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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year

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it's almost 4am i can't get this out of my head holy shit.

reader whose original body is a literal eldritch forest deity and speaks in hymns (bonus points: after we isekai into said og body, we mix slang into it).

the acolytes have to break their fucking necks just to talk to you eye-to-eye, and the only thing they can make out of what you say is something equal to tablets bajillion years old already.

or that reader is constantly cussing and the acolytes just nod along not understanding whatever this 15ft tall eldritch horror is saying.

-🫀

ELDRITCH HORROR READER. I LIVEEE, NONE OF U UNDERSTAND, THIS IS SO DEEPLY AHHHHHH

I LITERALLY JUST SHIMMY STIM IN MY SEAT WHEN I THINK ABT THIS TOO LONG LMAO

i LIVE AND BREATHE for when we look like eldritch horrors but are just people lmao

IF I HAVEN’T RUN U OFF, 🫀 MY HEART, MI CORAZON <3

U HAVE A BEAUTIFUL MIND DESPITE BEING A BLOODY HEART

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only), Eldritch!Reader

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: some headcanons, tiny scenario

Stars: a little bit of Zhongli, Xiao, Ganyu, Ningguang, Keqing, and the adepti

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Light Description of Body Modifications/Body Horror-esque, Light Description of Eldritch Horror Creature, Reader has a Non-Human Body,

& Trigger Warnings: Eldritch Monster, Light Body Horror, Non-Con Body Modifications (Wake up as a monster, described as positive).

FUCKING LOVE THIS GIF, AND THIS SONG AND ARTISTTT

hey so here’s a song to listen I was listening to while writing this, chose the instrumental bc it was less distracting!

👉👈 hope u like :)

you just come into Teyvat from either Enkanomiya, the straight up Abyss/Dark Realm or even Celestia/Light Realmunder that glowing mushrooms tree in the Chasm, or like, ooo even by the upside down Barbatos statue 👀

and its great bc ur like- “omg Teyvat ooooo, ahhhh”

meanwhile the animals/magical creatures/beings nearby like shakin in their boots

literally no matter what land type their in, water, air, etc. they’re all bowing (despite the hooves, the paws, the flippers, the wings,) hell, even the bugs?? Might be bowing???

and you were slow to wake up wherever you were, so it took you a second to really process-

plus it just felt so weirdly, natural?

Not like walking on 2 legs no, but more like, how swimming feels but without the act of doing it?

you realize you’re… hovering.

wow, guess you can do that now,

your pretty much crowned with every flower from the regions of Teyvat, and a few from other Realms like Celestia, Abyss, and Enkanomiya, etc.

you have extra limbs, you feel them shift like you’ve had them all your life, even tho you do smack urself a few times with them lmao (new hand-eye coordination is hard)

and you realize u can see elemental traces/elements of beings, even plants, all the time now?

It isn’t until you look into a pretty still pond that you see what you look like,

you’ve got more eyes

I mean u thought you’d just be one of the twins, or ur own person if somebody asked u what youd look like isekaied to Genshin Impact, not what looks like the elemental god of the fucking continent

but you don’t look bad! actually you think you look kinda neat!

You’ve got like this coat of many draping vines and plantlife, glowing coral poking out near the top that’s around your throat, and- is that- tiny waterfalls?? Running down your nature cape too??

the many gemstones and ore of this planet form your legs, strong and taller than even regular human guys back on Earth, you’re like what? Eight? Nine feet? (about 245cm, or 2.5 meters)

You’re head… it’s like a dragons skull?? You’ve got these black horns flowing out from the top too that fade to a golden glow, like a crown nearly, theyre draped with what looks like strings of primogems??

oh and your extra eyes are symmetrical that’s good!

tho it does seem like you got this handy hood included into your cape of much nature to flop onto your head

where your heart should be, there’s two bursting stars circling one another, one of pink, purples and light blues, the other of gold and blue, oh hey, the wishing stars for standard and character banners!

and if you like mushrooms, at least one of every kind in Teyvat’s countries/regions is looking cool on ur cape, and if you like bugs, the cool ones like the rhino beetles from inazuma are being cute little buddies on ur stuff too

and like in the gif, every step you take overfills with life, except it stays and doesn’t wither like above, and it also does that glow bit that some places in Sumeru do/Enkanomiya

You CANNOT be missed no matter where you walk, and your sort of constantly feeling like you’ve drank 3 energy + 5 espresso shots of coffee

but in a way that makes you sort of full? like full on life… and like you could be even bigger, and taller, if you willed it

♤

k but the adepti felt ur presence coming in hot from literal mountains away

Cloud Retainter, and Guizhong, had set up inventions long ago to sense the Original of Teyvat, just in case, because some signs of prophecy of your return had begun to show in their lands

Zhongli especially knew you were close to come after another major sign was met, the corruption after the Archon War, and the ravaging of the land by the fall of Khaenri’ah’s “metal beasts”

So when you finally walk your way into Jueyun Karst, the adepti are already waiting, Xiao, Ganyu, and Zhongli as well,

Luckily Ganyu, with Zhongli’s help or advice, convinced the adepti to share this meeting with the Qixing as well like Keqing, and the Tianquan herself

It was a momentous occasion after all, but you were just now feeling the need to maybe nap a little after nearly, what was it, 2 weeks worth of constant walking?

wow this new body had literal stamina for days

you arrived late into the night, around midnight, under a full moon, and they’re relieved all the signs are being met

◇

honestly the only reason you headed to Liyue was bc you knew it was the closest (the map of Teyvat was both familiar in the way it had been in game, but also on a deeper level, like walking around your house in the dark)

and u rlly wanted to be able to talk to somebody, bc u had no idea?? wtf you were??

honestly you thought the adepti/Zhongli would be a good bet bc they’d maybe tell u what creature u ended up as,

u did suspect maybe you’d ended up as some kind of god, but like?? none of the other gods looked like this???

and u see them all! up ahead in Jueyun Karst! Oh no! You really, really, really, hope they don’t think you’re a walking talking evil tree dragon thing-

…maybe you should wave?

◇

As you get closer,

Xiao’s back straigtens, Ganyu nervously looks at the ground, Keqing is trying to figure out where to look bc ur so tall, Ningguang has her hands respectfully folded in front of her and her facial muscles looks tensed for a fight almost, the adepti are shuffling nervously bc they’re not used to being the magically weaker/younger creatures in the area, and Zhongli-

Zhongli is no longer the mortal Zhongli.

Amber horns curl up from his head, long brunette hair with glowing gold tips flowing and loose, claws on display, as he stands in his finest and oldest lóng páo, black with gold detailing embroidered throughout, it details his deeds as Rex Lapis and Morax, the spears of his vanquishing gods across the front and back, he looks like a living painting

and although he looks as serene as if he’s about to sit down for some tea, the adepti can see the tremoring hands, the same he used to hide in his sleeves when he was genuinely intimidated by another god, usually the older ones he’d had to fight

but for the first time since the archon war, this was one he was going to welcome with open arms, and utmost respect, despite his position as archon forfeited

there’s a strange music in the air of the night as the animals and the bugs and creatures of the realm subtly make the beat, the god’s feet (of ore Rex Lapis hasn’t seen since he was a child, it was so rare to find) shake the earth of his land with each step, a deep quiet booming like a drum of war as they get closer

The God of All stops some distance away from them

…and the Huangdi of All, just waves. 💀👋

at Zhongli, the adepti, Xiao, the Tianquan, and the Qixing.

A long black limb with a rainbow shine like a crow’s wing raises, gives an ironically tiny wave of their clawed black hand,

and tilts their head, though a sort of greenery hood covering it

and speaks,

“ ˙˙˙ʎzɐɹɔ sı ʇıɥs sıɥʇ ¿ʍou ʇɥƃıɹ ɯɐ ı ʞɔnɟ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ʍouʞ sʎnƃ noʎ op uɯɐp”

your voice is like singing, deep, high, like a choir trying to sing all at once to them

Xiao cringes a little in surprise, he was braced for your older speech just in case but it still caught him off guard, and unfortunatly, he gives a quick glance to Lord Rex Lapis,

he can’t understand any of that, and Ganyu and Keqing are in the same boat, but while the Yaksha’s only done passive studying in hopes of understanding you, the Lord of Geo had gone much further back in trying to make sure he could understand your words, should the day come, his library, even now living as a mortal, is extensive

the other adepti and Ningguang catch a few words, but it’s too,, simple really, to understand

the words have no context, they need more, but such is the ancients, they’re meanings simple and all-encompassing

Lord Rex Lapis bows deeply,

“We welcome you with open arms, our Huangdi. Please, feast your eyes upon the land with which I have wrought with mine own talons, for all is ever truly yours.”

the adepti announces for them all, voice giving away no nerves, Xiao can still understand him luckily, though he has greatly simplified himself for the sake of being understood by the ancient god of creation,

“ ˙˙˙ʞɔıʇs ɐ uo ʇsıɹɥɔ snsǝɾ ¡¿ılƃuoɥz noʎ uǝʌǝ ¿noʎ oʇ poƃ ɟo puıʞ ǝɯos ɯ,ı 'ǝʇnuıɯ uɯɐp ɐ ʇıɐʍ”

your voice is an energy through the air, and makes the trees nearby lean in to hear you better, the creeks and ponds of the area leave their beds a little to get closer, geo crystalflys emerge and begin to swirl around your natural body, perching on your horns, making it look even more like a crown

Xiao gulps.

Rex Lapis’ and Ningguang’s spines straighten further if they even can from the impeccable posture they were before, They share a quick glance…

…neither of them caught that one, only a few words, and Ganyu feels her shoulders drop as she gives up trying to hear you and understand as well,

you make a strange sound, a high humming, a deep confusion with some worry, the crystalflys buzz around you a little faster,

then point to yourself

...and make a peace sign. ✌️

it was going to be a long night.

☆

idk if this made any sense, and I sincerely hope that you at least liked what I wrote a little bit, sorry about the over description 😭 I just felt like it was very important but then I realized I hadn’t even talked about the language yet… anyway here u go LMAO

I hope it was alright, and I seriously love your idea, even if I didn’t take it in the direction you wanted/as cool as you meant!! :/

Thanks for the badass idea, i fucking love eldritch shit <3

☆

Safe Travels,

💀 ♒

♡my beloved♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk

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madelynraemunson · 8 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

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

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

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

* loosely inspired by Sara Cate’s “Salacious Players Club” series

🔥 EXTRA CONTENT HERE 🔥

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

* = somewhat smutty chapters , ** = smut chapters

Summary: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓. After getting kicked out by your brother, you have no other choice but to take off your big girl pants and add stripper to your resume. Desperate to pay the bills and support your little sister, are you willing to accept the risks that come with such a perilous profession? With the stage name ‘Shy Girl’, you take the leap of faith, weaponizing your divine femininity to steal the hearts of all the bachelors in Hawkins — including Eddie Munson’s, the owner of Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club.

warnings & disclaimers — slow burn, eventual smut (a lot of it), voyeurism, mutual pining, sexual tension, jealousy, drug/alcohol, profanities, sexual harassment, domestic violence

Welcome to Hellfire.

theme song: meet you in hell by jade lemac “Look me in my eyes. I know that you’re scared. You see yourself and you cry for help. Look me in my eyes. Tell me it’s not fair. If you taught me well, I’ll meet you in hell.”

Chapter 001: Wolves

The Hargroves are cursed. Generationally, that is. One night Billy takes it too far, costing him the only thing he had left... his sisters.

TW — abuse, domestic violence, blood, profanities, implications of infidelity, death

word count: 8.5k words

author's note: there are four different acts to this introductory chapter :) so much foundation to lay down and i spent forever on this to craft it perfectly for you guys. thank you for being as excited about this fanfic as I am releasing it. i hope you all enjoy! -madelyn

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

_______________𓆩♡𓆪_______________

"Once I ran to you. Now I run from you."

♡

Duality of man. Mom was always a firm believer in that notion. In fact, she always used to say, "Inside of you, there are two wolves: a good one and a bad one. Depending on which mouth you feed, one will triumph the other.”

It became more evident when she died.

“YOU FUCKING SLUT. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GO.”

Once identical in every aspect, the differences between you and your brother slowly began to unravel over time.

Being ‘good wolf’ was impossible while living under the same roof as Billy. So you settled for neutral wolf instead. Meanwhile, the big, bad wolf possessed him at age 15, when he realized hitting your father back would get him to back off.

It was 2010, post-homecoming game.

Dad nearly flung Billy into another dimension when he came home. The preferred alternative would have been attempting to reason with one another, but it just wasn’t something that was normalized in the Hargrove household. Communicating with words was a daunting task; but not nearly as daunting as accountability.

“I’M DONE WITH YOU, BILLY. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m a literal minor, you can’t do this, Dad!” Billy wailed. "PLEASE!"

Over a football game.

The Friday Night Lights were a staple of Vista Palms High School. That and all of its nacho-eating, pot-smoking, LMFAO-playing, neon-filled goodness.

"C’mon V-P, c’mon, let’s beat S-D!” For weeks Billy had been chanting that mantra. There was no clearer indication that it’s where he would be the night of the championship game. He didn’t communicate it, of course, but it was implied. But still, it didn’t cross Dad’s mind.

Any parent who thought their child was coming home on time — and sober — that night was a foolish one. Especially if their kid was a sophomore with senior status.

“You sure as hell don't act like one,” Dad spat. “Coming home, acting all grown." Little did Dad know Billy was there for community service. Billy was a good student. More than anything he wanted a full ride to a UC, mainly to get away from home. Either that or military. Maybe then, walking on eggshells and being accused of something he didn't do — like drinking and doing drugs — would be a seasonal occurence instead of daily. "ACTING LIKE YOU PAY THE BILLS. YOU DON'T. YOUR MOM AND I DO.”

Dad knew he hit a nerve. It was his signature move aside from alienating his victims to establish control. While the feeling of getting your wings clipped really did you in, reactive abuse was Billy's top trigger, especially when Mom was mentioned. After all, Billy was the one who found Her.

Through glassy eyes and gritted teeth, Billy closed up his fists before mustering up the courage to say, “I’m…not…calling Sue... the operative word.”

Dad snarled. “Like there’s anyone else physically here you’ve reserved that title for?”

Oh.

"This tainted love you've given-"

Billy took the bait, lunging forward to grab Dad. As if on cue, Dad winded up his arm, assuming his usual position. You managed to assert yourself between in hopes of stopping them. Suddenly the back of Dad's hand collided with your cheek, sprawling you onto the couch. Billy watched horrified while you fought to keep your eyes open, growing anxious when all you could hear was the room pulsating around you at the highest frequency you had ever heard in your 15 long years of life. Enough was enough.

