#// putting him in a jar and examining him........ shaking him a little.

[madeluminaryarchive]

HMM...

#ooc / delete. #blood / #ask to tag. #// putting him in a jar and examining him........ shaking him a little.

[ghoststyles]

Fairway to Heaven - Part 2

WC: 12.5K

awe yeeeeah here we go. One ticket to smut town. Read at yo own risk!

TW: talks of death, Harry is so d*ddy in this I’m shaking, agegap

yes, daddy, I will 

Read Part 1

~

Sunday morning, as promised, Briar is working the cart on the back course. She includes an additional bottle of Casamigos in her first fill of the day, just in case. To spice up the early morning rounds, she added string lights to her cart. They cast a pink hue over her face as the sun finishes rising.

Briar loves her outfit today. A white, fitted skort with a long-sleeve lavender zip up. She used self-tanner, last night, so her skin is tanned and glowing.

She spots Harry on the practice putting green as she pulls out of the garage. She looks down at her watch. He’s really here at 7:15 AM on a Sunday? Dedication. His long legs are covered by light khaki pants that hug him in the right places, and a navy blue long sleeve.

It seems they’re the only two souls on the course right now. Perfect. She slowly approaches the green, in hopes for redemption. She throws the cart in park and hops out to greet him on the other side.

“Hi, Harry,” Briar says, offering him a shy smile. “Can I grab you anything?”

Harry smiles, putting his putter bag in his bag. He throws both hands in his pockets and begins to walk over to her.

“Morning, Briar. S’early, are they paying you extra to come out here?”

“No, just out here out of the goodness of my heart to serve the dedicated players who are practicing at 7AM on a Sunday,” she teases, finally making direct eye contact with him.

He smirks, placing his hand on the top of the cart and leaning closer to her, admiring the new lights she added.

“Well, I have a new incentive to play the back course more often.”

She inhales sharply. “C-can I get you anything?” she repeats herself, after a beat passes.

“No, thanks, love. I’d better wait for Niall. Plus, it’s a bit early for the hard stuff.”

“I have coffee and orange juice, too!” she squeaks, eyes widening as she recognizes her outburst.

He smiles and says, “Coffee sounds great. Do you have cold brew?”

“Yep! Do you want any cream or sugar?”

“No, thanks. Black is just fine.”

She pours the cold brew into her signature lavender cup. She holds out her cup of colorful bendy straws for him to choose from. He opts for a teal straw with a dolphin charm. She smiles at his choice.

His large hands grasp the cup tightly. She notices the small cross tattoo on his left hand, along with what appears to be an anchor peeking out under his sleeve. During their unfortunate run-in, she didn’t have time to take inventory of every tattoo. She’d jump at the chance to examine each one.

It’s not that she’s intimidated by Harry, but the unreadable way he looks at her makes her feel uneasy. He’s smirking at her, seemingly unbothered by the silence.

“Okay, well, I’ll catch up with you and Niall later, then,” She trails off.

“Looking forward to it. Cheers,” he lifts the cup in her direction, much like their second encounter, and saunters back toward his clubs. He places a $20 bill in her jar on his way.

She pauses for a moment, before jumping back into the cart. As she’s pulling away, she hears the sound of Niall’s boisterous voice calling out for Harry. She smiles and continues on the path.

~

After serving a few groups, Briar is ready for a break a little after 1PM. She pulls the cart over in a lightly wooded area overlooking the 14th hole, not quite hidden from view, but certainly off the beaten path. She sighs, pulling her chips and guacamole out of her lunch box, along with her favorite green iced tea.

She is fussing with her phone with her feet elevated on the cart’s front windscreen when she begins to hear a rustling in the woods behind her. It’s not uncommon to come across foxes, groundhogs, deer or even a possum, but they make her weary nonetheless.

She slowly turns to face the sound before seeing Harry pop out behind a tree.

“Hi, love.”

She shrieks, a delayed reaction, after staring at him for 5 whole seconds.

He chuckles, raising his arms in defense. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t think I’d scare you.”

“How’d you see me, anyway?” She asks, looking around the empty area.

“I came over this way to look for my— Niall — Niall’s ball,” he stumbles, scratching his head at the nape of his neck.

She smiles, knowing he’s full of shit. He just doesn’t want to admit he made a terrible shot.

“Well, hope you don’t have to look too hard.”

He snorts, “Thanks. Hey, while I’m here, can I grab some drinks for us?” He asks, craning his neck to see her snack on the bench of the cart. “Oh shit, are you on a break? I won’t bother you, then.”

“It’s no bother. What would you like?”

“Mich Ultra for Niall, and you can surprise me for mine, thanks,” he smiles sheepishly.

He smiles as she pours his usual Casamigos on the rocks with a lime. Maybe one day she’ll give him a splash of grapefruit or pineapple juice to mix it up.

“S’no problem. Have a good rest of your round,” she smiles.

“Thanks, Birdie, I’ll need all the luck I can get,” he says, placing a $50 bill in her tip jar before walking away with the drinks.

She calls after him, a bit stunned, “Birdie?”

“Yeah, been getting a lot of birdies since I’ve been seeing you out here. You’re my good luck charm. Should’ve started playing the back course ages ago.”

She smiles softly, staring down at her shoes as he walks off. The twisting feeling in her stomach from the pet name makes her dizzy. She sits down to finish her snack and scroll Instagram for a few more minutes before continuing on her way.

Harry finally bought drinks from her, instead of Niall! She drums her knuckles on the steering wheel and sets off towards the clubhouse. She’s grateful he chose not to bring up the run-in after the steam room. Based on their most recent interactions, she’s ready to put that behind her.

She sees Cam on the side of the garage, hitting her vape before shoving it in her pocket.

“Don’t you dare tell Patrick you saw me doing that,” she threatens.

“What do I care? I told him when I started he can’t use me as a spy,” Briar reasons. “Doesn’t everyone in the service industry smoke anyway?”

“Yeah, but there is no three strike rule at Wynnewood. One time and you’re done. Even if you’re seen overly fraternizing with a member, you’re out of here.”

Briar inhales, “Oh, really? Does that happen a lot?”

“I’d say once a summer there is some sort of inappropriate hook-up. Just hasn’t happened yet,” Cam smirks.

Briar nods, staring off toward the restaurant.

“Hey, let me know if you want to grab an early dinner with me after your shift. Dominic promised me a free meal because I’m working a double on Father’s Day.”

“Oh, nice. Yeah, I’ll join,” she smiles, wondering if she’ll cross paths with Harry as they’re finishing their round.

~

The course emptied out significantly by 3PM, so Dominic let Briar off early. She decides to use the extra time to shower and bask in the club’s deluxe amenities. She changes into an outfit she keeps in the back of her Jeep, a pair of white linen pants and a cream, fitted tank top. She ties a cashmere sweater over her shoulders to get the country club look. It’s conservative enough, but walks the line of the dress code.

Her hair is perfectly fluffy after using the Dyson Airwrap, the $600 hair tool that lives freely in the women’s locker room. She touched up her make up, adjusting it slightly now that she’s in front of members at the club.

She turns town the hallway, close proximity to her run-in with Harry, where she sees her uncle chatting with another man. He pats Patrick on the back and continues toward the locker room.

Patrick smiles, placing a hand on her shoulder blade, “Hey, Briar bear! How was your day?”

“Good, started off busy and tapered off, I think the hot weather has people…” she trails off as Harry comes into view, his face stoic as he sees her in close proximity to Patrick.

“Hey there,” Patrick says to Harry.

Harry looks Patrick up and down before giving him a slight nod, “Hello.”

Unable to sit through an awkward silence, Briar interjects, “This is Harry, ‘ve been serving him over the last few weeks on the course. Harry, this is my Uncle Patrick. He’s the golf pro here, actually.”

A look washes over Harry’s face. Is it relief?

“Ah, how’re you doing, mate?” he says, shaking Patrick’s hand. “My buddy Niall swears by your techniques. Maybe you should tone it down. He’s getting closer to beating me everyday,” Harry laughs.

“Yes, Niall! Nice guy. His form has come a long way,” he smiles, looking back at Briar. “I hope you’ve been taking care of my niece out there.”

“Of course. We’ve been calling her our beer angel,” Harry says.

“I’ve been told she’s pretty persuasive. Maybe it’s the generous portions,” he cracks a smile, tousling her hair a bit. “She’s a great addition to the course. She even helped me make a list of members who haven’t taken a session with me. I think you might be one of them.”

Briar’s cheeks heat up. Ugh! Harry is going to find out that’s how she got his name to look him up online. Patrick has a way of embarrassing her without even realizing.

“Hey, speaking of, why don’t you set a time up with me sometime this summer. You probably don’t need it, but you never know, you could always learn something.”

“That sounds great, Patrick, thanks. Well, I’ve got to meet a few people for an early dinner, so I’ll see you both some other time,” Harry smiles softly, gazing at her a beat longer than at Patrick.

“Bye, Harry. Nice to meet you,” Patrick says, oblivious to the burning tension between the two.

Patrick and Briar part ways for a lesson he’s late for. Patrick teaches school aged girls golf every Sunday evening to encourage more of them to get out on the course.

She continues on to the main dining room, poking her head in the door to say hello to the evening kitchen staff. She spots Cam at a table in the corner, perched on one of the comfy leather chairs.

“I love this table, you can people watch for hours. Sometimes I like to narrate what I see,” Cam laughs, drawing Briar’s attention to where she’s pointing.

“There, that lady is like, ‘ugh, I had to take out the Benz instead of the Rolls this afternoon. Can you even believe it?’” Cam says in her most dramatic old lady voice.

“And look, there’s Harry and Niall, I bet they’re planning their weekend hook-ups, like ‘mate, she’s a rocket, she’s totally in t’me’,” She says, in the worst Irish accent Briar has ever heard.

Harry and Niall are leaning against the bar, sipping on their drinks, listening to another man tell an animated story. Harry’s eyes can’t help but gaze in Cam and Briar’s direction.

Briar bursts out laughing, “That was supposed to be Niall?”

“I never said my narrations were good. We can’t all be Snoop Dogg watching Planet Earth.”

“What’s their story, anyway? Are they both single? I’m pretty sure they’re in their 40’s,” Briar asks.

“Mmm, yeah, I think they’re just forever bachelors. I’ve never seen them eat here with women, or have a ring on that finger, for that matter. But, I really don’t know for sure.”

The girls order delicious meals and sip on their cocktails. They’re about to wrap up when their waiter, Isaiah, brings over a bottle of Dom Perignon. Cam’s eyes bug out of her head.

“Zay, what’s this for?”

“Not sure, that member over there, the guy with the brown curly hair, sent it over. If you guys don’t want it, I’ll take it,” Isaiah tries.

“Mmmm, no, don’t think so. We’ll take it. Thanks, Zay,” Cam smiles devilishly. Isaiah pops the cork, pouring two glasses before walking off, pissed he can’t drink Dom P on the clock.

Throughout the interaction, Harry has been staring at their table, waiting for Briar to look over at him. She looks up and smiles shyly. He smirks, raising his glass to her, to which she mirrors his action. Their unspoken sign of gratitude to one another.

“So, when are you gonna hook up with him?” Cam asks, bluntly.

Briar’s eyes bug out, nearly spitting out the champagne, “Huh?”

“Why are you so shocked? Based on what you’ve told me, it sounds like a sure thing,” Cam says plainly.

“I-I thought you said I can get fired for that,” Briar questions.

“Yeah, if you get caught. Just don’t get caught.”

Don’t get caught. Sure.

Secret romances have always been her favorite kind of books. The exhilarating feeling of almost being caught, becoming the talk of the town as the news spreads like wildfire.

She’s all in; though, she questions the implication of being Patrick’s niece. The last thing she wants to do is embarrass him. She put him and her Aunt Meredith through the wringer as a teenager. She’s not looking to repeat her high school and early college antics.

She nods, absently.

Cam and Briar finish up their dessert and champagne, get their employee discounts and pay, before heading off for the night. Briar is exhausted, ready to crawl into bed after showering and taking Gus out for a walk.

As Briar walks to her Jeep, she sees the valet boys pull a black Range Rover out front. She pauses for a moment, waiting to see who’s getting in.

Harry pushes open the heavy oak doors of Wynnewood, alone, taking large strides to get in the driver’s seat of the car. He looks around, spotting Briar, and extends a wave, with a smirk, sending that funny feeling straight to her gut.

She is so fucked.

~

Her break on Monday afternoon is a longer one. The course is empty, only seeing a few golfers here and there. She pulls into the same wooded area where Harry scared the daylights out of her the week prior.

She closes her eyes, throwing her sunglasses over to face to try and make it look like she’s not taking a nap on the clock. She just barely dozes off when she sees someone approaching. Harry.

“Hey, Birdie,” he says, smirking. “Taking a little cat nap on the job?”

“Fishing your ball out of the woods again?” She strikes back. He busts out laughing, the first genuine laugh she’s heard.

He likes that she has some bite to her, and that she can make him laugh. A real laugh. Not the kind he forces out when he’s looking to get his dick wet. He helps himself to a water bottle in the cooler, not wanting to make her get up for him.

“Slide over,” he says, expecting her to make some room on the bench for him. She gawks at him for a moment to analyze his face, but obeys. He plops down, placing an arm behind her on the edge of the backrest.

Briar is frozen in place before asking, “Where’s Niall?”

“I’m not always with him. Even I need a break from him sometimes,” he says, nonchalantly. “Came by myself for some peace and quiet. It’s nice to play with headphones in and listen to a podcast.”

“I can see that. Big personality,” she says, not forgetting about the arm that’s snaked around her shoulders. “What’re you listening to?”

“A finance podcast. Kind of boring, but lately I’ve been too busy to read the news.”

“Yeah, real busy. S’that why you’re out here on a Monday at 11AM?” she says, looking up at him to see his reaction. When meeting new people, she likes to test the waters a bit, making sure their sense of humor syncs up.

He chuckles lowly, sucking his bottom lip in his mouth, shaking his head. “Most of the time I’m here, it’s for business,” he increases the pressure where their bodies are touching. “This trip is for pleasure.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, his face mere inches from her. His eyes are burning holes into the side of her head.

He closes the gap when she finally looks over at him, linking their lips together. His arm moves from the back rest to wrap around her lower back, gently laying his finger tips there. The kiss starts out innocently enough, before Briar pulls away, frantically looking around.

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” he assures her. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re okay.”

They resume their kiss, Briar now twisted to face him fully. She can taste the gum he must’ve recently chewed. This fucker came to find her for one thing only, she thinks. She doesn’t mind, though.

His right hand reaches down to pet at the soft skin of her outer thigh, now exposed from her skort riding up. She parts her lips to make room for his tongue that begins to shyly explore her mouth. The same hand begins to migrate toward her ass, so she readjusts to where she is perched on the bench in a kneeling position, now nearly eye height with Harry.

She finally reaches her hands out to touch him; her left hand resting on his right pec, and right hand around the nape of his neck. She pulls away, staring straight into his emerald eyes. Her self control is washing away, but she pulls herself together.

“‘M not supposed to have anyone in the cart with me,” she says, doe eyes wide, darting back and forth to read his face.

He busts out another genuine laugh while pinching her thigh, “Is that what you’re thinking about, Birdie?”

She sits back down and her hands go to the steering wheel. “Well, I’m thinking about other things, too, like how you’re a member and I’m an employee.”

He hums, “I think it’s just a divine intervention. Us, being here at this course together as frequently as we are. I’m a member at quite a few places, but this one seems to draw me in more than the others recently.”

Divine intervention? She ponders this, but says nothing. How many country club fees can this guy afford?

“I should probably go,” he says, standing up and stretching after being hunched over in the cart. Her heart sinks at this, but she doesn’t let it show on her face.

“Don’t worry, Birdie, I’ll come back for you,” he says, grabbing her chin like he did in the hallway, placing one last chaste kiss on her lips. “What time does your shift end?”

“Around 3:30.”

“Excellent. Stick around, maybe we can go somewhere this afternoon. I’ll drive us.”

“O-okay. That sounds good.”

“Bye, Birdie,” he says, walking down the path toward the green.

She takes a deep breath to try and regulate her heart beat. It’s already 2:30, so she races back to the clubhouse to try and beg Dominic to let her go early. He gives in, but only if she promises to be the number caller at the next member bingo night.

“Yeah, yeah, sure! Thanks, Dom,” she squeals as she runs off toward the locker room. She spends the extra time preparing for her afternoon with Harry. Her outfit is casual; a white, nearly sheer button down top with light-wash jeans and sandals.

She heads out to her Jeep at 3:37PM. Not too early, not too late. Harry’s car is once again pulled up to the valet stand out front. She watches him head down the stairs, confused, looking around to find where she is.

He changed into his street clothes as well; a pair of cream trousers, white under shirt and a patterned button down. She takes notice of his Vans; an interesting choice for a 40 year old, she supposes.

She waves him over. He acknowledges her and jumps in the car to pull into the spot adjacent to hers. He rolls down the window, perplexed, but motions for her to get in. She rounds the side of the vehicle and steps in.

“I didn’t want anyone to see us,” she says, sheepishly. He understands.

“That’s okay, Birdie. Here, while I drive, go ahead and put your number in my phone. I realized I didn’t grab it when I was looking for you out front.”

Her stomach twists as he hands it to her. She can see his phone is playing Beast of Burden on the Range Rover’s stereo. She carefully types in the numbers, and makes her contact name a simple “🐥” on the off chance someone from the club were to see his phone. And because his nickname for her is fucking adorable.

“I made my name the chick emoji,” she smiles.

“I like that. Thank you. Did you text yourself so you have mine?” he asks.

“Yes. I made yours the fox emoji,” she laughs.

“What? Why?” he questions, alternating looking over at her and the road.

“When you scared me by the woods, I thought it was a fox rustling through the bushes,” she grins. He squawks out a laugh.

“A birdie and a fox. I like it.”

She glances out the window, unsure where he is taking her.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“I thought we could go get drinks and take a stroll through the park. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, bobbing her head to the Eagles song he has on.

~

Harry is extremely easy to talk to. They got their drinks, paid for by Harry, and walked over to the public garden. Summer is just around the corner, so the lawn is busy with people and the flowers are blooming.

Briar sips on her iced green tea, while Harry nurses a black cold brew. His other hand is in his pocket, but she wouldn’t be mad if he held hers. She’s glad they didn’t go for alcoholic drinks; she finds herself to be less talkative and more anxious if she drinks before a date.

If that’s what they’re calling it.

They walk the perimeter of the garden, talking about everything and nothing, stopping only to look at the ducks swimming and eating grapes thrown by energetic toddlers. Harry learns Briar is a Libra, graduated with honors from Boston College, and one day wants to own an animal sanctuary.

He shares with her his funny college stories, and adventures with Niall since they first became pals in college. He recounts their trip through Indonesia, where they got such bad food poisoning from the street food, they could barely lift their heads to look outside. Only to have the same exact thing happen the following week in Thailand.

As the conversation lulls, Harry’s gaze extends towards a bench off in the distance, tucked away in an alcove of willow trees and flower bushes.

They instinctively walk over in that direction. Briar sits, followed by Harry. Their bodies are pressed together again.

“I keep thinking about earlier today,” he says, fiddling with his hands. She smiles, looking over at him.

“Me too. I wouldn’t mind repeating it.”

“Yeah?” he says, smiling and inching closer to her.

“Yeah.”

Briar closes the gap this time, eagerly kissing into his mouth. Her hand comes up to cup his face. Harry deepens the kiss, using his tongue to explore every inch of her mouth. He eases up, opting to suck on her lower lip. They naturally break apart, her lower lip now red and plump.

“How far do you live from here?”

Harry is taken back by her forwardness. He’s picked up on her blunt nature, but she continues to keep him on his toes. His stomach twists in indecision, not wanting to move too quickly with her. She is, after all, a delicate little bird.

He’s quiet for a beat, surveying the look on her face, “Not far. Why? What’d you have in mind?”

“Well, you said you’re amazing at Scrabble. Let’s see you put some money where your mouth is.”

He smiles brightly, shocked at her answer. “Fine, you’re on. Don’t go crying when my stellar vocabulary comes out.”

He grabs her hand and guides her to stand up from the bench. They follow the path the way they came, passing an ice cream truck.

“Ooh! Do you want to split a cone?” she looks up at him, eyes the size of saucers.

“I’d love to. Which flavor?”

“Mint chocolate chip? Do you like that kind?”

“It’s m’favorite, actually,” he smirks at her, pulling out his wallet to give the worker a $10. He tells her to keep the change as she hands him the small sugar cone.

“We can stay here and eat. I’d hate to get it inside your car,” she says, staring at the black SUV across the street.

She’s sweet, thoughtful, and a little spicy. His favorite combination. He watches as she takes two delicate, kitten-like licks and extending the cone in his direction. He leans in to take his first bite, only for her to shove the cone in his face, causing both of them to erupt in giggles. She blots the napkin on his cheek to remove the mess.

“Fine, if we’re playing like that, don’t mind if I do,” Harry says, taking a large bite of the ice cream and cone, causing her to squeal.

“No! The cone is the best part!” Briar laughs, trying to steal what she can get.

They finish their cone, using Briar’s wet wipes from her bag to clean their hands and faces. Harry grabs her hand once more, guiding them to the car. Briar opts to link their pinkies together as they walk. Harry thinks it’s cute.

Their pinkies are locked for the duration of the drive, Harry dropping them only once to switch gears. They pull up to his place, a beautiful brownstone, clearly renovated in the last few years. His garage door opens as they get closer.

Briar waits for his lead, to which he pads around the front of the car to open her door. He leads her through the door to his mudroom, where he removes his shoes and socks. She follows suit, placing her bag on a hook by the door.

His decor is eclectic; warm, dark wood tones meeting bold colors, where appropriate. His walls are anything but bare; classic rock posters and delicate pieces of art litter every inch.

They arrive in his kitchen; a wide open space with updated appliances and gorgeous quartz stone countertops. His counters are neat, but certainly reflect a man lives there alone; various protein powders and supplements, along with raw fruits and even some tins of baked goods scattered around.

His attention is drawn to the room on the other side of the counter, where he hangs out the most. A TV hangs above the grand soapstone fireplace, where a large, L-shaped sofa resides.

“Head in there, I’ll grab us some water and grab the game.”

She smiles. While she’s happy to play Scrabble with Harry, she wouldn’t have minded he act on the double meaning of her self-invitation to his house. She’ll take what she can get.

Her eyes are drawn to his bookcase, filled with classics, new releases, and everything in between. She even spots Beach Read by Emily Henry. She chuckles to herself. She notices the abundance of Bukowski novels as Harry enters.

“Ya know, it’s a red flag when a guy is reading Bukowski,” Briar teases, running her fingers along the spine of one of the books, aware of Bukowski’s underlying theme of misogyny throughout his works.

