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lionfloss · 2 years
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IG @ fsgprints
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yestrgifts · 8 months
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All of these and more are now available in my store. Click here
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honeyscum · 2 years
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some of my fav recent outfits 🤠✨
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tshirtshops-world · 1 year
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davidhawkinsaudio · 2 years
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6.4.22 @ Fine Southern Gentlemen
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Francisco de Zurbarán (Spanish, 1598-1664) Battle between Christians and Muslims at El Sotillo, ca.1637-39 The Metropolitan Museum of Art
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officialbabayaga · 2 years
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CANNOT justify spending money on this shirt but i want it so bad 😭
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son-of-a-top-gun · 3 months
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Sky's the Limit (part 2)
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hello everyone, so glad you all enjoyed part one so much - thought you deserved a little treat in the form of the next chapter and some juicy lore..
warning: some evidence to the canon that Bob fucks, mention of infinite jest, Jake flirting with anything that moves, the usual
Sky's the Limit part 2
part one
Part of the deal of getting to stay with Penny for free was occasionally helping behind the bar when she was short-staffed, or more importantly, when she had a hot date with Pete.
You had to borrow one of her old Hard Deck t-shirts, which was a little bit too snug for your liking, but you had to make do. Besides, it was a welcome break from the blank screen you had spent the last week looking at. Talking to real people, maybe that’s where inspiration will come from.
****
When Jake walks into the bar, he is determined. He is absolutely exhausted and he needs to get back into his groove, when he immediately notices it. Behind the bar there is a girl wiping down the far end, with her back turned to him. She’s in a pair of pretty short shorts and a quite snug Hard Deck t-shirt, and she’s clearly new. This should be easy.
“Could I get a drink? I’m terribly thirsty over here.” He says in the deepest, sultry Southern tone he can get.
The girl turns around, and Jake’s face drops.
It’s you, with your hair down and you’re not wearing your glasses. He swallows and subtly readjusts himself. 
“Really Bagman? That’s the best you’ve got?”
He puffs his chest a little. “I’m surprised you can even tell it’s me from over there. I’m pretty sure that’s a safety hazard.”
“I’ve got contacts in, dumbass. Although I don’t need my glasses to know a sore loser when I see one.”
“And I would have thought that bar work is below such a worthy scholar like yourself.”
“I’m helping Aunt Penny. She’s got a date with Pete. Or wait, you guys call him Maverick.” Jake nods. You look at his hands. “Corona right?”
Jake is taken slightly aback. “Yeah, that’s right.” You pull out a bottle and open it.
He takes a swig, before yawning. “Hot date, eh? That’s good for some.”
“Tell me about it.” You say without thinking, before correcting yourself. “I can’t believe the great Bagman isn’t constantly inundated with women throwing themselves at him.” He looks at you in a way that makes you feel very exposed all of a sudden. “I mean, in spite of your terrible pick up lines.”
“Yeah, well I’m not going to waste my good ones on you am I?” Jake regrets it a little the moment he says it, but you carry on wiping glasses, seemingly unaffected.
“I’m just saying they could probably do with an edit or two.”
“You’re going to give me tips, are you? Thanks but no thanks.” He leans over the bar. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.” He catches a whiff of whatever perfume you’re wearing. Damn, if it doesn’t smell good.
You lean back and raise your hands up. “Alright, good luck then. I need to get back to work.” 
Jake wants to think of a witty retort but you’re already gone. He picks up his beer and walks over to the pool table where the other pilots are waiting. He doesn’t know why he feels hot, but he hopes it will go away. It has to go away, right?
***
“Earth to Hangman?” Tash waves her hand in front of his face. “It’s your turn.” She’s still holding the darts.
“Oh right, sure.” He tries to focus on the board, throwing his darts even quicker than usual.
“It’s annoying you’re still good at that when you’re clearly not even paying attention.” Tash huffs.
Jake looks over to you as you serve one of the older gentlemen.
“So what do we know about this ‘Ladybug’?” He asks, still not prising his eyes away.
“Great, Hangman has a crush.” Tash swats his arm. “I like this one Jake, I’m not letting you drive her away.” 
“I’m not going to. Besides, she’s Penny’s niece so she’s not going anywhere.” He turns to her and Bob, who is looking at his phone. “But there’s something odd about her right?”
“You’re just saying that because she doesn’t immediately want to jump your bones, Bagman.”
Bob keeps looking at his phone. He had in fact looked her up after your last conversation. He did find it odd that you had clearly already finished your pHD because he had already read your thesis, which had already been published. However, it was rare he had something over Jake, and he liked you, so he decided to say nothing. He wasn’t sure what you were working on, but whatever it was, he was sure it was your business.
Jake needed to work for this one.
Bob looks at Jake, who is intently watching as a skinny guy in glasses and some faded band t-shirt leans over, talking to you. You lean in, your arms slightly squeezing your chest towards him. Unbeknownst to anyone, Jake feels himself getting hot again all of a sudden. This scrawny little rat? Really? He downs his beer.
“Anyone want another drink?”
****
You return to the bar and look around. Cute Glasses Guy is nowhere to be seen.
“Bagman, did you see where that guy went?”
“What guy?” Jake twiddles with his toothpick, desperately avoiding eye contact. You look him over.
“You know exactly which guy. Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are a terrible liar.” You cross your arms. “What did you say to him?”
Jake finally turns to look at you.
“Look, you’re better off without him. He was about two minutes away from telling you how much he loved Infinite Jest. “
“Well at least he could probably read it, unlike you. I’m surprised you even know who David Foster Wallace is.”
“I’m full of surprises. Unlike him. You do not want a guy who dresses like he got lost in a vintage store in Portland, and wants you to invest in his startup to help buy polaroids for orphans.”
You cross your arms.
“So what guys do I want exactly? Big hunky pilots who think they are God’s gift to women? I’m fine, thank you.” You get back to cleaning the bar.
“You think I’m hunky.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean, what’s wrong with me anyway? Most girls would kill for this.”
You couldn’t help but grin. It really did irk him that you weren’t falling for his act.
“Sorry babe, but you’re not my type.”
“Then tell me, who is?”
You scan the bar. You looked over at the pilots clustered around the pool table. 
“Oh my god, it’s not Rooster is it?”
“As much as I would love to say that, him and my sister have history.” You clap your hands over your mouth. “Wait, I’m not supposed to say that.” You turn to him. “How good are you at keeping secrets?” He seems to mull it over.
“Hangman, I’m being serious.”
He rolls his eyes before miming zipping his lips shut. “I am a gentleman of my word. I promise I won’t, even if it will kill me. Besides, I don’t even know who your sister is.”
“And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Do you honestly think I just sleep with every single woman I lay my eyes on?”
“Yes. Especially if they are more beautiful, successful, glamorous versions of me.”
“I doubt that.” You tilt your head at him. He looks curiously soft, until he realises your look, and he looks away, taking a sip of his beer. “But let me know when she’s in town.” You whip him with the dish cloth you’re holding.
“Gross, Jake.” Jake’s eyebrow perked up. You used his real name. He wanted to celebrate but his curiosity got the better of him.
“So who is your type then?”
You looked back at the table.
All the pilots were ridiculously good looking, it was like a casting director had chosen every single one of them to make you nervous. But as you swept through, you could see one particular pilot looking at his phone smiling.
“Bob.”
“Bob? Are you kidding?”
“No? He’s tall, handsome, smart and a real gentleman.” You lean forward. “And he fucks.”
“Ew, what, gross. Where are you even getting that from?”
