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thequeenofthewinter · 6 months

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These Dreams

Finally finished this thing which I have been working on. The Halsin brain rot is real, and obviously, this crazy fever dream of a thing was inspired by that.

Pairing: Female Tav/Halsin

Warnings: kissing, wandering hands, implied sexual thoughts

2,019 words

Link to AO3: Click here

Why tonight of all nights she decided to do this, she will never know.

Iluna turns her head once more, checking behind her to see if he still follows her. Halsin’s footsteps, of course, are silent. If she didn’t know any better, she would say the darkened leaves of the forest path part their fronds for him, seeming to know his every move. Perhaps, they do. One of these days, she will have to ask him about it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Iluna. I won’t abandon you here in the forest—even if it is against your better judgement to bring us out here this late.” Halsin looks at her with concern in his eyes, yet he still smiles.

That is one of many things which draws her to him. He always seems to find the positive in everything despite any shadows which may surround them. It’s a gift that is uniquely his.

“What? Do you think the bears will get us?” She cannot resist teasing him, just a little, and he doesn’t disappoint her.

“You mean apart from me?” He laughs, a soft whisper of a sound which sends her heart aflutter.

“You know very well that we can both take care of ourselves,” she tells him as she continues her way through the path, gently pushing back the tall ferns so as not to damage them. “Besides, I told you that I have a surprise for you.”

If Iluna was to turn to him right now, he would be able to see the blush creeping onto her face plain as day. Lately, she knows that he has had a hard time being in the city, surrounded by so many buildings and so many people, so she wanted to do something for him to help his unease—and to express her feelings for him.

“One which you refuse to tell me any details of, but the Oakfather made me patient, so I will wait.”

Iluna knows very well how patient he can be; however, she can still hear the slight hope in his voice that she will reveal even the smallest detail to him. On this, she will unfortunately have to disappoint him. “I promise it will be worth it in the end.”

“Of that, I have no doubts.”

They continue to walk the trodden path before them, fireflies starting to pop up in and out among the tall grasses beneath their feet as if playing hide and seek. It had always charmed her to be out in the forest, even if she isn’t that familiar with nature as of late. Halsin had brought out a yearning in her which she thought had been long buried deep within her from her childhood. She grew up in the temperate forests where deciduous leaves mingled with the needles of evergreens. Until meeting him, she did now know how much she missed it—the connection to the earth and the life which teems from her soils. Iluna feels it even now.

Despite the fact that her father was a druid, she never considered herself one—still doesn’t know if she is or could be. That much was lost to her when her parents separated years ago.

Now is not the time to think on such matters. There will be plenty of time to focus on her existential crisis later. Iluna shakes her head, wiping those thoughts from her head like cobwebs from the darkened corners of a cave.

“It won’t be farther. Just a few more steps.” She distracts herself by trying to speak with Halsin. “As soon as we push just past the treeline…”

And there is it. The dense forest opens up into a secluded grove where grass and mossy ground meet the brightly twinkling stars and shining moon. As Halsin makes his way out into the open air, he smiles, a cool breeze blowing through the warm summer air. It is perfect—the little slice of home that he had missed. How did she know? Is he really so easy to read?

A bit nervously, Iluna turns to him, her dark hair catching in the wind and covering part of her face. “I stumbled upon this place the other day when I was looking for—”

Halsin walks closer to her, a wide smile on his face as he extends a hand to tuck the loose tendril behind one of her pointed ears. “I am grateful for the gesture and that you thought of me.”

Suddenly, she is glad for the cover of night as she is sure her face is on fire. “That—that isn’t it. Well, I mean, it is part of the surprise, but there is more.”

“More?” He asks, eyes wide as he leans down to whisper in her ear. “What more do I need than to be here enjoying the beauty of nature in all its forms, current company included?”

One of these days, he will be her undoing. She asks herself again why she decided to torture herself in this way as she swallows hard. It is undeniable that she is attracted to him, and she is fairly certain that he would say yes to any of her advances if she made them known, but she has not made a single move until now.

As Iluna has gotten to know him over the past few months, he has opened up to her, and she has learned a lot about him. The things he has endured, the doubts he has had, how selfless he is—he has sacrificed too much, and he deserves more than he can even know. And now, with everything coming to a head, she would be foolish not to make her feelings known, even if it feels like they would swallow her whole.

For a moment, she contemplates blurting out her thoughts, but then thinks better of it as she look up at him, his golden eyes turning almost molten in the moonlight. No, Iluna shakes her head. She has to do this right. Instead, she bites her tongue and gestures behind herself to a grassy knoll where a blanket lays along with a mysterious basket.

Halsin turns his head, looking to where she has indicated, and it dawns on him that she had planned this planned out prior to coming here. The wind shifts and brings to him the familiar scent of honeyed cakes—a particular weakness of his. His brows furrow as he looks down at her curiously. “You went to all this trouble just for me?”

The question sounds foreign on his tongue, as if the concept of someone taking such interest in him has left him utterly bewildered. He was the one who was accustomed to taking care of others and checking on their needs. For a moment, he is left stilled, not a word nor movement for once—only furrowed brows set above plain disbelief.

The wind shifts again, untucking the hair from behind Iluna’s ear. With it her thoughts shift, scattering like leaves as she tries to collect herself. “If you don’t like it, or if it’s too—” She stops herself before her thoughts come spilling out of her unbidden.

In the silence, he moves.

It takes no more than a moment for Halsin to react. Two strides and he is standing in front of her. Another second and a warm palm is cupped beneath her chin to move her gaze up to his own.

“May I?” He asks, his fingers tracing her jawline.

It takes not more that a simple nod for her to unravel, opening up to him as his lips come down to meet hers with gentle softness.

Is this real? She doesn’t know. All of her most recent dreams have ended like this, and she never imagined that she would actually arrive at this point—into the steady hands of her deepest fantasies, pressed so close to him that she feels as if she were on fire.

Grass, herbs, leather and rain flood her senses, and she cannot help but drown herself in him. A soft whimper escapes her lips, and what starts as gentle quickly becomes hungry as their lips crash together sloppily—tongues touching and further fueling their need for each other. Hands wander across bare inches of warm skin, skimming up and down until their fingers entangle in each other’s hair. And with each touch, Halsin is all too happy to oblige her as his hands eventually reach down to grip her waist gently and bring her closer to him.

For a single moment, it is difficult for Iluna to tell where she ends and he begins as she gets lost in the sensation of their meeting.

It takes all the strength within her to pull away from him.

She wishes she didn’t have to, but at the same time she needs to know. Living in dreams might seem nice in concept, but to have them ripped out from under her would be too harsh a cruelty. With everything currently going on, Iluna doesn’t know if she could survive that.

“What is the matter, my heart?” Halsin looks down at her, concern in his eyes, as a hand moves to cup her cheek again.

“This is the best dream I have ever had.” Iluna looks up at him, lips slightly swollen and green eyes shining bright under the moonlight. “But…” She bites her lip as if to stop herself from saying anything more than she should.

“Talk to me. There is no one here but the forest, and she will tell no secrets.”

Iluna ponders if she really should. As much as this is a dream from which she would prefer not to wake, perhaps this is not what he wants. She sighs. If there is anyone who deserves the truth, it is him. He has been through too much. “I like you.”

The words sound small as they are swallowed in the darkness. She isn’t a child. Why can’t she—

A small chuckle from Halsin interrupts her internal scolding. “I should hope so after a kiss like that.”

Iluna colors from her cheeks to the tips of her ears as the sound of those words echoes through her mind.

“Why are you afraid of what nature is freely giving to you? Is this not what you wanted?” He steps a little closer to her, the hand on her cheek starting to slide down her side until it rests at the curve of her waist. “I know that this is what I would choose, should you consent. Perhaps we could even have more.”

She is left without words as his own steal the breath from her. Head spinning, she tries to make sense of it all. This is what she wants, so why is it that she cannot speak?

“I would gladly share in these dreams with you wherever they go. All you have to do is ask.” He waits for her patiently—one, two, three seconds, but when she doesn’t respond, he swallows, his feet beginning to step away from her. Maybe he did misinterpret her after all.

The sound of a twig snapping beneath Halsin’s feet brings her back to her senses. “No—I…” She reaches out a hand which grazes his back before dropping it to her side. “Nothing would make me happier than to spend whatever time it is that I have left with you.”

He turns, honeyed eyes looking down at her softly. “Then I would be happy to oblige your request, and any possible others you might have.”

“I have but one.” Iluna tries to keep the smile from her face, but it is impossible—not on a night like this when it feels like all her hopes and dreams are within her grasp. And with the current company, they might as well be.

Halsin moves closer to her once more and his arms encircle her waist. “Am I going to like what it is?”

“Perhaps.” She smirks as one of her hands reaches up to rest at the base of his neck. “Kiss me.”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure.”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x oc #winter writes #new fandom wave

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fond-and-found · 10 months

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Thorns.

Never have I seen the end of my mind’s servitude.

It was as if my thoughts were forever bound to a relentless cycle, much like a deciduous tree that undergoes an unending transformation with every change of season. Once adorned with vibrant green leaves brimming with life and enthusiasm, it gradually descended into a state of desolation. The once lively hues shifted from auburn to brown, and the leaves' sense of purpose waned as they drew nearer to the ground, succumbing to the weight of their own existence.

The chains never seem to break. Spiraling heavily and creating suction, consuming every fragment of shattered pieces that came from my being, transforming into an altered reality rooted in the depths of my convictions. I, myself, became a faithless ardour, stripped of all defenses in a battle that existed solely within the confines of my mind.

“Leave.” I murmured, my tone fractured and heavy with emotion.

“…. Again?” she asked, her voice trembled and strained, barely more than a whisper. Her eyes, which once shone as brightly as the midday sun, now resembled a sun hastily retreating. I couldn't help but notice the cascade of tears welling up within her own orbs, poised to break free and stream down her cheeks.

This scene had unfolded countless times before, a recurring narrative where her eyes took centre stage, narrating vibrant sentiments that her lips were incapable of moulding.

“I don’t want to leave.” She insisted, as she always did. Her gut was adamant, persistent and unshackled. There is a choice that was made in the depth of her mind—unbeknownst to any consequences and pain; for our future was nothing but a clouded grey haze, and her bones were frail from the burden I placed upon her body.

“You have to. Run away from me, as far as you can. I can’t save myself and neither can you. I will keep pushing you away, Tiana. You can never fix me." I said with a brittle voice, and my nails raking deep into my own skin, protruding such pain to cope competitively with the ache in my heart.

“Please, I can’t leave you. Not when you’re my world.”

She was my world, too. I treasured her like a rose kept within a garden full of thorns. She was one of a kind. So rare to find, standing steadfast by my side when so few others would. Her friends deemed her crazy for staying with a man who left nothing but scars in her wake. But giving up doesn’t seem to exist in her dictionary. Countless times, I appeared as a crumpled piece of paper discarded in a wastebasket. And countless times, she plucked me from the trash.

Yet, still, I remained that crumpled piece of paper. No matter how hard she tried to iron out the worn wrinkles, those little folds would still persist.

"You have to," I managed to say, my voice trembling. “You could’ve moved out. Away from my mind, and close the door on me.”

"Please," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. "I cannot bear to leave you. Just this once, look at me and consider my feelings."

"This is me being considerate," I replied, my words heavy with a weight she could not fully comprehend.

I thought that I was crisping too much into my own elegy, that to have someone else wrapped up around me is another call for disaster. In this state of mind, where the line between my tranquility and chaos blurred, the last thing I want is to witness her desperately clinging to my wounded heart. I was never meant to be a sanctuary for others. I'm already drowning in my own struggles, so why would I burden myself with another soul seeking solace in me?

Silence enveloped us for a moment, her mouth agape as if her words were trapped within her throat. She sought understanding, grasping for the reasons behind my actions, yearning to discern her own fault in all of this. But it was never her fault to begin with.

I’ve been the cause of all of this arson, and she was never meant to burn with me. I am used to the fire, to the scorching crimson that slowly ate my skin and turned it into ashes. But she was nothing more than a living being, draped by the ocean’s water. She wanted to annihilate the fervour, but the fiasco had landed before she realised that my fire was big enough to cause my surroundings into a state of anarchy.

Each day unfolded in a repetitive cycle, where the night offered fleeting moments of romanticism, only to be cruelly replaced by a morning that plunged us both into an undesired nightmare.

I cherished her beyond measure. So much so that all I could do was weep for the pain I inflicted upon her. I yearned for my wounds to heal, for my memories to soften their pointed edges, so that she might experience the best version of myself when I was in her presence. But with every glimpse of her face, it was not love that sprang to life within me, but guilt. The knowledge that by staying, she would bear the weight of my burdens.

I’ve put too much prophecy into my mind. The clouded thoughts filled with black and white; consumed by my own demon, and the flesh-eating devil has found my brain as their utmost delicacy. Yet, they’re nowhere dare to project their hunger when it comes to her memory.

Even amidst this bloody war, my indiscretion would still find her mesmerising, and she could only bear the agony for it is the only thing my soul chooses to tell.

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface.

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion.

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan.

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way.

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness.

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up."

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though."

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong.

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up."

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives.

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over."

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly.

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners.

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort.

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day.