One punch. Bridge of the nose. Game over. The control Dad had over you both had ceased.

Billy rushed to your aid while Dad took a few moments to gather himself. It was then his beat-in, throbbing eyes realized that the little boy he mercilessly pushed around was no longer there. His own little Frankenstein had taken his place.

"I gave you all a boy could give you"

"Oh my god, Sissy," Billy cried, crouching down to run a soothing hand through your hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you sniff, wrapping a hand around his arm. "I'm fine, Billy. I promise."

"I'm not gonna let that son of a bitch hurt you ever again," he vowed. "I'm gonna fuck him up and anyone else who tries."

"I love you, Brother."

"I love you, Sissy." The magnitude of power that surged through Billy melted into every neuron in his body, the warmth of its adrenaline imitating a tender — long overdue — embrace. He became fully enveloped in what was like an electric current, its tide higher than any wave he's ever surfed. It became more exhilarating than cruising down the I-5 in his Camaro at 130 MPH, and more intoxicating than any keg of beer he's ever swigged at a Wanna-be Project X Party.

It was the rush Billy had been searching for his whole life.

Every high Billy ever pursued before that rapidly declined in value. He would trade in anything for the static that had encoded itself into him. He felt untouchable, a luxury your father couldn’t afford his wife and children.

"YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER AGAIN, YOU'RE DEAD DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

From that day forward, feeling respected was a freedom Billy was not willing to sacrifice, ever.

"Take my tears and that's not nearly all-"

But now Billy is the abuser, something you never imagined happening given his innately soft personality.

"Oh, tainted love. Don't touch me! Please.”

Slapping. Biting. Choking each other out. Pulling each other’s hair. Calling each other names. Spitting. Throwing things. Who would’ve thought the Hargrove twins were capable of the same horrors as their parents?

Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Billy’s voice, like nails on a chalkboard, clawed at your brain in agonizing intervals.

“That’s all Max is. A pathetic little liar.”

“She will do anything for any bit of attention…even whore herself out to all the men in Del Mar.”

“You can get out. And stay out. Since you wanna act so grown all the damn time.”

He became the very thing — or person rather — he sought to destroy. The very person who indirectly, but explicably killed your mother.

And deep down you feared that if you and your stepsister Max don’t get out of that house, you’d both suffer that same fate.

“It's fucking JULY and 90 degrees out!” your sister retaliated. “What do you want me to wear to the beach? Fucking sweats?"

Max was out with friends the night prior. They hosted a birthday bonfire for her at the beach. She broke curfew and got a ride home from a friend. A guy friend. Billy wasn’t having it.

Max always got the short end of the stick. She was an easy target for Billy’s antics. Being the literal carbon copy of the woman he hates the most didn’t make it any better, and neither did taking the bait whenever Billy dealt it to “keep the peace”. Max believes being and acting helpless would get Billy to back down. It was far from the truth. In reality, she was feeding him his supply.

And what a volatile supply it is.

Mom also had another saying: "Anger is just grief with nowhere to go".

So you watched Billy and Max go back and forth with their pickleball tournament-o-insults, shouting at one another to their lungs’ capacity, their dead, black pupils strangling each other mentally while they gathered the physical strength to do so as well. You kept an arm halfway up and torso slightly turned in case you needed to butt in.

“I do this because I love you, Maxine,” Billy insisted. “So just SHUT UP and stop being a little cunt. Okay?”

“You stop being a presumptuous asshole first,” Max fired back. “We’re fighting again — why? Because someone with a penis drove me home? And we broke curfew by 10 minutes? I don’t control traffi-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he dismissed her. “Just say you wanted some dick and call it a night.”

Classic slut-shaming, as if Billy’s Instagram following wasn’t all models, strippers, and OnlyFans girls.

Before you could even process what was happening, the blurbs of their argument skidded to a halt when Max finally broke. Billy watched in subtle amusement as she screamed, her fist meeting the wall repeatedly out of frustration.

Reactive abuse is Billy’s favorite abuse tactic.

“Someone who’s not guilty wouldn’t react like this,” Billy quipped in a sing-song voice, eyeing the new hole in the dry wall that Max had created.

There was no sense in backtracking if Billy already got what he wanted. Max just needed the last word. Before any of you could process it, an acrylic storage box soared through the air, hitting Billy right in the groin. He roared in agony while Max attempted to collect herself off to the side. She still saw red.

That’s when the knife came out.

One slice to the brow and it was over. To ensure the last word was his to keep, Billy ended up chucking a knife at your sister.

“OHMYGOD!” Max shrieked repeatedly, entering the ‘freeze’ stage of her shock. “OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, I’M BLEEDING! I’M BLEEDING, THERE’S BLOOD!”

It was then you realized, the little boy you vowed to protect and refused to leave behind was long gone. Dad’s essence had taken his place now.

“You just don’t know when to FUCKING STOP, do you?” you exclaimed, putting pressure on Max’s eyebrow with a washcloth as she wailed. Suddenly it was Dad you were talking to. They had the same apathetic, dead look in their eyes. “I don’t care who said or did what, throwing a fucking KNIFE?”

“Me?” Billy tutted. “You wanna call me crazy, who did that?” He was referring to the hole in the wall. “And who was the one to throw shit first? EXACTLY. EXACTLY.”

While Billy was technically correct, he would never admit to what he did to provoke you two.

“So you can both get out if you’d like. Be my fucking guests.”

You and Max exchanged one look. The look. It was time. You both were ready and now had the green light. Now was the chance to bolt without immediate consequences.

So you and your sister spent several minutes rummaging through your pre-packed belongings while Billy continued to shit-talk aimlessly around the rental you shared. The place soon reeked of cheap bud and gas station gin. Trash bags were soon filled with your favorite clothes and you shoved them into as many of your childhood suitcases as possible. Struggling to see past your tear-coated eyes, you reached for your books, the ones you've hollowed out 300 pages deep to pocket all the tips from your waitressing job, and shoved the loose bills into your crossbody. You’d sort through them later. Lastly, you popped the cap off the bottom of your salt lamp. There was a pre-paid Visa you bought several months beforehand waiting for you. With trembling hands, you grasped it and whispered a gratitude to the Universe before tucking it neatly into the back pocket of your Levi’s.

When it was all said and done and everything was loaded into your car, you focus on the hole in the dry wall one last time.

Never again.

Billy was complacent throughout the entirety of the event. You glared at him while he continued to soothe himself with drugs and alcohol, refusing to own up to the irreversible damage he caused your little family.

“SIS,” Max boomed from outside. “LET’S GO!”

A part of you used to pity Billy, but now his destructive behavior took away any ounce of guilt you felt for leaving him.

You never fought back until you had no other choice. Similarly, and tragically, Billy shared that very sentiment.

Who the villain is in the narrative relied solely on whose lens you are looking through.

It took you by surprise all the time. How could identical twins, who grew up in the same environment, end up so different from one another?

“I love you, though you hurt me so. Now I’m gonna pack my things and go." - Tainted Love by Soft Cell

There are two wolves inside of everyone.

——————————𓇼——————--------

"Are the pieces of you in the pieces of me? I'm just so scared you're who I'll be. When I erupt just like you do, they look at me like I look at you" - DNA by Lia Marie Johnson

The heart-wrenching ballad by Lia Marie Johnson dissolves as you crank the dial to the left. Music is always depressing when Max has the aux chord.

"Did you hear what I said?" you question her.

Max abruptly sits up and reorients herself, attempting to shrug off the trance “DNA” had put her in for a few minutes.

"No, sorry. What'd you say again?"

"Do you need a bathroom break?"

"I'll go at the airport.”

"Okay, but if you change your mind and decide to take a leak one last time, I'll be happy to oblige.”

Swami’s is also an exit away and you’re just fixing for a hot meal before takeoff. But you don’t directly say that. Besides, Max loses her appetite when she’s upset and may only have room for shitty airplane food.

“I’ll just eat on the plane.”

Stale pretzels and flat soda it is.

Despite the decrease in appetite, Max is holding up well. As well as anyone-who-was-nearly-stabbed-by-her-brother-and-is-now-moving-states-away-from-everything-she’s-ever-known-with-her-sister could be.

It wasn’t your first choice to leave California. In fact, you did everything you could to avoid it. But nonetheless, anyone with a conscious and only $4,000 to their name would make the wise decision to move away to somewhere more affordable.

Enter your online friend, Robin.

Working ungodly hours six days a week to pay the bills took up so much of your time that you had no friends in San Diego — albeit high school friends who would have never guessed how you and Billy turned out. Those friends had happy families anyway. They couldn’t hold space for you. Your online friend Robin, who you met on an art forum, however knew your family dynamic and was there for everything. But she lived in Indiana with her partner and was never able to offer you any physical comfort.

You entertained Robin’s idea of moving to where she lives, a small town in Indiana called Hawkins just 20 minutes southeast of the city. Living under the radar to get your ducks in a row seemed like such a perfect plan, but you didn’t want to do so at the expense of Max losing her only support system she had outside of you.

Moving would’ve also meant pulling her out of school, which wouldn’t be possible because Billy was her legal guardian. Now that she’s graduated high school, and today is her 18th birthday, the game has changed completely.

“Donovan texted me happy birthday,” Max reports, finally disclosing a fragment of her inner conscience. “Thought it was sweet.”

You can’t help but smile. "You thought he wouldn’t?”

She refrains from rolling her eyes and shifts them towards the rocky beach cliffs outside her window.

“You know,” you add. “I really think you two could make long distance work. I’ve never seen so much chemistry between two people before.”

Max scoffs. "Yeah right. Long distance with a guy going to Santa Barbara for college?” She fiddles with the strings of the knit poncho resting atop her lap. “I'd be breaking my own heart."

You bite your lip to stop the waterworks. Max doesn’t deserve any of this. She deserves to enjoy bonfires with her skater friends, surf all the tubular waves, and go on all the nature hikes without worrying about her stepbrother’s codependent-fits-of-rage waiting for her when she comes home. She deserves to eat fried funnel cake at the county fair and share a kiss with the boy of her dreams atop a Ferris wheel on the 4th of July. She deserves a San Diego summer, not a summer spent in hiding from her abuser in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

Max decides to change the subject.

“So what’s Robin like? Your online friend.”

“She’s very sweet,” you breathe. “Been, uh, telling her about Billy for a long time now. Her arms have been open since day one.”

“And her girlfriend?”

“Vicky’s the best,” you insist. “A match made in heaven for sure. It’s like they’re the same person, just different font.”

You get a giggle out of Max. Her laughter during such a turbulent time is like music to your ears. The non-depressing kind.

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t get you a gift this year.”

She side eyes you.

“What are you talking about? You quite literally gave me the best gift of all.”

“Did I? What did I give you?”

“You gave me safety.”

And with that, you give yourself a mental pat on the back, confident you made the right choice despite how foreign everything currently felt. The conversation dies down while you and Max ride on, driving further and further away from the Park and Ride you spent the night at, off Coast Highway, and onto the I-5 one last time.

Boarding the plane is a swift process. Your plane is a two-seater, so Max gets the window and you get the aisle. After receiving your snacks and drinks, you decide to play white noise and dissociate for the next five hours. It’s safe to do so, anyways. Liminal spaces were not something you took for granted.

Meanwhile, Max looks out the window, watching as the world she has come to know her whole life shrinks right before her eyes, before disappearing underneath a quilt of soft white cumulus clouds.

“This is 18.”

Goodbye, San Diego.

—————— ✈︎ ———————

Hello, Hawkins.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Robin incites, trudging through the miscellaneous projects that sit at her feet. “As if we weren’t DIY freaks enough, the pandemic really just amplified that.”

The pandemic was a hard time for everyone. You lost your fine dining gig and abruptly switched to UberEats to adjust to the flow of takeout. Billy couldn’t go to the gym, his happy place, and it took a toll on him mentally. Max broke quarantine multiple times to see Donovan, which didn’t sit well with your brother. He of course lashed out on her and also proclaimed that people like her were the reason why America hadn’t opened up yet.

“And I get no time at the gym!” Billy screamed. “So now I have to do this—”

You learned that a decent lamp costed $70 that night.

That wasn’t your first rodeo though. You and Billy grew up replacing furniture all the time. You two would gather up your money and spend it on replacing whatever needed replacing for Mom’s birthday. She always wanted to make your house feel like a home. Feel lived in. You and Billy thought you were heroes doing it, but it dawns on you now that you two were just babies.

“Oh!” Vicky interrupts. “Before we forget…”

You and Max watch her as she scrambles around, looking for something that she seemed ecstatic about.

“Happy birthday, Max!”

“No way, Kate Bush!” Max exclaims as she accepts the gift, an original Kate Bush vinyl record of her album Hounds of Love.

"Wow," you beam, rubbing your sister’s back. “Way to fuel her 80's hyperfixation, huh?"

“We found this at the thrift store,” Vicky boasted. “Knew we had to get it for ya.”

“It’s the real deal too," Robin adds. "Look, printed 1985.”

“It’s perfect,” Max gushes. “Can’t wait to play it on my Crosley.”

She thanks them both and hugs them before running back to the living room to get the rest of your belongings. You listen as she hums some of Kate Bush’s discography along the way.

You then observe Max as she unpacks her things one by one, slightly peppered with remnants of the California sand and the snobby fee it took to ship it all here via cargo. She then proceeds to sit on the new bed to check the springing quality, testing its bounce factor and comparing it to that of her old bed.

You let out a bittersweet sigh.

Suddenly you're eight years old, doing the same thing at the local motel Mom managed to snag a couple nights from when Dad trashed the house.

You turn to look in the mirror atop your new dresser.

Suddenly, you're Mom. Quite literally. You both have the same wavy blonde hair, scattered freckles across your nose that Billy used to call “stardust”, and the same tsunami blue eyes. It makes it no wonder why you and Dad never got along. You are Mom’s spitting image — and Billy is Dad’s.

Funny how life turns out.

You graze the crows feet at the outer corner of your eyes, realizing now how many years have silently passed you by, and then take note of the stress-defined scars in the form of eye baggage from all the sleepless nights that came as a souvenir.

You’ve put up with so much. For so long. The trauma is starting to manifest itself physically.

Robin snaps you back into present day. "So I was thinking we go to Applebee's for dinner, walk around Old Town, get you guys settled and unpacked when we return, Jenga at night, and then-"

She stops when she sees the horrified expression on your face.