“I’ve heard that. I think it matters more what you do with the topics he writes about, than the topics themselves. I read what he says, and go, ‘welp, won’t be doing that,’” he laughs.

He places the board game box down on the expansive coffee table. He doesn’t immediately open the box, in case Briar has other plans. She moves from the bookcase around the coffee table to sit on the sofa a respectable distance from Harry.

“How long have you lived here?” she asks, making note of the tall ceilings.

“5 years. I bought it in dilapidated shape and fully renovated it. The renovations took around 3 years. I lived with my friend, Ben, and his wife while it was being done. They had a nice attic apartment set up for me,” he recalls, smiling to himself.

“That’s really cool. What was your favorite part? The planning, the build, or the designing?”

“A little bit of everything. I was hellbent on keeping the historical integrity of the place, but it really only came to life when the finishing details came in. I’m really proud of the art pieces and trinkets I’ve picked up over the years, so I wanted everything to work well together.”

She hums at his thoughtful answer. “I don’t actually want to play Scrabble, you know.”

He smiles, looking directly at her, “I was hoping you’d say that, but I wanted to be a gentleman.”

She appreciates his honesty, and moves closer on the large sofa. Harry leans in again, this time, nudging her to sit in his lap. She clamors on, straddling over his legs. Their kiss deepens as she begins to strategically move her hips over his crotch.

He speaks between the feverish kisses, “I only wanna do what you're,” he kisses again, “—comfortable with, Briar.”

She pauses when she hears him say her name. She’s gotten used to the pet name, so it catches her off guard. “I appreciate that, but I’m good for anything, Harry.”

A groan catches in his throat. One day, down the line, she’ll wish she never said that. But today, he’s spoiling her in gentle kisses and slow movements. Before he even realizes, she peels herself off of him, kneeling in front of him on the ground and making a move toward his belt buckle. A few of the pillows slid off the sofa with her, creating a soft nest on the floor. He inhales sharply, recognizing there is no turning back in this fling with the beverage cart girl at his country club.

He pets at her hair, collecting the stray strands that lay on her face. She peers up at him, almost asking for permission. He runs his thumb along her cheek, encouraging her to keep going. In a perfect world, he’d be the one to pleasure her first, but there will always be time for that, he supposes.

She releases the buckle while unbuttoning his trousers, revealing his black Calvin Klein briefs. Briar runs her index finger along the length outlined by his underwear. He shudders, holding back a whine.

Briar releases him from the confines, preparing herself to come face to face with his size. She’s not the most sexually promiscuous girl, but she’s not a prude, either. His size intimidates her, she has to admit. Her two previous boyfriends’ dicks paled in comparison to Harry’s. But, she’s proud of her “can-do” attitude, so she continues on.

Briar wraps her small hand around him, eliciting the quietest moan from Harry, who’s patiently watching her from above. She peers back up at him before licking one cohesive stripe from the base to his tip, before swirling her tongue around the very top. She repeats the movement two more times before enveloping him in her mouth.

She nearly moans at the taste of him, plus the delicious girth stuffing her mouth to the brim. Her first move to fit more of him in her throat forces her to breathe through her nose and settle down a bit.

“Taking me so well, Birdie,” he grunts, laying his head back. “So fucking good.”

He can sense her lack of oxygen, so he taps her on the cheek to remind her to breathe. She peeks up at him, a lazy smile on his face. After a few more minutes, he grunts out, “Okay, baby, that’s enough.”

She pulls off of him with a pop, and one more tug for good measure. She stands, placing her hands on his knees, leaning in to kiss him again. He welcomes it, deepening the kiss once more. She loves when men kiss her after oral; she can’t say so about her past boyfriends.

He tucks himself back in his underwear, making her cock her head at him. He stands, pants still unbuckled, grabbing her hand to lock pinkies, assuming he’s leading her to his bedroom. Her suspicions are correct as they climb the staircase in the main entrance, yet another grandiose and impeccably designed room.

His room is the last in the dimly lit hall. She makes note of the hallway’s gallery wall filled with photos of Harry from all years of his life, and a few landscapes she assumes he took himself. She makes a note to ask him about them later.

He opens the door, revealing a cozy, neat bedroom. She can clearly see a balcony straight ahead that overlooks his small garden area out back. He pulls her to stand at the foot of the bed, kissing her.

He reaches to pull his shirt off, tugging it off by the neckline, revealing the tattoos she got a glimpse of at the club.

“Wow, I didn’t get to take a close look at your tattoos last time,” she jokes, running her hands along the mermaid on his forearm.

“You were looking, don’t lie to me,” he teases, placing his tongue in his cheek. He gently reaches out to remove her shirt, to which she complies, pulling it off, leaving her in her bra and trousers.

Harry can’t choose where to look first, her supple breasts, or her toned midsection. He takes a deep breath, before reaching for the button of her pants. She stands, like putty in his hands, allowing him to take control.

When she’s in just her bra and thong, he places his knee in between her legs, nudging her to sit on the bed and lay back. She reaches back to remove her bra, sending her breasts pouring out. Harry has to hold himself back from ogling her.

“So fucking hot. From the moment I saw you,” Harry says, adjusting his pants.

She slides back, awkwardly, until her head is closer to the headboard. He follows, elevating himself by his left arm in a plank position. He drops his knees to either side of her. He shuffles backward so his face is directly above her center. He looks down like a dog eyeing a bone, and gently lowers his face to kiss her on the outside of her underwear.

He plants her feet on the bed and pulls the fabric aside, revealing her glistening core, eyeing it hungrily. He looks back up at her, to which she smiles gently at him, a blissful look on her face. He takes a long lick, from bottom to top, receiving a whine from Briar in response. Her taste is already driving him wild.

She begins to squirm, to which he locks his bicep around her leg to keep her still. He sticks his tongue out, making contact with her clit, while using his other hand to pet her entrance. He looks up, the bottom half of his face buried in her, to see her head thrown back as she holds up her upper body on her elbows.

He inserts his middle finger into her, making her pant and move her leg.

“Relax, Birdie,” Harry says gently, bringing her mind back to him. He circles his tongue around her clit, seeing which side is more sensitive. Her response when he hit her left side tells him his answer. He continues his blunt attack as he feels her tighten around his fingers. He’s since added a second and third digit, lightly curling his finger tips to pet her G-spot.

“C’mon, Birdie, get there,” he encourages, his husky voice pushing her closer to the edge, his breath on her folds making her whine. One more thrust of his fingers has her shivering, turning the build up of pressure in her pelvis into a wave of pleasure. He rides her through it, slowing down his tongue on her clit.

Her facial expression is unreadable. She lowers her head back down to the bed, abruptly pulling her elbows out from under her so she collapses the rest of the way down. He uses this time to readjust himself in his briefs.

“Wow,” she breathes, wiping a little bit of sweat from her forehead. They both stay exactly where they are, catching their breaths, before Harry joins her on the upper portion of the mattress.

He’s laying on his side, hand under his head, creating a triangle with his arm, and gently reaches out to pet her side.

“You good? Do you want to go back downstairs?” He questions, taking note of her current state.

“What? You didn’t come…” she trails off, eyeing his crotch. He looks uncomfortable.

“Hey, it’s okay, I wanted to take care of you,” he assures. She stares at him before kissing him hard, tasting herself on his tongue. He takes that as her answer. Harry maneuvers so he’s above her once more, this time pulling her underwear down her legs, and taking off his own pants and briefs. While she gets comfy, he unwraps and rolls a condom down his cock.

He takes her legs and throws one over his shoulder, placing his hand next to her head. He guides his length so its aligned perfectly with her center. He pushes the bulbous head past the ring of muscle, exhaling as he does so.

“Oh, baby,” he grits out, trying to hold back from vigorously thrusting into her. He reaches out to grab her boob, flicking his thumb over her nipple. She shivers, squeaking out a sensual moan.

“Feels so good, Harry. Start moving please…” she begs, squeezing her eyes shut in pleasure.

He completes a full thrust, staring at her core devouring him. He could watch this all day.  He thrusts quickly, but not hard, hoping to get her to cum one more time. He takes more shallow thrusts before pinching her clit with his thumb and index finger. He can feel her clench around him, making that same blissed out face like the last time.

“Wish you could see how well you take me, sweet girl,” he coos, increasing the pressure.

She grabs his bicep, “There, right there, Harry, ah!” as she rolls into another orgasm.

“Good girl,” he praises, making her absolutely melt below him. He’s thankful it came quick, as he feels himself hit a wall.

He takes one last, long thrust before pouring into the condom. They’re still for a moment as Harry drops down to his forearm, petting the hair out of her face. He gently pulls out, rolling over to stand up and discard the rubber.

By the time he turns around, she is under his top sheet to give a little modesty, leaning against the headboard. He joins her, loosely covering his lower half with the sheet. He reaches out to pet her inner thigh, a touch she appreciates.

“That was…Something,” he laughs, looking over at her. “You’re incredible.”

“Thanks,” she says shyly. They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Harry reaches for his phone on the side table. It’s already well past 9PM. His hand extends to gently tap her thigh under the covers.

“I’d love to have you stay, but I totally understand if you’d rather go home,” Harry says with kind eyes.

“Thanks, yeah, I actually have to get home for my dog. It’s been a long day for him.”

“You didn’t mention a dog! I love dogs,” Harry smiles as she shows him her phone’s lock screen of Gus with his tongue sticking out. “He’s gorgeous.”

“I’ll drive you back to Wynnewood to get your car,” Harry offers, standing to throw his clothes back on.

“That’d be great. Thanks,” Briar responds, rising to go into the attached ensuite. For other hookups, she’d ask to use the bathroom. Something about her interactions with Harry feel natural, putting her at ease.

She can hear him say he’ll wait for her downstairs as she’s finishing up washing her hands. She does her due-diligence, checking the bathroom for signs of another woman; a razor, loofah, sweet smelling body wash. The coast seems clear.

Briar takes her time walking down that same hallway to admire the dozens of photos on the wall. She sees one of Harry with two women, one she assumes to be his sister, and the other, his mom. They’re both gorgeous, like him.

She pads down the stairs to find him at his kitchen island. He smiles, looking up from his phone.

“Ready to go, Birdie?”

“Yeah, I’ll follow you out.”

~

When they arrive at the club, it’s packed with the late night crowd. It’s never not a party at Wynnewood. Harry pulls the car into the same spot, adjacent to her Jeep. She lingers before getting out.

“I had a really nice time with you, Harry,” she smiles shyly.

“Me, too. I’d love to take you out again, or even just hang at mine,” he says earnestly, reaching to grab her hand. “I can give you a call tomorrow to plan something.”

She almost laughs, forgetting Harry is older. Normally, she’d wait for a Snapchat from a hook up, asking, ‘WYD?’

“Sounds good,” she says, leaning in for a quick peck. He gladly obliges. She reaches for the handle, opening the door to the Range Rover. There’s no one outside of the club, except for the valet boys.

“Bye, Birdie,” he says, smiling.

“Bye, Harry.”

She shuts the door and Harry smiles as he watches her unlock and get into her Jeep. He waits until she starts the car successfully. She gives him a cute little wave and carefully pulls forward. He follows her out of the parking lot, only parting to go in their respective directions toward home.

In the distance, a pair of watchful eyes see them leave the parking lot of Wynnewood, making note of the interesting pair.

~

When Harry wakes up the next morning, replaying yesterday’s events in his head, he can barely wipe the smile from his face. He hasn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time. His nights have been filled with hook-ups with housewives in his pilates classes, and PTA moms from his niece’s school. He’s never been one to enjoy random hook-ups, but the last few years have brought significant amounts of stress his way.

Briar is special; full of charm, witty come backs, and all-around gorgeous. He thinks about the first moment he saw her at Wynnewood. Niall finally convinced him to return to the club after several years of bouncing around other courses in the area.

She was smiling brightly, washing the golf carts down with her co-workers. She has a way of bringing fun to even the most mundane tasks. Her golf outfit accentuated her features, matching his years’ long fantasy of hooking up with a girl that golfs. Whether she golfs or not, he’s unsure, but she looks damn cute in everything she wears.

He sends Briar a good morning text before jumping in the shower. She’s already at Wynnewood, filling him in on the drama he’s missing. The members should be featured on a Bravo show; the goings on are pure reality television material.

He spends extra time in the shower, easing his achey muscles. He’s played more rounds of golf in the last month than he has in his whole life, just to increase his chances of interacting with Briar. He feels a tiny, thumb-shaped bruise forming on his bicep, presumably from Briar’s grasp. He smiles.

His work days have been light recently, opting to delegate instead of jumping on the front lines of investing and trading. He’s been a hedge fund manager for a little over ten years, putting in the work to set him up for success for life. Many of his mentors and predecessors retired early, even younger than Harry, but he’s not quite ready to throw in the towel.

He responds to a few emails on his phone before entering his home office. Niall is coming over so they can strategize before a meeting. Their hedge fund used to have an office, but they opted to sell to give their employees the freedom to travel and work from where they please.

He hears Niall come in through the garage and make his way down the hall to Harry’s office. Harry is sat in his leather office chair and gives him a simple nod when he comes in.

“What’d you get up to yesterday?” Niall asks, plopping down in a seat adjacent to Harry’s. Niall and Harry spend an ungodly amount of time together, so he’s not surprised Niall asks this.

Harry hesitates, wondering how much he should share, or if Niall had somehow seen him and Briar yesterday.

“Um, not much, went to Wynnewood for a practice round in the morning, and then some random things in the afternoon,” Harry lies.

“Went to Wynnewood to see your girl Briar?” Niall smirks, crossing his legs at his ankles.

Harry runs his tongue along his teeth, holding back a smile, “Yes, I saw her there. She got me a nice drink and a snack.”

“Sure, buddy,” Niall laughs, pulling out his laptop and a pair of reading glasses.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry snaps, furrowing his brow.

“You’re a little obsessed with her, is all. Ever since I got you back to Wynnewood, you’ve gone there hoping you run into her. Why do you think I requested her as our server when we met with Hassan and Jason?”

“I just thought you liked her. She’s a nice girl,” Harry huffs.

“She is a nice girl. If you like her, you should do something about it,” Niall reasons, looking at Harry directly.

“Fine. I took her out yesterday, and we came back here and we fucked.”

Niall’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open at Harry’s confession. He juts his lips out and nods his head as to say, ‘right on’.

“Do you like her?”

“What, Niall? Of course I do. I hope she wants to go out with me again. We’ve already been texting today.”

“Good shit,” Niall seemingly moves on, ready to talk business.

Harry laughs at Niall’s ability to switch gears completely and focus on work. Harry pulls up his slide deck and begins to review his notes from his last meeting.

~

Since her afternoon with Harry, Briar has been on cloud 9. She’s happy she didn’t shy away from Harry’s advances in fear of getting fired.

She woke up early to take Gus on a walk, and to feel out the slight soreness she has between her legs. It stings a bit, but is a nice reminder of Harry. She arrives at Wynnewood at a quarter to 7, ready to conquer the day.

She smiles at Harry’s good morning text, opting to tell him about the gossip she overheard as she passed the tennis courts. The tennis players at the club are way more wild than the golfers.

She heads inside to clock in at the register at the bar, where she finds Cam setting up for the day.

“Hey, B!” she yells.

“Hey, Cam,” Briar smiles, punching in her number. She walks around to lean on the bar.

“Harry and I fucked,” Briar whispers.

Cam’s head whips around, “Holy shit! When? Where?”

“Yesterday, at his place. He picked me up after my shift and we went for a walk at the public garden. Then I told him we should play Scrabble to invite myself over,” she snorts. “He actually got the game out in case I was being serious.”

“Good thing he’s not stupid. Next time you can ‘Netflix and Chill’ him.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to do that,” she giggles. She waves goodbye to Cam before heading back out to load up her cart. She adds another golf pun to her tip jar:

What did the sign above the golf club bar say?

“Don’t drink and drive. Don’t even putt.”

She chuckles to herself, turning on her string lights. She hopes Harry will swing by today. They’ve been texting lightly, but she doesn’t want to come off as clingy. Maybe she’ll call him on her break.

The day goes by as usual, returning to the clubhouse to stock up a few times. When she’s ready for a snack and some time in the shade, she pulls up to the familiar wooded area on near the 14th hole; her and Harry’s spot.

Briar looks around to make sure no one is nearby. She pulls out her phone and scrolls her contact list to find her fox.

Harry answers on the second ring, “Hi, Birdie, how’s your day? I thought I was supposed to call you?”

“Hi, Harry, it’s good. Well, you should assume by now that I’m not the type of girl to wait by the phone,” she teases.

“Silly me, I should have known. My day’s been good; reviewing a few possible investments and lots of emails. Niall just left my place, actually. Since we don’t have an official office anymore, he comes here sometimes.”

Briar hums, smiling to herself. She could listen to him tell stories all day.

“Listen, uh…” he trails off. Is he trying to push her off the phone? He was the one that wanted to follow up with her.

“Niall was kind of grilling me about where I was yesterday. I think he noticed I was a little hard to reach. So, I kind of ‘fessed up. I didn’t share anything in detail. I’m not that kind of guy,” he says, exasperated, not wanting her to think he’s a scumbag.

“Harry, Harry, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. I told Cam, so, I think we’re even.”

He lets out a breath, relieved. “Okay, good. Again, sorry it happened like that.”

“It’s all good. What are you doing the rest of the day?” she asks, tapping the steering wheel of her cart.

“Umm, no plans as of yet, but, I’m not against making some — with you, if that wasn’t clear,” he stumbles. She giggles, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I can come over? I can grab us dinner from somewhere, or bring something home from the club. I’ll probably be here later than usual, there’s some charity event that starts soon.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. You can schmooze the chef into cooking up something good, I’m sure.”

“Yes, Chef Lambo! He’s the G.O.A.T,” Briar squeals.

It takes Harry a split second to decipher what she just said. Greatest of All Time. Hm, one of those generational differences. He laughs, “Alright, Birdie, that sounds good. Well, I’ll let you get to it. I hope the golfers are treating you nicely.”

“Thanks, Harry, I’ll talk to you later.”

They hang up, and Briar continues on her route. The butterflies in her stomach stay with her all the way to the clubhouse. When her shift ends, she heads straight for the kitchen to find Lambo.

“Hi, Lambo,” Briar says, knocking on the frame of his open office door. “Have a sec?”

“Hi, Briar Baby! Of course I have a second,” he grins, inviting her in. Lambo is the nicest human she’s ever met. He went to culinary school after growing up homeless. Everything he has is through incredibly hard work. She admires him for that.

“Think you can whip up something good for me and…a friend…to eat tonight?” she doesn’t make eye contact with him when she says ‘friend’.

“Of course, baby. What are you in the mood for? Pasta? Steak? Is it a male ‘friend’?” he says, putting air quotes around friend.

Her cheeks heat up, knowing he’s figured her out. She nods.

“Well, I’ll think of some date night food while you go get changed. Come back in a half an hour and I’ll have it ready.”

“Thanks, Lambo, I owe you one.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll see you in a bit.”

She took her time getting ready in the locker room. She changed into a pair of leggings and threw on a Nike pullover. Nice and casual. When Briar returns to the kitchen, she sees her food packed up perfectly, with a note from Lambo:

Steak frites with broccoli rabe and scalloped potatoes. I included a brownie for dessert :-)

Enjoy! Be safe.

-Lambo

She smiles. She’ll bring him an iced coffee the next time they work together. She grabs the bag and exits through the back kitchen door that leads straight to the employee parking lot.

She pulls up to Harry’s house, parks, and retrieves the food from her passenger’s side. As she heads toward the front door, she hears a voice from his neighbor’s side of the fence. She sees a middle-aged woman watering plants on her front porch.

“Leave the food on the porch, hun! Read his sign about deliveries,” she says, rolling her eyes. Briar’s attention moves to the note on the door, scribbled in Harry’s writing.

Please leave all packages on the table to the left. TPWK.

She looks to the left to see a small glass table, with a basket full of snacks and drinks and another note, thanking the drivers. In fear of Harry’s neighbor calling the cops for lingering too long, she grabs a granola bar and books it back to her car. She calls Harry immediately.

“Hi, Birdie, you on your way here?” he asks, sitting on the foot of his bed, putting on a pair of socks.

“Um, I’m here, but there’s a slight issue. I was walking up to the front door, and your neighbor thought I was a delivery driver,” Briar says, mortified. “She told me to just leave the food.”

Harry starts to hysterically laugh, leaning down to pinch the outer parts of his eyes with his thumb and his pointer finger.

“S’not funny! I was scared she was gonna call the cops if I lingered there. I even followed your instructions and left the food on the little table. These Karens are unbelievable these days.”

“Alright, I’ll come down and get you. Be there in one sec,” he says before clicking end.

He exits his house through the garage, opening the door to meet Briar on his driveway. He looks over to Maureen’s yard, finding it empty. Briar hops out of her Jeep and fast walks over to Harry.

“It’s okay, she went back inside,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. She reciprocates, before walking to his front porch to retrieve the food.

“That’ll be $47.91 plus tip,” she says with a straight face, before busting out into her signature giggle.

He shakes his head, following her into the garage before clicking the overhead door closed.

They eat and enjoy each other’s company. When Harry sees she brought home steak frites, he grabs a full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon from his wine cellar to pair it with. The two of them finish the whole bottle, and retire to his sofa for the evening, a little wine drunk and content.

They chat for a bit longer. He shares more information about his family and why he left the UK for college. She listens attentively, asking questions when necessary.

“What about you, Birdie, what was your life like growing up?”

She freezes. If she didn’t have 2 1/2 glasses of wine in her, she’d shut down any mention of her family.

“Um, well, my Uncle Patrick and Aunt Meredith actually raised me. Patrick is my dad’s brother. He passed away when I was young, like 5 or 6. My mom is still around, but she struggled with an addiction problem after he died. She and my dad knew each other since they were 14 years old, so she just couldn’t handle it.”

Harry instinctively offered a comforting touch on her arm. He let her continue.

“So, when she was struggling, my aunt and uncle got custody of me and my brothers; I have 3 older and 1 younger. But my mom is doing better now. She’s about 4 years clean, and actually just got remarried. He’s a nice guy and I think he’s good for her.”

“Did you still see her when you were growing up?”

“Yeah, it’s not like we were kept from her, but she always came to our house. We were never told of the details of where she lived, worked. Everything was kind of surface level.”

He pulls her in for a side hug, “Thanks for sharing that with me. I’m sure it’s not an easy thing for you to talk about.”

They’re quiet for a moment, her head on his shoulder.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Harry offers. He’s noticed Briar’s eyes gently close throughout the night, signaling her exhaustion. Poor thing. Those long hours at the club are probably taxing.

“Yeah,” she replies simply, nuzzling into his side. “You pick.”

“You want something scary? Or something easy to watch?”

“Easy to watch. I don’t like scary stuff, really.”

