My You-niverse: Richard Alonso Munoz

My You-niverse: Richard Alonso Munoz

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Richard Alonso Munoz x F!Reader, throughout the series: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Warning: mentions of domestic abuse

A/N: sorry its been almost a month since i last updated...i can't promise that it wont happen again.

Series Masterlist

"You've been coming around here a lot lately," you state as you take your mail from Richard.

"Dana's on maternity leave, so I'm taking over the women's block as well."

Your brows shoot up, "Oh. I didn't know she already had the baby. Tell her I said 'Congrats'."

Richard gives you a nod and a soft smile, "Will do."

_____________

Steven groans and wipes his mouth after throwing up. America gives him a sympathetic look, "Yeah, that happens sometimes."

"Strange, not that I don't enjoy all this universe hopping and what not, when will we find, Y/N?"

Stephen rolls his eyes at Marc's alter, "It's not like I put a tracking on her."

"There's no spell of some sort that could help us track her?" Steven asks in desperation.

Stephen thinks and then his eyes widen. He turns to Steven, "Do you have anything of Y/N's?"

Steven rummages through his pocket and pulls out a necklace, "Here. I gave this to her on our first wedding anniversary. She makes me hold it during missions because she doesn't want to lose it."

"Perfect. Hold it up." While Steven holds up your necklace, Stephen does several hand movements, creating different glowing magical shapes. He pushes the shapes to your necklace and it proceeds to glow. The light from it then fades and the necklace is just the same as it was.

"...soooo...what was that supposed to do?" America asks with a cocked brow.

"This," Stephen points to your necklace, "will glow if it senses any trace of Y/N."

America threw up her arms, "Why didn't you think of this earlier?"

"I didn't think of it until now."

Steven groaned, "Would've saved us a lot of time, mate, if you did!"

"Doesn't matter now. All that matters is that we're closer to finding Y/N." Stephen created a portal to the next universe, "Shall we carry on?"

____________________

Twenty-five years to life. Shit. Well, you suppose that's what you get for killing someone. That someone being your sister's abusive ass ex-husband.

"I'd do it again," you murmur, pushing your food around your tray while Richard sat across from you, "No one, especially my sister, deserves to be treated the way he treated her," you spoke, the memories this universe' version of you flooded your brain, "If I didn't do it, there would've been another woman after my sister that he'd use as his personal punching bag. I couldn't have that."

"I get it. I don't condone what you did, but I get it. I've read the letters your sister sends you. I can tell she's very grateful of you."

You nod and let out a deep breath, "So you probably know everyone's dirty secrets, huh? Having to read everyone's letters and whatnot."

Richard smooths over his mustache and shrugs, "I try not to really get into all. Just have to make sure no one is trying to break out of here or trying to hurt someone."

You smirk at him and lean in closer so that he could only hear you, "Have people sent nudes?"

He gave a nervous laugh, "Oh God," he shakes his head, covering his blushing face, "I'm surprised how many people send naked photos of themselves to these inmates."

"Oooouu, Ritchie!"

"I don't look at them long. Just to see it's nothing harmful and then set it back in the envelope." he scoffs, "I've seen more naked women here than I do outside of work."

Your brows rise in surprise, "Really?"

He shrugs, "Yeah, is that surprising?"

It's your turn to shrug, "I dunno. I just-you're sweet and funny and handsome. Thought you'd have someone to give you some lovin'."

Richard sighs, "Unfortunately, there is no love for me."

You prop your elbows up, resting your chin on your hand, "I'd date you if I wasn't locked up here."

"Yeah?" Now it's Richard who looks at you with surprise.

You nod, "Yeah. Like I said, you're sweet, funny, and handsome. Very understanding and a great listener."

One of the guards then announces that lunch is over and that everyone should be heading back to their cells.

You groan and hang your head low, "Guess I'll see you around, Ritchie."

_________________

"So all of these versions of Marc's are just a bunch of tossers, aren't they?" Steven says with a snort, but then he punches himself in the face.

"Shit!" he cries out, "Unnecessary!" He begins to start arguing with Marc.

America starts slowly moving away from them but closer to Stephen, "So, Doc, are we getting closer to finding Y/N?"

"I think so," he fiddles with your necklace in his hand, "It's getting warmer, so we might not be that far behind." He looks back at Steven and calls out, "If you two are done bickering, I'm sure you'd like to get back to finding your wife?"

Steven nods, "Right," he straightens his jacket, "Let's go then." He catches up to Steven and America.

He and America trail behind Stephen and as he follows wherever your necklace is leading him. He's fully concentrated on the task at hand.

America then speaks up, "So, Steven, I know Y/N and Marc are married, so does that mean you're married to her too?"

"I suppose yes, in a way," he holds up his left hand to show his wedding ring, "But technically no. On the marriage certificate, it's Y/N and Marc's name. To be fair, I was never really a relationship person. That's all Marc with the romance and sweeping her off her feet. It took me a while, but I've come to love her as well. There's no title, really. She's mine just as much as she is Marc's and vice versa."

The teen suddenly looks upset, "I really am sorry I got her into this mess."

"It's not your fault. Marc's pissed, yeah, but it's at himself. He gets hard on himself whenever something happens to Y/N. And this is unknown territory for, well, all of us. But Marc doesn't like being so blind to all of this."

"What about you? How are you feeling about all this?"

Steven chuckles, "It's rather thrilling, innit? Visiting multiple universes and timelines and all that?"

America chuckles, "Yeah, it's pretty cool. Maybe once I really get the hang of my powers, we can do this again sans losing Y/N and trying to get her back."

Steven winces and rubs his belly, "Maybe not for a while," remembering how many times he's thrown up already from the universe jumping.