“Hey…” the pitch in her comforting, raspy voice heightens. “What’s the matter?”

Your voice breaks. “It’s…” you manage. “It’s been a lot.”

Robin pats your back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Without looking, Robin snags a few tissues from a box laying around and gives them to you. You blot the tears away, careful not to mess up the makeup you had on with the intention to make you look less…dead.

“Sue didn’t even call and wish her happy birthday. Her own mother.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin repeats.

“Every day I watch Max store her trauma in the box... and just shove it into the corner where it gathers dust,” you continue. “If she doesn't unpack it..."

You didn’t even want to think of the collateral damage you and your brother caused her. A part of you wants to think Maxine has remained untouched from that side of you, but the dry blood on her outer brow was a reminder that it was far too late to shelter her from that.

"You see yourself in her."

"And my mom in myself,” you admit. “Now more than ever.”

You rub your eyes.

“I’m rambling, I know. It’s just… SO aggravating. Max deserves better.”

“She’s handling it really well.”

“We don’t know that. I know Max. She’s a pro at hiding her feelings.”

“She’s being strong for you, like you are for her. It’s very endearing, whether you both admit it to each other or not.”

She rubs your arm.

“For as long as Vicky and I are here, you and Maxine have a soft place to land. We are here for you. Y’all are safe.”

You two glance over at Max, who is now unpacking your Zen Basics Himalayan salt lamp. She sets it on top your new bedside table, a reupholstered one whose old wood was painted over by an earthy olive green, the old hardware replaced by eccentric shaped, neutral-toned knobs. Her Crosley sits on your floor, now playing a track off Kate Bush's vinyl while she stares out the window. Your new view for the foreseeable future.

Can't you see where memories are kept bright?

Tripping on the water like a laughing girl

Time in her eyes is spawning past life

One with the ocean and the woman unfurled

Holding all the love that waits for you here

Catch us now for I am your future

A kiss on the wind and we'll make the land.

Dinnertime comes fast, but you blame it on the time zone difference. You call shotgun and ride with Robin in the passenger seat, catching up with your best friend while Vicky and Max watch YouTube shorts in the backseat.

Robin gives you a backstory of everything you pass on the way to Applebees, from the schools to churches to family-owned gas stations. She and Vicky seem to know everyone by a first-name basis, naming random people off and knowing exactly who that is every so often. You try to stay engaged, but the only thing on your mind is where you’re going to apply for a job.

Robin drives into a plaza next.

"This used to be a mall, but now it's completely empty," Robin continues pointing to an empty building with remnants of a star symbol etched on it. "E-commerce really turned this strip into a ghost town."

"So basically, if I wanted a job, it would have to be any of these food places, an office of sorts, or an off-brand Blockbuster store?"

"Family Video is closing too," Vicky chimes in. "It's sad. But I guess Hawkins needs yet another overpriced coffee shop."

"You could always work at the gentlemen's club," Max jokes, pointing off to the side.

You turn to where she’s pointing and take note of the matte black rectangular building by the Sizzler’s. It didn’t seem out of place, but the silhouette of an exotic dancer with devil horns gave the sinister establishment away. You couldn’t read the name of the club, but a part of you tries to.

Robin slightly turns and nods in that direction. "Oh yeah. I heard the girls there make bank in tips."

“I made bank in La Jolla doing fine dining,” you point out. “Maybe I can do the same thing here. But at a similar establishment.”

“Fanciest restaurant you’ll get here is Benny’s,” Vicky says. “You’re gonna have to go to the city for fine dining. I don’t think the commute is worth.”

“Guess stripper is your best option,” Max nudges you.

You shoot a glare her way. “Very funny.”

"I know, I was joking," she scoffs. "Billy would kill you anyways."

Billy would literally go insane if you dared to work at a strip club. The slut-shaming would never end. Not that he never slut-shamed you anyway. There was always something for him to be misogynistic and hypocritical about.

Then it hits you. Billy isn't here. And you really need the money since in this day and age, $4,000 meant nothing. You peer over at the gentlemen's club one last time as it shrinks out of view the further Robin drives.

HELLFIRE.

-----------𓆩♡𓆪------------

Dungeons & Dragons.

Of course one of the very few strip clubs in Hawkins has to be the dorkiest.

But you understand the vision. Beyond the cobblestone entrance, the veil between real life and fantasy thins.

As you near the club with nothing but a purse and car keys in hand, you notice that there’s already security by the door. You’re surprised to see a leaner guy, tall and slender with soft blonde hair and a soft grin to match. He catches sight of you and greets you with a nod.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” you nod. You reach for your wallet and give him your ID. Typical screening process. “Yourself?”

“Not too shabby,” he replies.

He examines your ID card. You notice his surprise when his eyes slightly widen before retracting shortly after. You guess that he was wondering why you are here out of all places. You peer over at his name tag while he concludes his screening. Henry.

Upon verification of your identity, the friendly security guard returns your card to you.

“Let me give you a wrist band.”

He motions for you to hold an arm out. You extend your right arm to him and watch as he gracefully pulls a paper wristband out of his pocket, clasping it into place with the side that read “21+” facing upwards.

You take the time to admire the gentleness of this man. The softness of his face. His dreamy gaze.

“Any weapons on you?”

“Uh…” you stammer. “Just pepper spray?”

A laugh escapes from his nostrils. “That’s fine, my dear.”

“I hope I don’t have to use it.”

“Don’t worry, darling. Under my watch, you won’t.”

Henry gently strokes your hand before motioning you inside.

“Enjoy the show.”

“Thanks,” you smile politely.

It’s a slow afternoon, but granted no one goes to a strip club at 2 PM. The Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club was comprehensively laced with playful innuendos. The accent wall by the entrance showcases an array of chains and handcuffs. Kukris, nun-chucks, and flails all of different variants and sizes are displayed on the walls, the point of balance being a vintage pulp print of a metal puppeteer. On the print, "OBEY YOUR MASTER" is written in edgy bubble letters.

Kinky.

And there’s a bonus of this themed club: the ladies are dressed in cloaks. You watch as beautiful women from all walks of life strut around the joint, leaving the clients with only their imagination to guess what’s underneath the tantalizing, medieval velvet.

There are LED signs that lit up corners of the space, indicating what they were for. KAS’ KORNER: GRAB A BITE, DRAGON'S BREATH: HOOKAH LOUNGE, and POTIONS — the bar.

You catch a glimpse of the private show rooms, or at least what you think are the private show rooms.

The LED sign to those rooms read, "I PUT A SPELL ON YOU AND NOW YOU'RE MINE."

The general seating area for the main event reads VECNA’S LAIR.

The Dungeon Master of this joint thought of every possible detail he could and ironed it into perfection.

Surely, someone who truly plays would adore every aspect of all the details, but it was evident that everyone came here for the same reason:

Girls, girls, girls.

You walk over to the bar to see two men conversing behind it.

One looked to be in his late 20s, with scruffy chestnut brown hair, some tired eyes, peach fuzz, and a patterned shirt decorated in a kaleidoscope of colors — a shirt meticulously calculated by quite possibly a girlfriend.

The other looked like he had another year left before being allowed to be behind that counter... of course judging by the “Hawkins High School class of 2021” on his insulated water bottle in his hand, a cracked iPhone in the other, and Beats with a small basketball sticker on it.

When you appear in their periphery, the conversation between the two gradually comes to a stop.

“Whoa,” the younger man hums. “New face. Welcome.”

“Hi. What do you recommend?”

“In terms of what?” the younger man questions slyly. There’s a timidness to the young man’s spirit, making his flirtatious demeanor somewhat dorky. The age appropriate bartender nudges him.

“Drinks, hotshot,” you refrain from chuckling. “Drinks.”

“Depends what you’re into,” the younger man replies, the slyness continuing. “If you’re into light liquors, Jonathan can make you a mean Cîroc with pineapple juice. But if you’re more into the dark stuff…”

He gestures up and down on himself.

“Then look no further.”

“That was very painful to listen to,” the older one who you assume is Jonathan cringes. “Can you get anymore corny?”

“Ta-ha!” the younger one tsks. “He said could I get any more corny. Can you get any more bitchless?”

“I have a girlfriend, Lucas.”

“Emphasis on the singular sense.”

“Nance is all I need.”

"Nancy is all you can pull," Lucas chuckles. "With that goofy ass shirt, man. Stop playing with me."

So you weren’t the only one who thought the shirt was absolutely ridiculous. It had "Bad Bitch Repellant" written all over it.

Jonathan whacks Lucas with the cloth that was sitting atop his shoulder. You request a double Tito’s straight on the rocks from Jonathan to which he automatically starts to make. Lucas continues to interrogate you.

“As you heard, my name is Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.” He extends his hands to you. “But my favorite ladies call me 'Dark Chocolate'. You can call me, 'The Man of Your Dreams' though.”

You take the youngster’s hand in yours and shake it. His heavy locker room cologne makes your nose swell, an uneven mix of what you believe is Axe and — is that Dior?

You tell Lucas your name then hit him with a, “But you can call me ‘When You’re Thirty’.”

Lucas laughs at your joke, beaming up at you as he does so. Then he nods to communicate a gracious fair enough. The flirting, you could sense, was in good nature, playful.

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugs. “Do you have a younger sister by any chance?”

“Oh in your dreams, mister.”

Jonathan chuckles and rubs Lucas’s back.

"That’s enough man, can you go buss that table over there?"

Lucas gives a thumbs up before putting his Beats on and walking away. You divert your attention back to Jonathan who is now done with making your drink.

“Alright… I got a Tito’s double shot — straight — on the rocks,” Jonathan announces as he slides your vice on over. He studies you as you take the drink and request to keep the tab open. “I’m inclined to ask. Are you okay?”

When you’re not around Billy, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt to trauma dump on a stranger. Especially one who asked.

“Pretty far from okay,” you answer before chugging it. “Can’t you tell? It’s 2PM and I’m consoling…” You slosh the drink around in your hand. “…my man Tito.”

“I see that.”

“It’s been a long day,” you continue. “It’s my second day in Hawkins so I thought I’d scope this place out. Dilly dally for a bit.”

“Second day?” Jonathan questions. “As in…ever?”

“Yeah, just moved here.”

The bartender looks around as if he’s missed something. “But…why?”

It’s a fair reaction. If the welcome sign is correct, Hawkins only has a population of 1,314 people. 1,316 now including you and Maxine.

“My friend lives here and convinced me to make the move,” is what you explain, though it only seems to make Jonathan more confused. “Couldn’t take the heat Cali was dishing out. Hawkins seemed like the perfect place to slow down.”

“Oh man,” Jonathan mutters. “California to here, what a change.”

“You lived here long?”

“Lived here my whole life,” he answers as a matter of factly.

“What made you get a job at Hellfire?”

Jonathan didn’t have to think. “I love booze.”

You laugh together, raising your half-empty class to clink his invisible one.

“I hate 9-5s,” Jonathan draws on. “Working from home ‘bout damn near drove me insane, don’t know how my mom does it with such ease. My boss here smokes me out on occasion and my friends make me nachos.” He smiles. “Can’t think of anything better.”

“There we go.”

"I’ve also just been looking out for women my whole life," he adds. "Bout time I get some financial compensation for it, no?"

“Amen to that,” You chug the last of your drink. “Thanks for your service.”

"Pleasure is mine. Anything else I can do for ya?"

You think. "Hm, probably not you, but maybe the hiring manager can do something for me."

"You're looking to work here?" he clarifies as you nod. "Oh sweet, you're going to wanna talk to Eddie. He's the owner."

"And a dweeb," says a significantly younger looking fellow as he slides into the conversation.

“Here we go.”

In front of you now is a gentleman around Lucas’s age with wild curly brown hair. You watch as he helps himself to a club soda, dunking three large wedges of lemon into his cup as well.

The guy offers you a playful, pearly white grin. “Eddie may own a nice club with some smokin' hot babes, but he's got no game whatsoever."

“Hey Dustin.”

“Sup, man.”

“You think so?" you challenge him.

"I know so,” the boy who you now know as Dustin insists. “Can't talk up a chick to save his life."

"Yeah," Jonathan says, half-jokingly. "He's the bitchless one."

Dustin glances between you both, slightly puzzled.

You shake your head. "No way."

"I wouldn't say he's that bad," Dustin says. "I actually think he's seeing someone casually. But in general, dude's got zero rizz."

"Projecting are we?" Jonathan nudges him.

“HELL. NO.” Dustin booms. You attempt to refrain from laughing. “My game is what got me the baddest gal at science camp. Eddie? Clumsy as hell, stutters on his words, he's got the anxiety level of someone who drinks cold brew on an empty stomach… Now that I say it out loud, I think he does drink cold brew on an empty stomach. Some chicks dig it though, which is good for him.”

Curly was fun to observe. Once he’s done talking down on the club owner, Dustin politely walks over and shakes your hand, bowing to you like you’re a princess of sorts. You later find it that like Lucas, Dustin works as a bus boy and server, and his girlfriend makes sure that he remains in Kas’ Korner at all times. Dustin has about two years left before legally being permitted behind the POTIONS bar, but that doesn’t stop him from using it as his own storage shed.

You watch as he grabs some deodorant and hair pomade from an old shoe box under the counter.

“Anyways, later,” Dustin holds up a peace sign, starting towards the door. “I'm not on today, I'm just hitting the gym with Steve."

“Later, man!” Jonathan calls after him.

“Deuces. Say hello to Dark Chocolate for me.”

Before he could get any further, the loud swinging of a door closeby causes him to halt in place.

“ALRIGHT!” a loud, gruff voice booms from that direction. “Which one of you shitheads forgot to take inventory on the 10th?!”

You can’t help but turn your body towards the ruckus. And to your own pleasant surprise, you don’t regret it. Emerging from the door comes the possible shift lead, a tall and broad man with medium length wavy brown hair, chocolate-colored, youthful doe eyes that contradicted the deep lines on his face, bleach white Chuck Taylor’s, ripped black jeans, and a Hellfire Club baseball tee with the logo smack-dab in the middle.

The man looked to be in his mid to late 20s, with an assertiveness in his stride. His lips, a perfectly formed bow with a smirk-like undertone. The cool rings that rest upon his fingers look icy as they sway at his side, shining in contrast to his dark clothing.

The man is too tunnel-visioned to see where he was going. But that doesn’t stop Dustin from looking absolutely mortified.

