when your best friend dresses up as leatherface for a costume party or when you find out steve harrington looks insanely good in a suit with a chainsaw in his hands.
“It was like Steve Harrington had been starving all his life and the only satiate him was you.”
warnings: MDNI! not proofread (sorry, I accidentally deleted this and I had to rewrite it and just gave up proofreading), chainsaw l can't stop thinking about that terrible gif of the texas chainsaw massacre 2 after I saw Steve with one), afab reader, reader is shorter than steve, rovickie, petnames, porn with a tiny bit of plot, softdom!steve, rough? sex, praise, degradation, choking, oral (m receiving + road head), fingering, bondage, hair pulling, penetration (p in v), backshots, multiple orgasms, a little bit of aftercare
It was nice to help out Steve and Robin at WSQK; you almost felt like a secret agent.
It would be better if some progress was being made, though.
You still remember vividly how it went last year, when Steve sat you down to explain why he hadn’t talked to you in a week and why the city was split in four. You remember how he told you not to get involved, that you didn’t have to, that he only told you to protect you and not invite you into the mess.
You told him you didn’t care, that even if it was terrifying, you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing you weren’t doing anything.
Then, eventually, Steve gave in. After being so overprotective of you during your entire friendship, he came to realize you could fend for yourself almost better than he could defend you.
Another good thing about being Steve’s friend after all these years was that you could laugh about all the “popular kids” class reunions he’d get invited to—and there were a lot.
So when you were both in the hospital’s waiting room while Robin was with Vickie, and he told you he’d been invited to something on Friday and probably wasn’t going, you weren’t surprised.
“It’s like a costume thing, can you believe it?” he scoffed.
“It’s spring, for fuck’s sake.”
“Don’t try to come off like you’re morally superior, Steve,” you reply, grabbing the water bottle from his hands and taking a sip. “I like costume parties. If the people there weren’t so evil, I’d tell you it would be fun. You have that one you didn’t use last year!”
“Come with me, then,” he answers, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“Steve, I’m not crashing a party in this day and age. I’m not sixteen anymore,” you laugh at the suggestion.
“No, I mean—come with me. I’m inviting you,” he says, looking at you and furrowing his brows.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Come on, it’ll be fun. I’d hate it without you.”
“Okay, then,” you smile while your heart pounds. “Guess I have to find myself a costume now?”
It was no surprise when you figured out you were falling for Steve a few months before. You thought you’d get over it. He was your friend; it wasn’t like it was ever going to happen. Plus, you weren’t even his type.
But as time passed, it didn’t seem to go away. The feeling only got stronger. You’d get nervous over the stupidest things. The hugs you’d been giving for years started making your heart pound. The way he’d lead you around by your back became one of your biggest turn-ons. Wearing his clothes now felt like subtle domination.
And you loved every second of it. You also hated it.
You hated how it wouldn’t happen, how it couldn’t happen. You hated that he could never know that he had you, that you were fully his.
You started wondering if these feelings had always been there, if you’d only started to realize how real they were now. When you first became friends with Steve and he’d casually brush his hand over your thigh or let a touch linger, you’d always feel like your world was collapsing (in the most delicious way)—but that was probably just nothing, right? You were making it weird.
Then Friday came around. You had put together the best Dorothy outfit you could find. You had an old pair of red Converse shoes and used those as your ruby slippers. You wore the dress from when you acted in Oklahoma! at school a few years before; it had just gotten a bit shorter, almost a palm above the knees. You just had to find a picnic basket to pair with your stuffed puppy, and you were done.
For some reason, Steve didn’t want to tell you what he was dressing up as, so when he knocked on your door and you opened it to see him in a suit with a chainsaw in his hand, you froze.
“Is that real?” you asked, your heart pounding, because that definitely didn’t look like a toy.
“No. Surprised me the first time too. Isn’t it cool? It’s Dustin’s,” he said, waving it around. You swallowed hard—maybe the suit was a bit much for you. “I just need your help drawing scars on my face. Couldn’t get the mask. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” You closed the door behind him. “Robin’s not home, so I have the house to myself tonight.” That wasn’t rare lately—she was with Vickie a lot and often left you alone at home, which usually turned into a movie night with Steve. You really should be thanking her; you almost always fell asleep in Steve’s arms halfway through the film.
“There’s eyeliner in my room.” He followed you and sat on the bed as soon as he entered, watching you as you grabbed it from the vanity and stood in front of him.
“I like your dress,” he said, tugging at the hem to bring you closer. You stepped forward and watched him play with the fabric; it was nice seeing him from this angle. He suddenly looked up, his gaze landing directly on your breasts because of the way he was sitting.
“Steve,” you murmured. It barely came out as a sound.
He hummed in response, distracted, before lifting his eyes to meet yours. “Tilt your head up for me?”
Your non-dominant hand slid to the back of his head, fingers curling into his hair as you guided him. The contact felt too intimate, too natural. You focused on the eyeliner, on the careful lines of the scars you were drawing, but every time you looked at him, his eyes were already on you.
His skin was warm under your fingers. His cologne seemed stronger than usual—clean and familiar and dizzying. You knew you’d smell like him all night, and the thought sent a shiver through you.
“I think you’re good,” you said quietly.
As you pulled back, he caught your wrist. Not tight. Just enough.
“Thanks, honey.” His thumb brushed your pulse. “You okay?”
He’d been doing that lately—pet names, soft touches, like they didn’t mean anything. Like they didn’t undo you completely.
“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Wanna go?”
He released you and turned to the mirror, and you took a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
When he parked near the host’s house, the music was already spilling out onto the street—laughter, voices, a life you’d never really been part of. You watched him through the windshield and saw him at seventeen, slipping easily into rooms like this. It was strange how someone so different from you could feel like home. Stranger still how much you wanted him.
“Toto,” he said lightly, nodding toward your stuffed animal, “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
You laughed, startled, and didn’t even notice him get out of the car until he opened your door.
Inside, the noise swallowed you whole. As you stepped closer to him, you leaned in and spoke softly, your lips just brushing his ear.
