliding down your skirt with shaking hands.
‘’You got any experience?’’ He asked simply.
‘’Uh, no,’’ You answered, kicking your skirt to the side, fussing with your hands due to having no idea what to do with them. ‘’I’ve never done this before.’’
You dropped your head, feeling your cheeks heat up. When you finally looked back up, Pete was lounged back in his desk chair, eyebrow raised with a slick smile on his face. He didn’t look disappointed, he looked delighted, like the idea of a novice seemed to amuse him. Pete stood with a long intake of breath, leaving his station and stepping around the desk and moving towards you with a slow, almost predatory grace. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander the same way he did, eyeing the well tailored suit that left nothing to the imagination, large biceps crinkling the fabric as he crossed his arms. You let out a small gasp as he began to circle you, hand reaching out to smooth down your back, fingertips ghosting your sides. The floorboards creaked with each footstep until he was standing back in front of you. He reached out a hand to pluck at your bra.
‘’Loose this,’’ he instructed casually.
You gave a shaky nod, reaching behind to unclip your bra, slowly letting it fall down your arms before it was discarded on the floor with the rest of your clothes. You eyed him shyly, unsure if you were wanting the ground to swallow you up or if you wanted him to reach out and touch you.
And touch you, he did.
The back of his hand stroked down your stomach, knuckles grazing the softness of your lower belly. Nerves began to take over, you felt yourself trembling a little, and you knew he felt it by the way his mouth poked up at the side. Although, he was very obviously attractive, the bile still rose in your throat when you felt a familiar warm ache tug at your legs.
‘’I-I’m a hard worker,’’ You said hesitantly, desperately needing to fill the silence.
‘’Hard worker,’’ Pete snorted, lips tugged up in a mocking smile. ‘’I don’t care about your worth ethic, Sugar. I care about the view.’’
‘’And?’’ You probed.
His hand slipped around to your back, pulling you in close as he stared down at you, eyes flickering across your face.
‘’Views are good,’’ He judged. ‘’You’ve certainly got a… Desperate innocence vibe going on. Guy’s are gonna eat that up.’’ He nodded as he stepped back, moving back towards the desk, propping himself against it. ‘’Here’s the deal: You’re gonna show me what you got, so I know whether you’ll need a few days with some of my best girls to work on those skills. Doesn’t mean you can’t work, but it means you’re limited to laps, and it’s just a bit less money. Base pay at the end of the week, tips are handed in and the house takes a cut and redistributed back to the girls. Be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.’’
You stood awkwardly nodding, arms crossing over your chest which made Pete laugh.
‘’Drop ‘em,’’ He ordered, wagging a finger downwards. ‘’Just me and you, Sugar, how are you supposed to handle it being out there? Put ‘em down.’’ You complied as Pete carried on explaining: ‘’Pay the door, same way you did to get in, but my girls pay half to work. You gotta give to get in here, baby. VIP is for my more seasoned girls, better money, but we’ll talk about that further down the line. The contract…’’ He reaches behind himself to grab the small stack of paper. ‘’...Is so you understand that every single cent that your hand touches goes through me. No making deals with my clients, no outside work with the men that step into my club. That’s what VIP is for. There’s no need for you to be bent over in the back of some rented Bently, okay? You fuck me and you’re back on that street and you can’t go to any other club.’’
You nodded. ‘’Didn’t plan on it.’’
‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised. ‘’Or, you will be, when you sign.’’
‘’So, I would start tonight?’’
He nodded and rattled the paper.
With some hesitancy, you took the paper and the pen that quickly followed and stepped around him to lean and sign the dotted line, looking back up to find him staring down at you. He slipped the contract off the desk and stood straight, moving around the other side to slide into a locked draw before grabbing his glass and wandering over to a small couch in the corner of his office. He sat down, thighs spreading open, gaze locked on yours as he took a long swig of the amber liquid that sloshed in the crystal.
‘’Come show me what you got, Sugar.’’
You let out a shaky breath, attempting to rid your body of the nerves, as you slowly stepped towards Pete’s open thighs. You turned in a fluid motion, hoping to God that it looked good, and lowered yourself onto his lap. Using the muted thumping from the club's belly, you began to wind your hips, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. The cigarette smoke that clung to his suit assaulted your senses, mixing with the alcohol on his breath, making your head spin. Your eyes closed, breathing unsteady as you continued your dance. You heard the soft thump of his glass being placed down and soon felt his fingers on your chin, guiding you to look behind.
Your eyes fluttered open and were met with his intense gaze. Your breath hitched as his hands then found your waist, helping to guide you into a better rhythm. He hummed low in his throat, taking in a deep breath as his other hand slid over your thigh, goosebumps following in a traitorous line.
‘’There we go, just like that,’’ He coached, voice low and breathy. ‘’Gotta look at ‘em, Sugar. Gotta make sure they feel like the only man in the world, but they don’t touch you like I am, okay?’’ You begged your heart to slow as his hand smoothed over your stomach, heavy and strong. ‘’You’re good, Sugar, but you’re not ready to be out on the pole yet. You gotta put in some work, gonna set you up with one of my girls.’’
He tapped your thigh and motioned for you to stand. He followed suit, getting to his feet and looking down at you. He swept a stray lock of hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.
‘’You can work tonight. You got anything to wear?’’
You shook your head. He let out a little laugh.
‘’Didn’t come very prepared, did you, Sugar?’’
‘’I– I used my last 20 bucks to get in here. I didn’t plan on coming in–’’
‘’You did what?’’ He questioned sharply, eyebrows raising. He sighed when you nodded your head.
‘’S’why I really needed this to go well. I promise I’ll get better–’’
‘’Yeah, yeah, I don’t care about that right now,’’ Pete cut off. ‘’Where are you staying?’’
‘’The hotel at the end of the street, the–’’
‘’Yeah, the shitty one. How long have you got the room for?’’