Harry puts on ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’ before dimming the lights in the room on his phone.

She gasps, smiling bright, “This is one of my favorites!”

He smiles, “Mine, too.”

~

Briar jerks awake, frantically looking around the room to reorient herself. She remembers she’s at Harry’s and they fell asleep watching a movie. The screen is off, but she can still make out Harry’s sleeping frame from the street lamp out front. He looks like a dad asleep in a recliner, arms spread out, head back and mouth wide open, slightly snoring. She smiles at him fondly.

She pats around the sofa for her phone to check the time. 3:23AM. It’d be weird to leave, right? She thinks to herself. Or is it weirder that she stayed? This is only their second official hangout, but she already feels so comfortable with him.

He must sense she’s awake, because his breathing gets more shallow. His eyes peel open and he sits up, clearing his throat as he looks over at her.

“Briar? Are you okay?” he whispers, voice full of sleep and eyes puffy.

“Yeah, go back to sleep. It’s early. I just woke up and forgot where I was for a few minutes.”

“Well, let’s go upstairs. I’ll have to go to the chiropractor if I sleep like this any longer.”

She laughs. She doesn’t feel the age gap between them often, but when he says things like that, she can’t help but recognize it. They climb the stairs, his knees cracking on the way up.

“Are you comfy in those clothes? Or do you want one of my T-shirts?”

She ponders his question, opting for a shirt. He hands her a Def Leppard T-shirt, and she takes off her bralette before sliding it over her head. Harry is already in his bed, tucked under the covers watching her. She slides her leggings down to the floor and then joins him.

Harry surveys her expression, seeing if she’s sleepy, or full of energy. Before he woke up, he was having a wonderful dream that he’s now dealing with the physical ramifications of. Briar stares back at him, wondering if he’s looking for a hook-up, since they kept it pretty innocent last night.

She reaches out to paw at his waist, feeling his rock-hard crotch. She smirks, knowing she’s right. He inhales sharply, moving his hips towards her. Briar moves her hand past his waist band, dancing her fingers down his length.

Harry moans quietly, closing his eyes at her gentle touch. When he opens his eyes, she’s shuffling down the bed, disappearing under the covers. He feels his briefs sliding down his legs, coming to a stop just under his ass.

He rolls so he’s flat on his back, his knees slightly bent. Harry hears Briar gather spit in her mouth before gently wetting his cock with it. She starts by firmly grasping him at the base, before licking a stripe towards the top. This time, her free hand comes up to fondle his balls.

Harry’s eyes roll back in his head, before releasing a guttural moan. Briar smirks and repeats the movement, before lowering her head to stick them in her mouth one at a time. She pops off each one of them like a cherry, before returning to his cock. She sticks her thumb at his slit, rubbing the pre cum around gently. She envelopes him in her mouth, moaning at the fullness. She bobs her head up and down for a few minutes, before she feels his hand slam down on the bed, begging for mercy.

“Oh my goddd,” he slurs.

Harry runs his fingers through Briar’s soft hair, trying to hold off an orgasm. He can feel his lower region start to bubble, before shooting his cum into her mouth. She moans, collecting the sperm, before sliding her mouth off his cock and giving his tip one last kiss. She swallows, licking her lips while she stares up at him.

He’s bewildered. Perplexed. In awe. His head drops back down on his pillow, waiting for her to join him at his side. Her head pops back out from under the covers, smiling at him. He gives her a peck on her lips.

She rolls on her side and places her hand under her cheek, closing her eyes, “Night, Harry.”

“Huh? Let me get you back!” he pleads, still in shock.

“Nah, it’s good. I’m tired. Are you swinging by the course today?”

He rolls over to look at his phone. 4:39 AM. “I wasn’t going to, but that performance incentivized me,” he smiles, shuffling to make room for her.

She giggles, scooting over to lay her head on his chest.

~

Briar and her spry energy at 7AM makes Harry envious. He slept on the sofa for only a few hours and feels like he got hit by a bus. Oh to be in your 20s.

She’s rustling around in his ensuite, opening each drawer and closing them softly.

“Extra toothbrushes are in the bottom drawer,” He rasps out, trying to block the light from his eyes.

“Got it, thanks!”

She brushes her teeth, checking herself in the mirror. She pads back out to his bed, now occupied by Harry in the starfish position. She leans over him, pushing his hair out from his face.

“I’ll see you later?” she asks, sweetly.

“I think I’ll make an afternoon appearance. Gotta recover a bit. Drink some electrolytes.”

Briar rolls her eyes heading for the stairs, “Alright, I didn’t keep you out at an all-night rave. Bye, Harry.”

“Bye-bye, Birdie!” He shouts. “I’ve been waiting to say that one!”

Briar groans dramatically from the entryway, before closing the front door gently. He can get used to these kinds of mornings.

Since he’s up, he uses this time to head down to his home gym. He hops on his Peloton treadmill for a quick run, opting to listen to his playlist instead of the instructor’s. He sets a personal record, throwing a fist in the air when he earns his badge. His day is off to a great start, he thinks.

The morning goes by quick, and before he knows it, Harry’s getting dressed to head over to Wynnewood. He grabs green juice, one for Briar, and one for himself, from the organic grocery store down the street. He pulls up to the valet stand, tossing his keys to the boys.

Harry sets off toward the locker room to retrieve his clubs. He upgraded his locker to be able to keep his clubs there, instead of lugging them back and forth each time.

He arrives at the 5th hole for his designated tee time. The group ahead of him is playing at a less than ideal pace, so he grabs his phone to turn on a podcast. Instead of his usual finance show, he plays an episode of ‘Girls Gotta Eat’, per Briar’s recommendation.

He is a bit shocked by the raunchiness, but continues through the episode. He shakes his head, knowing that that show fits his girl’s personality perfectly. His girl. He likes that.

He hasn’t seen Briar anywhere. By the time he makes it to the 14th hole, he can see her cart parked in the wooded area — their spot.

Harry sinks the putt at 1 under — a birdie, of course, and then heads over to her. He hears her clapping and cheering for him. He places his clubs down a few yards away and saunters over.  

When he approaches, she’s beaming.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Birdie. Were you waiting for me here?”

“Maybe. I saw your tee time on the list.”

He smiles, sitting down next to her on her cart’s bench. The course is relatively empty, so they don’t feel the need to hide.

They embrace in a passionate kiss, getting a little sloppy after a while. He pulls away, and Harry begins to stare straight ahead. Unsure, she follows his gaze, but sees no one.

She can feel his hand snake under her skirt, eliciting a gasp.

“Harry! Here?”

“Why not? No one’s around. We’ll be quick.”

He’s thankful she’s not wearing one of those skort things. The built-in pants confuse him and make things difficult.

His fingers dance at the crotch of her thin panties. He glides his middle finger up her slit, gathering the bit of wetness. He inserts his middle finger. He has yet to look at Briar, but he’s sure the look on her face is one of bliss, broken whimpers escaping her throat.

“Be a good girl and keep it down. Wouldn’t want to cause a disturbance,” he murmurs in her ear. They’ve only hooked up twice, but he feels like he can start to explore his more dominate side with her.

Briar whines, wiggling away from him. Harry doesn’t like that.

“Move again and I stop.”

“Okay,” she says quietly, wanting to cum already. She hasn’t even looked up to see if anyone is near them. At this point, she doesn’t even care.

He thrusts three fingers in and out of her center vigorously, but discreetly. His thumb moves backward to pet at her clit, increasing the pressure in her pelvis. After a few moments, she’s clenching so hard around his fingers. She comes just seconds later, releasing the sweetest whine, shoving her face into his shoulder.

Harry removes his fingers, straightening out her skirt, before lifting his fingers to his mouth, licking his index, before sliding it out and extending his other fingers out to her.

“Suck.”

She welcomes his fingers in her mouth, tongue swirling around them. She closes her eyes at how erotic this is, his dominance making her hornier.

He pulls his hand back, reaching for one of the wipes she keeps in the cart, acting as if nothing happened. She can see his bulge in his pants, so she reaches over to try and alleviate it.

“Ah, ah. No, Birdie. Settle down. You’re not allowed to touch unless I say.”

She whines at his dismissal, but she realizes he’s playing the role of the dominant. They haven’t had an explicit conversation about their likes and dislikes in bed, but this is a big fat LIKE on her part. Her experience with dominant and submissive roles is limited, having only been spanked by her ex-boyfriend in college. She’s a quick learner and will basically do anything Harry tells her to.

Harry cleans up and rises from the cart, casually looking around. The course is still empty.

“Well, I better get going. Be a good girl for me, Birdie. I’ll see you later,” he says, kissing her on her neck.

He walks off, leaving Briar speechless, as usual.

~

Harry finishes his round, shooting well under par. This is a great fucking day, he thinks, smiling to himself as he heads to the locker room.

He sees Briar’s uncle, Patrick exiting one of the conference rooms near the locker room.

They make eye contact, and Harry smiles, about to open his mouth to greet him. Out of no where, Patrick pins Harry up against the wall, his forearm crushing his windpipe.

“Woah, Patrick, what’s going on?” Harry panics, choking slightly.

“What’re you doing sniffing around my niece?” Patrick seethes, his face getting red.

Harry falters, unable to form a coherent sentence. “I—what?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I saw her get out of your car the other night, right out front,” he whisper-shouts, not wanting to draw any attention to their altercation.

Harry is caught red handed.

“Buddy, I—,” Harry starts, before Patrick interrupts.

“Don’t ‘buddy’ me, we’re not friends. That girl is my entire life, and I’ll be damned if a rich prick like you takes advantage of her. Especially one twice her age! I knew giving her this job was a bad idea. It’s why I didn’t let her work here as a teenager.”

Since Briar filled him in on the details of her upbringing, he understands Patrick’s defensiveness. Their bond is close, as he had to step up as her father figure for most of her life. Patrick eases up the pressure he’s holding on Harry’s neck.

“Sir, I completely understand. But, I can assure you, this isn’t some fling. I’m quite fond of Briar. We shouldn’t have risked being seen here. I would hate for it to affect her job. But, I promise, there are real feelings here — for both of us,” Harry explains, his eyes a little wide out of fear of Patrick’s next move.

Patrick eases off of him, looking around to make sure no other members saw them.

“Fine, but I swear to God, if you hurt her, you’re done for. Do you hear me?” Patrick threatens, staring straight into Harry’s soul.

“Understood.”

Harry retreats to the locker room, exhaling. He has an uneasiness in his stomach. He changes in record time, and books it towards his car. He shoots Briar a text:

🦊: Call me when you’re done your shift.

🐥: I will 🤠

He sits for a while, answering emails while he waits for her call.

He feels it buzzing, letting him know he has an incoming call from ‘🐥’.

“Hi! Are you still here?” she says, right as he picks up.

“Um, yeah, I’m still here. I’ve been sitting in my car,” he says, scratching the back of his head.

“Huh? Why?” she asks, unsure of what his answer will be.

“Why don’t you come here and meet me. We’ll sit for a bit,” he says, trying to remain ambiguous.

“Ummm, okay, I’ll be right there.”

They end the call, and Briar appears at the passenger’s side a few minutes later. She hops in, giving him a peck.

“What’re you doing?” she asks.

“We have a bit of a situation,” Harry says gently, turning to face her in the passenger’s seat.

A puzzled look crosses her face, “What kind of situation?”

“Patrick saw you get out of my car when I drove you back here the other night. So, he just cornered me in the hallway by the locker room and gave me an earful.”

Briar doesn’t even process Harry’s words before she’s furiously opening the door and storming towards the pro shop. Harry swallows thickly, panic bubbling in his throat.

He quickly follows her in, knowing he looks like such a pussy for telling on Patrick.

Patrick is helping a customer when Briar powerfully pushes the door open, causing everyone in there to look at her.

“UNCLE PATRICK,” she screeches.

Patrick’s eyes go wide, seeing his niece, red in the face, and the guy he threatened to kill just an hour ago right behind her.

“Folks, if we could just have a few minutes… Come back later and I can help you all out…” He says to the people in the pro shop.

They clear out quickly. Patrick leans back against the counter, presumably giving Briar the floor to speak. He’s learned over the years to let her get her point across before responding.

“Harry told me you threatened him, is that true? I’m 23 years old for god’s sake. Who I spend my time with has nothing to do with you. And what are you doing even threatening someone with physical violence at your work? Are you crazy?” Briar rattles off point after point, and Patrick just takes it.

“Good now?” Patrick says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Briar bear — Listen, I know I don’t have a right to say anything, but when something like this is happening under my nose, I have to speak up. I just worry about you, kid. I always will. I just want to do right by your dad. Yes, you’re a grown woman now, but he would roll over in his grave if I let this go without saying a word.”

“I think I got my point across,” Patrick says, staring directly at Harry. “Didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Harry says, moving closer. “Which is why you can kick me out of Wynnewood if I ever disrespect Briar. I’m very serious about my feelings for her, Patrick.”

Briar smiles softly. She’s calmer having Harry with her for this conversation. “Uncle Pat, please don’t tell anyone about Harry and me. We’re still going to follow the rules and not be overly friendly on the property,” Briar says, already lying. She and Harry were plenty friendly in the woods on the 14th hole.

Patrick ponders, before agreeing. He pulls her in for a hug, resting his chin on her head. He glares at Harry over her head, to which Harry cowers away a bit. He still won’t fuck with Patrick, even though he has no plans of letting Briar go.  

The pair leave the pro shop, a few minutes after the other, as to not drum up suspicion. They climb back into his car, staring straight ahead in silence for a minute. Harry links their pinkies together.

“I like you all spicy like that,” Harry teases. “Like a little chihuahua. And Briar bear is so cute! Might even be cuter than Birdie.”

“Shut up.”

———————————————————————————

Tag list:

@awesomenavy @butdaddyilovehim-hs

Lmk if you want to be added!

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

[gtgbabie0]

Burnt toast

{Remus finds you eating a midnight snack}

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You’ve never laughed so hard in your life, the look on Remus’ face as he watches you use the same knife for the butter and jam for your very much burnt toast, the look he gives you as if you had just committed a crime right in front of him.

“Please tell me you haven’t been doing that the whole time we’ve been together” He deadpans as you laugh so hard tears blur your sight, he shakes his head softly taking the jam jar from your hands and examining the toast crumbs and butter that contaminate the sweet spread.

“You should be locked away for this” It's the seriousness in his voice that makes you laugh harder, you watch through joyful tears as he takes a teaspoon out of the cutlery drawer and starts to pick out the crumbs and butter pieces from the jar.

“You’re being ridiculous Remus,” You say through a fit of giggles watching as he picks the butter up and puts them back in the fridge, “What do you expect me to do?—- use the same knife?” You giggle as he turns back in shock as if you just asked him the most stupidest question ever.

“Yes I do, it’s cross-contamination” He can’t help but chuckle a little when you wipe the tears from your eyes still laughing, “Alright breathe lovely” he chuckles walking over to you.

“What you even doing up this time of night?” He asks looking over at the clock that read five am in bold red writing.

“Was hungry” you say regaining your composture before taking a bite from the toast, Remus’ arms wrap around your body as he stands behind you, and he presses gentle kisses against your shoulder.

“Well hurry up, it’s fucking freezing out here” he whispers resting his head on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, while you continue to eat your toast. He leans closer to you trying to steal your body warmth as the cold tiles of the kitchen sends a shiver up his spine.

“Wanna bite?” You ask, bringing the toast to his lips and he’s quick to move his head.

He looks at the brunt toast in disgust, shaking his head, “No I don’t” he chuckles, “How have you managed to burn it so bad?” he asks, face cringing a little as he watches you take another bite.

“It tastes fine,” you say, and he’s not quite sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll take your word for that dove” He smiles, his head resting against your shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling your skin as he presses kisses against your jaw and his hands dip underneath your jumper settling against the warmth of your belly.

“Come on let’s go back to bed,” you say as he nods against you, following you back to the bedroom, and he’s quick to search for your warmth again underneath the covers, holding you close to him as you both drift off back to sleep.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

#remus lupin insert reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #remus x you #remus fluff #remus x y/n #remus imagine #marauders imagine #marauders fanfiction #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fluff #the marauders x reader #the marauders imagine #the marauders

[familyvideostevie]

𝕟𝕠 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘: 𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣

a farmer's market steve harrington x reader au part 1 [7.2k] | part 2 [8.3k] | part 3 [13.3k] | part 4 [4.6k] | au masterlist

OCTOBER

The rain starts halfway through the first market of October. It comes without warning; a chilly Saturday with scattered clouds turns dark and the bite in the air seeps into your bones. The crowd thins in a matter of minutes despite the promise of a market rain or shine, since a summer rain can be something free and spontaneous. A fall rain is bound to end in a cold.

"Do you need help?" Joyce asks. It's barely started to drizzle but you can see the dark drops marking her jacket. "I think we can close early. Jonathan is almost done with the flowers, I'll send him over here --"

"No, I'm okay," you tell her. You shove candles and jars of honey into your crates with as much care as you can spare. The pickup is just around the corner and you can load everything yourself even if your back will feel it later. "Really, I'm sure other people can use the help more!" Joyce tuts but runs off. As soon as she does the rain picks up. You can feel it spray onto your face from the wind, feel it soak into the wool sweater you're wearing.

"Eddie --" you say, about to wave him off, but he picks up the other full crate at your feet.

"Keep packing or someone much meaner than me will come over to help you," he says, winking. "I'll put this in the New-Bee's pickup on my way out, okay?" He's off before you can get in a word of protest.

You decide to tackle the rest of the stock before bringing out another crate but your hands are shaking so much from the cold and your skin is wet and everything is wet and you're worried you're going to drop something. You manage to pack one more and are debating whether or not to bring it to the truck when you hear heavy footfalls in the rain behind you.

"I'm fine," you yell over the rain. There's no response so you turn and the sight punches a hole in your chest: it's Steve. He's soaked to the bone, just like you, but he looks like...like...well. His own sweater and flannel combo are weighed down with water and his jeans are a shade darker than usual. You feel a little warmer than you did a second ago.

He jerks his chin up in greeting and he reaches forward to gently grab your elbow. "We gotta go," he says. "I think there's gonna be lightning soon. And you're soaked." He takes in your chattering teeth and the crates around you like he's doing a calculation in his head.

"I gotta get the stock --" His palm is so warm even through your dripping sweater that you have to keep yourself from leaning into him.

He tugs on you gently. "Leave it."

"Steve, I made this stuff." The plea is pathetic in your ears and you wonder if he'll make fun of you for it. You really hope not, since you've been turning over what Dustin said to you for days and it's fair to say that Steve Harrington is a puzzle you want to figure out. If he lets you.

The warm hand on your elbow disappears and you expect him to storm off but he just scoops up the third crate you've finished filling and heads for the truck.

"Gee, thanks," you mutter, squatting to grab the stacks of candles for the last crate. You're really shaking now but you're trying to move fast, so when a peal of thunder finally tears through the air you're startled enough to drop one of the glass jars. It shatters and the candle wax inside rolls away.

You don't think as you start to pick up the shards of glass with your bare hands, don't consider that maybe it's a bad idea until you slice your palm with one.

"Shit!" you yell, staring helplessly as a thin line of blood wells and drips down your skin. It doesn't look deep but it hurts. A warm hand on your back almost sends you careening forward into your mess but another on your shoulder steadies you.

"Woah, what the fuck happened here?" Steve asks, harsh tone at odds with how he's touching you as he crouches down to examine the glass.

You are humiliated to feel tears gathering and your throat getting tight. "The thunder, I --. It startled me and I--"

"Are you bleeding?" He hauls you up and a few steps away from the glass before you can answer. Your hold your injured palm out in front of you like it'll bite but Steve is quick to grab your wrist gently when he notices you shaking. You sniffle and his eyes meet yours for just a second.

"Hey," he says so softly you can barely hear him over the rain. "Hey, it's fine. Lemme just --" He digs in his back pocket with his free hand before he produces a blue bandana.

"That better be clean," you grind out, hoping to regain control of the situation, but the words are thick in your throat. As it is, you feel entirely too caught up in Steve's orbit, in the warmth of his touch and the kindness in his gaze. He smirks as he wraps the cloth around your hand, tying it tight enough that it won't come off. You hiss and he winces.

"Sorry," he whispers. He clears his throat and releases you. "Just this left?" He taps the side of the last crate with his foot. You nod. Steve makes quick work of the rest of your stock before he picks it up and heads out into the rain. You glance at the glass you're leaving behind before heading after him. The rain is coming down harder and lightning flashes before another crack of thunder makes you jump again.

"Told you!" Steve shouts, tucking the tarp over the back for the last time before you both clamber into the front seats. The rain pounds on the roof and the windshield and you're both panting so hard the window starts to fog. Steve is shivering though trying to hide it, jaw clenched as he runs his hands through his sopping hair. You turn the truck on and blast the heat.

"Where's your car?" you ask. Your voice sounds louder now that it's just the two of you.

"Robin drove today." He angles one of the vents towards you. "She uh, took all the stuff back already."

"So you're stuck here?" You can't believe that she'd leave him on accident or even on purpose.

He shrugs. A drop of rain travels down this column of this throat and you swallow. "You needed help." He says it like it's obvious. Like you should expect him to stay through a storm just to be at your side.

"Okay," you say. "I'll-- I"ll drive you home." Steve looks at you like he's seconds away from laughing in your face.

"With that hand?" All at once the pain rushes back, the steady throb of the cut on your palm taking over. The bandana is as soaked as the rest of you so you can’t tell if you’re bleeding through it. "I don't think so," he snorts.

"Steve." It's the softest you've ever said his name and he all but flinches. "I don't want to fight with you."

"I--we're not fighting," he argues, then catches himself. "I don't want to fight with you either. So I'll ask nicely." He clasps his hands like a boy in church. "Please, oh please, will you let me drive?"

Part of you wants to refuse just to be difficult – and because you totally can drive one handed. But you decide right now, in the cab of your truck as it pours, to try with Steve, and maybe this is what trying looks like. Because he stayed in the rain to help you. Because you’re tired of convincing yourself you don’t want to like him. And well, because your hand really does hurt. "Fine," you sigh. "But I'm not going back out there." Stubborn to the last, your dad always says.

"I'll go over you," Steve says quickly. The cab of the pickup is big for Steve to barely brush your thighs as he hauls himself into the driver's seat but you're so close for just a few seconds that you feel your breath hitch. He's dripping wet like you are but you swear that you can feel the warmth that seems to emanate from him through the fabric.

"Does New-Bee's have a first aid kit? Or do you want to go to the hospital?" He adjusts the seat a little and pulls out of the parking lot in to deserted downtown Hawkins.

"Bob has one," you say. "I think that'll be fine." Would he actually drive you to the hospital if you wanted to go? Something tells you that he'd stay with you the whole time, too. It makes you shiver.