“Now I know we’re not in Kansas.”
He stilled beside you.
Just for a second.
The rest of the night went on like you thought it would. You stayed by Steve’s side as he made small talk to people he used to be close to and occasionally participated in conversations.
You both decided not to drink. It was fun for you to watch the people around you get drunker by the hour.
All was going well until a girl came up to talk to him. She was clearly flirting, and you thought it’d be better to leave him be, so you told him you were going to freshen up and get some water and quickly left.
As you were going from the bathroom to the kitchen, a guy came up to you. You remembered him from school, Kyle. He was in some of the same classes as you.
“Hi, do I know you? What’s your name?” He questioned, moving near you.
“We had class together in school.” You replied, taking a small step back and seeing he was blocking your way. His breath smelled like cheap whiskey.
“That’s weird, I don’t think I’d ever let someone like you go by unnoticed.”
“Someone like me?”
“Well, you’re fucking hot, sweetheart.” He slurred his words, and as you were trying to think of something to say, you felt a familiar pair of hands holding your waist from behind.
“She’s not interested, bud. Let’s get moving.” Steve said to him firmly.
“Steve, I don’t—“ he tried to question but was quickly interrupted.
“She’s with me, pal. You’re free to go.” He stated, making Kyle quickly leave. “That guy’s an asshole,” Steve muttered.
“Thanks for intervening. You didn’t have to. I could’ve handled him on my own.” You looked at him, but it was almost like something had changed in his eyes. You didn’t know what until he said it.
“I’m sure you could’ve, baby.” He squinted his eyes and smiled. “Listen, I’m about to do something very stupid.” He said, grabbing you by the hand and dragging you back to the bathroom with him, locking the door behind him once he came in.
He pulled you closer, you could feel his breath fanning on your face, his hands were gripping your waist and everything felt so surprisingly new.
“I was going to wait, but I don’t think I can handle it any longer.” He blurted out, you nodded in answer and that was all he needed.
Steve locked his lips to yours, bringing his right hand to the back of your neck and his left to cup your ass, squeezing as he pulled away for a second. “I didn’t want it to be like this—“ he whispered against your lips as you parted them, going back in with his tongue and using it to lick yours.
His hands roamed all over your body, squeezing and grabbing every single part he could. Your hands went straight to his hair and his jawline, trying to bring him as close as possible while your hips rutted against his.
“I’ve wanted you for so long.” He growled against your neck as he started to bite and kiss it, probably leaving marks.
Marks that meant you were his.
“Let’s go. Now.” He ordered, pulling away and fixing your dress, which was hiked up, making you look presentable enough to leave the bathroom and Irish goodbye.
The seven-minute car drive back to your house seemed like forever, especially with his hand on your upper thigh.
“Steve..." you whispered as his pinky finger grazed your clothed pussy. You knew exactly what you were going to do next. He stopped at a red light. It was late, and the streets were basically empty. You took off your seat belt and leaned closer to him. As soon as he looked at you, you locked your lips with his. His tongue was quick to enter your mouth, tasting the scotch you had been drinking earlier. Your lips quickly headed to his neck, your hand palming him through his pants, making him harder.
“What are you doing?" he asks you when the light goes green and you're still kissing his neck. He knew damn well what you were doing.
“Just drive, Stevie. ‘Want you so bad." He scoffs and steps on the gas pedal. You undo his belt and unbutton his pants. He sighs and swears under his breath. You smile at him, hand entering his underwear and stroking his dick. You could’ve never imagined he was this fucking big. He spreads his legs a bit, trying to readjust his position. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel firmly, eyes darting from you to the road in front of him.
You slowly darted your tongue out, licking the tip and collecting precum.
“Shit.” He hissed once you flattened your tongue against him and swiped it along his length. You slowly took him in your mouth.
The groan he let out once you took him as far as you could is perfect, his head hitting back on the headrest as he struggled to keep his focus. The feeling of your mouth sure made driving way better for him.
You bobbed your head up and down along his shaft, you could see he was trying his best not to thrust into your mouth.
“Stop. Get off now.” He said with a moan.
“Is everything alright? Did I do something wrong?” You ask, worried.
“No, the opposite of that, baby,” he explained, his hand back on your upper thigh, “I just wanna finish all over your ass tonight.”
You could feel your underwear get wetter by the second.
Once you got home, you barely made it to the front door.
Steve pushed you on your back against the wood, his hands on both sides of your body. His tongue entered your mouth while you tried to put the key in without looking and failed miserably.
You turned around to open the door, but he just glued his hips to your ass, pulling you closer so you’d feel his erection. Your dress hiked up as he bit on your neck and shoulders, and you moaned.
Once you finally got the door open, you came in tripping, and he closed the door behind you with his foot, quickly taking off his shoes and tossing his blazer on the floor.
You took off your shoes on your way to your room, leaving them discarded on the hallway as you walked quickly, until you felt a tug on your pigtails.
“Wait for me, princess.” He said, quickly lifting you up, making you laugh and carrying you to the bed.
He tossed you onto the mattress and got on it, his right knee between your legs as he took off his tie.
He kissed you again, like he could never get enough of your taste. It was like Steve Harrington had been starving all his life and the only satiate him was you.
He held your wrists with his left hand while he tied the tie around them, looking into your eyes and giving your forehead a quick peck.
He hummed, “I’ve always wanted to see you like this. You’re so fucking pretty, baby.” He brought his lips to your neck, sucking hard and kissing his way to your collar while he lowered your dress, showing your breasts.
“I think you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He muttered, lowering his mouth and closing it around your left nipple, making your back arch as he pinched the other one.
You gasp, your whole body shivering under him. Steve chuckles, grinding down on you lightly, taking pleasure in the mewl you let out. "You have no idea how long l've wanted you." You whisper, causing him to groan
"Please fuck me, Steve." You whine, eyes shut.