‘’Three more days,’’ You confessed.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the silence was heavy with the weight of him knowing the situation; with admitting just how fucked you were. You searched his expression, he didn’t look even the slightest bit sympathetic. He looked like he had just found a really good loophole in his contract that made a smirk tug at his lips.
‘’Totally broke? Not a dime?’’ He asked, and nodded his head and let out a slow hum of contemplation when you confirmed. ‘’Alright. I can help.’’
You reached down for your shirt as he walked to his desk.
‘’I can’t really have you sleeping on a park bench. I need my girls at their best, so, here’s what I’m gonna do.’’ He sat down at his desk, elbows resting on the wood, his gaze getting more intense as he lingered on you as you dressed.
‘’I’m gonna give you… An advance, you could say…’’ He trailed off, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a book and an envelope. He plucked a pen from a pot and clicked it before flicking open the ledger, and scrawling inside. ‘’I’m gonna take a little bit more of a cut until it’s paid off, but it means you can pay your door fee, you can eat, have a roof over your head and have a bit of time to work on those skills. It also means, you won’t actually have to work tonight if you’d rather rest up and spend the day practicing.’’
‘’Are you sure?’’ You raised a brow. ‘’Why would you–’’
‘’Consider it good faith, taking a chance,’’ He quickly interjected. ‘’Shows how sure I am that you’ll be one of my best.’’
There was a look in his eyes, predatory, and you weren't sure if he was throwing you a lifeline or a noose. ‘’What do you say, Sugar?’’
He held out the envelope. You hesitantly reached out for it, feeling like you were signing a deal with the devil. Your eyes locked on his as your fingers gripped the paper, an easy smile pulling at your lips in response to the smirk on his.
‘’’Atta girl.’’
You lowered your head, looking down at the dusty patterned carpet. The weight on your shoulders felt heavier than ever, but at least you could get a decent meal.
‘’I really don't have to work tonight?’’
‘’Nope,’’ He said, popping the ‘P’ and reaching over the desk to hook a finger under your chin as he stood, drawing your gazes back to each other. ‘’But, I wouldn’t mind a ‘thank you’.’’
He didn’t release his hold as he guided you around the desk, the smell of stale cigarettes, alcohol and a woody aftershave assaulting your senses again. Your heart kicked up speed, like someone had set off a tiny jackhammer in your chest, as you stepped into his space. You lifted onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, sucking in a breath and praying that it’ll be enough to please him. His touch moved to the side of your neck, his hand heavy and splayed across the column as he leaned down.
‘’S’that all I get, Sugar?’’ He teased, hushed and sickly sweet. ‘’Not got anything else for me?’’
You swallowed the lump in your throat and opened your mouth to speak, but nothing wanted to come out. You took to shaking your head instead and gripped the envelope tight and pushed it against his chest as you turned your head. Your eyes closed and shoulders sagged when he let out a laugh, dropping his head to your shoulder and releasing the hold he had on your neck.
‘’I’m fucking with you,’’ He chuckled darkly. ‘’Go on, get out of here before I decide to charge you for breathing the same air as me.’’
You stepped back, a small smile tugging at your lips and you reached for your bag from the floor.
‘’I’ll walk you out, actually. Need to check on my girls.’’
He walked to the door, swinging it open and motioning for you to step through. As you did, his hand found the middle of your back, heavy and guiding. The thumping base hit you as you walked back into the neon-lit chaos of the club, the night still in full swing. Pete nodded to several men on the way to the exit, hand slipping to your waist, pulling you close and keeping a tight grip and by the time the cold night breeze hit you, his warm palm was sitting on your ass.
‘’I’m gonna be here at twelve tomorrow, I want you here,’’ He instructed, guiding you to face him, his voice taking on a sudden professional coldness. ‘’Do not be late, hmm?’’
You nodded. His eyes scanned you one last time, sea-blue eyes still holding that uneasy glint that made your stomach turn and your toes curl.
‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised with a tap to your backside before stepping away. ‘’See you tomorrow, Sugar.’’
You sucked in a breath and began your walk back to your hotel, the envelope weighing down your bag and filling your throat with bile. The neon sign buzzed in your ears as you watched the purple hue on the sidewalk fade. The rest of the walk was a blur, your mind filled with the flashing of lights, the booths of men, the smell of smoke and sweet drinks and the terrifying anxiety that clawed at your chest when you thought of having to sit in those men’s laps, strip down on a pole, vulnerable and exposed, for the sake of a roof and warm food; all while owing a man you’ve just met.
The next day, you made your way back to Pete’s Place.
The seedy club seemed less terrifying in the daylight. The neon sign hung unlit, the velvet red rope enclosed the open air and not the multiple bodies of men waiting to feast their eyes on women who couldn’t give a single shit about them, and Pete… Stood with his hand in his pocket, the other lifted to his lips as he took a long drag of a cigarette, eyes gleaming as he caught your eye.
‘’There she is!’’ He greeted, cheerful and honeyed. ‘’My new favourite, fresh and ready for the day. How’d you sleep, Sugar? Room booked for a little longer?’’
You nodded, ‘’All secured for the next two weeks, and I’m gonna go and get some groceries when I’m done–’’
‘’Yeah, sounds all golden, Sugar,’’ He laughed. ‘’One of my best is waiting inside for you. She’s gonna show you the ropes, how to shake that ass good enough to empty some wallets for me. I’m gonna come and see you in a few hours and see how you’re getting on and hopefully we’ll get you on that pole and not stuck in laps.’’
With that, he stepped out to the curb as a black Sedan pulled up.
‘’Off you go,’’ He ordered.
You nodded once again before heading inside of the club.
You searched the club’s belly for the woman but she was seemingly nowhere to be found until you made your way into the dressing room. The atmosphere was stifling despite it being empty. It stunk of hairspray, multiple different perfumes blending together and smoke. The vanities were a thing of chaos, make up strewed, rollers and different hair tools. Rails of sequins and fishnets and a wall of lockers that were decorated in different styles, showing off the aesthetics of each woman that owned them.
