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ghoststyles · 1 year

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Fairway to Heaven - Part 1

Hi!! I’m so excited to post my first-ever Harry fic! I’ve been on 1D Tumblr since the very beginning, logged off for 5 years and now I’m back 💀 So I’ve had a lot of ideas over the years that have just lived in my head. GOLFRRY + MUSTACHRRY are my weaknesses, so this is my twist on a golf/bev cart girl + agegap fic 🤩

I’d love to hear your thoughts. I have most of the story written, so I should be able to have a consistent posting schedule. Not sure the total # of parts quite yet. I’m also happy to write additional blurbs if y’all like Harry and Briar as much as I do 🥹🐥🦊

Here is a mood board I put together. Feel free to picture Briar however you please. The mood board is just to set the vibez!

Without further ado...Enjoy!

Word count: 4.5K

Contains mature themes. Read at your own discretion. Agegaps, cursing.

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4

By the time she gets to her designated cart, she’s already fifteen minutes late; but her iced coffee is the perfect color, and her hair didn’t give her too much trouble this morning. A win is a win.

Briar Barlowe quickly dumps a bucket of ice in her cart’s side cooler as the bar back begins filling the bin with the usual suspects: Bud Light, Michelob Ultra, Fireball, Tito’s, Casamigos, Ginger ale, and, of course, grape juice. She makes sure to keep her lavender cups stocked and plenty of fun straws to make everything more fun. She even decorates her tip jars to say funny jokes.

Since starting at Wynnewood Country Club, Briar has gained a bit of notoriety among the players as the girl with a bright smile and a heavy pour. This job is exactly what she needs to fill the gap between graduating college and beginning her business degree in the fall. Good money, stress-free responsibilities, and time spent in the sunshine.

Her Uncle, Patrick Barlowe, is the golf pro at Wynnewood; a local legend who was just shy of making the PGA Tour himself. He spends his days teaching lessons, running the pro shop and serving on the Board of Directors for the club. If you’re in with Patrick, you’re in with everyone.

When he heard her worries of not finding a summer job after graduation, it was a no brainer to offer her a position as a beverage cart girl. They both gaze out over the course from a table under the gazebo on the top deck of the club’s restaurant.

“That job sounds a little sexist, Uncle Patrick,” Briar sneers. All she can picture is driving around in a little dress and a visor like Malibu Barbie, answering the male members’ every beck and call.

The club is gorgeous; first built in 1914, and the architecture reflects it. It has two golf courses, 4 tennis courts, a pool, and deluxe spa. The member fees skyrocket each year, upping the amenities and overall snootiness of the members.

“The money is good and the members are pretty harmless. From the way you’ve swindled me into throwing teddy bear tea parties, I think you’ll do just fine on the sales aspect.”

“Fine. When do I start?”

Patrick leans back in his seat, “I’ll call Dominic in the morning.”

With that, they finish their drinks and appetizers just as the sun sets.

Walking out to her car, she sees a black Range Rover pull under the carport. The boys at the valet stand are already bickering over who gets to drive this one.

Based on the surrounding town, the level of pretentiousness at the club never surprises Briar. The yearly member fee for the club can cover 2 years’ worth of her business school tuition alone. She shakes her head and jumps into her hand-me down Jeep to head back to her apartment, paying no mind to the man entering the front door of the club.

Her shift this morning started out in the frigid cold, forcing her to change outfits later in the day as the sun came out. She’s sporting her black athletic skort and a racerback tank top. She opts to leave her hair down and sport her black and white Nike trailblazers to keep the look casual.

With a few weeks’ worth of shifts under her belt, she’s learned the ways of the club and fallen into a good rhythm. On any given weekend day, she has to head to the clubhouse to restock twice before 12PM. Today is not one of those days.

As temperature warms up, the course begins to fill up. In the last hour of her shift, she’s left with only a few beers and a few shots worth of Tito’s. Her tip jar is a little emptier than usual, but the pun on her sign got a few chuckles. She sets up shop on the 17th hole and snaps a few photos of the sunset.

“I shot one under today. One under a tree, one under a bush, and one under the water.”

Briar jumps at the voice behind her. Is that an Irish accent? She leans to peer over the side of her cart. She sees a man, older than her, donning a light blue polo with dark blue pants and a white hat, reading the joke on her jar.

“Clever, isn’t it?” She smiles kindly at him.

“Hilarious. It’s like ya been watching my game today,” he laughs. He moves closer to where she’s standing.

“Can I get you anything? I’ll be honest, I’m mostly wiped out.”

He peers down at the contents of the cooler. “I’ll take that last Mich Ultra. Do you have any Casamigos left? My mate is a little picky.”

“No Casamigos,” she says with a slight frown. “I’ll try to keep my drinking to a minimum next time and save you some.”

He lets out a loud laugh and squeezes his eyes shut. “Alright, just this then. He’ll have to deal with it.”

“I can offer you some Peanut M&M’s for your troubles,” she says, pulling out her iPad to ring in the order. “Do you have an account with the club, or do you want to pay cash?”

“The account is under Niall Horan,” he says, putting a $20 bill in the jar. “Thanks for the M&M’s, darlin’.”

“I’m Briar. It was nice meeting you, Niall. Thank you!” She beams. He smiles and starts heading back to the path toward the clubhouse.

After cleaning her cart and counting her money, Briar finishes the day drinking a mojito at the bar, while Cam, her new friend at the club, is working her bar shift.

“How was it out there today, babe?” Cam asks.

“Slow at first, but it definitely picked up. I couldn’t even head back for a restock. Luckily, the members I got at the very end weren’t picky.”

“Oh! Did you see Niall?” she asks as she puts glassware in the dishwasher.

“Yeah,” Briar furrows her brows. “How did you know?”

“I used to serve him on the front course all the time. Now that I’m too old and wretched to work out on the course, he’ll visit me in here sometimes. He mentioned playing the back course with a friend today.”

Briar is always assigned to the back course. There are only minor differences in difficulty, but she finds the back course to be a little more calm and serious. They’re also a little more generous with their tips. She’s not sure if her assignment has something to do with her uncle’s knowledge of the club’s inner workings.

“He is really nice, and generous. I didn’t get to meet the friend, though. Did you?”

“Yes, he was a little more reserved. But Niall is a riot, so he makes anyone look calm. I didn’t catch his name.”

Briar hums and stirs her mojito around as she stifles a yawn. “Well, I’ve been here since 7:30 this morning, so I am ready to goooo,” she drags out her last word. She waves bye to Cam and begins the trek to the employee parking lot.

As she’s walking, she gazes up to the upper deck of the restaurant where she can just barely make out Niall standing by the railing. He’s talking animatedly and waving his beer bottle around.

A bit off to the right, peering down at her, is a tall, striking man with dark features wearing a white button down and a sport coat. The top two buttons are undone just enough to see his collarbones.

The club has a strict dress code for the restaurant. Briar often does a double take when she sees members out of their golf clothes. She wonders if he’s even allowed to show that much skin.

Shrugging it off, she continues toward her car, but not without looking back at the man. He’s still looking at her, curiously, taking a sip of his drink and turning away not long after she looks up.

She can’t help but get this strange feeling, almost as if the hairs on the back of her neck are standing straight up.

As the summer starts to heat up, so do her shifts at the course. By the end of them, Briar’s hair is sticking out sideways and her make up is smeared down her face. She bought a miniature fan that clips right to the visor of her cart to keep her cool throughout the day.

It’s just past 8:30 in the morning on Tuesday when she hears a familiar voice on the 8th hole. She squints and sees Niall, along with the dark haired man from the other night. There are a few guys she doesn’t recognize standing with them.

She maneuvers her cart through the winding path, closer to where the men are.

“There’s the beer angel!” Niall shouts. She smiles and shakes her head. He comes jogging over. “I hope you’re fully stocked this morning.”

“Yep, I am! I even have a few breakfast sandwiches, if you’re interested.”

His eyes light up as she pulls out a bacon, egg and cheese on an everything bagel from the warming drawer. Chef Lambo, the executive chef of the club, made them especially for Briar’s customers.

“Yesss. I’ll take one of those, a Mich Ultra, two Transfusions, and — H! What do you want?” He yells, partially turning to face his friend in the distance.

She faintly hears, “Casamigos!”

“And a Casamigos on the rocks, with a lime,” he finishes. It takes her only a few minutes to make the cocktails.

“Do you want these on your account?” Briar asks Niall.

He takes a huge bite of the bagel and mumbles, “No, you can put it all on my mate’s. Last name is Styles.”

Styles, or, “H” as Niall called him. The mystery man’s Last name is Styles. And, he’s a member here.

“Got it. Well, good luck today.”

“Thanks, we’ll need it. We’re trying to close a work deal with the two guys we’re playing with. Hey, don’t be afraid to swing by us multiple times. We can use all the schmoozing we can get,” he smiles.

“I think I can do that. Let me know if you need help, I’m told I’m very persuasive,” she smiles as she takes the emergency brake off of her cart. He throws another $20 in her jar and then waves, nearly dropping all of the items in his hands.

Niall returns to his group, handing out their drinks. Briar continues to watch before pulling away. H steps out from behind Niall, slightly lifting his cup — his lavender cup — towards her, as a thank you. His facial expression is stoic, watching her carefully.

She smiles to herself and drives off. The rest of the shift goes by in a blur. She swings by Niall and H’s group a few times. Each time, Niall greets her to grab more drinks and snacks.

Is that on purpose? If the drinks are on H’s account, why isn’t he coming over? She’d like to get a closer look at him. She chews on the inside of her lip and continues on with her closing duties. She loves the morning shift; in early, out early.

After parking her cart in the garage, she can see her uncle in the pro shop, glasses on the tip of his nose, peering down at something. She lightly knocks on the door and pushes it open.

“Hey, Briar bear,” he says, looking up at her. “How was your day?”

Briar sighs at her childhood nickname, plopping down on the couch by the practice putting green. Members can test out clubs before purchasing them in the pro shop, making it an optimal spot to hang out and mess around with all of the clubs.

“It was good, I just have to get used to waking up this early again. And I already know you’re going to say, ‘welcome to the real world, kid’, so just stop there,” she says sassily.

Patrick chuckles and focuses back on with his paperwork. They’re quiet for a few moments.

“What’re working on, anyway?” she asks, craning her neck to see what he’s doing.

“Just some budget sheets, and making a list of members who haven’t had a lesson from their amazing in-house golf pro,” he says, punching numbers into his phone calculator.

“They get a free lesson from you?”

“Yes, when they join. But now, to keep up member retention, we’re going to offer sessions to members who have been here for 5 years or more,” he scratches his temple. “Most of ‘em don’t need it, but I feel they always leave with a new drill to practice and some sage advice from yours truly.”

“That’s cool,” she replies absently.

“Wanna help?” Patrick asks her. She nods silently and takes a seat beside him. She sees a list of last names, first initial and an “X” next to their name if they’ve taken a lesson.

She notices an X next to “Horan, N.” but not “Styles, H”. Interesting.

Briar continues to audit the two lists, until she hears her uncle clear his throat.

“Hey, are you going to hang here for a bit? I need to run back into the main clubhouse for a few minutes.”

Patrick runs the pro shop solo during the day, until a high school or college kid can come in in the afternoon.

“Yeah, I’ll hang here. What do I do if someone needs something?”

“Then you can entertain them with your dazzling personality until I get back,” he teases, sticking his tongue out. “Alright, I’ll be back.”

“‘kay,” she says, walking back to her original spot on the sofa, laying her head back on the edge.

Her eyes are shut, only for a minute, until a brilliant idea pops in her head. She rises off the sofa and saunters over to the computer her uncle was just working on.

The employee portal is logged in under Patrick’s account. Briar doesn’t know much about it, aside from using it to clock in and clock out. It’s still on the member screen, an area she’s 100% sure she doesn’t have access to.

She peruses the site until she finds a “Member Look-Up” tab. Briar’s intrusive thoughts win.

She slowly punches in S-T-Y-L-E-S and waits for the results to populate. 2 results found.

She clicks on the first profile. An account pulls up for a Paul Styles, and a photo of a white-haired man pops up.

Well, that’s certainly not him, Briar thinks to herself. She exits out and clicks on the next account. No profile photo opens, but the name is at the top. She bites her thumbnail in anticipation of what she’ll see.

Harry Styles. H. Niall’s mysterious friend. The tequila lover.

She starts to scroll down the page. The profile is more bare than the other man’s, but she can see the basic things about him. He’s 41, joined the club 8 years ago. He lives in another pretentious town only a few miles away.

Then, she sees a “Member Activity” tab. Out of curiosity, she clicks on it. Her eyes widen, seeing every transaction he’s ever made on his account. His “dues” each year. Holy shit.

His purchases seem pretty standard for members of Wynnewood. Mostly rounds of Casamigos on the rocks (shocking) and dinners ranging from $100-$400, with a few bills over $1,000.

He joined 8 years ago, but his transactions have only begun to pick up in the last month or so. Before, his visits were sporadic at best.

Briar can’t even fathom having that sort of money to throw away. She started working at age 14 and never stopped. The only reason she gets a taste of country club life is because of her uncle.

She closes out the portal, not wanting to risk Patrick walking in while she’s snooping around. She returns to her spot on the sofa and begins playing 1010! on her phone.

She exhales and tosses her phone to the side. As she sits up, Patrick reenters the pro shop.

“Thanks, Bri. Heading home soon?”

“Yeah, I gotta get back home for Gus,” she smiles, thinking about her dog. Her baby.

“Alright, I’ll catch you later. Say hello to my buddy for me. And give him a butt scratch — Tell him it’s from Uncle Patty.”