He chuckles, intending on making you work a little harder for it. "So needy, hm?" he hums, smiling as you feel your face getting hotter by the second. "You want my cock?" he asks, grabbing your jaw softly. Your eyes open and you whimper as he kisses you. He reaches down to slip a hand into your waistband, fingers fluttering over your core.
"Please, please," you mumble, bucking into his hand. He chuckles, slipping his hand under your underwear and swirling his fingers through your wet pussy. "So wet, all for me?" he asks, watching you as he teases your clit with his fingertip. You nod and he grins, amazed at the immediate change in confidence that you'd had minutes ago in the car. Now you're a moaning mess, desperate for him, and he loves it.
"Keep being a good girl for me, and you'll get what you want, okay?" he mutters, thumb rubbing your bottom lip.
You open your mouth, and he slips two of his fingers in, groaning as you suck eagerly on them, your tongue swirling around. He pulls your dress off with your help as you lift your hips. Then he pulls your underwear to the side, slipping his middle finger immediately into your warmth. He feels you clench slightly around him as you moan and he thinks he's never seen anything so hot in his entire life.
"So good," he mutters, pumping his finger before adding another, palming himself as he grows fully hard, watching your reactions. "So perfect and ready for me."
His thumb rubs your clit, and you try to cover your mouth with your forearm, groaning loudly. "Nope. None of that, baby. I want to hear how good I'm making you feel!" He says, holding your hands back up, smirking as he sees your eyes roll back in pleasure. "You're being such a good girl."
You moan loudly at his words, and he smirks, not surprised you've got such a thing for praise. He takes note of that and curls his fingers as he pumps into you.
He feels you clenching and leans down, replacing his thumb with his lips to flick your clit with his tongue.
"Steve, I'm gonna.." you say with your hands threaded through his hair. He just pumps harder, and he feels you clench around him as you cum.
He crawls on top of you, his lips locking against yours as he licks your tongue with his, rutting into you a few times before pulling back and helping you take off your underwear.
He's pulling himself out of his pants, and you swallow your own saliva, resisting the shocked face that threatens to creep onto you when you have a better view of how big he is. You moan as you watch him pump himself, tossing his belt on the other side of the room.
He grins as he looks at you, "So good for me, my pretty girl. You want me to fuck you now?" he asks, and you eagerly pull yourself up to your elbows, "Yes, please fuck me."
He hums, pushing his cock against your slit, the tip rubbing your sensitive clit and making you moan sharply.
He continues to tease you, one hand on his cock and the other holding your waist. "Use me, please." You whisper in his ear, holding him to you in the space between your arms, your tied wrists around the back of his neck.
He lets out a sharp breath, his hand snaking to your neck and pushing you back onto the mattress. "You want me to use you?" he asks, thrusting against you slowly, teasing your slit. "Like my little plaything?"
"Yes, god, Steve, please-" but then he's sliding into you all at once, his large cock stretching you as he moves his hips, sheathing into you. You feel so full that all you can do is gasp, Steve kissing your forehead as his hand rests on your throat. "And you're gonna be good for me, right? My good little cockslut."
You nod, "just for you." You say, and he smiles. He starts to pull out, easing back in and starting a shallow rhythm, getting you used to his size. You're euphoric as he starts to slowly pump into you, one hand around your neck and the other on your chest, palming your tit.
He starts thrusting into you, picking up speed - rough and fast. His hips buck up against you, pulling back fully before filling you up. His thumb gently grazes your sensitive clit, and you close your fists, nails digging into your palm.
"Did you think about how it'd feel to get fucked by me, baby?" he whispers in your ear as he pounds you into the mattress.
"Yes, I've wanted you for so long," you trail off into a moan. "Feels so good"" You mutter, panting, words babbling from your mouth incoherently.
You barely have a warning before you cum a second time, clenching so hard that Steve's hips stutter, his moan ringing with your own. He looks down at you, thumb trailing into your open mouth, you eagerly sucking on it like a lollipop. "God, you're so tight, doll. Such a good little slut for me. I bet you'd let me do anything to you, anywhere."
Your legs are shaking as he keeps thrusting you through your orgasm, feeling sensitive and euphoric. He smirks, "Yeah? Bet you'd let me fuck you anywhere, just my little fuck toy. So perfect for me.!'
You nod, kissing him needily, tears from oversensitivity pricking your eyes. "Want you filling me up, feels so good."
"Anywhere?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as he fucks into you. He's so possessive, it makes your face warm. You nod, "Anywhere."
Then Steve pulls out of you, and you're being flipped onto your knees, Steve's large hand pushing your face towards the soft sheets. You can't help the moans that escape you as he spits onto your dripping cunt, fingers playing with your used pussy as you moan, sensitive and still desperate.
"Pretty baby, all fucked out. Can you take one more?" he asks, hands roaming your ass. you nod, yelping gently when a hand smacks down on your ass.
"Can you take one more?" he asks. "Yes!" you moan into the mattress with need. He mutters, "Good girl." As he pushes into you, the new angle making you moan loudly.
With every thrust, he pushes you down on the mattress, making you grip the pillow with pleasure, which takes a lot of effort. One of his hands drops down to rub your clit, and you buck needily against his touch. After only a few minutes, the combination of the snap of his hips, the few slaps on your ass, and his hands on your clit push you over the edge, clenching around his cock as you whimper. Your legs barely stay up after you cum, and his arm wraps around you to hold you as he pounds into you, chasing his own high.
"Yes, my pretty girl, so good." He praises again, hips speeding up. You think he's close because his breathing is faster, hands gripping your hips hard as he kisses down your spine, "Take it." He whispers onto your back as he finally cums, pulling out and finishing on your ass and lower back, moaning lightly.
You can't believe what just happened as Steve disappears, returning at the speed of light with a damp washcloth to clean you off. You blush at how sweet the gesture is before he falls next to you on the bed, sighing.
"I didn't expect that." He laughed as he untied your wrists, kissing them where his tie was before.
You laugh, "neither did I. I thought I was coming home to an empty house and some takeout from yesterday."