America laughs, "Fair enough."

________________

Richard should be keeping watch of everyone else in the courtyard, but he can't. His attention is captured by you.

You're laying in the grass, soaking up as much sun as possible. He can tell you're at peace in this moment. He doesn't want to disturb you, but he can't help the pull that draws him to you.

He crosses the basketball court, to the area of grass that's starting to yellow as the summer heat is rolling in.

When he approaches you, your eyes are focused up at the sky.

Your eyes go to him and you smile, "Care to join me?" you pat the grass beside you.

He shakes his head, "I'm alright. I just wanted to check up on you."

You hum, eyes going back up at the sky, "When I look up, I'm taken away from this place. I'm not in prison, I'm somewhere else. Somewhere I'm free." You look back to him, "And you're there with me."

"Am I?" Richard gives a chuckle.

You nod, "Of course. You're sharing all of the poems that you've written and read to me." You sit up and turn to him, "Have you written anything new?"

"I'm...working on something."

"Can I get a sneak peek?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?!"

"Because I only want to show you when it's finished."

You hold up your hands in surrender, "Fine, fine. I won't budge."

You put your hands behind your head and lean back to lay back down. Once your head hits the grass, you're suddenly somewhere else.

You're on a cold floor. Standing above you is another version of your husband. His hair is slightly longer, more salt and pepper. He's also donning a beard similar to Nathan's.

"I win again, stardust." this version of Marc holds a baton towards you.

You groan, sitting up, "Ow."

He offers a hand to you and pulls you to your feet, "What's hurt?"

"My ego," you answer with a pout.

He gives a low chuckle and kisses your head, "You're fine."

"My Duke Leto," a man enters the room, "your meeting ," he reminds Leto, as you've learned his name.

"Right. I lost track of time." He hands you the baton, "Maybe you should join Paul in his lessons." he playfully nudges you.

"Ha ha."

Leto gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and heads for the door, "I'll see you at dinner, stardust."

You wave at Leto and then take a look around the room you're in. It's all stone of some sort. You walk towards the only window in the room and peer through it, seeing waves of water crash against a cliff.

The sky didn't look right. Were you on some other kind of planet?

Okay okay so I got a question for you so is sweetheart a dom, bottom or a switch???

18+MDNI (please don't read this if you're under 18)

Damn, that's a hard one🤔🤔 i think she's more of a switch and bottom. Depends on the man tbh

Like with Krueger, full on bottom.

Especially when he overstimulates her, tapping her clit with his thick fingers. AND THE HOOD STAYS O N DURING 😠

With Roach she's a dom. Like... a mommy dom (Roach has a mommy kink even though he doesn't talk fite me)

Horangi- they're both switches honestly. Both are so head strong and competitive that they'll go numb afterwards LOL

She's a mommy switch with Ghost and Soap. Idk WHY I just see it

With Price- she's a bottom. Sometimes if she's feeling bold she'll be a top but Price is still in control

A switch with Alex. That's-- that's it LOL

König? Hmm also a switch. I can see her taking charge sometimes

She's another switch with Gaz-- (she goes feral around him anyway)

With Alejandro she would be a bottom. He would take care of so well ugh (PILLOW PRINCESS 100%)

Dom with Rudy. DOM WITH RUDY STFU

Graves-- come on. COME ON YALLL (femdom. A MEAN ONE AT THAT)

With Keegan I could also see her being a bottom but sometimes wants to be a top (he would still be in control all the way) (I feel like he would be mean too)

my contribution to the barbie poster meme 🩷

Ummm..Just some Sweetheart ideas where 141 + more bring to her a club and she’s like “OHH THIS IS MY SONG~!” And brings one one of the guys to dance all over them and all the other are jelly over that person while Sweetheart barely notices and brings the whole group in to dance with her.

Either that..

Or them watching Sweetheart workout :D

Love your stories by the way, w-would respectfully die for your writing lol.

Aww thank you so much!! So sorry this took long 😔 that shadowban really pushed my ass back 😪

Sweetheart ALWAYS drags Soap and Gaz on the dance floor first, cause she knows they're gonna dance with her. The rest of the boys just watch for any danger surrounding her. Like HAWKS

Krueger, like the obsessed weirdo lover he is, reaalllyyy dislikes how sandwiched she is between Soap and Gaz. They look like they want to eat her and Soap's face is almost pushed up against her chest cause of how tall she is- especially in heels omg (Krueger will skin him if he feels it)

Ghost could kinda care less-- how her hips are swaying to the beat is fucking hypnotic. König and Roach are kinda embarrassed to watch her dance. It's too ✨️erotic✨️ for them LMAO Alex is drunk, so he gets up and goes to dance with them

Price went home. So--

All in all everyone had a good time 💀

- ♡ -

Now the men watching Sweetheart work out... WHEEEEWWWW IT MAKES THEM FEEL A CERTAIN WAY YA FEEL ME??