“Will do. See ya.”

When she’s showered and comfy at home, with Gus, her Bernese Mountain Dog, snuggled at her side, she finally feels relaxed.

She’s worked nearly every day since she started. But, those are the sacrifices of a summer job.

She turns on Selling Sunset on Netflix to drown out the silence of her apartment. Already bored of this season, she pulls out her phone.

One last round of stalking, then she’ll let it go. She opens Instagram and begins typing in Harry’s name in the search bar. Nothing. Hm.

She tries Niall, immediately getting a hit. She clicks on his account to find it public, full of funny and happy photos. He’s clearly from Ireland, but has lived in the United States for some time. She wonders if he went to school here, or if he just got a job here.

She scrolls down to a group photo — on the golf course, of course — of Niall, Harry, and a few other guys. They look a lot younger here. She can see the photo is from 7 years ago. Harry’s stoic face is a stark contrast to Niall’s infectious smile. She clicks on the photo to see if Harry’s profile is tagged. Nothing.

Defeated, she moves onto LinkedIn. She tries Harry’s name again. Within 10 seconds of the search engine results popping up on the screen, her eyes land on exactly what she’s looking for. He has a profile. Her heart starts beating a little faster.

Really, Briar? All this for a guy you’ve barely caught a glimpse of? She clicks on the profile and sees the most gorgeous man at the top. He looked good from afar, but this is totally different.

Sticking out to her is his chiseled jaw, pouty lips, and beautiful (green?) eyes. His hair is longer in this photo than what she’s seen him with the past 2 times at the club, but she figures this page is old.

She scrolls down to the employment history. He works for a hedge fund. No wonder he has that kind of cash laying around. He’s been at the same company for a number of years, and received his bachelor’s degree from Georgetown and his MBA from the University of Pennsylvania. Smart dude.

She notes his MBA graduation year is 2006. She laughs, knowing she was probably still playing on a playground that year.

She exits out of the page, proud of her findings. She decides to text Cam about Niall’s friend.

B: Hey! So I totally stalked Niall online. His friend’s name is Harry! 😆

C: So funny, how’d u do it? 😂

B: Instagram for Niall, and earlier, I used Wynnewood’s portal to look up Harry. I just went on his LinkedIn, too. Now, I know all about his work and schooling, lol.

C: Your account is private, right? 😳

C: It notifies people if you’ve looked at their profile unless you’re private…

B: What?! I didn’t know that…WTF do I do?

Briar’s stomach drops. He’s probably already gotten the notification by now. She’s mortified. She logs back on to LinkedIn and deactivates her account. Reddit says those are her best chances of counteracting the notification.

She decides to go to bed, but ends up tossing and turning until 3 AM, knowing her alarm is set for 6:30. She stares at the ceiling, pleading for Harry not to show up at the club tomorrow.

The morning comes around, and after mustering enough courage to get up and make herself presentable, she rolls into work, ready to jump on her cart and be lazy. The universe (or Uncle Patrick, probably!) has a different plan.

Since it’s a holiday weekend, Briar is working inside for a change. She feels a little out of her element. She’s worked in restaurants in the past, but it’s always a little stressful when you have know idea where anything is, or how to use the register.

Taking a moment to survey the large banquet room, she doesn’t see Niall or Harry. She begins to relax. Until, 30 minutes later, she sees both of them enter and begin talking to the hostess.

Please don’t go to my section, she thinks. She watches the girl gathers 4 menus and turns to lead the men further into the room. Briar’s worry grows more with each step the hostess takes toward her section. Fuck.

She seats them down at a 4 person table right in the middle of Briar’s section, assuming the two men from yesterday will be joining them.

She takes a few deep breaths before grabbing a water jug and two stemmed water glasses. She casually approaches the table, lightly placing the water glasses down and filling them.

Niall looks up briefly with a smile before exclaiming, “There she is! I requested you to be our server after I saw you at the coffee machine over there.”

Briar smiles before turning her attention to Harry, who hasn’t glanced up from his menu. She looks back at Niall.

“Awesome! This is going to be great,” she lies through her teeth.

While this exchange is happening, she can feel Cam’s eyes burning through the back of her head. Cam is the service bartender of the day, so she has time to people watch and laugh at Briar’s bad luck.

“Are we waiting for any more guests to join us?” Briar asks.

Niall clears his throat and says, “Yes, those two blokes from yesterday. Harry here is going to close the deal with them today.”

Harry glances up at her with a shy smile. She reciprocates, unsure if he’s aware of her cyberstalking from last night.

“Wow, well, I’ll make sure my service is extra good, then. Can I throw in some drinks while you wait?”

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned. Harry?” Niall turns to his friend.

“Casamigos on the rocks for me, please. With a lime. Thank you.”

“You got it,” she says with a tight-lipped smile. Of course that’s the very first thing he ever says to her. And he’s BRITISH?

Cam laughs as the ticket prints at the bar.

“Oh, shut up,” Briar grumbles.

The other men finally arrive, and the meal goes by at a snail’s pace. When the group is finally ready to order, Briar is already mentally checked out. Briar goes to take Harry’s order.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the chicken, please,” he says simply.

“And how would you like that cooked?” Briar asks, furiously scribbling on her note pad.

Harry’s face contorts to a perplexed look, almost as if he was about to laugh.

“Um…cooked…all the way through?” He stifles a chuckle.

Niall bursts out laughing, cluing Briar in. She realizes the others ordered porterhouse steaks, so, out of habit, she asked how they’d like them prepared.

Her eyes go wide, “Right, well, I’ll go put these in. Thanks!” She shuffles away at lightning speed.

Harry stares at her from across the room, smirking when they make eye contact. She wants to bury her head in the sand trap on the golf course.

When the meal is done, the men shake hands, and Niall and Harry look relieved. They ask for another round of drinks for the two of them and the check. Niall heads toward the restroom while Harry pays. She tries to bolt as soon as the check is dropped, but she hears Harry clear his throat.

She turns to face him.

“We’re about to go play a quick round of 9-holes to celebrate. Are you our beer angel today, or are you stuck in here?” Harry says, as he opens his wallet.

Briar feels her heart begin to race. She’s sure her face is beet red. The word angel rolls off his tongue so easily.

“Um, no, I’m um, stuck in here for the rest of the day. I’ll be back on Sunday, though,” she says quietly.

“Shame, I was starting to think you were bringing me all of my luck. I’ve been crushing these guys in our last few rounds,” he smiles, swirling the remnants of his drink around.

She bites the inside of her lip, unsure if she should still be holding eye contact. He hands her the checkbook, full of cash. She smiles, unable to speak.

“Oh, and Briar— I’m an open book. If you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve just asked,” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile.

That’s the moment Niall returns to the table, and presumably the only reason she doesn’t drop to the floor in fetal position.

“Thanks, Briar. Lunch was great. We’ll see you next time,” Niall says sweetly.

“Thanks!” she squeaks, scurrying to the back, where she nearly mows down Cam.

“Woah! What’re you doing?” Cam squeals.

“He KNOWS!” Briar wails.

“Who? Who knows — OH!” Cam shrieks. “What did he say to you?”

“He said, ‘Briar, I’m an open book. If you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve just asked.’”

Cam’s mouth drops open. “Did he say it with his sexy accent and sultry voice?”

“Shut up!”

“Fine. Well, what did he tip you?” she asks, reaching for the book in Briar’s hand.

She opens it, finding enough cash to cover the $450 tab, and an extra $300 as a tip.

“Damn! Who has that much cash at one time?” Cam laughs.

Briar flips to the back of the book, only to find a note on a small piece of paper:

I’m an Aquarius, in case you were wondering. : - )

She stares blankly at the note. When did he have time to do this? Was he going to slip this note to her regardless? A million thoughts run through her head, until she hears Cam.

“What a creepy-ass old person smiley face,” she says, shaking her head.

Briar thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

Finally, her shift ends and she can escape the club, just for a day. As she heads towards the women’s locker room, she’s rummaging through her bag, attempting to fish out her street clothes so she can change as quickly as possible.

As she stalks closer to the locker room, she collides head-first into a firm, wet object. She feels strong hands grasp her hips to steady her.

“What the fuck?” she says, moving the hair out of her eyes, only to be met with a strong tattooed torso, partially covered by towel tied loosely around the person’s waist.

Her next words die in her throat as she looks up.

Harry.

Harry, who just left the steam room.

He smirks down at her, gently letting go of her waist. Suddenly, she feels hot, as if she were just in there with him. Briar’s fight or flight kicked-in, causing her to spin on her heels and flee in the opposite direction.

He senses she’d run, so he gently grabs her wrist, locking her in place. She peers up at him like a deer in headlights. His other hand is firmly planted on his hip to hold up his towel, in fear of giving the whole club a show.

He tilts her chin up so she’s making direct eye contact. Her stomach drops, sending a wave of nausea through her body. She studies his face; long eye lashes, slight stubble and two dimples that form as he smirks down at her softly.

“I told you, I’m not shy.”

He releases her chin and saunters back to the mens’ locker room.

#ghoststyles #fairway to heaven #Harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #golfrry #dom!harry #daddy!h

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ang3l-fac33 · 6 months

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Can I request Angel Dust and his fem BFF reader, who also works for Valentino, buying a bottle of fireball and watching random movies (Probably something like Jennifer's Body) while cuddling Fat Nuggets after they've both had a shitty day? Sweet Lucifer, I would kill to be his best friend!!

angel dust x BFF! fem! reader.

genre: oneshot

“you alright toots?” angel dust quirked a brow at you, watching you carefully as you sprawled out on his couch. he had a bottle of fireball in one hand and two shot glasses in the other. he poured the liquid into the glass as he waited for a response.

you groaned, which was muffled due to your arms covering your face. you’re bones ached from all the work today, and you could feel the signs of a terrible headache creeping up on you, making things worse.

when you didn’t respond with words angel dust’s eyes softened with sympathy. he knew that you had a rough day today, he did too. when working for valeninto there was going to be a lot of bad days. he knew that all too well.

but working for valentino was something the two of you bonded on, making what your friendship was today. of course it wasn’t all the two of you had together, but it played a big part in it. a lot of shit talking about val would be done, making the stressful days a little bit better. but he could see that today was not a ‘talk shit’ day, rather a relax and drink day.

“i’ve got your favorite right here for ya.” angel smirked, holding up the glass of fireball in his hand. you immediately lifted your head, your tired eyes looking interested, making angel dust laugh in amusement.

“of course alcohol would get your ass into gear.” he gave a sharp toothed grin, a mocking look in his eyes as he handed you the glass. it was all light hearted banter, the both of you knowing that anything rude you said wasn’t the truth.

you scoff and roll your eyes, snatching the glass from angel’s hand. “i need you to shut the hell up. you’re making my headache worse.” you grumbled, downing the liquid in one go.

angel dust snorted, not seeming all that offended. he poured you another drink before lightly shoving your legs. “whatever. just move your damn legs so i can sit down.”

you huffed but didn’t complain as you moved your legs, allowing some room for angel to sit, to which he immediately does so with a heavy sigh. there was a moment of silence before angel spoke again.

“..soo you want to watch that movie or nah?” he said with a small smile, his demeanor more relaxed now. you sighed and nodded, feeling yourself relax a bit at the feel of angel’s warmth next to you. he always somehow managed to make you feel better, and that was a reason why he was your best friend.

angel grinned and grabbed the remote, instantly turning on jennifer’s body. as the movie began to play angel downed his shot of fireball, smacking his lips in satisfaction afterwards.

as the movie started something butting against angel’s legs caught his attention, and he looked down to see the sight of fat nuggets. he was looking up at him with those adorable round eyes of his, something that always made angel’s heart melt.

“nuggs!” angel cooed, leaning down to take the pig into his arms. you raised your brows, snorting in amusement. “you and that damn pig of yours.. sometimes i think you like him more than me.”

“maybe i do.” angel responded with a smirk, cradling fat nuggets in his arms. “fat nuggets doesn’t talk back to me like you do.”

you roll your eyes, playing hurt. “i got second place by a pig. ouch.”

angel laughed before holding up fat nuggets to your face. “can you blame me? look how adorable he is!” fat nuggets made a small little oinking noise that made your heart swell with love for the little guy.

no matter how much you pretended to be annoyed by the little critter, you loved him. you gave him a small scratch on the cheek, to which the pig responded with a lick to your hand.

angel dust moved fat nuggets to rest comfortably between the two of you, and the demon pig laid down with a snort of satisfaction.

as the movie progressed you started to feel better and more relaxed. it was really times like this you were glad that angel dust was your best friend. who could ask for me?

(note: this was rushed at the end but i hope you liked it none the less! <3 also this isn’t proofread)

#angel dust x reader #angel dust #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you

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dakotalun · 2 years

Text

More Than Friends | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: You and Eddie have been "friends" for a while, but you can't help but notice something off between the two of you lately.

warnings: little bit of dom!eddie, but mostly fluff, kissing

word count: 986

a/n: SO SO SO sorry I haven't posted in forever, I've been swamped with school and applying to college and shit. And I also just haven't had the motivation to write but it's coming back and I'm gonna start writing and posting more often now. (let's hope)

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

He takes a step closer, he has a few inches on you but you don’t look intimidated no matter how far up you have to look at him. He takes another step, slowly closing the gap between you two. You’re about a foot apart now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him.

“So you’re telling me you feel nothing right now?” He asks with a smirk.

“Yup I feel absolutely nothing right now,” You say crossing your arms and looking up at him.