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated.

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself.

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could.

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind.

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn.

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre.

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor.

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened.

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you.

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress.

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands.

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment.

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night.

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed.

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band.

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor.

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused.

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval

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tlhrfanfic · 3 years

Text

[Analogical] Closest to Heaven

DAY TWO @analogicalweek

Prompt: Stars

Read on A03.

Warnings: Angst, Minor Character Death mention, Grief. (Don’t worry though! Super happy ending!)

———————————————–

Virgil ran out of the house through the back door, the arguing echoing even as he slammed the door shut. He wasn’t afraid of his parents. They weren’t scary or mean or anything like that… to him.

But to each other…

He used the sleeves of his hoodie to wipe away the stress tears that stubbornly continued to fall. He ran and kept running through the streets until he found a park where the lights weren’t as bright and trees framed the open expanse.

He sighed, catching his breath before trudging through the grass.

Virgil knew he should go home. At some point his parents would be looking for him.

But something caught his attention.

He wasn’t sure what it was at first but it had definitely been skyward and so he turned his six year old face to the sky and his jaw dropped.

At six, he had definitely seen stars before. But the dimmer lighting meant less lights masking the stars and here, in this park, it seemed there were millions of them. He remembered his best friend telling him that once. That there were millions of stars but most of the time they just couldn’t be seen.

He had never, ever seen them like this.

So clear, so bright.

So.

Many.

He stared up in awe at the vast number and before he could stop himself, Virgil laid out on the grass and continued to stare skyward.

I’d give up forever to touch you,

Cause I know that you feel me somehow.

You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,

And I don’t want to go home right now.

Virgil fell asleep there on the grass waking a little later as his mother’s voice startled him and, with one last glance at the sky, ran back to her.

“Mom… Mom, I saw stars! So many stars!”

“That’s nice, Virgil, but don’t you ever run out like that again. You scared me. Now, let’s get you home. It’s cold out here.”

Virgil glanced back at the stars, dim now that he was in a more brightly lit area, but for a moment he was certain that one star in particular shone just a little bit brighter, almost sparkling at him.

“Mom.. what are stars?”

“Hmm?” She asked, taking his hand.

“Stars… what are they?”

She glanced at the stars and smiled down at Virgil.

“Well… some people say they are burning gas but I like to think they are guardian angels… keeping us safe.”

Virgil gasped looking back at the shiny star he had found and smiling.

»»————　☠　————««

Virgil sighed as he made his way toward the park. He had been going to this park when he needed space ever since he was a kid. Unfortunately, it had been cleaned up some so more people frequented it which left Virgil annoyed.

It’s not your park. You can’t keep people from being here.

He was just grateful that the city hadn’t thought to put in more lights. There had been plenty of petitions but the city had far bigger issues it needed the funding for at the moment.

Unfortunately, that also meant a lot of other teens came to this specific park when on dates to make out and cuddle. Making a face, Virgil rolled his eyes as he passed one such couple on his way to his favorite spot.

He was so happy that no matter when he came, his spot was never touched. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, as it was a prime spot for couples, but no matter what, it was always there.

Virgil had nearly reached it when a couple of teens came his way and started to sneer in his direction.

“Hey, faggot!” They called.

“Wanna suck my dick, pretty boy?”

“Hey, Emo! Doesn’t look like you’ve managed to kill yourself yet. Why don’t I choke you with my big cock?”

Virgil hissed lowly and turned toward the three.

“You couldn’t handle me, fucktards. But sure, come get a kiss.”

They recoiled at that and quickly ran off, calling him a freak and using other names he was used to hearing at this point. Honestly, he didn’t get it. It wasn’t like when his parents were kids. Why did so many people still have an issue with gay people?

If it wasn’t being gay or goth, they’d just find something else to torment you about, he told himself, sighing.

He kept watching them to make sure they weren’t coming back before continuing on. Reaching the spot, Virgil laid out his favorite purple-and-black plaid blanket. Laying out on it, he sighed as he was immersed in a relaxing feeling.

Putting his arms behind his neck, Virgil looked skyward and smiled, his eyes instantly finding his favorite star. He wasn’t sure how but it had seemed to grow brighter over the years. Tonight it was especially bright and, for a moment, Virgil allowed himself to believe that it was happy to see him.

A giggle caught his attention and he glanced over to see a couple holding each other and such intense emotions in their locked gazes that he could feel from where he was.

A groan escaped him and he looked skyward once more. As soon as his eyes met the star once more, it seemed to twinkle in and out for a few seconds. Virgil felt warmth and comfort.

Yes, if he just focused on the star—his star—everything would be just fine.

“I wish you were here… you’d make this… life... all more… bearable.”

And all I can taste is this moment

And all I can breathe is your life

And sooner or later, it's over

I just don't wanna miss you tonight

Virgil woke at some point after midnight. Swearing, he hurried to get up, knowing his mom would be worrying. Once he had his stuff gathered, he looked up at the sky once more, smiling.

»»————　☠　————««

Virgil sighed shakily as he pulled the knot of the tie, loosening it. It still felt like a noose around his neck so he took it off completely, tossing it to the ground as he kept walking.

He reached his spot… the same spot he had been returning to for most of his life. Unfortunately, this was the first day he had been here that he no longer had the one person in the world he cared for.

“Why did you let this happen?” he growled up at the sky, the angry look in his dark eyes seeming to burn at the star.

For a moment, it seemed like the star grew dimmer. Almost as if in response to Virgil’s words. He didn’t know why, but it put a sour taste in his mouth and made his insides drop.

“You… you’re right…” he said, not sure why he was talking to the star. “You… it’s not your fault… but… my mom… she’s gone.”

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming

Or the moment of truth in your lies

When everything feels like the movies

Yeah, you bleed just to know, you're alive

Virgil suddenly fell to the ground, sobbing as he gripped into the earth beneath his hands. It grounded him and he looked up to see the star shining even more brightly, flickering every few seconds as if it was trying to say something.

“I don’t know what you’re saying… I don’t know what you want… maybe I’m crazy and this is selfish… but I want you here… or I want to be where you are…”

He laughed at himself, bringing a hand up to his eyes to wipe angrily at the still flowing tears.

“This is a mistake… I… I don’t think I can keep coming… I’m… I’m sorry… thank you for always being there for me… I won’t forget you.”

»»————　☠　————««

Virgil sighed shakily as he took one step onto the sweeping grass of the park. He bit his lip and took another step.

You are being ridiculous, V.

Pushing past his nerves—there was no reason to be nervous—Virgil strode with purpose past the larger lawn area in favor of returning to the spot that had gotten him through his childhood.

Reaching it now, Virgil smiled fondly.

He saw ghosts of his past. A little kid seeking security. A teenager seeking first love. A new adult seeking comfort.

Here he was once again… though this time it had been so much longer since he had been back.

Ten whole years, in fact.

Now a man of 31 and successful in life—he had gone to school to become a programmer, not that either mattered to him much.

Just like he had earlier in life, he sought more.

He yearned for a part of him that hadn’t been found. A part that could only be found in another soul.

Virgil didn’t believe in soulmates or anything like that. Still, he did believe—for himself, at least—that to be truly complete, he needed that special someone to share his life with.

Otherwise, what was it all for?

Sure, he was comfortable and healthy and relatively happy. None of that was the problem.

If he never found someone to share life with, he would be just fine.

But that wasn’t what he wanted.

And in searching for that, it had brought Virgil back to this special and sacred place. Sure, calling it sacred sounded a little dramatic, especially to him, but the feeling was there, just the same.

This place was sacred… to him.

That was all that mattered.

Allowing a little eyeroll and a smirk at his dramatics, Virgil allowed his eyes to finally move skyward.

For a moment, Virgil couldn’t find it. His heart beat rose and he felt a rush of dread but then his gaze caught it.

The star was a lot dimmer than he remembered but it was the right star. His star. He was sure of it.

At first, he felt a little silly. He almost didn’t want to speak but something urged him to, deep inside.

He told himself that if he was ever going to find what he needed, he had to make amends. Even if now he knew the star was just burning gas, it didn’t matter.

He needed to do this. He had to see it through.

“Hey… star… um… it’s Virgil.”

God, I feel so stupid.

He pushed past the embarrassment and insecurities and went on.

“I… I owe you an apology.”

He didn’t know why but the star seemed to brighten. He knew it was probably just a trick of the mind but it made him feel better. He hesitated before moving to sit on the ground. Pulling his legs up to him slightly and resting the weight of his upper body on his hands, he leaned back to look at the star.

For a moment, he just sat in silence.

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

“Look… I’m not sure what to even say and I know you’re not actually some being that can magically hear me or whatever but I still need to say this…” If I’m to ever move on… he finished in his head, too embarrassed to even think it.

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am.

“I just… I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me… everything you are to me… just… thank you. When mom died… I… I blamed you and that wasn’t fair… it wasn’t your fault… it’s just… life’s a dick… but yeah… thank you… for always being there…”

The star seemed to flicker and Virgil couldn’t help but beam up at it. It was almost as if ten years hadn’t come and gone.

He shifted to lay on the ground, his hands behind his head like he used to do as a kid. He sighed and let the comfort and nostalgia blanket him in warmth. He felt safe. He felt hope.

Virgil felt in that moment that anything was possible.

I just want you to know who I am.

“I wish… I wish you could be… a person… like me. An actual human I could hold and touch. Someone I could love for who and what they are, that could love me for who and what I am…”

He laughed softly, shaking his head, glancing away.

I just want you to know who I am.

“Silly, right?”

He snorted, looking up as if sharing an inside joke with the star. For a brief moment, he thought he was seeing things.

His star was gone.

At first he thought he had just misplaced it… or had looked in the wrong place. But no, he knew that star like he knew himself and that included where in the sky it resided.

“What the fuck?”

Virgil got up quickly, staring up at the sky. He then squinted as if that would help him.

“V-Virgil?”

Virgil spun on his heels and stared as a very attractive man dressed in slim fit slacks, a navy button down shirt patterned with stars, and rectangular metal framed glasses seemed to glide across the distance between them.

Virgil felt torn. His first instinct was to challenge the trespasser. He could be a serial killer or something. That feeling, however, was in complete contrast to the overwhelming feeling of familiarity

Had he gone to school with this guy or something?

No… I’d never have forgotten someone who looks like him.

That was true too. Virgil, being gay, found men attractive… that’s how it worked. But he had never been so attracted to anyone as he was to this man.

“I don’t know what your game is but uh… I’m not really in a mood to talk… you’re kinda interrupting my er… quiet time…”

The man tilted his head, looking confused. He then continued his walk toward him until he was standing a few feet away.

The feeling of familiarity tripled and he narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Did we go to school together or something? I swear I know you but I’ve never seen you before in my life… how’d you know my name? Please don’t be a stalker or something.”

Again, the man looked confused and also a little concerned. Then something seemed to click with him as his eyes brightened and he smiled.

“Oh… you don’t recognize me in this form.”

Virgil’s eyes widened.

Of course Mr. Perfect was clinically insane.

He sighed but before he could say anything, the man had closed the distance between them. Virgil jumped back.

“Personal bubble, dude!”

The man looked sad and Virgil felt a rush of guilt before remembering the guy was the one acting strange.

“I apologize… you had just asked me so many times to hold you… I’m afraid I just assumed…”

Virgil’s eyes widened at that. He quickly looked up at the spot where his star should be. It was as empty as it had been when he first noticed…

When this man had first shown up.

But that was impossible.

Stars didn’t just become people.

“I’m going crazy or I’ve died…”

The man gave him a concerned look.

“I can assure you that you are not dead, Virgil. I also wish you to understand… I did this…” He gestured at his body and bit his lip. “I did this for you.”

“Oh my fucking God… you are crazy. Stars don’t become people, dude! It doesn’t happen! Stars are gas! Not sentient beings!”

The man laughed softly and Virgil swore there was an almost twinkling sound to it. Not really what normal laughs sounded like. The man, he realized, also kind of glowed. It was so subtle though that he doubted anyone but him would notice.

Still, it couldn’t be… it was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

He slowly moved closer, hoping it wouldn’t bite him in the ass. He’d allow himself a little silliness… if it meant that this was real.

Could it really be? Is there any fucking way?

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” The man said now, just standing there and letting Virgil inspect him. He bit his lip, as if nervous. Could stars feel nervousness?

Well… he’s… he’s human now…

He held the other’s gaze. His eyes were brown but almost golden. There was such warmth and comfort there. Slowly, Virgil’s eyes widened.

“It is you!”

Ignoring the fact that this whole situation was feeling a bit too much like a Disney movie, Virgil threw his arms around the man.

“You’re here… you’re actually here… I can’t believe it… I don’t even give a fuck that it should be impossible… you… you came to me…”

Virgil looked up, ignoring the way happy tears streamed down his face. The main raised a hand, gentle fingers wiping them away.

“I am… I am sorry it took so long… I had tried to come sooner but as I was working on it… that one night… I worried you wouldn’t wish to see me… so I waited…”

He smiled so warmly and lovingly down at Virgil and Virgil blushed.

“I knew you would return one day and then I could be with you, if that was still what you wished.”

Virgil’s tears doubled as he laughed, nodding.