“Women’s intuition.” You tap your nose. Jake looks at you disbelievingly. “Also he has a hickey right at the bottom of his neck, just poking out of his collar, and what looks like” You take another look over. “Bruises and nail marks on his arms.” 
“How the hell can you see that from over there?” 
“I’ve got good observation skills.”
“Does that come in handy with your thesis?”
“Sometimes.” 
Jake leans forward.
“So if you’ve come to this conclusion, why don’t you ask him out then?” Jake huffs.
“He is also definitely seeing someone Jake, don’t be stupid.”
“Okay, now you are having me on.”
“Why is it so hard for you to believe someone like Bob could have a girlfriend? Do you think because someone wears glasses and likes books they are doomed to be unfuckable losers? That they should be grateful for any single morsel of attention they receive because who knows what will turn up?”
“That’s not what I meant Ladybug-”
You point at him.
“You don’t get to call me that.”
“Look, I’m -”
“Hey Hangman!” Javy waves a cue, “you promised us a game remember?”
Jake turns back to you, but you are gone, serving someone else at the bar.
***
Jake walks back to the pool table, where Bob is still looking at his phone smiling.
“Who are you messaging?”
Bob’s head snaps up, and he puts his phone behind his back.
“Er-what, no, I mean no one. Just looking at a - a - a- meme, that’s all.”
“Goddammit.” He turns back to you at the bar where you are talking to another customer.
“Jake-”
“Look Bob, remember we share any good memes on the chat. That’s what good squad members do.” He sees Bob’s shoulders visibly relax. At this point Nat sidles up to him.
“Hey, I realised where her name sounds familiar.”
“Oh really?”
“Her dad is Admiral Y/N.” Jake’s eyebrows raised so far they almost flew off his forehead. 
“That guy? The one who -”
“Yeah. That one.”
Your dad was famous throughout the entirety of Top Gun for being perhaps the biggest hard ass there was. He was known to give recruits 200 pushups for just looking at him wrong. He even scared Jake’s dad. Jake couldn’t imagine what he would do if anyone dared to touch his daughter. But something still didn’t make sense. Usually he could tell Navy brats a mile off but Jake knew this was different. You hadn’t even given the slightest hint who you were. This game had just gotten a little more dangerous, and a lot more interesting.
part three
----
@burningwitchprincess
@cornishkat
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madelynraemunson · 5 months
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CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪
(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)
(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)
𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ minors skiddaddle pls
Chapter 009: Nina
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There’s a new girl at Hellfire and Eddie is seemingly wrapped around her finger. Meanwhile, Max makes a shocking new discovery…
* = somewhat smut
** = smut
↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*
word count: 3.8k words
disclaimers & warnings — ⚠️ this is a verrrryy emotionally intense chapter. pls read at your discretion ; generational curses, physical altercations, profanities, throwing objects, heated arguments, implications of suspected grooming, shy girl being delulu, lmk if anything else
“Shouldn't have to listen to the shit you say.”
"C’mon... COME ON!" Dustin roars in frustration. "What starts with a T and ends with a C?"
Slow Monday afternoons call for Wordle with the Party.
With little else to do in Hawkins on your day off, you find yourself situated at DRAGON’S BREATH with Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan’s younger brother Will.
Figuring out the last Wordle is a daunting task. Thankfully Argyle has been periodically swinging by, his emotional support nachos being the only thing keeping you from ripping out your hair.
"Tunic," Will suggests.
"Tonic," Steve contributes. "Like tonic water."
"Topic?" you pitch in. “Like Hot Topic.”
This is taking all of your last brain cells combined.
"Topic was one of them, Shy Girl,” Dustin sighs irritably. “I said that already.”
You raise your arms, surrendering. It seems you’ve poked the beast.
It’s been hard for you to focus anyway. The hot and heavy night you spent with Eddie a couple nights ago is taking up all the space of your dirty little mind.
You think of Eddie. His moans. The O-shape his mouth made as he chased his own pleasure on you. How full your pussy felt with just his three fingers pulsing in and out, and how full your mouth felt with Eddie's cock ramming the back of your throat with no mercy. The taste of him. How shocked he looked when you swallowed. How rough he was with you, but oh so thoughtful at the same time.
Truly an experience from another dimension. And you’re already fantasizing about the next time.
But you still want to keep it on the down low. Considering Eddie might still be seeing his Lady Friend, and you're still getting shagged by his roommate whenever he’s not home, you can't exactly get mad at him for texting someone who isn't you.
“Pssst,” you nudge Steve while the others brainstorm. “I think Eddie is talking to Nina again.”
Confusion sets in on Steve's face. He raises his eyebrows. “What?”
“Yeah,” you smirk, trying to pretend that it doesn’t hurt. “Saw a message exchange between them a couple days ago.”
“Who’s Nina?”
“Isn’t that the Lady Friend’s name?”
“No…” Steve shakes his head. “Lady Friend’s name was Heather.”
It really has you wondering now... who is Nina?
"Yeah, the kukris are cool huh?" you hear Eddie's soothing voice come into earshot.
Odd. He stopped coming in on Mondays, you thought.
"That's the cool thing about owning a business,” you hear Eddie explain. “You get to choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes — at least most of the time."
Where have you heard that before?
Then Eddie comes into view, with a girl walking very closely behind him.
She’s stunning, standing to be about five-foot-two with a youthful face, petite body, and straight, long jet-black hair. Both conventionally, and legitimately beautiful, the girl looks to be at least 20 years old, dressed in cream-colored Chuck Taylor's, tattered booty shorts, and a playful white off-the-shoulder blouse. Scattered fine-line tattoos ornament her body. Her makeup has been flawlessly painted on, her lash extensions a hybrid between voluminous and wispy. And because you’re from Southern California, you can spot lip injections from a mile away.
A new dancer.
"This is where you clock in," Eddie explains to her. "I'll be sure to get you your punch in code by the end of the week. Over at the lounge we have Will, Shy Girl, Steve, and Dustin. Hey guys!”
Now you know why it sounds familiar. You received a very identical run down when you first started.
You're too shocked to wave so you feign a smile at your new colleague. Also, Eddie is too quick for you to react.
"We call the hookah lounge Dragon's Breath," Eddie continues. "And main-stage-slash-tip-rail is called Vecna's Lair."
They walk over to VECNA'S LAIR and you crane your neck to watch.
You observe Eddie give the girl a very familiar run down of Hellfire, using his arms to talk and eyes to listen.
She laughs at Eddie's charm, as anyone would. They talk for a bit more before he walks, what looks like to you, a predatory circle around her — a lion and a gazelle — and then spins her. Then Eddie does something that just about snaps your heart in half.
“MWAH!” he exclaims. “You are gonna do great. I just know it.”
The verbal kiss. The spin. The drowning her in compliments. Everything he did with you.
If Eddie’s gonna do his job, could he at least make every interaction with his employees unique? It all makes you feel betrayed. As if you were just another number in the factory.
"Traitor." you hiss sharply under your breath.
You abruptly stand up to start towards Eddie, hands balled into fists at the blatant disrespect displayed in front of you. You feel sick to your stomach, skin seemingly dragon-green with envy.
"That’s seven letters not five!" Dustin calls after you.
Eddie sees you in his periphery and waves. For the sake of keeping the peace, the smile you exude is fake to him, but friendly to the girl next to him.
"Hey, Hargrove!" Eddie smiles. "We've got a new person on board."
"I see that!" you exclaim. "Hi, I'm Shy Girl."