You turned to leave when you bumped into a woman, already kitted out in something Pete would absolutely have chosen, she gleamed brightly, seemingly genuinely happy to be here.
‘’So, you’re the new little lamb Pete picked up?’’ She asked sweetly, cigarette hanging from her lip and adjusting the band under her bust. She moved into the room and towards the railing of clothes with a grace and confidence you prayed to acquire as quickly as possible. ‘’I’m Rachael, Pete’s asked me to show you how to not get eaten alive tonight.’’
She plucked a simple, sheer black slip and held it out, ‘’Let’s see if you can actually move, or if you’re just a pretty little lamb.’’
After you changed you gave yourself a second, third and fourth glance over before she playfully rolled her eyes and pulled you out to the club floor and towards one of the smaller side stages. She left to flick on the club lights, shy under the sunlight that waved through the balcony windows and clicking around inside the DJ booth until the bass rattled through the floor. The polished chrome gleaned under the purple and blue lights, cold and intimidating as she made her way onto the stage. She demonstrated multiple moves with an effortless ease, her heels clicking softly against the platform floor, fluid and languid.
‘’You see, it’s not about dancing, not really,’’ She said as she swirled around, leg hooked around the pole. ‘’It’s about the tease. You never give it away all at once, you gotta make them ache for it. You gotta make ‘em think that if they throw just the right amount, they might just get a chance to touch you, have your attention.’’
You nodded watching her closely.
‘’Now, get up here and try a basic spin. Just copy exactly what I did.’’ Rachael slid down and stepped off the stage, motioning for you to step up.
‘’I’ll try my best,’’ You said earnestly.
‘’Your best doesn’t pay the bills, honey. Confidence and ass does.’’
You stepped onto the platform, the polished surface feeling slippery beneath your heels. You wrapped your hand hesitantly around the pole. You attempted the spin she had demonstrated, but instead of a fluid glide, your foot caught the edge of the stage and stumbled. You cursed yourself as she smiled and waved for you to try again which while the second attempt was better, the grace Rachael had exhibited was nowhere to be seen. She circled you like a hawk, eyes watching every move, often reaching out to make you arch your back more, to drop your shoulders, to reposition your legs.
‘’You’re like a newborn lamb, stop thinking about it so much,’’ She giggled, sweet and light until her tone suddenly turned serious. ‘’Never look them in the eye for too long. Makes ‘em think they own you. Keep it light, fleeting, make them chase it,’’ She coached. ‘’The pole is a tool, it’s your friend, use it to hide what you don’t like and highlight what you do like. Use it to your advantage. Do not fear it.’’
The next few hours passed in a blur of twirls, clicks of heels and red knees. Exhaustion clung to your skin, damp and slick under the spotlights, the sun dipping behind the clouds casting a golden glow into the club as you spun and dipped for the hundredth time, finally gaining some semblance of control of the cold metal. Rachael gleamed and squealed when you would find your footing, hit a dip in time to the music and get through at least a minute without a stumble.
You were trying to follow another of Rachael’s demonstrations when a familiar voice cut through the air and drifted its way over to the stage. Pete had returned, leaning against a pillar on the far side of the club floor, drink in hand and watching with an amused glint in his eyes, tracking you carefully.
‘’What a clumsy little thing you are, Sugar. Tell me, baby,’’ He said, a tinge of playful annoyance coating his words as he sauntered forward and towards the edge of the stage. ‘’You always like this or is it the thrill of being in my presence?’’
Rachael rolled her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
‘’She’s getting there, she’s just… A little cautious… Shy– It’s cute!’’ She defended, a sweet grin as she returned the kiss to Pete’s cheek and then looked back at you with a wink.
‘’I don’t need cute, I don’t need cautious. I can’t sell that,’’ Pete spoke, short and to the point. ‘’It doesn’t make me money. Desire does.’’
He made his way to the base of the stage, looking up at you. The spotlights casted deep shadows across his face, making his eyes seem black. You let out a breath as he eyed, not as a person, but as a product that was ineffective. He rapt his knuckles on the platform floor, his voice dropping,
‘’Get down here.’’
You practically leaped from the platform, steading yourself on his arm as your footing faltered, your chest heaving from a mix of exhaustion and nerves. Up close, the scent of his cologne overwhelmed your senses, your head spinning as he pulled you in closer. He looked you up and down, shaking his head with a disappointed frown. You couldn’t help the shakes that swam under your skin as he peered into your eyes. He walked you back slowly, the back of your thighs digging into the edge of the stage.
‘’Look at you,’’ He began to scold gently. ‘’Shaking like a leaf, like you’re waiting for the firing squad rather than a paycheck.’’
Pete then reached up a hand, finding the back of your neck, his thumb pressing firmly into the dip at the base of your skull, forcing you to keep your gaze on his. The amusement was long gone and replaced by a demanding, icy intensity. He leaned his head down, breath hot against your cheek.
‘’The men that come through those doors do not pay for ‘nervous’. They pay for a fantasy. A fantasy of a woman who knows exactly how to drive them crazy. If you walk out there looking like a lost puppy, they’ll smell the fear, they’ll take advantage, and then you’ll owe me for that nice advance I gave you and I’ll want it in full and I know sure as shit…’’ He leaned down further lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered in your ear. ‘’You don’t have it, and we’ll have to work something else out, won’t we?’’
He released you abruptly, and you fell against the edge of the stage, willing the tears to stay at bay as he stepped back and guested at Rachael and then towards the stage.
‘’Keep working her. I want her ready.’’
The next two hours were full of exertion, exhaustion, sweat and damn near tears until it finally came time to go back to your hotel to rest up for your shift. Rachael seemed happy with where you managed to get to, she had taught you how to use your shyness as a weapon, how to perfectly arch your back and how to breathe through the nerves but whether Pete would end up sharing the same feelings was still to be determined. Your muscles ached and cried out with each step back to your hotel, palms raw from the friction of the pole, and the fear of ending up on the street sat heavy in your stomach along with the feeling of feeling less like a woman and more like a piece of property, catalogued and highly priced.