“You have no idea,” he said and with that he wrapped his arms around the other’s neck and kissed him desperately. He hated closing his eyes, worried that the man would vanish and the star would be back in the sky, but instinct won over his fear. Luckily, he still felt the other kissing him back.

Pulling away, Virgil blushed.

“I just realized… I don’t know what to call you… do you even have a name?”

The man nodded, smiling down at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.

“My actual name you would not be able to pronounce. But I have chosen a new one for myself, now that I no longer have need for the other. You may know me as Logan.”

Virgil mouthed it and smiled.

It was the perfect name for his star.

“Logan,” he said and the man blushed but beamed. Virgil blushed as well but couldn’t stop smiling.

“Virgil,” Logan said, smiling back. He then glanced up at his old home. “It’s so much different… seeing it through these eyes… and thinking… so strange... but… if you’re here… and this is your home… then I want to share it with you… if that is something you would like.”

Virgil just threw his arms around him and buried his face into the crook of Logan’s neck. Long arms wrapped around him, embracing him. If he hadn’t quite been sure that this wasn’t all an elaborate dream, he was sure now.

Nothing in life had felt as safe and sound as his time with his star had and that was the exact feeling he felt now, in the other’s arms. He smiled and pressed closer.

“I love you, Logan.”

He didn’t know how, but he could feel rather than see Logan’s smile.

“I love you, Virgil.”

I just want you to know who I am.

———————————————–

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Thomas Sanders or Joan, nor the rest of their group. I do not own or make money off of these characters. I only own the story as it is written.

Super uber thanks to my beta reader for this fic @sunshineandteddybears and the two that preread my stuff to make sure its up to par: @romantichopelessly & @sunshineandteddybears.

#analogical #ts analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #tsart #ts virgil #ts logan #analogical week 2021 #tlhrfanfic #insanelycoolish #tlhr writing

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muffindaddystyles · 4 years

Text

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

Where Harry's five years old bubba gets lost in a park while playing hide and seek. You help her to find her daddy.

Warning: Emotional and whole lot of fluff <3

Pastel tutu frock, a lil bucket hat and shoes that makes 'puch.' 'puch.' noises when she waddles with her adorable toddler gait chasing her father.

It's still early in the morning less people more relieved Harry that he could spent some affectionate time with his lovin' little girl of four out in the park, as a single father he dresses her with more fashion indulgment than any mother could.

Cheeky smug He's. Kinda proud of it.

They were playing hide and seek a bit far from their picnic basket ontop of checkered blanket along her toys. She came all the way from their home to car and car to park sitting on her daddy's shoulders.

"Dawwy! That's cheatin'." She stomped her dainty feet into sodden lush grass underneath and Harry grinned booping her button nose just like his's, "cheeky bugger." He watched her in amusement when she caught his slender finger with her chubby ones, pouting cutely at him.

"Kay. lovie' we're gonna play, again." He assured her raising his palms in air taking two steps back at once, "this time no cheatin', promise." She bobbed her head enthusiasticly running to hide behind the nearest largest oak tree as her daddy told her not to go too far from him ever.

Harry was rounding her from other side when too impatient she went to found Harry on other side, "daw'wy!?" Her flight of run like a dove in sky was startled when she found her tall, curly head daddy nowhere in sight.

She toddled further away even though Harry has instructed her never to leave a certain place no matter what, her daddy would find her at the same spot if something happens.

"Bubba? love bug'?" He frowned as his daughter who just hid behind the same bark vanished. Not getting anxious he strided back to their spot but she wasn't there.

She has come so far away in search of her daddy at first she told herself that "she's daddy's big girl." . "she would get back to him and he'd give her alot of kisses." But then she got scared seeing alot of people here and there. Her ending point of bravery was when some little pal hit her with soft ball.

The pool of tears bursted like rainfall from her soft warm eyes, staining her coral chunky cheeks and she rubbed her glossy eyelids with the back of her hand with series of hiccups making her vision more blurry.

You were sitting under a shade reading a copy of Little Women. Eyes flickering when you poked your tongue out to collect some moist on your finger to turn the paper, right then your eyes fell over the cutest fuzz of a lil girlie crying with painful fat tears waddling her way lost towards the pond and with a loud gasp you left everything running towards her before she was too close to it.

"Hey. hey kiddo." You reached at the mean time quickly scooping her up in your arms and she sobbed out loudly, "dawwy!" You stroked her hair as she snoggled her snotty nose and moist face in the crook of your neck.

"Honey are you lost?" You tried to calm her down by rubbing soothing circles at her back and she nodded with incoherent blabbering.

"Lemme me help you, yeah? Do you know your parent's names." You asked her politely taking her back to where you were sitting under the large tree and she pulled her face out murmuring a tiny, "yesh." You beamed at her giving her a thumbs up.

"You're doing so good, darlin'." You tucked her loose curls under her ear and she tells you her father's name, "Hawwy. S'tyles." She doesn't have her way with 's and t's.' sounds so it was 'yles.' coming from her mouth and you had to comprehend it yourself.

"Honey you know his number?" She counts on her fingers as Harry made her learn his phone number in case of any emergency like this but she's so anxious she forgot, silent tears again spilling out from her struggle. "Sh. sh. lovie'. S'okay, you're okay. you're safe with me." You cooes at her softly wiping her tears and kissing her cheeks gently rocking her on your knees.

"B-but. dawwy!" She hiccups badly and you made her sip water, feeling pitiful for the poor bub.

"Bubs we're gonna find your daddy, yeah? you and me together are a whole power puff team!" You again rock her cheerfully standing up with her on your hip. Taking the challenge on yourself to find her daddy in no less time.

On the other hand Harry was loosing his mind. He pulled at his hair anxiously, worry drowning him into deep. Scared for his bubba. She's so little im this huge park. Harry never lets her dodge from under his wings and now he's on verge of getting a panic attack. He should have never came to park. He went from one person to another showing his petal's picture to them hands trembling as he did so.

"Sh-she's fou'. Little pink hat, tutu frock. Chocolate c-curls in specific." He gesticulated voice wavering and with everyone denying he went absolute crazy.

Tears glistening in his eyes and he's feeling as if he'd stop breathing. Putting his hand over where his heart is he took long strides of the whole park which's too big and in the end he fell on his knees with a thud onto grass when he couldn't find his only life, the piece of his heart nowhere. Sobbing loudly that made him bent outwards.

They live near by so he quickly dialed gemma. When she heard him sobbing onto speaker she abruptly stood up scaring Anne too, "Harry what happened?" She asked worriedly.

"Harry talk to me." She tried in a calming voice and he stuttered even causing Gemma to lost her breath, "d-dovie. lost her gem. fuckin' lost her. Couldn't find her." She was quick to act not telling Anne and assuring her she would in their car ride.

Harry was falling into his mum's embrace when they rushed to security department where Harry's at as the cops assured him that they'll find his daughter safe and unharmed.

He whimpered soaking her shirt. Whole body shaking, "can't lost her mum, she's the only one I've." She tried to calm him getting rid of her own tears.

"S'been two hours I've been searching her like a mad man. I'll fuckin' die if somethin' happens to her." At this Anne scolded him as gemma hugged him reassuring him. "It's m'fault. All m'fault." His tears and emotions were all where and he blamed himself.

"Shit father. never gonna forgive myself." Anne sighed shakily stroking his head. She has never seen her son crippling to this edge.

"She's fine. We'll find her."

Your back sweaty as the sun shines on you mercilessly while you hurriedly walked with Dove on your hip, her head on your shoulder resting sadly while you fanned her continuously with the paper fan and you breathed hunching a little seeing that some security department's few steps away from you. But, it's the one opposite from where Harry and his family are.

You immediately went to first table not waiting for your breaths to get back to normal, "hi. This's Dove Styles. Four. Lost." You informed them and they made you sit at the bench.

She was getting all tired and limpy from the crying. So you took her in your lap tucking her head under your armpit, "daddy's soon gonna come okay dove darlin'? Then he's gonna collect you fuzz baby in his arms." You took out a box of juice from your backpack tapping the straw against her rosy lips and you took in her features thinking how beautiful her daddy must be to her be this cute.

Even though her daddy has sternly taught her never to accept things from strangers but the poor babe's so exhausted she did.

Some cop came cop telling you they've found her daddy that he's at the other security building but you shook your head stubbornly squeezing her near to your chest. Because well you don't trust anybody not even the cops, most importantly not when it's a child.

"Tell her daddy to come take his child from here." The cop grunts at you. "Annoying lady." but you ignored him checking on dove cleaning her hands that were sticky from her drinking juice like how toddlers do.

You were hot on your feet when three panicked figures came rushing inside Dove on your hip and you asked her, "is that your da—" but you were cut off from her yearning cry.

"Dawwy!" It was like sky and ground meeting as Dove latched into Harry's arms, he was too ripped to shreds and with a loud whimper he feel stingingly onto tiled floor firm grip around his dovie's neck, forearm wrapped around her little body protectively. He clutched onto her for dear life, sponging endless kisses to her visible skin.

"Thought I lost ye' bubba...really thought–" He said in between wet kisses his tears smudging her cheeks and the duo's reunion infront of you made you sentimental too. "Never scare daddy like this dove. m'heart stopped." She muttered a 'sowwy.' At his anxious rambling.

"Forgive me, dovie. Daddy's bad." She shook her head. The four year old's too soft from heart to know what emotions are scowling at her daddy with her chubby palms pushing into his cheeks, "no dada." You smiled at her when she glanced back at you.

"Y/n helped mew. She say we were power puff girls." You chuckled that she still remembers ruffling her hair, "see? Told ya daddy was gonna find you." Harry rubs his nose wiping his tears standing up.

"Thank you so much, can't thank you enough." You found his voice so mellow even after hoarseness, "s'okay. She's safe that all matters." Anne and gem nodded while talking to Dove in baby voices telling her how worried they all got.

You were walking outside while talking to Harry, "and thank ye' fo' not trusting anybody you know...and no' lettin' her go." You assured him shaking his hand.

"No problem." You leaned down a little kissing her cheek, "and dove honey never go near to ponds, yeah?" She said a lil 'okie." wrapping herself tight around her father.

"Oh my god, dovie?" He asked her horrid at what could happen taking her chin but you quickly rambled not wanting to make him feel more panicked and anxious.

"She was crying and in haze that's why, she's okay now Mr. Styles."

"I owe you y/n. And please just call me, Harry." You nodded sheepishly now. Muttering a what the hell you fool at yourself and gemma quipped.

"Yes. Please have lunch with us?"

"Pwease?" You laughed out aloud at dove's innocent pleading deciding to let your English class go and bobbing your head at which Harry grinned, "perfect."

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #cute harry #fluff #harry angst #harry smut #hsh #imagines #harry #angst with a happy ending

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yumeka36 · 3 years

Text

The ending of Frozen 2...a year later

I try to stay away from touchy subjects like this, at least here on Tumblr. But since @greatqueenanna @the-blue-fairie and @vuelie-frost have recently written inspiring posts on this topic (which you can read here, here, and here), I wanted to give my two cents (well, more like a thousand cents because what I thought would just be a few paragraphs ended up becoming a mini-book!)

Just to be clear, my intention here is not to argue with anyone or invalidate their feelings about the end of Frozen 2. It's quite the opposite, actually. In my view, when we're presented with a beloved hobby that has disappointed us, we have a couple of options: one is to simply stop partaking in that hobby and move onto one that brings us more pleasure (no doubt some ex-Frozen fans have done that), or keep sticking around the fandom despite constant negative feelings about it which, I can't imagine, is that enjoyable. But there's another option too: when presented with something we don't like but won't divorce ourselves from and yet have no power to change – in this case, how Frozen 2 ended – what we can change is how we view it. The fact that people who disliked Frozen 2 are still part of the fandom even a year later shows just how strong the Frozen characters and their world are…that despite dissatisfaction, fans are still not willing to give up on the franchise and leave it in favor of another fandom. And if they're not willing to give up, but still can't help feeling let down about it, I'm hoping the reasoning I present in this post can possibly offer a fresh and, hopefully, more appealing perspective. My intention here is to help alleviate hard feelings, not entice arguments.

I also want to mention that I'm only discussing the ending of the movie, specifically the fact that Anna is queen of Arendelle and Elsa is living in the forest. I've addressed most other topics of theorizing and criticism in my Frozen 2 analysis book “Seek the Truth,” which you can read here. While I did discuss the ending in detail in the last chapter, I didn't expand on it nearly as much as I will in this post.

To make things easier, I'm going to address the most common griefs about the ending one at a time and offer my input:

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Anna and Elsa were separated for 13 years so they shouldn't be separated again.

I definitely agree that it would be tragic if they were forced apart again, unable to have a relationship like they did for most of their childhood. But the more times I watch Frozen 2, the more I just don't see that in the ending. To me, a separation is when both sides are split up against their will, unable to get together again. That's not the case for Anna and Elsa. I admit the epilogue of the movie was rushed, but out of the many loose ends it could have touched on, the filmmakers made sure to include Anna's letter to Elsa about charades night, which to me shows that they want us to know that the sisters still get together regularly (that's the feeling I get from the movie; I'm not including the questionable canon of the storybooks/comics in this, which I’ll discuss a little later). We could still infer they get together even if they didn't show the letter, because we know the forest is free again and Elsa can ride Nokk to Arendelle whenever she wants. But the filmmakers chose to show the letter to make it clear that there's nothing keeping them apart.