“The 10th and the 11th,” the man clarifies. “So for all we know, we might need new kegs and ground chili, which is one more thing I have to d-”

Finally he looks up, with you being the first thing he sees. Proximity taking him aback, he snaps out of his stress-induced trance and softens up at the sight of you. You meet his eyes, big and beautiful with long wispy lashes and you can’t help but mimic the flutter in your heart in the form of a smile.

“Whoa.” He says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Whoa, indeed.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s Eddie’s first day back, he tends to get a little in the zone,” Dustin explains.

Eddie.

Does that mean…

“Are you the hiring manager?”

You didn’t know who you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the man in front of you. He must be proud of himself, having such a successful business so early in the game.

Eddie gathers himself quickly.

“Dungeon Master, hiring manager, manager, owner, sanitations, re-stocker,” Mr. Jack-of-all-trades confirms. “I do it all.” He grimaces at Dustin. "Since you know, some people don't wanna work."

"You said I can have off!" Dustin exclaims defensively. "I worked for you before the weekend already and I wasn’t even on the 10th and 11th, fuck outta here."

All it takes is a scowl his way from the boss and Dustin is radio silent. The look on Eddie's face definitely said "Watch your tone". Eyes are all on you once more soon after.

Eddie’s gaze softens when he looks at you.

“Were you…looking to apply?”

“Yeah,” you reply sheepishly. “As a dancer. I’d like to perform here.”

“You don’t sound too confident.”

“Some guys like shy girls,” you shrug.

He laughs, a dark honey kind of laugh that just oozed from the back of his throat. “That they do.” His voice deepens drastically. Eddie studies you. “Any dancing experience?”

“Dancing, yes.”

“Stripping experience?”

“None.”

“Hm,” Eddie says. “What do you have experience in?”

“I danced for a bit…I have good core strength,” you explain vaguely. “And I’ve worked in the restaurant industry so I’d say customer service is my superpower.”

Eddie soaks in the information.

“I know how to talk to people,” you continue. “I know the right things to say. Favorite pass time is upselling drinks. And dessert…”

You wait for Eddie to take the low hanging fruit. He doesn’t.

"Any experience with the pole?”

Your cheeks grow hot. You decide to lie.

"No.”

“Kinda essential for this profession, sweetheart.”

"I know," you respond humbly. "I wouldn’t doubt it for a second..." you scan the room. “So uh, do I need a permit to perform here?”

“Nah, Hawkins is a lawless wasteland pretty much,” he sighs placing his hands on his hips. “And my club does things a little different anyways. The ladies also don’t pay to perform, we pay them to.”

Shit. Strippers pay to perform at venues?

“The dining experience is what brings the base revenue in,” Lucas explains, returning from wherever he had been. “The ladies are a luxury.”

“And should be treated as such,” Jonathan chimes in.

“I take it you don’t work at any other clubs?” Eddie questions judging by your wide eyes attempting to take in every bit of information that has been dumped on you. The man sees right through your mask.

“No, but I-”

“I personally like to give everyone a chance,” Eddie says. “So don’t worry babe, you’re good. Even though you don’t have any experience, your energy tells me that you have potential. Wanna show us what you can do?”

Your heart sinks. The handsome club owner called you babe. And you’re also being asked to perform with the little experience you have — in front of girls who had tons of experience.

“Here? Now?”

Eddie nods.

You weren’t prepared to dance today. But with your sister and the mountain of debt on your mind, you are willing to do anything. So you walk over to Jonathan and tell him what song you feel most comfortable performing to and stretch as he takes the time to find it. When all is said and done, you make your way to the icy pillar made of chrome steel that was calling for your attention.

You exhale deeply.

Back to the old stomping grounds. The last time you worked with a pole you were wearing Heeley’s and light up sneakers. Of course in place of the horny spectators there were playground supervisors, and the only “bars” there were monkey bars. Oh, and you were 8, not 28.

The slut-shaming still existed, though. One time a boy told you that you were acting like a ‘hoe’ for trying to do a trick upside down. To Billy’s retaliation though. Before you knew it, the same boy was being shoved down and dragged across the wood chips, acquiring a series of splinters along the way. Admin phoned home. You and Billy got spanked. But, of course, Billy had no regrets. While you both cooled off together, you remember him grazing your hand, telling you he’d beat that kid up “a gajillion times over”.

He kept that promise. Except as you two grew older, it was you he was doing it to. A gajillion times over.

You laugh at the bittersweet nostalgia.

“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” Eddie says.

You give Jonathan a thumbs up to play your song selection. Soon, Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club is filled with the catchy, seductive tune that is Layla by Eric Clapton.

You start with a small stroll around the pole. Then a dramatic dip to flaunt your bouncy golden locks. Soon, the women of Hellfire gather around with the men following soon after to watch you work your magic in Vecna’s crowded Lair.

If muscle memory is in your favor, they are in for a good show.

What will you do when you get lonely

No one waiting by your side?

You've been running, hiding much too long

You know it's just your foolish pride

Eddie claims a seat at a throne directly in front of the pole. He studies your technique, your movements, your facial expressions. You aren’t sure if reality is projecting onto you or if you’re dizzy from all the spinning, but you almost see a slight smile spread across the club owner’s face. It prompts you to keep going.

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

It’s a lot harder, your techniques and tricks. Most likely since you weigh more than 50 pounds now and had to exert more energy to keep yourself balanced an aligned. But nonetheless, you persist.

Tried to give you consolation

Your old man had let you down

Like a fool, I fell in love with you

You turned my whole world upside down

You buck your hips upward from you back arch to go into an upside down position. It earns you some hooting and cheering from the crowd.

“You better work, mamas!” a dancer cheers.

“I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT!”

“YOU GO GIRL!”

“YAAAS!”

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, I'm begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

Eddie watches intently, leaning backwards with his hands clasped forward. You feel his eyes burn through you, from the top of your head down to your toes. You feel as if he’s mentally scoring you like you’re at a competition, but the sisterhood that cheers you on makes you feel slightly less intimidated.

“SHE’S SO GOOD!” comes a high-pitched voice in the crowd. “I FREAKING LOVE HER!”

You turn to look at your own personal cheerleader, a bright-eyed cute little redhead with pigtails with an outfit that looks like an ode to Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time”. She has cherry hair ties that hold her two pigtails at the bottom.

You watch her clap and jump up and down, cheering you on with a beam in her eyes that made you feel like your souls have been friends for decades.

Motivated to attempt more risqué moves, you jump into the splits before kicking your legs around to end on your knees.

Clapping and whistling erupts from the lair. Once it dies down, Eddie stands up, offering you a delighted series of slow claps as he makes his way towards you.

"That was really good, Shy Girl. I like how you finished your set."

“Aw, thanks Eddie.”

He walks around you.

"Go like this?" Eddie does a stretching motion, lifting his hand up.

You imitate him and reach up.

"Okay, and... turn like this? Then pop your ass out a bit more."

The word rolled off the club owner's tongue like it was nothing. It was done in a way that was professional, a hint of respect in his tone with no sort of ulterior motive.

You swallow hard, attempting to internally tame the goosebumps on rising upon your skin. He’s just giving feedback, he’s just giving feedback. This is a professional line of work.

You do as he says as he circles around you, fingers grazing on the cool floor of the stage just inches away from your thighs. He taps them in thought.

"For a beginner you’re pretty damn good,” he says.

“Yeah?” you look up at him and smile.

“Yeah,” his voice deepens. “You’re a natural. All that shyness just went away.”

Well, it’s about to return, you think to yourself.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Not in this specific setting.”

There’s a slight shift in his eyes as his imagination wanders. The dimples at the side of his mouth concave slightly.

“I gotcha.”

Eddie clears his throat. “So uh, when can you start?”

Today is Wednesday. You have tomorrow, Friday, and the weekend to settle you and Max in and make any last minute stops. Then the appointment with the other loan officer and DMV appointment on Monday. Tuesday afternoons are dry — everywhere so that left the earliest you can start as

"Next Tuesday? In the evening?"

A soft snort escapes from the club owner’s nose.

"Driest night of the week," he comments, looking around his club.

He turns back to you.

"But a good time for orientation. Works for me, Shy Girl. Can I call you that?”

You smirk. “So I got the job?”

He nods.

“Then you can call me what you want,” you smile shaking his hand. “In this case I’m Shy Girl Hargrove.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles. He knows you’re flirting. Eddie accepts your hand and shakes it firmly.

“Eddie. Pleased to formally meet you. And welcome to Hellfire.”

You two exchange contact information for professional purposes before he leaves. You study Eddie as he sees himself out, planting a firm, teasing smack on Lucas’s stomach on his way and whispering something to Jonathan as well.

Your cheerleader from the crowd excitedly makes her way over.

“I know a dancer slash gymnast when I see one,” she chirps. “I’m Chrissy. Stage name is Cherry.”

You two shake hands and exchange further compliments with one another. Your heart swells when you realize you’re slowly starting to find community.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

Others come and say hello, but you’ve tuned out all the faces because all you can think about is Eddie. His demeanor. The way he carries himself. His presence alone was something so intoxicating that it lingered around the place in his absence.

Your heart flutters.

“Oh, Hargrove!” Jonathan says. “Before you go I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about the drink.”

“Oh?” you respond. “No?”

“Eddie says it’s on the house.”

You smile and Jonathan returns the favor, making sure you see him when he voids your entire tab. As you wave bye to all your spectators, you release a grateful sigh. You felt very humbled about this new, yet unexpected beginning.

The happiness soon wears off when the events that just unfolded dawn on you. Suddenly, the flutter in your heart moves to your stomach, settling in a way that feels eerie. The unknown is pestering you again. Wrong, but oh so right and necessary.

You take in the area around you. You have a place to call home. You’re a stripper now. Your boss just bought your drink. You’re going to have money coming in. Oh, and YOU’RE A STRIPPER NOW.

Then it dawns on you. You need to go shopping.

#Spotify #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 5 #hellfire club #Eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie munson fics

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themoonwithoutmoths · 3 months

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like i’m actually reeling after episode 3&4 so major spoilers ahead while i geek out

in episode three when zestial starts walking with alastor he says something to the affect of “rumors have been spun of you falling to holy arms.”

i think what he means is that rumors were going around that alastor died in one of the exterminations seven years ago, or got extremely injured and took those seven years out of sight to recuperate. but that’s just a theory (a game theory).

also we get a slight little tidbit of alastor without the static in the overlord meeting but i might be tripping on that one. (edit: i’ve watched it back like three times and NO IM NOT TRIPPING HOLY SHIIIIT… i can’t stop watching it back.. i want to hear MORE)

episode four was BANGER

the two songs that came out of it were phenomenal!!!! also..

CAN WE TALK MORE ABOUT HUSK CASUALLY LORE DROPPING THAT HE USED TO BE AN OVERLORD?!?!

like what?! i didn’t realize that this was something that was even possible, someone losing their overlord status. i mean, alastor was gone for seven years and his overlord status still very much stands. to be fair, from what was said it seems that husk gambled all of his contracts away either to alastor or someone else and had to turn to alastor to survive or something of that caliber.

wow. i am actually speechless. i loved loved LOVED these episodes. i cannot wait for more.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel husk #angel dust

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sanguineterrain · 1 year

Note

honey!! number 11 on the prompt list is so steve coded, don’t ya think??

it so totally is 🥰 11. back hugs

steve h x gn!reader. good ol' pining besties <3

****

"Robin," you say. "You're overthinking it."

"Signals, Y/N. People have signals. A hand on your wrist, a secret smile. Signals! Now: was Vickie sending me signals? We have to explore all possibilities. But mostly, the answer is probably no. She just wants to hang."

"She asked you to brunch. People our age do not go to brunch."

"Brunch is classy!"

"Brunch is a breakfast date," you scoff. "Brunch is I want to get a cat with you."

"Well, I think—" Robin groans, glancing over your shoulder. "Oh, God. Heads up. Loverboy, twelve o'clock."

Before you can turn, you're being swept into a warm hug from behind. Steve's cheek presses to yours, his chin tucked in your neck. The tip of his nose is cold from outside as it brushes your jaw. Your heart haywires.

"Steve!" you squeal, his arms around your waist. "What're you doing?"

"You're gonna love me," he says into your ear.

Already do.

"Am I now?"

He walks around to face you.

"Yup," he says, popping the 'p'. "Look at these."

Steve holds up two slips of paper. Tickets to Bruce Springsteen at Soldier Field.

"Holy shit!" you cry, and throw your arms around him. He catches you with a laugh.

"These must've cost a fortune! How did you get them? I thought they were all sold out."

Steve shrugs. "I know people. So, interested?"

He knows it's all you've been talking about (and lamenting over when the tickets sold out in three minutes). Bruce Springsteen is one of your favorites.

"You didn't—Steve," you say in awe. "You really didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to. Consider it an early birthday present."

"Then I want you to come with me."

"Wh—me?"

You scoff. "Who else would I bring?"

"Someone who actually knows Springsteen songs?"

"You know enough of his hits. I mean, if you really don't want to go..."

"No!" He shakes his head. "No, Y/N, obviously I'll go. I just didn't want you to be embarrassed when I'm the only person there who doesn't know Glory Days."

"Well, that's why we're gonna listen to Born in the USA everyday until the concert," you grin. "Get you prepped."

Steve groans. "Can't believe you're giving me homework."

You turn to put the tickets in your bag. Steve crowds you as you do, chin on your shoulder. He's always affectionate with you, loose with his touches and pets.

Robin looks at you, brows to her hairline.

"It's fun homework," you say, ignoring Robin with all your might. "We can listen to the tapes in your car 'cause you've got the fancy sound system."

"That why you're friends with me?" Steve asks, arms curling around your belly. "Just for perks?"

You grin. "No comment. But the concert tickets have definitely moved you up to best friend status."

"Where was I before?"

You pat his cheek. Steve pretends to grumble for another moment before slipping away. Instantly, you miss the warmth of his embrace.

"If you're done clinging to Y/N," Robin starts. "The new releases need to be shelved."

Steve throws her an eye roll but goes, giving you one last smile. You return it sheepishly. Robin watches you like a hawk.

You finally relent when Steve's far enough away.

"What is it now, Robs?"

"Signals," is all she says.

"Concert tickets is not a signal, Robin."

"Oh, it's something. Steve's music taste is whatever's on the radio."

"Not true! He listens to Queen and Fleetwood Mac and AC/DC and—"

"Because of you." Robin huffs. "It's you, Y/N, it's all for you. And you're both so deeply in denial you think it's just friendship things."