The night swept in with a heavy tension, the club hummed; scattered voices from the line outside as you walked through the front with a nod to security and a crisp ten slipped into the hand of the woman on the door. You shucked up your bag higher on your shoulder, watching as the staff at the bar moved with a frantic energy, attempting to keep up with the hoards of men tapping their fingers for a drink while their eyes leeched on the dancers at the pole.
You made your way to Pete’s office, rapping your fingers on the doorframe and smiling when he looked up at you with a grin.
‘’Hey, Sugar, what d’ya need?’’ He asked, stepping from around the back of his desk and moving towards the door.
‘’Is it okay if I borrow an outfit for tonight? I didn’t get a chance to run and grab anything– Maybe a pair of heels as well?’’
Pete nodded, ‘’Yeah, take what you want from the rails in the dressing room, shoes are underneath. Just make sure they’re returned or I have to charge you for it.’’
‘’Thanks,’’ You replied sweetly.
Pete then pressed his hand to the small of your back, leading you towards the dressing room. The girls were in full swing, the clatter of make up and the clicking of straighteners and curlers mixed with their laughs and banter as they applied finishing touches.
‘’Alright, my lovely ladies, this is Sugar,’’ Pete addressed loudly, adopting the nickname he gave you as your dancer name without giving you a chance to argue about it. ‘’She’s the newest addition. Be nice, look after her, she’s a shy one… And get out there and make me some money.’’
You felt cornered as the other dancers scanned you from head to toe, receiving a mixture of curiosity, warm welcome and cold competition. You wrung your hands together as Pete stepped away to grab an outfit from the rack, bending to snag a pair of shoes and walking back over to you. It may as well have been a collection of strings rather than an outfit; baby pink and covered in sequins.
‘’You’ve got twenty minutes and then I want you on that stage,’’ He ordered, firm but oddly sweet. ‘’I’ll be watching from the balcony booths so don’t fuck this up, alright, Sugar?’’
You hummed in agreement as he bent down, presenting his cheek to which you quickly pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Pete grinned and gave a wink, and without saying another word, he laid a soft tap on your ass and walked out the door, leaving you with a tightness in your chest and a sinking feeling in your stomach. You walked to a spare vanity, setting your bag down and started at the reflection, finding a girl you barely recognised anymore. Even more so once you had changed, the baby pink set Pete had chosen, clung to every curve and valley, and left nothing to the imagination. The soft colours contrasted painfully with the dark circles of fatigue which you had tried your best to cover with multiple swipes of concealer.
You wondered if this is exactly how Pete wanted you; looking like a daydream on the verge of a deep, dark nightmare.
‘’Hey,’’ A voice spoke, drawing you away from your thoughts, and you looked up to find a woman standing behind you, a smile on her face and dressed in green. ‘’He’s really trying to push the ‘barely there’ look tonight, isn’t he?’’
You nodded, a shy smile on your face as you smoothed down the outfit.
‘’I’m Crocki. Like, crocodile. Pete found a stuffed crocodile in my bag once– totally forgot it was there, and hasn’t let me live it down since,’’ She laughed, genuine and comforting. ‘’Just do your job, keep him happy and you’ll have no issues. Most of the girls here are really nice. They just wanna make their money and dip. It’s not all bad, okay?’’
You nodded again, struggling to find the words to speak, nerves were eating at your vocal cords and tugging at your throat.
‘’I’ll see you out there, you’ll be great, don’t worry,’’ Crocki reassured, giving a comforting rub to your arm before disappearing out of the dressing room.
The other girls soon left, leaving you on your own. You took another minute to breathe deeply, eyes closed; the thumping of the lion’s den pounded in your ears.
The transition was jarring to say the least; one moment you were safe in arms of bulb lights, perfume and mirrors and the next you were willing your footing to not falter as you stepped into the club’s belly, the music shifting and deepening into something primal, visceral. The lights were a bruised purple, the smoke from cigars and cigarettes acted as a map to the men huddled around the stages and perched in the booths. It merged into a hungry roar and you were the meal.
High above the main floor, a singular familiar figure leaned over the railing, elbows propped against the metal, swirling a drink with keen eyes locked on your every move. Pete gave you a grin, nodding towards the stage, that predatory glint on full show; it crawled over your body like a physical touch, sending a shiver down your spine and forming a lump in your throat.
You made your way to the stage as another dancer collected the cash from the floor, the crowd dying down a little as the smell of alcohol, flashing lights and the sea of hungry eyes waited in a subdued anticipation as you climbed the steps and clicked onto the stage. You smiled weakly at the dancer as she passed you and gave one last glance at Pete before gripping the pole.
A heavy, industrial beat slammed into the room, the bass rattling the panels of the stage as your body began to react to the rhythm. The sequins caught the strobe lights, sending shards of glitter and gold dancing on the floor and faces of the crowd. You focused on the pole, remember your tutelage, hiding your sloppy footwork behind the pole and using it as a grounding point amidst the chaos, spinning and arching your back.
The atmosphere shifted to expose a raw hunger, men leaned forward, their eyes fixed on your every move. You earned whistles, dollar bills and captivated silences from others. You dared to glance again up at the balcony, finding Pete still stood in the same spot, watching you with an intensity you just couldn’t pinpoint, the cigarette in his hand glowing a cherry-red as he took a deep drag and blew out the smoke slowly. It didn’t seem like he was looking at you like just another dancer; more like an investment he was ready to wring out for as much cash as possible.