They wish she shows more skin- like her arms or maybe her legs. But she always wears long sleeve athletic wear and leggings (which show off her ass perfectly so they ain't complaining too much) why do yall think she wears long clothing all the time? Let me see your thoughts 🤔 🧠🤯🤯

And yk my girl STRONK AS SHIT-- DOIN SQUATS WHILE LIFTLING 450lbs ISTG IT MAKES EM WEAK IN THE KNEEESSS

Slim thicc sleeper build on point babes 💅✨️LOLL

Gaz almost tripped while he was running when he saw Sweetheart stretch (he had to waddle to the bathroom)

Ghost helps spot her everytime. He loves feeling the warmth emit from her body (and my god she smells heavenly)

OMG one time, Sweets was gonna practice punching and all of Task Force was gonna watch her (this was waayyy before they knew she can fight, and it was just the original four) so she ties her hair back and wraps her hands. Soap was quite cocky back in the day🧓 (he still is) so he's thinking she ain't really gonna do nothing, Ghost is gonna have to help her build strength and shi

So she gets in her stance and taps the punching bag first. Then all hell breaks loose

THAT FIRST PUNCH WAS SO LOUD ITS LIKE A BOMB WENT OFF-- AND IT STAYED THAT LOUD EVERYTIME SHE PUNCHED THE BAG

The bag was literally swinging and trembling every time. Other rookies and soldiers come around to see wtf is happening and everyone is impressed and scared (THEY DONT WANNA GET PUNCHED) long story short, Ghost didn't have to teach her anything and Soap kept quiet

(Price was just this 😳 and gaz was this😟)

since it’s Bunny day, imagine if Sweetheart announces the day before, she is going to wear a bunny suit for bunny day to pass out eggs to everyone. Everyone is imagining her in a sexy bunny suit (playboy bunny style) and are excited.

Sweetheart rolls up in a full bunny mascot suit with a bunny head, ready to throw eggs filled with glitter at everyone 😂💀

IM LAUGHLIN SO HARD WTFFF

THE EXPECTATION AND THEN THE REALITY IS KILLING ME OMG

She comes in with a suit and head you'd see at the freaking mall, and it is DEAD SILENT

NOT ONE PEEP OUT OF ANY OF EM FOR THE LONGEST

Gaz: Uhm. Sweetheart? What is... what is this.

Sweetheart, twirling: It's my bunny suit! I told yall this last week!

Soap: This is nooottt the bunny suit we thought of.

Sweetheart, confused: Huh? What other suit are--

Sweetheart:

(She throws an egg that was in her basket and it explodes on Soap's face)

Soap, screaming: WHAT TAE FUCK IS THIS?!?!

Sweetheart: YOU ARE NASTY!! ALL YALL ARE NASTY AS SHIT

(She starts throwing glitter eggs at all of them. Yelling and dodging starts happening)

Sweetheart: THIS IS EASTER SUNDAY NOT WHORE SUNDAY YOU- W H O R E S

Soap: IT GOT IN MY FUCKING EYE SWEET STEAMING JESUS

HORANGI: SWEETHEART STOP THROWING THE EGGS WE'RE SORRY

Sweetheart: FEEL MY EASTER BUNNY WRATH

It was alot of chaos in an hour 💀 after that happened Soap and the others apologized and so did she (she didn't mean it tho) she was truly sorry for getting glitter in Soap's eye tho- that shit hurted 😭😭

Alejandro and Rudy visited, and they were NOT expecting this. Alejandro fell over laughing and Rudy was crying, holding in his laughter. They love the suit that she's wearing tho, they thought it was cute

Graves was straight up laughing and saying what she was wearing was stupid, and Krueger punched him on the shoulder. He was confused on why she was wearing this but supported her anyway.

The day passes and they haven't seen Sweetheart like- anywhere (the other soldiers and rookies were happy that they got chocolates and eggs from a big bunny but they haven't seen her anywhere-- THE GHOST OF EASTER CONFIRMED???11?1?)

The boys walk into the living area and they freeze. Sweetheart is sitting on the couch, legs crossed and arms spread across the top, wearing a tight pink playboy bunny suit.

She's wearing an extremely thin, long sleeve turtleneck under it, yet they can't breathe. The pink lace garter belts strain against her thick, black stocking covered thighs and her pink heeled foot bounces up and down lazily. Roach and Rudy feel like passing out, and they all feel a tingling in their stomachs. Sweetheart smiles. "I still feel bad about what happened earlier, so take this," she points at her costume, "As an apology." She says lowly. The boys get excited, smiling ear to ear and moving towards her, but Ghost and Price know that she's hiding something. "But," She states. Oh fuck, they were right. She pulls out a long belt with small dull spikes on it from under a pillow, the jingling of the buckle makes them all shiver (and a bit turned on)

"I'm still quite pissed about it." She says, snapping the belt loudly to see them all flinch and hitch their breaths. She smiles sinisterly, her canines baring. "So take your punishment and let's play some Easter Games, yeah?"

Happy Easter/Bunny Day yall 💓

v. she works hard for the money (so you better treat her right)

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: alcohol, sexual harassment, groping, blood, violence Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. prev | next

You don’t know what to expect from shopping with Valeria.

In truth, the woman makes you nervous, but Kyle doesn’t seem to notice your hesitance. He leads you out to his shiny black car, one that reminds you of the vintage cars your father used to work on, holding the door open for you to slide in.

Kyle keeps your hungover state in mind, giving you control of the radio as he drives to your mystery destination. You find something upbeat, singing along softly as you watch the city pass by through the shade of your sunglasses.

It dawns on you how much of the city you haven’t seen. Most, if not all, of your time has been spent in two places: your motel room and the club. You didn’t mind when you had first arrived in the city; you had no intentions of staying as long as you have, so you had no desire to go sightseeing.

Now, though…

You never meant to stay this long, but the more time you spend at the club, you find yourself wanting to leave less and less. There was never a plan for where you would end up, only to get as far away as possible.

You may not be as far as you had initially planned, but you have to admit you feel safer than you have in years.

“You alright over there?” Kyle breaks you from your thoughts with a gentle nudge to your arm.

“Yeah?”

“You just got kind of quiet, is all.” You see the smirk grow on his face as he gives you a quick glance. “If you’re gonna be sick, I can pull over.”

“Don’t worry. Your upholstery is safe.” You roll your eyes while Kyle snickers as he parks in front of a clothing store reminiscent of the high-end boutiques you used to spend so much time in.