"He's just..." You watch Steve stack the videos on the shelf.

The enamel pin you got him a few months ago is on his FV vest. It's a bumblebee that says bee mine! You'd thought it was cute and fun and that Steve would like it. He wears it everyday, even if it doesn't match his outfit at all.

You look at Robin, your heart in your throat.

"Signals?" you ask quietly.

She nods.

"Now you're getting it."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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homoeroticbetrayal · 1 year

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Iconic Homoerotic Betrayal: Round 1

Round 1 Directory

Context:

Komaeda/Hinata

Keeping this short since I'm a bit tired, but basically Komaeda is first introduced as a friendly character Hajime feels close with, however after chapter 1 and onwards Hajime feels betrayed by Komaeda thanks to his actions in the first trial. During the game he still tries to understand him despite being hurt by his actions, though in chapter 4 the feeling of betrayal is mutual as Komaeda finds out Hajime is a reserve course student instead of an ultimate and everyone in the class is part of a world ending terrorist group called the ultimate despair. As for the gay part holy shit there is so much. A classic example would be Komaedas abandoned love confession (which is rather explicitly romantic in nature in jpn), his character songs Poison (literally has a line that says "I love and want to understand him more than anyone else") and Zettai Kibou Birthday (I'm not going to copy the lyrics here, they're too explicit, but tldr the whole song is literally just "I'm gay and thirsty"), the fact that even despite finding out that Hajime is what he hates most he says "I know you don't matter at all.. so why do I still care about you?", whatever the heck that one gun scene in the anime was, nearly everything in island mode (like komaeda saying stuff like "let's get back to our lovenest" or "I don't mind if you just want to see me naked"), Hajime finding his smile comforting, everything regarding them in the 2.5 OVA, the official valentines poster with them that implies that they might've gotten together postgame (though that one is ambiguously canon, it's still official content though), etc. There's even more please help.

Akechi/Joker (Persona 5)

When Akechi shoots Joker (the player) in the head, your relationship status immediately ranks up. Joker's into some kinky shit.

#komahina #akeshu #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #akechi goro #akira kurusu #p5 #dgrp #polls

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kynrki · 2 years

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SUPER SAD SONGS!

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PAIRINGS — idol!park sunghoon x idol!fem!reader

GENRE — one-sided enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, reader is known in the beginning but gets famous as time goes by, sunghoon lowkey forgot about reader…,

SYPNOSIS — yln yn and park sunghoon are sworn enemies ever since highschool. unfortunately for yn, she had undeniably huge feelings for sunghoon and wrote love songs for him. now they both are out of school, one being an idol, the other still writing songs in the comfort of their home. what happens when yn accidentally leaks one of her songs that miraculously ends up blowing up? and why does her voice sound so familiar to sunghoon?

FEATURING — p1h intak, stayc yoon, lesserafim kazuha, rest of enhypen and (probably) other various groups mentioned.

WARNINGS — based on “super sad songs” by zachary knowles! other warnings will be listed on the chap.

STATUS — COMPLETED

TAGLIST — (closed!)

AN — in honor of ‘silent treatment’ almost ending, heres ‘fool4love’ replacement!!! it was originally gonna be a heeseung smau but i changed my mind😹 ENJOY!!!! <333

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PROFILES — 4lyfers (psh simp😜) | end🧍‍♂️

001. working on something new🤭

002. i blew up? im still here tho….

003. HOLY SHIRMFOEMD ???

004. she- ew (lovingly)

005. oh? he’s an idol now

006. it go down in the dm!!!

007. sorry (not sorry😹)

008. #KAZUYN

009. i hate it here fr

010. GREAT inspiration for MUSIC!!!!!!!!!

011. wow, he didnt change at all

012. NEW RELEASE!!

013. the shade….

014. hanging out with sunghoon (a rollercoaster)

015. 1080HP, caught in mf 4K bitches

016. an ‘official’ date🤭

017. detective hoon

018. #justice4kazuha

019. what the fuck?

020. sunoo the messenger

021. confrontations!!!!!

022. yn in her lover girl era fr

023. the truth

024. #KAZUOUT!

025. do we forgive and forget? nah🤣

026. my ACTUAL bf👍🏼

027. intak best warrior

028. hoonyn

029. welp ig everyone knows🧍‍♂️

030. super sad songs!

THE END

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TAGLIST (closed) — @vhswonie @yunki4evr @ijustmetyouandthisiscrazy @thisisnotjacinta @trsrina @liliansun @iloveoceaneyes @shinsou-rii @seosracha @garden-owned-by-hybe @spearbvnss @notdrunkbutdazed @shoooobin @vatterie @kimmchijjajang @ilvsoup @sungookie @vampsvngie @winteringdream @zuhaful @raimbows4u @gfksn @enhasengene @luviehyck @nyfwyeonjun @allcra @luveuly @jwsflower @jihyoscrown @wooniy @fadedluvv @jakelux @enheyy @y4wnjunz @jeylillac @yjwluvs @kyanmeai @indelicate-macalino @sophhloaff @02zluvbot @lowxkie @ohmyhuenings @nomniki @lost-leopard-beanie @captivq @cosmicwintr @ahnneyong @diamondx211 @cyuuupid @lvepsh @xtra-cheese @jeongintwt @butterflyy-ningg @/dasa3040 @/meiiiwa

TAGLIST 2 (open) — @/qimmylol @/shwizhies @/yenqa @/akemiixx01 @/7myoi @/dimplewonie @/wondering-out-loud @/lovelypitasworld @/everafterxiao @/jaeyunavenue @/sparklingsjy

*bold cannot be tagged

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campbell-rose · 9 months

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Helluva Rewrite: Moxxie

A big thing with Moxxie was just me wanting him to not look like a butler. I don’t know what it is with Viv and men in suits, but I'm not a fan. To keep his vest from blending into his pants, I untucked a bit of his undershirt. I want each member of IMP to stand out visually from one another (because all imps literally look related to some degree lol) so I gave Moxxie green in his color palette to contrast the orangish red tone I gave his skin. I also think green eyes will help him stand out very nicely from the group. Instead of striped I put gold rings on his tail and gave him a couple rings on his fingers because greed and gold. Since Viv loves bowties, I let Mox keep his but made it droopy because I think it’s cuter. Originally, I was going to keep his coattails, but I feel like with the shape of his legs it just muddies his silhouette.

With Moxxie there isn’t much about his character I have to gripe about or want to change. He’s a skilled gunman with knowledge of the subject and history of guns. Cool, now for that, I’m working in his greed traits and decided that he outright hoards guns (since viv wants to claim imps hoard things). Moxxie has a vast collection and is always keeping them nice and spiffy.

Now one thing I don’t like about Moxxie is his insecurity. Moreso the fact that it’s constantly being played up, like in Unhappy Campers where he’s like a crotchety old woman going through menopause because his wife is more popular than him. At that point it’s just stupid for the sake of drama. Since I made Millie the insecure one, I’m going to play up Moxxie’s straight man status.

Moxxie is going to be the level headed cool sniper type I suppose. He’s not going to be as expression as Millie, the blue oni to her red in a sense. I think the comedy of that could be when something does make him lose his composure (I think I'll draw up a redone scene as an example) like Millie’s parents outright disliking him or Striker singing about how he sucks and should go fuck himself. I like the idea that because of his childhood as the son of an abusive mob boss father he’s learned to shove bad feelings down rather than express them outright. This doesn’t mean I want him to be a stone faced rock. No, I mostly just want him to express surface level exasperation and frustration with Blitzø’s antics (like his big “WHAT?” when Blitz mentions he hired Strikker)

So an example of this could be Striker’s song. After he tells Moxxie to go fuck himself, a close shot of Moxxie’s face shows it twitching. He adjusts his glasses, stands up, and excuses himself. (Millie recognizes that this is bad because she knows him and follows) But she loses him in Striker’s fangirl crowd. Moxxie will be visibly upset as he climbs the stairs before hearing Millie calling for him and regaining his composure – until he notices the glow coming from Striker’s room that catches his attention.

So I don’t want this Moxxie to be a straight-faced ass, just a more composed character.

Back to his insecurity real quick! Mozzie is a trained assassin but his is not physically strong enough to fight hand to hand. This is a weak spot for him because his father constantly shat all over him growing up and would literally smack him around and Moxxie was (in his own mind) too physically weak to stop it from happening.

As to how he met Blitzo... well in this I don’t want the bs jail in hell bit because there has been no justifiable ass pulls by Viv or the team. Idk I'm having trouble. Maybe they met through Millie? Like Moxxie meets Millie doing something and is like ‘holy shit I love this chick fuck you dad I'm out.’

Idk that’s what I'm going with I'll fix it later this took way too long to do and i'll still gotta do Blitzo and Stolas and maybe the other characters and then maybe rework season one idk i'll focus on just doing Blitzo and reworking my Loona again

#anti helluva boss #anti vivziepop #helluva boss critical #helluva boss redesign #helluva boss rewrite #helluva rewrite

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hitlikehammers · 4 months

Text

i realize that this is a world where anything is possible and—

a Pro-Football/Rockstar Super Bowl Steddie AU for @thefreakandthehair

I don’t as a rule write sports AUs, but I do, as a rule, bend my own rules when someone gives me prompts for a fic I’m writing as a gift.

So: when @thefreakandthehair prompted me with ‘Starry Night’ but said she would have liked also something about football? I tried to fulfill the request (try being the operative term)

Lex, I hope your birthday was as brilliant as you deserve, and that this little fic in celebration of you brightens your day

title from this poem, aptly titled and about, what else, but football; divider credit here

(Also sincerest thanks to the ever-lovely @pearynice for listening to me babble about this and having a look at the final product and being amazing all around, and @hbyrde36 for blindly hlepng pick which ending was ultimately posted—you guys are the best ✨)

✨also on ao3

“I am about ninety-nine-point-nine…” Eddie chews on his bottom lip, coils a stray curl around his index finger and resists dragging it across his mouth: “eight, point-nine-eight percent sure I’m not supposed to be here.”

He’s entirely sure he’s not supposed to be here. Not now.

“What are they going to do?” Steve scoffs at him, leading him by hand through the tunnels. “Kick us out? Ban us?”

He snorts, and Eddie stops trying to not-hide behind his hair a little because: not supposed to fucking be here.

“You’re gonna get us arrested or something.”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Steve cackles a little and maybe Eddie’s anxious, but he’ll never not melt at that sound, music brighter, holy like he could never touch, let alone play: “Eddie Munson, poster child for sticking it to the goddamn man,” Steve tuts, clicks his tongue and shakes his head: “afraid of stadium security.”

“Pretty sure they’ve got better people on payroll for this,” Eddie points out under his breath but never once fights Steve’s hold, his lead: he’d put his whole fucking life in this man’s hands, no question. It’s just that…

“Relax, babe,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand in his own; “no one will know.”

Eddie…Eddie doesn’t doubt Steve, never would, but, like—this is a big fucking deal.

“If Chrissy finds out we fucked something up—“ because that’s why Eddie’s here, obviously, at least in this specific capacity; not like Corroded fucking Coffin, no matter how many albums they’ve sold, would ever land a gig like this for themselves. Nope: Chrissy’s been a friend for eons, and when her career skyrocketed they were all ecstatic for her, but she never changed from being a hometown girl with a sweet heart, never let the fame or the money or the statues dull that down in her, so she was still the cheerleader who clapped for Eddie in middle school, and so of course she invited Eddie’s band to feature on a track—and of course they said yes.

So when she signed on for the halftime show and knew they’d be nearby recording? She’d asked them to join her on stage as special guests for a couple songs.

And no matter what else proved an incentive: Eddie and the guys would have said yes in a heartbeat. It’s the fucking halftime show, but more than that? It’s Chrissy Cunningham, and she smiled and cheered when the Hawkins auditorium sat in silent judgment in the face of their…everything.

“A,” Steve’s pulling him along just a little further, still; Eddie can tell they’re almost to the field, can see literal light at the end of the tunnel; “we will not fuck anything up.”

“I’m clumsy,” Eddie offers a token protest; it’s not untrue, but he’s also kinda half-assing the fight of it; “I might—”

“B,” Steve’s cut him off; “Chrissy loves me,” then he points to Eddie; “Chrissy loves you,” and Eddie tucks his chin a little more to press the bunch of his hair tighter against the seam of his lips; “Chrissy also loves us,” Steve gestures between the two of them, then, chest-to-chest and back; “as in, us together.”

And yeah, okay: Steve had been Chrissy’s friend properly before Eddie, used to help her get the height on her ponytail before games, caused a million rumors but they were never an item—so. Yeah. Chrissy loves them. As themselves, and as SteveandEddie.

“Just here,” Steve eases them to a halt and steadies Eddie by the biceps when he stumbles for the stop anyway because: clumsy, if he’s not on stage. Steve knows this, they’ve been at this too long for him not to, but.

He anticipates it so perfectly, and it still kinda skips in Eddie’s pulse like a giddy schoolgirl for the fact of it. They they’ve got this.

“Close your eyes,” Steve instructs as he smooths his hands past Eddie’s elbows, down to circle his wrists.

Eddie feels his eyes get big as he tries to frown, but gapes instead.

“I’ll run into—”

“I will not let you run into anything, love,” Steve pulls him in for a quick peck on the lips, and speaks into the contact sweet and warm:

“I’ve got you.”

Yeah. Yeah he fucking does.

Giddy-schoolgirl-under-his-ribs again, Jesus.

Eddie slips his eyes closed and barely even has to wait for Steve to grasp his hands tighter.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs deep and rumbly and hot under Eddie’s skin as he walks him at a careful pace further, further, turns a little, further again then slows: “now,” he brings Eddie’s hands together and kisses his knuckles, and Eddie’s not just warm under the skin, now he’s warm everywhere.

“Now, follow me down, we’re just going to sit,” and Steve presses one hand to the small of Eddie’s back and leads him, and Eddie goes because there is nowhere he wouldn’t, nowhere he won’t go with Steve beside him.

It’s just not possible; he’s not built to be anywhere else.

“And now lie back,” Steve eases him gentle even as he says it, and Eddie lets him, enjoys the feeling of being handled like this, precious and delicate almost, in this space that’s anything but save that it’s them, and what they are is stronger than spun silk, tested further than diamonds but they’re also tender, they’re also blood and bone and tangled together soft and vulnerable, if only just to shore each other up and tie together tighter.

“There you go,” Steve says as Eddie feels the whole of his body, the length of his back make full contact with the ground; “and tip your head,” he puts his open palm under Eddie’s chin like he needs to guide, but Eddie figures it’s just to touch: he doesn’t complain, because hell if he minds. As if he could ever.