Steve eyes you. "Shouldn't take too long," he says. "Gotta drive a little slower in the rain." The thunder rumbles but it sounds far away now. He hits a bump and your hand smacks your own knee and you hiss.

"Green or red apples?" Steve asks suddenly.

"What?" He repeats the question. "Uh...green," you say. He nods.

"Same. Cats or dogs?"

"Both. Steve, why are you asking--"

"Really? You like cats? They're monsters, I swear. Get scratched every time I go near one." The questions continue. Tulips or daisies? Night or day? Sunrise or sunset? He seems delighted that you're playing along with his game, willing to tell him even small tidbits about yourself. You're both only children, both like morning, both hate spinach. He likes sunrises but you like sunsets, and he actually yells in outrage when you say you "can't stand ice cream."

"I always get a brain freeze!" He's waving his hand in the air like he's searching for the words.

"You're just eating it wrong, or something. Who doesn't like ice cream?" You laugh, the pain in your hand forgotten for the moment. Oh, you think. He's distracting you.

Steve pulls into New-Bee's and Bob's truck is missing. He must be out somewhere, maybe caught by the storm which is still raging, rain steady though not dangerous anymore.

"You're coming in, right?" you ask. He nods, once again running a hand through drying hair that's about to get wet again as if it’s a nervous habit. Maybe it is. But you don’t know why he’d be nervous.

"Ready?" He turns the car off and braces a hand on the door. "We can get the stuff later." You nod and he counts down on his fingers before you fling yourselves into the downpour, running towards the wide farmhouse covered porch. The cold is a shock and Steve grabs you mid-gasp, your uninjured hand in his as he hauls you up the steps and out of the rain. Your fingers feel frozen in his but you don't let go.

You start to laugh. Water pools at your feet and you're cold and your hand hurts and Steve is looking at you like you've lost your mind. But you laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

"What's so funny, honey?" Steve asks, incredulous. The nickname only makes you snort and laugh harder. It sounded so sour coming from him just last week and now it's sweet, now he's grinning at the noise you're making. "Besides, me, clearly," he adds before he starts laughing too. It occurs to you that this might be flirting.

"Steve," you gasp between laughs, "you hate me." He stops laughing but you keep going until you smack your hand on your knee again, and this time it hurts so much it brings tears to your eyes immedietly. Steve hisses like he's the one who's hurting.

"I don't hate you," he says, almost as an afterthought. "Can I see your hand, please?" You hold it out without hesitation. Something has changed between you but you can't exactly pinpoint what or when -- just that now you're offering yourself to him easy as anything.

This time his touch burns, callused fingertips and wide palms overwhelming as one gently unties the bandana and cradles your palm. He whistles long and low. He pulls it gently to his face and you bite your lip because it has been so long since someone touched you like this, with care, with attention.

"I want to see it under some light but I don't think there's any glass in it. And it's not deep enough for stitches. And it’s only bleeding a little bit." He’s rambling.

"Do you do this a lot?" you ask.

He's still looking at your hand but manages some sarcasm. "What, play doctor?"

You flush. Definetly flirting. "Steve."

"Nah," he sighs, letting you go. You shiver again. "I've seen lots of small injuries working at Sara's for so long. Let's go inside, okay?"

The front door is unlocked as usual and as soon as it smacks closed behind you the rain starts to pound harder. "Can I drive you back when it calms down?" you ask him as you tug off your soaked boots.

"Sss-ure." Steve fails to hide his shiver. "Where's the first-aid kit?" You wave for him to follow you to the upstairs bathroom.

"I bet I have some stuff you can change into, if you want." He's going to get sick if he stands around in his soaked clothes much longer.

"Hand first."

"I can do it myself, Steve," you say over your shoulder on the stairs.

He smirks. "I'm sure you can."

The bathroom is big enough that you can both stand in front of the sink, the first-aid kit open on the counter next to you. You allow Steve to examine your palm in the dull light, keeping your eyes on the ceiling. Something tells you that looking at him or your hand might not be such a good idea right now.

"I'm just not as good with new people as I thought," he says, picking up on the abandoned conversation from the porch. He rubs an alcohol wipe along your cut and you scrunch up your nose, eyes pricking. You don't want him to see you almost cry again. "There hasn't been anyone new here in a long time. So I just... we got off on the wrong foot." You don't say anything. You feel him start to wrap the gauze and deem it safe to look down.

"I don't hate you," he repeats, eyes on your hand. "That's what I'm saying."

"I don't hate you either," you say softly. Steve looks at you then, eyes warm and hair damp, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

"Fooled me." He secures your bandage with a satisfied hum. "You said something about dry clothes?"

He follows you down the hall to your bedroom. Steve doesn't comment on the bare of your walls, the way your suitcases are out as if you're going to use them at any second. His eyes linger on the numerous candles on your vanity. The bottom drawer of your dresser is full of New-Bee's branded clothing that Bob has given you, soft things you've taken to sleeping in. A pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt should work, and you hand them to him.

"Thanks." He turns on his heel to return to the bathroom.

"Bring me your wet stuff and I'll throw it in the dryer!" you call after him before stripping out of your own soaked clothes, the damp denim of your jeans making a wet sound on the floor. Soft pants and a favorite hoodie fill you with welcome warmth as the rain continues to thud on the glass panes of your windows. You almost run into Steve in the hallway on your way to the closet with the dryer and you have to swallow a lump in your throat at the sight of him.

He's --. Well, he's in your clothes, barefoot in your hallway. To see him this way feels intimate in a way you don't know how to handle and it makes your heart do something funny in your chest.

"These are comfy," he says. His hair is a mess and you're staring and for some reason his cheeks are pink.

"You can have them," you tell him without thinking. Oh god, you think. Where did that come from? "I can get more from Bob, anyway." You pull open the washing closet and he throws his stuff in the dryer alongside yours. Your traitorous brain wonders if he's still wearing his underwear.

"Well, now what?" He looks at you through damp bangs, arms crossed. He looks softer than you ever thought him capable of being.

"This will take like, half an hour maybe? So I guess you have to hang out with me until then." He groans and you swat his arm, the venom from your first meeting nowhere to be found. Steve heads back towards your bedroom as you finish setting the dryer and you find him sniffing some of the glass jars he'd been eyeing earlier.

"These smell great," he tells you, eyes fluttering as he inhales one labeled evergreen/lavender. "You made 'em?"

"Yeah." You sit down on the edge of your bed. "Test batches for new scents."

"Still burning your fingers?" He looks at your hands, one bandaged by his own and the other curling into your blankets. You shake your head, remembering how he'd come to talk to you at the market, how his gaze had darkened when he noticed your fingers.

"What were you going to ask me last week?" you ask. He sets down the candle and straddles your vanity chair so that he's facing you.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, well." Maybe he doesn't remember. "I just-- before those kids of yours showed up, you were going to ask me something."

"You remember that?"

"I pay attention." The to you goes unsaid but seems to float in the air between you nonetheless.

"Oh," Steve says. He crosses his arms on top of the chair and sets his chin on them. "I was going to ask you to uh, hang out? But looks like that is happening right now."

"Really?"

"Don't sound so excited," he grumbles. You roll your eyes. "Uh, Nancy is gonna be in town this week and we're gonna have a Friday night...thing. By the lake."

"Steve," you say. You feel warm, warmer than you have all day. Because he wants to hang out, wants to be friends. And he has, maybe this whole time. "I don't know who Nancy is."

"She's Mike's -- the tall kid you met -- older sister. Jonathan's girlfriend. She's at school but she's coming back for her little sister's birthday. Holly, she's a real sweetheart--"

"Okay," you say.

"Okay?" he parrots. "You don't even want to know who will be there?"

"Careful, Steve. It sounds like you don't want me to come after all." He laughs.

"No, no, I want you to come. Now can I ask you something?" You nod, crossing your legs and his eyes follow your movements. "What did Brenda say to you? A few weeks ago, before we, uh...fought again."

It seems to be a day of catching each other off guard. "Does it matter what she said?" He taps his fingers in a random pattern on your chair.

"I just wanna know." His eyes are dark, his expression guarded. You can feel the walls you've only just broken down start to rebuild and you're desperate to keep them at bay. But you don't want to lie to him. Not while he's in your bedroom in your clothes after the day you've had together.

"She...she told me to be wary of you." His eyebrows raise and his jaw tightens. "She said you uh, broke a lot of hearts in high school."

"Why did she say that to you?" Now that is a truth you are not going to tell him. That she caught you staring.

"Dunno," you mutter.

"Is that why?" he asks. "Why we didn't get along? Why you were so mad that day?" How can you tell him it's because he makes your brain fuzzy, because you were hurt that he judged you so fast? That you did the exact same thing to him?

"I don't--. No." You rub your face with one hand. "Steve, I don't even know her. I don't know why she said that to me--"

"It's true," he interrupts. "I was an asshole back then. I guess I still am," he adds. "I guess I haven't changed a ton, based on how I was to you. How I am to you." He snorts and it's a harsh sound.

"Steve," you begin. "Steve, look, you said it yourself. We got off on the wrong foot and I was as much a part of that as you --"

"You don't have to defend me. You have no reason to." Why does it feel like this is turning into a fight? “That’s just my story, I guess. And everyone knows it.”

"I don't think I understand --"

The dryer beeps and he's out of your room in a flash. How have you lost track of the conversation so quickly?

"Steve," you say. "Steve, wait a second." He's in the hallway pulling his clothes out and shoving them into a paper bag he's found on the shelf. He won't look at you.

"I think I better just go. I don't...I don't want to fight again." The rain has all but stopped without your noticing.

"Then don't fight with me! Steve, come on, I'll drive you. It's bound to rain again and you'll get sick. This is a stupid idea!"

"Yeah, well," he mutters. "That's never stopped me before. See you later. Uh, thanks." He holds up the paper bag with his dry clothes as he shoves his bare feet into his boots. And then he's out the door.

"What the fuck just happened?" you say out loud to yourself in the empty kitchen.

____

It's frustration and embarrassment that keeps you from chasing after Steve. From going to see him at Sara's that night and on Sunday. You spend the rest of the weekend furiously making candles only to realize you've just made batch after batch of the one Steve picked up in your room -- an evergreen and lavender scent. Your hand doesn't hurt anymore, the cut already healing into a thin scabbed line underneath the bandaids you keep on it.

"Not that I'm complaining," Bob says when you bring the finished jars into the farmhouse on Monday morning. "But what's the fixation on this candle? You've made enough for three farmer's markets at least."

"Bob," you sigh. "I think I messed up but I don't know why." You and Bob talk most days when you run into each other in the house, but you hardly speak to him about non-farm matters. And yet, who else do you have to turn to? You don't think you can call anyone to talk about Steve, since everyone knows him, and you feel silly about the whole situation as is.

"And candles are going to fix it?" he teases. You groan and he claps you on the back gently. "Listen, kiddo. I know you've had a rough go of it and that Hawkins might not have sold you yet. But you're finding your way. And I know that you've made quite the impression on a few folks already." He picks up one of the candles you're labeling and smells it. "How about you take some of these over to Sara's? Give 'em a few and see if Hop wants to put some up in the store on the property."

Your boss eyes you as you feel your cheeks heat and you shift from foot to foot. "Sure, Bob," you tell him. You realize you have no idea what Steve does during the week, let alone on a Monday. It's time to find out.

You rehearse an apology on the drive to Sara's Farm. "What do I have to apologize for?" you mutter as you the truck bumps down the long drive. But urge to get back the Steve that padded around your room barefoot in borrowed clothes is stronger than your stubbornness. The property itself is huge -- much bigger than New Bee's. There are multiple barns that look well-built and maintained along one side of the fields and on the other you see a variety of livestock grazing. A bright blue chicken coop is next to the small farm store and the farm house sits charmingly in front of what looks to be rows and rows of trees. You wonder where Steve lives.

The farm store is empty of customers on a Monday morning but it's full of beautiful produce and goods: bags of apples of all colors, cherries, and sunflowers. Root vegetables and fresh eggs sit next to baked goods you have a feeling El is responsible for. There are t-shirts and hand-painted canvas bags and flower arrangements with the Byers Flowers tag on them. At the register sits a man you've never met but know on sight -- Jim Hopper. Former police chief, current farmer and collector of wayward individuals, if you've got the story right. That's how Steve ended up here, anyway.

"Uh, hi?" you say. Hopper looks up from a tattered paperback but he doesn’t spook.

"Hello," he drawls. "You here from Bob's place?" He jerks his chin at the New-Bee's bag you're carrying full of your candles.

"I--yeah." You introduce yourself and he sucks on his teeth and stands, gesturing for the bag.

"You're the new girl Harrington talks about," he says. "I'm Hop. Welcome to Hawkins." Your brain is trying to make sense of what he's saying. Steve...talks about you? It's not that strange considering you have been a massive pain in his ass on purpose but still.

"I've been here almost a month," you blurt out. Hopper looks at you over the candle he's smelling. It's a look that says: I know what you’re really here for.

"Belated welcome, then," he says. "You make these?" You nod. "They smell great. I'll call Bob and tell him we'll stock 'em."

You look at your shoes as if they're suddenly very interesting. "Is uh, Steve here?" Hopper sighs and wipes a hand across his face as he mutters something that sounds like damn kids.

"Not today," he replies but offers no details. Your fists clench in your pockets because something about this feels rehearsed. "Hey," Hopper says and you look up. "Maybe if you bring some more candles tomorrow he'll be here."

But when you return the next day with a full crate of candles you find El and the boy you remember as Mike sitting behind the counter. El grins when she sees you and calls out your name. Mike whispers something in her ear.

"Hi El, Mike. Where can I put this?" Mike hurries around the counter to take it from you. There's a clear set of shelves right by the register that he starts to fill.

El rests her head in her hands and smiles at you. "Dad said you'd come by today. That color is really pretty on you." You're wearing a deep green sweater under a denim jacket.

You wink at her and she giggles. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Parent-teacher conferences," Mike says. "Hop's there so we get to run the store today." He carefully lines up all the candles so the labels face outwards. El watches his every movement.

"Are your other friends here?" A screech from outside floats in through the open window followed by what sounds like Max's laughter.

"They're supposed to be collecting eggs," El says. "But the rooster doesn't like Dustin very much."

"And, uh..." You examine a jar of strawberry jam. "Is Steve here? Your dad said he might be." Her eyes are soft as she chews on her response and tucks her hair behind her ears.

"He told me to tell you that he's not here," she says. Mike looks at her with fond exasperation.

"El, I don't think we were supposed to say it like that."

She raises her eyebrows at him. "Steve is being silly and Max and I won't be a part of it. So be glad she's outside because she'd be less nice than me." She looks at you, mouth twisted in a grimace. "I don't know where he is today but if you come back tomorrow maybe you'll catch him."

"Great," you mutter. "He's avoiding me." You blow a raspberry to keep your frustration at bay. "Here's some free life advice, Mike." He looks at you warily. "Don't avoid girls. They'll find you." He sputters and El cackles.

And you fully intend to catch Steve sooner rather than later because this is getting ridiculous. Wednesday morning finds you driving over to Sara's yet again. No candles this time, but you have a plan: search every inch of the damn property for this ridiculous boy and make him talk to you. Because you don't want all of this to be for nothing -- the thing between you that changed from something cold and hurtful to something that made you look forward to seeing him. That, and you want to go the hang-out on Friday without things being awkward.

You bypass the store completely and head for the orchard. It's a bitter cold day, the first one in a while, and you should have worn gloves. As it is you're shivering in your jeans and long-sleeve layered under a the same sweater as yesterday and a flannel and a jacket. The tip of your nose feels like Jack Frost himself blew on it and you're rubbing it when you almost crash into someone popping out of a row of apple trees.

"Hey!" says Robin, arms reaching out to steady you. "You okay?" She looks as cold as you but she's smart enough to be wearing a beanie. You haven't seen her recently, haven't talked to her one-on-one since your first meeting in the library. You wonder if Steve told her what happened.

"Wasn't watching where I was going, sorry." You sigh but Robin's friendly energy tamps down your frustration. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know," she sing-songs. "No classes today, so I'm here to help a bit with apple picking. If you want advice on the best varietals right now I'm your girl. Hopper made us memorize an entire list this year. I think I know more about apples than I ever wanted to." She digs into her cargo pants pocket and pulls out a huge red fruit. "Good breakfast though!" The crunch of her bite makes you smile and she tries to say something through a mouthful of fruit.

"Robin, don't choke!" She rolls her eyes and makes a show of chewing before trying again.

"Are you coming on Friday night?" she asks. "Nancy is psyched to meet you and Eddie won't stop bothering me about hanging out with you and Steve --" She groans like his very name is a chore to say. "Well, I bet you're here to see Steve, right?"

You chew on your lip before responding. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"Sounds like a classic case of Steve getting stuck in his own head and being a jerk. But that's just my opinion." Robin rocks back and forth on her heels and takes another bight of the apple.

"I wanted to apologize but I don't really know what I'm apologizing for," you admit. "I think we were about to become friends."

She hums. "Well, he's in the orchard a few rows that way." She points in the direction you were heading. "Just listen for the radio playing Springsteen really loudly. And please, please come on Friday." She pulls you in for a hug so quick you don't get the chance to return it and darts off back towards the farm store. You listen hard and hear some music in the distance so you head towards it, you cold hands shoved in your pockets.

"I'm dyin' for some action," a voice carries over the orchard. "Sick of sittin' round here tryin' to write this book." You quicken your pace along the openings in the rows of trees, head craned to glance down each one in search of Steve. "I need a love reaction," he sings and you try very hard to keep a hold on your frustration. "Come on now, baby, give me just one look---"

It gets harder when you find him at the top of a ladder. The radio is loud from its place in the dirt and he's pulling apples from the top of a tree and tossing them into a cloth bag. Stock for the farm store, you guess. You're content to watch him, drinking your fill after a few days without a glance. The realization that you missed him is a sudden one that has you rubbing at your chest. But its not the ache that you’re so used to – it’s something entirely different. What is this boy doing to you?

As if he hears you thinking, Steve turns over his shoulder mid-singing and spots you. His eyes widen and his cheeks color even more -- he's already flushed from the cold and his efforts -- and he starts down the ladder. "Bee girl," he calls. "Fancy seeing you here." He skips the last few rungs and hops onto the ground to turn the radio down. You realize that he's wearing overalls over a soft green sweater that matches your own. He's not wearing gloves either and his ears are pink and you want to touch him and -- wait, what?

"You've been avoiding me, Steve," you say, your heart beating entirely too fast.

"How's your hand?" he asks. "You keeping it clean?" You hold up your palm so he can see the bandaids there.

"It's fine. Steve, I said you're been avoiding me--"

"Yeah," he admits. "I'm sorry."

"I-- what? Really?" You've come ready to argue again, ready to stand your ground and tell him he's been unfair.

"Really. Did you...not expect me to apologize?" He frowns. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just got in my head about stupid stuff. About the way other people think of me, all that shit." He digs his hands into his overall pockets. "And I took it out on you. So, I'm sorry. I uh, I won't do it again. I swear."

"Oh," you breathe. "Well, then." You laugh a little and Steve smiles hesitantly. "I was ready to fight. Tell you to stop being such a stubborn asshole and talk to me." He grimaces.

"I was embarrassed, actually," he says. "I mean, a girl from high school tells you the truth and I get shitty about it? Not a good look." He takes a casual step towards you to inspect a branch of the tree you're standing by. "I just feel like you're getting all the worst parts of me."

You snort. In the days you've spend thinking about him, you know that's not true. He's stubborn and he's quick to defend and he's possessive. Steve is all of that, but he's also funny and kind and helpful and loyal. You'd be silly not to admit that to yourself. You hope he can see those things, too. "I want to be your friend, Steve," you tell him. His head snaps up to look at you. His eyes are warm and the corner of his mouth curls up.

"I want to be your friend, too," he says softly. A cool wind rushes down the row of trees and his ladder shakes. "Is that safe?" you ask, shivering a little.

"Yeah, it's better when I'm on it, actually --" He notices you shake. "You're cold." He steps forward to rub his hands up and down your arms. When he catches your fingers he hisses. "You gotta wear gloves, honey," he says. The nickname seems to slip out without his notice. It sounds different than when he said it in jest on your porch. It's sweeter than you imagined it would be now that he seems to mean it, almost sweeter than you can handle. "You should go back to the store and make Wheeler give you some free cider."

"Do you want to come?" you ask. Just minutes ago you were ready to fight with him and now you don't want him to stop touching you, stop being near you. This boy is giving you whiplash.

"I gotta keep going out here or Hop will feed me to the chickens." He looks almost pained to send you off alone. "But I'll see you Friday? Are you okay with Eddie picking you up?"

You nod. "Yeah. I'll be there." You eye the ladder again. "Be careful, Steve. I don't need my new friend falling out of a tree!" His laugh warms you all the way to your toes.

__

Time passes impossibly slowly for the rest of the week. But then it's 7 pm and you're waiting for Eddie to pick you up and you're excited. Over a month in this town and you're finally feeling like you've got your feet under you -- you've got friends and they want to hang out with you and you're making things you’re proud of and you feel good. The night is chilly and you're sure to shove a hat and gloves in your bag along with some marshmallows.

A car honks and you almost trip over yourself on the way out the door. Eddie sits in a van that looks like it's on its last legs. You can hear the music blasting but he turns it down as you climb in.

"It smells like mushrooms in here," you say. He laughs and backs out of the New-Bee drive.

"Usually smells like weed." He winks at you. "I think the 'shrooms smell better. Earthy, ya know?"

"Whatever you say." You're about to start basic small talk when he clicks his tongue loudly.

"So, you and Harrington, huh?" he asks. You try to keep your expression neutral but your eyebrows lose the battle and raise to your hairline.

"Me and Harrington, what, Eddie?"

"I don't know sweetheart, you tell me."

You fiddle with the heat nob. "He's not that bad, I guess." Eddie laughs again. He's a joyful dude.

"Told you so," he sings. "Glad you came around, or I think he'd have blown a gasket starting at you all the time." You look out the window. It feels like things have gone from zero to 100 in the span of a week. Loathing for Steve turned to frustration turned to something warmer, something softer. You want to know him. You want to understand him and to talk to him and to figure out what makes him tick. And you want him to know you.

Eddie spares you more talk of Steve and instead regales you with stories of his band and his odd boss at the mushroom farm, Rick. You deduce that in addition to selling mushrooms legally and weed a little less so, Eddie is perhaps the sweetest, strangest boy you've ever met.

The lake, Lover's Lake, you remember, is dark and you have to walk down a small bluff to get to the bonfire. Steve doesn't seem to be there yet but Robin, Jonathan, and a girl you assume is Nancy all cheer when you arrive.

"There she is!" Robin cries. You pull out the marshmallows. "And she brings snacks!"

"Steve should have the graham crackers and chocolate when he gets here," Jonathan says. "Glad you made it."