He's staring at you, a smirk on his face. "I'd apologize, but holy fuck, you look so pretty when you cum." You don't know what to say, feeling hot as you roll your eyes with a grin. He laughs and kisses you. "You're cute, you know."
"Say you." You mutter against his lips. You thank god Robin won't be back soon as you watch your best friend rise, naked, from beside you and grab a hoodie he left with you and shorts he forgot at your home from your closet, throwing them on before handing you his own button-up to wear.
"Next time we do this, I'm paying for dinner before, okay, baby?" He smiled against your lips.
"It's a date." You gave him a peck as he got up to grab you something to eat.
"So, lasagna?" he asks. You laugh as you stand on shaky legs, buttoning the middle buttons of the shirt.
༊*·˚ main materlist | pete’s place’s opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚
⁀➷ next chapter.
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ 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.’’
“Hi darlin’.” His voice was low and smooth next to your ear. You jumped, whirling to see him standing way too close behind you. You were flustered, mouth half open in shock, as if you were going to scold him but couldn’t find the words.
“Malachi!” You said exasperatedly, playfully shoving his shoulder. His hands found your waist, and you tensed, his eyes were dark and warm, and you could feel the warmth of his hands seeping through your shirt. He slowly started walking you backwards, pressing you against the cold walls of the. He leans down slowly, giving you time to pull away, you don’t.
“Mal…” you breathed out against his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he brushed hair out of your face. His breath fanned over your face and sent shivers down your spine. He kissed you slowly, lips pressed against yours with passion. His fingers ran up and down your sides teasingly, he smirked against your lips as he felt you arch into him the way he loved. When he pulled away you were breathless and dizzy, the only thing you could think of was him, his voice, his smirk, his hands still on you. He had his classic smirk still on his face as he looked at you, shy and flushed. You both stood there, breathing in the moment and you trying to think straight.
“Yo! Are y’all seriously kissing before the show?” Mk called out to you two, your head snapping in his direction as Malachi chuckled. You rolled your eyes and Malachi turned over to Mk with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Jealous? She’s irresistible.” He said as he winked and you blushed a little harder. You both stood there, tangled up and smiling through Mk’s teasing. Your hands carefully trailed up his chest, fingers gently brushing over the taut muscles. Your hands cup his face and bring him down for another hot kiss, you practically melting in his arms. His strong arms wrapped around you, he picked you up and spun in a circle, putting on a show for your castmates. You broke away from the kiss with giggles, clinging to him. He set you down carefully, one hand still on your waist and the other on your back, steadying you as he let your feet find the floor again. You were met with a mix of cheering, wolf whistles and booing. You blushed a little more at his theatrics and buried your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. He was totally unfazed by the others and smiled, unabashed.
“You're awful…” you spoke, words muffled against his shirt and smile hidden.
“You know you love it.”
He said quietly, tilting your face up to look at him. You shove him away, pulling away and moving to sit next to Dara, burying your face in her shoulder and hugging her, mumbling under your breath as everyone laughed at the display. “Save me… I can’t deal with his corny lines anymore” you said dramatically. You heard giggles, probably Mk or Kylie. Malachi rolled his eyes, walking over to you, sitting on the arm of the couch. He slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him.
“Oh please! You’ll live.” He said, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of your head. You huffed, keeping up the act but leaned into him anyways, face still red. The room was filled with laughter and teasing. One thing was undeniable; Malachi was completely and unapologetically in love with you. He showed you every day, with honeyed words and showing you off with pride, even if that meant kissing you in front of all your friends.
pros of giving Rapton a cameo/exposition dump role in your fic WIP: super fun to write! gets to say the most out of pocket garbage you've ever seen in your life! you can do literally anything to him and it doesn't seem out of place!
Cons of letting Rapton onto your page: EVERY TIME YOU REFLEXIVELY WRITE "I" IN HIS DIALOGUE YOU HAVE TO GO BACK AND SWAP IT OUT FOR "RAPTON" AND THEN YOU GET PILEUPS LIKE THIS
“Language”, Steve said, clearly annoyed. “You should slow it, Wheeler. You’re already on beer three.”
“Can you stop being such a mom?”
“Well, I’m so sorry for being the only responsible adult in this room, but you guys are like sixteen. Also where the hell did Murray go?”
“Mooooooooooom”, Mike drawled, his head lolling back as he rolled his eyes very dramatically.
Robin had to bite back another snort when she saw the giant side eye Eleven was shooting her boyfriend. She clearly wasn’t a fan of the drunk version of Baby Wheeler.
Meanwhile Will only chuckled at Mike’s antics, throwing a wrapped piece of chocolate at him. “You should listen to him Mike, you’re already crosseyed.”
“Huh?” Baby Wheeler’s head snapped back up, his eyes growing big and his brows shooting up almost all the way to his hairline when the whiplash hit him. “Uhhhhh”, he groaned, actually turning crosseyed now. “Too fast.”
And this time Will full on laughed. Like fullheartedly laughed.
Wow.
Baby Wheeler was making a total butt of himself and still Will was head over heels for the guy. The complete opposite to Eleven, who was still eying her boyfriend - at this point Robin really started to doubt their relationship status - like he was a crazy person.
“God damn it, Wheeler”, Steve muttered and when she looked up at him, Robin found him pinching the bridge of his nose. The thing he only did when he was feeling stressed. “Nancy’s gonna kill me.”
“Then she’s gonna have to kill the both of us”, Robin said with a pat to his thigh that was supposed to cheer him up. “Want some?” She shoved her beer can into his face.
“No thanks”, Steve muttered, slumping over and burying his face in his hands. “How is this my life?”
“Come on, Stevo”, Robin said, patting him on the back now. “Don’t act so depressed. Remember you could be dead now.”
He slowly turned his head towards her, an incredulous expression on his face. “Thanks”, he said flatly. “You just always know how to cheer me up.”
“That’s what I’m here for”, she said, making a point out of grinning up at him way too brightly.
It actually got a chuckle out of him.
“Are we wrestling now or what?”, Lucas asked.