Kyle gets out of the car first, and you finish your coffee in the few seconds it takes for him to walk to your side of the car. He opens the car door for you and walks ahead to get the storefront door for you too. Kyle follows you in as you push your sunglasses up onto your head.

“We’re not open!” someone calls out from the back of the store as you walk in.

“It’s just us, Val!” Kyle yells back. The click of heels echoes through the store before Valeria appears, a broad smile on her face.

“This is a surprise,” Valeria smiles, arms crossed over her chest. She’s dressed impeccably, not a single hair out of place. She’d been far drunker than you, yet here she stands, looking as flawless as ever. You swallow down the small knot of jealousy, giving her a smile while Kyle wanders to a case of watches.

“Got time for a fitting?” he asks over his shoulder.

“I already have your measurements,” Valeria says, brows knitting together in confusion, “why do you need—”

“It’s not for me,” Kyle laughs, nodding toward you. Valeria turns to you in surprise, eyes roving over your figure as her smile grows into an excited grin.

Like the cat that ate the canary.

She circles you slowly, talking to herself in quiet Spanish, before she slides her perfectly manicured hands around your arm to pull you toward the back of the store.

“Have fun!” Kyle laughs behind you. You turn around to see him heading back out of the store.

“What? Where are you going?”

He spins on his heel, leaning back against the door to open it with a wide smile. With a wink, he waves his phone at you, leaving the store as Valeria leads you to a large dressing room immaculately decorated in black and gold.

“Stand here.” She pulls you up onto the round fitting-pedestal, leaving you in front of the wall of mirrors. She disappears from the room, but you can hear her heels as she walks around the store. You focus on your reflection while she’s gone, fixing your hair and adjusting your jacket sleeves to be a little more presentable. You doubt Valeria cares about your slight dishevelment; you’re sure she understands more than anything.

“Take off your jacket,” Valeria says as she returns, tailor’s tape in hand. You do as she says, folding your jacket before she takes it from you and sets it aside. She takes her measurements, working quickly and quietly. When she does talk, it’s soft and to herself.

You find yourself in an odd sort of peace, following Valeria’s instructions and letting her work without having to worry about small talk.

You reflect on the many other dressing rooms you’ve spent time in. You always found a sense of excitement in getting dressed up, in getting to choose your favorite colors and fabrics and turning them into something that would make you feel like a million bucks. It had been fun, filled with talking and laughter, but now that you think back on it, how many times have you actually enjoyed yourself? Was it really fun, or was it smiles and giggles to save face—a quick response to preserve your safety?

A dull thrum of pain dances across your left shoulder as Valeria slides her tape across the top of your back, the tips of her fingers skimming over the raised skin beneath your shirt. If she notices, she doesn’t comment.

“If you can, I’d prefer something with sleeves,” you say softly. She gives you a quick glance in the mirror, her sharp gaze sending a shock of anxiety through you. “They don’t have to be long or anything. I just…I would prefer—”

She finishes her measurements of your back, fingers purposely lingering over your left shoulder an extra second longer. You’re sure she feels how your body suddenly tenses, but she meets your eyes in your reflection and smiles—a gentler expression than you thought her capable of.

“Sleeves are no problem,” Valeria smiles, winding the measuring around her hand as she steps down from the platform. “Do you have a fabric preference?” You turn to her this time, allowing yourself to relax and feel a little thrill of excitement.

“What kind do you have?”

Kyle returns to the store three hours later with a sleek black box in hand. He expects to find you and Valeria in the back, possibly in one of the fitting rooms or going over fabrics. He expects to have to search for you.

He doesn’t expect to walk into music blaring over the shop speakers as you and Valeria sit on one of the plush sofas. The two of you laugh, surrounded by bags and boxes, as you sip from a tall glass of something pale green and bubbly. Valeria notices him first, smiling at him over her drink.

“Glad to see you two are getting on,” Kyle laughs, holding the box out to you.

“I get along with everyone,” Valeria smirks up at him while you giggle into your glass.

“Of course,” Kyle scoffs. You take the box from him, and he takes a seat on the sofa across from you and Valeria. You don’t waste time opening it, staring wide-eyed at the sleek, black phone inside.

“It already has everyone’s numbers, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from what will be the first cell phone you’ve owned in years.

“You seem surprised,” Kyle chuckles.

“I…Honestly, I was expecting a flip phone or something.”

Kyle laughs loudly as Valeria sets a hand to her chest, scoffing in disgust.

“My father would’ve killed me,” Kyle laughs.

You roll your eyes, setting the box aside and searching through your jacket for your wallet, “Just tell me how much I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Kyle says in slight surprise, “It’s a gift.”

“She won’t let me pay for the clothes—” You scoff, nodding to a very smug Valeria, “—the least you can do is let me pay for the phone.”

“Aw, my sweet avecita,” Valeria coos, giving you a teasing pout as she leans in closer, “Our little family doesn’t pay for things. Everything’s on the house, or the house burns down.” She leans back, lounging against the sofa with a smirk and a glint in her eyes that tells you she is dead serious. You glance at Kyle, expecting him to laugh it off, but he shrugs and nods at you.

You set your wallet down, tucking it back into your jacket pocket. “Nevermind, then.”

“Just say thank you,” Valeria says, setting her glass on the small side table beside the sofa.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Valeria winks.

“We’ll be taking our leave, then. Gotta get this one set up with Roach and Farah,” Kyle says, pushing himself to his feet and beginning to collect your bags. You finish your drink, gathering the remaining bags before Kyle can get to them. Valeria walks the two of you to the door, holding it open for you.

“I’ll have the rest of the pieces sent to your father,” she tells Kyle, who nods as he loads the backseat with bags.