"I'm Nancy," the girl next to him says. She's bundled in an Emerson sweatshirt and a jacket you've seen Jonathan wear before. "It's so good to meet the one who seems to be looking after these guys when I'm not around." She pats the spot next to her and you settle in between her and Robin.

"Oh, I don't know about that," you say. "I'm just the new girl in town."

"The new girl in town that we are obsessed with!" Robin adds. "She's great, Nance. An expert in bees already, too. The candles she makes are beautiful." You're starting to feel like a product Robin is trying to sell.

"It's true," Jonathan says. "The kids love her, too."

"Kids," Nancy scoffs. "Mike drove us here, Jonathan. They're hardly kids anymore."

"Your brother is sweet," you say. "And Steve said it's your sister's birthday? I hope you're having fun being home for that." Nancy smiles softly and leans into Jonathan. The easy affection between them makes your chest ache.

"I always love coming home," she tells you. "Hawkins is a special place full of special people." Her smile turns to a smirk. "Though I've heard you've become well acquainted with one of them."

Eddie snorts. He's already got a marshmallow on a stick over the fire. "That's one way to put it, Wheeler." You bury your face in your hands and groan.

"We're friends now, I swear!" you say. "He just pissed me off at first."

"He was an asshole, you mean," Robin corrects fondly. "Oh, Steve. We love him, don't get me wrong. But you were a sight to behold, putting him in his place like you did."

"I really wish I was there for that," Nancy sighs. "But seriously, I'm glad you're friends now and that he asked you to hang out with us. I was going to make Robin do it if Steve didn't get his act together --"

"Munson!" a voice interrupts. "Can't you wait for the rest of the s'mores stuff?" Eddie's marshmallow is now on fire as he greets Steve with a sheepish grin.

"Grocery store is a mess tonight," he says, dropping two plastic bags on the ground by your wood log benches. He's got a thermos tucked under one arm. And -- you swear you gasp just a little bit -- he's in a beanie. "I got graham crackers, chocolate, beer, and warm cider for anyone who doesn't want beer." He passes the six pack to Robin and she, Nancy, and Jonathan take one. Eddie looks between you and Steve and the thermos like he's trying to solve a puzzle before he takes a beer, too.

"Guess this is for you and me, bee girl," Steve says. Robin scoots over and Steve settles next to you on the wood, his thigh pressing warm into yours. "Hey," he says quietly, just to you.

"Hey yourself," you reply. It's no longer a surprise that you're so glad to see him. Eddie starts to ask Nancy about the big city and Steve cracks open the thermos and pulls out two chipped mugs from one of the plastic bags. You take one and his bare fingers brush against yours, warm as always.

"Did you bring gloves?" he asks, pouring hot cider into your mug. "And a hat?"

"Why, you gonna give me yours if I didn't?" you tease. He grins and your stomach swoops.

"Nah," he says. "I forgot my gloves, so I'm just making sure I can steal yours later."

"Wait, I brought blankets!" Eddie runs back to his van to grab them and tosses one to you and Steve. You hold his mug as he wraps it around you both, the thermos held between his legs.

"No need to steal my gloves," you say softly. He snorts a little.

"So," Nancy begins. "I hope I'm not prying, but can you tell me how exactly you ended up in Hawkins?"

"Oh," you say. "Uh." The cider is warm when you take a sip. You wonder if Steve made it himself before coming over here. "There's not much of a story, really." Robin gently knocks your foot with hers and Steve's thigh presses into you even more. "My folks wanted me to go to college so I did. But I didn't like it and I didn't want to waste money so I asked if I could uh, drop out."

"Badass," Eddie says. Nancy shushes him.

"I don't know what I want to do with my life," you continue. "And we had a connection to Bob and my parents told me to try the total opposite of college which is working on a bee farm, I guess. So, I'm just trying to figure it out." You take another sip of your cider. “Start a new story, or something.”

"I'll drink to that," Jonathan mutters. You laugh and it's echoed around the fire. He starts to tell a story about his classes at community college and you pull the blanket tighter around you. Steve is warm at your side and you glance at him. There's no use pretending that he's anything short of beautiful. You've thought so since you first saw him, even when he made you see red. But in the firelight and his hat he looks soft, young, happy. You trace the line of his jaw with your gaze and look away only when you realize you're staring at his lips. On the other side of him, Robin grins at you.

"Who wants to skip rocks?" she says. You realize you have no idea what's been said the last few minutes. She stands up and tugs Nancy from your side. "Come on," she says to the boys.

"Not on your life, Buckley," Steve says, but she's already down the bank with the others. "I hope no one falls in," he grumbles.

"Don't be such a grump," you tease. "They can handle themselves."

"It's too cold." Steve pouts exaggeratedly and you reach up to tug on his beanie.

"Thank you for inviting me, Steve," you say softly. "I'm having a nice time and it's...nice to have friends." His pout turns into something a little more real and his eyebrows furrow. "I like Hawkins a lot. I've just felt kind of adrift, if that makes sense?"

"I didn't help," he sighs. "I made it worse, I'm sure. I'm sorry for --"

"But you're helping now," you say. You put your hand on his knee and he inhales sharply. "No more apologies needed."

"I like the candles that you made," he blurts out. “The new ones that we’re stocking at Sara’s.” You smack your lips and keep your hand where it is.

"How did you know I made them?"

"You told me, just now." He's teasing but his face is flushed. His eyelashes look impossibly long. "Nah, I knew. You're a candle wiz. Even if you're clumsy." He eyes the hand that isn't on his knee, the one that you cut. You hold it up to show him, just like you did on Wednesday in the orchard. You feel bold under his gaze, bold in the darkness with your new friends laughing down at the shoreline. Bold because you've gone from being alone to being wanted in the span of a week and it feels good.

"I made them because you were smelling that one in my bedroom," you confess. "The evergreen lavender tester."

Steve's face does something complicated, like he's sorting through how he should feel about this. "Aren't you observant," he mutters, but it's teasing. His eyes catch your gaze again and this time he's searching for something. Then his hand settles over yours on his knee and you're worried he's going to pull it off.

"Can I try something?" he asks. "You can tell me to go fuck myself if you don't like it." The memory of your first meeting makes you laugh but it comes out as a nervous giggle because Steve is leaning in. He's leaning in and the crack of the fire and the laughter by the lake is drowned out by the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You close your eyes and wait to be kissed.

Steve is warm everywhere. His hand on yours, the line of his body as he turns into you, the palm that frees itself from the blanket to cup your jaw. He breathes into the small space between you for just a second too long and you decide to close the gap. He gasps against your lips and it's such a sweet sound that you smile. It's a soft kiss, sweet and hesitant. His lips are gentle but the hand on your face suggests that he could take control at any point, that he's letting you decide how long to keep this up.

You linger, pulling away only to lean back in for another quick peck against Steve's growing grin. You can't help it.

"C'mere," Steve says, tugging you into a hug. A first kiss has never felt so enormous, so monumental. You hide your face in his neck. "You don't taste like honey, honey," he says into your hair. "I feel kind of cheated."

You pinch his thigh and he yelps.

"We're friends, huh?" you say, knowing that you're crossing a line that maybe you can't come back from. And it's a dangerous move because you know right there, in the cold October night by the fire with his hand on your face and a blanket around you both that you could love him. It would be so easy. He could be your home if you wanted him to be. And that's terrifying.

"We're whatever you want," Steve replies.

___

tags: @cheerupbarry @srrybutno @97soroka @sunlitide @gloryofroses19 @carpediem1219 @themarvelousbee @sunshinehollandd @katsukis1wife @imherefortea @spideyboipete @lonelywidow @actual-mom-steve-harrington @steveharringtonscarkeys @pennyllanne @ducky-is-dead-inside @ih3artcry1ng @escape-in-time-x @sea040561 @manyfandomsfanvergent @blandyton @liberhoe @annaisweird @mrs-dr-reid @toomanyacorns @darlingoctober @selfdeprecatingnerd @dullsocietyy @keep-drivng @shireentapestry @mintfrostflower @freezaz123

reblog, send feedback, requests closed, masterlist here!

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #no good at waiting

[spinchip]

Ultra Violet did not get scared. The word wasn’t in her vocabulary. When her sister screamed and cried and tattled to mom about the horror movie Ultra Violet had chosen, she was dry eyed and annoyed they couldn’t handle something as mild as SAW. She carried herself as a woman who didn’t fear anything. She was the one people were afraid of, not the other way around, and that’s how she liked it.

She’s not thinking about this as she races down the back alley, so certain in her steadfast nature that the strange barely suppressed panic that bubbled up her chest had been easily dismissed. She’d faced the ninja plenty of times before, and sure Zane may be her most annoying foe to face, there was no reason for the unease she’d felt when he stood across from her. He didn't act any different than the last time they’d battled. When she turned tail and ran, it was because she was out numbered. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t following the warning bells ringing in the back of her head when brilliant blue eyes zeroed in on her like a hawk catching sight of a mouse. It was Zane, there was no reason to be afraid.

She turns a corner and comes to a brick wall, a dead end. Despite how calm and unafraid she definitely was, her heart rate jumped and her palms began to sweat. She whipped around, looking for another escape route- a ladder access to the fire escape, up to the roof? A sewer drain cover she could slip in? Anything, please-

Zane rounds the corner in a jog, coming to a stop when he realizes she's trapped.

She’s trapped.

Like an insect pinned to a board. He’s scrutinizing her just the same, but there’s something about his expression- about the way he carries himself that’s just- just-

Scary.

“Fine,” She tries to snarl, but her voice shakes, “You caught me. Just take me back to Kryptarium.” She’s trying to hold what little ground she has, preserving her dignity.

He takes a step forward and she immediately takes a step back, adrenaline flooding her veins. She can’t run anymore, so there goes flight. All that's left is to fight, and shes overcome with a strange certainty that she won’t win this one.

He stills, standing in the only spot the neon sign lights don't reach.

“Well, come on. Arrest me!” Are her hands shaking? Is her heartbeat loud enough that he can hear it?

The air thins, each breath harder to draw. She’s zeroed in on him, eyes so wide the whites are visible all around her iris. He takes another step forward, then another, steadily moving towards her. She’s given up any pretense of bravery, shoving herself back against the unforgiving brick wall behind her, scuttling into the corner to put any distance she can between them. His presence is massive in the back alley, a black hole that seems to swallow up all light until it is just her and him suspended in darkness.

He stops right in front of her, his eyes are pinpricks of electric blue that spear right through her head, pinning her in place.  Her breath fogs in front of her, her hands are shaking from a mix of fear and cold.

“What do you want from me?” She breathes, his overwhelming presence stealing her voice.

His expression changes minutely, and she's instantly aware she’s going to die. He’s going to kill her. It’s right there, in his eyes- the way he’d been examining her before, he was trying to think of a reason to spare her. He weighed her soul and found it wanting. The decision, the choice he made to end her life, holds no weight to him. He almost looks bored as he raises his hand, fingers misting with flecks of snow and frost.

“Zane?” A voice calls, and his hand stills for a long moment before it aborts its movement completely.

“Here!” He calls, and it’s the first word she’s heard him say this whole time. His voice is light and casual, jarring in comparison to the detached cold of his eyes. Eyes that want her wiped off the face of Ninjago. “I have located Ultra Violet.”

“Is she dead?” She recognizes Lloyd's voice, coming closer. The question isn't accusatory, but it's said so casually that Ultra Violet rapidly begins to go through the roster of her Fellow Kryptarium inmates in her head, wondering if the ones who she hadn’t seen in a while had been…

Zane tips his head, eyes still fixed on her. His hand twitches. “Not yet.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” Lloyd says, rounding the corner.

They escort her back to prison.

She doesn't watch scary movies for a long time.

#zane julien #ns11 consequences #zane almost murders UV lol #spinchip fic

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere “Perfect” Houshusband: Wezley [REdaCTEd]

“I’ve ironed your outfit, started the car, analyzed those numbers you wanted me to check, and packed your lunch.”

“Thank you hun-bun,” *smeck* “Oh did you–uh make your special lunch for me?”

“.....You’re so silly. Didn’t I say I’d wait until you got home to feed you that stuff.” 

“O-ohkay, bye.” 

Waving goodbye he then prepares to leave 

Joining the other housespouses in their scheduled pool parties, playdates, and tennis games

armed with his addictive casserole or his reputable meat pies

He’d knew you’d cry if you knew

So the moment he returned home he washed his dishes and like the good husband he is he upkept the house

Washing all the red stains

Recording his meal prep

Washing your clothes

Listening to you put your coworkers in their place

Mopping the floors

Polishing the silverware

Locking the secret doorways

And then he’d complete a commission or two because the perfect house husband would contribute financially:

“I uh got an’ther delivery for ya.”

“Backdoor Rapstley. Can you carry it on your own?”

“No, even after choppin’ it up he was full of muscle.”

“Fine, I'll come get it. Keep an eye out.”

Wezley pulled the phone away from his ear, finally letting his tongue run over his teeth as he happily began to brainstorm. Clearing the furniture and carpet with ease he made his way to the back door for the rat-like agent that was sweating profusely under the weight of a black trash bag. Taking it from him with a roll of his mauve-colored eyes he speedily walked to the kitchen, dawning his beloved leather gloves before opening the bag. Sifting aggressively through the bag he had to bite back a growl, replaying your image in his mind as he calmly regulated his breathing. 

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“Uh r-right. This is the best we could get.”

Pulling out a jar from his suit pants he slid it over to him on the counter causing Wezley to grimace before noting that he’d have to clean it later. Examining the jar he asked for the commission.

“Uh seventeen large shakes and some fifteen five pounders. Do ya have enough for that?”

Wezley sighed mentally counting the ones in the bag plus the jar. He groaned, calculating how little he’d have left after completing the order. But as your ‘perfect’ house husband he needed to support you, therefore he decided–

“Fine, I’ll do it. 5% interest and whatever else you can find as fast as possible.”

The greasy agent beamed nodding at his requirements before bowing his head as he dismissed himself knowing fullwell that Wezley would call when he was done. Though he wouldn’t have to go far considering he worked so fast. Rapstley lit a cigarette hiding behind a shed and shrubbery in the backyard. He didn’t know who is or what he was but he was getting bigger. His products stem among the common mouth rather than its underground audience. He’d hate to be his enemy.

“Done. Now move quickly. You have 30 minutes.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice.

#yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #ask me about him #yandere househusband #yandere house husband #yanderes #yandere boy #yandere husband #yandere perfect husband #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere cannibal #yandere monster

[across-violet-skies]

Febuwhump day 8: "why won't it stop?"

Whumpee: Four

Whump Rating: 1/10

TWs: none!

Four groaned, rolling over in his bedroll. His skin was on fire, itchy and heated as he shuffled around under the moonlight. It burned beyond anything that could be considered normal, so he sat up, huffing in annoyance.

Sky, who was on watch, glanced over at him. “Four?” He called quietly, frowning. “Everything okay?”

The smith grimaced, raking dull nails along his forearms. He was so itchy! Four stood up, walking over to sit with Sky near the campfire.

“What is it?” The Skyloftian wondered, tilting his head.

Four grunted, shaking his head. “I’m itchy,” he mumbled, pausing his scratching to look at his arms. Red, angry marks covered his skin, both streaky ones from his nails and smaller, raised bumps that were surely the cause of his irritation.

Sky gently took one of the smith’s arms, frowning as he examined the marks. “It looks like hives,” he mused, carefully running a finger over the bumps.

“Hives?” Four repeated, wrinkling his nose. “Why would I have hives?”

Sky shrugged, releasing the smith’s arm. “I don’t know. Did you eat anything weird? Or touch anything you didn’t recognize?” Four frowned, scratching his arm absentmindedly. Sky batted his hand away, shaking his head. “Don’t itch it.”

Four groaned. “Why won’t it stop itching? This sucks,” he murmured, making a face. “I don’t know what caused it. The only things I’ve eaten today were Wild’s meals, but I don’t usually have a problem with them.”

“Maybe it was a new recipe?” Sky suggested, shrugging. “Is it only on your arms?”

The smith tilted his head, showing off his neck. “It’s itchy here, too.” Sure enough, the same little raised bumps were present on Four’s neck, crawling up to his jaw. “And there’s probably some on my shoulders and chest, too. It’s really itchy.”

The Skyloftian grimaced, nodding as he examined the bumps. “I’m sure. Let me see… I think I have an itch cream that might help.” He dug through his bag, humming quietly as he pulled out a jar. “Yeah! Here, try this. It’s like a special lotion to help with itching.”

Four accepted the jar with a grateful nod. “Thanks.” He spread some of the lotion on his arms, sighing with relief as the itching subsided. He put more on his neck, then shoved a hand under his tunic to apply some there, too. When he was finished, he recapped the jar, handing it back to Sky.

“Better?” The knight questioned, storing the jar safely in his bag.

Four nodded. “Much. What did you say that stuff was called?”

“Oh!” Sky tilted his head, smiling as he thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know what it’s called, actually. I always just called it ‘itch cream’,” he explained. “It’s made from a special plant, so it’s not hard to find. We could get some for you if this is a recurring problem.”

“Let’s hope it’s not,” the smithy replied, grimacing at the thought. “I’ve gotta figure out what caused the hives in the first place.”

Sky chuckled softly, nodding. “I’d talk to Wild if I were you. It might be an ingredient he used,” he pointed out. “But that’s something for the morning. Get some sleep, Four.”

“Yeah,” the smith murmured, nodding. “Thanks. I will.”

–> support me on ao3!

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday8 #linked universe #lu four #lu sky #linked universe fanfic #ao3 #riv writes

[thesleepysphinx]

Summer on the Horizon

Telltale's The Walking Dead Luke x Fem!Reader

Chapter Content Warnings: mention of violence/murder

*Please refer to the masterlist for a disclaimer on the AU this takes place in*

Series Masterlist ◈ Previous Chapter ◈ Next Chapter

Chapter 5: Moving On

Word Count: 1962

Y/N awakes to a comfortable warmth surrounding her, and keeps her eyes closed, reveling in the feeling before she has to face the world that waits for her outside her little loft. Subconsciously, she pulls herself closer to her source of warmth, not yet recalling how she fell asleep and who she was next to when she did. But when she hears a deep breath exhale right next to her ear, her eyes shoot open. 

At some point in the night, they ended up facing each other. Her hands rest against Luke’s chest as it rises and falls with each breath, and her head is tucked just below his chin. She feels a weight on her side and finds his arm slung around her. This is it, she thinks to herself, I am so totally screwed. 

She takes one last moment to soak in the warmth and comfort before she slowly starts to remove her hands and roll over onto her other side. As she does, she hears and feels Luke stir, but is able to find her way out of his grasp without waking him. Slowly, Y/N starts to descend the ladder to the loft and finds Clementine at the bottom, taking inventory of the items she’d be carrying in her backpack.

“Morning,” Y/N whispers to her.

Clementine jumps a bit at the greeting, but responds, “Good morning.”

Y/N crouches down next to her, examining the supplies as she puts them back in her pack. 

Clementine glances up at her for a moment and keeps her voice low as she says, “We have really good supplies. With the types of food we found, we should be set for a few weeks, and as long as we follow the river, we’ll have water.”

“I like the sound of that. Hopefully we’ll find a new place before those few weeks are up.” She picks up one of the jars of jam, just to have something in her hands. “And we can always do some hunting and gathering to keep our supplies up.” She hands the jar over to Clementine.

“Once we find somewhere, we should start farming. We won’t find food like this for much longer.”

“Well, if we’re gonna farm, we’ll have to find the seeds for it.”

Clementine stops to think, chewing at the inside of her lip. “I used to go with my parents to a nursery. They sold seeds for fruits and vegetables in paper packets. If we can find a nursery like that, we might find some seeds.”

A smile breaks out across Y/N’s face. “That’s some great thinking, kiddo.” She stands once again. “I’m gonna wake up Luke so we can get all packed up and on our way.” She tip toes up the ladder to find Luke still fast asleep, now laying on his back. She takes hold of his ankle and shakes it. “Come on, Farm Boy, we gotta get a move on.” 

Luke slowly blinks the sleep from his eyes. Once he realizes it’s the morning, he lets out a deep sigh. “Leaving this bed is not something I’ve been looking forward to.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at his dramatics. “Don’t worry sleeping beauty, we’ll find you another bed soon.” She drops herself back down the ladder to retrieve her own bag and go over her supplies.

Luke takes his time sitting up, wanting to appreciate his comfort for just a moment longer. But he swears he was more comfortable in his sleep. Once he’s sat up, he runs a hand through his hair, relishing in the clean feeling it has now. “Man, I gotta find some scissors, this is getting too long for my liking…” He shimmies his way down the ladder and looks up longingly at the loft before reaching for the final backpack, his own. 

After a quick rundown of inventory, the three survivors start their journey as the first rays of daylight shine down on them. The loads of their supplies weigh heavily on them, but they push through. They need those supplies, down to the last crumb and bandage. There’s no telling what they’ll run into. And as they walk along the river, they do find a few walkers in their path. The most they find together is two, easy enough for them to handle without any incident. They stop a couple times here and there to refill their waters and take short rests. They come to a rocky river bank with a few pieces of driftwood for them to rest on, and they take the opportunity.

Y/N slips off her hat to wipe the sweat from her brow. “Is it weird to say I’m already missing the winter months? This sun is killer.” She reaches down into her bag to fish out the expired sunscreen Clementine found in the nurse’s station. 

Luke takes a seat next to her and pulls off his button up. “Yeah, I know what you mean. At least it’ll start coolin’ off soon. Sun is gonna set in just a couple hours. We should find a good place to set up camp while we still can.” He looks over towards Clementine.

The young girl is standing on the edge of the bank, looking in all directions.

Y/N takes notice of her actions and looks to Luke. “It’s crazy how aware she is of her surroundings. I’m still getting used to watching my back like she can.”

Luke laughs a little as he uncaps his water. “Yeah, it’s kind of comforting just how good she is at surviving. Don’t really gotta worry about her. She’s just… not like other kids.” He looks down for a second before he takes a swig of his water.

Y/N moves her gaze over to the horizon, absent-mindedly rubbing sunscreen over her arms and face. A familiar mountain peaks over the trees to the east, the last bits of winter’s snow at its peak. Y/N nods her head in the direction of the mountain. “Should we try to head that way?”

Luke looks up at her and follows her line of sight. He shrugs, “It’s probably as good a plan as any. Usually quite a few towns at the foot of mountains. Might get lucky.”

“We should keep following the river,” Clementine speaks up as she walks back towards the others. “We don’t know for sure that we’d find water if we went somewhere else.”

Y/N places her hat back on her head. “That’s a pretty good point. And rivers lead to towns pretty often, too. Might want to just keep going the way we are. Let’s keep moving on.” She stands from her seat. “Let’s find a place to set up camp.” She starts walking, not waiting for Luke and Clem to follow after her. They look at each other, perplexed by the sudden change in tone.