"I'm Nina," she introduces herself with a bright smile. "It's nice to meet you."
You two shake hands. Nina is just darling. Her eyes are so kind and bright, full of wonder. Her energy is warm. For a second there she was making you nervous.
“Y-you gonna be starting with us soon?” you investigate.
“Yeah, I start on Friday!”
“First dancing gig?”
Eddie shoots you a look, almost as if what you said was disrespectful. It wasn’t your intention. You were just wondering, after all. Nina looks really, really young.
“Uh, no actually,” Nina smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been dancing since I was 18. So two-ish years now.”
Your soul hurts.
Eighteen is just a baby. Twenty is a fresh adult. Nina is only a year older than the kiddos and can't even be near POTIONS without redirection from Henry.
Now you’re disgusted with Eddie. Why would he ever get so close to someone so young? You thought teenagers at Hellfire made him queasy. Nina is 20 now, but still. What would she have in common with a 28 year old? What about her was so appealing to Eddie?
“Oh! That’s cool… I think?”
Eddie’s harsh lines deepen across his face.
“Nina, why won’t you put your bag down by the cubbies, sweetheart?” Eddie suggests. “Then I’ll have Argyle make you something to eat. My treat.”
“Okay!” Nina chimes. "I was eyeing the chicken wings."
"Done deal. Wings or flats?"
"Flats!" Nina says as she skips away. "Please."
Eddie's admiring eyes trail after her as Nina acqauints herself with Hellfire.
So many questions arise in your head. Is Nina who Eddie’s been texting all this time? Did she come in and audition like you did? Did he ask her out on an 'orientation' lunch/dinner that he apparently does with all of his dancers? It wouldn't surprise you. None of this behavior is new.
This jealousy feels icky. And most of all, it hurts.
"Ugh!" Eddie clutches his chest. He turns to you. "I love her already."
You remain stiff as a board as Eddie slowly leans into you. A part of you is aching to lean in as well, but you can’t give him the satisfaction.
Eddie hovers his hand over the small of your back because he knows Steve is watching. His eyes are out on a prowl per usual the way they burn into you.
"Looking beautiful as always," Eddie compliments you. "How are you? I haven't stopped thinking about you since Saturday."
He looks over your shoulder at the Wordle group.
"What was the last word?"
“Don’t know,” you huff. “You seem to have gotten it.”
“What?” Eddie questions cluelessly.
“With Nina,” you cross your arms. "And all your words that you've been wooing her with."
“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie scowls. His hand drops back to his side. “You're mad because I... hired a stripper? Cause that’s kinda what I do.”
“I'm not mad that you hired a stripper, you literally own a strip club,” you shrug. “It’s just that…I didn’t know you use the same script with every new hire.”
"I'm sorry? Script?”
"You used almost the exact same words with me, Eddie," you explain. "Like you do with everybody I'm guessing.”
Disbelief sets in on Eddie's face, accompanied by an ounce of fear. Eddie is scared of something.
"Well, I don't know what you expected me to do when you first started," Eddie shrugs. "I'm not gonna come off strong and hit on you like some creep. Of course I'm gonna give you the same treatment I give everybody."
Eddie's got a solid rationale, but it didn't take away from the fact that you simply felt ordinary. When you compare the interactions side by side, nothing about Shy Girl stuck out from Nina.
"Why are we even having this conversation right now?" Eddie asks you. "We're not even together."
“I’m not trying to pick a fight, believe me,” you cross your arms. “I’m just disappointed is all. You made me really think you were falling for me.”
“Oh so all it takes is me walking with a girl to have all of my words not ring true anymore?”
Your tongue and stomach are in knots. All you can do is stand there and blubber like a baby. You’re making no sense, you’re aware. But why does it hurt you so bad?
Eddie paces back and forth. "I don't even know why I feel the need to explain myself, Hargrove,” he continues. “I’m not the one fucking the other’s best friend."
It's a reasonable standpoint. Still. You felt disgusting.
“Yeah but..." you argue softly. "How can you feel so comfortable touching…kissing…interacting with someone like that after being so intimate with me?”
Your boss can only release a chuckle, a baffled one at that. He shakes his head rapidly.
“Just because we hooked up over the weekend, you think you have a say in who I associate with or what goes on around here?" Eddie spews. “What, are you trying to take over Hellfire or something?”
Your lip quivers. “I never said that! Where did that even come from? Why are you so fucking defensive right now?”
Eddie’s nose flares angrily as he tries to keep himself collected. Suddenly, Nina calls out for his attention and he softens up again.
“Eddie!” the new girl cheers. “Argyle gave me some of his flats and it's so good! I think I’m gonna shoot for Creeping Death next!”
“Hey, nice!” Eddie smiles. “You like spicy, huh?”
“Mhm!”
It would be a lot easier to hate her if she did something to you. But Nina didn't do anything.
Eddie turns back around to face you, kicking at the ground before he thinks of something to say.
“Let’s not do this right now,” Eddie resigns, placing his hands over his hips. “You uh…clocking in?”
“No, I’m going home actually,” you respond. “It’s my day off.”
Eddie makes a face. You project it back onto him. For a moment, you two are staring at each other, appalled at one another's behavior. Being infatuated with the literal mirror version of yourself is hell.
“Hey Eddie!” Will calls. “Do you know a five-lettered word that starts with T and ends with C?”
Eddie’s eyes don’t leave you.
“Sure do,” he answers. “TOXIC.”
There’s a pause.
“BADA-BOOM!” Dustin hollers. “That’s the one.”
Eddie doesn't bother to chase you after your mini altercation. Just then, another pair of heels that don't belong to you click across the hard club floor. Chrissy comes into sight, holding a tray of slushees and her car keys in her hands.
“Hey guys!” Chrissy sings. “I got us some slushees from 7-Eleven. They're Cherry flavored...”
“I’ll pass,” you huff. “You can give one to Nina.”
“Ooh we have someone new?!” she chirps. “Where?”
Chrissy notices your shift in attitude when you walk away and Eddie’s stand-offish posture.
“What the fuck did you say to her?” you hear her snap at Eddie as you walk away.
“Nothing,”
“Bullshit. You look guilty as fuck.”
You stomp your way back over to your section and ask Steve to hand you your purse. It's obvious by the look on his face that Steve caught onto what you were feeling. He doesn't question it. He hands you your things.
"I'm not feeling too well, guys," you announce. "I'm going home."
You collect your trash and organize it neatly for Argyle when he comes back over with some waffle fries. Showing your appreciation for him, you thank him and give him a soft pat on the shoulder.
"Argyle, you should've seen the new girl," Dustin fawns. "She's so pretty."
"Yeah?" Argyle quirks up. "What's her name?"
"Nina."
"Was she hot?" he turns to the guys. "Byers, what do you think? Was she a 10 or what?"
Will, who never seems to pay the Hellfire girls any mind, eyes glued to his sketchbook instead of their sultry outfits, squirms around in his seat. He shrugs. "I-I don't know."
"Steve?"
"She was pretty cute."
Your blood boils. Not her stealing Steve's heart too!
"Nina…” Argyle repeats. "How exotic. She sounds like a small feisty Latina woman."
“Bet Shy Girl can vouch,” Dustin comments. “Right, Shy Girl?”
Intrigued, the line cook turns to you.
"Well, Shy Girl? Is she giving chunti, chingona, or what?”
Steve encourages Argyle to stop as you walk away, hair covering the sides of your face on the way out.
“What?” Argyle sounds bewildered. “What’d I say?”