“And I’ll see you later,” she says, turning to you with a wide smile. “You still owe me a game of pool.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you laugh, giving her a mock salute. She rolls her eyes, batting you on the arm. Kyle takes the rest of your bags, safely tucking them away in the car before opening the passenger door for you.

“Thanks for the help, Val,” Kyle says as you get into the car. Valeria leans against the door, watching Kyle slide into the driver’s seat and start the car. She gives a small wave of her fingers, disappearing back into her store as the car pulls onto the street.

“Alright,” Kyle speaks, looking at you with a small half-smile. “Ready to get to work?”

-

It takes some shifting, but you adjust your schedule enough to be able to rehearse with Farah and Roach and still keep up with your cleaning job. It helps that the others put in a little more effort to keep things cleaner for you, and you do your best to thank them whenever you get the chance.

Your next two months are spent cleaning in the mornings, rehearsing in the afternoons, and shadowing Farah at night. You’re given your own space backstage for your clothes and a place to do your makeup when the time comes.

Outside of work, you find yourself on your phone trying to catch up on the various group chats Soap and Kyle have added you to. It’s a lot for you, but you relish in the busy schedule; the exhaustion lets you sleep easier on your dingy motel mattress, and the sense of freedom, of having your own life, trumps any kind of stress your new working hours may cause.

Rehearsals are a blast. Roach and Farah make it fun for you, Roach teaching you sign language during your breaks, and Farah teaching you a few songs in Arabic.

Your audience consists of Alex, whose attention is almost always on Farah, and Soap and Kyle, the latter being more than happy to cheer you on while the former goes through your phone to change everyone’s contact names and ringtones.

Occasionally Ghost will shadow Price as he joins the others at the bar, watching with amused interest. Price doesn’t say much; he simply watches, offering polite applause when appropriate and leaving before rehearsals end.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous, but it’s a fight figuring out where your nerves stem from.

You want to do good, want to impress the club, but something stirs in the pit of your stomach when you catch those steely blue eyes focusing on you. Yes, you want to impress them, to make them proud, but there’s a baser, far more selfish desire to show Price specifically just how good you are. You want him to notice you.

Don’t get involved with your boss, you remind yourself.

You push the feeling down, trying to keep your composure as Price stays for more and more rehearsals. You put in a little extra effort, pretending not to notice him noticing you and allowing yourself the confidence boost whenever he flashes you a smile.

It isn’t until the fourth week that he stays through the entire rehearsal, walking up next to you with a gentle hand splayed across your back.

“You’re doing a great job,” he murmurs in your ear as he reaches past you to grab a drink from Alex. He lets his hand linger before pulling away with a look that nearly sends you to your knees. You feel the blush that immediately floods your face and catch the smirk on his as he turns away to talk to Farah.

That bastard.

As embarrassed—and slightly turned on—as you are, you take the compliment and ride the high his praise gives you for the rest of the week.

After two and a half months of rehearsing, you lie back on the bed in your motel room, listening to one of the many playlists you and Farah created together as you try to get a quick nap before you have to return to the club. Your phone chimes from where it sits, charging on your tilted nightstand. As you pick it up, it chimes again, the name GAZ popping up on your screen.

You sit up, swiping open the message. It’s two quick, simple messages: Can you come in early tonight? Farah needs your help with something. You don’t see the harm in it; you’ve helped out her and Roach during shows a few times. You reply with a thumbs up that Kyle responds to with a ‘thank you’ and a smiley face.

You freshen up, hurrying out to your car. You listen to your playlist on the way, humming along and tapping to the beat on your steering wheel. When you pull into the back and lock your car, you do your usual double and triple-check before making your way inside.

“Hey!” Alex calls out when you come into view of the bar. He sets a mug on the bar for you, and when you pick it up, the pleasurable scent of lemon and ginger fills your nose. “Farah’s waiting backstage for you,” he smiles.

“Thanks, Alex,” you hum, wrapping your hands around the warm mug and heading toward the stage. You sip from the mug, humming at the delicious taste. “Tea’s great, by the way!” you call over your shoulder, hearing Alex’s laugh as you walk backstage.

You see Farah first, sitting at her vanity as she talks with Kyle and Roach. You pause, not expecting to see anyone beside Farah, and are even more surprised when Valeria walks up, Soap trailing behind her with arms full of your dresses.

“Looks like a party back here,” you laugh.

“There she is!” Soap cheers, setting the clothes down carefully over one of the chairs before pulling you in for a hug. “’Bout time you got here.”

“I’m not even late,” you scoff, playfully pushing him away.

“You're here just in time,” Farah says, smiling widely. You want to smile back, but notice how everyone else matches her grin as they stare at you, Valeria and Kyle appearing extra smug.

“You’re not about to ask me to do something illegal, are you?” you ask, looking between the small crowd of your co-workers and friends.

“Of course not,” Kyle frowns in mock offense.

“Not yet, anyway,” Valeria adds quietly.

“Wha—”

“I’m not performing tonight,” Farah steps in. Your concern for Valeria’s words melts into concern for Farah as your eyes glance over her, looking for any injuries or reason for worry.

“You’re not? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Canary,” Farah laughs lightly.

“Then why aren’t you…”

“Because you’re performing instead.”

If you didn’t have your hand woven through the handle of your mug, you’re sure it would’ve slipped from your grasp.

“I’m…what?”

“You’re taking my place tonight!” Farah smiles, standing from her chair to start sorting through your dresses.

“And if you do well enough, we’ll put you on stage a few nights a week until Farah leaves,” Kyle explains.

“And…Price is okay with this?” You immediately take a sip of your tea after asking, hoping to excuse the warmth in your cheeks with the heat from the drink.