It’s not a total lie you’re are standing in the middle of an empty parking lot, while it’s fucking snowing. You don’t deal with the cold well so you’re currently freezing your ass off, even while wearing 3 layers. He continues to get closer to you, coming impossibly closer. You can smell his cologne on him. It's a nice smell, almost comforting in a way, but you don’t let yourself get distracted by it.

“We’re more than friends and I think you know that,” he starts to lean closer.

You don’t know what to do because yes he’s right, you are more than friends but ever since Eddie started living by a “only fuck once” rule, you can’t do what you know he’s thinking of doing and what your body is craving.

You try to step away from him but bump into his van behind you. He takes that last step towards you and puts his hand on the side of the van right next to your head, then he moves his other hand to your waist and pulls you flush to him. You’re completely trapped now, no way of escaping. He knows that this is a weakness of yours, anytime someone pins you against something or pulls you into them you just fucking melt.

That’s what makes this so hard, he just knows you too well. You’re too close, it could never work between you two. You almost just want to stay there forever, in his warmth, wrapped in his arms. The mixed smell of his cologne and weed was even more powerful now that he was this close. He brings his other hand down from the car and puts it on your fiery red cheek, his hands are warmer than you’d thought they’d be.

He leans down towards your face, his breath is minty with a hint of cinnamon from the fireball he had been drinking earlier. You stare deeply into his brown eyes, they are darker than normal in this lighting, but still very enticing. Without even saying a word, with a single look he traps you there, in this single moment with him. There’s really no escape now.

“Like I told you before. This,” You motion to the space between you and put your hand on his chest, “can’t happen, and you know that. You were the one who waited forever to tell me your feelings, and now here we are,” You look around at the empty lot 30 minute away from town, “in this parking lot at 3 am with your arm around my waist and hand on my cheek staring into my eyes with that stupid look on your face. Thinking that kissing me will make me fall for you.”

If you’re being completely honest it might, you’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since sophomore year of high school but you being one of the “popular kids” meant that talking to Eddie “the freak” Munson was out of the question. Even if you had the chance to, you were too awkward to try it, talking to him would have not only been the worst decision of your life but also the most devastating because even having 4 classes together he still barely knew your name.

You look into his eyes and notice that his gaze is more focused on your lips but you don’t stop him from looking. You even stare at his for a second. Before you knew it he pulls you up onto your toes, kissing you deeply, derailing your mind from the dangerous thoughts and pulling you into ones filled with this feeling. This was not what I thought was going to happen tonight.

You close your eyes and embrace the moment, his lips are warm and enticing as you kiss him back. You can feel his tongue press against your lips wanting entry and you allow it. This man does more than talking with his tongue and it shows. As he fights your tongue with his you try to gain dominance over him but lose quickly, you’re not strong enough to over power him. And he knows it.

He pushes you up against the car again and brings his hand from your cheek to your throat, he gently tightens his grip around it making you moan into the kiss. Shit he found out one of our weaknesses, good going, you think to yourself while a smirk forms on his lips. You bring your arms around his neck and run a hand through his dark hair and pull on it when he tightens his grip around your throat, and to your surprise he groans and ruts his hips forward at the action. Yes, I found his weakness, now we’re on an even playing field.

He drags his hand further down your waist until it snakes around and grabs your ass, causing you to yelp a little. He pulls away from you, “Oh sweetheart calm down we’re just getting started.”

He winks at you at the end of his sentence and you melt. He pulls away from you completely, the snow and cold hitting you like a violent tornado. He opens the passenger side door and gestures for you to get in, sending you that bright, shit eating grin he always adorns. You roll your eyes at him before hopping into the van, waiting for Eddie’s next move.

#eddie stranger things #munson #eddie munson #eddie my love #eddie my beloved #female reader #oneshot #smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie fucking munson

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theclairvoyage · 6 months

Text

Centrifugation: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Frazzled after your rough day at the center, you head out to your regular bar with the work crew, and see a familiar face there.

Warnings: brief mentions of violence, alcohol consumption, fluff, allusions to smut, kissing, groping, talks of divorce

WC: 4.3k

Friday, October 15th | 1730

After Joel left, the cops showed up shortly after and you gave your statement. They assured you if Cedric returned, he would be arrested. Trina permanently deferred him in the system, preventing him from checking in. You felt some relief at that but were concerned about him waiting for you in the parking lot after your shift. Keri offers to walk you to your car after you both clock out.

“Love, today was rough… so fucking glad it’s Friday. Want to grab a drink?” she asks. You nod fervently, the idea of a cold beer immediately resurrecting you from the depths of this terrible day.

“McKinney’s?” you offer.

She smiles brightly and nods in agreement. “I’ll come get you. Just text me when you’re ready.”

McKinney’s is a local Irish dive bar, and the plasma center staff are regulars. The bartenders are awesome, drinks are dirt cheap, and horrific karaoke is every Friday.

Once you get to your apartment, you take a hot, hot shower, rubbing off the stress and sweat from the day. You think about Joel’s soft touch and how comforting he was. You also think about the way he looked at you, causing arousal to pool in your lower belly. No time to feen over a stranger, you think, washing the premature fantasy out of your mind.

You do a quick towel dry and style your hair, throw on some low-rise jeans that hug your ass, and a skintight black shirt that’s not quite cropped, not quite full-length. You put on bare-minimum makeup, spray on some of your favorite musky perfume, step into some sandals, and give yourself a quick mirror check. Your hipbones are peeking out between the bottom of your shirt and the top of your jeans. The black shirt dips down low enough to show your collarbones and part of your shoulders. You’re glowing, which is surprising, given the shitty day you had. You’re not dressed overtly sexy, but you know how the men at the dive bar will react to a little skin and curves. Fuck it. Nothing wrong with a little attention. You grab your phone and text Keri that you’re ready.

Keri: Sounds good. I’ll be there in 10.

You open the fridge and grab some small Fireball shooters for the drive. Not long thereafter, you hear Keri’s honk outside the building. Keri prefers to drive when you two have outings, which you don’t mind at all. She’s got a nice house in the Benson area, not too far from work or from your apartment. She’s divorced and about 10 years your senior. The two of you have always clicked, and you enjoy spending time with her in and outside of work.

You: Bet. Shooters engaged.

You trot to her car, holding up the shooters and grinning once she’s in view. She grimaces. You hop in and crack the shooters open, clink yours against hers and take the shot, the spicy cinnamon liquor trickling down your throat, burning as it travels down the ridges.

“Ready to get your drank on, bitch?” Keri coughs, and you both cackle.

Shortly thereafter, you arrive at McKinney’s. The parking lot is jam-packed, meaning you’ll probably have a smorgasbord of awful karaoke singers lining up. You walk in and take your usual spots at the bar, facing the karaoke stage. One of your favorite bartenders, Jessica, greets you and Keri. “Hey, ladies. Heard there was a ruckus at the plasma center today,” she says, motioning over at Blake and some other employees at one of the tables by the stage, who wave at you both. You both laugh and wave back. “Jess, it was fucking nuts. This one here about got hep C. Cops got called and everything,” Keri says.

“Jesus… well, the first round’s on me. Sorry you had to deal with that,” Jess says, bringing over a pitcher of Busch Light. Not your favorite, but when pitchers are $5, it’s hard to pass up. Keri pours you both a glass and you clink them together before taking a big swig.

You both join the table with the rest of the employees, putting some tables together and chatting. You get up to go to the bathroom. On your way back, you stop by the bar and ask Jess for a couple more pitchers. She obliges, and you wait at the bar while she fills them up.

“Hey, darlin’. Can’t imagine why you’d be here on a night like this,” a deep Southern drawl croons in your ear, coating your name in velvet. You freeze and look behind you to see Joel. He’s swapped his red flannel for a blue one that hugs his biceps and traps, along with some black jeans and boots. His hair is slicked back, showing off gray stripes that wrap the front and sides of his face. What enraptures you most, however, is his scent that you somehow failed to notice earlier today. He smells of sandalwood and bourbon, spicy and musky at the same time. You figure it’s probably time to respond to him when you see him smirk and raise his eyebrows at you.

“Hi, Joel! What are you doing here?” You say, attempting to stop drooling over him. Luckily for you, though, he’s making no attempt to stop staring at you. He takes you in, looking at you from head to toe with that strange look in his eyes you’ve seen for the third time today. Your stomach does a few back handsprings. Those low riders that hug your ass were a great idea.

“Keri told me today this is where the cool people in Omaha hang out at, so it’s only natural that I stop by,” he says, grinning at you. You giggle and lightly smack his arm, the liquid courage giving you balls you thought you never had. Now it makes sense why Keri suggested you go here this evening.

“Are you doin’ better, sweetheart? Know today was rough for ya,” he asks, his gaze on you now tender. Warmth washes over you and you smile at him, putting a hand on his chest. Joel feels a soft burn where your hand lies and worries you can feel his heart palpitate underneath your fingertips.

“Yes, much better. I wanted to say thank you for being there for me. It meant a lot to me,” you say, watching his cheeks curl into a soft smile and a blush creeping up his neck. Still feeling ballsy, you ask if he wants to sit at the bar or join the group.

“Doesn’t matter to me, darlin’. You lead the way,” he hums. You decide you want to spend some alone time with Joel for a bit before returning to the group. “Sit here,” you say, gesturing to two stools at the bar. “I’ll drop these pitchers off and come back.” He nods and half-sits on one of the stools. You hoist the pitchers and walk over to the table, making sure to swing your hips just in case he’s watching.

Keri grins at you. You give her a smirk. “I see what you did there, Ker,” you giggle. She shrugs, taking a sip of beer. “Not sure what you’re talking about, girl!” Uh huh. You roll your eyes as you drop the pitchers off and return to the bar.

Joel watches you walk back, that half-smile plastered on his face and his eyes flashing black as they travel up and down your body. You hop up on the bar stool and give him a quizzical look. “What are you staring at, cowboy?”

“The prettiest woman I’ve seen since I’ve been in Omaha… maybe even ever,” he says in a low voice, getting closer to your ear. The small hairs on your ear prick up, like his voice is their magnet. You feel tingles travel down your neck and spine, landing at your core, and clamp your legs together. Fuuuuck. He continues, “I feel like I’ve known you a long time… I feel crazy sayin’ that knowin’ damn well we just met today.”

“I feel the same way,” you say, “It really hit me today when we were at the picnic table.” He nods in agreement. You stare at each other, and time stops for a moment. The bar is buzzing, but all you can see and hear is Joel, and he you. Hopefully this isn’t just the booze and a bad day.

The karaoke host gets on the mic and taps it a few times to let the patrons know karaoke is starting soon. People travel up to him to put their names in the queue, including some people from your work group.

Joel puts an arm around your shoulders, lightly rubbing the skin on your arm. “You want somethin’ else to drink?” You turn to him and nod, noticing he’s got a glass of what appears to be whiskey. He calls Jess over and you order a Dos Equis Ambar.

“Beer girl, huh?” he chuckles.

“Love my beer. I’ll drink just about anything, though… except whiskey,” you scrunch your nose at his drink, and he laughs.

“It’s not that bad. Tough thing like you could down it, easily,” he jokes, squeezing your shoulder playfully. “Here, take a sip and see what ya think.” You pick up the glass and look down at it, grimacing from the smell.

“So… how do I do this? The expert way of course,” You ask. One side of his mouth curls up in a smirk.

“Take a smaller sip and swish it ‘round your mouth to get the flavors. I warn ya, it’s gonna burn a lil’ bit,” he cautions. You do as he says, trying not to make a face at the sting on your tongue and cheeks. You taste nothing but pure, smoky alcohol. He guffaws.

“That’s gotta be straight ethanol with some food dye,” you grimace, smacking your lips a few times and wash the whiskey down with a sip of your beer. “My tongue is on fire!”

“Told ya. Just gotta get used t’it,” he says, taking a sip and swishing it around like a champ.

As karaoke starts, you both fall in a comfortable rhythm of conversing and getting to know each other. You talk about growing up here in Omaha, going to Lincoln, Nebraska for college, and coming back to be close to your family. Joel talks about growing up in Austin, Texas, and his successful contracting business he runs with his brother, Tommy. He tells you about his 18-year-old daughter, Sarah, who’s in college in Lincoln, Nebraska at your alma mater, hence the move to Omaha. He divorced shortly after she was born and has been virtually single since.

“What about you? Smart, beautiful girl like you gotta be single because she wants to be, not ‘cause she’s short on options,” Joel says, the arm that was around your shoulders earlier traversing across your back, now resting on your opposite thigh. You look at him wistfully.

“Something like that. It’s kinda hard for me to connect with people in that way. I’m… exclusive with my time and energy, I guess. I just value my alone time and time with my friends,” You say honestly, hoping that doesn’t throw him off. You really haven’t had a lot of serious relationships and have always preferred being by yourself. Sure, you had a lot of flings in college, but nobody you wanted to take the next step with.

“I understand. Seems like a good way to live, if ya ask me. Can’t be givin’ everybody your time. I learned that the hard way,” he says, looking away from you, his big, brown eyes shaded in amber melancholy.

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking,” you ask, putting your hand on his leg and squeezing lightly. He reciprocates.

“We had Sarah so young, marriage just seemed like the right thing to do next. Turns out neither of us was ready nor mature enough for that. She wanted to go out and be with other men, and I just wanted to raise my daughter and try and make a livin’,” he says, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Everythin’ happened for a reason, though, can’t say I regret any of it.” You look him in the eyes and give him a sympathetic smile. The way he looks at you is so soft, so tender. Your heart jumps up and down.

“I bet you’re a great dad, I’m sure Sarah appreciates everything you do,” you say, giving him another squeeze. He turns to look at you, eyes blazing with fondness.