So then the point becomes "spending only 3 years together isn't enough." What number is enough, then? 5 years? 10 years? Any number is arbitrary for a case like this. But the length of time doesn’t matter because, to me, Frozen 1 showed how strong of a bond Anna and Elsa have despite hardly ever being in physical contact…a bond of love strong enough to thaw a frozen heart. So to think that now they could never be happy unless they're physically together 24/7 does an injustice to that bond that transcends physical boundaries. They suffered because of their separation in Frozen 1 – that was a true separation, because they wanted to have a relationship but were forced apart against their wills – and at the end of the movie, they could finally have the relationship they were yearning for. And at the end of Frozen 2, not only was their love cemented further from the epic adventure they shared, but they can continue to see each other as a family as well as live out the new roles bestowed upon them. Unlike a movie with an actual separation ending, like Toy Story 4 for example, where Woody and Buzz would never be able to see each other again except by some crazy coincidence, there is literally nothing stopping Anna and Elsa from continuing to have adventures together in future stories, while also satisfying their new duties and enjoying their lives both individually and as a family. That sounds like a very fulfilling life to me.

But the "Anna sans Elsa" book proves that they barely see each other and Anna misses Elsa a lot.

This sentiment comes down to whether you want to consider the relatively few post-movie storybooks as true canon or not. I consider them loose canon at best because no one involved with the creation of the canon Frozen movies/shorts had any involvement in their development and probably even knows they exist. There's also the fact that they're having such a minimal release – just one or two European countries have been getting them, and they're not even being released in English, which is arguably Disney's largest market. There're also conflicting implications between the stories, for example, the "Anna sans Elsa" book implies that Elsa hasn't visited for a long time, but the German comic where Elsa visits for charades implies that she does visit regularly (from @bigfrozenfan‘s translation here, she says "I wouldn't have missed an evening of charades with you for anything in the world!"). Then there's the "Explore the North Book" which shows Queen Anna visiting Elsa in the forest. Just because this book isn't a story is no reason to disregard it, especially when you consider the fact that it was the first book released to show the sisters interacting post-movie, plus it was actually released in larger markets, like the US and Japan. Even Anna's letter within the movie canon itself, telling Elsa not to be late for charades, is not written in a way that implies she hasn't seen Elsa for a long time. If anything, it implies the opposite to me…that these visits occur regularly. So what we can conclude from this is that Disney's publishing branch is releasing a few post-movie stories to limited markets to make some extra earnings, but obviously the book/comic authors are restricted with the kinds of stories they can depict; as in, they can't have stories that would affect the lore and canon, like showing Elsa's role in the forest or how Northuldra/Arendelle relationships are progressing. So they're going with safe side-stories like Anna doing familiar things in Arendelle and Elsa visiting for charades – things that can be inferred from the movie's ending but don't continue the narrative past that. This could also be why these books are having such a small release. Perhaps because the English-speaking market is so large, anything brought to that market could be seen as having relevance and clout, and Disney doesn't want that for these stories (because there's really no reason to not bring the books to other markets when children's book sales are soaring thanks to the pandemic). The "Anna sans Elsa" book is even getting a re-release with new pictures, again, only in French, which to me further illustrates the limitations on post-movie stories currently going on. So ultimately, I would not take details from these books/comics that are available to only 0000.1% of Disney's worldwide market as the "word of god," especially when they're inconsistent with each other and canon implies otherwise.

Anna isn't fit to be queen.

I'm not really sure what (canon) examples there are of Anna showing traits that would hinder her ability to be a good queen, or at least not as good a queen as Elsa. Is the reason for this because of her naivete about Hans? There's no evidence that shows she hasn't learned her lesson from that…it's not like she rushed into marrying Kristoff right away. If it's something about her personality being too reckless or something, Elsa has exhibited recklessness too, doing things without forethought like running away to live alone in an ice palace and risking her life to dive into Ahtohallan. But despite having these very human flaws, Elsa still turned out to be a good queen, so why would Anna be the opposite? Anna has proven herself to be brave, noble, and outgoing with people…all of which are great qualities for a ruler. Plus she's lived among royalty her whole life, and no doubt helped Elsa during her reign as queen, so she's not going into the position as a total novice. We barely see Elsa doing queenly activities in the Frozen canon, so how can we assume she's so much more fit to be queen than Anna? Again, I think this is another sentiment that stems from an aversion to something unfamiliar: fans want Elsa to remain queen because we've been familiar with that for years, but that doesn't mean Anna can't be a good queen, too. Canon-wise we haven't yet seen Anna do anything in the way of ruling, so why not give her the benefit of the doubt and a chance to prove herself?

The first Frozen established that Elsa shouldn't live in isolation and yet she's doing it again in Frozen 2.

In the first Frozen, Elsa isolated herself out of fear and refused to even get near anyone. What evidence is there that this is happening at the end of Frozen 2? I've heard assumptions that she's living in Ahtohallan now, but we don't know that for sure. The last scene of the movie shows her heading in that direction, but she could be visiting too. But regardless of where her actual place of dwelling is now, there's no reason to believe she's shutting herself off like she did in the first movie. The epilogue shows that she's happily interacting with the spirits, the Northuldra, and makes visits to Arendelle. Home is more than just a physical place where one dwells and sleeps; even if the forest is where Elsa does this now, Arendelle is still her home in all other regards.

An offshoot notion of Elsa living on her own in the forest is that it's somehow akin to the idea that "people who are different should live outside normal society." I don't understand this because to me it implies the person in question is being shunned; that they want to live in normal society but normal society doesn't want them. That is definitely not what's going on at the end of Frozen 2. As I'll explain in the following paragraphs, Elsa stays in the forest because she feels a newfound sense of freedom and is thrilled to explore this new world she found, but she can freely go back to Arendelle whenever she wants, and there's no indication that anyone there loves her any less (they should love her more actually because they all witnessed her save the kingdom from the tidal wave!) At the end if the movie, no one's being ostracized for being "different." Everyone's doing what makes them happy and can freely come and go as they please.

Why does Elsa need to stay in the forest? Why can't she stay in Arendelle and visit the forest?

A large majority of the hard feelings about Frozen 2's ending comes from the fact that it didn't clearly show what Elsa's role in the forest is. I definitely admit that the ending would have benefited from expanding on this, even just another line or two. But to me, it still leaves enough information for us to make reasonable inferences about what she's doing. We don't see the Northuldra or Arendellians interacting in the epilogue, which makes sense since they hated each other for decades and it'll take time to mend the relationship between them. When Elsa says to Anna "we'll continue to do this together" conveys to me that she knows they still have work to do as far as making amends between the kingdoms…she and Anna can serve as dual queen ambassadors between the two sides, a bridge, so to speak. Then there's also the fact that the spirits were angry for decades and it'll take time for them to return to the peaceful coexistent they had with the Northuldra, something Elsa can certainly help with (again, we don't see the spirits interacting with the Northuldra in the epilogue, only with Elsa).

On top of that, there's the fact that Elsa spent her whole life believing she was the only magical being in the world, and now she's discovered this whole new land of magic just waiting to be explored. As I explained in my analysis book, if we consider Elsa believing for years that her powers were a curse and no one but her possessed magic, and suddenly she's brought to a place where other magical beings exist, as well as a group of people who live in harmony with them, plus the fact that she's somehow a bridge between both magic and humans, it makes sense she'd be ecstatic and want to spend time indulging in this new land. The reason she doesn't just visit the forest while living in Arendelle is because being queen is a full time job that requires her to be present as much as possible. Trying to stay on top of all her queenly responsibilities while going back and forth to the forest all the time wouldn't amount to the kind of quality she wants for Arendelle royalty. But having someone like Anna who's already familiar with royal activities and loves Arendelle with all her heart, would be perfect for the role. Elsa never indicated it was her dream to be queen of Arendelle. She was born into the role and accepted it, and if the events of Frozen 2 never occurred, would have probably lived out her life happily in that position. But happiness isn't necessarily a final destination and sometimes things come along that alter the status quo, but also enhance what we thought was already a good life. What we can infer from Frozen 1 is that she doesn't want to live in fear and have to constantly suppress her powers and that she wants to have a relationship with her sister again. None of this is taken away from her at the end of Frozen 2: she's not living in fear but in freedom, she can use her powers without restraint and in brand new ways with the spirits and Ahtohallan, and she can not only continue to see her sister often and foster their relationship, but she can grow her relationship with herself and this new realization about the origin of her powers. And still another reason, perhaps the true purpose of the fifth spirit is more than a single task and Elsa is trying to discover what it is: what more can she do with her amazing powers now that the forest is free, both for the benefit of the Northuldra, the spirits, Arendelle…maybe even the world? There's a wealth of possibilities for future stories, and I believe this ties back to the fact that the post-movie books/comics can't touch on what her role in the forest is because it's too closely tied to continuing the canon story, and until the heads at Disney decide what direction to take it, all spin-off content will be limited.

And yes, it's true that these are just my theories, but they're theories based on many hours of rewatching, analyzing, and thinking critically about the movie, which I think is better than just dismissing the idea that Elsa has a role to play in the forest simply because it wasn't explicitly shown. Just because Elsa's new lot in life isn't spoon-fed to us doesn't mean it doesn't exist, and I think it's much more logical, and imaginative, to assume she's doing the kinds of things I just mentioned as opposed to doing nothing of significance in her life now. I prefer to be logical and imaginative, so I’m going with these reasons unless canon shows otherwise.

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After reading all this, you might think I'm in love with the ending of Frozen 2 and think it's perfect, but that's not the case. While I love Frozen 2 overall, I admit that the ending was rushed and it wasn't my first choice of an ending for the sequel I was anticipating for years. But at the same time, I'm open-minded, especially in regards to the fact that the story and characters I'm invested in are not my personal creations. They’re the products of someone else’s experiences, values, and beliefs, and I have to recognize that this is what makes them interesting even though I may not agree with everything. But who am I to say that my vision and headcanons for Frozen are somehow better than those of the filmmakers? I don't think so highly of myself as being more of an authority on Frozen than the creators themselves or even my fellow hardcore fans. But I have spent many hours of my life these past 7 years examining and analyzing the franchise and its characters, so I'd like to believe my words have at least some weight to them. That's the wonder of fiction…that someone's ideas can be interpreted and appreciated in a variety of ways by a variety of people. But that's also the tragedy of fictional stories that continue on with long gaps in between, like the gap between the two Frozen movies. During that long time, we can't help but build and prop up our headcanons and develop the feeling that we know these characters inside and out, what is and isn't good for them, how they would and wouldn't react in all situations, etc,. But two and a half hours (which is about the length of time of Frozen 1 plus the two shorts) is not enough time to show so much of a characters’ personality that we could really know them as much as we’d like (especially Elsa, who got relatively little screentime in the first movie). So when we're presented with the continuation of the story and find that the creators had a different view, a view that didn't return to the status quo we were familiar with, it can be very jarring. But that's the risk of falling in love with someone else's creations. And thankfully, the beauty of headcanons is that they're all our own and can be adjusted. Even though the outcome of Frozen 2 was not what I was expecting, it was a minimal effort to adjust my headcanons because I don't feel the ending was so outrageous and far removed from everything I loved previously about the franchise, for reasons I hope I explained clearly in this post.

If you still can't feel any better about the end of Frozen 2 despite all I've discussed here, I'm sorry…I really tried my best. All I can say now is that I hope future content will rekindle your appreciation for the franchise. I know it's been over a year since Frozen 2, which seems like a long time to go without any announcements of new material, but we have to remember that that's not a long time at all by Disney standards. The recent Disney investor's meeting proves how long it takes to churn out new content, especially on the animation side of things, as it took years for Princess and the Frog, Zootopia, and Moana to finally get new content. Disney immortalizes all their popular franchises and could go back to them months, years, or even decades later (The Lion Guard series came out over 20 years after The Lion King for example). Unlike other Disney franchises like Marvel and Star Wars that have their own production teams and studios, Frozen has to share resources with all of WDAS's other projects. So a year is still too early for the studio to go back to Frozen again, especially if you consider that it's technically only been a few months since we got new Frozen content in the form of Once Upon a Snowman. Patience is the key now and we don't know what the future holds. But I'm someone whose opinions will change with new information, so maybe tomorrow we could get an announcement about a new Frozen YA novel or Disney+ series that shows Anna and Elsa rarely see each other and Anna misses Elsa and Elsa's doing nothing noteworthy in the forest and everything I've said here can be tossed out the window. I don't think that will be the case though, so as long as we don't know anything for sure, I want to go with a positive outlook because, at the end of the day, your fandoms should lift you up instead of bring you down. Frozen is a juggernaut for Disney so I'd rather they take their time with the next installment for the franchise. It's not so much a question of "if" as much as "when" and "in what form"? So until we have those answers, I wish you all well…don't let the hope die out.

#frozen #frozen 2 #frozen2 #disney frozen

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amandaoftherosemire · 4 years

Text

Hey Pretty

Fandom: Marvel AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers

Author: @amandarosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,133

Format: One-shot

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only, sexting, language, masturbation (male and female), descriptions of explicit images, sexual intercourse, minor dom/sub dynamics if you squint.