"Was I made from a broken home?"
A girls day with Max would surely take your mind off of the Nina situation. She always knew how to make you feel better. Lucky for you, she is home today, evident by her skateboard that is situated neatly in the garage.
You hear some commotion coming from your shared bedroom and go in to greet her.
"Hey girl hey!" you call out to your sister. "It's my day off so I was wondering if you wanted to go t-"
You pause in your tracks, horrified.
"Hmm," Max ponders aloud. "Last time I recall, stilettos and G-strings aren't really part of nursing home etiquette."
Propped open on Max’s bed is one of your unpacked suitcases, the one that you hid all your lingerie, heels, and the Hellfire shirt Eddie gave you when you first started in. Typically you lock it but you left it open this morning. Out of all days Max had to look through your room, it had to be today.
Max has a tennis racket in her hand, the handle acting as a hook the way it swept up a thong of yours so effortlessly. You feel your knees buckle.
"What are you doing looking through my stuff, you little shit?" you bark.
"Looking for my sports bras," Max replies nonchalantly. "Still can't find 'em."
She dangles the thong in the air like it's something she caught at the lake.
"Found some other goodies though."
"You couldn't have just waited to ask me?"
"I would've had to wait a day or two since you work nights," Max snaps. "Now I know why. And do I even need to ask where?"
Just what you needed. This is JUST what you needed.
You feel exposed. Violated. Disrespected. In every aspect and every situation. There was no safe place to turn. It makes you angry.
Fine. If people are going to disrespect you, you'll be disrespectful too.
"When is it EVER okay to snoop?" you hiss. "Have you any respect for others and their belongings? How would you feel if I started picking apart at your shit?"
"I wouldn’t care because I don't have anything to hide."
"That's not the fucking point, Maxine."
"Oh, not the government name!" Max exclaims, sassily putting a hand over her chest.
That really tips you over the edge.
"I should've known," Max proceeds, shaking her head. She chucks the racket back onto her bed. “You haven't renewed your CPR cert since you graduated high school. And you need that to even work as a caregiver. Didn't catch that loophole when you were LYING, did you?"
"I was lying to protect you."
"You still lied, Sis," Maxine argues. "You're missing the point..."
Oh, now she wants to mimmick you.
You're blind-sided. Tunnel-visioned. You are feeling all five stages of grief all at once. It’s all too much to bear. You feel the bomb ticking...
As much as you love your sister, it sure was a bitch to raise her. You spent most of the time explaining to Max what social cues are, what is acceptable and what is not. It often made you short-fused because what was common sense to you took ages for Max to understand. Like how you shouldn't look through other people's things.
Max learns best when she puts herself in others' shoes. You've learned that the hard way, over the years.
“How would you feel if I was looking through your drawers and shit?” you walk over to Max’s corner of the room, prying open her drawers and tossing whatever is in there out. “And just tossing your shit out onto the floor?"
“What the fuck?!” Max exclaims. "What are you doing?!"
“Or what if I just went to your side of the mirror and…” you knock her perfume bottles off from the dresser mirror in numbers and watch them fall onto the floor. "Knocked all your shit down because I was looking for my own things?"
"I get it now, stop."
“Or," you brainstorm. "What if I just started unpacking your vinyls and shit and just not care about the packaging?”
Max stops you right there. "ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?! I said STOP."
“How would YOU FEEL?” you yell. “HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF I DID THAT TO YOU?! IF I PULLED A 'YOU' ON YOU? NOT GREAT, HUH?”
How would everybody feel if you acted the way they did? Would they be mortified? Would they be disgusted?
Would Dad not hit anybody?
Would Mom have chosen to stay?
Would your first love never want to see you again?
Would Eddie be angry at your behavior?
Would Max think you're the worst sibling ever?
You would hope so for all the above.
Your heart couldn’t take any more pain.
"SHUT," Max screeches. "THE FUCK UP!"
She tosses an acrylic storage box at you. It hits you and you yelp in pain. When she realizes what she has done, Max punches the pillow on her bed. Physically aching for the last word, you take it upon yourself to chuck your empty Hydroflask at her. Thankfully, it misses and the ear-piercing CLINK sound is enough to startle her. Max shrinks herself down in fear, trying to process what you just did.
You regret it immediately. You didn't want to hit her. You mainly did it for intimidation.
It puts you to shame. You are toxic.
Suddenly, Max inflates again, her entire face extending to her ears redder than her fiery amber hair.
"YOU," Maxine growls. "ARE JUST LIKE BILLY!"
Silence.
You take a look around the trashed room. Never did you think you had it in you to be someone like your brother. But of course, the Wolf who is fed the most prevails.
The amount of hurt and anger you actually harbored was way more than you thought. You can’t take back the fact that you’ve exploded on everyone you love now. But at least you can hold yourself accountable.
"I didn't mean that," Max mumbles. “I’m really sorry.”
"No, Max," you sigh. "You're right. And I'm sure you've been wanting to say that for a while..."
But Max refuses. “NO! I just wanted the last word again. Like I always fucking do even when I know it’s never worth it.”
You and your sister join each other by sitting criss-crossed on the floor, pushing the debris off to the side to be handled later. Max leans her head on you and you let her, combing through her knotted hair with your trembling fingers.
"We have a lot to unlearn, don't we?" she sighs.
You nod. "Oh yeah..."
She grabs your hand.
"Are you safe at least?" Max questions. "At work? Any creeps I gotta beat up for you?"
A laugh escapes you. "Nah, someone's already got that covered. Bones snapping and all."
Max flinches.
"That's how you got all that money real fast, huh? Stripping?”
You nod to confirm. "I did it for you. Well, us."
You watch as Max takes out her phone and shuffles through her camera roll. Her most recent in the gallery are videos of her shooting free throws at the Y and playing tennis. She cancels out some apps for more storage, one of them being Messenger. The tab reveals that Billy was spamming her again.
You both shudder. Max puts her phone away.
"Because of you I have a membership," she beams. "And I have a safe place to rest my head and I have money to do what I want and I have food on the table."
She hugs you.
“I hope you know how grateful I am for you. For putting my needs before yours. For throwing yourself into something so terrifying just so I can have a better life than you did growing up.”
“I never thought for a second you were being ungrateful,” you hug her back. “And no matter what I say or do, I’m sticking by you no matter what.”
“Even when I’m being an asshole?”
“Even when you’re being an asshole.”
Max giggles. “Thanks for the reassurance.”
Suddenly your door swings open, causing you and Max to jolt in place. Thankfully, it’s just Robin and Vicky, both worried and confused about the state of your room.
"ToTo," Robin says. "We're not in Hawkins anymore."
"What tornado rummaged through here?!" Vicky exclaimed. "Guys. Are you okay?"
You and Max burst into laughter.
"Yeah, we’re good," you nod. "Just Hurricane Hargrove passing through."
As long as you have Max and your sisterhood with Robin and Vicky, you know you're going to be okay.
You refuse to mope around for the rest of the day, so in the evening you go bowling with Max and your roommates, loading yourselves up with carbs and soda. You ignore Eddie’s “can we talk?” messages, along with Billy’s routine “where the fuck are you” texts followed by rage-calls without a care in the world . Towards the end of the night, however, when the “Sad Boy Hours” hit, there’s a text from a man you simply can’t ignore.
Maybe: Henry
Hey 🧍🏻 it's Henry from work. Can I ask you something? Pls be honest.
tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi i , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123
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clusterbuck · 1 year
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i wanna roll with him
6x13 poker spec
Buck let Bobby talk him into going undercover at an underground poker game with Eddie because it’s not like he has anything better to do.