“If you’re interested, I’d like you to meet her. She’ll be coming up on weekends here and there during school since it’s only an hour away from here. Oh, and I’d love for you to meet my brother, Tommy. We expanded the business to some parts of the Midwest, so he and his wife moved up here, too.”

“Wow, that’s great… you guys must’ve made all the right business moves. I’d love to meet them,” you say, impressed by him. He snorts.

“Wasn’t always like that. Our pops helped us out a lot early on… two reckless twenty-something men starting a contracting business with no damn idea how to do it. We knew how to do the work, but managin’ it is a whole different ballgame. Plus, I was a single dad not long after we started. Lotta late nights and caffeine. We did alright, though. Got offices in Austin and Dallas, Kansas City, and now Omaha.” He says, running fingers through his silvery hair. You feel yourself grinning at him.

This can’t be real, you think. I just met this man today and already feel so connected to him. Your face must match your deep thinking, because he asks you if everything is alright.

“Yes, absolutely,” you say, because it is. His eyes flicker over your face with quiet adoration. You admire his beard and how his mustache is dark brown, but the hairs littered on his chin and jaw are almost all-white. You swear you see him lean in ever so slightly and turn nervously to take a sip of your beer.

Karaoke stops for the night, and the jukebox starts playing Eric Claptons’ Wonderful Tonight. Joel stands from the stool and holds his hand out. “Wanna dance, pretty girl?”

You blush and take his big, warm hand. “Of course.”

He leads you out to the dance floor, where most patrons have gathered to sway to the music with someone. He holds your right hand with his left and pulls you close to him with his right, wrapping his arm around your waist. You lie your head on his shoulder and let yourself melt into him, wrapping your free arm around his upper back and taking in his scent. He feels so safe, so strong, so firm. You could stand here with him forever.

“You know, every man in here wants you, darlin’,” he whispers in your ear. He feels your smirk on his shoulder.

“Every man?” You ask, taking your head off his shoulder to look him in the eyes. He knows exactly what you’re asking. You’re taken aback at how much desire his eyes hold, looking at you like you really are the prettiest woman he’s ever seen.

“Every man,” he whispers. You’re not sure when he got so close, but you can feel his warm, whiskey-coated breath on your face and your heart starts thumping quickly in your chest.

“I don’t wanna overstep, but I really wanna kiss you,” he says, his eyes traveling from your eyes to your lips and back. Your heart feels like it’s running hurdles over your ribs, down to the pit of your stomach.

“Please do,” you whisper back, licking your lips.

Time seems to pause indefinitely when he leans in and presses his lips to yours. His lips are smooth, a lovely contrast from the coarse hair on his beard tickling your skin. He tastes like whiskey and coffee, and he thinks you taste like beer and heaven. The kiss is slow and gentle at first, like he’s asking for permission. You deepen the kiss, lightly nibbling his lower lip and reaching up to tug on his curls. He groans at that, making your core ignite. He licks into your mouth and your tongues dance along with the music. Both of his arms are now wrapped around you, his big hands lightly pulling up the hem of your shirt to feel warm skin near the waistband of your jeans. He moves his hands up further under your shirt, learning the planes of your back and delighting in the softness of your skin. The heat of his hands and your growing desire is almost too much, and you have an urging need to cool off before you explode into oblivion. You both pull away after who knows how long and look each other in the eyes, four pupils jam-packed with lust.

“Wanna step outside? It’s a little… hot,” you say, still pressed closely to him, and he chuckles while nodding. He takes your hand and leads you to the outdoor patio, where some torches are lit and the music from inside is playing faintly. The fall air whistles as it swoops over you, giving you goosebumps. It’s dimly lit out here, but bright enough that you can see each other in the torch light, the flames dancing playfully over each of your faces.

“Can’t say I’ve ever felt so good from a kiss, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling you into him. You smash your lips against his like you never stopped. One of his hands travels to the back of your head, fingers lightly massaging your scalp; the other hand smoothing down your back until he reaches your ass. A low growl emits from his chest, and you let out a faint moan as he squeezes. Your hands both find home in his slicked, curly hair, tugging a bit and earning you another growl from Joel. You know you’re soaked right now, and you can feel his hardening length poking into your lower stomach.

Normally, you would pull back and distance yourself from someone you’ve only known for less than a day, but something about this man has you seeing stars, clouds, and other celestial bodies. Nothing has ever felt so natural or in sync for you. He must think so, too, as he breaks the kiss to nip down your jaw and neck, soothing the little bites with his tongue afterwards. You moan and feel him grip you tighter in response.

“God, ‘m never gonna forget that beautiful sound,” he hums into your neck, sending you reeling. He licks over to the other side of your neck and kisses his way back up your jaw, back to your ear, where he pulls at the lobe gently with his teeth and sucks it back into his mouth. You suck in a sharp breath and giggle, knowing that you’ve just given away two of your favorite spots to him. He chuckles and continues kissing your neck, jaw, collarbone, and ears, simultaneously scratching your smooth skin with his facial hair. Your skin tastes like vanilla and tangerine, and he marvels at how soft you are and relishes in the sounds he’s pulling from your lips. “Fuck, Joel,” you whine, “that feels so good.”

“You taste so good, baby,” he says and returns his mouth to yours, hands roaming all over your body but careful to not overstep boundaries. Your hands do the same, but you both make sure you’re still pressed up as close to each other as possible. You can feel his rock-hard cock ready to burst through the fabric of his jeans and your wetness pooling in your underwear, threatening to trickle down your thighs.

He pulls away briefly and groans, a look of near-despair clouding his amber eyes. “I want you so fuckin’ bad, but I wanna do this right.” You nod in agreement. Snapshots of Joel taking your clothes off and running his hands and tongue all over your body are racing through your mind, but you know he’s right. He’s got the same visions of you in his mind and wants nothing more than to make you feel good – physically and emotionally.

“Not like we need to rush anything,” you say, looking up at him. His smile is so saccharine, and he leans in to kiss you softly on the lips.

“Got nothin’ but time, sweetheart.” He holds you in his arms for a moment, and the door leading to the patio swings open with a squeak. Loud music and warbled voices invade your space momentarily before the door shuts. You look up and see Keri grinning ear to ear.

“See? I told you you wouldn’t regret coming here, Joel,” she says, pursing her lips at the two of you as she brings her beer up for a sip. You stick your tongue out and she giggles, turning to go back inside.

Your gurgling stomach makes its entrance, interrupting your sweet moment with Joel. He chuckles, “Sweetheart, do you wanna go get something to eat? It’s gettin’ late, and I know you had a long day,” he says, his hands crossing up your back and coming to land on your shoulders. You hadn’t noticed until now that your stomach felt tense, like you had a hole in it that food needed to fill. “Probably a good idea… I must’ve forgotten to eat after I left the center today,” you say, rubbing your stomach lightly. You check your watch. 12:53 am. Not too late, but the events of the day are starting to drag your body down into the depths of fatigue. He cups your jaw with both hands and places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s go, then, and I’ll take you home. Where d’ya wanna go?” He asks, eyes shifting between yours. You think of all the places that would be open right now, deciding that something quick and greasy is probably the only option. You shrug.

“You’re the local, you be the guide,” he says, releasing you from his embrace and taking your hand. He leads you inside and stops at your work table so you can say goodbye. You wave at everyone and give Keri a quick hug. “You let me know when you get home, alright hon’?” She says, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Yes ma’am, you got it,” you say, hugging her tightly.

You two leave hand in hand and walk to Joel’s black pickup, which looks very expensive and very new. You attempt to open the passenger door and he stops you. You raise an eyebrow and give him a confused look. “Sweetheart, I’m a Southern gentleman,” he trills, opening the door for you and ushering you in with a hand on your lower back. You smirk and feel the liquid courage bubbling up again. “Oh yeah? In more ways than one?” His eyes flash with desire, moving up and down your frame as you get comfortable in the passenger seat.

“Don’t get me started on all the ways,” he says, voice deep and eyes fixated on yours. You feel your neck and cheeks heat. This is gonna be tough. Joel shuts your door and trots over to the driver’s side. He pulls out of the parking lot, his free hand reaching over the center console to lace his fingers with yours. “Decide what you want?”

“I’m thinking classic McDonald’s… I’m a cheap date,” you say, squeezing his hand. He laughs.

“We’ll see how long that lasts, darlin’… I gotta take you out for a real date soon,” he grins. Your stomach flips at the thought of going on a real date with Joel.

After you go through the McDonald’s drive through, Joel heads to your place to drop you off. He approaches the entrance to your building and puts the truck in park.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask. He gives you a look, almost pained. “Sure, darlin’. No funny business, I promise,” he responds. You tilt your head at him, amused. “Not sure if we have the same definition of that phrase, but you’re about to find out,” you say, smirking. He scoffs and moves the truck to a parking spot.

You enter the building and head to your door at the end of the first floor. Hopefully it’s clean, you think. You can’t remember the last time a man came over. You pop in your code and open the door, Joel holding the door beside you. You set your purse and keys on the kitchen counter and watch Joel’s eyes examine the place. He looks at the pictures of you and your friends and family hung on the walls.

“Clearly, you’ve always been gorgeous,” he says, pointing to a picture from your 8th grade graduation. Braces and all. You smack his arm playfully. “Shut it. We can’t all be sexy-cowboy-chico-suave like you,” you gripe, making him burst out laughing. “Never heard that one before darlin’, but sexy doesn’t cover you,” he says, eyes traveling up and down your frame. He takes two big steps toward you. “So, what’s your definition of funny business?” he asks, finger tipping your chin up to look at him. You smirk and lead him to the couch, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on.

“You’re really gonna regret coming over here,” you giggle, pulling up Hulu. You scroll down to continue watching The Golden Girls. Joel groans playfully. “Yeah… we definitely have different definitions of that word,” he says, putting his arm around you and kicking his feet up as you snuggle into him.

taglist: @burntheedges <3

#joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fandom #centrifugation

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dystopicjumpsuit · 9 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 19

The Way the World Ends, Part 3

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.9k

Warnings and tags: angst; suspense; canon-typical violence; someone gets punched; blood and injury; language.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo arrives in Pabu; the team disagrees about how to proceed.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

…This is the way the world ends…

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

To say Pabu was beautiful would be grossly inadequate: it was the most idyllic place Echo had ever seen, and he’d seen a kriffing lot of the galaxy. He didn’t know if a worse hell existed than Skako Minor, but it was difficult to imagine a heaven that was lovelier than Pabu. He wished Riyo could have been there with him to see it.

It felt very strange to sit in the sunshine and enjoy Shep Hazard’s feast, to drink whatever fruity cocktail the mayor had made from the fermented tropical fruit that grew on their island—all while conscious that the rest of his team was either stuck in that dingy underworld garage or out on missions that were equally likely to end in gruesome disaster as success. He didn’t blame Hunter for wanting to keep the rest of the Batch—and particularly Omega—safe in this paradise.

Despite all that, Echo didn’t regret his decision to join Rex for even a second. The team’s success at Balmorra had only reaffirmed that he’d made the right call. But he couldn’t deny that it was very good to see his family again. Hunter made it more than clear that Echo would be welcome to join them, and if he were honest with himself, Echo admitted that it was a tempting prospect: a peaceful life in this beautiful place, surrounded by the people who were closest to him.

But what about the others? The ones who weren’t lucky enough to have found peace and safety?

“Echo, you've seen the power you're up against,” Hunter said. “You can't defeat them.”

“It's not about that,” Echo insisted. “It's about fighting for our brothers.”

“I understand why you're doing this,” Hunter sighed, “but when will it be enough?”

Echo didn’t reply immediately, but the unspoken words hovered between them nonetheless: Not yet.

“We have to tell him,” Fireball insisted.

“What good would it do?” Rex asked. “We need to get that data spike decrypted. If we tell Echo now, he’ll want to join in the search. We have to think about the bigger picture.”

“We could use some karking help with the search,” Nemec pointed out. “We still don’t know where Cerra is or even who took her.”

“My contact is looking into it,” Rex insisted. “If she’s in Imperial custody, we should know within a day or two.”

“And what if she isn’t?” Fireball asked. “How are we supposed to find her when we have no actionable intel?”

Riyo’s stomach churned. She couldn’t even believe they were having this conversation. Rex’s jaw was set firmly, but she could see the torment and self-doubt that swirled in his eyes.

“What if the situation were reversed?” she asked Rex. “If Echo knew something had happened to Cerra, and he decided to keep it from you?”

“I’d say he made the right decision,” Rex said. “The mission comes first.”

“That’s a kriffin’ lie,” Gregor said. “You’d burn the galaxy to the ground.”

“And what makes you say that?” Rex demanded harshly.

Gregor stared at Rex without flinching. “Because that’s what I’d do.”

“I have to agree,” Riyo said. “I’m sorry, Rex. If you don’t comm Echo, I will.”

Rex sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “Just… Give me a day. If I don’t hear back from my contact by then, I’ll comm Echo myself.”

“And what if you hear back?” Gregor asked.

Rex didn’t respond, and Riyo knew he was considering the possibility that his contact wouldn’t have any information.

“Then we’ll make a decision at that point,” she said decisively.

Rex met her eyes and nodded in acknowledgment. She wasn’t particularly thrilled, but she understood Rex’s reservations. There was really nothing Echo could do right now, and his mission was important. But the minute they had a shred of intel, she would comm him—Rex and his bigger picture be damned.

“Previous transfer records recovered from the ship's logs list other clone prisoners detained by the Advanced Science Division,” Tech said, “and Crosshair is one of them.”