Summary: Steve wakes up from dreaming about you while away on a mission. Sexting and smut ensue.

A/N: I spent most of August working on getting back into writing in between catastrophes. Why this manifested in a smutty, fluffy bit of Steve fic, I don’t know, but I’m not really worried about it. I am a little concerned that this gives away that my kink is people doing what I tell them, but I also imagine I’m not the only one who think it would be a lot of fun to tell Steve Rogers what to do.

I had this done a while ago but hadn’t found a moment to proofread and post it because I started a new job. Then my state’s seasonal wildfires went crazy thanks to record winds and everything fell apart again. Then it settled into a white-knuckled waiting game while we literally prayed for rain. Now that it’s pouring once again, I could sit down for five minutes to shine it up and post it. I hope y’all enjoy. :)

Texts from you in Bold.

Texts from Steve in Italics.

Hey Pretty

The air was close and thick, each breath in hot and slow as syrup. Every one of those humid breaths carried the warm seductive scent of sweat and sultry sex into his head, his mind, leaving him lost. The taste of salt and sweet on his mouth vied with the sensation of silken skin as his lips and hands slid over soft flesh, seeking both to feel and be felt.

Soft whimpers and low moans poured into his ear along with gentle, demanding whispers that set his brain and body ablaze. Every part of him yearned to fulfill every request, satisfy every need. All he wanted in return was to saturate his senses in the endless pool of desire into which he’d fallen.

When soft hands slid into his hair to clench and grip, his willpower broke. As he moved to give in, to let himself be taken over by desire, by pleasure, he woke gasping and hard enough to cut glass.

Staring at the ceiling of a motel room he shared with a friend and teammate, Steve focused on keeping his breathing slow and silent. He didn’t want to wake Sam, whose soft, even snores sounded from across the room. He valiantly tried to ignore the fact that it would take maybe three strokes of his hand to finish what dreaming of you had begun.

Folding his hands behind his head, he attempted to put the dream out of his mind by going over the mission he’d be running in a few short hours. He failed almost immediately, his imagination too detailed, his senses too keen, his memory too clear. You haunted him.

He could too easily recall the scent of your hair, the softness of your skin, the sweetness that he'd discovered lay just a little under the surface. He’d only needed to scratch a little to find it.

Steve gave up and rolled to his side to snatch up his phone. He’d typed out I miss you and hit send before he could think better of it. As soon as it was gone, he wished the words back, still anxious about showing too much vulnerability, not to mention breaking protocol by texting anyone while on this mission. Doing quick mental math to figure out what time it was back in New York, he waited, a little worried, for your answer.

You have literally no chill, Rogers. You’re lucky you’re so sexy.

Steve grinned at your response, his tension dissipating in the rush of electricity he always felt when you teased him, your warm humor lighting him up, the first of a thousand things he’d fallen for. Any contact with you, any reminder of you could rocket through him and make him shine. The smell of your perfume, the sound of your voice, your words on a screen, anything you did filled him up and steadied him, no matter how empty or fragile he felt.

Hey, pretty. I miss you too btw.

His heart sighed when your second text came through. You were sharp and strong and since the moment you’d come striding into his life in combat boots and covered in attitude, he’d been riveted, unable to resist you. When you’d turned the sweet sunshine beneath the attitude on him, he’d been captivated, unable to refuse you.

I was dreaming of you. Woke up and needed you.

Steve stared at the message for a moment with his heart pounding. He'd gotten better at this kind of honesty, but it still terrified to step out on the ledge. He hit send before he could rethink it and then rewrite it until he sent nothing at all. You'd never yet made him regret telling you how he felt. He was starting to trust that you never would.

Must have been some dream to have you breaking radio silence during a mission. Good? I hope?

He grinned, practically able to hear your wry, seductive tones as he read your message. That sultry, smirking attitude had drawn him in from the beginning and had only wrapped him more and more tightly the more time he spent with you. By the time he’d worked up the nerve to ask you out, he’d already fallen half in love with that alone.

Us. The night before I left.

His heart sped a little more at the images flashing across his mind. A mixture of the heated imaginings of his unconscious mind and the memories of the one and only night he’d spent with you had his skin running with heat even as the erection that refused to abate hardened almost painfully.

Ahhhhhh. I love it. Tell me everything.

Steve stifled a laugh at your answer. He’d swear he’d never met anyone like you. Tough and terrifyingly efficient during business hours, he’d never imagined the hidden depths he would find as you'd slowly let him in. Under that fierce exterior, he'd first found a warm and generous humor, then a soft and generous heart. He'd most recently been delighted to discover an avowed and generous hedonist in your bed.

I shouldn’t. I’m sharing a room with Sam.

He felt a brief twinge of regret, wondering what you'd have said or done if he'd told you about his dream, if he'd been alone and free to do so. The full intimacy that had just blossomed between you had followed an intense courtship where he'd learned how diabolically patient you could be. He'd long since discovered your ability to drive him wild from a distance.

You’re so fucking adorable. I bet you could get some privacy in the bathroom.

Heart kicking, Steve immediately moved to get out of the bed. Whatever you had in mind, he knew he needed privacy to deal with it. Not that he wasn't certain he'd like it. He always enjoyed letting you have your way with him, no matter the situation. Tapping out a quick reply, he moved as silently as he could to the bathroom.

Do I need privacy?

Shutting and locking the door behind him, he waited for your answer with bated breath.

For what happens next, yes.

Steve dropped down onto the closed lid of the toilet when his knees went weak. Anticipation had his heart already pounding in his ears.

Okay. I’m in the bathroom. What happens next?

His mind raced with possibilities as his skin ran hot. He’d learned from experience that you could always surprise him, especially with the creative turns your mind could take. He’d long since given himself into your hands with no regrets.

Turn the shower on cold.

At least, he’d had no regrets until now. Steve frowned at his phone but stood to comply with the command even as he hoped you weren’t about to send him into a cold shower. You had a wicked sense of humor so he wouldn't put it past you to be having fun with him.

Unless you want Sam to hear you.

Steve grinned, relieved and yet edgy, and shivered in anticipation. He could almost feel your breath on his neck, could almost hear the sultry undercurrent to your voice. He loved it when you had fun with him like this, was happy to take your orders, especially when those orders took on this tone.

At the end of your first date, you’d seen through him to the twitchy anxiety he'd been poorly hiding. Instead of the disdain he'd feared, you'd responded by taking his face in your hands to kiss him for the first time. That sweet first kiss had spun out when he’d forgotten his anxiety in the gentle press of your lips against his. He’d fallen completely under your spell when you’d whispered against his mouth, “Why don’t I tell you what I want, Steve, so you don’t tie yourself in knots trying to figure it out?” The relief he'd felt at the mere thought had allowed him to kiss you properly the second time.

Since that day, you'd made good on that offer in a thousand ways, leading him on a tempestuous journey of affection and fun with an honesty so sweet and hot that it left him putty in your hands. All you’d asked in return was that he be equally honest about what he felt, what he wanted.

Done.

Hands shaking a little, he kept his eyes on his phone as he waited for the next step. He was certain now you were about to lead him on an adventure. Though he knew he shouldn't follow, knew he could tell you he wasn't comfortable and you'd easily segue into something light and probably funny, he also knew he wasn't going to stop this. He'd told you he'd woken needing you; he wasn't surprised that you'd offer to give him what he needed.

Have a seat. ;)

The winking smiley face was your way of letting him know you were fully up to no good and if he wanted out now, he should speak up. He adored how careful you were to make sure he was fully on board with whatever you wanted to do. You took care with him but wrapped it in a warm humor that was almost as seductive as the tenderness underneath.

Now take that pretty cock out and wrap your hand around it.

Steve was grateful you'd told him to sit down as his knees turned to water in the rush of lust that blew through him. The hand not holding his phone moved to obey even as he let out a shuddering breath of reaction. Knowing he had to be quiet or risk embarrassing himself made his heart race in either anxiety or excitement, he wasn’t ever really sure when you tempted him out onto ledges like this. His chest tightened, his breath choking in his lungs, making him feel like he was on the verge of an asthma attack, if he still had those.

But every other time he'd followed you into this sensation, he'd found nothing but pleasure and passion on the other side. He wasn't going to back out now. As he pushed his underwear down his other hand tapped out a quick reply.

Yes, ma'am.

Steve's brain offered up the image of your slow, wicked smile whenever he gave in to your demands and his desires. He loved that his obedience to your commands brought you as much excitement as it did him. He loved knowing he could please you, loved that you never left him in doubt as to how.

You're so pretty. Does it feel good?

God

Yes

Steve didn't move, his hand wrapped around his cock but not stroking, not yet. Not until you told him to start.

Mmm. What were we doing in your dream the moment you woke up?

That 'mmm' stood in for the sultry laugh that came out of you whenever you were deliberately teasing him. The thought of that tease, that laugh had his dick twitching in his hand. You knew he adored the slow build, had taken your time working him up to the night he'd spent with you right before leaving on this mission. He'd loved every minute of it, thoroughly enjoyed the odd paradox of frustration mounting through repeated satisfaction. Making love to you, at last, had been glorious.

His breathing already ragged, the memory of that night in the soft romance of his dream drifted across his mind's eye. You'd been sweeter that night than he'd ever known possible, tender in your demands, gentle in your requests. A night unlike any other in his experience, he'd never expected the dark and debauched to be so bright and beautiful.

I was sliding inside you for the first time. I could have cried when I woke up.

Muscles quivering with the effort to stay still, Steve waited. He wasn't disappointed.

Pretty. Are you as hard now as you were then?

Almost

Oh, I wanna see. Would you take a picture? Send it to me?

Steve bit his lip to stifle the moan that wanted to lift out of him. He was more certain now that it was excitement, not fear, but he felt a prickle of anxiety run up his spine, nonetheless. Not only was he naturally shy, he was uncomfortably famous. He examined how he felt, and decided quickly, typing his response and hitting send just as a text from you came through.

Yes ma'am.

I'll go first, sweetie.

Steve quite simply melted. He adored the strong and sarcastic, but he had no defense against the sweet and kind. The way you’d asked combined with the endearment you only used when you were being particularly tender eased every fear, every worry. Still feeling shy, he nonetheless lifted the phone to snap a picture of his achingly hard cock in his still motionless fist.

As he was preparing to send it, however, your picture came through. He whimpered at the sight of you on his screen, pink and glistening. His hand reflexively tightened, and he started to moan aloud before he remembered himself. His cock hardened to the point of pain as he locked his muscles, resisting the urge to move his hand for a little relief.

Panting, he snapped another picture, knowing you’d love to see what the image of your fingers sliding over and through and into your pretty cunt did to him. He’d already been flushed and on the edge. Looking at you, remembering how you’d felt moving under his hands only intensified the sensation of aching need and the red heat that suffused his skin. He sent you both pictures with a text that read, How do you do this to me?

Mmm. Did my picture get you that excited?

God yes

You’re killing me doll

Me too sweetie. So fucking hot. Go ahead and start sliding your hand up and down that gorgeous cock of yours, pretty.

Steve shuddered in relief as he slowly began to move his hand, though the way you spoke to him had his stomach muscles tightening with lust. He bit his lip to hold back the moan of pleasure, the sensation made more intense by the wait. His eyes fixed on the picture you’d sent, he imagined replacing your fingers with his own.

I like that you were dreaming of me. I loved taking you. Being taken by you.

Another groan tried to escape as Steve tried to type despite the pleasure running over his skin. His hand moved faster as wetness spread over the head of his cock and eased the motion.

God me too. It was so good. I’ve dreamt of you every night this week.

"Oh, fuck!" Steve whispered the words in a voice tight with lust as his hand began to speed. You'd sent him another picture and the sight was more than he could stand. The photo was taken from the same vantage point he'd have if he was about to use his mouth on you, the memory of which had him thrusting mindlessly. The smooth columns of your thighs framed your pleasure as you arched under your own hands. Your body was bared and beautiful and your eyes glowed with power and promise. Slick and wet, his hand moved more quickly over his cock as memories of you over him, under him seared his mind.

Do you want to do filthy things to me, pretty?

Steve's mind exploded with possibilities and immediately triggered the climax he'd been trying to hold back. Reliving the glory of being inside you, of making you cry out in ecstasy, he came with a soft groan, shuddering as he coaxed every last quake of pleasure from his body. Panting and boneless, he lay in awe of your ability to wreck him even when you weren't there.

His hand shaking slightly, he tapped out the first thing that came into his head.

And you call me pretty. You’re so beautiful. I couldn’t hold back.

Too heavy for his neck, Steve let his head fall back, resting it against the wall behind him as he tried to catch his breath. He found himself once again awed and baffled by your ability to tempt him so easily into situations that he couldn't have even imagined before he met you.

Mmm. Are you a mess? Show me?

Blushing rosy red against the creamy skin of his face, neck, and chest, he lifted his phone to take another picture. Angling the camera to capture both his naked body and his shy smile, he snapped a photo he knew would make you crazy. You loved to see what you did to him, loved to see him sated, soaked in pleasure. When you went to such sweet effort to bring him to this point, he couldn't see how it was fair to deny you the evidence.