He lets Eddie talk him into pretending that they’re dating because sometimes his mouth says things before his brain has a chance to catch up. 
“It just makes sense,” Eddie is saying as they drive to the club. “It’ll be less suspicious.”
“Suspicious how?” Buck asks, though he’s already said yes. 
“Like—if we need to talk about the marks,” Eddie says. “Couples whisper to each other all the time, so it won’t be weird.” 
Buck tries to fight the shiver that runs through him at the thought of Eddie whispering in his ear, Eddie’s lips brushing against his skin and his warm breath fanning over his neck. He’s on edge already, tormented by the suit Eddie wears like it was painted on him, and now he’s supposed to survive an entire night of Eddie pretending to be his boyfriend?
He must stay silent for longer than intended, because Eddie looks over at him from the passenger seat. “What, you worried I’m going to kiss you or something?” 
Please do, Buck thinks, but this time he manages to catch the words before they slip out of his mouth. “You think you’ll be able to resist?” he asks instead, and Eddie laughs, but when Buck glances over at him there’s something dark gleaming in his eyes.
“Maybe you’re the one who won’t be able to resist me,” Eddie says as Buck pulls up to a parking spot and cuts the engine. 
As they climb out of the car, Buck realises Eddie never said he wouldn’t kiss him.
The game is unlike anything Buck’s ever seen. He’s sat at poker tables all the way across the country, from coast to coast and down in Peru, too, but they were all the same kind of temporary as Buck’s entire life was back then. They were games set up at corner tables in a seedy bar, at beaches and in living rooms and once in the back up a pickup truck. They rarely played with actual chips, and sometimes not even money, just a barter system of favours won back and forth until everyone had what they need.
This is not that. This is a table in the basement of a gentlemen’s club, the kind Buck thought didn’t even exist anymore. Not in southern California, at least. This is a table upholstered in emerald velvet, carved out of a wood Buck can’t identify as anything other than expensive. This is sleek ceramic chips clacking against each other as they move in piles that could cover Buck’s entire rent, tossed around like milk money.
Beside him, Eddie must be coming to the same realisations, because he lets out a low whistle. 
“Eddie, is this—” Buck murmurs, then remembers what Eddie had said about the suspicion and the whispering. He leans in, his mouth just below Eddie’s ear. “These guys look like they mean business. Pretty sure I’m Little League in comparison.” 
“It’ll be fine,” Eddie whispers back, and Buck only startles a little when Eddie’s hand comes to rest on the small of his back. “We don’t have to win, right? Just get to know them.” 
“Won’t it be suspicious, though?” Buck asks. “Don’t you have to be good to get into a game like this?” 
Eddie thinks for a moment, then one side of his mouth tugs up in a flicker of a grin. “In the movies,” he says, “When the main guy goes undercover like this. If he brings his girl, the girl doesn’t play the game. She just sits on his lap and watches.”
Heat rushes up the back of Buck’s neck, and he’s pretty sure Eddie can feel it as it spreads across his cheeks. “You want me to sit on your lap?” 
“That part’s up to you,” Eddie says, then turns his head so his lips land right next to Buck’s. To anyone watching, it’d look just like a real kiss.
It turns out to be a very good thing Buck had chickened out of playing. He’d been right about these people being much better than he is, for one, but the bigger issue is that three rounds into the game he’s still thinking about Eddie’s lips on his skin.
He’s not on Eddie’s lap, but it’s close. They’re pressed right up against each other, Eddie’s ankle hooked around his, so far into each other’s space that Buck can practically feel Eddie’s ribs move as he breathes. 
The other players had looked at them a little funny when Eddie had said only he would be playing, but understanding dawned upon them when Eddie had called him his good luck charm.
“Never seen a six-foot good luck charm,” the woman at the head of the table said, and Buck, still distracted by the fact that Eddie had just kissed him, scraped together just enough brainpower to smile and say “Actually, I’m six foot two.” 
There’d been a round of polite laughter, and no one else had challenged him.
And Buck knows they’re not actually here to play poker, that he’s supposed to be getting to know the people opposite him so he can report back to Bobby, but there’s something about Eddie tonight that makes it hard for Buck to take his eyes off him.
Eddie’s like a different person at this poker table, starting from the set of his shoulders and the way a hint of a Texas drawl slips into his speech. Buck’s fascinated, but it’s almost disturbing, like he’s looking at Eddie in a funhouse mirror. 
Then Eddie will look at him, and for that split second he is Buck’s Eddie again, the man Buck knows better than he knows himself. And it’s enough to reassure him that no matter how far away from himself Eddie gets, his Eddie is always in there.
It starts to get a little complicated when Eddie starts flirting. Because he’s been teasing the two sides apart all night, but when Eddie looks at him and winks, Buck can’t tell which Eddie it is. When Eddie leans over to press his lips to the curve of Buck’s jaw, he can barely remember his own name, let alone that Eddie is playing a character tonight. 
Eddie’s hand is on his thigh, and Buck can’t take it any longer. “Wait a minute and then meet me in the bathroom,” he murmurs into Eddie’s ear, then flashes the other players a quick smile and a nature calls.
He hopes the fact that he’s half hard isn’t visible through his pants.
In the bathroom, Buck takes a deep breath and tries to organise his overheated thoughts into words he can say to Eddie. Words like what the fuck are you doing and can you please cool it before I do something we’ll both regret. 
But when Eddie comes into the bathroom, Buck doesn’t have time to say any of these words. Because Eddie walks in with a look Buck has never seen on him, and within moments Eddie’s hands are on Buck’s waist and Eddie kisses him.
Really, truly kisses him, not just on the cheek and not just for show. Eddie’s lips are warm against his and open for him almost immediately, and he tastes like the bourbon he’d been nursing at the poker table.
Buck stands still for just one stunned second, then he’s reaching for Eddie, for any part of him just to hold on. He feels desperate, frantic and uncoordinated, but Eddie rocks against him and Buck finds Eddie is just as desperate as he is.
“Thank fuck you didn’t actually sit on my lap,” Eddie mumbles between gasped-out breaths. “I’d have come in my pants.”
“Maybe I’d have liked that,” Buck counters, breathless, and Eddie groans. 
“You can’t—can’t just say things like that,” he says, then ducks his head to mouth at Buck’s jaw like he’s trying to leave a mark.
“Then do something about it,” Buck says. Eddie looks up at him, eyes dark and pupils wide, then puts his hands on Buck’s hips and steers him into the nearest stall. The door slams shut, and Eddie pushes Buck up against it and starts fumbling with the fly of Buck’s pants. 
“Well, if you’re asking,” he murmurs, returning his mouth to Buck’s jaw. Then his hand wraps around Buck’s cock, so strong and sure it makes Buck a little weak in the knees, and he starts to move—
Buck wakes up panting, thrusting desperately against his mattress. For a groggy moment he isn’t sure what woke him, then, on the bed next to his face, his phone chimes again and the screen lights up.
Here’s the address for tonight, the first text from Bobby reads. The second one just says Dress nice.
And for a moment Buck is confused, but then it hits him.
The real undercover poker game isn’t until tonight. 
He’s so fucked. 