Wrecker spoke the thought that sprang to all of their minds: “You mean Crosshair turned on the Empire?”

Echo stared at Tech. If this were true, it could change everything. Crosshair had chosen the Empire, and he’d claimed to have done it without the influence of his inhibitor chip. Echo harbored private doubts that Crosshair’s chip had truly been removed, even if he thought it had. Regardless, if Crosshair had a change of heart about the Empire, that meant that there was hope that he would be willing to come back to the squad. Echo had lost too many brothers already. If there was the slightest chance that he could save Crosshair, he had to do it.

Tech and Echo threw themselves into the task of combing through the data he’d recovered from the Gozanti, and then into hunting down any leads they could find on Hemlock and the Advanced Science Division in Republic and Imperial records. There was precious little, and after an exhaustive search, Echo sent a message to Rex asking for assistance.

Echo was surprised by how quickly Rex commed him back. He answered the call aboard the Remora; better for everyone involved if the Batch knew as little as possible about the details of Rex’s operations. The more they knew, the bigger the targets on their backs would grow.

“Echo,” Rex greeted him without preamble. “My contact came through with limited intel on your Dr. Hemlock, but we do know that he’s set to travel to Eriadu in two rotations.”

“That’s not much time,” Echo frowned. “What’s he doing there?”

“Attending some sort of summit at Tarkin’s compound with a bunch of Imperials. Not sure who else will be there, but given how classified it is, safe to say they’re all high-level officials.”

Echo grunted. “Tight security, then. Couldn’t take it with an army, but maybe a strike team could infil. Anything else?”

Rex shook his head, his expression troubled. “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make it seem like Hemlock doesn’t exist. They’re not going to be happy to see a squad of wanted fugitives tracking him down.”

“We don’t have a choice. If he has Crosshair, we have to get him back,” Echo said firmly. “He’s our brother. Besides, Hemlock is holding other clones, too.”

“I understand,” Rex replied, but doubt clouded his eyes.

“We could use some backup,” Echo observed.

“I wish I could send it,” Rex said. “Echo… there’s something you need to know.”

“What is it?” Echo asked. “Riyo—”

“She’s all right,” Rex said. “It’s about Cerra.”

Echo’s short-lived relief spiraled into a sense of foreboding. “What happened?”

“She went missing on an extraction mission. We still don’t know who took her.”

“I’m coming back,” Echo said flatly.

“Negative,” Rex replied, his voice stern. “The whole team on Coruscant is working on it. Your mission is too important; we have no idea if or when we’ll get another lead on Hemlock.”

“Kriff Hemlock—” Echo began.

“Cerra would want you to put the mission first,” Rex interrupted. “You know it’s true.”

“Cerra has a karkin’ death wish!” Echo snapped. “She’s been looking for an excuse to self-destruct since I met her.”

“We won’t let that happen. We will find her. I need you to stay focused on your mission. We can’t spare the men for Eriadu, and we couldn’t make it in time anyway. It has to be you, Echo. We’re counting on you.”

Echo sat alone in the Remora for a long moment after Rex ended the holocom. He knew Rex was right, but it didn’t ease the sick feeling of dread when he thought about Cerra. Dank farrik, he’d only just begun to get through to her, and now he might have lost her for good—his last link to Fives.

The mission comes first.

He’d get his brother back first, and if the team hadn’t found Cerra by then, he swore by the Force he’d get his sister back, too.

Cerra awoke to the familiar gray walls of a Venator brig. She’d never been held in one before, but she’d seen them plenty of times during her years of service. She had no idea how much time had passed or even which Venator she was on. Her body ached, and hunger gnawed at her stomach. She took a quick stock of her situation.

Naturally, she’d been stripped of her weapons and armor, which was karking annoying. It was just her luck to lose her armor on the very first mission after she finished the modifications she’d been working on with Echo. The loss of the blasters cut deeper. Jesse had customized them for her specially years before, and they were all she had left from him. Even if she managed to escape, the odds were spectacularly bad that she would be able to find them on the Venator, if they’d even made it aboard.

That was assuming she lived long enough to escape. She had no delusions about her chances: she was being kept alive long enough to interrogate. Once they’d ripped the answers out of her, she would be terminated and jettisoned with the rest of the trash. If she were lucky, it would happen in that order.

All of which meant that she needed to escape before they had a chance to extract her secrets. All she had to do was break out of a completely secure holding cell, make her way through an enormous and heavily guarded starship, steal a ride, and jump into hyperspace before the Venator could engage its tractor beam—all without getting captured again.

Easy peasy.

She scoffed and flopped back down on the kriffing pathetic excuse for a bed. Clearly, prisoner comfort was not high on the list of priorities for jail cells. Nor was entertainment, which she discovered over the course of the next several days. Had she been bored when she was alone in the garage? That had been a paradise compared to the endless, colorless monotony of a Venator cell.

She slept, she woke, she slept again. Nothing changed, and she was forced to confront the very real possibility that she was going to die in this cell. She didn’t know how many days passed before the heavy tread of a TK trooper sounded outside her cell door.

“On your feet,” he barked. “Hands behind your head.”

She complied, keeping a wary eye on his blaster. He shut down the ray shield and entered the cell, then shoved her against the wall as he secured her wrists in a set of binders behind her back.

“You know, I usually expect a man to at least tell me his name before I let him tie me up,” she said, hoping to catch him off-balance.

“Quiet, scum,” he snapped.

Ah, well. Worth a shot.

“Get moving,” he ordered, nudging her out of the cell and into the corridor with the muzzle of his blaster.

“Where we headed?” she asked conversationally.

“Interrogation,” he replied shortly.

“Any chance we can stop at the commissary?” she asked. “I wouldn’t mind a snack. The prisoner rations here are—”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Eyes front.”

Unfortunately, he never let down his guard, and his blasters were properly secured. Trust her to encounter the only competent TK trooper in the entire kriffin’ army. He marched her to the interrogation room and thrust her through the doorway. She stumbled, but righted herself in time to see the door slide closed and the lock engage.

She took a quick inventory of the room. There was nothing inside except a table and two chairs; nothing she could use to escape or even loosen her binders. She paced around the room impatiently. After waiting a frankly impolite amount of time, at last she heard the door hiss open behind her.

“Cerra Kilian. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Oh kark.

She would recognize that voice anywhere, and she fought against a reflexive urge to snap to attention. Instead, she turned slowly around and inspected the man who’d entered the room.

“Admiral,” she drawled in greeting, hoping that he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart or see the damp sheen of sweat that she suddenly felt on her forehead.

“It’s colonel, actually,” Wullf Yularen replied.

“Apologies, I didn’t realize you’d been demoted,” Cerra replied. From his narrowed eyes, she could tell the barb had struck home.

“It was a lateral move,” he replied. “An opportunity presented itself to be of greater service to the Empire.”

“Then I suppose congratulations are in order,” Cerra said.

“I can’t say the same for you,” Yularen said with a faint look of disgust as he surveyed her from her shaved head to her booted feet. “What on earth have you done to yourself? You used to be almost pretty.”

Always such a charmer.

“Well, new Empire, new me,” she said glibly. “I think the new look suits me.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t expect better from a deserter and a traitor,” he said.

Cerra smirked. “Deserter, I’ll give you. But I hardly think a few shady back-alley deals constitute treason. If they did, you’d have to arrest the entire senate.”

Yularen clenched his jaw, but he didn’t rise to her bait. “You saved my life once, Lieutenant—or rather—Miss Kilian, and out of respect for that, I am going to give you a chance to do this the easy way. Tell me where to find your companions, and I will let you go free.”

Kraytshit, scughole. The only way you’re letting me out is in a body bag.

“I don’t have any companions,” she said. “I’m a free agent.”

Yularen’s lips tightened. He began to circle her, slowly, his shoulders ramrod straight, and his hands clasped behind his back.

“What were you doing on Daiyu?”

“What does anyone do on Daiyu?” she asked. “I was picking up a shipment of glitterstim.”

“You expect me to believe you abandoned your highly decorated military career to become a spice runner?” Yularen’s voice dripped with skepticism.

She shrugged. “Girl’s gotta make a living.”

He narrowed his eyes. “We know you were involved with the insurrection on Raada.”

It was hardly an insurrection. I just blew up a speeder.

“What’s Raada?” she asked insouciantly.

“We have surveillance holos of you on the base. There’s no point in pretending ignorance.”

“Oh, you mean Raada, the moon,” Cerra said. “I was thinking about moving there, but I didn’t care much for the neighbors.”

“I see. I must admit, I was surprised to see a familiar face when we began to investigate the Raada incident. Careless. Almost as careless as trusting a spice runner not to give you up at the first hint of a reward.”

So that’s where the hole in our opsec was, Cerra thought grimly. Poor fucker.

“Hell of a reward,” she said. “Why do you care so much about a blown-up speeder, anyway?”

“Don’t pretend to be so innocent,” he gritted out. “Where is Ahsoka Tano?”

“Who?” Cerra didn’t need to fake her confusion this time; she was truly baffled.

What in the galaxy does Ahsoka Tano have to do with anything? Cerra had met the young Jedi several times before she was transferred to the Ro-Ti-Mundi, but didn’t know her particularly well. Certainly not as well as Rex did. As far as Cerra knew, the girl had died along with the rest of the Jedi Order, even if she was a lapsed member.

“We know an adolescent Togruta Jedi killed an inquisitor on Raada and escaped mere days after you were caught on holocam at that base. Where is she?” Yularen demanded in a harsh tone.

“I thought all the Jedi were dead. What’s an inquisitor?” Cerra asked curiously. She hadn’t heard of them before, and she figured she might as well try to get as much information as she could on the off chance that she walked away from this mess.

Yularen backhanded her, hard. He struck so fast she never saw his fist coming before it smashed into her face. Her head snapped to the side, and she stumbled, but righted herself quickly as agony exploded in her mouth.

“Rude,” she gasped painfully. “I thought we were having a conversation.”

She tasted the salty, metallic flavor of blood, and she spat it onto the floor in front of Yularen’s feet.

“I gave you your chance to cooperate,” he said. “But it seems you’ve chosen to do it the hard way.”

“You know,” Cerra said, “you were a decent commanding officer. Bit of a hardass, but I never took you for a stooge. I guess you can never really know someone.”

“Strong words for a woman who betrayed everything she ever stood for,” Yularen said.

“I didn’t betray shit,” Cerra snarled. “And my only regret is that I dragged your fascist ass into the escape pod instead of saving more clones.”

He glared at her. “You will tell me everything.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she said.

“I won’t need to. Guard!” Yularen snapped. The TK trooper stationed outside the room entered immediately. “Escort the prisoner to the enhanced interrogation room, and notify Agent Daivik that his services are required.”

“Yes, sir,” the trooper said, taking aim at Cerra. “Move it, scum.”

Cerra shot Yularen an impudent, bloody grin. “Be seeing you.”

---

Next chapter

#echo tbb #captain rex #captain gregor #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #clone trooper fireball #clone trooper nemec #the bad batch #star wars #tbb fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars oc #dystopicjumpsuit writes #stars beyond number

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hudson-whorenet · 11 months

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I’m bored so here’s my Doc head canons! I think about these a lot lmao (these are vaguely humanised)

After his big crash at Fireball beach he developed a fear of the ocean and beaches in general, which is why he moved to a landlocked state like Arizona, quite possibly the driest place he could’ve moved. (It’s actually on my writing list to write a short fic about him making peace with the memories while in Florida with lightning for a race, but alas I haven’t gotten around to it)

He has a great singing voice but hates singing in-front of people, until one night he has too much to drink and gets up on the karaoke mic at Flo’s and shocks everyone

Speaking of music, he ironically loves the Beach Boys and other rock and roll artists, he also enjoys Tom Jones. He likes to listen to his records when he has a lot of work to do, he feels it helps him focus and stops his mind wandering

He just forgets to sleep sometimes, he’ll get so adsorbed in his work that he doesn’t realise how late it is, and by then decides going to bed isn’t worth it anyway. Sheriff has had to knock on the clinic door multiple times in the small hours of the morning to tell him to go to sleep.

He rarely looses him temper, unless things he love are at stake, as seen with how angry he is with lightning in the first movie. He really values his community and feels an obligation as their judge and doctor to keep them safe.

Saying this though, he does get competitive when playing board games and is a frequent rule checker when he’s loosing, playing monopoly with him is a nightmare.

He values his appearance but isn’t obsessed with it, he likes to appear well dressed and sharp but sometimes slips up if he’s tired or overwhelmed.

#pixar cars #cars fandom #cars 2006 #doc hudson #cars #head canon

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the-screams-of-the-damned · 3 months

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Alastor x fem Reader one-shot that no one asked for

NSFW: In which a drinking challenge is issued and lost. Miserably.

Angel Dust's sinister laugh echoes against the hotel bar's high ceilings. He leans back against the bar and picks up another drink.

"I swear, this fucker can't even hold his liquor. I've seen him get three drinks in and tryin' to fuck a lamp!" He exclaims.

"Not sure you're much better," you laugh. "You've only had two, and you can't stop screaming."

"Nah, he's always like that," Husk tells you. He's been here a lot longer than you have, seeing as you'd arrived yesterday.

"Oh, I can hold my liquor! I bet I could drink anyone in this place under the table and then some!" Angel challenges.

"That's not something to be proud of," Vaggie retorts from the parlor.

"And untrue," Husk adds.

"Oh yeah?" Angel leans over the bar and gives Husk an annoyed look. "Who do you think could beat me? I know you can't Kitty-Cat~"

"I've yet to meet a demon in Hell that can out-drink Alastor. That man drinks like a sailor and then comes back to work like nothing happened."