So sexy. I love it. I’m so close. Tell me about your dream

Steve smiled at your response, gratified by the knowledge that he could drive you as wild as you drove him. He wondered if you were making the little whimpers in your throat yet. He could always tell when you were about to let go, when he'd pushed you up and over the edge.

I was touching you. Sliding my hands all over you. You’re so soft.

Not sure how to continue, Steve hit send. The dream had been nothing but sensation, hot breath and slick skin. He paused a moment, considering the best way to describe for you the images his subconscious had conjured. As he weighed his words, a picture of you came through.

Tousled and smiling, your face had taken on that particular softness his perfect eyesight had memorized in recent weeks. Saturated in pleasure, your face only looked this sweetly relaxed after you were satisfied.

Mmm. Pretty. You fuck me so good, baby.

Steve laughed softly, exhilarated if a little shocked at how easily he always let you lead him into temptation, let you take over. Other attempts at relationships since he'd come out of the ice had always ultimately failed when he couldn't relax enough to be himself. But being with you was as easy as breathing, in no small part because you so confidently took command.

Looking down at himself, he shook his head at the mess you'd once again made of him.

How do you do this to me?

Standing up, Steve set his phone on the counter and glanced at the washcloth hanging on the towel bar. He figured he'd need a shower before he started the day anyway and it was close enough to dawn that he was done with sleep for now. When your message came through, he smiled at your unrelenting sweetness.

You let me. Don’t forget to turn the hot water on before you get in that shower.

Except I might still need to cool off.

Can’t argue with that. Go get the bad guys, then get your ass back to me.

Yes, ma’am.

Your heart kicked into high gear when you heard that the quinjet had touched down.

Steve was home.

Steve, with his serious eyes and hands so gentle it almost ached where he touched, would soon be walking through your office door for debriefing. And you were expected to cope with that.

Steve Rogers, a man with a heart as good as it was wild, was enchanted with you. The very idea was still largely inexplicable to you. You'd never been the sort to argue with a good thing, however, and you certainly weren't going to start now. What mattered was that you were making each other happy, that he was as sweet as he was sexy and you clicked in a way that you'd never expected but for which you were profoundly grateful.

That didn't mean that you knew how to handle it.

The whole thing had started so innocently, lunchtime walks over the grounds of the compound. Steve had started coming by your office in the middle of the day, his excuse that he wanted to make sure you weren’t chained to your desk, get you moving. You’d thought he was simply being himself, kind and caring and a little overly conscientious.

Over the course of those walks, however, you’d become friends, and dear friends, but you’d never expected anything more. He was so careful, so guarded, you'd never realized that you were seducing him with your playful teasing and genuine interest in the man behind the shield. When, after a couple of months of those daily walks, he’d asked you to dinner with the dread of rejection sick in his smile, you’d been completely shocked.

You didn’t know it, but your complete surprise at his invitation had been utterly unexpected; Steve had thought himself painfully obvious in his crush. Your astonishment, followed by a slow, delighted grin spreading across your face, had made Steve’s heart jump in anticipation. Your reply, voice full of fun and mischief, "Steven, I would love to have dinner with you; I like a pretty view while I eat," had made him blush and smile in a way that had made your heart pound like a drum.

That first date had been wonderful, an extension of those daily walks but with a new dimension revealed by the change in your relationship. You were flirting with purpose now, not simply to tease a friend. He was so adorable, you couldn't resist, his blushing, gratified smiles too tempting.

When he'd walked you to your door, the sick dread was back in his smile and you'd had an epiphany. Making the first move was agony for someone like Steve. Having to put his true self on the line to be accepted or rejected at the whim of another was a nightmare for him. You could see he was terrified of the moment he'd have to lean in to kiss you good night, dreading the possibility that you might turn him away.

As you reached your door, you'd turned to him with a sultry smile and slid your hands up and over his gorgeous chest, something you'd been fantasizing about for a while, until you had his pretty face in your hands. You'd pulled his face to yours and pressed soft, warm lips to his, kissing him firmly, but gently.

"Why don’t I tell you what I want, Steve, so you don’t tie yourself in knots trying to figure it out?”

The breath of relief he'd huffed out would have made you laugh if your mouth hadn't immediately been taken in the hottest, sweetest tangle of lips and teeth and tongue you'd ever experienced. His arms had come around you to cradle you against his body like you were delicate and precious and in that moment you felt it, certain you were already in over your head with Steve Rogers.

"I'd love that, doll," he'd whispered in return when the kiss finally broke, his breath ragged. "What do you want?"

You'd chuckled darkly at that, your body humming and blood rushing with lust. "I want to take you inside and have my wicked way with you," you'd brushed your fingertips over the nape of his neck and made him tremble, "but I think we should take it slow, take our time. So, I'll take another kiss like the last to keep me warm for now."

“Yes, ma’am.”

The smile that spread across his face right before his lips met yours told you that you'd made the right call. Steve was the sort that moved at a slower pace, needed room to feel. Over the next couple of months, you'd given him that space as you slowly deepened the intimacy between you, learning what he liked, teaching him what you liked. With only a little patience, he’d proven eager to learn and innately adept at the study.

As you’d become more physically familiar, you’d also explored the added emotional dimension to your relationship, the vulnerability that comes when you allow a friend to become something more. Not that you’d had reason to regret that decision yet, Steve having also proven a sweet and attentive boyfriend.

By the time you'd come together, you'd found a number of creative ways to satisfy both of you while still building the anticipation. The wait had ensured that you were physically comfortable with one another before you’d gotten to that last glorious night together.

You’d deliberately chosen a night before he left for a mission to invite him to stay, to make love with you and wake in your bed. You’d been unable to wait any longer, the desperate need too much to hold back, but you'd also wanted to keep the edge of his desire for you well honed. You hadn't considered what the enforced separation after such a night would do to you, too. When he’d broken radio silence to text you during a mission, you’d been both moved and gratified, but you'd also needed him with an ache you'd never known before. You'd been unable to stop yourself from using the opportunity to take the edge off.

You'd also been exasperated, radio silence had been placed on the mission for a reason, but that was professional.

No harm had come of it, but it was still a breach in protocol.

You looked up when Steve knocked on the door as he opened it, poking his head into your office, as had become his habit over the previous months. “Come on in, Cap," you said with a slow, warm smile. "Have a seat."

"Yes, ma'am." His eyes were hot as he settled into the chair on the other side of your desk. The words sent a shiver of lust up your spine and over your scalp when coupled with the sweet appreciative grin that lit up his face. You had to be ever vigilant lest you get lost in his ocean eyes. The man was unfairly pretty, hence the pet name.

The debriefing went quickly as the mission had gone mostly to plan. What few deviations had occurred were in minor variables and were easily documented. Steve didn't have anything to add to what you'd heard from Sam and Natasha, but you believed in being thorough. Once you heard it once more from Steve, you pushed all of it aside without a twinge of guilt.

Before you moved on entirely, however, you fixed him with a gimlet stare. "I'm surprised I have to remind you of this, Captain, but radio silence was put on this mission for a reason." One eyebrow and the corner of your mouth lifted as he grinned at you.

"That takes care of business." You got to your feet and rounded your desk to cross to the door, flipping the lock as your heart started to race. "Now," you went on in a purr as you circled back around to slide into Steve's lap. Heart singing, you pressed your lips to his in a soft kiss. "Hey, pretty."

Steve was in heaven. He wrapped his arms around you to press you close and reveled in the feel of your body against his. Dimly, in a far-off corner of his mind, he wondered if he should be concerned by his tendency to get lost in you, the ease and speed with which you enthralled him. But you were nuzzling your mouth across his cheeks and mouth, seducing him all over again with sweetness, and he couldn't find it in him to care. "Hey, babydoll," he sighed happily as his eyes fluttered closed.

"So ya missed me, huh?"

Steve smiled at your playful tones but kept his eyes closed as he basked in the feeling of your mouth against his skin, of being adored by you. How could he not miss you when you made him feel this way? His voice a sigh, the sound made you tremble deep inside. "I did."

"I like that." Your voice throbbed with an emotion you weren't ready to name but knew you'd have to deal with soon. Steve seemed to hear it, as his eyes opened to see your face, his eyebrows quirking in question. Your smile twisted wryly as you shrugged a little. "I like being missed."

Steve's pretty face melted into a smile rich with affection as one of his big hands slid up your back, his warm palm between your shoulder blades and pressing you into his chest. His lips as soft as his touch, he kissed you with the same tenderness he'd shown you from the start, the same tenderness that had seduced you before you'd realized it was happening. You didn't know what he'd seen in your face to make him kiss you like this, but you weren't going to argue.

Your breathing ragged and your throat thick with that nameless, dangerous emotion, you broke the kiss to bury your face in the crook of his neck, brushing your lips over the soft skin under his ear. "I missed you too, sweetie," you whispered, your breath wafting across his ear and making him shiver agreeably. You could feel it, and it made you needy, made your voice turn husky with that need. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about those pictures you sent me."

Steve stretched his neck to give you better access, the sensation of your mouth on his skin a temptation he couldn't resist. Simply being in the same room with you was intoxicating; he’d already been hard as steel by the time you'd slid into his lap. Your touch, your voice, your scent, everything about you set him aflame. "You didn't keep them?"

"I told you; I'm the jealous type." You lifted your head to nip at his lips with a wicked smirk and eyes that burned. "I couldn't risk anyone else seeing them. Only way to be sure was to delete them."

The hand that had been squeezing your hip came up to cup your face when every part of him softened in adoration, appreciation. He wasn't the least surprised to find that you'd acted to protect him, but he was still deeply grateful. "I deleted yours, too." His mouth twisted when your eyebrow raised in mock suspicion. "Didn't want them falling into the wrong hands. Damn near broke my heart to do it, but…"

When he trailed off with a shrug, you tilted your head back and laughed out at the twinkle in his eye behind his look of broken-hearted regret. You combed your fingers through his hair, fisting your hands there and tilting his head back to smile affectionately into his gorgeous face. "I'll send you more, you pretty thing."

When his grin flashed, cheerful and sweet, you couldn't resist his plump, pink lips any longer. You took his mouth with yours, kissing him deeply, with heat. With purpose.

Gasping breaths inward escaped as panting moans as your mouths pressed and tangled together. You shamelessly rubbed your breasts against his chest as your hands began to skim over the muscles of his shoulders and arms. Your tongue curled around his as you encouraged him with your mouth and body to touch you more, kiss you harder.

Steve cradled you in his lap as gently as he could while still pressing you close, holding you tight. He knew his strength, tried to be mindful of it out of concern that he might hurt or scare you. Sometimes he thought he gripped too tightly, his mind so easily muddled by you, but you never complained.

In fact, sometimes you straight up ordered him to stop treating you as though you were as delicate as he knew you to be and touch you already. Sometimes, like today, you showed him your impatience physically, pulling at his clothes and arching into his hands. When you tore your mouth from his to scramble to your feet, he was confused for half a second before you were pulling him up with you.

"Doll," he breathed, his heart running away with him as you backed into your desk and boosted yourself up onto it, "I'm falling hard for you." You wrapped your legs around his hips as you fisted your hands in his shirt to drag him close. "I don't know if you want serious, but I can't help it."

Steve thought he'd just made a colossal mistake when your movements slowed and your eyes lifted to his, your face a study in consternation. His heart started beating again when your face softened into a smile and then a laugh as you lifted your hands from his belt to his face.

"I'm trying to fuck and you're trying to talk about our relationship." You pulled his mouth to yours and kissed him softly, sweetly, utterly charmed. "Steve," you crooned as you smoothed your thumbs over his cheeks, "my sweetheart." You huffed out a shaky laugh, the vulnerability of the moment hitting you all at once. Your mouth twisted with wry affection as your eyes searched his worried face. You went on, your voice an aching sigh. "I don't want you to help it. I don't know how to do serious, but I'm starting to think I'd do anything for you."

Steve felt the muscles in the back of his neck relax. On a sigh of relief, he rested his forehead against yours as the hands at your waist slid around your back to hold you close. He had known you wouldn't make him regret telling you the truth about his feelings, but he'd barely hoped that you would reciprocate them. He'd never anticipated that anyone could make him feel the way you did and was gratified to the bone that he could make you feel the same.

Arms wrapped around your back, one hand squeezing your hip, the other cupped around the nape of your neck, Steve kissed you. Slow, and gentle, he coaxed your lips apart like a man with nothing but time. His mouth brushed and clung to yours with a diabolical kind of tenderness as his body pressed more firmly against yours. Eyes bright and warm, he broke the kiss to smile and whisper, mild concern and confusion chasing one another across his face. "I know the feeling."

The relentless honesty that characterized Steve could be its own kind of trouble. He was in so many ways an open book, it made it easy for you to see the struggle he sometimes had with his emotions. On the other hand, you had only to pay attention to know what he was thinking and feeling. Steve, and everything he was, made you feel safe and secure in a way no one ever had before.

"Oh, baby, don't worry," you murmured, linking your wrists behind his neck and nuzzling at his mouth. "I'm as flustered by this as you are. I know you can't believe the things you'll do if I ask it," your voice dropped to a rasp as your thighs tightened around his hips, "because I can't believe it either." You shrugged, and you let him see how he dazzled you in your smile. "I talk a big game, but every day I'm stunned all over again that you like it. That you like me."