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lionfloss · 2 years
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flipperbrain-awakes · 15 days
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The Warleggan Ball by flipperbrain-awakes
Ross leans against a wall in the large room and contemplates the tumbler of brandy in his hand. George does not skimp, this amber liquid is quite good. Ross is well acquainted with fine brandy, risking much himself to import the best available through less than legal means. He scans the room, it is between dances and most of the guests are clustered together in groups, engaged in flattery and idle conversation. He had quarreled with his wife an hour ago, he knew his surly attitude and lack of attention had angered Demelza, and he could certainly understand why. Yet at that moment he was incapable of bending, of admitting he was wrong. And rather than making it up with her, he continued playing cards. His grief and outrage over the disgusting treatment of his friend Jim Carter, which ultimately led to his untimely death, had rendered him powerless to rise above his mood. But by God, Demelza is the last person to deserve the sharp-edge of his ire, and now he feels incredibly ashamed at his behavior. 
He watches his wife chatting merrily with several solicitous gentlemen across the ballroom, without a doubt she has many would-be suitors were her husband not standing in the way. She glances at him, her eyes still flashing with annoyance and hurt, she is ravishing and haughty and so very tempting. Demelza is wearing a new gown, its fabric selected particularly for this occasion. It is the color of Spring and covered with delicate leaves and stems. Her décolletage is framed with the tiniest diaphanous ruffle which projects the opposite of demure, rather than disguising, it accentuates her bust and she is fully aware of its effect. 
Ross has had enough drink this night, he sets his glass aside and walks over to speak quietly with the leader of the small orchestra assembled in the southern corner of the room, a few coins are discreetly handed over. While likely the poorest of manners to divert the musical program toward his personal goals, he cares not and strides determinedly toward Demelza. She sees him coming and her brows gather in anticipation of protest but Ross does not give her an opportunity to refuse. He takes her by the hand and leads her to the center of the dance floor. Demelza initially resists his embrace, she is still put-out and a little embarrassed by their earlier exchange… but then she turns her head and looks into his eyes and her anger melts away, he can be damnable at times but his feelings for her are written on his face. 
Ross takes her in his arms as the music strikes up and begins to dance a dance that he has only seen once before, he holds his beautiful wife, his hand sitting familiarly at her waist, and leads her in The Walse. The steps are not truly known to him but he believes he can manage a fair representation, he has some skill at dancing though rarely used. The onlookers at the time he first witnessed this exercise were scandalized by the closeness of its participants, and from the expressions on many a face, they are once again. He grins inwardly at this but Demelza’s visage, her fine features gazing up at him, he is nearly overcome with desire. She is his complete focus, the only thing in this world that truly matters. That he could act an idiot and lose sight of that, well, he is an imperfect man.
They are a vision to behold on the ballroom floor, Ross expertly guiding in his version of this dance, Demelza following his lead like a woman who has been trained in this since girlhood. Their bodies move together instinctually as one, gracefully drifting and turning and whirling together. All eyes are upon them, but theirs are only for each other.
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written-in-flowers · 1 year
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oh my! time for a request! I imagine something like, maybe, a Stark girl coming to King's Landing and she's all fierce and trains with ser Cole (or maybe uses bow and arrows idk) and Aemond sees that and is like "I want that, that's wife material" and just like falls for her and wants her. I know it sounds stupid but I believe you will write it beautifully.
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The Dragon and The Wolf
(Note: I have SO MANY OC characters for this universe, so I'm definitely putting them to use lol)
***
She didn't like King's Landing, she quickly realized. The city was too hot and too crowded. It took their wheelhouse ages to get into the city, let alone up to the Red Keep. felt the heat through the holes in the windows; so much so, she removed her furs after a while. Peeking out the windows, she realized how disgusting the city looked. Buildings leaned on top of one another, creating narrow streets. Children ran barefoot or half-dressed through muddy, stinking streets. The worst smells back home were in the stables. Dyana missed the cool, crisp summer air; the tall sentinel trees that filled the forest and their godswood. She missed her brothers and little sister, who stayed behind because only she'd be leaving home.
To make a proper political alliance, Lord Stark and King Viseryes decided to bind their houses through marriage. She found it strange, since northerners married northerners or people from south of the neck, like her Riverland-born mother. Her mother tried convincing her marrying the prince would be beneficial to everyone. Yes, everyone but her. Dyanna did not mind doing her duty to her house. She always knew she'd marry a lord, run his castle and bear his children. She did not mind it at all. Dyanna might enjoy roughhousing, riding horses, and shooting her bow, but she liked dressing for balls, dancing with fine gentlemen, singing songs and reading and writing poetry. She became the noble lady her mother expected and her father approved of.
But, a part of her felt disappointed as the wheelhouse arrived inside the Red Keep's courtyard. She'd hoped to marry in a Northern lord, who'd understand her nature and customs. A southern lord, a prince no less, might not approve. He'll expect her to be a dutiful, compliant woman who will honor and obey him. Dyanna supposed she had no choice. Women in her position did not have one.
The wheelhouse stopped in the courtyard, and her father climbed out first. He didn't very much like the south either, but he wouldn't be living here like her. He'd go home to Winterfell, where snow covered the ground and hot water ran in the walls. She stayed frozen inside the wheelhouse, not moving even when he offered his hand to her. If she hid inside the carriage, maybe she wouldn't have to marry. But, that logic did not work on a grown woman.
"Dyanna," her father whispered, "Come now. You cannot sit in here forever."
"Father..."
"The King is waiting on you."
Dyanna took a deep breath, and stepped out of the wheelhouse. In front of her, a few yards away, stood House Targaryen. King Viseryes sat in a chair, a golden half mask covering the particularly nasty part of his face. Leprosy, she heard, claimed the king's eye and parts of his cheek. He appeared half out of his mind, someone drooped to one side on his chair with a walking stick. Dyanna pitied him. It must be difficult living in such a condition, where every moment was filled with pain. Beside him was the queen, Queen Alicent, wearing a green silk dress and emerald tiara. She truly was beautiful like people said. A proper queen, she stood tall and proud with the seven-pointed star of The Faith around her neck.
She saw the princess, Helaena, with two blond children at her sides. A dress of pale pink and gold, she seemed shy and timid. Dyanna figured she might as well get to know her, if they'd be sisters soon.
The prince Aegon, Heaena's husband and brother, was beside his father. His square face somewhat cantankerous and sleepy, she saw all the signs of a man post drink. She'd heard vile things about the king's first born; it made her sick considering they might be true after all. 
Then, she saw Him. Standing straight, arms crossed behind his back and feet apart, Prince Aemond exuded power and strength. The first thing she saw was the eyepatch he wore on his left eye. She spotted the scars leading out onto his forehead and on his cheekbone. His long blond hair fell down past his shoulders, and shone in the sunlight. Ladies she knew said he scared them. He did not smile or show any emotion other than coldness when she approached. A soldier. That’s what he reminded her of. 
Her father, the King and Queen all exchanged pleasantries. When he introduced her, she curtsied and thanked them for inviting them to their home. She was then led down the line, being introduced to the rest of their household. When she reached Aemond, she’ll admit he did frighten her. Not because of his eye, but because of the cold stare in his one good eye. She tried not focusing on the patch. She didn’t want her betrothed thinking her rude. She’d heard he was deadly with a sword, and flew the largest and strongest of their dragons. 
“I heard you fly Vhagar,” she said, finding something kind to say. 
“I do.”
“She is the mightiest of them. I’ve read all the stories.”
“Hmm.”
She’d punch him if they let her. The King then led them inside, being carried in his chair by footmen, saying they must be tired from their journey. Queen Alicent led them to their quarters herself. She asked after her mother, who she’d met months ago. Dyanna remained polite and cordial like her father expected. She never mentioned her dislike of the city outright. She simply said she found the captial interesting. But, it wasn’t the keep she wished to see. 