“I’m hungry”, El complained.
“I’m starving”, Dustin agreed.
“I’m seeing double”, Mike added.
Will started laughing again.
“I’m going insane”, Steve said next to her.
“Steeeeeeeve”, Dustin whined. “Feed us!”
This part isn't out yet, but if you're interested here's the link to chapter 1 of 'Drunk Gate' on ao3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Synopsis: An unlikely meeting brings Yuuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro together. Reeling from the aftermath of his grandfather's death, Yuuji happens on a weary Megumi in the midst of coming to terms with his mental health diagnosis. Craving independence, seeking comfort, can the two find refuge within each other?
Pairing: Yuuji Itadori × Megumi Fushiguro
Word Count: 4.1k
Content/Warnings: Mental health (OCD/Bipolar/Anxiety attacks/PTSD/Grief), Slow Burn, Smoking, Parental SatoSugu, Alternative Universe: College/University, Loneliness, Angst and Feels, Aged-Up Character(s).
Cross posted to AO3 • Masterlist
Megumi sat down on the grass, reclining back on his palms. Smoke billowed above karaage and taiyaki stands, hand-held sparklers floated through the night. Through it all, the summer breeze carried Yuuji’s laughter through the crowds. It washed over Megumi, lifting the corners of his mouth to smile over at the kids piling on top of his boyfriend.
Megumi never imagined he’d have a reason to love summers in Sendai this much.
A single arm emerged, exposing a yukata sleeve and a hand gripping on to a basketball. Then, ruffled pink hair.
Megumi resisted the urge to pinch himself. Instead, he reminded himself that this wasn’t the sweetest dream he'd ever had.
“Megumi! You’re my last hope!”
Right, he thought, this was their life now. This was their story. It hadn’t started here, but before them. To tell it faithfully, he had to start at the beginning. With the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Megumi threw his head back and laughed, dusting off his yukata and heading to his boyfriend’s rescue.
It started when Satoru and Suguru met in high school, and slowly fell in love. Their story didn’t start perfectly either, but along the way they made it work, made a home, and took in Megumi and Tsumiki when Toji failed them.
Satoru came from a rich, unloving clan and Suguru came from an unstable home environment he finally escaped in college, when Satoru and him got their first apartment. Satoru noticed how Suguru found it easy to drink through his dark periods, and then his manic ones as well.
Satoru handled all the late-night arguments, the weeks where Suguru disappeared, almost failing school. Though Satoru still seized up whenever he thought about that day. Luckily, Suguru got sober, started going to therapy and transferred his major to psychiatry. The rest was history. Now, Satoru made sure that Suguru took his medication every morning whilst reminding him that he loves him.
In the beginning of college, Megumi hadn’t wanted to live on campus because he felt he didn’t desire the change. He had Shiro and Kuro, his two dogs he adored, and he never wanted to be without them. That changed when Shiro passed during Christmas and Kuro was so heartbroken that she passed by the new years of that year. Everything started to change when Tsumiki left to study abroad. Megumi felt a little more exposed without his sister to hide behind. Then, Suguru transferred over to a different office, one closer to home because there were more bipolar patients that needed him in the district they lived in.
When he started getting home earlier, he noticed things. Megumi’s hair on the bathroom floor. Masses of screwed-up notepad paper in the bin. The scent of bleach so strong it burned his eyes.
Somewhere along the stress of volunteering, midterms, and the loss of his beloved dogs, something changed for Megumi. Sure, he was always particular, and although he resented being called secretive by Satoru, he was private. Nobara often called him a control freak, but he knew that people didn’t see the half of it, because he kept it that way.
It had been working this long, even if it was starting to become inconvenient sometimes.
It was purely innocent when one night at dinner Suguru asked Megumi, “Have you been cutting your own hair?”
Suguru always promised that he would never seek to diagnose them, or use what Megumi called his ‘therapy speak.’ Satoru at least was quick to laugh, almost choking when he realised how much shorter strands of Megumi’s hair were.
But there was a silence filling the room. It charged the air and demanded to be noticed.
“Am I not supposed to laugh, Sugu?” Satoru frowned, setting down his cutlery. They rarely fought, these were the two people he loved most in this world.
Time had seemed to have stopped as Suguru and Megumi stared at one another.
“I have, so what?” Megumi finally said, shoving a large spoonful of his pasta in his mouth.
Suguru immediately softened. “I’m just checking on you. I’ve caught you doing it every day for the past two weeks.”
”Can either of you tell me what I’m missing here?” Satoru asked, dread slipped his arms around him, like an old friend.
“Nothing, honestly. I’m just catching the split ends.”
”You won’t have any hair left-“
Suguru squeezed Satoru’s knee under the table, shooting him a look. The ‘let me handle this’ look.
“Okay, well, the doorbell app pops up on my watch when I’m not home, you know? It tells me when someone is in front of the door.”
Megumi almost choked on his carbonara.
“It’s not a big deal, Suguru,” he tried, but his voice was barely above a whisper. He could feel the shame stirring in his gut, ruining his appetite.
”You check that the door is unlocked, a lot.”
He shook his head as a look of concern passed over Satoru’s face. “Everyone does that.”
A small part of Megumi never wanted Satoru to see him vulnerable. He wanted to keep those treasured memories they had intact, all the picnics, amusement park trips, gaming marathons. He didn’t want him to know, or see him like this.
”Twenty times in a row? If you’re struggling you can tell us. We are here for you, Megumi. I know you want to move out this semester but-“
“Thank you, but I don’t want to talk about this.”
Before Suguru could speak, Megumi had already left the table.
That was the first sign of a problem, in Satoru’s eyes. It was something not even he had noticed, perhaps Megumi himself hadn’t either and that was entirely the issue. It was months later when Megumi called Tsumiki studying abroad in the states, and asked for her to send him melatonin. He started to struggle sleeping because he was too fixated on the way his body felt weird, like how his heart was beating, and how his chest rose.