"You are so fucking sweet." Steve's voice was rich with wonder as he spoke. His eyes burned as he huffed out a laugh of astonished joy and his head dipped to yours. No longer slow and gentle, he kissed you with an urgent passion that you soaked up and returned with abandon. When his hand slipped from your hip to squeeze your ass and his lips grew hungrier on yours, you chuckled in your throat and let your hands drop back to his belt where you went back to unfastening it.

Steve couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up at the sound of your dark glee and the feel of your hands teasing the erection behind his zipper. He lifted his head just enough to look into your face, the warm affection in his so pretty it made your throat ache. Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed over your cheeks, but your hands went back to work on getting into his pants. He started chuckling, but that quickly turned into a low moan when your hands slipped under the waistband of his underwear to push them down. "I don’t just like you, doll."

“Good.” You replied with a nip at his lower lip as you closed your hand around an impressive erection. “Because I’m just crazy about you.”

Your smile as you caressed him was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Starting bright and happy, Steve was awestruck by the way your whole face seemed to shine with joy. In the next moment, your smile was melting into a look so hungry his cock hardened even more and his hips gave an involuntary thrust into your hands.

The sensation had you grinning recklessly as you twisted your hand around his length and made him groan. You lifted one hand to cup the nape of his neck to pull him forward for a kiss as his breathing sped in excitement. "Steven, I wore a skirt for a reason," you purred against his mouth and felt powerful as a goddess when his hands immediately left your hips to fumble at the long peasant skirt you'd worn. The feeling of his hips stuttering slightly as those hands closed around your thighs made you feel irresistibly sexy as well.

Being with Steve made you feel adored.

His mouth drank from yours with ever more urgency, even as he gripped your thighs more tightly and spread your legs to pull you closer. You encouraged him with murmurs of approval and gentle, teasing touches designed to inflame. His long fingers squeezed the flesh of your ass and legs as his body bent to yours, over yours. His thumbs caressing the insides of your thighs made you feel like you were going to fly apart and had your arm sliding around his neck to bring your body flush with his.

Steve tore his mouth from yours to gasp for breath. He buried his face in the crook where your shoulder met your neck and panted in excitement, in pleasure, the tremble of his lips against your skin sending shivers through you. "Babydoll," he whispered, the taste of you going to his head and muddling his mind, "I can't stop thinking about being inside you."

His thumbs had reached the apex of your legs and were brushing lightly over the soft skin he'd found there. His breathing was as ragged as yours, shuddering gasps of reaction mingled with moaning sighs of pleasure as the two of you touched one another. "Is this okay?" he asked gently, lifting his head to look into your face as one of his long, beautiful fingers slipped between your folds to tease at your entrance, to feel your wetness.

"God, yes," you moaned and made him smile. You were dazzled by the feel of him between your thighs, the sight of him flushed with his excitement and shuddering with need in your hands. When his thumb pressed you open and he circled your clit with the pad of his finger, your hips jerked forward in response, the sweet sensation of him gently caressing you so intimately overwhelming in its intensity.

Steve's hand slid down and he pressed into you with a soft groan of reverence, of hunger. You tilted your hips to allow him easier access, your head falling backward on your neck as you gasped with pleasure at the rasping sensation of one long, finger stretching you open. Your thighs tightened around his hips and your hand around his cock as you shuddered out a moan that made him crazy.

His mouth moved over your neck in desperate open-mouthed kisses as he reveled in the feeling of your wetness covering his hand. He loved feeling the proof of your desire for him. He loved that he'd brought you to this point, clutching at his shoulders and sobbing his name. He loved that you could so easily bring him to this point, panting with need and ready to beg. When your hand smoothed over his erection with a twisting motion and your lips at his ear whispered, "Play later, pretty. Inside me now," he could have promised you the moon.

He ever so slowly withdrew his hand from where he'd been pumping his finger slowly, gently in and out of your soaking pussy, dragging his fingertips over your clit as he went. The sensation was exquisite, prompting another gasping moan from you and making you fumble as you let go of his cock to bunch your skirt in your fist. You pulled it up and out of the way so you could see where you connected, wanted to watch him slide inside you. You wanted to imprint forever on your memory the image of Steve Rogers making love to you.

Tight t-shirt rucked up over a perfect stomach, belt and pants undone and pushed down below his ass with his underwear to reveal him flushed and shiny wet with anticipation. His hands, big and beautiful, gently held your thighs apart as his fingers pressed with just enough force into your muscles. The sight, along with that of his cock, hard as steel and pressing slowly into you, had your body clenching in need and your mouth running away with you as you rasped, "So pretty."

Steve flushed with the praise. As he eased into you, he marveled that his memory hadn't done you justice. He'd thought he remembered how good you felt wrapped around his cock, thought he'd remembered the ecstasy of the moment when he rested buried to the hilt, but he hadn't even been close. Once there, his hands left your thighs where they were wrapped around his hips. Skimming up over your waist, he took you gently in his arms, one palm on your lower back, one between your shoulder blades. Gasping for breath and grasping for control, he rested his forehead against yours and shuddered with restrained greed.

You wrapped your arms around the barrel of his chest and nuzzled under the collar of his t-shirt to brush your mouth across his perfect collarbones. Murmuring words intended to incite, you breathed adoration into his skin. "Sweet pretty Steve." You tilted your head back to look into his face. "You feel so good."

The sight of your face, warm and soft with passion as you almost whimpered the words took Steve's breath away. Unable to help himself, his head dipped to kiss you as his arms tightened, his hands grasping you close as he started to tentatively thrust into you. You kissed him back, your hands avid as they clutched at his back and hips to encourage him to move faster, thrust harder.

You loved that Steve was as close to out of control as you'd ever seen him, loved that he was lost in you enough to move instinctively. He was still following your lead, but he wasn't thinking anymore, was letting his body rule. His hand slid down to close around your thigh to hike it higher, using the leverage to pull you onto him more forcefully. A happy squeal muffled by his mouth expressed your approval, as did the arms you wrapped around his neck to pull yourself more tightly against him.

Though Steve would have at least tried to go slow, you weren’t having it. You’d twined around him like a vine and were using your grip to rock your hips to his in abandon. The uncomplicated affection on your lips and the desperate need in your sighs of pleasure came together on his tongue to seep into his mind and send him reeling. Unable to stop himself, he gripped your thighs and ass to tilt you to the perfect angle for his relentlessly pounding hips and gave in. Groaning in his throat, he let your genuine passion wipe his mind clean of everything but you.

Steve's fingers were digging into your flesh with just enough pressure to feel delicious. His mouth was avid on yours and so sweet you had to tear yourself away to drag in a breath. You released that breath on a shuddering moan when he immediately buried his face in your throat to taste the skin over your pulse under your jaw. Your hands clenched in his hair and you rocked your hips harder and faster into his, chasing your climax. Steve was a perfect fit; you were fully enthralled with the sensation of his cock gliding into you, rasping out.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chanted, each more frantic than the last, as the rhythmic slam of his hips against yours built you swiftly and steadily to peak. Hearing that you were nearing your climax, Steve lifted his head from where it was buried in your cleavage and pressing open mouthed kisses to the curves of your breasts. He loved to watch your expression while you came, loved to see you taken over by rapture, especially of his making. When you shuddered out, "Fuck me, baby," he knew you were close.

Steve's grin flashed and he started to thrust harder and faster into you, shaking your desk enough to knock a few things to the floor. The sound of soft thumps as a stapler fell to the carpet and pens scattered made you laugh. The thought that it was Steve Rogers you were fucking on your desk in the middle of the day met the joy of the moment and pushed you happily to the edge where need met satisfaction.

Pretty, sweet, reckless Steve with his bashful smiles and sad soldier’s eyes was building you to peak with ever more force and speed, about to send you tipping over that edge with flashing hips and a whimpering moan. You tilted your head forward on your neck to look into Steve's smiling, blushing face, his flashing eyes. With a sighed, "Pretty," you smiled as you let go and fell into rapture.

At the same time you spoke, Steve could feel the beginning of your orgasm fluttering and squeezing around him. His hands tightened around your thigh, your ass as he shook with pleasure at the sensation. The feel of you in his arms, clutching at him in ecstasy pushed him to the edge of his control. The sight of your eyes, glowing with pleasure both given and received, sent him tumbling over.

The beautiful groan Steve released as his head dropped to your shoulder made you tighten around him in every way. You gave in happily to the overwhelming urge to hold him close as he came inside you with stuttering hips and shaking limbs. Twining around him, you basked in the scent, the taste, the feel of him as you dragged him into the same spell that held you.

Everything about you softened like wax when he turned his face into your neck and nuzzled in with a sigh of contentment. He was holding you against him with that astonishing tenderness he possessed, cradling you in his arms like you were something infinitely delicate, infinitely precious. The sensation never failed to turn you to mush.

You combed your fingers through his hair and rubbed your cheek against his temple, holding him with the same tenderness he showed you, something he found utterly beguiling. He brushed his mouth over the soft skin of your throat and murmured in appreciation, "How do you do this to me?"

You couldn't help but love how that question had changed over time. At first, he had asked with concern vying with bafflement, but he'd come to ask with warmth, humor, affection. The answer had changed, too, from curiosity to pleasure to something more, something neither of you knew how to name. Not yet.

"I ask nicely," you replied with a smirk.

Steve burst out laughing and lifted his head to grin at you. You had a look on your face of such infinite tenderness, such warm wonder that his heart jumped and jumped in response to an emotion he wasn't sure how to describe, or if he was ready yet to do so. He pushed it aside, gloriously and willingly lost in you. "That would do it," he admitted with his heart in his eyes.

"In that case," you leaned forward to kiss first one side of his mouth, "would you like to come over for dinner," then the other, "stay the night?" Your eyelids dipped with a hint of shyness and made Steve's romantic heart yearn, inspired that still nameless emotion. "I really liked waking up next to you."

His eyes lit up in a way you'd never seen before; his smile was bright and joyous and made you want to promise him the world. Warm and affectionate, his expression held everything you could want as he replied, his voice low and full of fun. "Yes, ma'am."

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nurseofren · 3 years

Text

Fireworks

Relationship: Clyde Logan x Reader

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Your first New Year’s Eve in Boone County becomes that much more interesting when you run into a handsome stranger, the two of you seeking peace in the same place for two entirely different reasons. Together, you give each other exactly what the other needs.

Warnings: PTSD, anxiety. Angst.

ST Rambles: So, earlier today I got the idea that it would be fun to do a NYE series with all the ADCU men (well, all the ones with a place in my heart). And I started with Clyde because I love the man entirely and he deserves protection. But, I have plans for Flip and Phillip AT LEAST. So, let me know if I should continue.

The party buzzed with excitement, an obvious anticipation lighting every guest’s face. The year had been so long, and there were only ten minutes until that fresh start we all craved so much. It seemed with each passing second the room would grow in volume and exuberance – conversations loud, couples close, hope sparking in dazed eyes. Bottles were grouped, empty and some tipped over; red cups littered around the floor, growing in amount as the night went on.

And you, self-proclaimed designated driver for the night, were watching it all unfold the entire time. With so little time left, seeing everyone paired with someone to hold when the year ran out, you found yourself overwhelmed and a bit saddened.

Doing a sweep around the room, giving a nod to each of your friends to ensure their safety, you wandered out past the backyard toward the gazebo sitting at the dock’s end. The journey was quiet and cold, a fond chill cleansing your skin, the moon-streaked lake ebbing a melody of peace. There were lights wrapped around the trellis, dim in their warm tone.

A moment was spent taking in the air, becoming still. Face to the sky, arms tight to your chest, you hummed. During the winter months there was no chorus of cicadas to accompany you. No matter, you stepped forward until you could lean out toward the night and focus on the dull crash of water below.

Footsteps startled your eyes toward their direction, a quiet yelp escaping when you set eyes on a man seemingly leaving from where you’d just arrived. He seemed to be in a rush, strides taking him away before you could think much on what to say.

“I’m sorry,” you called after him, turning, his steps stilling. “I really didn’t mean to interrupt. I just needed a breather from the craziness, but I think I’m good now.”

The stranger paused for a moment, his back to you, wind blowing past his hair with the gentle breeze. His shoulders lowered and he turned to you, not stepping any closer. He was tall, a warm face to match the lights above. He was wearing an outfit much better equipped for the weather than yours, arms covered in a jean jacket, pants a darker jean material. Bold of him.

“You just got here. S’alright.” Fog framed his words, a nervous edge to them. He gave a weak smile and a nod before turning back around.

“Hey, wait!” You couldn’t help but feel guilty for scaring him off. He turned back around, not even the slightest bit exasperated. A patient soul. Kind eyes. Good company? He watched you with intent. “I wouldn’t mind the company. Really. Stay.”

Those soft eyes seemed surprised, pinching just slightly to match the flicker of a smile at his cheeks. He was still tense, but after considering you, looking down to a watch outfitting his wrist, he swallowed and made his way to your side. He kept a comfortable distance, his back to the pillar across from you.

“So, what were you doing out here anyway? The dock is usually empty this time of night.”

The stranger crossed his arms to match yours, his face turning out toward the water. “Keepin’ watch. Waitin’. Should be soon.”