"That's nothin'! I bet I could drink Ole Smiley into next week," Angel claims.

"Ha! I doubt it." Where the fuck did Alastor come from? Fucker just aparated to the bar. He chuckles when you jump at the sudden sound of his voice.

"Really? Challenge accepted." Angel smirks. "You're two drinks behind, Al."

Alastor takes a seat next to you and taps the counter. Husk passes him a glass of something brown and strong smelling. You curl your nose at the scent.

The man downs his drink in one go. You can't help but watch as his throat moves in a series of gulps. He lets out a satisfied hum and sets the glass back down. Husk refills it with the same drink, and Alastor downs the second just as quickly.

"So," he turns to Angel and smirks evilly. "What are the rules of this contest?"

Angel thinks for a moment. "We both do a shot every ten minutes. Whoever pukes or passes out first loses."

"And what're ya' taking shots of?" Husk asks.

"Surprise us," Alastor orders. Husk chuckles darkly and inspects his stash of bottles.

Alastor peered at you from the corner of his eye, his smile widening when you blush and turn away from him.

As new to the hotel as you were, you were very familiar with The Radio Demon. Or at least, you were familiar with the stories. A ruthless, bloodthirsty, and genius entity of raw power and wrath. A deal maker, manipulator, serial killer, cannibal, and the host of the Hazbin Hotel.

None of the stories included how handsome he was. You couldn't help it, but damn if you didn't have a sweet spot for a well-dressed man with an immaculate jawline. Not to mention how charming he is. He speaks with such charisma and kindness, perfectly complimented by his animated movements and playful tone. Every detail of his appearance oozed class and power with an equal part mystery. If you ever questioned why you were in Hell, he reminded you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Alastor gagging on whatever drink Husk had given him.

"What the devil was that?" He scrunched his nose in disgust and inspected the shot glass in his hand.

"Sweetened Lime Tequila," Husk answered with a smug smile.

"It's disgusting."

You watched as the game proceeded. Cinnamon schnapps, fireball whiskey, pink lemonade vodka, moonshine, and more. Occasionally, you'd do a shot with them, but for the most part, you stuck to your cocktails.

The boys were twelve shots in, and Husk was deeply enjoying his games of drink roulette. You were a bit tipsy yourself, but not nearly as drunk as Angel was. To his credit, fourteen drinks in, he was doing better than you would. You would be dead by now. And even still, Alastor was doing better.

"I gotta use da bathroom," Angel sighed. "To be con- conti- whatever." Alastor chuckled as Angel wandered off.

"And how many drinks have you had, Darling?" He turned his attention to you, raising his eyebrow.

You counted in your head for a moment, both the shots you'd taken with them and the cocktails you'd had on your own. "Six, I think." You take a sip from your glass.

"Hmmmm. And will you be taking shot number thirteen with us?" He rests his chin in his hand. You can't help but look towars your lap, completely missing the way his eyes rake over your body.

"Maybe, depends on what it is," you answer.

"You don't want it," Husk tells you. "It's the kind of shit this one likes." He gestures to Alastor. You nod and take another sip of your drink.

"That's a shame. It's quite entertaining to watch you choke down a real drink." He smirks at you. You can feel your face turn red at his words. "In fact, my dear -" he leans closer to you, "- you tend to be very entertaining." His voice lowers to a whisper as he tilts his head. You can smell the faint odor of alcohol lingering on his breath as he speaks to you. The suggestive tone of his voice makes something deep inside of you flutter to life.

"Thank you?" You whisper to match him.

He laughs and turns away as Angel sits back at this counter. However, you don't escape his attention as his hand comes to rest on your thigh, sliding up under your skirt. He gently massages the skin and spreads his fingers so that his pinky is just teasing your sensitive area. You can't help but open your legs slightly.

Four more shots go by before Angel runs to the bathroom. He only makes it halfway there before vomiting on the hardwood. Alastor throws his head backward with raucous laughter, finally removing his hand from your leg.

"I believe this means I win," he laughs.

"And I believe it means I'm done," you sigh. You stand and blink the dizziness away.

"Perhaps I should turn in as well," Alastor agrees.

You could feel his eyes on your body as he walked behind you, following you through the parlor and into the elevator. You lean on the railings for support, turning to face Alastor as he gives you a smug look.

"My my, seven drinks, and you can't stand upright?" He teases. "I suppose it's to be expected from a sweet little thing like you."

You stick your tongue out at him, desperately trying to undercut the way his voice makes you wet your panties ever so slightly. You're met with a condescending chuckle.

"Darling, you'll have to try much harder than that if you want to get a rise out of me. Besides, -" he leans into you, placing a hand under your chin. "There are much better uses that tongue of yours." He tilts your head to look at him, enjoying the way your breathing deepens.

"Yeah?" You give him a smirk to match his own. "Like what?"

He moves his hand to grip your neck just below your jaw. His lips meet yours as he pulls you upward by your neck. He snakes his other arm below your rear as he pulls your feet up from the floor. You clamp your legs around his waist and wrap your arms around his neck for stability as you respond to the kiss with enthusiasm. He slams your back into the wall and bites your bottom lip hard enough to break the skin.

His tongue runs over the open wound and gives a satisfied hum at the taste of your blood. He chuckles darkly as you whine in pain.

The elevator dings, and Alastor pulls you through the hallway. He pulls away from you to fish through his pockets for a key. You let out a long whine and buck your hips into him.

"Patience, my dear," he teases.

The door to his bedroom swings open. He kisses you once again, slamming your back into the door to close it. You whimper at the harsh impact. He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips, filling your mouth with the bitter taste of liquor. In this position, you can feel his erection rubbing over your own clothed entrance. You grind your hips down against him, making him groan into your mouth. You gagged as his overly-long tongue hit the back of your throat. He fucking loved it.

Alastor's hips thrusted up into your heat, eliciting a long moan. He finally pulled away from your lips, looking over your body with a hungry gaze.

"Are you sober enough to strip on your own, or do I need to rip you out of those clothes myself?" He growled.

"I- I can do it," you stammer. He gently puts you down, allowing him to work on his own buttons.

You lean against the nearby desk as you pull your shirt over your head. However, your bra gives you trouble. You'd thought it would be a good idea to wear something fancy, and now you're deeply regretting it. You turn to see Alastor now dressed in only his red button-up and dress pants.

He chuckles as he catches you. You give him a pair of pathetic puppy dog eyes, and he rolls his eyes.

"Turn around," he commanded you, swiveling his finger to emphasize it. You did as he said, leaning forward against the desk. "Good girl."

Those words make your pussy flutter with need. Alastor seems to notice as he places one hand over your clothed cunt, gently rubbing your clit. His free hand comes up to your bra, gripping fabric between your breasts. His claws rip through it with ease. He does the same to your skirt, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor. Finally, with two hands, he gripped your panties, ripping them into nothing but a lacey shredd of fabric.

He forces a single digit past your entrance, relishing the squeal it results in. He doesn't wait to add a second, causing you to groan from the pleasurable stretch. So fucking good. His other hand made its way around your torso to cup your breast. He gently massaged the soft flesh.

You could feel his arousal against your lower back. You bucked your hips against his fingers in a plee for more, which he happily obliged. He thrusted a third finger into your soaking heat, his cock twitching against you when you moan out.

"Fuck," he purrs into your shoulder. "You make the most beautiful noises, my dear."

You respond only with a moan, completely abandoning any semblance of composure. He only chuckles. You whine pitifully as his fingers fall out of your needy cunt, making him laugh even harder. He gripped your hips, turning you over and pulling you up to be sitting on the desk. His lips hit yours only for a moment. He pushes you back, sprawling you out against the desk.

His eyes raked over your naked body, absorbing every detail of your skin. His own desire had grown too heavy to resist, and he now struggled to pull his own desperate member from his pants. When he did, he wasted no time. In one strong and immediate thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside of you. You screamed in both pleasure and pain as your walls gripped him. He leans down again, attaching his lips to yours.

"Isn't it lovely, dear?" He whispered against your lips. "Your body is just so welcoming for me." He pulled back until only the head remained inside of you, quickly snapping his hips to be fully one with you again. Your hips buck, and your back arches as you let out a high-pitched moan of pure bliss. "It takes my cock so perfectly."

You grip his shoulders, digging your nails onto his skin. He hisses in pain as he thrusts into you with more urgency than before. His thumb comes down to rub your clit, causing your groan in satisfaction. He kisses you again, allowing you to swallow his various growls of pleasure.

His rhythm remained steady as he fucked you. He used his fingers on your clit to match each thrust, drinking up your moans and squeals. Slowly, you felt the familiar knot begin to build in your gut. You raked your nails along his back, meeting his hips with yours. His dick reached deep inside of you, allowing your walls to clench around him and suck up his length when he moved. The knot in your gut tightened, causing you to twitch beneath him.

"Cum for me, Darling," he ordered. "Let me hear how good I fuck you."

You did just that. Your heat clenched around him, and you let out a near scream as you released. The feeling of your walls tightening and squeezing his cock became too much for Alastor. The warm sensation filled your gut as he spilled himself inside of you. With his final thrusts, he allowed your body to pull every last drop of seamen out of him. He moaned out as he did so, releasing a string of cuss words into your mouth.

Neither if you bothered to clean up. Instead, he pulled you into his arms and carried you over to his bed. With both of you wrapped in his thick covers, there was no doubt that you'd be feeling both him and the alcohol in the morning.

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locitawritingsblog · 4 months

Text

This fanfic is between "A Quick Salvage Run" and "Live Fire"

After few hours later, after they escaped from D'Qar where the first order found the colossus, Kaz sat on the top of the fireball to grieve his homeworld was destroyed by the first order.

He remembered when he and the others just arrived at D'Qar, he was shocked that planet was destroyed and attacked by the first order. He noticed a big hole on that planet reminds him of a planet base called starkiller destroying Hosnian Prime, his homeworld.

He suddenly heard a knock and looked at the bottom. It was Yeager holding two cups of tea "Hey, I made extra just in case." He offered. Kaz smiled sad at him as nodded and climbed down from the fireball.

They had a peaceful time with drinking their tea until Yeager spoke first "How are you holding on, kid ?"

Kaz sighed "I don't know, there's too much grieve in my mind...how did you deal with all your losses ?"

Yeager took a long breath before told him "Well, at first I was devastated, couldn't believe this was true to see then I was angry that why I had to lose everything I had. Then I decided to leave and came to this station..."

Kaz listened carefully as Yeager saying "...I joined few races few times but... everytime I joined the race, it reminds all those memories that Marcus and I were used to live, race each other until he cheated and killed my family..."

Kaz noticed Yeager had some tears in his eyes, he rubbed Yeager's shoulder "...How could he do that to them ?" Yeager broke into tears.

"I'm so sorry for you've been through, Yeager. I had no idea you had to deal all those things."

Yeager wiped his tears "Thank you Kaz." Then drank his tea.

Kaz gave him a sad smile as nodded.

After they stared at the space as drinking their teas for awhile, Kaz sighed "When Poe told me that the first order would attack my home in some ways, I immediately jumped in and would do anything to be a part of resistance but...."

"You were shocked that Poe took you in here as a resistance spy ?" Yeager finished.

Kaz responded "Yeah ! I wasn't trained to be a spy, I was trained as a pilot. I mean, I was on the top of my class." Yeager shook his head as smiling "Alright, no need to brag, hotshot." He gave Kaz a friendly punch then they chuckled.

"Speaking about pilots, I've been noticing the ace squadron hasn't been experienced in this war situation, I was thinking you and I could show them some tricks to make them great fighters in the sky."

"Like teaching them ?" Kaz raised in confusion.

"More like partner up. We'll show them what we made of."

"Are you sure ? I mean, you've been in the war so many times while I don't have that many."

"But you had been flying with Poe few times and I could really see that you're a gifted pilot." Yeager pointed out.

Kaz smiled "Thanks Yeager. It means a lot."

Yeager smiled back "I'll tell Doza that we will join the ace and prepare them for whatever it comes to protect our home." Kaz nodded "Sounds great."

Yeager tapped Kaz's shoulder "And Kaz, you don't have to talk about your homeworld if you don't want to...but when you ready to talk about it, call me up and I'll be there." "Okay and thanks." Kaz replied.

"We should get some rest, tomorrow will be our big day." Yeager suggested. Kaz nodded and they walked to get some sleep to prepare their big day.

Taglist : @trapezequeen , @cassie-fanfics , @zaya-mo , @fulltimecatwitch , @kanerallels , @commander-tech , @thebadbatch2022 , @catcucumber-salad

#star wars resistance #kazuda xiono #jarek yeager #sw resistance #kaz and yeager #mini fic #locitawritingsblog

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talesfromthewanderingbard · 8 months

Text

There's Magic in a Promise. Ch1

Rugan x femOC Mature 16+ but may change in later chapters Set before the events of the Absolute. Rugan gets a job to find and transport someone back to Baldur's Gate

Rugan sighs, he hated jobs like this. Retrieving and transporting goods were one thing but people? People were unpredictable and despite his proclivity to Bane, human trafficking was one of the less favourable jobs in his position. Still, the orders had come from Darkhold and there was a lot of tarenths to be had should he complete them.

He was well on his way to Viper rank within the Zhentarim and had as a result been assigned a small team to aid him in the retrieval. Brem, who had started around the same time as himself, Zarys who he'd recruited six months back and Ollie, the newest face of his particular stomping grounds. So now the four of them sat in a small tavern in a middle-of-nowhere town near Mirabar, watching their target celebrate some achievement with friends.

“So she's the reason we're up here freezing our nackers off eh?” Brem watches from over his mug. “Should be easy money.”