The next song started, giving you no time to recover, switching to a slower, haunting ethereal pull. The lights dimmed a bit further, the purple lights casting a shadow across your body which helped you feel more hidden. You relaxed a little, finding a hidden ease in the slower, more languid movements. You transitioned into a slow descent on the pole, body arching, a softness that was stark against the grit of the club. The air felt thick and charged as you locked eyes with Pete once again, a smug satisfaction written across his face as he stubbed out the cigarette and took a swig from his glass.
As the song reached its end, you gave a slow swirl around the pole with a lingering, new found seductive grace, and slowly dropped to your knees. Your chest rose and fell heavily, hand still gripping the pole as money rained and Pete grinned. He didn’t move an inch, his stare was like a physical weight, like he was claiming every inch of your skin by his force of will.
You stayed in that pose for a short moment, before getting to your feet, and quickly scooping up the bills. You didn’t dare to give another look towards Pete as you left the stage. The adrenaline hummed through your veins, crumpled bills sticking to the sweat of your chest as you made your way back to the dressing room to have a moment to gather yourself before heading back out to the floor.
The transition from the blinding lights, to the grim reality of the backstage area was discordant and bleak, but the weight of the cash in your hands felt like a small victory, one worthy of essentially selling your soul. The other dancers glanced with small smiles and nods of newfound respect. As you reached your locker to stow your earnings until the end of the night, the door to the dressing room opened with a slow, deliberate creak. The girls quickly cleared out, pressing kisses and giving hugs to Pete as they exited.
He stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, hair disheveled and shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, his large biceps bulging under the thin fabric as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. He looked less like the shady business man you met the night before and more like a predator who had decided to stop watching and start pouncing. He didn’t say anything at first, simply stared at you, eyes seemingly peering through you and the way you clutched the money in your hands.
‘’Quite the show, Sugar.’’ His voice was low, dangerously sweet. ‘’Didn’t know you had it in you. Proves hard work pays off when you really want something.’’
He stepped into the room, the click of his shoes sounding like a countdown. He stopped just inches away, his presents suffocating and overwhelming; the scent of bourbon and expensive tobacco enveloping the air around you both. He reached out, fingers sliding under your chin to keep your gazes locked.
‘’You enjoy the attention, baby? The money make you move like that?’’ He asked in a hushed tone, breath ghosting your cheek. ‘’You playing me, Sugar?’’
You shook your head, ‘’Beginners luck, I guess.’’
Pete let out a soft, dark chuckle. The grin didn’t reach his eyes as he grazed your lower lip with a gentle, but possessive pressure.
‘’Beginners luck,’’ He parroted, husky and contemplative.
He didn’t release the hold on your chin; his grip tightened, ensuring you couldn’t escape his eyes. It was heavy, stripping you bare more effectively than the skimpy bundle of strings of your costume ever could. He seemed to be savouring the simplicity of your answer. He then shifted his weight, pushing you back against the cool metal of the lockers. The heat from his body crept over your skin, pricking at your senses as he leaned down, his voice barely a whisper.
‘’You’re a terrible liar, baby. I saw the way you looked at them; saw the way you looked at me.’’ His lips grazed your ear, his other hand gripping at your waist, bringing your middles together, eliciting a muted gasp that settled in your throat. ‘’You played the room, the hunger… And now, you’ve got me wondering how much more of that ‘luck’ you have hidden away.’’
He looked down at your hand as he stepped back, his expression shifting to something more demanding; the softness vanishing and replaced by the cold authority of the man who owned your entire being.
‘’Hand it over, Sugar,’’ He commanded, gesturing to the cash bundled in your hand, palm up and waiting.
You placed the money in his hand and sighed as he counted the bills with a rapid, well seasoned motion, eyes flicking over the amounts. The soft snap-snap-snap of the bills drummed in your ears and drowned out the muted thump of the bass as you waited with bated breath to see how much your cut would be.
Once he reached the total, he folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket and then reached out to pull a smaller, measly stack from the other, holding it out to you with a satisfied grin. You took it, splaying out the few bills between your fingers, a lesser amount than what would even be considered a fair pay, but regardless of your feelings you looked up and smiled with feigned gratitude.
‘’I had to deduct your newcomer's fee, and the prime slot on the main stage, of course,’’ He said casually, arms folded across his chest again, he watched for your reaction with a cruel sort of curiosity. ‘’An investment in your future here. You understand, right, Sugar?’’
You nodded with a strained smile. He didn’t wait for you to say anything else, he turned his gaze towards the door, checking you were still alone, before he looked back at you with that same predatory, hungry gaze.
His voice dropped to a low, purr. ‘’You’ve got a lot of potential, Sugar. I can’t wait for the day I get to be on the receiving end of it.’’
He reached out again, his hand sliding around your waist and pulling you flush against him for one last, possessive moment. He lingered, nose brushing against your temple, taking in a small inhale and making your heart jump in your chest.
‘’Get back out there, Sugar.’’
Pete released you abruptly and sauntered out the room, door clicking shut behind him. The tension that had brewed broke instantly and you exhaled sharply, unaware of the breath you had kept clutched in your chest. The silence in the room felt a thousand tons heavier than the atmosphere on stage, the few bills in your hand felt like a slap to the face; the feeling of the effort you had put into being stage-ready felt wasteful and sour. You wondered if this was going to be worth it, if you should keep putting all you had into pleasing a man who wanted you rob you blind and keep your livelihood wrapped in his hands.
You were pulled out your thoughts by a group of dancers making their way back into the dressing room, some giving empathic glances.
‘’Welcome to Pete’s Place, babe. Hope you like pennies,’’ She said simply, a tight smile on her lips.
Another was re-applying her eyeliner when she spoke; ‘’Don’t let him see you cry. It’s like he smells it, like a shark.’’
She didn’t offer anything else; in this place, empathy seemed to be a luxury only a few could afford. They all continued their routines like the small conversation never happened, the sounds of brushes and small talk the only sound in the room. You stuffed the cash in your bag, shutting the locker with a frustrated slam before sucking in a sharp breath and heading back out into the club.