“I’ll ask her about it later,” Luke promises as he rises, placing his hand on Clem’s head for a second. They both jog to catch up to Y/N, and after not too long, they find a suitable clearing with thick trees for protection. 

Y/N looks up to find the sun. “Looks like we probably have an hour of sunlight left. Let’s set up the tent and a fire.” She shucks off her pack and the other two follow suit, taking out the tent and their sleeping bags.

“I’ll grab some firewood,” Clementine says as she retraces their steps, recalling some decent pieces of wood she saw along the way.

Y/N watches as she walks away. “Should she really be going alone?”

Luke chuckles a bit. “You seen what she can do. She’ll be just fine. Besides, putting up a tent is much easier with two people.” He flashes her a smile as he grabs some of the tent poles. 

Y/N rolls her eyes at him, but starts helping him get the tent together. As they work, she stays silent, occasionally humming a tune. Luke’s smile graces his face again, hearing something as lighthearted as a hum. But then, he remembers his promise to Clementine earlier.

“Hey, I gotta ask, but don’t feel like you gotta answer.”

She keeps her hands busy with the tent as she answers, “Alright, go ahead cowboy.”

Now Luke rolls his eyes, but he asks his question anyway. “It seemed like you were upset when Clem suggested we just keep following the river. Why is that?”

Y/N stills her hands for a moment, but finds that only makes them shake, so keeps them moving. “It’s, uh… cause I know the area.”

Luke doesn’t respond immediately, taking his time to listen between the lines. A reason why she would want to go, but not fight to go there. And it starts making a lot of sense. 

“You had people out there, didn’t you?”

She nods, and Luke gives her a minute in case she wants to keep talking. And she does. “I want to know if they’re still alive, but… I’m scared to know that they’re not. I’ve seen what it does to people, to know for sure. A lot of them can’t handle it. And I’m scared I won’t be able to either.” Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she wipes them away, going back to finishing up the tent, running the final pole into its slot. Next she grabs all the sleeping bags and brings them inside the tent to arrange them. And Luke lets her. He lets her have this moment to process, knowing that it’s a lot to feel, but it’s a lot more to say out loud. 

Once she comes out of the tent again, Luke can see the tears have won as they roll down her cheeks, but she keeps wiping them away. It’s once she takes in a shaky breath that Luke pulls her into a hug, holding her head in the crook of his neck with one hand and wrapping the other around her shoulders. 

“Don’t worry, now. I got you,” he whispers into her hair. He can feel the shoulder of his “new” shirt getting soaked with tears, but he couldn’t care less. “No matter what you think, you’re strong. Don’t even doubt that for a minute. Hell, probably stronger than me. And you ain’t alone, either. We got you.”

Tentatively, she wraps her arms around him, accepting the comfort that she only got a glimpse of just this morning. And she stands there with him for a few moments longer, until she hears a rustling in the bushes and breaks away to grab her hunting knife. But instead of a walker, she’s greeted with Clementine stepping through the brush to get back into the clearing, a heap of logs balanced in her arms. Y/N breathes a sigh of relief before holstering her knife and turning away to wipe her eyes one last time. She clears her throat to say, “I’m gonna get some rocks for that fire.”

As she trudges off into the woods, Clementine looks to Luke. “I’m guessing you asked her?” She starts to clear a spot for the fire.

“Yeah…” Luke says as he crosses his arms and leans back against a tree. “She’s got people in that direction. She’s scared to find out they’re gone.”

Clementine looks up at Luke from her crouched position on the ground. “I know that feeling. That’s how I was with my parents.” She looks down at the ground. “Knowing they were gone was hard. But… I had to keep going.” She looks back up at Luke now. “We should go there, so that she knows.”

Luke smiles at Clem, feeling pride well up in his chest. “Yeah, I agree.”

Next Chapter: When We Have Hope

A/N: Sorry for the late night post! Tumblr for some reason kept giving me errors trying to post :( Also sorry for the short chapter, but I wanted to make sure you guys had something! And pretty soon here my posting schedule is gonna get a lot more hectic cause I'm going back to college in less than a month, but I have no intentions of abandoning this fic! Just hang in there <3

#twdg #twdg s2 #telltale the walking dead #the walking dead #twd #luke x reader #twdg luke #twdg luke x reader #clementine #twdg clementine #twdg season 2 #summer on the horizon

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

I got inspired to write this after seeing posts about the bi pride flag on Luz’s dad’s (?) guitar and remembering there was likely more to her coming out than we got to see in the montage. I know the show does not have space to go into it, so here’s my take.

The night after Lumity Studios made its debut, Luz slipped out of her room and made her way down to the kitchen. It had become a habit on the nights she couldn’t sleep— more of them than not— and it wasn’t just her habit, either. She was just as likely to make herself a snack in the darkened kitchen as she was to find Hunter staring out the window or Gus examining the pantry or Amity sweeping the floors. So she wasn’t surprised to find the light on in the kitchen— right up until she came through the doorway.

Luz’s mom looked up from her cup of tea and blinked at her, startled. “What are you doing up, mija?”

Luz just stood frozen in the doorway. She was used to the other kids wandering the house at night, all of them worried sick about the isles, but she’d never seen her mom up before. But now that she thought about it, it wasn’t that surprising that she’d be having trouble sleeping, too, because she was the one keeping all these worried kids in clothes and food and—

“Luz?”

Luz blinked to find that her mom had half-risen from the table, concern painting her face. Quickly, she tried to erase the worry from her expression.

“Oh, I was just hungry.”

Camila looked at her for a long time, clearly not buying it. But she let it go, standing up to rustle through the bread box and put a slice in the toaster before sitting back down.

Luz grabbed a plate, a knife, and a jar of peanut butter from the pantry before sitting across from her. “Why are you up, Mamá?”

Her mom smiled. “Well, it was an exciting day. I suppose I just couldn’t get tired.”

Luz returned the smile, but the ache behind her eyes that had driven her from bed in the first place returned in full force. She tried to busy herself, grabbing her toast and slathering it in peanut butter, but it tasted like dust in her mouth and lodged against the lump in her throat on the way down. 

“Luz,” her mom said gently, putting a hand over hers. “What’s the matter? Did I… did I do something wrong? Today?”

“No, of course not. It was perfect.” Luz had never been nervous about coming out to her mom— Camila had made no secret of her own bisexuality, or Luz’s dad’s, and how proud they were of it. She’d been a little nervous about introducing her to Amity, maybe, but her mom’s warmth had completely erased those fears. With Gus’s help, it had literally been sunshine and rainbows, and it had left a spark in her stomach that only dwindled in the quiet moments when her mind began to seek out what was missing.

“Then what is it?”

Luz tried to keep her voice steady, but she choked on that lump as soon as she opened her mouth, and that pain behind her eyes blurred her vision and turned to tears that streaked down her cheeks. “I just wish I’d gotten to tell Dad.”

Her mom’s face crumpled and she pushed back her chair, striding over to Luz and gathering her in her arms. Luz buried her face in her mom’s shoulder, no longer able to keep the tears at bay, and felt her mom shake with her own sobs. 

They sat like that for a long moment until both of their breaths evened and Luz’s mom began to stroke her hair. “He would have been delighted,” she said softly, her voice wavering. “He would have been so proud.” She sniffled, and added with a warbling laugh, “you’re carrying on the family tradition, you know.”

Luz tried to smile, but her lips trembled too much for it to hold. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s why it hurts so much. Because knowing he would have been happy for me isn’t enough. I want to hear him say it. I want to have him give me a hug, like you did, and I— I want him to meet Amity—“ her voice dissolved again, and her mom held her tighter. 

“I want the same things,” Camila said. “Every day I ache inside, wanting him to see what a wonderful woman you’ve become. How proud you are, how strong. What wonderful people you’ve come to love. He would love them too, mija. I know it. And I know me telling you that instead of him will never be enough.”

The pain didn’t lessen, but something in Luz’s chest unwound to have the acknowledgement. It seemed to provide a release for her mom, too, whose voice was steadier when she spoke again.

“You’ve known for a long time that this pain will always be with you, in so many different ways. I never want to understate that. But we’ll survive it together, Luz. We always have.”

That they had. Moment by moment, flower by flower. And as her mom held her, Luz’s memories drifted from the ways the two of them had gotten by to the ways she’d gotten by recently. To the note of encouragement Vee had left at her place at the table, to Willow watching her and Amity’s video again and again to make sure it was perfect, to Amity squeezing her hand as Camila wrapped her arms around them both, to Gus filling the kitchen with pride flags, to Hunter giving her and Amity the world’s most awkward high five when all was said and done.

It would never be the moment she would have wanted. Not being able to see her dad’s reaction or hear King’s cheer of approval or tell Eda about the whole thing would always tint it with a haze of pain. But the pain and the love could go hand-in-hand, just as they had for so much of Luz’s life. And they would get through it, together. 

#the owl house #toh #luz noceda #amity blight #lumity #camila noceda #gus porter #agustus porter #willow park #toh vee #toh hunter #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers #grief #ray rambles #ray writes

[reddragon30000]

A little mishap

For brienneoftarth1989

Brienne of Tarth x Podrick Payne

Fluff and hurt/comfort

Patience was not exactly something that Brienne of Tarth held in abundance, but she had found herself needing to employ it more and more since acquiring her first Squire. 

It wasn't that she disliked Podrick, but the number of things he didn't know far outweighed what he did, and that was hampering his duties as a Squire.

Brienne had to admit to herself that she was being a little unfair. Everyone had to start somewhere, but she was not used to someone else serving her, especially while travelling. 

All of this crossed the knight's mind as Podrick struggled to control his horse. He was a little way behind her now, trying to get his horse alongside hers. 

Brienne was startled by a loud bang,a pained yelp from Podrick and the sound of a startled horse. Turning her horse, she was surprised to see Podrick's legs sticking out of a large bush.

Somehow, he still had hold of his horse's reins, which was jerking his head a little, still somewhat startled.

Shaking her head, Brienne dismounted and strode over to Podrick. Tapping his foot, she asked:

"Pod? Can you hear me in there?"

A very muffled:

"Yes, my Lady"

Floated from the middle of the bush. The knight had to bite her lip hard to stop herself from laughing. Not only did her Squire sound utterly ridiculous, his legs sticking out of a bush was the funniest thing she had ever seen. 

Controlling herself with an effort, Brienne parted some leaves with her armoured arms until she could reveal the rest of her Squire. 

He peered up at her mournfully with a very scratched face, and Brienne patted him on the head, unable to stop herself. He looked both adorable and very sad, and the knight was impressed by the way he had held onto his horse. 

She sighed.

"Out of all the bushes to break your fall, you end up in a bramble bush. Here, grab my hand, I'll get you out."

With some more thrusts of her arms, and some tugging, Brienne pulled Podrick out of the bush. As she helped him regain his feet, she asked:

"What happened?"

He grinned at her sheepishly.

"I didn't tie one of my saddle-bags on tight enough and it fell off. When it hit the path it made a big bang, and my horse reared because he was startled. I lost my balance and fell in the bush."

Brienne sighed and shook her head, both amused and irritated. Moving closer to her Squire, she reached out a hand, cupping his face as she examined his scratches. 

Her voice was irritated, but her touch gentle as she grumbled:

"You really have the worst luck of anyone I've seen, boy!" 

Letting go of Podrick, Brienne pulled out a small jar and a cloth from her pack. Opening the jar, she brushed the contents on the cloth and began carefully treating the scratches on his face. 

"Keep as still as possible while I sort you out, these scratches need cleaning. "

He hissed in pain while his Knight tended to him, his face stinging unpleasantly. Finishing at last, Brienne put away her medicine and reached out, placing a hand softly on Podrick's shoulder. 

She smiled and said gently: 

"Don't be so downhearted. You did very well holding onto your horse in the middle of everything. I may snap at you sometimes, but I care about you too. You are learning, much quicker than you think. Do you understand, Podrick?" 

Podrick flushed and looked down at the path, swallowing hard. He had never heard Brienne open up this much to him before, and to hear her say how much she valued him was making him emotional. He managed a somewhat shaky:

"Yes, m-my L-lady." 

She nodded, squeezed his shoulder, and pulled him towards his horse. 

"Come on, time to get going. We can take it slowly for a while. Just try not to fall into any more bushes!" 

She smiled again at his sudden laugh and mounted, leading the way once more.

#brienne of tarth #podrick payne #hurt/comfort

[cavprime]

its not that i particularly like aemond i just think that hes a little weirdo and wanna put him in a jar and shake him around a bit and maybe give him like leaves or something idk i just wanna examine the lil freak, you know?

#aemond targaryen #hotd #hot d #house of the dragon

[hairstevington]

There’s No Place Like Home (Part 11)

Eddie Munson x Reader (first kiss!)

Summary: After Eddie makes you a mixtape, it’s impossible for you both not to act on your feelings.

Authors note: hi guyssss I’ve promoted this fic before but this chapter they FINALLY KISS after 15K words and I thought some might enjoy it as a stand-alone. Anyone who wants to read the full fic can find the first chapter here on Tumblr or the full fic here on Ao3

“Can we listen to it now?” you request once you break from the hug.

“Yeah, if you want.” You hand him the cassette back, and he walks over to his desk again to place the tape into his player. The familiar opening riff of Paranoid fills the room. You close your eyes and smile, swaying to the beat absentmindedly.

You catch Eddie watching you when you open your eyes again, his arms folded across his chest, leaning back against the desk. You freeze, blushing.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks you, a look of admiration in his eyes.

“Because you’re looking at me!” you respond. He shakes his head, then smacks his palms over both of his eyes and keeps them there.

“Better?”

“Much,” you say, laughing. You look around the room again, examining the different icons and words on the wall. You try to make a mental note of some of them so you can look them up later. There’s what you assume is marijuana on the table next to his bed, but it looks different than you expected. You’d only ever seen it in a joint, not in a jar. When you look back at Eddie, he’s still in the same pose. “You don’t actually have to do that.”

“Oh, thank god,” he says, bringing his hands back down to his sides and blinking a few times, his eyes readjusting to the light. “Seemed a lot funnier in my head.”

“No, it was great! Very much appreciated,” you tell him, sincerely.

You both let the song play over the silence between you, until it clicks to the next one. It’s slower, more stripped down.

“What’s this one?” you ask.

“It’s called Dear God. It’s pretty new,” he answers. You listen to the lyrics.

“It’s sad.”

“I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, I mean Paranoid is sad too. I think the best music is,” you tell him. You’d always connected most to the songs that were honest and vulnerable.

Hearing somebody’s favorite music is way more personal than asking somebody what they listen to, you’ve found. It’s intimate in a way, knowing you’re listening to something that obviously means a lot to them. You just want to focus and take it all in.

“Do you want to sit?” he suggests, looking around his room. There’s really only 2 options - bed and floor - so you drop to the floor. He laughs, seating himself on the floor across from you, his back against his bed. You continue listening until the song ends.

“I really like that song,” you tell him.

“I hoped you would.” He smiles. The next song starts playing, and you recognize it immediately.

“Hey, I know this one!” you let him know. “Van Halen, right?”

“Wow, have you been studying?” he asks, impressed.

“Just a little bit,” you admit. “Why’d you put this one on here?” You ask as if you don’t already know the answer. It’s a song about a girl driving someone crazy, the intent is not lost on you.

“Uh, well, I, uh-“

“Eddie I’m totally kidding. And flattered,” you assure him.

“Oh, right,” he realizes. “I tried to keep the songs on here pretty tame, but it wasn’t easy. I never realized how dirty some of this music is until I had to pick some to show a girl I like, you know?” He jokes, and you laugh, hoping the blush spreading across your cheeks isn’t noticeable. You abruptly stand up and start pacing the room.

“‘A girl you like,” you echo. Eddie looks up at you, confused.

“Yeah?” You continue pacing.

“Sorry. Suddenly feeling very nervous.” Eddie stands, concerned.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, seriously. I’m nervous, too,” he admits.

“Really? Why?” you ask, then elaborate. “I mean, what are you nervous for?” He takes a moment to figure out what to say before he answers.

“Uh, let’s see. I have this smoking hot girl in my bedroom, listening to music I chose for her, and she’s amazing and sweet and funny and I can’t stop worrying I’m gonna fuck it up.”

“Oh,” you respond, processing.

“Yeah. What are you nervous for?” he wonders. You take a deep breath.

“I’m nervous because I want to kiss you, badly, and I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I’m worried I’m not good at it,” you admit. He looks at you, unsure how to respond. “It’s just that the longer we wait, the more nervous I’m going to be, because I’m going to build it up in my head, so just…Can you kiss me?” His eyes widen.

“Yeah,” he says, stunned. It’s like he still can’t believe you asked, even after everything.

There’s nothing standing in your way now. He knows it, you know it, It’s happening. It’s really happening.

You heart beats faster at the realization, the butterflies rising to your throat. You each take a step closer until you’re within arms reach. His hand reaches up towards you, his rings glistening when they catch the light. He gently moves a strand of hair off your face and behind your ear, and you try not to completely melt at his touch. He continues, sliding his fingers along your neck and under your hair, until they lock into place at the base of your skull. Your breaths become shallow, your heart racing.

“You sure about this, Princess?” he asks, looking you deep in the eyes.

“Yes. You?” His glance lowers to your lips, and he nods, so subtle that only you would be able to see it.

You lean forward and connect your lips to his, pressing softly. He pushes back against you, readjusting, clinging to you just a little bit more. It’s a weird feeling. His lips are soft and warm, but there’s a hesitation on his end, and you don’t really know what you’re doing. Still, it’s your first kiss. It’s nice.

You pull away, smiling at the fact you can no longer say you’ve never done that.

“Hey, we did it,” you say, quietly. He doesn’t respond. “You okay?” You start to worry that maybe the spell was broken, maybe now that it’s happened, he doesn’t want it anymore. Maybe -

“Can we do that again?” he asks, silencing your thought spiral. He looks at you as if he could devour you whole. This time, you nod, and your consent is the last thing he needs to take the plunge.

With his other arm he finds the small of your waist, wraps around it, pulls you in closer. Your body presses against his now, your thighs on his thighs, your stomach on his stomach. He drives your head forward, urging your lips to meet his. He’s kissing you, much deeper than before. Your eyes close and your mind goes blank.

Hands. Arms. Lips. Hair. His thumbs rub back and forth against your back and neck. It feels like every nerve in your body is on fire.

He digs his fingers into your hair and pulls, causing you to lose any restraint you have. You’re both desperate, as if touching isn’t close enough.

You move your hands up and over his shoulders, around his neck. He stifles a moan as you grip his hair the way he gripped yours. Your lips dance around each other as he kisses your top lip, then your bottom, then your top again.

You want him. You want him so clearly, and yet it’s not a want you’ve ever felt before. It’s a want that up until this point never really existed for you. You break away, gasping for air.

“Wait,” you say, catching your breath.

“You okay?” he asks you, panting.

“Yeah, I just, um. Yeah. That was…that was intense,” you explain.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Your forehead presses to his, and you both close your eyes and breathe together until you’re able to assemble a coherent thought. Your hands drop from each other’s necks, sloping down to meet at your sides and interlock with one another. You smile.

“You’re amazing,” you tell him.

“Ughhh, I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He smirks, gently pressing his lips to yours briefly. He kisses your nose, then both cheeks, then your forehead, and exhales. “I don’t…I can’t…”

“Uh-huh,” you agree.

“I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

“Me, too.”

“Hey, Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re amazing, too.”

TAGLIST: @ofherscarlettwitchways @livvyshmiv @magicalchocolatecheesecake @k-k0129 @chloejaniceeee @wayfaring----stranger @paintballkid711

Join my taglist!

#eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn #me #st4 vol2 #st fanfiction #st fic #st fanfic #writing #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader

[colossal-red]

TinyHunt Chapter Four Extermination pt.1

Tw: Major angst, mentioned torture (none shown), near major character death. WC: 2708

“So, can any of you pitiful creatures tell me what you know about a borrower named Dream?” Purpled stared up at the might of the man who they all called The Warden, he didn’t think he could’ve been more scared than he had been for the past month. Of course Purpled knew Dream, but that didn’t mean he would give him up. Dream was the only borrower who could match Technoblade in skill. He turned his head away from The Warden in defiance, but he could barely keep himself from shaking as The Warden’s eyes landed on his tiny form. Damnit, it’s almost like he has a sixth sense on information or something. “So you won’t talk, will I have to get The Magnifying Glass again?”

All of the borrowers on display were shaking after that mention. (Purpled has counted 11 borrowers total other than him.) Aw man, what would Dream do? Well, he probably wouldn’t have gotten caught at all. Dream who was his friend, Dream who was the only borrower who could match Technoblade in skill. Dream who would’ve done more for them instead of the Captain.

Dream, who was now in grave danger. The Warden had grabbed the Spiked Magnifying Glass, (why the spikes? Well let’s just say it counts as a Multi-tool now.) and drew the blinds. “I would say I’m sorry, but that’d require me to feel bad about your puny existence.” He monologues as he positioned the magnifying glass in the correct position, causing a beam of light to be reflected in the direction of the display.

The Laser danced around the jars just barely missing the borrowers. A few of them had to duck and move around to avoid it, Purpled looked over to the few borrowers he recognized, Tap-L, Fruitberries, and the thirteenth empty jar of their professor FuntimeMoth. No one knows exactly how they escaped, but they could only pray that they were getting help. The two of them had their Jaws set as they looked back to Purpled. He knew that they wouldn’t give up Dream, so he wouldn’t either. The longer they stayed quiet, the closer the beam of light got, Purpled prepared himself for the pain as the light beam finally hit the side of his face…

10 Minutes later…

Sam was, disappointed at the borrowers lack of cooperation. These creatures were stubborn and needed to be put in their proper place, underneath humanity. He had enjoyed the torture that he put them through, made him feel, in control. He still remembers the time when he punished the borrower friend his younger brother Ponk had made. It still made him smile thinking about it. He didn’t enjoy however, the way his brother looked at him after that.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he just needed to inform his brother on how pathetic these creatures are. Serves him right for making a borrower friend in the house of an Exterminator. But none of those family thoughts today, it was time for him to help his friends. He pulled up into their driveway with his extermination van, and got out.

He took a brief moment to examine his arsenal and took out his electric baton. It had these little sparking things on the end that would electrocute the air around it. He went to the front door and knocked. Badboyhalo, Sapnap’s dad, answered the door. He was smiling when he opened it, but it fell immediately when he saw it was Sam. “Oh, hi Sam.” He responded a little, despondent for some reason.

Dream was curious as to who this new guy was, Callahan didn’t accompany him to check out this time claiming that four humans was too dangerous and that leaving soon would be advised. Dream didn’t agree, needless to say. But he did have to admit, he felt tense at the sight of this human with the gas mask and long black stick. “Why don’t you, come in?” Bad asked the man, who was apparently named Sam. “Sapnap hired me here to assist in his borrower problem?” Sam proclaimed, hired? What was he, an Exterminator? Okay, maybe Callahan wasn’t that wrong. Also, HOW DID HE KNOW THEIR SPECIES NAME.