The intrusive thoughts were much worse at night too. He worried about everyone he loved dying, he worried about Tsumiki dying in California, or Toji driving drunk in Okinawa, Satoru crashing his car rushing to get halfway across Tokyo to see them for dinner. He thought about the fact he ran into his bedroom with his shoes on that morning to grab one of his veterinary textbooks, and so now his room was contaminated. But he was too tired to get up and clean any longer. He ran his fingers through his hair and felt an uneven strand, one completely asymmetrical to the other side.
He almost wanted to scream.
Instead he slipped out into the back yard to sit out and watch the stars. That always calmed him. He found Suguru smoking a cigarette and doing the same. Suguru had that knowing look in his eye when he asked one last time, “Seeing Shoko for a psych evaluation wouldn’t be as scary, would it?”
“You’re like a hawk,” Megumi said, looking up at him.
”I’m a parent, that’s what we do. I just don't want you to suffer like I did. You and Tsumiki mean everything to us.”
“I know. You changed our entire lives.”
”You know, Megumi, when I got diagnosed as bipolar. My whole world didn’t shift in the way you’d think. Does that make sense?”
Megumi shook his head, waiting as Suguru took a deep drag of his cigarette. “I mean, I already knew I was a little different. But it was something no one could see, so it felt so isolating at times, even when I had Satoru. I put him through a lot back then, before we had you two. I guess what I’m saying is, it helped me stop feeling like my world was on fire. It helped me understand myself a bit more, so I knew how to help others understand me a little better too.”
The words were almost too hard for Megumi to say. He couldn’t meet Suguru’s eyes.
”Did you feel shame?”
“Of course,” Suguru puffed out a large cloud of smoke, “until I realised that it helped me understand others more. I felt more connected to being human in a way. I feel more, so I understand more, and that’s okay. It can be a blessing, you know? In my work, in my personal life.”
They both chuckled.
Something welled in Megumi’s chest at Suguru’s words. The familiar scent of his seven star cigarettes wrapped around him. Once more, he couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes, instead he whispered, “Okay. I think I want to. I’m ready to— see Shoko.”
Suguru patted his shoulder, letting Megumi’s tears fall silently into the night.
”Thank you, Suguru.”
”Don’t mention it.”
Satoru wanted to understand what Megumi was going through so badly, but he just seemed to put his foot in his mouth every time. He started to panic whenever Megumi disappeared without saying where he was going, when he saw him studying too hard, and ripping his nails off so much that they bled.
The day Megumi got diagnosed with OCD, Satoru went out to see Nanami and uncharacteristically got pissed from drinking too much rice wine. Nanami brought him home that night and Satoru fell asleep sobbing into Suguru’s chest. He was just so worried that the people he loved the most might leave him. He knew that he was being overbearing, and that he might just push Megumi away, but he couldn't help himself.
All of this led to the night that changed everything. That started a new, imperfect story between two imperfect individuals.
Suguru was on a business trip for a few weeks, leaving Megumi and Satoru at the dining table alone most nights. Megumi did all he could to avoid Satoru, but wherever he went he seemed to pop up anyway. Satoru had been plagued by the same nightmares he’d gotten when Suguru had gotten bad, he longed for the scent of seven star cigarettes (even though he always complained about the smell).
Satoru was an amazing guardian. He knew how to be serious when it mattered, but lately every conversation with Megumi seemed to end wrong. It made him restless, especially when he couldn’t fall asleep beside Suguru.
One particular night, he arrived home at the end of his tether. He was angered by the traffic, dejected by the fact he’d lost a case for the first time since he became a lawyer. Suguru wouldn’t be there to hold him to sleep when he got home. Suguru wouldn’t be there with his kiss the chef apron, and his warm brown eyes.
He found Megumi studying on the couch when he came in. He didn’t resist ruffling his hair like he did when Megumi was small. Megumi pretended to hate it but he welcomed the familiar comfort of feeling small again. He relished the days Satoru would pick him and Tsumiki up from school and take them somewhere fun. He vividly remembered walking beside Satoru’s long lanky legs. It reminded him of the first time they went to the Ginza art aquarium and the staff asked if they were father and son because they had the same ‘sea urchin’ hair.
Satoru headed into the kitchen to pour himself a large glass of red wine. He never liked to drink in front of Megumi, or even Suguru. He didn’t even drink often, but it had been a long day.
He tentatively offered to order food in. Megumi reluctantly agreed, beginning to swipe through endless hygiene ratings and reviews on his phone.
Satoru prided himself on being good at many things, but cooking was not one of them.
He yawned as he tugged away his tie. ”Found somewhere yet?”
Megumi shook his head, “I could make chicken and-“
”That will take hours, Megumi,” he whined, he knew all too well how much Megumi needed to disinfect everything a thousand times when he made chicken, let alone the relentless probing process.
“I’m getting better. I can do it.”
Satoru cursed himself, asking himself what Suguru would say. He felt dizzy, the red wine had already gone to his head because he’d skipped lunch so instead he said, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”
Megumi turned around to see Satoru, staring toward nothing. His glass already empty. “Notice what?”
”How hard things have been for you.”
Megumi sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t always this bad, I think school, Kuro and Shiro…”
He had finally started medication and he was in what Shoko described as the ‘shitstorm’ before it got better, and what Suguru said was approaching the beast before you defeated it.
“Stress, I know,” Satoru came to sit down on the couch, frowning when Megumi stiffened up, bunching his body together. “What?”
”You’re wearing your outside clothes.”
Satoru huffed, slapping his thighs before standing. He went to change and stopped, “Megumi, you are the strongest kid I know. How did this happen? Is it my fault or something? Were Sugu and I not… enough for you?”
Megumi’s mouth opened and closed.
”Is it my fault?”
“No, no. It’s not your fault, Satoru. I’ll move out soon-“
”You’re not, you won’t. We don’t think it's a good idea for you right now.”
”Suguru’s not even here right now! So how can you even say we? He told me before he left that he thinks I can do it.”
”Yeah? Well I say no! I’m your guardian too and my word goes!”