It was their training yard. 
After settling into her quarters, Dyanna slipped into her breeches, shirt and under bust vest. She told her septa she’d be in the yard, to which the woman protested as she rushed out the door. Calling on some of her father’s men, she led the group outside where she heard the familiar sounds of clashing swords. She spotted people watching her as she rushed down the steps into the courtyard. She saw men in leather armor dancing around one another with swords, morningstars, maces, and other weapons. Dyanna smiled, feeling the adrenaline rush beginning to flow through her as she reached the armory section. The man there told her the yard was no place for a lady, to which she and her men chuckled. 
“Trust me, good ser, I am more than capable.”
She took up one of the lighter swords. She weighed it in her hand, and flipped it as she tested its balance. She expected nothing less from the King. Dyanna came back into the space, seeing all the men in front of her. She noticed a small crowd gathered around one side of the yard, catching the sight of two figures in the center. She recognized the white blond hair of Prince Aemond, and the dark figure she knew to be Ser Criston Cole, a member of the kingsguard. Dyanna came closer, the people moving aside as they lady appeared. Ser Cole waved around a mace, while the prince did his best to dodge. No, not his best. He expertly moved out of each swing, blocking one with a wooden shield that the weapon broke right through. He tossed the shield aside, and worked with only his sword. Dyanna admitted he was good. It reminded her of her older brother, a great swordsman in his own right. Finally, the prince took one more dodge from the mace and then went around Ser Cole and put his blade to the man’s throat. 
“Well done, my prince,” Cole said, yielding to Aemond. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”
“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he replied. He flipped is sword handle and turned to Dyanna, “My lady, what brings you here?” He noticed her attire, and appeared confused. 
“I wish to see your yard and to train with Ser Cole.”
Ser Cole looked at her quizzically, “Lady Dyanna?”
She smiled, realizing her recognized her, “Hello, Ser Cole. It’s been a while.”
“A very long while,” he agreed. They shook hands, and he turned to Aemond, “Lady Dyanna is quite the swordsman, Your Grace. I saw her spar against one of the Baratheon boys at Maidenpool.”
“A woman wielding a sword?” it was not discouraging or judgmental. He sounded curious, though he tried to hide it. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“My father says I have wolf’s blood in me, Your Grace,” she replied with a grin. “I picked up a sword as a little girl, and never put it down.”
“Your lord father allows it?”
“He does. My mother doesn’t approve exactly, but as long as I keep up with my lessons and womanly duties, she tolerates it.” She looked back to Ser Cole, “I’ve been waiting for us to meet again, I will confess, ser. We never got the chance to go toe-to-toe at Maidenpool.”
“No better time than the present, my lady. That is, if His Grace doesn’t mind?”
Prince Aemond stared her up and down. He studied her, she knew. She tried standing straighter, putting her shoulders back and chin up. “Not at all,” he said, “But none of us are responsible if you are injured.”
“I don’t expect anyone to take responsibility except myself.”
She did her best to not appear disagreeable. Dyanna met men like Aemond all the time. Men who doubted her skills. She enjoyed proving them wrong. 
***
It amused him to see her standing there, sword in hand and wearing boiled leather. Not because she was a woman, but because she appeared so confident. When his father told him he’d be marrying Dyanna Stark, his brother Aegon had snorted. “A dragon bedding a she-wolf,” he’d taunted. Aemond didn’t care. He’d marry Dyanna no matter what happened; it was his duty to his house. A person of his station needed to marry well, and who better than a Stark of the North? It allied the crown with the vast, wild North beyond. 
People spoke of Dyanna’s tomboyish ways, but they never said anything about her beauty. Gray eyes stared at Ser Cole with determination as they began clashing swords. Brown hair stayed braided back from her face, the long braid swinging behind her. Hours of training must have given her the shape she had, making her stronger and faster. Aemond stood to the side and watched her expert footwork, her swift dodges and fierce blows. He noticed the work Ser Cole put into the fight. Dyanna would not go down easily, he saw. He liked it. House Targaryen needed strong women; not only with their minds, but their bodies. He observed her throughout the tough match. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. 
When Dyanna’s sword stuck into Ser Cole’s shield, Aemond expected him to stop due to her being a woman. He’d been wrong. Ser Cole charged at her, and Dyanna rolled out of the way. She grabbed the broken shield Aemond discarded moments ago, and blocked Cole’s next blow. She swung it so his shield went to the side, then took the open opportunity to kick him back. Taking up her fallen sword, she swiped it at the fallen knight, who rolled away in time and stood up. He retrieved his shield, and blocked her next few moves before he swung the shield up into the side of her face. People around his gasped, but Dyanna did not quit. She fell to the ground hard, falling flat on her front before Cole put his blade to her throat. 
Dyanna laughed, being lifted to her feet and starting to talk with Cole. He saw the man begin showing her moves he’d used against her, which intrigued him. Perhaps marrying her would not be so bad. If anything, he’d gain a good sparring partner. 
“You fight well,” he complimented. “I never expected the rumors about you to be true.”
“What rumors?”
“That the She-Wolf of Winterfell was a fierce as they believe.”
She smiled shyly, “I do well. I’ll never fight in a battle or a war, but I still like knowing how to defend myself.”
He stepped closer, Ser Cole taking the cue to leave them, “But, if you had a husband, you wouldn’t need to defend yourself. He’d protect you.”
She paused, “What if he isn’t around?”
“He’ll always be around.” He twirled his sword in his hand, “Care to spar with me now, my lady?”
She grinned, “I’d be honored, Your Grace.”
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. 
***
A/N: thanks for putting this in! I know I took a bit from his fighting scene with Cole, but I really liked that part so I couldn’t help it. I hope you still enjoy it! 
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xattractive · 1 year
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Classic crew neck sweatshirt with royal crown
Do you like golden and lions stuff? How about adding some of these to your wardrobe? Or give it as a gift to someone you love
Classic fit, unisex
Materials Cotton-Poly blend
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pray4saint · 8 months
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that’d be cool!
the first time they watched her
masterlist & descrip. tv-ma. 15+. implied smut. showgirl!reader. poly!snf. link to original ask & secondary ask. also original poly!snf + showgirl!reader thirst. use of cc's real names. voice/accent kink. 0.9k words.
a/n. euehheheheh
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the lounge was dark, and you could feel all eyes on you and the other showgirls out with you. most of the men around the room were downing alcohol like it was nothing, laughing and jeering and hollering at the stage. but there were two sets of eyes that felt as if they burned into your skin. they were hard to see, but once you'd looked in their direction, their gaze hardened. every opportunity you got in your routine to look at them you took and you discerned three things. one, they really liked what they were seeing, because there wasn't a second you felt their eyes move off you. two, they were doing business. you could see their mouths moving, clear they were talking to each other, and the drinks between them, you'd seen the scene plenty of times, this was business. third, they were fine. the taller of the two was lankier, paler and wore a grin that was to die for. the other, slightly shorter, donned a tuft of brown hair on his face, and both just looked good. even from afar, you could just tell, they were fine. then you looked back and they were talking to the lounge's owner, and then coming back around again, they were gone.
rather soon, the show was over and your group shuffled backstage, and you couldn't help but wish they'd stuck around.
pushing the door to your dressing room open while your head hung low to scratch at your neck, you didn't hear how the men standing not six feet from you adjusted in their respective spots. your head did snap up when you heard someone clear there throat, and then there they were. in front of you, in your dressing room. ”miss y/l/n?” his accent surprised you and it took you a minute to look down at his outstretched hand and place yours in his. ”uhm, hello.” he nodded to you and you returned it before turning your head to the man sat on your sofa and nodding to him. ”is there something i can do for you gentlemen?” you say, pulling your hand away from the brit's. now, you can see them closer, and you were right. you could see the dark brown of the brit's eyes and how his lips quirked up at your polite behaviour. the brit glanced over to the other man and your eyes followed his. finally, the man on the sofa speaks up after sucking in a deep breath. ”well, sweetheart first of all we wanted to congratulate you on that performance you gave.” gently, both the men clapped and you smiled, partially at the compliment and partially at his southern accent followed by a minuscule curtsy. ”oh! thank you.”