“It was his idea,” Roach signs, shoulders shaking in soft laughter. “And it won’t be for the whole night, just a small set.”

“Think the old man’s got a soft spot for ya,” Soap chuckles.

Ignore him.

Don’t think about your boss.

Your very handsome, tall, strong—

Stop it.

“Well,” you sigh, “guess tonight’s as good a night as any.” You’re met with a chorus of cheers as Valeria ushers the guys out of the room while Farah begins holding up dresses, trying to find the best one for you.

“Put her in something blue,” Valeria says, not even looking at the two of you.

You can’t help but ask, “Why blue?”

“Hasn’t even finished her first performance, and she’s already questioning my fashion choices,” Valeria tisks.

“Means she’s learning,” Farah laughs, sending you a wink as she holds up a dress that’s all baby blue and silk. “Try this on.”

You set your mug down, take the dress from Farah, and move behind one of the screens to change.

You have to admit, Valeria knows what she’s talking about. The dress is exquisite, soft on your skin, and backless with long sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a high slit. Your shoulder is covered perfectly, the fabric gentle against the raised skin.

You step out from behind the screen, Valeria letting out a low whistle of appreciation.

“Told you,” Valeria smirks over to Farah.

Farah leads you to your vanity, sitting you down away from the mirror. You peer over your shoulder, seeing your makeup laid on the vanity. Farah sorts through different eyeshadow palettes, trying to find something to match the color of your dress.

Something gently grazes your right ear, and you jump, flinching slightly away from Valeria’s hand.

“Easy,” Valeria laughs, but her eyes narrow in brief curiosity. It’s a quick flash, easily covered by a polite, professional smile. “I was going to do your hair.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Right of passage,” Farah laughs from your other side. “It’s your first night, so we get to dress you up.”

“Don’t worry, avecita.” Valeria purrs, taking a piece of your hair between her fingers. “It’ll be fun.”

She's right, of course.

Farah does your makeup while Valeria does your hair, the two passing jokes and comments back and forth as they do.

You’re reminded of the few sleepovers you were allowed as a child with the daughters of your father’s acquaintances. You’d always loved those sleepovers, even if you hadn’t been close with the other girls there. You enjoyed the brief sense of normalcy and the fun of going through your mother’s closet to dress up in her finest clothes, those few memories you’ve held close to your heart in the years since.

It’s far more enjoyable with Farah and Valeria. It’s no sleepover, but you feel far closer to them than any of the girls from previous times. They make their makeover enjoyable—like two sisters helping you get ready for a party.

“Alright,” Valeria says as she and Farah take a step back. “All done.”

Farah gives you a once-over, nudging Valeria’s arm and muttering, “Shoes.” Valeria glances down at your boot-clad feet and nods.

“Can you walk in heels?” Valeria asks.

I’ve spent most of my heel in stilettos.

“Yeah, no problem,” you smile. Valeria gives a soft hum of approval, walking away and returning seconds later with a pair of strappy, jewel-toned heels. They give you a minute to change your shoes, stepping back as you stand up.

You turn to the mirror, taking in your appearance. If there was a word you would use to describe yourself, it would be stunning. You can’t help the smile as you take the chance to twirl in the dress, admiring the way it sits on your figure.

You haven’t felt this beautiful since—

You try not to tense, smile dropping slightly as you swallow the sudden anxiety and calm your heart.

Taking a deep breath, you catch the eyes of Valeria and Farah in the mirror, the two of them proudly examining their work. You broaden your smile, shaking any memories from your mind as you turn to face them.

“Perfect,” you grin.

“We can practice back here until the show starts,” Farah says, tapping something on her phone before taking a seat at her own vanity. Valeria adjusts your hair one last time, tucking a stray piece behind your ear before she takes her leave, wishing you luck in a voice far more teasing than encouraging.

Roach appears backstage, jaw dropping as he takes in your appearance. “You look great.”

You blush at the compliment before Roach returns to business mode, and he and Farah take the next half hour walking through the setlist with you. It’s all songs you’ve practiced with her and nothing you haven’t done before, at the club or the one before.

As the first noises of the crowd begin to echo through the club, Roach leaves you and Farah. Farah stands, helping you up with a soft smile.

She gets you set up at the microphone, just behind the thick velvet curtains sitting closed on the stage.

“You’re going to do great,” she says gently, squeezing your hands before taking her leave.

Finally alone, you take a deep breath, shut your eyes tight, and roll your shoulders back.

You hear the voice in the back of your mind, murmuring quietly into your ears as the feel of calloused hands ghost over your back.

My sweet little songbird.

Try not to disappoint, darlin'.

You shiver, hands tightening into fists. Focusing on the noise around you, you take another deep breath, absorbing yourself in your surroundings.

He’s not here.

You’re safe here.

You’ve got this.

It has to be enough for you as the music starts, blaring throughout the club. You count yourself in, belting out the first note as the curtains slide open, and you're met with curious faces and excited cheers.

It feels good to sing again.

It feels good to perform.

You let loose, allow this time to be enjoyed and give it your absolute all.

You focus mainly on the bar where Alex, Farah, and, surprisingly, Nikolai cheer you on, applauding after every song.

Sometimes you spot Soap as he serves the patrons, and he makes a point to whistle and wink whenever you lock eyes.

Kyle spends most of his time bouncing back and forth between the bar and the dancefloor, where he twirls around a familiar woman in a beautiful teal dress.

Halfway through your set, you spot Price talking with Nikolai and Ghost hovering nearby. Nikolai claps him on the back, and the two turn to watch you.

Fuck it.