“Now open your eyes.”

Eddie lets himself bask in the blind touch of Steve for just one more breath before he blinks and looks and—

“Oh,” Eddie barely breathes, and he can feel Steve beaming at him, so wide and shining out in the dark like the meteors that are streaking across endless stretch of sky above them, leaving trails behind to mark their paths, to leave proof of their being before they burn on descent and oh, oh.

“Right?” Steve breathes close to Eddie’s ear, strokes Eddie’s pulsepoint where he still holds at the wrist, kisses Eddie’s jaw as Eddie gapes up because it doesn’t matter how many times he sees the show, it’s awe inspiring.

So much like the man next to him, pressed tight against him so Eddie can feel him breathe: never once has Eddie stopped being filled up with wonder for him, never once will Eddie ever do anything but marvel that he’s here, that he exists, that Eddie can look at him and know in his bones that it’s true, unshakable when he stares and thinks: mine.

“Stevie,” Eddie spins his hand so it can lace with Steve’s, fingers interlocked as he turns into the press of his mouth to catch his lips for real, to taste: “sweetheart,” he mouths, tongues into Steve’s kiss: “it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful goes unsaid because they say it clear with touch; what we have is so much more than beautiful is the understood fucking you. Given like the spin of a planet, or the expanse of the universe.

“I know how much you like the stars,” Steve shapes the words more than speaks them, never moving back to pull apart their lips, not all the way; “and when I saw there was a shower, and we’d have a shot to see it, I,” and Steve presses a quick kiss into Eddie then: I couldn’t not, and Eddie thinks lucky isn’t a word that means anything at all, in the face of this.

He watches with Steve pressed against him, slid down to fit with his head on Eddie’s shoulder for a long stretch of seconds before the question comes to mind and he kisses Steve temple, reverent, but still in askance:

“The lights?”

Because it’s too dark. There are still a few bits of the stage setup that need to be moved before the kickoff, so he has to figure there’d be some lights, but the space surrounding them is a near-perfect void.

“So maybe someone knows we’re here,” Steve answers, a little wry. “I maybe bribed Lenny in Operations,” and of all the people working in this mass-ass complex, for this insane fucking event, Eddie actually knows who that is; let him bum a smoke the first time they came to rehearse. “We have about half an hour.”

Jesus. Jesus.

“God, I love you,” Eddie half-exhales, half-wonders at this, this, this specimen of a human before him, pressed against him close and he pulls Steve in, brings their still-joined hands to his chest and stretches down to kiss the tips of Steve’s fingers before just pressing hands there, making sure Steve feels:

“Every time I think you’ve stretched this heart as far as it’ll go,” Eddie whispers, because it’s sacred; this feeling, this thing they make together as one: “every time, you find room to fill it up all over again,” Eddie feels that stretched-heart of his pound a little beneath their hands, and fucking good, too, because then Steve feels it at the exact same time, and that’s what matters, what counts: that Steve knows the depth of this in Eddie’s chest, always; that he understands because:

“You’re magic.”

And Eddie means that. Eddie means that with all his pounding heart.

“You’re playing the Super Bowl tomorrow,” Steve says it like an explanation; like it’s enough of a reason. Like he would have done all of this anyway, just because.

“I am playing as a guest at the halftime,” Eddie knows that’s correct, he knows, but it’s still instinct to look at Steve like he’s making sure he gets the terms for all the different sports games right and it’s worth the knee-jerk instinct surviving all these years just for the grin and the nod he gets, so encouraging and indulgent and sweet; “show.”

“You are playing the Super Bowl, tomorrow.”

Because that’s the other thing, the thing that was entirely not-music-related that existed as the whole fucking incentive for Corroded Coffin to be in town for studio space in the first place: Steve, his Stevie, his partner and lover, beloved and adored, his Steve Harrington is the goddamn starting linebacker in the motherfucking Super Bowl.

Like Eddie would miss that for his fucking life.

Which: hold on.

“Don’t you have curfew? Coach’s orders?” Eddie turns a quirked brow to him and Steve just grins and, god: taps Eddie’s nose.

Gawwwwwd.

“I’m sneaky, baby,” Steve whispers and fuck, the stars above them are exquisite but they’ve got, like, nothing on the way Steve’s eyes shine. “Stealthy like a ninja.”

Eddie wants to laugh, snicker maybe a little under his breath but he…he can’t.

He can’t because he’s, his whole body feels weightless and tingly and untethered from gravity and matter and any atmosphere that isn’t Steve and Steve alone, like just be next to this man, the love of his life, is akin to and far beyond swimming alongside the shooting stars overhead: he can only relish, can only marvel.

He gets this. He gets to have this.

Unfathomable. And yet.

“You did all this for me,” Eddie exhales, still wondering at this. At Steve: the fact of him. The whole of him. This is the night before the biggest game of Steve’s career, likely the biggest day of Steve’s life and yet, here he is. Breaking rules, risking fuck knows what, just for Eddie. It’s, it’s…

“That can’t be a surprise by now,” Steve breathes back, nuzzles their noses a little and Eddie keens, because fuck.

“It’s not just,” Eddie tries to collect his thoughts, his point; “this is big, Stevie,” he says, like that encompasses it, encompasses the day they’re on the brink of, and the fact that they’re here right now, just before that day:

“This is big.”

“All the more reason,” Steve nips at Eddie’s lip then leans back, meets Eddie’s gaze square on before he breathes out slow, and lies back down, turns Eddie’s body to him, both of them on their sides and then he brings their hands between them, close enough that they hit both their chests when they breathe in: “because,” and he takes one more breath, and Eddie doesn’t know why it feels like Steve’s steeling himself, or building up to a thing he feels he has to steel himself for, because there’s nothing he could say or do that’ll sway Eddie from his side, there’s nothing, but then—Steve doesn’t feel stiff, or scared, or nervous against him, his hand in Eddie’s hand.

It just feels big, this moment, whatever it already holds or is gearing up to hold as more; it feels momentous, equally so, either way.

“Win or lose, tomorrow, no matter how big this is,” Steve finally speaks words into the tiny space between them, his grip firm and his eyes unwavering on Eddie the whole time. “I won the only thing I really wanted in life,” and his smile, dear god.

There are no stars, falling or burning, dying in a supernova or sprawling newly born: not a single goddamn one could compare.

“And he’s not really a prize, so it’s not really winning,” Steve’s watching him with so much love, so much love; “he’s a gift, he’s my heart,” and Steve mirrors Eddie this time, draws Eddie in to press against his chest, to feel the fluttering there; “and he gave me his to keep safe, and that was a whole other gift on top of everything,” and Steve laughs a little, his own overwhelming awe, and Eddie almost doesn’t know what to do, save grip Steve so fucking tight; save to memorize the cadence of his pulse like a song.

“So no matter what you call it,” Steve draws a deep breath and lets it shudder a little when he blows it back out; “when I wake up in the morning and I know he’s mine, and I’m his,” and Eddie lifts the hand not held to Steve’s heart to cup Steve’s cheek and just touch, just drink him in:

“I feel like the biggest winner in the world,” Steve says it, so honest, so heartfelt: so much.

“You’re a fucking sap,” Eddie doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears clog the words when they tumble from his lips but then he’s leaning, then he’s kissing Steve like the world’s ending only to begin again and it’s perfect, it’s heavenly like the fires burning miles upon miles above their heads, cosmic and immense but then Steve’s pulling back, but his open palms are pressed to Eddie’s chest to manage it and it’s contact, it’s grounding: it, too, is perfect.

“Oh, really,” Steve’s lips curl, even as they’re swollen at the pout and wet-red still; “I’m a fucking sap?” but he doesn’t even look irritated, he looks entertained, no: he looks delighted and what—

“Let me one-up your standards then, Munson,” and Steve’s leaning in, catching Eddie’s lips one more time before he raises up on his knees, tips back on his calves and lifts from those glorious fucking thighs of his and if Steve’s ignoring curfew entirely Eddie thinks he’s got a good chance of asking for those thighs to be wrapped around him at some point in the next twelve hours before he gets to spend a good stretch of hours sharing the clothed version in those tight fucking pants with the whole goddamn country, sure, but at Jumbotron-size he can’t wholeheartedly complain and—

“Edward Elliot Munson.”

Wait. That’s him. He’s Edward Eli—

Why is he being full-named here, now?

He starts to sit up too, brings his eyes up from Steve’s glorious legs where they stretch even under his track pants, to meet his eyes and—

They shine. They shine.

They put the stars and the space matter and the glow of angels on high if they’re there at all: they put them all to fucking shame.

Steve puts them to shame.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes deep and Eddie catches the gleam of something in an obvious shape in his hands, but it’s only in his periphery: he cannot, he will never look away; he might be trembling already.

He’s definitely trembling already.

“Will you,” and Steve pauses, plays with Eddie’s bare ring finger, the only one empty just now and Eddie honestly never thought on it too hard but in this moment he knows, he knows in the marrow of him that he was waiting, that he was wanting and he was keeping it safe for just one thing, just one thing:

“Will you let me fill your heart up to stretching,” Steve blinks, and a tear falls; just one, glistening and glorious for the avalanche that’s spilling from Eddie; “and then will you let me fill it up even more, again and again and again, Eddie, will you let me do that for the rest of our lives?”

As if that’s a fucking question.

Eddie doesn’t even have to process the necessity of putting his lips on Steve, of kissing him breathless and then boneless and then weightless, so fucking close and so fucking fierce and giving everything and anything and all that he is and allthat they are; he doesn’t have to process it as a choice before they’re consuming, devouring each other relentless, unceasing, and Eddie will pull back and speak the ‘yes’ that’s already obvious, he will shake a little as Steve puts the ring on the naked finger waiting to be adorned, the last lone space waiting to be claimed; Eddie will wear it proudly on the stage when millions watch him play tomorrow, and there won’t be a single second he’s not smiling like a loon through the whole goddamn day, and it’ll have so very little to do with playing the biggest show of his life, and that’s wild, that’s insane: that is the only real thing in the whole fucking world and—yeah.

Yeah: the biggest prize of living at all is the one they’re holding tight between them, the one they’re passing back and forth, soul to soul between their lips.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #established relationship #established steddie #marriage proposal #rockstar au #football au #so very very soft #stranger things #gift fic #thefreakandthehair #hitlikehammers v words

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suzukiblu · 2 months

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So this one only works with context. There's a tiktok about the absolute wtfuckery of a sleep paralysis demon showing up when this song is playing. The demon looks like an anthro goat. Also it started playing right when I got to the part of sugar baby Kon catching the goat statue. I might still be laughing over it. Anyway: La Vaca by Mala Fe

https://open.spotify.com/track/7acdA7QE6RSsm5OJPmlcdE?si=xnnYiqiMTU-_XmtfdQnjcA

Holy fucking hell. What is Tim even supposed to say to that? What is he even supposed to do about that?

He has absolutely no idea whatsoever.

Tim drags his pillow down just enough to peer over the top of it and picks up his phone to send back . . . something. Anything. Any implication of anything.

Just an emoji, maybe.

#vests-randomness #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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squarebracket-trickster · 2 months

Text

9 People you want to know better

Huge thank you to uhhh *checks drafts* @words-after-midnight - their post here, @bluberimufim - her post here, @touloserlautrec - his/their post here

Currently reading: City of Bones by Cassie Clare. I never read it during it's peak when I was literally the right age demographic and I feel like I missed out. It's not the strongest writing in the world but I am enjoying it so far. It's been interesting to go back and reread a bunch of "older" YA - like pre-2016-ish. There is so much more filler, banter, character moments than in the post-2016 stuff, especially post-2019. Like it was right around that time that publishing shifted to the "everything has to advance the plot and be super fast paced" mentality. And tbh... I like the old stuff better. It spawned larger fandoms with more staying power - I mean, how many post-2019 booktok popular books have more than 100 fanfics on AO3? I think I'm not the only one who misses the slower, more character focused YA.

Last song I listened to: Avril Lavine's Keep Holding On was on the radio while I was driving home from work. 10 year-old me knew all the words. 20-something me still does.

Currently watching: I haven't watched any TV or movies is so long oh my gosh. But! I did go see murder mystery play with my friend last Friday night!

Current fic I'm reading: [do I confess to having a secret whump blog here? My anxiety is pretty bad rn. Which means I have been devouring and regurgitating whump like no tomorrow. I have read and written so much holy]

Current hyperfixation (changed from obsession because I don't use that language. I do, however, have ADHD): yeah... uhhh... whump.

Favourite colour: Green, specifically the shade of the underside of a maple leaf caught in the sun. But I am also very partial to any rich blue or pink.

Spicy, sweet, savory, or salty? A little bit of everything. I like it when dishes are made with really high-quality ingredients that speak for themselves and don't need to be disguised with sugar, spices, or salt.

Relationship status: *cries in single* where meet men in my city????

Last thing I Googled: hypothermia whump... yeah... (also apparently I googled the word lapel to make sure it meant exactly what I thought it meant)

Song stuck in my head: OH I am the QUEEN of getting shit stuck in my head! I once had "In Flanders Fields" the POEM - not even a song - stuck in my head in both English AND FRENCH. It wasn't even November... Currently, it's the "I had a little turtle, his name was tiny tim" song... it's been days help

Favourite food: Kiisseli (a Finnish stewed berry dessert.) I am also partial to a very juicy steak.

Dream trip: I wanna go to Ireland so bad. But I need to know some Irish person willing to teach me harp techniques first.

Gently tagging (you don't have to answer all of these. I just chose to combine three tags in one): @nacricissa *ahem*, @malapertmarquess, @ditzydisko, @dyrewrites, @toribookworm22, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackrosesandwhump, @beloveddawn-blog, @unhingednovelist

#tag game

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kieranxworld · 10 months

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Don't Recall [Hanzo and Genji Shimada]

➜ Hanzo Shimada x Reader x Genji Shimada

➜ When you confess to Genji and it goes horribly wrong. His older brother is there to pick up the pieces.

➜ Angst, unrequited love, bullying, class indifference, suggestive content. Let me know what I've missed. Maybe two parts...

➜ a/n: I also write for Overwatch 😊 hope you enjoy. Based off the Song Don't Recall by KARD they are an underrated kpop group with Latin inspired music. Please go check them out!

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

It was Valentines Day, a day where in Japan, girls would give different treats to their crushes or loved ones.