“Borrower? Don’t you mean Tiny?” Bad questioned, good, Dream was gonna get an answer. “Tiny is merely the unofficial name for these small creatures, but the government has deemed them as Borrowers for the official name.” Sam responded very official like. “Oh.” “Oh is right Mr. Halo, now May I please start my work? I’d recommend finding something to do outside the house, is Sapnap or George here?” He finished.

“No, Sapnap’s out with his boyfriend, and George is taking Antfrost out for a walk on the town.” “Ah, so Sapnap’s still seeing that Joker?” “Quackity isn’t that bad.”Bad responded defensively. “Whatever you say Mr. Halo. Please inform the other two that I am starting here and to extend their time outside.” Bad left after that, leaving Dream, Callahan, and Sam here alone.

“Alright Dream, I can see you up there. My gas mask detects heat signatures in the goggles, so I suggest you speak up and surrender to me.” Surrender? As if. “Heh, seems like you’re less of a Buffoon than the others. Well you won’t catch me Sam.” Dream proclaimed stepping out from his normal spot behind the photograph. Sam’s gaze locked onto his form instantly scowling. “You will address me as The Warden.” Sam started,

“And once I catch you I will teach you some respect.” “Over my dead body.” Dream growled back, who did this guy think he is? Dream was just about to leap off the edge when he heard a voice, (Author Note: imagine the voice being similar to Tails from Sonic, the movie.) “Dream, WAIT!” Came Callahan’s voice from the vent next to Dream, it was rather quiet and hoarse from disuse. Dream immediately stepped away and into the vent, if Callahan was talking then something was seriously wrong.

“Callahan, what’s wrong?” Dream asked frantically as he noticed Callahan having a panic attack while staring at Sam’s cold eyes. “Callahan, look at me, Breathe. Just breathe.” Callahan calmed down once he turned his gaze to Dream. “Now, do you want to talk about what’s wro-“ Dream was cut off by a sharp electrical zap that echoed through the Metal vents. Callahan instantly went slack and collapsed,

“CALLAHAN! Wake up!” Dream had never been more thankful for insulating his hoodie and boots. “Oh, so you’re still alive? Clever of you to insulate your outfit, but I’ll get you!” Dream thought through everything that he could do at this moment. His outfit had survived one zap, but couldn’t survive another. He couldn’t charge out at Sam, even though he didn’t want to admit it, he would probably die if he tried. The situation seemed hopeless, then Callahan woke up and gasped air into his lungs.

“Dream, there is something else I need to tell you.” Callahan started whispering due to his injury. Dream listened waiting for as long as he could. Then whispering into his ear, “You’ll have to go without me, I’d only slow you down. I’ll be fine, he probably won’t kill me. Goodbye Dream, and, you’ll have to make friends with your previous enemies if you hope to defeat The Warden.” Callahan finished crawling over to the vent entrance. “No, Callahan…” “GO.” Callahan shouted back as he exited the vent and fell into The Warden’s grasp.

Then, Dream ran. He managed to get out of the vents and hid in the backyard. He hear Sam searching around the house, looking for him. Eventually he left and George, Sapnap and Bad came back. Oh and Antfrost too. He thought over Callahan’s last words to him, no not last words, he was going to get him back. He sped ran over to George’s room, who he’s known the longest. He emerged into the shelf where he hid George’s glasses, his first prank on him. “Hey George…”

George immediately tensed up at Dream’s voice. He had been doing a bit of thinking on his walk with Ant, and thought about the Exterminator that was coming, that was there at that moment. And realized something. He didn’t want Dream to die anymore, after Sapnap called the exterminator, he and Dream talked normally for a bit. Mainly him asking questions about what Dream’s life was like. Dream had teased him quite a bit, But George found that he actually liked Dream.

At least when he wasn’t messing with him. So this was it, the moment where he could bury the hatchet, but not into anybody’s back. “Dream, I was wondering if-“ But Dream cut him off, “Listen George, I’d like to apologize to you, for being such a dickhead.” Dream started, “And that if you’re up to it, maybe we could be friends?” George was surprised by this, he hadn’t expected Dream to actually want to be friends.

“Yeah of course, I was planning on asking you basically the same thing.” George responded. “I thought it over, and you’re actually a cool dude.” Dream smiled a bit at this, and it was genuine smile, not one born out of delight for a humans torment. “Good, because I need your help.” George looked up to him, “What do you need?” “Well I’ll need all three of you.” After that George went and got Bad and Sapnap into the Living Room. “Ok, so let me fill you in.” He started,

Dream swung down onto the coffee table next to George. Instantly Sapnap leapt up from his seat, but George stopped him. “George? What are you doing? He’s right there!” Sapnap pointed at the small man on the table. “Sorry Sap, me and him have worked out.. and arrangement.” “What!” Sapnap exclaimed, “Sap please sit down and let’s hear him out.” Bad gestured for his son to sit. He did rather begrudgingly.

“Ok, so the long story short, Dream’s friend Callahan was captured by Sam-“ George informed them, but was stopped by Bad. “Wait! Callahan was captured!” Bad exclaimed suddenly a lot angrier. “Wait you knew Callahan?” George asked confused. Suddenly all three eyes were in Bad who was a bit flustered. “Yeah, we’ve been talking for a bit, he didn’t want to tell Dream due to his feelings towards humans…” Bad mumbled to the three muffins in front of him, “Don’t worry it’s fine Bad, all that matters is we go save him.” Dream told Bad.

Meanwhile Sapnap was looking at the two of them as if they were insane. “First Quackity, now you two?” He mumbled under his breath. “But why should we help you!” The potato asked Dream angrily, “You tormented us for a long time!” Sap finished. “Because, I apologize for what I did, and I can only hope that your friend and dad’s willingness to help me will sway your decision.”

Sapnap, understandably, thought they were insane. But after meeting Karl, maybe it would be alright for tinies to be, more than just pests. He thought about how Quackity had talked about learning how to use a taser, that seemed like it’d be useful if he wanted to get him to help them.

Sapnap groaned, but he agreed. “Alright, now if we could just find at least one of my borrower friends to help me…” Bad jumped in, “How about Skeppy? Would he be good to have help?” Dream stared at Bad like suddenly he sprouted Devil horns and a halo emerged from his head. “You know Skeppy too?” “Yeah, he pranked me for a while, until he fell and hurt himself and I helped him! It’s part of the reason why I tried to be nice to you.” Dream blinked a few times, “Okay then, here’s the plan…”

Meanwhile…

Illumina was awaiting orders. “Captain, are we going to head out soon?” He asked the headmaster of The Arctic Academy. Their professor and inventor Funtime Moth had come back a day ago to deliver news of an Exterminator who had 12 borrowers hostage in his office. “Yes, this is the start of our Rebellion,” Captain Sparklez started as he and the team of borrowers got ready to ride birds to the Exterminator’s office and hopefully kill him. He held up a paper depicting what the Exterminator looked like, and blasted it to pieces with his magical hands.

It was very cool to know that some borrowers possessed magic like that. “Well then, are you with me!” He shouted to team of borrowers who were there. (Beckyu, Illumina, FuntimeMoth, Thea non, and Smajor. Not a lot, but it should be enough.) “Then let’s go!” He finished as they climbed aboard the trained birds on the windowsill and left for the Exterminator’s.

Purpled was clutching his arm, willing it to heal alongside his face as The Warden stepped into the room. With a new borrower in a jar. Aw great, another one caught. He stuffed the new borrower on the shelf with the rest and took a moment to sit in his chair, his hand on his forehead. Purpled’s Jar wasn’t with the rest, but was instead abandoned near the sink. On the other side of the room. That was when he noticed a small team of borrowers infiltrate through the vent.

He silently cheered as he saw them, FuntimeMoth among them. The others couldn’t see them, and he realized that he’d have to provide a distraction. “So Ugly, what’s wrong with you?!” He yelled up to The Warden. The Warden instantly tensed up his veins popping out of his neck and forehead. “It is not wise to antagonize me at the moment you pathetic creature.” During this the team of borrowers was breaking the others free, with some form of magic?

Dream spotted The Warden through a window whilst sneaking by with Skeppy. “Alright Skeppy, let’s try to…” that was when Dream spotted Purpled on the sink. His eyes widened, “It’s Purpled! I can’t believe it… We definitely gotta save them.” Dream overlooked the situation, and noticed how methodical The Warden’s movements were,

and noticed a button that he appeared to be edging towards. That was when he noticed that someone was already there helping break out the captive borrowers. He spied a man in a ninja outfit. Illumina, of course. Back in school he always tried to show Dream up as the better borrower, but that didn’t matter now, what mattered was that he believed that they were all walking into a trap.

Sam wasn’t an idiot. He would never let a borrower escape his prison, he did it in the hopes of luring more borrowers there, and judging by the sensor going off in the display, it had worked. (Yes he had a load of technological things in his mask, his mask was inspired heavily by Iron Man.) He was nearing the button to close the display wall and trap all of them inside, when Dream rushed him.

This pesky borrower, he wouldn’t be beat by an inferior! He ducked and Dream’s needle just barely missed, he reached for the purple borrower and held the jar up ready to smash it. “Not a swing closer!” He shouted out to all the borrowers in the room. “If any of you move I will shatter this jar with the scum inside.” He proclaimed. One of the borrowers inside the display who had come to break them out seemed to glow slightly. Sam would have a fun time experimenting on him. Then suddenly the door burst open.

Sapnap was thankful for the fact that Quackity had acquired the right to wield a taser. The group of four and Quackity’s new borrower friend Karl burst into the room. “Get away from them!” Sap yelled as Quackity tased Sam. He fell to the floor unconscious, then the room started filling with a strange gas. “Uh oh, Love? I don’t think that’s good…” Quackity informed Sap. “Okay we gotta get out of here-“ But he was cut off by something hitting his side, he turned and saw that Bad, George, and Quackity also felt it. He felt tired, and fell to the floor…

As he fell into Darkness, he could’ve sworn he heard Dream and Skeppy’s voices yelling their names…

@baka-monarch @eiscreme135 @funtimemoth @squishys-soft-stories

#mcyt g/t #tinyhunt au #tiny!purpled #tiny!tap-l #tiny!dream #tiny!illumina #tiny!beckyu #tiny!captain sparklez #tiny!fruitberries #tiny!thea non #tiny!smajor #tiny!funtimemoth #tiny!karl #giant!george #giant!sapnap #giant!quackity #giant!badboyhalo #giant!awesamdude #tiny!skeppy #jesus these are long tags-

[half-man-half-lime]

More Wormfic I Won't Write: Undertale Edition

(This won't leave my head, it's another one of those ideas that would be in the 100k's of words if I could actually put in the work to write it)

Basically post-GM Taylor in the Underground.

The concept is pretty simple on the surface, Taylor falls down into the Underground and acts in place of Frisk. There's hints that there's more going on- why did she decide to investigate disappearances on a mountain that's supposed to be dangerous? What does she mean when her narration says "it's not like I have anyone to go back to"? Something implied to have happened to Danny, and maybe she's got the same unconscious mentality as when she faced down Lung on her first night out.

She meets Flowey and goes straight into fight or flight, thinking there's crazy powers stuff happening, and that's enough of a coincidence that it must be someone taking revenge for her controlling them. She's distrustful of Toriel for this reason, initially thinking of her as the Good Cop to Flowey's Bad Cop, to get her to some secondary location. Worse still that Toriel's a well-read maternal figure, and living with her is so enticing that it has to be a trap, right?

After some more earned trust, Taylor follows a lot of the basic path of the game, for different reasons. With the game mechanics and fantasy tropes, Taylor reasons out that she must be stuck in some sort of virtual reality game, maybe to punish her, maybe to rehabilitate her (sort of like the Tinker psychologically-affecting video game from PHO Sundays a while back). Staying with Toriel would be living a fake fantasy. No need to examine why a quiet life without conflict feels false, right? Just move forward.

I don't know how the bulk of that adventure would go, but she defeats Flowey- who, on the surface, comes off as reminiscent of Sophia, aggressively defending the Kill Or Be Killed worldview, as if he couldn't deal with life if that worldview doesn't hold . That he sees this world as a game is a good parallel, on top of the Kill Or Be Killed thing paralleling Taylor's inability to accept a peaceful life.

Taylor goes through the barrier, returns to her now empty home, and... there's something wrong. That nagging sense at the back of her mind, that she can still load her old save file. Which means, based on her mistaken assumptions, she's not out of the game.

Taylor resets everything. She's determined to tear this entire "simulation" to pieces to find a way out, and her starting LV is naturally pretty high anyway, she's been a killer for a while now. So it's easy to just kill everyone until the game can't function. Which ends predictably to anyone who knows what happens in Undertale. Sans doesn't really get what's motivating her or where she's come from, but he repeatedly tears her down, and Taylor isn't really good enough to win against him, especially in the state that those repeated deaths leave her in.

Taylor resets. Again.

Admitting defeat, Taylor tries a different tack, winning on the "game's" terms. I'm not sure what her relationships to the different monsters are- Undyne is friend material while Papyrus is so cartoony it's jarring. IDK. Learning about Alphys' morally complex actions would actually give her someone to relate to, despite all the unpleasant Cauldron parallels. The idea that Alphys could take responsibility for her own actions and somehow be forgiven is unthinkable enough that I think it would actually shake Taylor a little bit.

And reaching the proper ending, well, that's where things go wrong. I don't know how it would be contrived, but Toriel doesn't get taken by Flowey. Flowey goes Full Asriel, and he can break the barrier, but there's more than one barrier that can be broken. Another one, invisible, untouchable, and it seems to be weakest around Taylor. But there are Souls on the other side, a lot of them. He cracks reality, smashing the barrier keeping the Queen Administrator away from Taylor's head.

What comes next is more like a magical version of Khepri, having absorbed Asriel. A Titan, but the size of a person. And everyone in the Underground is placed under her control.

The way I imagine it, Toriel is Taylor's new anchor, and was spared. She travels all the way to where Taylor is. There's a twisted version of the New Home sequence from the game, where monsters being puppeted by Khepri-Asriel tell some part of Taylor's story, the same way they tell Asgore's in the actual game. Complete with "aren't you happy? Everyone is working together."

Toriel is the perspective of the final battle, sort of like OFF, and she does what Frisk does in the game, freeing the other monsters one by one. And it's the friends Taylor made on her adventure that are able to reach out and pull Taylor back to humanity, in a way that wouldn't believably happen with the Titans in Ward. Taylor becomes herself again, and, understanding that this was never a game, is able to walk into the sunset with a sense that maybe she can Learn To Be Okay.

#Parahumans #Undertale #Ward Spoilers #yeah this seems way too involved to actually write #but as always anyone can feel free to steal this I guess

[milfmisspiggy]

gonna put obi-wan kenobi in a little jar and shake him around. examine him under a microscope. break out the scientific method. hypothesis? that's a fucked up little guy

#time for tests and theories et al #star wars #obi wan kenobi #cj.txt

[aphantaray]

Saffron and Honey

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42788328

Let’s Just Say It’s Growing On Me

Ravi’s coworker, Erwin, pulled a little mason jar out of his pocket. The warped glass made it hard to make sense of the pink blob floating inside.

“Tumor,” he explained with a toothy smile.

Ravi brought their hand to their mouth and took a big step back from the old man.

“Oh, what are you being such a baby for? It’s just meat. A miserable little pile of meat.”

Ravi tried to calm themself down. He was right. Just meat. We’re all just meat, right? It’s fine. But, no, it was all for show. They couldn’t settle their stomach, no matter how cool they tried to look while they examined the jar. They refused to touch the glass themself, of course, so in Erwin’s hand it remained – where it couldn’t hurt them.

Oh god. What if it moved…

“Where did you get a tumor from?”

“It’s mine! They carved it out last week. Missed three whole days of work for this little piece of shit.” He gave the glob of flesh a little shake and a menacing smile. “You’ll pay for that,” he threatened the thing, like it knew what it had done. Ravi got the feeling Erwin was the sort of person who put his furniture in the corner after it had stubbed his toe – you know, to think about what it had done.

Ravi grinned at the thought of Erwin dressing the little wad of flesh in a uniform and putting it behind the wheel of the forklift for a few days, as retribution for the lost wages. “Do you think anyone will notice?” they asked idly.

“Notice what?”

“When the tumor takes your job.”

It took Erwin a moment to realize he was being insulted, “You shit. You’ve been here nine months, kid, you’re lucky I don’t give it your badge. It’ll get more work done. Might even pass a performance review for once. What’d you get last time, Butterfingers McGee? ‘Absolute shit’?”

Needs work. Close enough. Ravi was supposed to be a little more crushed by that evaluation, based on the grave look on their supervisor’s face when she delivered the report and presented the sum total of every penny they’d cost the company by dropping boxes. But the review felt more like a matter of fact. A state of being. Ravi needs work.

“I should get my own pet tumor,” they grinned at Erwin, “Take a little vacation. Get a raise. Get a girlfriend. Hell, it could just live my whole life for me. The latest model. Ravi 20xs. New and improved. Less bullshit.”

When the two of them bumped into each other later that day during a rainy, frigid, harried smoke break, Ravi had to ask why. It had been on their mind all day. Who keeps a hunk of cancerous flesh? He wasn’t going to eat it or something, was he?

“Don’t they burn that stuff?” they asked, attempting to flick their lighter’s flame on for emphasis – which, sputtering in the wet weather, was much less dramatic than they had hoped. Worse, their cigarette refused to light. This was going to be a complete waste of the only break they were going to get all day.

“They sure do, but I told ‘em I wanted it. They still said no, so I grabbed it out of the guy’s hand when he was showing it to me and bolted out the door.”

“You bolted out the door,” Ravi echoed in disbelief. “After surgery? No sedatives?”

“You think a little tranq is going to stop me? Kid.”

The last and only time Ravi had accepted Erwin’s insistent weekly offers to join him for a bottle after work, it turned out an ‘Erwin’ bottle is about the size of gas can – and the stuff in it smelled about the same. And somehow, even after getting through all that and then finishing off Ravi’s beer, he was still on his feet. He even walked them home in the cold, wearing a smile and dancing like a lunatic the whole way. So, yeah, no doubt in Ravi’s mind. Erwin could probably run a marathon on a whole barrel of ketamine.

“You’re just going to keep it?” Ravi really didn’t want to ask about it directly – the whole auto-cannibalism thing – but they were aching to be rid of all the images their mind was conjuring of Erwin preparing his excision for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They practically had a whole cookbook of body horror in their mind, ready to go.

Erwin was graciously not shoving his unsettling pet in Ravi’s face anymore, but he was clearly fiddling with it in his coat pocket while he spoke.

“Our business is not complete,” he assured Ravi. When they failed to nod with understanding, he launched into a hypothetical situation that quickly turned into some kind of parable, “If you killed a bear before it killed you, you’d spend some intimate time with the thing after, yeah? You’d sit with it, feel it out, know it – figure out where it was going and why it ended up there, with you, angry and scared. It’s a force of nature you can hold in your hands. And if one hair were out of place, that bear would’ve won, Rav.” He could no longer resist the urge to draw out the metaphorical beast from his pocket to glare at it. “I haven’t sat with that long enough yet.”

That conversation played through Ravi’s mind while they waited for their turn at the clinic in the chilly October air.

Ravi wondered if they could bolt from a surgery on anesthetic. But it didn’t matter much, since the nurses never used anesthetic for this thing. Out-patient, they called it. The sign on the front door promised in-and-out in thirty minutes. They’d had quickies longer, with more tender aftercare and less awkward eye contact, too.

But back here, a hundred feet from the front door of the clinic, there was a standing sign on the sidewalk that proudly pronounced – in stark contrast to the other sign’s promise of a mercifully short engagement – it pronounced that the wait from this point in the line was ‘only’ one hour.

Both signs were untrue of course. Unless clocks and time were fiercely warped around here, or maybe there was some hidden asterisk somewhere in the signage. No, this was always a day-long adventure.

It never healed, they were told. It could never heal. The blister-like wounds would fill with black agony over the course of every month, then the nurse would take it out, put it in a jar, burn it. And that was it. They’d get another month. And they’d get a hundred months fewer on Earth than the people lucky enough to avoid getting sick with it – though what exactly that blessed crowd were doing differently than the infected was still a medical mystery, apparently.

The line was the worst part of this whole experience – is what Ravi tried to convince themself. This gymnastic mental exercise was better for their heart. Focus on the annoyance instead of the knife-twisting ache in their back and shoulder. And it wasn’t too hard a lie to believe, since there was just a whole lot of annoyance to focus on out here.

In the last year, the line had been growing longer every month. An article – maybe even a reputable one – strongly suggested that the infected were migrating to the city, sent there by small, overburdened community clinics. The author wrote a merciless and heartless indictment of the little underfunded towns for ‘making their problems our problem’ – because they simply ‘refused’ to put their scant resources towards treating their ill. The article chastised them for ‘burdening’ all the province’s largest and most important hospitals. It was very much the kind of article that could only be written by someone who had never lived outside the city limits.

Our problem.

Ravi’s problem today, in particular. As a dispirited little postgrad student, they didn’t take up much space, which seemed to be an invitation for the occasional impatient guy to cut in line, or for some young woman to insist that she was suffering more severely than they were. ‘Kids at home.’ ‘Kettle on the boil.’ Whatever scant excuse came to mind. Ravi wasn’t going to argue. What’s another hour? Not like they were doing anything else this weekend. Not until their pain got sorted out by the exhausted in-and-out nurse at the end of the line.

It was pretty painful to lose a whole weekend of overtime, stuck waiting in the cold. Did it compare to the pain of leaving their wounds untreated? It was always a tight race, but the physical pain won every month.

But the line and the wait and the pushy people… Today was the worst it had ever been. Ravi felt like they were actually getting shoved backwards by the unjust swelling of the line in front of them. And most of these people were too sick, too frail, and too achy to fight back. If this kept up, they’d end up pushed all the way back to the two-hour sign by the time the clinic closed.

And as if it weren’t bad enough having to stand and freeze in a stagnant line with a couple hundred grumpy people, there was suddenly an overbearingly sweet floral scent coming from somewhere nearby, like someone was emptying a can of air freshener into the air. Who the hell brings air freshener to a clinic? And who the hell sprays air freshener outdoors at a clinic?

“Amy Bee!”

Ravi’s shoulders tightened at the sound. Amy Bee. No one had called them by that cutesy, childish nickname in years. They didn’t recognize the voice, but it must be someone from a past life.

How the hell do you even run into someone you know in a city this big?

“Amaira! It is you!”