You up your performance—a slight shimmy here, a little shake of your hips there—doing your best to entertain the crowd and tease the hell out of your boss. It works, the dancers whistling and shouting while Price leans back against the bar, legs spread wide as he reclines and drums his finger along his thigh.

Your ego boosted, you continue the show with that same passion until you reach the final two songs. As you reach your last song, you begin to wind down, a little less oomph in your performance.

As you finish, the crowd goes wild. Roach transitions into one of his playlists. The moment the curtains pull shut, you take several hurried steps away from the mic, taking long, deep breaths. You let the adrenaline slow, a wide grin plastered on your face.

You hear the footsteps first before arms wind around your waist and lift you to spin you in a circle.

Roach sets you down, beaming down at you in excitement. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you,” you sign back. Roach’s smile grows wider as he pulls you into another hug before he lets you go and returns to his post.

You pass through backstage, not bothering to change out of your dress. You make your way toward the bar, occasionally being stopped by a patron who offers compliments to your songs or your dress. It takes a few extra minutes, but you make it to the bar, waving off compliments with a bashful smile and polite goodbyes.

“Nightingale!” Soap yells the moment you reach the bar. He lifts you into a bear hug, setting his hands on your shoulders when he sets you down. His eyes rake over your form appreciatively, smirking at you when he reaches your eyes again. “Parents shoulda’ named you Great Tit.”

“You’re showing more chest than I am!” you laugh, playfully slapping him on the chest where he has far too many buttons undone to be appropriate in a normal setting.

“Wasn’t complainin’, Dove,” Soap winks as Alex fills his tray. Soap lifts it, bumping your hip with his as he heads back into the crowd.

“You’re a natural,” Alex laughs, setting two glasses before you. One’s a tall flute of what you assume is champagne, the other a short glass of whiskey.

“What’s this?”

“The tall one’s for you. A celebratory glass for getting through your first show.”

You pluck the glass from the bar top, taking an appreciative sip.

“Who’s the other for?” you ask, leaning forward onto the bar top. A warm palm sets itself on the bare skin of your back, sliding slowly down until it settles on your lower back.

“That one’s for me,” the deep, accented baritone of Price’s voice murmurs into your ear. He leans forward to grab his drink, purposely pressing his body against yours. He settles against the bar next to you, leaning against the bar top with his hip while his hand stays pressed against your back.

“Quite the performance,” he smirks, thumb lightly running back and forth across your skin.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” you smirk back, sipping from your champagne, tongue darting out to swipe the remainder from your lips. He leans forward ever-so-slightly, eyes dipping down to follow your tongue.

“Well, I must say—”

“You were fantastic!” Price pulls away from you as Kyle comes up behind him, beelining straight for you. Kyle pulls you into a small hug, kissing your cheeks lightly. “I knew we made a good decision hiring you.” Kyle sends a pointed look to Price, who raises a hand in mock surrender.

“You were right,” Price chuckles, smoldering gaze boring into you. “She’s perfect.”

Kyle pauses, looking between you and Price before turning fully toward you with a devious grin.

“Fancy a dance?” Kyle asks, nodding back to the dancefloor.

You give Price one last look, setting your glass down and reaching over to grab his, fingers purposely grazing his. You down what’s left of his drink, ignoring the burn as you set the glass down and turn to Kyle with a toothy grin.

“I’d love to dance.” Kyle takes your hand with a laugh, pulling you to the dancefloor.

You get a few dances in with Kyle before Purple Dress, now Teal Dress, reclaims his attention. You don’t mind, as another man is eagerly ready to take his place, twirling you in a circle before pulling you in close.

The next few songs pass in a blur, spinning and dancing with this mystery man. You don’t get his name, but he’s easy on the eyes and dressed from head to toe in designer.

Five songs later, you feel your feet begin to hurt, politely excusing yourself from your dance partner. You don’t head to the bar, instead moving off to the side to lean against the wall near the doors to Price’s office.

Bending slightly, you lift one of your feet, balancing against the wall with one hand and using the other to loosen the straps of your heel.

“Need help with that?”

A body presses up against your back, hands settling on hips, fingertips dipping slightly beneath the open back of your dress. You stand up straight, trying to step away so you can turn to whoever’s behind you, but the stranger’s hands tighten, pulling you back harshly against them.

“I can handle myself,” you speak firmly, setting your hand over theirs and digging your nails into their skin. They hiss, letting go, and you immediately take three steps back.

You whip around, facing the man you’d been dancing with as he massages his hands with a scoff.

“Thought we had something going,” he says, stepping forward.

“We danced,” you say, keeping your voice flat. “It was fun for a while, but we’re done now.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” His arm shoots out, hand wrapping tightly around your upper arm. You pull back on instinct, but the hand tightens to a painful vice.

“Let go of me,” you hiss, trying to pull away. The man rolls his eyes, yanking you forward to wrap his other arm around your waist.

“Think you’ve had a little too much to drink, sweetheart,” he mutters, the hand around your waist moving dangerously low. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, hands vibrating with anxiety. Panic courses through your veins, and you follow the first instinct that comes to you.

You push against his chest, giving you enough distance to reach up and slap him, digging in your nails to claw at the stubbled skin of his cheek. He releases you with a shout, pressing a hand against the bloodied scratches on his face. His eyes land on you, angered glare filled with malicious intent.

“You stuck-up bit—”

A massive body blocks your view as the man cries out in pain.

“You okay?” You turn to the right, where Ghost stands, holding a cautious hand toward you.

“Ye—um, yeah. I’m fine,” you stammer. Ghost seems unconvinced but nods as someone groans in pain. You both turn as König picks up the man who had grabbed you by his collar, the man’s nose pouring blood.