A few hours later, after spending the rest of the night in laps and grinning sweetly at horrible men, you moved in front of your locker as you changed, movements mechanical as if all parts that were human had been stripped away and shoved inside a box. As you pulled on the clothes you had arrived in, you felt a cold knot forming in your stomach; the desperation that had dragged you through the club's doors was starting to form into a quiet rage.
As you stepped out of the club and into the night's cool air, the neon sign flicked overhead and the meager amount in your pocket laughed at you as you sulked back to the dingy hotel room. The click of the lock sounded like a gavel, finalizing your sentence of struggle. You slid down the door, the cold wood pressing against your spin as you melted into an exhausted puddle. You stayed there for a while, staring down at the carpet, breath coming out in ragged hitches as the adrenaline of the night wore off.
You looked down at your shaking hands as you mulled over the contract, the debt, the sick smile on Pete’s face— his hands, his arms, his smell. You groaned and covered your face with your hands, hating how he continued to invade your thoughts despite the hatred that pooled in your guts.
With the adrenaline long gone, it left behind the crushing weight of exhaustion. You let out a long, suffering sigh as you got to your feet. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that your first big night wasn’t just a hurdle to get over, but the beginning of a slow, wretched descent into Pete’s sordid world.
The following weeks were a blur of exhaustion and frustration. Every night followed the same pattern: the blinding lights, the squeak of the pole, the hungry eyes; the exhilarating rush of the dance, the red knees, bruises and blisters and the crushing disappointment at the end of the night when Pete handed you your pitiful earnings. Pete became increasingly bold with his touches, promises of bonuses were always tied to how much you were willing to tolerate his advances in the office, and having to deal with his monetary retaliations when you refused.
The heavy bass vibrated under your feet, tickling your toes through your high-platform shoes. Your hands clutched at the cold, silver pole as you delicately swirled yourself around. The past few weeks your skills had improved; although, not enough according to Pete; though you were dead sure that his thoughts were an excuse to pull you into his lap for impromptu lessons.
You kept your gaze loose, swinging from patron to the girls sat in laps with glowing smiles and fingers twirling through their hair as the grasped dollar bills. Blue and purple hues danced over your body as your hips swayed the best they could in time to the beat as you prayed for the song to finally be over.
The interest in you was dwindling; the allure of a shiny new girl was fading fast and you were no longer receiving tips just for being there. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, but you damn sure hoped it’d last long enough to pay your bill at the hotel. You had five days to come up with three hundred bucks, and by the measly few dollar bills in your pocket and the couple of fives on the floor; things weren’t looking good.
You made your way into the dressing room after your set, finding girls in various stages of getting ready and touching up their hair and walked over to Rachel's chair.
“Can I talk to you about something?” You asked, standing behind Rachel's chair.
“Yeah, anything, babe.”
She set her brush down and turned back to face you.
“I know I need to get better on stage, but how did you get Pete to let you into the VIP section?”
“You have to pay, didn’t he tell you that?”
“Yeah, I know that, but he keeps wanting me—“
“Oh, yeah, you need to pay him. Treat him well, look after him…” She trailed off as you looked completely lost. “Head, Sugar. The man wants head. Just do it. You’re gonna be doing more than that in VIP.”
“I thought it was just more private—“
“Nooo. No, no, no,” She snickered, grinning brightly. “They want more than just a dance, which is why you’ve gotta pay Nick to get through the door because they have to work harder to keep you safe.”
“I have to pay security?” You whined, throwing up your hands. ‘’Am I gonna have to start paying to breathe?’’
“Pay, tip, all the same. He’s really explained none of this to you?”
You shook your head as she gave an empathic smile before tapping your arm as she passed you to leave to go out the club floor. You stood for a moment, trying to find any other way to survive the next week that didn’t require sulking into Pete’s office and grovelling for another loan. You let out a pained groan when you realised you had no other choice.
You trudged into Pete’s office, heavy heels weighing down your steps as if trying to pull you back from your impending doom.
‘’Pete, I have a favour to ask,’’ You spoke sweetly as you stepped into his office.
‘’Shoot,’’ Pete replied, sorting through papers on his desk, brows knitting together as he discarded one after another, letting out huffed sighs. ‘’Quickly, now. Things to do,’’ Pete prompted sharply.
‘’I– I don’t have enough for rent– Well, the hotel bill–’’
‘’You’re still there?’’ Pete paused, eyeing you with a slight disgust. ‘’Why are you still there?’’
‘’Yeah, it’s cheap and no point wasting time finding somewhere else,’’ You explained, sighing and wringing your hands. ‘’I was wondering if you’d let me work in the VIP section, the girls said they make more money–’’
‘’Not happening,’’ He cut in sharply, pulling on his suit jacket.
‘’Why?’’ You asked, feeling already defeated and slightly offended.
‘’Because you refuse to do what the other girls do in order to work in VIP,’’ He snorted, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a familiar envelope. ‘’Gotta treat me like a VIP to get to the VIP’s, Sugar.’’
‘’I really need the money,’’ You pleaded.
‘’Work harder,’’ Pete said bluntly. ‘’Learn how to actually dance, you’ve gotten better, but the shy, innocent, little baby out of place act isn’t gonna get you far, it doesn’t last long–’’
‘’Yeah, I know,’’ You muttered under your breath.
‘’What was that, now?’’ He questioned, making you shrink as if you were a child that had just been scolded and before you could say anything else, he waved a hand; ‘’Doesn’t matter. Look, you’re no good to me if you end up on the street and get swiped and thrown into a van, so I guess I can loan you the money.’’
‘’Thank you,’’ You gushed, rushing over to him and placing your hand on his forearm. ‘’Thank you so much. I swear, I’ll work it off for free–’’
‘’I’ll just take a higher cut until you’re paid up. Not much good to me either if you don’t have the energy to stand on the stage and do whatever it is you do. And it means you can spend more time here working on your skill… Oh, do you need more lessons, sweetheart? I’m always available for practice, you know that, right?’’