This Valentine's Day, You finally had mustered up the courage to confess to your crush.

Genji Shimada.

Genji was a player, and it was not something that was a secret, many girls had come and go, trying to win over the youngest Shimada male.

You see, the shimada clan was one of the, if not the most powerful clan in Japan. They were not a family you would take lightly.

And you had to have a crush on one of the sons.

Genji and You were pretty close, walking to class sometimes, eating lunch together and going to the arcade afterwards. You considered yourself a close friend to the male.

So today, you held a box full of goodies with your families crest on it, and your heart full of courage, hoping it would go well.

You decided to wait until the last class of the day, seeing Genji sitting in his usual spot with girls on both sides of him chatting him up.

He spots you with a smile, waving you over, "Yo! Y/n!" You wave to him as you walk up to him and place your box infront of him.

He tilts his head before his eyes widened, he quickly went to open the box, seeing different goodies and baked treats that you'd spent hours making with your mother the night before.

"H-holy shit! You made all these for me (n/n)?" He says and you nodded happily.

"Yep! All of them are different foods we-" You get interrupted with a harsh shove to the ground. You land on your back, a pained groan leaving you.

"Tch. Well you gotta wait in line. (L/n) you aren't the only one today."

You looked up and saw Ayaka Watanabe. She was apart of one of the most prominent families in Japan as well, and has had her sights set on the Shimada's for years.

"Besides...Genji didn't you already accept mine already?~" She says, gesturing to the expensively decorated box sitting behind the male.

"W-well...I Mean I can have more than one-"

"You told me you weren't accepting anyone's today!" You said, bringing yourself stand and brushing your uniform off.

Ayaka scoffed, "He probably told you that because he didn't want commoners like you confessing to him. We all know why you reaalllyyuh want Genji." She says, snatching your box from in front of Genji. She started to walk towards you, and you started backing up.

"You just want to raise your status. Tired of being a poor, low class skank who can't get shit." She starts. "You hang around Genji because you know he'll buy you whatever you want and can't afford. Does his dad even know you exist? Do you know his dad will spit at disgusting people like you?"

She backs you up against the classroom door. You look behind her at Genji, hoping he would rescue you from her tirade. But he was looking away.

"Lets be honest. (L/n). Genji was only with you to get one thing." She says with a sadistic smirk, pointing to your skirt.

"And now that he has me. He doesn't need you anymore." You hear the sliding door open and Ayaka takes her chance to push you out the classroom.

She then throws your box behind you.

"Face it Y/n. You're a commoner. Stay one."

The door slams closed, leaving you in the hallway, surrounded by your fellow peers.

Whispers quickly swell in the hallway.

"Oh, I heard she was confessing the Shimada boy today.."

"Isn't he dating Ayaka though?.."

"Yea that was her who shoved her out.."

"Poor her..."

"She should've know better than to fall for a wealthy boy..."

You felt tears well up in your eyes as you slowly stood up, grabbing your box. The treats still in tact but it was horribly bent. You sighed heavily, choking back the sobs that were trying to fight their way through.

You quickly made your way through the hall, ignoring the whispers that circled around you.

You just wanted to make it outside.

You needed to get out.

You felt the tears streaming down your face as you went out the door, you knew that this led to the roof. A quiet place where no one would be at after school ended.

Getting up the stairs, you slowly walked over to the farthest bench and sat down, finally letting your tears flow.

God rejection hurts, but being rejected and embarrassed was like a double-edged sword. You wish he would've just told you he had a girlfriend, but that was your friend, he was a player.

And you should've known better.

You finally allowed your sobs to come out, tear ducts bursting like a dam. You sounded pitiful. After all, you're crying over someone you knew you couldn't have.

It didn't help that your wails masked the footsteps that were coming towards you.

It wasn't until you felt a hand on your shoulder did you nearly jump out your skin.

"(Y/n)-San, are you alright?"

You whipped your head around to see Hanzo, the eldest Shimada brother staring down at you. He had worry plastered all over his face, not a rare expression for you.

Hanzo and you had some Archery classes together, his father and your mother apparently were classmates in school. So sometimes after lessons they would talk leaving you and Hanzo together.

He was the more serious out of him and his brother.

You wiped your face and sighed as the male sat beside you.

"Yea..just..upset..I made this and have no one to give it to..." You say gesturing to the box, deciding to hide the truth in a lie.

Hanzo takes it into his lap.

"I understand. I have no one to spend Valentines Day with. Girls all flock to my brother, or are too afraid to speak to me." Hanzo says sadly, opening the box. He then turns to you as If asking 'May I?' You giggle softly and nod to him.

You watch as he chooses a bon bon and plops it in his mouth. You then see his eyes light up with wonder. "This is amazing! Did you make these yourself?!" He asks in amazement and you nod.

"Mhm, I sure did. I spent a whole day with my mother making them.." You smiled as you watch him try many treats from the box.

"I must request you to make some for me.."

"Well I can show you..." You suggest and he stands up quickly.

"Well it seems we are both free today, so you must show me today!" Hanzo says proudly and you stumble over your words as he pulls you up.

"B-but-" "No buts! I must know the secrets of these delicious candies!"

He then grabs your hand and flashes a quick soft smile.

"Besides, we can keep each other company on this Valentines day."

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

You sat nervously outside as you heard Hanzo inside talking to his mother and father. You knew the two of them were strict on who Hanzo could hang around but not Genji, which explains why you heard Ayaka inside with the male. He must've brought her over to Introduce her...

Your heart pangs but you shake your head. You have your own activities planned.

You once again got spooked by Hanzo peeping his head out and gesturing for you to come in.

Quickly following him, you looked around at the grand expanse of his home. The Shimada's were incredibly rich, so you should've known it was gonna be huge.

Hanzo guides you to a room where a man and a woman were both sat, talking amongst themselves.

Hanzo cleared his throat to get their attention. "Mother, Father. This is-"

"(Y/n) (L/n), I know her from your archery classes." His father spoke. You immediately bowed to the male. You heard him chuckle before speaking once more.

"Rise up, (Y/n), no need for formalities."

You sit up straight, ears burning from embarrassment.

"Go ahead you two, spend all the time you need in the kitchen, but just come back when you are finished."

You both nodded and were about to head off until his fathers booming voice cut throught again.

"Hanzo."

Hanzo turned to see his father handing him a card.

"Take Miss (Y/n) somewhere nice."

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

"Where Hanzo, Mom?"

Genji asks, walking in after a long trip to the arcade. He glanced at the clock seeing it read 9:00pm. School got out around 3, and his practice ended at 5.

"Oh, he's out with a friend. He should be coming in soon."

Genji scoffs "Him going out? With who? Who wants to go out with the stick in the mud?"

"And that's when my mom came in and saw that I was covered in chocolate!"

"Oh? I knew she was upset with you.."

"Oh definitely!"

Genji watched as his brother walked in Hand and Hand with Y/n. His best friend.

On Valentines Day.

He was frozen when the two walked by, Y/n just giving him a wave and a smile while his brother gave a smirk.

"Lets go to my room until you'd like to go, I want to know more about you."

"Of course! I want to know more about you too!"

"W-wait!" Genji managed to get out, going up to catch up with them.

"Are you guys a thing now?" He asked, and the two of them looked at each other, then looked at him.

Hanzo chuckled looking at his younger brother, "maybe, we are just seeing where this goes. Y/n is a wonderful girl."

Genji rolled his eyes, "Mhm. Well I hope you know Y/n is MY best friend! So you better not hurt her."

"Genji!"

Hanzo laughs at his brother, "oh I won't brother dear..after all." He steps towards his brother with that same annoying smirk.

"You already did that for me..."

Genji's eyes widened as Hanzo pulls Y/n away continuing his conversation with her.

Leaving Genji to think about how he had lost his best friend to his brother, and how it was all his fault.

And how he couldn't allow this to happen.

Not at all.

#overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch fanfic #hanzo shimada #hanzo x reader #hanzo shimada x reader #genji #genji shimada #genji x reader #genji shimada x reader

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euphiea · 10 months

Text

[NEW FILE UPLOADED]: STATUS: LEAKED//CORRUPTED ↳ Black Panther ↳ Shuri Udaku ↳ Alternate Universe ↳ Synopsis: Absurdity colors the wind, the true song of Aquarius. White doves and weeded lawns bring abundance, and though tradition condemns the latter, it took an absurd eye to deem a dandelion a wishing flower. It took an angel condemned by God to grant it so.

Euphoria’s Annotations: ##Based in 1800s || ##Tribbing || ##Arranged Marriage || #Inspired by: This Fic by Wiinters on AO3 & Queen Charlotte (Bridgerton) || ##Shuri Has A Dirty Mouth

[ATTACHED MESSAGE]:

↳ EUPHORIA: I feel like domspace shuri is more of a dirty, slutty talker than a sadist. Expect heavy edits over time. You are not british here.

Love conquers hate. The elders of the living generation have tried to pass this down, but to no avail, for they leave the context out of it—leave it up to the youth to interpret on their own, without any clue on where to start, what to think. The repetition of the saying with no further explanation rendered it tasteless, wisdom that’s carried nations is now a graying chatterbox that no one pays mind to.

The planet is run by two powerful, opposing kingdoms by the names of Wakanda and Vymont. The war has stretched on for centuries, legend has it the land of Jormil was once rich, nutrient soil—until bloodshed soaked the grounds in great volume, far surpassing the limits of its thirst, and therefore turning it into a vacant, hilled land of wild clay.

As the elders passed and the world modernized as to not be left behind by expansion, the war over resources grew to be a nuisance. The people despised the other side, while the ones who wore the crown could not figure a vital reason to continue fighting. In typical history, when nations quarrel it’s ended by two means: total conquering, or union. This case was different, what could be done when the kingdoms simply grow tired?

The story needed to be good, believable. Enough to throw salt on any fires before they emerge. A fairytale with a valuable lesson, love conquers hate.

Thus, the papers sealing your marriage were drawn.

Princess of Vymont and Princess of Wakanda, two young women who met and fell madly in love, despite being rivals. Desire bewitched you as your knights fought, carelessness revealed your schemings much to the rulers’ horror. Efforts that could move mountains and change the weather, the seasons at will, what it took for either to come around. Now, you join Princess Shuri Udaku hand in hand, allowing love to light the way.

Good, believable.

It’s your duty as Princess to endure for the sake of your people. Your marriage with Shuri was sealed in ink weeks before the matrimonial kiss, and even by that time, you hadn’t spoken much. Complete strangers too skilled at lying for your own good.

You assumed that once you married, once your nations united, you wouldn’t have to see her. Sure, all eyes were on you, closely watching your faces and mannerisms for any chances of fraud, but Shuri is a busy woman, the innovative leader of sciences and technology, she had no real time for you.

“Have you consummated the marriage?”

Unfortunately, your mothers were much keener than the public. Queen Ramonda’s question was met with stiff side-eyes and silent nods, and if that didn’t give it away, it was the five foot distance standing between you.

It’s been five months since your marriage, and three weeks since your holy matrimony was sealed in stone. The months leading up to that night, Shuri made astounding efforts to be a wife to you, despite you claiming she did not need to. You were fine with lying, maybe even a quickie in the case that the Gods and Ancestors happen to be vindictive. Shuri denied, saying she didn’t want to touch you as a stranger when you’re her wife, for you didn’t deserve that, and it wouldn’t feel right.

She moved into your gifted estate and slept in a room three halls over. Three months of dining together, painting, gardening, attending balls and picking out fabrics for elaborate complimenting gowns—newlywed activities, a real honeymoon. Your time spent had ignited a spark, a spark that morphed into an unrecognizable blaze of red heat that charred your skin that night of your first time.

Your first time may be your only time, and it irks you.

The fact that you’re irked, irks you.

You woke up in an empty bed, rung the bell, and as your servants tended to you, you asked them where your wife went.

“She’s at the lab for today. She wanted me to tell you she’ll be home by dinner!”

Shuri kept her promise, she returned about an hour from supper while you were in the garden, reading. The next day, the same servant repeated the same thing, except Shuri will be home a little after dinner, and the next day, she’s going to be staying late at the lab, don’t wait up.

Secretly, you were hurt. Shuri never stopped being a busy woman, but you feel as though she merely prioritized you for one thing, and now that you’ve given it to her, she’s lowered your name on the list.

You could confront her, but for what? You married to end a three hundred year war between nations, not from being in love with one another, like Prince T’Challa and Nakia. You told yourself that you’d get over it, but you overheard your servants gossiping:

“What of Rineea, now that the Princess is married?”

“Riri? She has been spending her time at the lab… I halfway expected it to be a call off situation when they married, but that’s unrealistic, huh?”

“I did too. But they were together for a minute, when I heard of the Princess’ engagement, I assumed it was to her. Now imagine my shock when I found out it was a Vymont.”

“Thee Vymont. I am just the cook, but… Put a Princess and a coworker in front of me, and tell me to choose a spouse. But I’m just the cook.”

“Right.”

Right, you’re a Vymont. A crucial detail so easily forgotten. You’re staying on Wakandan soil, holding a piece of Wakanda’s crown, but in no way are you Wakandan. You’re still an outsider, trapped in a marriage with someone who will never see you as anything but. Although, Shuri is a generous sweetheart with you. She told you once how stupid she thinks the war is, how she’s overcome with glee now that it’s over.

“The war has ceased, and I get a beautiful wife as a token,” She had said to you, standing irritatingly close, “And the prettiest Vymont has to offer, at that.”

You told yourself you just aren’t home at the same time, but the possibility she’s been skipping out on you for a girl she has real feelings for, real history with, sharing real similarities with as a Wakandan scientist—meanwhile, you paint, study music, and teach horse riding to children. Shuri said you were the prettiest Vymont, not the prettiest in general. The Wakandan must be show-stoppingly gorgeous, how silly is it to think one night with a Vymont could amount to many with a Wakandan?

It’s three hours until midnight, the warm bodies of your servants is what’s stopping the estate from growing cold. Ethereal are the full moons in November, traces of clouds brush the stars’ cheeks, the wind blows away October’s remnants, and strips crooked branches naked. The daytime servants are tucked away in their own, the nighttime servants are dutifully buzzing; you know the estate well enough to avoid being seen by them.

“Have you changed—“

You abruptly pause your journey mid-step at the sound of a servant’s voice. You’re at a four way stop, of sorts, near the ballroom. Tongue bitten, fingers digging into the black silk of your nightgown, you take a peek around the corner.