An absolutely jubilant young woman – big flowy hair that shone in the grey weather like amber and sun and honey – ran up to Ravi, beaming, making them feel like a sheepish, distant cousin at a family gathering: spoken of too well behind their back, but entirely out of the loop and stuck owing this would-be stranger a fake smile and a pleasant tone.

“Heyyy, it’s… you.”

Name. Name please. Brain? Help? No?

Ravi had no idea what to do here. This woman’s face should be hard to forget. Cute freckles on cold-blushed cheeks, an impossibly bright smile peeking out over a big knit scarf, sparkling blue eyes that felt like a spell even under the overcast sky. And she was… tall. Sturdy. Big. Big energy. Big charm. Just, everything about her was big in a way that made Ravi feel even smaller than usual.

“Oh my gods,” she said, putting a gentle, considerate touch on Ravi’s arm. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing this old jacket. I recognized it a whole block away. Of course you would, though. It’s so you—”

Their old denim jacket, covered in stapled-on patches. They had no idea it was so iconic. It was probably ten years old by now. The sleeves used to be kind of stiff and spacious, but it fit better every year. They couldn’t really wear it to work or school or anything, though, so it was saved for special occasions – like when they were trying to look unapproachable in line at the clinic.

The woman leaned in far too close to inspect one of the patches on Ravi’s chest pocket.

Lilac. Dandelion. Sunshine.

It was her – the source of that floral scent, which was already unreasonably powerful in the breeze, and almost intoxicating now with her right under Ravi’s nose like this – though, admittedly, the aroma wasn’t so suffocating now, now that they knew it wasn’t coming out of an aerosol can.

Kind of nice actually.

Reminded them of summer.

“This is Kittle Skisses, isn't it?” she asked, pointing. “First album?”

Even Ravi had to look down to doublecheck, but sure enough, it was. “That's… right. Are you a fan?”

“Uh, yeah, only since they were still scaring all the old guys out of the room at all the cute little open mic nights around here. They're one of my favorite bands.”

“One of? What number?”

“Oh. Mm. Near the top I think. 70ish?”

70 was near the top? Wow. This woman. Not exactly an exclusive list.

“How many favorites do you have?”

“Oh, a lot. I know a lot of bands, though, so even 70’s a prestigious position to be in. Even the ones down in the hundreds ranks are top tier, I promise.”

“Huh.”

Awkward pause.

The woman was still smiling at them. What was Ravi supposed to say here? They wanted this conversation to be over as quickly as possible. If it went fast enough, they could get out of this without ever revealing that the woman’s name had been forever lost to the sandstorm of time between them.

“So uh, how have you been?” they asked after a second of silence that felt like a hundred years.

“Not great!” she replied, surprisingly cheerful about her ‘not great’ situation, and, unfortunately, apparently willing to be 100% sincere instead of just replying with a ‘fine’ and moving on. “Not great. My buddy just got evicted. Well, more like the landlord changed his lock. No notice, even! That should be illegal, shouldn’t it?”

Ravi nodded. “Yeah uh. That’s… definitely not allowed.”

“Just because the guy had a little party – and not even a party party! You wouldn’t call a few friends hanging out and playing games all night a party, would you?”

“I… would not? I mean, I would need more details. Like, how loud were these ‘friends’?” From a quick, discerning analysis, Ravi felt pretty confident that this woman had the energy of a ‘friend’ who might just be loud enough to be mistaken for a whole crowd of rambunctious partygoers.

“So I don’t even have a couch to crash on anymore,” the woman continued without addressing the question.

And then Ravi saw their social assailant’s machinations.

“Yeah,” they tried to cut in, “Hey, that sucks. I wish I could help—” Maybe they could preemptively excuse themself from the giant ask that was about to be dropped on them.

“—So I can stay with you! Oh my gods thank you so much, you have no idea how much trouble you’re saving me. I’ll stay out of your way, and I’ll be gone in a week. You won’t even notice I’m there.”

Ravi’s mouth opened slightly in awe. They tried to say no. They tried to crumple up that woman’s optimistic smile and leave her out in the cold with nowhere to go. They really, truly, honestly tried to get a no to form on their lips, but somehow it came out yes.

“I knew I could count on you, Amy Bee. You were always sweet as honey.”

Ravi’s shoulders sunk, but they put on as kind a grin as they could muster and started rearranging their apartment in their mind to make accommodations for this woman – who was allegedly an old friend – to sleep on their couch, for one and only one week.

“It’s just an old loveseat though,” they tried to explain. “Terrible for your back.” Maybe if they made it sound uncomfortable enough…?

“Perfect,” the woman replied, undeterred, to Ravi’s dismay. “It’s not full or rocks or iron rods, is it?”

Ravi shook their head. What an odd question.

“Just nice soft cushions?”

Ravi nodded reluctantly. No point lying now. Their fate was sealed.

“No, really, that’s totally luxurious. My guy’s couch had some very aggressive springs in it. I had to get all twisted up just to avoid getting stabbed all night. But normal cushions on a loveseat? Perfect. I’ll just curl up in a cozy ball, pretend to be a little cat, you won’t even notice me.”

A stray.

The woman – whose name still hadn’t returned to Ravi’s mind, so, ‘Jane’? Why not? Too late to ask now, and she had big ‘Jane’ energy – ‘Jane’ leaned back on the heels of her boots and took a long look up and down the stalled and miserable parade of patients waiting to get their monthly treatment.

“You sick?” she asked. Then she finally woke up to the reality of Ravi’s situation and the possibility of them being contagious. (They weren’t.) She covered her mouth with the cuff of her coat, but instead of stepping back like a normal person would, she leaned in and eagerly asked, “What is it?” Her voice was muffled by the impromptu mask. “Broken bones? Fever? Rabies?”

She looked Ravi up and down trying to diagnose their ailment at a glance, which shouldn’t have been possible. They prided themself on being able to hide it. And they were lucky enough to have their wounds in easily concealed locations. Well, lucky for pride’s sake. They hurt just a whole bunch worse under their clothes.

“Oh no. It’s not that tar thing, is it?”

How.

“That’s kind of personal,” Ravi replied, trying to avoid the answer.

But ‘Jane’ must have managed to put all the clues together – the clues being that most of the people in the line had their ugly black spots on display, and also that the clinic had big signs on its exterior advertising its tar treatment services today. The place did other normal medical stuff too, but these clinics got a lot of funding based on the number of these black ‘tar’ blisters they treat every month. Ravi had even seen nurses turn other patients away, just because they weren’t ‘sick enough’ to justify the cost of taking up an examination room that could otherwise be used to extract a bit of black, goopy funding out of someone’s blisters.

‘Jane’, during her brief investigation of the scene, had also made note of the sign indicating the hour-long wait time from this point in the line. The look on her face said that that was entirely unacceptable. She paused for a moment to think, very intently, even rolling her head side to side a bit to consider her options, then she told Ravi she’d be right back before rushing to the front of the queue, intently searching for something.

Ravi leaned out of the line as far as they could get without losing their spot, but they couldn’t really see what ‘Jane’ was up to.

A minute later, with an imperative, “Let’s go!” from their new roommate, Ravi was ripped right out of their precious spot in line and dragged up to the front. They did their best to protest, but there was apparently no stopping this woman, and by the time they even had a chance to look back, their place was already filled.

Heartless.

“Here she is!” She showed Ravi off to an older woman near the front of the line, who was acting overjoyed to see them. ‘Jane’ turned to Ravi and gave them a not-so-subtle wink. “Your ‘mom’ was worried about you! Don’t wander off anymore, okay?”

Ravi had no idea what was going on, but they weren’t about to complain about being thrust to the front of the queue like this. They gave a stupid nod and joined the elderly woman in line.

Before she left, ‘Jane’ leaned in and whispered in Ravi’s ear, “Thank you, really. Look, I’ll meet you at the coffee shop on the corner over there,” she pointed. Then gave Ravi a cheerful wave and jogged off.

After she left, Ravi gave their new mom a quiet thank you and what was almost certainly the most awkward smile the features of their face could arrange themselves into.

“Oh, honey don’t be shy,” she laughed, then gave Ravi a very much unsolicited hug. After letting go, their ‘mom’ glared at the guy behind them in line, who looked about ready to swear at Ravi for cutting – which would have been entirely deserved. And not just because it was extremely rude. ‘Jane’ had come up with an entirely implausible scheme here. But the guy’s ire was quickly deflated by either the woman’s threatening glare, or the realization that he’d be yelling and swearing at a sick old woman. He backed down without a word.

Once she had successfully defended the challenge to the legitimacy of Ravi’s stolen spot in the queue, she asked, “So how do you know Danica?”

Ahh, right. Danica. Yeah, that was her alright. Ravi had never actually been friends with her in high school, but she did always seem to be involved in anything they were doing. Clubs, sports, student council… Hell was there even one class they didn’t share? Not out of any special coincidence though. She was just one of the handful of people in school who had the energy and fortune to do literally everything.

But in all that time, the two of them never once worked together or even sat together. They’d only had a few conversations at all, and Ravi couldn’t remember any of them. The two of them lived in different worlds. And Ravi had a hard time believing they’d made such an impression as a twerpy little faux punk goth kid that she would remember them after six years, but apparently Danica was more attentive to her classmates than they could have imagined.

Or maybe Ravi was the weird one – an arrogant antisocial asshole who was the only person alive that didn’t make any effort to remember anyone. Hard to tell.

“From school,” Ravi replied slowly. “We were in the same year. How do you know her?”

“Oh, we have some common interests. She puts baskets together at the food bank, and once in a while she joins our little stitch-and-bitch – though the little puppy is mostly there for the stitching part.” The woman put out her hand. “Angie.”

“Ravi.” They’d never see this woman again. It didn’t matter.

“Pretty name.”

Pretty. Sure. “Thanks. Picked it myself.”

Angie looked sad to hear that. She shook her head with disappointment and chastised Ravi, “Names are powerful gifts. Shame to throw away a treasure like that.”

Ravi wasn’t planning to get into the storied history of their name with a stranger. Instead, they changed the subject by commenting on the charming colors in the woman’s scarf, which got her talking about how it was a handmade gift from one of her girlfriends, and that was enough to keep her attention off of Ravi until the two of them were split into separate rooms for the procedure.

The nurse did the two blisters near Ravi’s shoulder blade first – after scolding them for the scar on their back, the scar that was left over from their very first blister, the blister that got extremely unprofessionally excised with a hunting knife right after their diagnosis… five years ago now? God. They didn’t need to be reminded how stupid that was. As if the three new blisters that popped up afterwards and the resulting tripling of their pain wasn’t enough to keep them straight.

They flinched when the needle went in. They would have liked to pretend that they had made peace with the feeling of the treatment by now, but nothing felt peaceful about the extremely sharp, jaw-clenching, hiss-inducing sensation of having that thick black gunk forcibly displaced from their body.

‘Tar’ was a fitting nickname for it.

Each extraction filled a small glass vial, which the nurse placed into a rack that contained dozens of others just like it from other patients. Profitable day for the clinic.

For the final blister – the one that was just below the soft part of the shoulder on their right arm – they twisted their neck to watch the nurse. They always watched that one. They figured they might have to do it themself one day. Better to know how to take care of yourself. Ravi didn’t enjoy relying on doctors for their body’s upkeep. Bad experiences with the medical profession. Sadly, love them or hate them, doctors were the ones with the equipment and the prescription pads.

The device the nurse used to administer the treatment was simple enough. It looked a little like a glue gun with terrifying needles sticking out the front. A vial with a wide needle pierced the surface of the blister near the skin to collect the tarry discharge, while another syringe nestled deep in the abscess to inject some thick, clear, medicinal gel from the other side. The gel forced the tar out to take its place in the wound, then over the course of the month, it would get supplanted, replaced in bits with yet another painful black glob.

The last vial rattled into place with the others in the rack. Ravi looked at it intently. Erwin’s words still rang in their mind. This was their bear, wasn’t it? Lots of people died from this. Ravi had been lucky. They continued to be lucky every month. But just one hair out of place, and it could take them. They definitely had some questions for it.

In the moment the nurse had her back turned to discard her gloves, Ravi silently plucked that last vial from the rack and pocketed it, unnoticed.

Their heart was racing when they got out of the building and into the parking lot.

Why did this feel guilty? They deserved this. They owned this, didn’t they? After spending a whole month laboriously… growing it.

They held the vial up to the bright light of the overcast sky. “Amaira Beausoleil” was printed in thermal ink on the label, along with every number and symbol the clinic could think of to describe what ‘Amaira’ meant to the world. None of it meant anything to them, but there was one number printed in the bottom corner that gave them a little reason to be concerned: ‘3/3’. It should have been obvious the clinic would be keeping an inventory of the vials to get their handsome funding, but how did they know ahead of time that Ravi only had enough tar for three of them? Kind of presumptuous. And… if they were counting them so meticulously… would they miss this one?

Well, no point worrying about it now. What is done cannot be undone.

They hid the vial in their pocket and started for the bus stop.

They were already up the stairs of the bus, mere inches away from tapping on their fare, when they remembered they had forgotten someone.

The walk back to the café where Danica was waiting for them was full of stuttered steps. They came to a full stop every time the thought crossed their mind that they could just walk away right now. Danica had no idea where they lived. She didn’t have their contact info. She didn’t even have the right name. How could she possibly find them? More than once, that thought turned them around, back towards the bus, towards a peaceful home with no noisy guests sleeping on the couch, intruding on their sanctuary, pretending to be as harmless as a kitten. But every turn brought them right back around again towards the café, to the exuberantly patient, dutifully waiting Danica.

She waved them over excitedly, inviting them to sit at a table that felt far too small for two people. But it had two chairs, so it must have been deemed large enough by the café’s stingy owner, and by Danica herself, so they didn’t really have a choice.

There was no good spot for Ravi’s feet under the table. It seemed everywhere they tried to put them, they were stepping on Danica’s toes, so they gave up on relaxing and just sat up stiff and straight to keep their feet tucked neatly under their chair. This already felt exhausting.

“How was it?” Danica asked, excited to hear the answer. “I hear it hurts.”

Ravi’s long-lost ‘friend’ looked down at their face with such interest and intensity that it was hard to look away without feeling rude. The light in the café caught her irises in a way that made them shine like gemstones. Entrancing. Ravi wished their eyes could be so captivating. The abyssal brown that looked back at them in every mirror just didn’t do it for them most days.

“It does,” Ravi confirmed. They didn’t know what else to add. It did hurt. No one really wants the details, and anyone who does just wants them for some perverse, false sense of empathy – as if to hear the words describing the pain was enough to understand what it meant to feel it, to live with it.

“And they make you wait out in the cold all that time! Can’t they just get more doctors? Or at least get a bigger space for everyone stuck waiting.”

Ravi shrugged, “I can’t pretend to know how that part of the process works. I’m just lucky it’s free. Down south it costs an arm and a leg. So, you know, surprising no one, a lot of people let it grow until they lose their arms and legs.”

Danica shook her head sadly. “Fuck,” she whispered to herself, in awe.

This wasn’t new or quiet information though. Like most people, Danica just hadn’t been looking out for it. Ravi was always vaguely aware that no one really cared about ‘the tar thing’, as Danica put it, unless it was directly affecting them. But it was kind of painful getting hit in the face with it like this.

“That’s so dark,” she said to Ravi, “I’m sorry you have to deal with all that, Amy. If there’s anything I can do to make it better, please let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They tapped out an uneven, syncopated rhythm on the tabletop, staring at their finger as it rose and fell like a blacksmith’s hammer, shaping the answer to an unasked question in their mind – whether or not this annoyance was worth bringing up. Was it worth the trouble for just a week? Or maybe because it was just a week, and they didn’t care about this woman…? It was their home that she was intruding on. She should use the right name. But it’s always such a thing.

After a dozen slow, heavy impacts, they made up their mind.

“It’s Ravi, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“No one calls me Amaira anymore.” Not true.

“Oh! ‘Ravi’. Raw-vee.” She tried the name out in quick, quiet whispers to herself, “Ravi, Ravi, Ravi…” Then returned her attention to them with a cheerful thumbs up. “Okay! Got it.”

That easy?

“What do you go by these days?” they asked. It seemed like the courteous thing to do. Ravi’s ‘mom’ called her Danica, but old people always seemed pick out the least comfortable form of anyone’s name.

“You call me whatever you feel like, Ravi.” She was practicing now. “I’ve been experimenting with ‘Nicole’. What do you think?”

Ravi smiled at that – ‘experimenting’. There was something nostalgic and warm about that.

“It’s great,” Ravi assured her. “Nice to meet you again, Nicole.”

The newly christened young woman beamed, then dragged Ravi up to the counter to pay for their drink of choice.

The two of them spent a lot longer at the café catching up than Ravi expected them to. Nicole’s energy was kind of intoxicating. And Ravi had a lot more patience for it now that they weren’t suppressing just a whole lot of pain in a miserable line in the cold.

They learned that Nicole had tried her hand at college but found it unsatisfying. Then she spent a year travelling for fun. And another couple years on a voluntourism campaign. That was where her heart was at, she said. But ‘somehow’ she ended up back here. She glossed over why she didn’t have some permanent address to return to. Ravi invented a fiction that she’d been kicked out of her parents’ home for partying too hard or something. And then she shamelessly informed Ravi that she’d been couch surfing with her friends ever since, chipping in whatever rent and favors she could afford while she hopped between jobs.

“I have a bit saved up though if you need it! I’m not some deadbeat drifter. I always pay back a favor,” she asserted, a little indignant at the suggestion that she wouldn’t – a suggestion that she had silently presented only to herself, entirely unsolicited.

“How about you do the dishes, and we’ll call it even.”

Nicole shook her head. “That’s way too little! You’re saving my life. I’ll find some way to make it up to you properly, okay? I promise.”

-

The ‘one week’ Ravi had initially offered seemed to last an awfully lot longer than seven days. In fact, it seemed to be composed of multiple weeks that just kept chaining themselves together indefinitely. Ravi had no intention of bringing that up, though. Living with Nicole wasn’t nearly as terrible as they had imagined it would be. Actually, it was kind of nice having her around. She always seemed busy, and she always had stories to tell about her life – both her travels and her daily activities. And just like a cat, she often left small gifts at Ravi’s bedroom door. A clay pot. A scarf. A flowering plant – more of a curse than a gift, that one. Ravi’s apartment was where houseplants went to die. An elephant graveyard for ferns, flowers, and succulents. None would be spared. Each cheerful, doomed little plant lived out its miserable little life next to the skeletal remains of its cousins on the windowsill.

All of Nicole’s crafty gifts were handmade. She even offered to bring Ravi along to the studios and workshops where she made them.

“They’ll love you,” she said. She had been on a campaign of trying to get Ravi out more. After her first week there, she had clearly been both surprised and disappointed to find the way Ravi spent their evenings. By the end of week two, there was no end to her encouraging words and… ‘gentle’ pushes.

She didn’t seem to understand how much school took out of them. The night shifts at the warehouse took more. They were barely home. It was hard to imagine going out during the few hours they had left every week. When were they supposed to relax?

“But it is relaxing! Working with your hands, making something. It connects you to the universe, Ravi, shaping it into something new.”

“Yeah, something horrifying. They’ll write stories about it, call it an eldritch artifact. I’ll be hung for consorting with demons.”

But as more and more weeks went by, the ‘absolutely not’s turned into ‘maybe’s, and the ‘maybe’s turned into ‘okay fine’s, where Ravi reluctantly consented to go out with Nicole once in a while, just for a drink or two.

To Nicole’s credit, Ravi did enjoy the nights out, despite the resistant fuss they always put up about being too tired to leave the apartment. Nicole was a joy to spend an evening with. Ravi wasn’t very social at bars, but the way Nicole drew people in, and held their attention, and somehow made Ravi feel like they were part of the conversation without ever making them participate, it felt like magic. It felt like even stronger magic that she somehow deflected every unsolicited phone number with a disarming smile. This woman was some kind of wizard.

-

That month, Ravi stole another vial from the clinic. It was their secret solace now. They couldn’t do anything about their illness, but they could hold it in their hands, growl at it, ask it why.

It did not answer, but they’d keep asking. They felt like something important was in there.

In all the time Nicole was there, they had never revealed their wounds to her. They even dug an old Christmas robe out of storage, tore the price tags off it, and started wearing it around the apartment to keep their affliction hidden – behind reindeer, snowflakes, and candy canes.

Their sores were gross to look at, but there was another reason to hide them, a reason that nagged at Ravi. They remembered Nicole’s words when they met, when she found out they were sick. She said she wanted to do something for them, to help with their illness, to pay them back, and this thing wasn’t something she could do anything about. No one could. And it would just hurt her to see it all the time. That’s not the kind of burden you put on a stranger. It didn’t even feel like the kind of burden they could put on a friend – not that they had a lot of those left to burden these days.

But Nicole couldn’t contain her curiosity about the vial when she spotted it in Ravi’s hand. It would have been easy to explain it away, but they couldn’t say no to Nicole. And they couldn’t see any harm in letting her take a look. Conceptually, it was just far enough removed from the reality of the sores on their back. It could be any black ooze.

“They have your name wrong,” Nicole noted, disappointed. She wasn’t prepared to hold the glass in her hands, but she was fine idly rolling it around on the table with a pen.

“Among other things, yeah.”

“Ah I see, yeah.” Nicole spotted the erroneous ‘F’ on the label. “I guess they don’t have a letter for that?”

“They do. They have to change it to an ‘X’ if you ask.”

Nicole got animated hearing that. “You should ask!” She clearly thought this was some self-confidence thing, that a little encouragement would make it better.

Ravi shook their head. “It puts an X on your head too. I’ve read a lot about it. Real bureaucratic horror stories. A lot of things get very hard when you put yourself out there like that. Healthcare gets complicated. Legal stuff is a nightmare. And forget travelling with something weird like that on your passport.” They gave Nicole an encouraging smile, to let her know it was fine. “It’s just not worth it.”

She took a deep breath and tried to accept Ravi’s explanation gracefully. Then she returned her attention to the vial.

“There’s really nothing they can do?”

“Well, you hear about research and little breakthroughs here and there.” Ravi sighed. “I hate to be that weird conspiracy guy, but I don’t think there’s any profit motive in curing it. The company that makes the treatment doesn’t have any competitors. If someone made a real cure, they’d lose a lot of money.”

Nicole shook her head. “Unbelievable. What have we got? Butler bots, space vacations – I hear they’re working on stopping old age entirely. Gods, we trapped a little sun in a jar just to keep the whole city lit up at night! But no one can fix something this important when it hurts so many people? That’s crazy. It feels like such a little problem! Haven’t they got rid of diseases like this before? They totally have, right? I’m not crazy? Something’s really wrong with the world. Priorities are all fucked up.”

Ravi couldn’t argue with that. But they did have to accept it, and they told Nicole as much, to her disappointment.

#my work #saffron and honey #original