“Please do not touch the staff,” König says, his usually soft-spoken tone suddenly far more threatening than friendly.

“Fuck, I think you broke my nose,” the man groans.

“Consider yourself lucky that’s all we broke,” Ghost spits before turning to König. “Get him outta here.”

König nods, roughly pulling the man to his feet and dragging him toward the front doors of the club.

“You sure you’re okay?” Ghost asks once König and the man are out of sight.

“A little shaken up, but I’ll be alright. Thanks.” He sets a cautious hand on your shoulder, and you send him a small smile.

“We’ll be closing soon, you oughta get changed.”

You nod once, then again more confidently, as you feel his hand lightly tap your shoulder. He walks beside you to the backstage door, only departing once he’s sure you’re inside.

You move on autopilot, grabbing your clothes and stripping out of your dress. You change back into your jeans and shirt, sighing in relief as you slip off your heels and put your boots back on. You don’t bother with your hair or makeup, deciding to deal with that when you return to your motel.

You step back out, heading straight for the bar keeping your eyes forward.

The club is winding down, the bulk of patrons gone now with the few remainders getting in their last drinks.

“Hey!” Kyle cheers as you approach the bar. He slings an arm around your shoulders, leading you to the small group formed at the end of the bar: Alex, Farah, Valeria, and Teal Dress.

The group cheers as you approach, raising glasses in your direction.

“I told you you’d do great.” Farah hands you a glass with a proud smile. You don’t drink from it, setting it down on the bar with a shy smile.

“I think a couple of us are going out for a few more celebratory drinks before heading home,” Kyle says, sidling up to Teal Dress and setting a hand around her waist. “If you’d like to join us.”

“No, thanks. I think I’m gonna head home.”

“You sure?” Alex asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that gets a small giggle out of you.

“I’m sure,” you nod. “If someone could walk me out to my car, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Easily done,” Valeria says with a casual wave. She turns around, glancing around the club until she spots Alejandro holding the front door open for the last few patrons. She lets out a shrill whistle, Alejandro’s head snapping toward the group.

After the last patron leaves, he closes the door, locking it behind them before going over to you. Valeria meets him halfway, whispering to him. You see him glance at you before he says something back to her. She blinks in mild surprise before her jaw sets, and she huffs.

She turns away from him, heading back to the bar with a clearly forced smile directed at you.

“Alejandro will walk you out.”

You want to ask, but the aura of anger oozes off her in violent waves, and you decide against it.

“Okay,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself and running your hands up and down your arms. You startle when you touch bare skin, realizing you’ve left your jacket backstage.

“I’ve gotta grab something real quick. I’ll meet you out front?”

Alejandro nods, and you hurry backstage. You grab your jacket, pull it on, and fold the sleeves up to your elbow. You take another minute to check your reflection, shaking out the nerves skating beneath your skin.

“You’re okay,” you tell your reflection. You give yourself a sharp nod, turning away and heading back into the club. The group is gone, presumably having left for their celebratory drinks, the house lights dimmed significantly down.

You check your pockets, making sure you have your phone, wallet, and keys as you slowly head toward the door.

“Please!”

You stop, hearing the pitched whine behind you. You turn around, eyes searching the almost darkness for the source of the noise.

You wait a few seconds, ears straining to hear something else.

It takes almost ten solid seconds before you hear it again. A harsh grunt, this time followed by the low murmur of several voices.

The source isn’t a mystery, coming from behind the slightly cracked door of Price’s office. You glance back at the front door, turning back to the office.

Alejandro’s waited this long. He can wait a little longer.

You creep toward the office, the grunting and pleading growing louder the closer you get. You press against the closed door, peering in through the crack. Pushing the door slightly more open gives you a better view of the office.

The lights are low in the office, the only reliable source coming from the lit fireplace. Valeria lounges on one of the sofas, sitting across from Nikolai, while Ghost lurks in the back near the bookcase. All three are focused intently on the center of the room, where a man sits tied to a chair with his face beaten to a bloody pulp.

Head lolled to the side, the man groans, blood dripping from his mouth as he tries to speak.

Standing before him, knuckles bruised, blood splattered from his hands, up his arms where his sleeves have been rolled up, onto his chest where the top buttons have been undone, and across his cheeks is Price. Tiny beads of sweat drip down his face into those cold and uncaring blue eyes.

“Let’s go over the rules of my club one last time, shall we?”

Price sets a hand on the back of the chair, tilting it onto its back legs so the man is forced to look up at him.

“One—” Price holds up a finger, “—No guns, no knives, no weapons.”

The man tries his best to hold Price’s gaze, but his head lolls back, falling over the back of the chair. He’s not as easy on the eyes anymore, but you clearly recognize the man who had grabbed you as he blinks hazily, trying to process the things around him.

You can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. Covering your mouth to dampen the sound, you freeze in the doorway. No one in the office moves, so you keep your place, doing your best to stay quiet as you watch the scene before you.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that.” Price slaps the man’s cheek before gripping his jaw and pulling the man's face down to look him in the eye. The man groans, tapering off into a pained whine. “You hear me, yeah? You’re still running your mouth, so I know you’re not unconscious yet.”

The man groans again, and Price huffs, dropping the chair and stepping back.

“Don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this one,” Price tells his small audience.

“Well,” Price sighs, “S’pose we’ll just skip to the most important rule since that’s the one you seem to be having trouble with.” Price rolls back his shoulders, flexing his hand before delivering a final, solid punch to the man’s face. Something cracks as the man breaks down into muffled sobs.

Price rolls his eyes, gripping the man's short hair and pulling his face up. Price stares down at him for a quiet moment before he tilts his head and lifts his gaze to stare directly into your eyes as he speaks to the man.

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

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