”Why do you care so much about me? I’m tired of caring, and loving people. All it does is make my stupid fucking brain taunt me even more. Do you know how much I worry about you and Suguru? How much my mind shows me you two dying? How I always think that I’m gonna die when I get the flu or one of my migraines? Or I eat out somewhere and the place looks dirty? It all sounds so fucking dumb but-“
It was like a dam broke. Megumi never cried, especially not in front of Satoru.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Satoru pulled him into a hug, letting Megumi soak his shirt. Megumi’s breaths quickly steadied as his fingers ran through his hair. ‘How is moving out gonna help?’ he asked, his voice soft, just like when he was a kid.
”I can be closer to my friends, Nobara, Inumaki, Yuuta, everyone.”
I just don’t want you to see me like this.
”No, I don’t feel ready for you to go yet.”
”Satoru. This house is so empty now when you two are at work. Please just say you’ll think about it.”
”I’ll talk to Suguru.”
Not too far from the Suguru/Satoru household lived Yuuji and his soon to be ex-roommate Junpei, rewatching one of their favourite human earthworm movies over cheap microwave popcorn. Junpei’s NYU acceptance letter sat on the dining room table, and Yuuji couldn’t help but feel like it was a third person sitting beside them.
Junpei’s suitcases waited by the front door, ready for their midnight flight.
Yuuji tended to get lonely. Even nights like this, when they laughed until their bellies were sore, and cried over stupid campy horror flicks. Yuuji had the sense that the loneliness he felt inside might never go away. In a twisted way, his panic attacks had begun to feel like the only constant in his life. He missed his grandpa’s house back in Sendai, the scent of cigarettes, the hard boiled sweets that always sat on the coffee table, the tiny old tv that was always on the highest volume, the sound of pachinko tokens jingling in grandpa Wasuke’s pocket.
When it was time for Junpei to make his way to the airport, the end credits of Human Earthworm 3 were rolling. He headed out for a final cigarette on the balcony, and Yuuji flopped down onto the sofa with his eyes shut.
The scent of tobacco rolled in through the door, reminding him of his grandfather. Visions of him lying askew on the kitchen floor flashed in his mind. He dragged his hands over his eyes, as if to swipe the images away.
He could feel the shift, the end of watching movies and swapping secrets over beers after a long week. When Junpei finally left, the apartment already felt too quiet. Yuuji suddenly ran to the balcony, waving as the smoke from the butt of Junpei’s cigarette cut through the night air.
He bellowed out, “Jun-chan! Be safe in New York! I’m proud of you! Have a safe flight!”
His face crumpled when he heard. “Try not to miss me too much Yuuji! Please visit my mom! And get laid! FaceTime me!”
He headed back inside. He didn’t wanna cry. He figured he could call some of the basketball team down for some drinks, maybe Hakari and Toudou? Or he could invite Nobara and her girlfriend Maki?
His lips wobbled and slow tears ran down his cheeks. He pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes. “This sucks.”
Maybe he could call the college councillor Nanami, he always told Yuuji he could call him if he were ever in crisis. But Nanami had a home, a partner, and a family. He couldn’t do that.
“Come on, Yuuji. You got this.” He yanked himself up, he’d go for a walk instead. He’d do everything he could to ignore the part of his brain scanning for panic.
The crisp warm air of spring was supposed to comfort Yuuji, but all he wanted to do was escape it. He thought about going to his favourite club, finding someone pretty to take home. But he was so tired of that, he was tired of the empty gaze in some guy’s eyes when they kissed with everything but love.
Yuuji already had so much love in his life. He didn’t want to keep burdening the people he loved with his loneliness. It was enough. He told himself this every single day.
Whilst he walked to his favourite park a little away from the hustle and bustle of campus, Megumi lay awake in his bed. These days taking his medication felt like taking a gamble with Russian roulette on his sleep. Sometimes it knocked him out, other times he lay awake, all night.
He tried not to rely too heavily on the melatonin Tsumiki sent. She'd been so worried the first time he ran out in under two weeks. She lectured him on the science of melatonin and circadian rhythm for hours. At least that had put him to sleep.
When he asked his friends how they slept, Yuuta said he watched horror films to sleep, Inumaki watched food ASMR, Nobara said she called Maki to talk her to sleep and Maki said she liked to watch 2000’s shoujo anime like Nana.
His hands shifted across his duvet, searching for Shiro and Kuro. He sighed.
They always helped him sleep and made him feel so safe. He didn’t care about all the germs on their paw pads, he loved their little sighs, the way they jumped up to greet him in the morning with little howls and stretches. He used to love walking them at night too, because he usually worried about bad people who roamed around in the shadows.
He knew it was stupid, they lived in a nice neighbourhood. It was the stupid OCD in his brain he struggled to separate himself from.
Satoru’s words rang in his mind again and again.
I can’t believe I didn’t notice.
Megumi hated that he didn’t notice it either. Suguru was always the best person to talk about this stuff with. He always said, “We often know ourselves the least, Megumi.”
“Fuck this,” he muttered, as he gulped down his medication and headed out for a walk in his crocs and pyjamas.
Halfway into Yuuji’s walk he realised that he’d forgotten his headphones and was actually humming an old citypop song aloud.
Megumi found his limbs becoming heavier and heavier, somehow everything began to weigh down on him. But he kept walking. He hated when Suguru had to go on his training work trips that took weeks. Satoru would get lonely, and start randomly drinking. He hated that he felt like he was disappointing them both, but he was tired of that quiet house. That was when his thoughts got bad, when there was so much time and space that anything and everything horrific became a possibility.
When he reached the park, he recalled Shoko’s advice from their last exposure and response therapy session. She told him that the more he fought the OCD logic the more likely he could recover.
“When Kuro and Shiro used to jump on you, you’d fall onto the grass right?”
“Right?” Megumi answered, skeptical.
“So, how about you try sitting down on some grass, for a picnic or while you read in between classes?”