‘’I just need to work on my confidence, but thanks for the offer, Pete,’’ You said earnestly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and taking the envelope. ‘’And thank you for the money. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’
‘’Oh, you’re not done. It’s barely 1 A.M.’’ Pete huffed out a short laugh, hands stuffed in his pockets.
‘’I’m really tired and I’m just not getting any attention,’’ You replied, exhausted and pouting to hopefully gain a little sympathy.
‘’So work for it,’’ He commanded and guided you out of the office and departed with his usual tap to your ass.
You parted from him at the dressing room doorway, watching him as he disappeared into the club, the money feeling sickly heavy in your hand. You huffed as you sat in your hair, stuffing the cash into your bag and shoving it under your vanity.
‘’My advice,’’ Crocki said, matter-of-fact but sympathetic. ‘’Stop borrowing money from a man that already underpays you. There’s better things you can do.’’
‘’You can always find work on the side,’’ Alexa said, fiddling with a curl that wouldn’t sit just right.
‘’I thought we couldn’t go to any clubs. None of the restaurants or anything I can do during the day want to hire me. I mean, I get it, all I have are stripper outfits and a leather jacket,’’ You huffed as you threw down your makeup brush, smoothing out the edges of your eyeshadow with your finger.
‘’Not talking about another club, not talking about waitressing,’’ Alexa laughed. ‘’The girls do home visits, parties, entertainment; others do more. You just gotta talk to Pete, he sets it all up.’’
‘’I don’t think I could do that, I can barely give a lap dance, and plus, I asked about VIP, he won’t let me unless I sleep with him.’’
‘’He ain’t bad in bed,’’ Rachael smirked, hand on the back of your chair as she popped her hip, her brow jumping teasingly.
‘’I sleep with him for free,'' Navy cut in, giggling as she joined Rachael, smoothing a finger over her lip gloss.
‘’I did not need to know that,’’ You groaned, a little laugh. ‘’Seriously, how am I supposed to be alone with these men?’’
‘’Because here you’re surrounded by people, you’re both watching and being watched. You might find it easier within the privacy of someone's home. You could make some serious money,’’ Alexa explained, standing and fluffing her hair.
‘’Come on, we better get back out there,’’ Crocki probed, shooing you up and out of your seat.
It was on a rainy Tuesday night that an opportunity presented itself in the form of a man who eyed you all night. You were finishing a slow, grinding set when the man dressed in a charcoal suit with a look of wealth and hunger in his eyes approached the edge of the stage as you were collecting the cash. He didn’t toss any himself, but he leaned in with a low, urgent plea:
‘’You’re breathtaking,’’ He breathed hotly. ‘’I have a private booth, if you want to join me. I can pay you for your time, more than whatever that boss of yours would give you.’’
You contemplated, knowing the rules were explicitly clear: No off the book dealings. Then you thought of the dwindling cash in your pocket, your overdrawn account and the money you already owed Pete. You knew it was risky, but you found yourself offering a different deal.
‘’Not here. Write down your address and I’ll come get it from you after I give a few dances,’’ You instructed quietly and then motioned for the man to leave.
The man nodded frantically, excitement crossing his face and his gaze lingering on your body before he stepped away, blending into the crowd and up to the balcony booths. You navigated to the dressing room with a sharp focus, not paying any mind to the other dancers as you quickly stuffed the cash away and made your way back into the club and passed the time on a few laps before making your way up to the man. He slid his address in with a wad of twenties and you spent a song or two in his lap before rushing to change and leave.
You hailed a cab and met him back at his apartment.
With that single night, that simple exchange, began your secret hustle– right under Pete’s nose.
The following weeks became a dangerous dance of their own. You honed your art of your side hustle. You began to keep a mental note of regulars that eyed you with the specific, desperate hunger; the ones who had more money than sense and a certain distaste for Pete’s heavy-handed management. With folded bills containing addresses and phone numbers, the whispers of something more and thick envelopes pressed into your palm at the end of your nights, your stash began to grow.
You had to be careful how you spent your money, having excuses at the ready when you showed up with new outfits and shoes, passing it off as second-hand or cheap online purchases. For the first time in a long time, you felt a shred of agency; you were no longer having to beg, no longer having to be a victim of Pete’s scraps– you were creating a life of your own. However, the risk grew with every encounter, having to be wary about where you met them, how you kept in contact, keeping yourself hidden from them inside the club.
The most dangerous part though, wasn’t the logistics; it was the change in your own demeanor. As the list grew, so did your confidence. The desperation that once made you easy to intimidate was quickly replaced and you started to look at Pete with a secret, mocking amusement and no longer with fear.
Friday night was a blur of shimmering pale blue lace and the suffocating scent of cigars. Pete had suggested the outfit, claiming he just knew the attention it would attract and sadly, he was right. It drew in a specific breed of predatory men. You felt less like a dancer and more like a piece of sordid art that was subjected to lingering touches and hungry whispers. You spent time moving booth to booth, lap to lap, your movements fluid and hesitant, playing your usual role of the trembling innocent to practiced perfection while counting the seconds until the night was over.
As the night progressed, you made your way back downstairs, heading over to the bar to grab a drink of water when you caught the eye of possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen; the kind of man people wrote about, the type that you thought couldn’t possibly exist.
The man was an absolute mountain of a human being.
He had to be an easy six-foot-nine, he towered ridiculously over the other men at the bar, his broad shoulders blocking out the purple lights behind him, casting a halo around him. His open flannel showed off his tight black shirt, stretched thin over his muscle. His face was set in a stony, grumpy expression until he noticed you were looking right back at him which made him break out in a grin as you stepped closer to him. You took in the thick beard, long hair and sucked in a sharp breath as a warmth spread over your stomach.
You smiled shyly up at him and offered out your hand to him, and happily let yourself be guided into his space as he spoke in a low rumble which vibrated in your chest.