“Why do we even need to bring her back?” Ollie's voice is hushed and mildly anxious.

“Because we're being paid to, lad. We don't need to know the reason, all we need to know is there's good money being paid to have her delivered to the Gate.” Brem sets down his mug. “Least she's a looker. I'll go get us all another drink.”

Rugan watches as their target clambers onto a table as the bard of their group strikes up a familiar tune, the group laughing and singing as she dances.

She was a pretty little thing. Half-elven, soft and curvy - her short height only emphasising the fact, hair like fire pulled back in a loose bun with a red velvet ribbon and green eyes. She was dressed in spellcaster’s attire and he notes the small component pouch and book strapped at her side. A wizard.

He's about to inform Ollie of this information, when the town's bell begins ringing and someone rushes into the tavern frantically.

“Trolls!”

Zarys grabs her blades and Rugan swears, watching the target and her friends hurry to defend the town.“What do we do?” Zarys sounds more irritated than concerned.

“We help just enough for one of us to get close and while the confusion is creating a distraction we grab her and get out. If someone gets her, we signal and meet at the signpost West of town.” Both Zarys and Ollie nod and the group are off. The group rushes out of the tavern, Brem nodding signalling to Rugan that he’ll gather the horses and Rugan focuses his attention forward to the sound of combat. Trolls were nasty beasts but usually travelled alone or in pairs, so seeing five of the beasts was concerning but that wasn’t his problem. He pushes inward, dodging a hefty lobbed boulder that tears through some of the locals who were desperately approaching with sub-par weaponry. He watches Zarys fire off a crossbow bolt, fending off a troll who had been about to grasp at Ollie and in his hurry he stumbles over the torn leg of what he believes to be one of his target’s friends. Shouts come from somewhere warning that more trolls were approaching from the east and he curses. Just what had this town done to draw the ire of an entire troll population?

Finally as he regains his footing and spins to take in his surroundings he bumps into someone and on closer inspection finds it to be the target.

“He-SHIT!” He sweeps the woman into his arms, lunging out of the way just in time to see a heavy tree trunk slam down where the pair had been just an instance before. “Now would be a good time to do some fireballs and shit!” The troll lifts the makeshift club once more.

“I can’t cast that yet!” She sits stunned in his grasp for a moment. “And i’m tapped out!”

Rugan just rolls his eyes and throws her over his shoulder, hearing her yelp as he does so, before running east, whistling the signal for Zarys and Ollie.

“Hey! Put me down, where are you going?!”

She drums on his back as he runs, kicking and writhing but unable to escape his grasp. The group aren’t out of the gates when Brem meets them with the horses. “Hurry, there are more coming up from the river!” Rugan manoeuvres the girl onto his horse and swings himself up, adjusting her to be seated between his arms and once mounted, he kicks off, following Brem down the east road.

The group had been riding for about fifteen minutes at a full gallop and crest a hill when they slow and stop, turning to look across the plain at the now heavily burning town in the distance. The woman slips from her place on the horse, crying as she stumbles a few steps toward the town, closely followed by Rugan who takes her by the arm. As he does, she hits at him, hammering his chest. “You bastard, those were my friends! We could have saved them!”

“No we couldn’t have, lass. Whatever angered those trolls, there was no stopping them.”

“We could have tried! I could have tried!”

Rugan sets his jaw as she screams at him before turning her, taking her chin to focus her view on the burning town, his words firm. “Lass, if you tried, you’d be down there burning right now, or being dragged off for some troll’s stew. Your friends are dead, as is the rest of that bloody town. Be thankful we got you out of there.”

They rode for another three hours before it was too dark to continue safely, setting up a small camp to the side of the road, Rugan hands the girl to Zarys to watch for the night as he and Brem look over the map.

“Tsk, I was hoping we wouldn’t have to take the High road, is there no way we can cut across and get onto the Long Road? I’ve got a contact in Longsaddle that could get us fresh horses.”

Brem shakes his head. “Nah mate, crossing the Mirar this time of year is a quick way to a watery grave. ‘Less you wanna head back through the trolls, we go down the coast.”

Rugan pinches the bridge of his nose, that added at least another tenday on their journey. “Righto. We make do. We take Blackford Crossing, skip Luscan and get fresh horses in Neverwinter.” Ollie brings them over a bowl of stew and Rugan snatches Brem’s with a grin. “Gotta feed our guest, mate.”

He walks over to where the girl sits in silence near Zarys who is maintaining her crossbow and sits on the other side of her, passing the wooden bowl of warm food. “Eat, you’ll need it to keep warm in this place.” When she takes it he takes a spoonful of his own, watching her carefully. “What’s your name, Lass?”

“Sylvhane.” Her voice is quiet, still hoarse from her earlier crying. “And you?”

“Name’s Rugan. That’s Zarys, Ollie and that ginger bastard over there is Brem.”

Silence falls over them all a little longer. “Thank you.”

The night passes easily despite the cold and the next morning after a quick breakfast Rugan addresses the group. “Right, Brem and I went over the map last night, it’s too late in the season for us to cross the river so we have to go the long way. We’re about four days out of Blackford Crossing then we make our way south. We’ll have enough supplies for the five of us easy enough and it should start warmin’ up from there too.”

“Where exactly are you going?” Sylvhane sounded less exhausted than the previous evening.

“We’re taking you to the Gate, Lass.” His brow rises as she stammers, taking a step back. It seemed realisation was finally dawning on her.

“W-what? No, I cant! I won’t!” “Sorry, luv. A job’s a job.” Brem chuckles. “You didn’t think ol’ Ru just swept in and rescued you all prince like cos it was the right thing to do, did you?”

Rugan catches the hand moving to her spell components but is too slow to stop her. “DUCK!” He flattens himself to the ground just in time to avoid the ray of projected flame that leaves a toasted heat against his back, Brem not being as lucky by the sound of his shout and the third ray missing Zarys and Ollie by a fraction. “Ollie grab her!” He scrambles up, watching her writhe out of Ollie’s grasp as her hands ignite. He strides over, snatching her wrist and pulling upward, his free hand holding a dagger to her throat. He hisses as the flames around her hands lash out and singe his skin. “Put the flames away sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not your ‘sweetheart’. Let me go.”

Rugan hears the click of Zarys’ crossbow and motions in her direction. “Zarys is a specialist at shooting ya where it gives the most pain for the least amount of damage. You sure you want to do this?” Sylvhane glares at him for a moment before the flames go out and he keeps her wrist held high.

“Ollie, take her components.” The boy snatches the components pouch from her belt like he thinks she’ll explode and once unarmed, Rugan releases her arm only to watch her try to run. Zarys trips her. He sighs and walks over, grabbing a rope from his saddle as he does so.

“Would be much easier if you just came with us willingly, lass.” He places a foot on her arm to prevent her getting up for a moment as he ties the rope around her waist, double knotting the length before bringing the other end around his own waist to do the same, linking the pair with roughly five feet of length between them and then lifting her up to her feet. “Now you’re stuck with me.”

The past few days of travel had been exhausting and infuriating. In that time though, Sylvhane had made note of each of her captors.

Rugan had kept her tied to him at all times, much to her utter dismay and disgust when nature had called - the man simply turning away to allow her to do her business. Of a night he would take his watch seated by her and through the day she would ride seated at the front of his saddle. Once the initial tension of her attempted escape had passed he had resumed an easy personality. Quick to quip and laugh with the others, a sharp eye to anything they encountered and he had a habit in the quieter moments of riding, of humming to himself.

Ollie was definitely the youngest and newest of the group, seeming to hang on Rugan’s every word. He also seemed to be rather intimidated by Zarys. He did each night’s cooking for the group and was always quiet spoken and apologetic with her. She wondered how he ended up with them.

Brem was quick witted and liked to laugh. He and Rugan seemed to know each other the most, sharing in-jokes and familiar insults toward each other. He was also a horrendous flirt, despite her refusal to take part. Behind the mask of idiocy though, seemed a dark cut-throat element to the man.

Zarys was the most serious of the group. Consistently rolling her eyes at the others, quiet for the most part unless telling the group to stay silent when she hears something suspicious. She was clearly the group’s best marksman too. Sylvie wondered if the woman wouldn’t hesitate to shoot to kill if she were to try to escape again.

It was just starting to rain when the group gets to Blackford Crossing. The city in the near distance split in two by the River Mirar and connected by the distinctive bridge with its tall, arched legs. She feels Rugan pull her closer as they ride through the streets, unsure if he is attempting to protect her from the rain or preventing her from calling for help. They ride like that across the great bridge and into the less affluent side of the city until the reach an inn and stable near the southern gate where they dismount. Ollie stables the horses and Rugan adjusts Sylvie’s cloak, pulling it around her in a manner that hid the rope joining the pair.

“You’re gonna behave yourself in here, right? We don’t wanna cause a scene or make trouble for the good people of this inn.” The words are spoken with a teasing tone she would normally expect from a couple but she understood all too well the threat beneath the candied veil. He wraps a hand around her waist, further concealing their tether and leads her to follow the others into the inn.

“Two rooms, Saer. Just one night.” Brem grins at the innkeeper as they stand by the desk.

“Three, I ain’t bunking with you pricks.” Zarys eyes Brem as he feigns distress.

“Zar, I’m heartbroken.”

“Choke and die Brem.” She rolls her eyes before looking at Rugan and Sylvie. “You won’t complain if I go get a drink will you?”

“Be my guest.” His grip on her waist tightens just slightly. “Could we bother you for a meal and drink bought to our room, and hot water for a bath, the lass is feelin the days travel.”

Sylvie wanted to complain but the idea of a bath sounded heavenly, and it hinted at the removal of the tether so she just nods when the innkeeper trails his gaze across the pair.

“Very well, five silver a room, a silver for the bath and another for the meal.” As Brem pays the coins to the man he grins over at Rugan. “In that case you won’t mind me and Olly takin to the tavern too then. Eh Ru?”

“Sure thing Brem.” he takes his room key and leads Sylvie up.

Rugan internally griped. He’d kill for a fresh pint but that wasn’t possible with the girl being a flight risk and the others were all too quick to take advantage of that fact and pawn the babysitting onto him. At least they’d get a bath and a real bed. He enters the room and removes his cloak, sighing before looking over the room. It was simple, a double bed a desk and a large wooden bathtub.

“There must be a mistake.” Her voice is matter-of-fact.

“Howso?”

“There’s only one bed.” There’s a pause before Rugan laughs. “We did enter in with my arm round your waist, lass. Besides, it’s not as though your bedroll hasn’t been right beside mine the past nights.”

“Only because of this!” She gives the rope a tug.

“And what makes you think it’ll come off now and make a difference?” Sylvie was appalled. How did he expect her to bathe still clothed and tied to him? She folds her arms and huffs, trying to ignore the quiet chuckle from the man. There had to be something she could do. Racking her brain the tender point on her hip makes a thought click. When he had held her waist, the hilt of his dagger was digging into her. If she could somehow get her hands on it… She eyes him, following obediently as he checks each nook and cranny of the room for whatever it was he was checking for. He was attractive, in a rugged sort of way. Blonde hair tied up with an undercut, half a tenday’s stubble, piercing blue eyes. If she could convince him that perhaps she wanted something of him, flirt with him a bit, perhaps she could grab the blade and either threaten him for release or cut the rope herself. A stab to the pillow to get a feather from it and even without her component pouch she’d be able to cast feather fall and escape through the window.

“Lass? Y’alright? You’re staring at me like you want to eat me.”

It was now or never. She steps toward him, keeping her own green eyes locked with his. “Well… if we have to share a bed, I guess we could make the most of it.”

Rugan’s brow raises and he looks down at her, the corner of his mouth shifting upward. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“Well…” She takes another step forward, placing her hands on his hips but feels no blade hilt.

Her eyes dart to his waist back to her face and he smirks before taking her and turning to pin her against the wall. “Removed it when I removed my cloak luv, nice try though.” He looks down at her, noting just how small she truly was compared to him, barely coming to his shoulders as he leans over her. “Now, you gonna actually behave? Or do I need to teach you some manners?”

A knock at the door interrupts them. “Your bath water Saer.” “One moment.” Rugan reaches over to the desk beside them, grabbing his dagger and leaning in to whisper. “Behave.” He quickly cuts the rope around her waist and moves her in the direction of the bed, cutting the rest off himself and sheathing the blade before opening the door. “Apologies, my lady and I were having a discussion.” Sylvhane sits on the bed, cheeks flushed as she watches the innkeeper and who she assumes is his sons bring in a collection of steaming buckets and begin filling the tub. They take two trips each to fill it enough to bathe in before returning once more with food and drinks before instructing Rugan that by the time they finish their meal the water should be ready to use and bidding the pair good night. As the door closes Rugan turns, picking up the tray with their meal and carrying it to the bed. “Eat. Then bathe. And no more trying to stab me.”

“I wasn’t going to stab you.”

Rugan chuckles. “Really then? What were you going to do?”

“Remove the rope and get a feather from the bed to leave through the window.”

Her honesty stuns Rugan for a moment and then he laughs. “Lass you woulda been better off stabbing me.” He takes the pillow on the bed and makes a careful cut in the side where it is sewn, revealing it to be filled with sheeps wool. “This ain't a luxury inn with down bedding. You’re lucky it’s not straw.”

Sylvie feels her cheeks flush again and the pair fall into silence as they eat. “So, any idea who’s paying us so much to get you to the Gate?” He doesn’t look at her with the question, focused entirely on picking the meat off the roast bird on his plate.

“You don’t even know who hired you?” Sylvie stares wide-eyed.