”and second, wanted to know if we could perhaps, escort you home?” your brows raised at the question. ”oh, i don't know about that,” you pause, stepping farther into the room to get to your vanity, now both the boys behind you but still to either side of you. ”i've still got to change and get all this makeup off, and i wouldn't want you two to have to wait around for little old me. also i really don't know who either of you gentlemen are.” you reached for the drawer off to the side before your wrist was reached for. the fingers on your hand were long, and pale, understood to be brit. ”george davidson.” slowly, you nod, and then you can feel the breath of the southern man behind you. your head whips around to see him grinning at you. ”armstrong. nick armstrong.” the close sentences with their individual accents make your breath hitch at how it started to make you a little dizzy. george releases your hand, pulling his hand back into the pocket of his slacks. shaking it off quickly, you turn around. ”and what are you doing here? never seen either of you boys around.”
again, george is the first to speak. ”international business is all.” he smiles and you look at him in the mirror, smiling right back before shifting your gaze against the glance. ”what about you mr. armstrong?” he gives a quick scratch to the underside of his beard before responding. ”making deals with the english.” his words make you laugh a little bit while george rolls his eyes.
quickly, you turn around, and open your arms wide to almost usher them out although it doesn't really work. ”well, as great as it's been to talk to you gentlemen, you really should get going, don't wanna keep you two waiting.” at your words, the two men smirk. ”listen, love,” the petname makes you a little dizzy and you can't help the way it warms your sex. it just sounded so good coming from his mouth. he hooks his finger under your chin, turning your face so you're looking up at him. ”i'm sure you can figure out a way to repay us for having to wait.” and there's that stupid grin of his again. nick moves to stand behind you, hands moving to your waist. oh you could most definitely think of a way to repay them.
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ashbrat488 · 6 months
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Flower In The Desert - Chapter 2
Captain Syverson Fanfic
"Okay, follow me and don't mind Sy." Harper chuckles, leading them toward Syverson, who was engaged in conversation with some other men. Violet brought up the rear of the group with Matt, keeping her eyes on Syverson. He had somehow managed to become even more imposing, his muscles straining against the red t-shirt he wore. His dark curls were now replaced with a buzz cut, a change that suited him just as well. She cleared her throat, and his gaze immediately locked onto hers as he turned in their direction.
"Sy, the convoy just rolled in."
Syverson nodded, pushing his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head as the group approached him, his eyes first falling on Violet. The woman standing before him was no longer the teenager he had last seen. He cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from her, reminding himself that now was not the time to be distracted. "Gentlemen, and lady," he greeted them, offering Violet a small smile as his warm Southern accent washed over her, igniting a spark inside her. "Your job is to keep the water flowing. That's it."
He turned quickly toward a rundown building behind him, where music was already blaring. Violet soon realized that this would serve as their sleeping quarters, feeling the eyes of a few of the other men on her. Matt instinctively moved closer behind her as the group followed Syverson.
Syverson pointed out his own room before leading them to the room next door. He stopped, turning to Violet. "I'm sorry, we don't have private quarters for you..."
"It's fine," she scoffed, pushing past the men to claim a top bunk inside the small room. "I don't need or want special treatment..."
***
Once everyone was settled and had something to eat, the guys started playing cards. Violet wandered through the dark to the front of the building, where Syverson sat alone on the steps. Taking a seat beside him, she nudged his shoulder, prompting him to look at her. "My father warned you I was coming, didn't he?"
"He did," he responded softly, looking at the ground as she sighed. "He just gave me a heads up."
"And told you to protect me..."
"I would have done that anyways," he stated, looking back at her as the moonlight highlighted her golden eyes.
"I don't need your protection," she scoffed, shaking her head. "And I don't need him interfering either."
"Are you talking back to your commanding officer, Lieutenant?"
She giggled as he smiled, nudging her shoulder playfully as she calmed down. They sat in silence for a few minutes before she looked back at him once more. "It's been a while since I've seen you. You've filled out, Eddie."
Syverson chuckled, standing up in front of her and turning to face her as he crossed his arms over his chest. "First of all, don't you dare call me Eddie again. Especially in front of any of the men. It is Captain or Sy. You understand?"
She smiled at his stern tone, standing up directly in front of him as his tongue darted out over his lips. "Or what?"
Her defiance sent a jolt of electricity through him, causing his cock to twitch as she raised her chin to him, waiting for a response. "I do not need a woman coming out here and messing up the already fragile system that is in place. Now I won't treat you any differently than the men if you adhere to a few rules."
She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she took a step toward him. "Go on."
"Don't call me Eddie," he reiterated as she grinned but nodded. "And don't wander around here alone at night."
"Why? These are your men, aren't they? Don't you trust them?"
Syverson growled, leaning toward her. "To save my life in a battle, yes. Around you, no. These men are stuck here in the middle of the desert with nothing but their hands. I don't need you in here tempting them."
"I'm not tempting anyone!"
His nose scrunched, anger evident as he grabbed her by the arm, just above her elbow, and pulled her to the side of the building, pinning her against it. "Not intentionally, no. But just you being here will make things complicated."
"I'm sorry... I—" She stammered as he sighed, rolling his head back and forth. "I didn't think about that."
"Of course, you didn't. You just wanted to make daddy proud."
She scoffed, looking away from him as she gazed into the distance, knowing he was right. "I'm sorry," she repeated softly as he sighed.
He caged her in, placing his palms flat on the side of the building. "It's fine. Just promise me you won't wander alone. And... I'm sorry for what I said about your father."
"I promise," she relented, looking back at him, barely able to make out his features in the dark. She felt his breath on her face as they both fell silent once more. "And what about the Eddie part?"
He groaned, hanging his head down as she giggled. He leaned toward her, his mouth next to her ear. "Fucking call me Eddie and find out, Vi."
"That's Lieutenant Becker," she countered, not as confident as she was before, clenching her thighs together at his commanding tone.
"You'll be Vi, or Violet, or Becker, or fucking Lieutenant Flower, or whatever else I decide to call you."
She giggled, pushing him away. "Lieutenant Flower? You're stupid."
"That's Captain Stupid to you," he teased, grabbing her hand before she could wander off in the wrong direction. "This way," he said softly, leading her back to the front of the building. "Go to sleep."
She smirked, feeling him squeeze her hand before letting go, and she entered the building. She felt him climbing the stairs quietly behind her, stopping in front of his own room as he watched her enter hers.
Syverson closed his door, leaving it slightly ajar to better hear what happened in the hallway. He plopped onto his makeshift bed after kicking off his shoes, staring into the darkness. He groaned, rolling onto his side and shutting his eyes, trying to push Violet's image out of his mind.
Chapter 3
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