‘’You’re the new one,’’ He stated, wetting his lips as he pulled you closer.
The smell of expensive sandalwood and aged leather clung to him, making your head spin as he leaned down to hear you in the deafening noise of the club.
‘’Hi,’’ You said breathlessly, ‘’I’m Sugar.’’
‘’Hi, Sugar,’’ He replied, voice gravelly and honeyed. ‘’I’m Ari.’’
There was a look in his eyes, predatory, and you weren't sure if he was throwing you a lifeline or a noose.
Love this line!
You lifted onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, sucking in a breath and praying that it’ll be enough to please him.
I just know the innocence of this fucking delighted him lol.
Me at that ending:
Ahhhhh! The atmosphere you’ve created is so vivid and immersive! I love seeing Sugar evolve too. While I love her side hustle for her, I’m also scared for her. I just know Pete is gonna find out and there will be hell to pay 🥲
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you see a new side to andy. the one that doesn't shy around. the one that doesn't wait.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+/MDNI. [dom!andy, hair pulling, gagging, dacryphyilia, tie being used as a collar, uhhhh.....yeah I like this]
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 414
𝐀/𝐍: day two of June Jukebox Scribbles hosted by @societynsoelsscribbles!!!! This takes place a couple weeks after the end of Patience is a Virtue. I'd also like to thank everyone for 700 followers!!! This is insane 🥹🥹
𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: “No I can't promise that I won't do that”
⤷June Jukebox Masterlist ⤷Andy Barber Masterlist
It wasn't like him, not really.
But he had been wound up tight, tighter and tighter till he was ready to snap. And no matter how much you tended to him, no matter how much you made him feel like he was okay, he wasn't. Not tonight.
The night started like any other. Him cooking dinner, you doing the dishes, you in his arms as you stroke his hair. But he had been quiet. And his eyes were dark—darker than you’d ever seen them.
And the night found itself to be like no other. He was still fully clothed, shirt unbottoned just enough to let you peek at his dark hair, tie undone, jaw clenched tight as he looks down at you.
He taps your cheek with two fingers, drawing your attention back to him. “Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm yours, that I'll care..” he enunciates slowly, making sure you understand each word that leaves his mouth. “I can't promise that I won't do that. But tonight, you're mine to use… mine to break.”
You whimper, his words so unlike him, but also, just like him. Promises to break you, but intentions to put you back together.
You'd be lying if you said you didn't like this— seeing him like this. You had always known he had this side to him, and you had been dying to see it. To feel it.
To feel him.
He tugs at the makeshift collar around your neck—his silk tie you gifted him last month for a job well done—and grabs at your hair, tugging at the roots hard enough to make you cry out his name.
He wonders why it took him so long to do this. To take you like this. The pathetic tears in your eyes, more of arousal than pain were a sight to behold, and his raging hard cock was throbbing painfully to be sheathed inside you to the hilt.
But he'd wait. He'd wait because he is a patient man, and good things come to those who wait.
“Say aaah!” he coos, voice deceptively soft.
You open your mouth, tossing away the shame that came with the act, and suck eagerly at his fingers as he feeds them to you.
“You look good like this, baby,” he pushes them in deeper, his fingertips reaching the back of your throat as you gag around the hefty length of them.
“Keep this up, I'll be waiting till you're crying for my cock...”
𑣲⋆ if you'd like to be added to my taglist, send a letter via a pigeon...or just a reply down below🫶🏻 (i write for ce babes and bocky. if you'd like to be tagged for someone specific, please feel free to let me know 🤭🤭)
What do prized possession Curtis and y/n do when they aren't fucking? 😂😂 Watch TV together? Go out for food? A walk? Anything? 👀😂
…have you read the verse? 🤣🥴
I think Reader reads a lot, but honestly when she isn’t occupying Curtis, so much of her time is spent being depressed and disassociated ☹️
Curtis doesn’t strike me as the type to be very social outside of running his empire, nor as someone who has hobbies. I think he probably spends a good amount of time staying fit. Random thought: I could see him being into hunting. I imagine his manor sits on a large property that is tucked away and private, so it’s probably good for that kind of thing.
Summary: Bucky helps you out of the bar after a few drinks.
Word Count: 300
Playlist Prompt: Joy To The World - Three Dog Night / “I never understood a single word he said”
Warnings: Soft!Dark tone and vibes, tipsy reader, possible drugging, possible dubcon/noncon, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 1 of the June Jukebox Scribbles Challenge by @societynsoelsscribbles . ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You giggled as you walked out of the bar, the cool night air hitting your exposed skin and the loud conversations behind you fading once the door shut. Well, stumbled out was the more accurate description. You knew you shouldn’t have worn heels. At least you didn’t fall on your face with how tingly your legs felt.
Though you had Bucky to thank for keeping you upright.
Did you really drink that much?
It was supposed to be a couple of drinks with the crew to unwind. A fun night. Bucky made sure you had a seat right next to him and never took his eyes off you. He even brought your last drink over for you. Your favorite.
How did he know?
“Jeremiah was a bullfrog. Was a good friend of mine. I never understood a single word he said…” You giggled again, leaning on the bulky super soldier for support as he helped you walk. “I haven’t heard that song in ages, and now it’s gonna be stuck in my head.”
“I think I was on ice when that song came out,” he tried to joke, giving you a lopsided smile. It looked a little sinister under the harsh street lamp. “But we can listen to music when we get back to my place.”
Your eyes lit up, even with how blurry your vision was getting. “Really?” you asked before your brows furrowed. “Wait… your place?”
You didn’t recall saying you’d go to his place.
His grip tightened as he pulled you closer. “Yeah, my place,” he replied, bringing his mouth to your ear. “You can even sleep over.”
You shivered but not from the chill in the air. “Oh, I wouldn’t… want to impose.”
“You’re not,” he promised, smirking to himself. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
I would've gone willingly! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