“Not how my people work. All I know is the job came from the real higher ups, and we’ve been offered a decent amount for once, which means whoever wants you there paid ten times that amount.”

Sylvie frowns, suddenly not hungry. “My father.”

It’s now that Rugan’s eyes leave the meal and fall onto her, watching her fidget uncomfortably. “Nobility huh?” She nods. “Look lass, our instructions are to get you there, only using force if you don’t come willingly. So long as you come along easy it’ll be fine. And you got out once so I’m sure you will again.” His words are half muffled as he finishes his meal and she sets hers aside.

“So if I come willingly you won’t tie us together again?”

“Providin’ you don’t try runnin’ or burning Brem’s moustache off again.” He grins as he watches her suppress a chuckle. “Why’d you leave?” When she doesn’t answer he drinks the last of his mead before setting aside his plate and standing. “Righto then, the bath should be ready. You jump in, I gotta use the chamberpot. Remember, no runnin off.”

She nods and he leaves the room leaving her alone.

Sylvhane walks over to the bath, noting the small shelf with a few vials of hair oil, scented oil and the bar of soap along with a bucket and jug for rinsing. She opens one of the scent oils, taking in the strong jasmine and blackberry aroma and places a few drops in the bath before beginning to undress. Once free of the clothing she steps into the water and sighs as she lowers herself. It was still just that slightest bit hot but she relished in the relief it gave her muscles that were sore from riding. When the door to the room opens she ducks down, thankful for the high sides to the wooden tub. She listens to the sounds of Rugan moving around the room, assuming he’s clearing the tray of food and settling in for the evening until she hears him just beside the bath. “Move forward then lass.” “What?!” Her hands instinctively move to cover her chest and is about to look up at him but quickly realising he’s also undressed, stops herself.

“The bath will only stay hot for so long and I’m sure you aint much different than most other women i’ve seen.” he steps over the side, moving to lower himself into the water behind her. The water rises up around her chest as she feels his legs move either side of her. “Besides, you were the one who said we should make the most of this.”

“I didn’t mean it and you know that!” Her face felt like it would catch fire as she sits, leant forward in the water and hears him chuckle behind.

He reaches over, taking the soap from the shelf and without hesitation begins to wash her back, running the bar across tense, knotted muscles. She jumps at first but it’s not long until his skilled hands have her instinctually relaxing. “You want me to wash your hair too?” She wanted to say no, really, but as embarrassed as she was she couldn’t deny how nice it was to have someone do this. “P-please.” He reaches over, scooping some of the clean water and with his free hand, adjusting her head backward so as not to let the water run to her eyes as he wets her hair. He then moves through the motions - adding the hair oil, lathering, massaging her scalp, neck and shoulders and then instructing her to close her eyes and tilt her head back once more so he can rinse the soap from her locks. By the time he’s done she feels the weight of exhaustion sitting heavily on her eyelids. “Let me wash myself and I’ll help you out so you don’t slip.” His words are quiet and gentle. Unlike those she had heard with his interactions with the others. She responds with a tired hum and he smiles but busies himself. Before long, his hands move beneath her arms, helping her stand in the tub. He follows suit and she is suddenly once more all too aware of his naked form as he reaches over her to the towelling hanging on the wall. He squeezes the water from her hair before wrapping the material around her and guiding her safely from the tub, leaving her to stand, wrapped as he does the same for himself.

Sylvie busies herself with her clothes, doing all she can to avoid watching him. Her attention is soon entirely consumed however when she picks up her clothes and realises now that she is clean, just how dirty and damaged her attire is.

“You can borrow something of mine and we’ll get you clean clothes in Neverwinter.” his voice made her jump.

“W-what? I couldn't ask that I-”

“It’s fine, lass. Besides, it’ll be more comfortable to ride in than robes. Unless you’d rather wear those old rags… or go without.”

She could hear the smirk in the last comment and feels her face flare with embarrassed heat. “Yours will do fine then, thankyou.”

He laughs and makes his way to his pack, pulling out a navy shirt and tossing it over to her. “Here, wear this. You and Zarys look about the same size, she should have a pair of pants you can borrow in the morning.”

She nods, pulling on her undergarments and the shirt. It fit more like a tunic dress on her, coming half way down her thighs. She then watches as he does one more check of the room’s perimeter before waving an arm to the bed. “After you, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She settles herself into the bed, facing the wall and feeling Rugan join her, pulling the blankets up over her to tuck her in. She considers for a small moment waiting for the man to sleep but doubts he would and sleep clung heavily to her senses. Before long she falls to slumber.

#bg3 fanfiction #rugan x tav #forgotten realms fanfiction #rugan bg3

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leebrontide · 2 years

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Growing a tea garden?

Full disclosure, I once had an actual Camellia sinensis tree that I loved dearly and flowered for me and was such a joy. But I misunderstood some aspects of taking care of it, and after 2 years, I lost it, which was tragic. I've yet to find another one in an in-person shop near me, so I remain tea-less, technically.

BUT, last summer I found out that there's something called New Jersey Tea. Which, despite the English name, is native to a lot of northern North America, including my own area. And native planting is always a thrilling bonus for me.

Look at it! It's so pretty!

Perfect for a combo native prairie/English cottage garden vibe that's going to go well with all our fruit plants. Being native it's not fussy and I can mostly plant it and forget it, which is ideal. Plus it's a pollinator favorite.

There's a sort of mostly-dug-up garden along the back porch because the previous owners took some apparently massive rhubarbs with them. It's a sunny spot with some decent soil, so a good spot for a garden, and plus then you'd be hanging out with these nice, aromatic plants.

Supposedly, when it's fresh the leaves have an almost wintergreen taste, but when dried it tastes like a spiced black tea. It has no caffeine. It was also supposedly a huge favorite during the US revolution, when tea imports were difficult.

So, then I started thinking about what OTHER plants I can use for making tea that will grow in my frigid home climate.

Canadian Ginger

Just like now New Jersey Tea has no particular relation to Camelia, this is nothing to do with the tropical grown ginger, which is the ginger you probably think of. BUT, it has a deeper ginger taste.

Swamp Mallow Hibiscus

So, again, you think of Hibiscus as being tropical. I only thought to check because one of my neighbors has a bigass deep red hibiscus that's been flowering away every summer for years. Apparently it's some kind of hybrid situation that lets them grow here.

I thought this sort of coloration would look better with the kind of garden I've got going, since I don't want to look tropical.

I adore hibiscus tea. It's tangy, it's colorful. It's refreshing. but I'll be honest, I haven't been able to find any reviews of what the flavor of these hybrids is. If you happen to know, please pass on your knowledge to me.

Fireball Bee Balm

This may shock you, but bee balm is another very pollinator friendly plant. I'm looking to get the fireball type specifically because I like this crimson color. the more common colors are between lavender and hot pink, which are not so much my jam. Plus, it's another native plant to my area!

They have the added bonus of being on the short side, and bunnies don't really like them, so they can form a perimeter around my tea garden to protect the other plants. We have a serious lack of predators in my neighborhood and the rabbits are OUT OF CONTROL. Last winter they ate every one of my cherry shrubs and my entire raspberry bramble down to the ground at the old house. I don't know what we need to do to get some birds of prey over here but we could use them.

Bee balm flavor is a little mint, a little oregano, and a little bit citrus, so that's a natural for tea.

Rose Hips

Apparently you CAN look up which kinds of roses have the tastiest rosehips! Rose hips are the seed of the rose, are in the same botanical family as apples. These are a few of the tastier heirloom varieties I've located. I likely won't plant all three of them. My porch isn't that big and I want to leave a lot of room for the new jersey tea.

Rosehips are lightly floral and tart/citrusy and are a fantastic source of vitamin C. You can of course also eat the flowers, but I don't plan to. My grandma always wore tea-rose perfume and I don't really want to drink a tea that feels like drinking how gramma smelled.

The two lefthand roses are both tree roses (from the middle ages!!), the one on the right is much more low-growing. So I suspect how I end up arranging these will determine which we get.

Anise Hyssop

Proper anise (the flavor for licorice) also doesn't grow here, BUT, anise hyssop has a similar flavor from the mint family. Again, it's usually a purple or pink color, but I CAN find it in an apricot tone, which I love.

Dropmore Scarlet Honeysuckle

Native to IA, not MN but still in the general right biome and so pretty resilient here. I only found out in researching tea gardens that the flowers make for tasty, very sweet, lightly floral tea! I knew you could drink the nectar out of them but this was news to me. And, of course, they make everything around them smell amazing.

I have 16 feet to work with, so plenty of room for plants.

A few other plants that wont be in the garden proper are raspberries, whose leaves have a milder and easy to store version of the fruit flavor, and mint. Both of these though are tremendously prone to conquering any area around them, and so they need some extra containment. We don't really do year-round container gardening here because the roots freeze and kill almost anything. But, the boulevard between the front sidewalk and the street, under the big maple tree, is slated for mint seeding in the spring, and the side garden already has raspberries I'll tell you about on another day.

Chamomile, lavender and echinacea all grow here and are thought to make tasty and healthful tea but...I don't like the flavor of any of them, so they aren't invited.

If you have other plants to suggest, let me know!

#Stormbrew House #gardening #tea #tea garden #long post #gardenblr #gardeners on tumblr #garden planning #Stormbrew Garden

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shine-of-aldhani · 2 years

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Daemon and Laena in Pentos: a long analysis

I have seen people completely divided on whether he was presented as a good husband, a bad one, or anything in between, and I feel like the scenes had lots of subtext that bears looking into, so here is my analysis of them:

- Dragonriding scene: apart from showing us that they are pretty in synch while performing the tricks, it's crucial to notice that they are, indeed, performing for their hosts. They aren't flying just for pleasure: the dragons are circling the castle; the vertical take off, the skydive and the fireball are all positioned in such a way as to offer the Prince of Pentos the best view (this will be important for later).

- The dinner: Laena is at ease and jokes with the Prince. The prince toasts Daemon's ancestor and offers Daemon a proposition. Laena answers before her husband. Daemon holds her hand and says that he'll consider the proposition.

- Library scene: Laena interrupts the valyrian lesson and confronts Daemon about the offer. He explains his reasons. Laena continues talking. He deflects once by caressing her stomach. She stops his hands and presses her point. He deflects again by leaning his head on her. She continues talking through this. He then deflects the 3rd time by pretending to read, and she gives up.

- Balcony scene: Daemon is (hiding) chilling and Laena comes to him again. He smiles and helps her sit down comfortably. She retakes her agenda of convincing him to go back to Westeros. He curses the wine he's drinking (first verbal escalation) and once again evades Laena by standing up and turning his back to her. She approaches him again. At this point, he's done and escalates fully to a sarcastic verbal lashing. She stops talking and offers him physical comfort, but now he is the one who doesn't accept it.

It's obvious that this marriage has problems, but this does not read to me as Daemon being a bad husband to Laena. She feels comfortable enough in her marriage to relentlessly (nag) pursue him to get what she wants. He is way worse than her at communicating: he does explain his point of view initially, but as that fails, he defaults to repeatedly evading her until he does lose his cool at the end. Both offer small gestures of comfort to each other, and both have bad timing so that the offer isn't accepted. Laena knows that she's second best and seems at peace with it - she probably suspected this going in. Daemon seems like he's doing his absolute best to the point where it's sucking all the joy out of him. They seem to respect each other and care for each other, and their main problem is that what they envision for their family going forward are two vastly different things. Laena's wish to go home is easy to understand. Daemon's problem is less clear, but five episodes have given us enough cues to decipher it.

Daemon is a second son who has no possessions in his name, and this fact has finally caught up to him. He isn't banished, but he cannot remain in Kings Landing without the relationship with his brother breaking down in a matter of days. He also cannot squat on Rhaenyra's property at Dragonstone anymore. Pentos offers Daemon a stable way to support his family in the wake of the birth of his 3rd child - but the caveat is that he must work for this (and he's low-key already doing that - see the point about the dragon exhibition). Laena thinks it's beneath him and he absolutely feels the same, but he'd still rather figuratively work to maintain his family by defending Pentos on Caraxes than have them live on Driftmark off Corlys' benevolence as Laena wants.

All this is compounded by his ambivalent relationship with his Valyrian heritage. At the beginning of the series, Daemon was one of six living Valyrians. His obsession with sticking together, keeping the language alive and distrusting outsiders in family matters all stem from the fact that his race is dying (and with only six remaining specimens, it's actually already dead). And yeah, he can talk about Targaryens being superior all he wants, but his true feelings were clear in this episode: "we don't belong anywhere". And yet, instead of sticking together, they are now at a point where Daemon would rather keep away to avoid escalation than be with the people he obviously misses. And I'm not even touching the whole "Rhaenyra is following his marriage advice with his once upon a time subordinate" thing.

The result is that he's absolutely adrift during the episode. Laena sees this: she remarks that if he liked his life in Pentos, he'd be out exploring the city the same way he loved and explored King's Landing. He'd be out flying Caraxes for pleasure, not for exhibition. Part of her insistence to go home is absolutely for Daemon's own benefit, but she cannot understand his problems since he cannot verbalize them.

When Laena dies, not only Daemon's old life in Westeros is still closed to him, a new life in Pentos isn't possible either. He does from expecting a 3rd child with his dragonriding wife in their maybe forever home to watching her immolate herself and leave him and his daughters with zero family support in a foreign land. So yeah... I would have loved to see him comfort the girls in their shared grief. He absolutely should have. But it also kind of made sense that he completely closed off instead. Here is to him figuring this stuff out at some point.

#spoilers #daemon targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #laena velaryon #reposted from reddit

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