He did just that, too tired to fight the heaviness in his limbs. The grass tickled his back, and his calves, he thought about bugs, he thought about germs until stars above him faded. The night breeze cooled down his skin. His eyelids flickered and opened once or twice, before they finally shut.
When Yuuji finally reached his favourite little park, he was happy to find it empty and devoid of noise. He chortled to himself, sometimes the sounds of other people made it worse. It made him feel emptier.
He grabbed a cold barley tea from the vending machine and cracked it open and then gasped.
Someone was lying on the grass.
The bottle smacked into the concrete.
His breath stuttered, and his ability to breathe abandoned him. He stumbled closer. The tea left the bottle in staggered glug sounds. He turned back and saw his grandfather’s blood all over the kitchen linoleum.
He squinted, gasping for breath. He rubbed his eyes and saw the tea again instead.
The man on the grass looked just like his grandfather. For a second.
His mind went blank the closer he stepped.
Somehow he looked so familiar. He stopped. He knew this person. He was Nobara’s girlfriend’s cousin, Megumi Fushiguro.
Yuuji yelped, crashing backward onto the grass. His mind was screaming at him to move. He couldn’t let history repeat itself. He needed to save him.
But he couldn’t catch his breath.
Megumi looked so peaceful. Yuuji’s hands were numb, they felt like huge blocks of ice. He couldn’t fit them in his pocket, they were too heavy. He couldn’t move his fingers enough to clutch his cellphone.
“I need to save him.”
He pressed his ear to Megumi’s chest, and found there was a steady breath. He smelt like peppermint, and his body was warm. He was alive.
His breath steadied.
What the hell was he doing?
He shook him gently, once, and then again with more force, “Hey, are you okay? Hey! Megumi?”
He started to gasp again, frantically fishing out his phone. It rang and it rang until Nobara’s voice sounded, sobering him. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Nobara? Wait what? Why did I call you? Something bad, Nobara. I can’t freaking breathe.”
“Hey? Hey? Slow down, what’s going on, Yuuji? Are you okay?”
“Maki’s cousin. He’s at the park, passed out-“
“Oh fuck. No. Maki! It’s Megumi! He’s passed out somewhere!”
“Right, Megumi, right? Okay, what do I do? I don’t know what to do. Megumi, wake up. Please.”
Tears streamed down his face. He could barely get his words out.
Maki’s voice crackled through the phone. He could hear Nobara panicking right beside her. “Yuuji? Where is he? Is he drunk?”
He shook his head, the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. He couldn’t do this, not again.
“Yuuji!”
“Yes! Wait no, no, I don’t think so, but he’s unconscious.”
“Take him to a hospital, please!”
“Okay, okay. There’s one near here. I’ll be faster than an ambulance. I’ll run—I’ll go!”
“I’ll call that idiot Satoru. By-“
“Wait who?”
“His guardian. Go! Now!”
He shoved his phone in his jeans and picked him up with all the grace he could muster. “Please be okay, Megumi.”
Megumi’s head lolled against his shoulder.
Yuuji tightened his grip.
He almost blacked out as he ran several blocks to the hospital in minutes. Amongst it all, he was comforted by Megumi's black hair brushing softly against his neck. Yuuji thought that despite all of this, Megumi somehow still looked so delicate and peaceful in his arms. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to find Megumi just like this.
In the last year, I’ve been feeling progressively more weary and despondent when it comes to fandom. At first, I thought it was just a phase brought on by unnecessary drama and a succession of broken friendships, and that if I just took a step back, if I distanced myself from fandom spaces that had become toxic to me, I would find joy again. And I did distance myself. I cut ties, I quit logging in, I deleted accounts, until hardly anything remained. And it worked, because my mental health is better than it ever was. But the joy I used to find in fandom hasn’t come back.
Distance has made me admit things I think I was refusing to acknowledge before. The amount of time, effort, and dedication I’ve been putting into my fanworks for years feels like a waste now. It probably makes me sound ungrateful, because some of you have been so incredibly supportive, and you absolutely are the reason I’ve kept going for so long, but I can’t help but feel I need to move on to other, and hopefully better, things.
For a few months now, I’ve been preparing to move on to posting original works. I feel constrained within the limits of the fandom, of the characters, of someone else’s imagined world. Yes, I’ve been writing a lot of AUs, but it’s still not enough. I need more liberties. The stories I’ve written feel small in comparison to what they could be.
I wanted to wait before making the announcement, because it could be well over a year before I’m ready to post anything, but lately I’ve felt like giving an early heads up would be a good idea, mostly because some of my fics will be adapted and transformed and eventually deleted. I don’t know what will go and what will remain yet, so I guess this gives you the opportunity to save what you like before it goes. I’ll try to keep some copies in case anyone would want them, because I know not everyone will read this, and I’ll try to give a warning before any of the big fics go, but like I said, it could be well over a year before that happens. I just felt that if you follow me here, and if you have supported me all this time, you deserve to know what’s to come.
I don’t know if I’ll still post on ao3, or on the same account, or under the same pseud. It might be on Patreon instead, or who knows, it might be actual physical books! Nothing is certain so far, it’s all things I’ll have to figure out, but I’ll keep you updated on what I decide.
Thank you so much for sticking with me for however long you have. I’m so grateful for you all. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions or concerns.
Warm breath hit his face, foul and moist and dead, and it was over. Will knew it was over. And still he strained against crawling vines, determined to fight, to deny Vecna’s will. Even as heat exploded behind his eyes, blood spilling from the sockets. Even as a scream broke free from the depths of his chest, Will kept fighting on, slowing Vecna down.
…The more this will hurt.
In the end he broke easily.
The last thing Will felt was Vecna penetrating his mind, prodding and swelling and leaving no room, until everything slipped away. Every memory of warm hands and soft eyes, familiar faces and smiles - all was gone. Will was gone.
Or:
Will is forced to be Vecna's spy. Just as he is losing grip on his own mind a voice breaks throught the fog. The voice belonging to some strange boy, who for some reason is unable to maintain eye contact or give straight answers.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