Two brown skinned women in uniform, one holding a lantern, the other a stack of aprons resembling the ones they have situated atop their ragged, black dresses. You didn’t hear the door close, but they’ve just come out of a room, tension releases your shoulders as they walk in the opposite direction of you.

Still, you tiptoe across the way. If they catch you, they’ll gaslight you to death about cold-driven sicknesses and royalty needing their beauty rest until you agree to return to your chambers.

The estate’s grand halls are a gothic black with bleached carpet. The moon’s essence gleams through high windows, illuminating your path in a way you’re thankful for, the hall you just journeyed from had no windows and it’s not wise to carry a candle when sneaking around. Yes, it can be blown out and re-lit, but you’re not in the mood for extra activities. At least, not those sorts, of extra activities.

The name of the game is distraction, you’re looking to blow off some steam by walking around. Being alone in your room, underneath your sheets with your thoughts, is poisonous. You’re meeting with congress tomorrow to discuss plans regarding a new terrorist group that’s been attacking countries under Wakanda, to which the Princess herself will be riding with you. At close proximity in a three hour carriage ride with the curtains drawn.

It’s record breaking how fast your sheets became sweltering, each scenario you pushed away was followed by a new one, filthier than the last. They were all painfully unrealistic, you know this, the only reason you shared that night was to affirm your marriage. The weighed rock on your finger is for your people, for the greater good, your wife’s inventions center just that.

Shuri is resilient, hot-headed. She performs her duties well, a brilliant leader for the intellectual world, and her jokes are funny. Prince T’Challa, her brother, is charming and even-tempered compared to Shuri. He doesn’t raise his voice, his bearded face hosts a permanent smirk, T’Challa is the definition of a dashing prince. Shuri is nothing like him. Humbleness is the only trait they share, really.

She has a smart remark reserved for any situation, she’s attentive to everything, listens even when it’s assumed no one is. One thing you admire in her is her polite streak, she’s genuinely respectful. Shuri treats her staff as coworkers and her coworkers as friends. She’s a friendly, warm hearted woman that gives without a second thought.

She’s a giver indeed, in more ways than one.

You stop at a grand wooden door. You don’t need to look around to know it’s Shuri’s room. No guards crowding the hall, she still hasn’t returned.

Teeth pulling the skin at your lip, you allow your knuckles to brush the smooth wood. Three weeks ago, you were pinned against this door. Days prior she revealed to you her taste for dominance, it was brief and fleeting, like the hint of a character death in a book, you didn’t take it to heart.

“Come on, talk to me. Nothing to say now, my love?”

“Is this what gets you off, baby? I can make you cum like this?”

“Everytime you close your legs, I’ll stop.”

Arousal throbs at your core. You’re bad at following your own directions, then again, this is your fifth walk this week.

You were back from a ball that night. Your corset was fitted to accentuate your tits, neatly placed was a silver cross pendant necklace—Shuri’s favorite on you, silver. She smelled heavenly that night, when she pulled you taut to her body as you danced, you felt how tense she was and smiled. You knew you did that.

Courtesy as the new Princess of Wakanda, you mingled with the guests that night, danced with civilians and giggled as they held you close, akin to how she did. They spun and dipped you, kissed your hand, sprayed you with compliments, by the end of the night you were glowing, and Shuri’s grinning face called you ravishing.

You didn’t think your sly little tactic worked until you got in the carriage. You were met with a silence so sudden, so solemn and heavy, it shocked you. Shuri’s gaze locked you in place, her expression unreadable, uncharacteristically so. She didn’t speak the entire fifteen minute ride to the estate.

A frown tugs at your lips. She claimed you as her wife, no one else’s. Perhaps she only meant it then, as a one-night medium for blowing off steam.

Perhaps your connection is meant to be this way, her in one corner, you in the other. Your marriage is one of obligation, a peace treaty, it’s meant to be shallow. After all, she’s Wakandan, and you’re of Vymont, your bloods don’t mix, they never have. It’s stupid to believe they ever could, your alliance was for the people, not you.

Indeed. It’s high time to get her out of your head. It’s silly to crave someone with every bone in your body when they’ll never see you in that way.

“Princess?”

You jump out of your skin, braids knocking against the wood as you whip around.

Behind you is your wife and her royal adviser, Okoye, wearing long, extravagant black fur capes with mini hills of melted snow collected on the hoods and shoulders. Okoye’s lantern allows you to see the way Shuri’s eyes are soft, adoring. Your heart lurches, her fatigue is blatantly obvious, and, still, she’s so gentle.

You suck at following your own directions. You train your attention on Okoye, whose expression is a stark difference from Shuri’s.

“What are you doing out here, and wearing that? It’s freezing,” She presses, scrunching her eyebrows. Your outfit isn’t as skimpy as she makes it seem: a black, thigh-length, silk nightgown with slippery straps, a matching silk robe that trails your footsteps, and black slippers. You cross your robe over your torso and tie it with a loose knot.

“I was only taking a walk-“

“—And where is Aneka?!”

“Enough, Okoye.”

The royal adviser slowly kisses her teeth, but quiets at the royal’s command nonetheless.

“Princess, is everything alright? Do you need anything?” Shuri says, and frowns when you shake your head. “It is almost midnight. You should be asleep.”

You hate this, you would have rather been caught by your servants than your wife.

“I’m fine. As I stated, I was merely just walking around,” You reaffirm, tucking a braid behind your ear before twirling its end. “I was not expecting you, how were your travels?”

“Cold,” Okoye answers, you squint at her.

“We caught wind of a blizzard approaching, so we left earlier than scheduled. I’m so glad I caught you, let’s talk more inside.”

“Ah, I think I should return to my room. We present to congress in the morning.” You tangle your fingers behind your back, feigning a look of disappointment. Shuri tilts her head.

“It’s funny you bring that up,” She says, “That’s what I need to talk to you about. I’m sorry to keep you up, Princess, but I would let it go if I could debrief you on the way.”

Any word of protest dies on your tongue when she ghosts her hand on your hip, brushing past you to open the door. As she guides you inside her room, she bids Okoye a good night.

Shuri doesn’t give you a second to breathe, when the doors close she pulls you into a kiss, sliding her hands along the silk of your waist. She holds you taut against her, a whimper sounds at the back of your throat and she sighs, immediately deepening the kiss. The musk of outside clings to her, it’s not an unpleasant scent, it’s subtle and bearable.

You confusedly try to wrack your brain for conclusions, explanations on how this can be if there’s crucial information to be shared, but the haze that clouds your judgment slaps you away.

You’re chocolate to her burning hands, melting almost too easily into her. The cold, damp fur tickles your palms as you slide up her arms before pulling the hood off. Her hair isn’t detangled enough for you to play in, too dry for a comfortable attempt, so your nosy fingers fall to her neck instead. Arousal is the fire that melts your organs, steadily burns you from the inside out, all you can do is pant and weakly push at her, sweat beading your forehead.

“You’ve been hiding from me, my love,” She mutters against your lips as she very subtly ruts into you, her declaration sends a surge of desire straight through you. She squeezes various areas of your torso as if to leave handprints on your body, she’s asking—pleading for permission to touch you and it’s so hard to think, her and her fucking mouth make it so hard.

Your tongue is too heavy for words, when you buck your hips she furthers her point by sliding a hand between your legs to rub your pussy over the silks.

“I never imagined you to be so cruel.” Shuri guides you back by your waist, and you let her, relishing in the feel of her kissing down your neck; as far as you’re concerned, she can do whatever she wants to you. “How much longer were you planning to deprive me of this? Of you?”

Your back hits a wall, Shuri moans and reconnects your lips—before the smoke can thicken, you break away.

“Have you been sleeping with other people?”

“No.”

Shuri has a special ability, she can move space, manipulate the particles that make up your reality, as she pleases. It’s the only explanation for how heavy the room is now that she has you caged, her amorous breaths lightly fan your eyelashes, her expression is difficult to make out in the dark, but her presence is telling enough. It’s her special ability at play.

Her response is incredibly quick, but she’s not lying. Your lips are chapped, you haven’t done much, is a simple kiss this titillating, to this degree? She’s not lying, but you don’t believe she’s telling the entire truth.

You hum, looking off to the side. Shuri notices, you believe that she’s lying to you, though she swore at the podium she never would; she pays it little regard, there’s other, more pressing matters on her mind, it’s been three weeks since she’s had you, and she prayed to Bast that she got to see you before your trip.

“..You are captivating, my love,” Shuri breathes, “Take off your clothes and lie on the floor.”

It’s her special ability that wills you to pull the knot of your robe a-loose, the garment cascades to the floor and Shuri never takes her eyes off of you, even when she unclasps her cape and tosses it across the room. She’s wearing black trousers and a beautiful white blouse with frills adorning the chest, which suffers the same fate as her coat when she tugs it off.

—

Your legs are stretched to the hint of exertion, halfway numb due to how your wife is situated on top of you, but it’s welcomed, for it gives her access to you, access to your cunt that throbs with each rock of her hips.

Shuri’s wetness trails down your lips to join the puddle dirtying your silks, her breaths fan your ear, accompanied by deep, throated moans that slip without her permission. It’s not as obscene as the slick sounds of your cunts, but it heats your face, blood roars underneath your cheeks.

“You’re enjoying this. Look at you.”

Shuri’s taunting contributes to your lightheadedness. Pleasure is a sea of waves far too rowdy for you to handle, a soft mewl pulls you further in its depths, the only answer you can muster is a nod, eyes struggling to stay open, weakly clawing at her back.

If her people heard any of the things she’s saying, any of the things she’s whispered in your ears when no one is looking, shock would turn their bodies to stone. The months leading up to your first time were torture. Your image matters, it’s imperative you have a good reputation or you risk being overthrown, a lesson your father sat you down and talked to you about when you were 5, and you’d thrown a hissy fit during a festival.

“There’s a mask attached to the crown.” — A quote you once read in a fantasy book, written by a civilian. You internally squealed, they had no clue how correct they were, and they never will, for your mask wouldn’t allow it. It’s partially why you like Shuri, she’s a princess herself, and you’ve seen firsthand the stark difference between Princess Shuri of Wakanda, and Shuri Udaku.

“Can I make you cum like this, beloved? Hm? Make my pretty wife cum all over herself, from a little humping,” Shuri slurs through pants, her clit twitching as it glides along your folds. Her and her fucking mouth is going to be the death of you, she’s so incredibly raunchy when lust impassions her, as if arousal is a poison, a sickness.

Shuri stills her hips at your lack of response, and you whine, jerking into her.

“Yes, Shuri, ‘m gonna cum like this,” You plea, nipples brushing her own as your back arches, “Keep going, please please.”

She shudders, the way you say her name is criminal. Her hips resume their pace, your eyes loll to the back of your head.

“Good girl,” Shuri practically purrs in your ear, “Good girl.”

She sits up to pin you by your shoulders, holding you in place as if you were ever going anywhere. Her pace grows harsher, her grip comes with a resounding ache that fans the flames licking your belly, you’re convinced Shuri can do anything, say anything, and it’ll dampen your arousal the very same.

“I want to fuck you with a toy, just like this. I’ll make you ride me ‘til it hurts, ‘til you can’t think. You won’t know what to do with yourself.”

Shuri’s eyes are trained on your face, you feel moreso than see it, for it’s her special ability. She’s an obvious woman, says what she means and means what she says, even blunt to her own detriment, at times. Her words stir something in you, force their way through your ribs to caress the heart that’s forgotten it’s meant to beat. The knot in your belly is steadily tightening, if she stops you truly might cry.

The approach of her own release is telling from the way her pussy throbs and pulses along your lips. She lowers her hips, dropping more of her weight to increase the pressure where your desires conjoin, knowing she has you locked in your position. You wonder if she’s holding anything back at the moment, how far her limits are from this point.

“And you’ll take it for me, won’t you? Like the obedient girl you are.” And you shudder, nodding incessantly to the jerky rhythm of your tits.

“Shuri, ’m so close,” You whimper, legs twitching. “Please don’t stop.”

She would be a fool to do so, knowing this she nods anyway, whispering under her breath curses not fitted for a woman of her stature. Pleasure is a sea of waves too rowdy for you to handle, it creeps on you, bringing with it an insurmountable pressure you’d squirm to flee if Shuri weren’t holding you still.

If you asked, she’d say she’s holding you in place to keep the angle right, and it’d be a half truth. She’d leave out the sick satisfaction that surges through her when doing so, the hint, or inkling, that you’re trapped with no other choices. You’re water through her fingers in everyday life. Shuri gulped down her desires when pursuing you, she wanted to go at your pace, do things to your accord, otherwise she’d risk being seen as clingy and eager.

You didn’t believe her earlier when she told you she hadn’t slept with anyone, but she was telling the truth. The entire carriage ride home, Shuri was squirming in her seat, resorting to palming her pussy over her pants to satiate the teenage urge to get off right then and there, for she couldn’t stop thinking of you, in various positions, various settings, far more scandalous than the privacy of her room, far less lady like for a woman of your stature.

Your wife’s eyes roll to the back of her head. “(Y/N), cum for me, Princess, let me see it.”

The air is punched from your gut, your mouth drops open in a silent scream as you release, your stomach twitching at each wave that passes. It’s the feeling of your pussy’s incessant pulsing coupled with the dashing sight of you that drives Shuri to follow, she cums with a broken whimper, her head lolled over her shoulders.

“Yes, like that, just like that,” She breathlessly encourages, hips slown to drawn out thrusts, “Doing so well for me, my love, so so well.”

Shuri’s name is but an anchor, you repeat it under your breath over and over to keep yourself grounded. Her arms jelly, you catch her before she can completely collapse on you—not that you’d mind.

Weeks, she’s had to smile in people’s faces, feign interest in their lives, and come back to an empty home. Weeks, she’s had to camp in her lab to ensure her coworkers’ tasks were done to perfection, and it’s imperative they are—they were not. Weeks, she’s had to live off simple interactions with you, long hug, light conversation, and then she’s pulled away.

Weeks, she’s had to tell herself the lives of others are important too, civilians are people too, if not she’d be under you—or on top of you—all the time, enjoying the serenity your aura provides.

It’s scary how quick it’s come to this. Five months, you met on a chilly day, bedded on a windy night, and now her windows are blanketed in frost. Five months, and the signature of her human coding is tattooed on your finger, the skin where your wedding ring rests.

“Have you been sleeping with other people?”

Shuri makes a mental note to address it tomorrow, at an appropriate time.

#shuri x reader #shuri x reader smut #shuri udaku x reader #shuri udaku x reader smut #black panther

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