“Oh gosh, were you waiting for someone out here? I’ll leave. That’s so awkward, my goodness!”

“No. Not waitin’ on anyone. Just the new year.” He swallowed, looking back to you and gesturing toward the sky. “There’s usually fireworks.”

“Oh! That’s so cool! This is my first year here, so thanks for telling me.” As you spoke, he didn’t seem to match your excitement, something haunting his far-off gaze. Your eyes narrowed, confusion striking through your bright mood. “Don’t you like the fireworks? That’s why you’re out here?”

His left hand, prosthetic you noticed, reached toward his right forearm. He cleared his throat. Something wasn’t right. When he returned from whatever memory he’d wandered to, his face was serious, mouth a hard line. Eyes still soft, tender in the moonlight.

A shiver washed over you, teeth chattering to interrupt whatever he was about to say. He saw, relief finding him in the wake of your apparent distraction.

“Here, take this.” He slid the jacket off his arms and offered it to you, the sleeve of his undershirt lifting so you could see a tattoo – indicative of military service – just below the raised cuff. Realization lifted your brows. He noted this, face falling somewhat before he reached to push the fabric back down.

The jean material was toasty, his body heat sinking through the article and warming your hand before you pulled it over your shoulders. The man went back to leaning against his post, eyes set on the lake. Being here meant more now. A mission to keep him safe.

With time passing his shoulders tensed, determined eyes locked on his watch. His breath was coming faster, getting louder. He needed peace, or at least a distraction.

“What’s your name?”

He said nothing, foot tapping. So instead you offered your name, nearing him. “A girl – Mellie, I think her name was – yeah, she invited me a few weeks ago. Just before Christmas. And I told her I’d check my plans, but turns out I had nothing else going on so I brought a few friends with me and-,”

A distant uproar sounded from the house. Cheers and shouts of joy echoed across the lawn, your heart racing when the stranger’s eyes shut and his jaw flexed. His hands gripped tight to the railing, head tucked to his chest. He was in so much pain, anticipating – no, dreading – what he knew would come.

Something occurred to you in that moment. Maybe stupid and completely off-base – it was midnight. It was a new year. It was New Year’s Day. You were here. So was this stranger, whoever he was. So you did the only thing you could think of.

Slipping a hand under his chin and snaking it to his cheek, you turned his face to yours and pulled down. He was scalding, heat rolling off of him in heavy waves. There was a moment of hesitation on your end, looking at him for a go-ahead, only finding a heart wrenching fear just beyond his eyes. The first boom sounded behind you, his blown pupils shooting toward the bright light.

“Hey,” you soothed, nudging his attention back toward you.

Sliding your hand over his ear, bringing your other to cover the one that remained, you brought his lips to yours and hoped for the best. Fingers fled into his heated tresses, thick and a deep, deep brown. It was all your effort at first, his body stiff against yours before he settled into the interaction. When he did, finally giving into your machinations, you made an even more conscious effort to keep his ears covered and to stroke the skin just behind them.

He loosened up and you took advantage, walking him away from the railing until his knees hit the bench behind him. He lowered himself all while you kept connected, your mouth moving in fervor, the fireworks still blaring in the background. The hair framing his temples was soft under your thumbs, a thin veil of sweat evident under your touch.

“You’re okay,” you hushed between kisses, “you’re okay. It’s okay.”

A hand cupped the back of your neck, stroked at your nape, fingers catching on the hair there. He slowed his mouth and eventually stopped entirely, pressing his forehead to yours. Here you were an anchor, observing how he calmed with each breath he took, keeping your palms in place to guard him from the sounds all too familiar to him.

“Clyde,” he breathed, “M’name’s Clyde.”

Teething at your bottom lip, you pressed your mouth to his again. This time much less adamant, a gentle yearning motivating the movement instead of a fierce protection. He leaned into you now, the hand at your neck tipping your head into his.

Pulling away, looking down at him as your hips bent, hands still set firm, sparks lit down your spine at the sight of his burning eyes.

Hi, Clyde, you mouthed, a smile punctuating the statement.

You hadn’t noticed, but in the chaos his jacket had slipped off your shoulders, another shiver washing over your skin, another one he noticed. Clyde took a deep breath, chewed his bottom lip, and finally stood. He made no effort to move your hands from his ears, lifting his right arm and encircling your back so he could rub warmth into your skin.

Clyde kept you pressed to his chest, fireworks fading to nothing before you took your hands from him and wrapped them around his waist. He was incredibly warm, and when you felt his chin rest atop the crown of your head it only deepened the heat he offered you. His own protection in light of what you’d given him.

“Thank you,” Clyde swallowed, a low hum of the same tune you’d sounded earlier. “Happy New Year, darlin’.”

Should you have stayed here forever, you knew you’d never need a jacket of any sort, not wrapped in the complete warmth he provided – flesh and soul.

“Happy New Year, Clyde.”

#clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan imagine #logan lucky #adam driver #fluff #angst #clyde logan one shot #clyde logan x you #nyeadcu

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dialovers-translations · 3 years

Text

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, MORE BLOOD Vol. 5: Mukami Yuma [Track 4]

Original title: 暴き出す本意

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, More Blood Vol. 5 Mukami Yuma [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Tatsuhisa Suzuki

Translator’s note: The MC put up a decent fight in this one, but in the end nobody in the DL universe is safe from those addicting fangs. I hate pain but all of these Vampire anime make it seem like being bitten by one is the most amazing thing in the world??? Or maybe the DL MC really just is a hopeless M who gets off on pain lol. Either way, Yuma’s whispering was really seductive in this track, it made me blush a little. > /// < He definitely holds his title as nr. 1 Mukami in my book for now.

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 + Epilogue

→ LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 4: Exposed True Motives

You are running away from Yuma at school.

*WOOSH*

*Clunk*

“...Haah...Finally gotcha.”

You are slowly backed into a corner.

“Not just at home, but ya kept on avoidin’ me at school too, runnin’ from one place to another...”

*Rustle*

“But ya won’t have an easy time gettin’ away from me when locked up in the storage room, huh?”

You flinch as he pins you against the wall.

*THUD*

“The door’s locked, you’re backed ‘gainst the wall...I’ve got ya perfectly cornered. I’m sure you’re aware, but it’s been exactly one week since we started this. ‘Cause ya kept on runnin’ all over the place, it’s the final day already. I’ve reached my limit as well...”

You ask if he is really that hungry.

“...’Course! Every time I got to drink yer blood, ya rewinded time on me. In short, that means I haven’t had a single drop of blood this whole damn week!”

You nod in understanding.

“’I see’, my ass! Don’t keep a guy waitin’ like this! Well, I’m gonna hit ya with all of my pent-up frustration today.”

Yuma runs his hand across your skin.

*Rustle rustle*

“Heh, I’ve only touched ya a lil’ and you’re already becomin’ sensitive? The scent of blood comin’ from yer skin is sugary sweet as well.”

You frown.

“Seems like ya have no idea why this is happenin’ yerself either, huh? ...Idiot. Try thinkin’ ‘bout it. No matter how many times we went back, our memories always remained intact, right? Which means even if yer body is returned to its original state, the pain and pleasure still lingers in yer mind. ‘Cause of that, ya end up cravin’ for the sensations inside yer head. In other words...You’ve been just as wantin’ as me this whole time, haven’t ya?”

You flinch.

“Say...Ya understand now, don’t ya? Ya just want my fangs so badly. ...So stop bein’ unnecessary stubborn. Be honest to yerself. Mmh...”

*Smooch*

“See? You’re already lettin’ those nice cries slip just from a lil’ kiss on the cheek. How ‘bout yer ears, huh? This place is really sensitive...If I were to kiss ya here, you’d be in even more trouble, huh? Wouldn’t ya feel so good, ya won’t even have the time to think ‘bout usin’ that hourglass of yers? Mmh...”

*Smooch*

You moan out again.

“See? I only stimulated ya a lil’ but you’re already putty in my hands. You’re losin’ the strength in yer body, right? Yer legs are tremblin’ too, you’re barely managin’ to stay standin’...”

*Rustle rustle*

You drop onto your knees.

“Ah-aah...Yer legs gave in. Oh well. I get to do much more suckin’ yer blood like this, so I couldn’t ask for more.”

You look up at Yuma.

“Haha...You’re makin’ the usual lewd expression. Very well. Go ahead and entice me with that erotic face of yers. I’ll gladly accept yer challenge. ...Come on, open yer mouth and stick out yer tongue.”

You obey.

“Mm...Good girl.”

Yuma kisses you passionate.

“...Don’t be scared. I’m just play-bitin’ ya a lil’. Ya like this too, don’t ya?”

You nod.

“Hooh? Seems like you’ve learnt how to be honest. Then hurry up and fess up already. Admit that ya want me. This whole time - for an entire week now - yer body has been achin’ uncontrollably whenever I touch ya, right? I can tell ‘cause I feel the exact same way. I want ya so badly too...And ya should want me to mess ya up real good too...Say it. Yearn for me like the greedy girl ya are. ...If not, it almost seems like this love of mine is one-sided.”

You lift your head.

"Say...What’s yer answer?”

You mumble.

“Pfft...I can’t hear ya when you’re whisperin’ like that. Or are yer feelings only worth that much?”

You repeat yourself, shouting this time.

“Hehe. Yeah, that was loud enough. Ya get a pass.”

*Rustle rustle*

“Ah-aah...You finally said it, huh? Geez, ya really are one hell of a stubborn woman. Well, I guess that’s fine ‘cause I like that side of ya too. I’ll make sure to give ya yer reward now. I want to suck yer blood so badly, it’s startin’ to get hard for me too. I won’t be stoppin’ any time soon, so brace yerself. Ughーー!”

Yuma pins you down.

*Rustle rustle*

“This is the ideal position for lovers, don’t ya think? I get to take in yer everythin’ from on top...And seein’ ya lay on yer back underneath me like that, ya look even more delicious than usual. Well then...Where should I suck from first...?”

*Rustle*

“Maybe I should think ‘bout it after strippin’ ya down?”

You shake your head, telling him that’s too embarrassing.

“Really? What’s there to be embarrassed ‘bout by this point?”

*Rustle*

“I’m tired of seein’ yer scrawny body...”

You frown.

“Hehe...Whatcha gettin’ all sad ‘bout? It proves that I love ya regardless. If anythin’, ya should be happy.”

You ask Yuma if he truly feels that way.

“Of course. ...So cheer up. I’m gonna give ya somethin’ good right now, so stop thinkin’ ‘bout unnecessary shit. All ya need to focus on is my fangs...Haah...My head’s spinnin’ from the sweet scent of blood...Yer cleavage, for example, is lookin’ hella good right now...”

*Smooch*

“Mmh...This is bad, seriously. Come on, it’s time for the moment you’ve been waitin’ for. Better watch closely as my fangs pierce yer skin...”

Yuma bites you.

*Sluuuuurp*

“...Haah...Oi, didn’t I tell ya to look? Don’t avert yer eyes. Take it all in.”

You protest.

“I won’t take no as an answer. If it’s that embarrassin’, just throw yer reason out of the window already.”

You shake your head.

“There’s nothin’ scary ‘bout it. I’m here with ya, right? I don’t care just how corrupted ya get. If anythin’, try and tempt me more by twistin’ and turnin’ yer body ‘round. I’ve held back this whole time...So don’t ya think I deserve a lil’ reward?”

*Rustle*

“Haah...Anyway, this is seriously bad. The fuck’s goin’ on with yer blood? The more I suck, the more I end up cravin’ it. I feel like I’ll go crazy if I don’t get another sip. Ya might actually be a Witch, the kind ya can’t escape from once ya get hooked on her. Ah...Not yet...I haven’t had enough yet.”

He bites you again.

*Sluuuuurp*

“Aah...Haha...I’m surprised by my own lack of control...I might just suck ya dry at this rate...However, it’d be a shame to devour ya in one go...I should take my time to thoroughly savor ya...”

You beg for Yuma to suck your blood more.

“...Hm? Ya prefer that as well? Ya must have really been holdin’ back for those words to be comin’ from yer mouth. ーー Anyway, ya sure ya don’t need to use that lil’ hourglass of yers? At this rate, ya’ll seriously end up devoured by me.”

You shake your head.

“Hehe...Figured so. In the end, that’s yer true nature. For how much ya act like a Saint, you’re so weak to the pleasure. That’s the type of women I want to taint the most. Go ahead...Drown in it. If ya do, I can love and seek ya out even more intensely...So don’t hold back...and lose yerself. (1)”

Yuma bites you a third time.

*Sluuuuurp*

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) The verb ‘iku’ often means ‘to go’, but it can also refer to someone having a climax during sex, or to get high/get tripped up (from drugs, from example). In the DL universe, it is often used to prompt the MC to give in to her own desires and go mad from pleasure.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #yuma mukami #diabolik lovers more more blood #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers drama cd #drama cd

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harrisonstories · 4 years

Photo

NOTE: This a beautiful article by Paul Theroux which I thought was apt for today. There aren’t many writers who I feel “get” George, but Theroux is an exception.

George Harrison - Something in the way he moved us

As Martin Scorsese's portrait of George Harrison is released, celebrated novelist Paul Theroux looks at the man who went from mop-top to mystic

It is a happy thought that the sweetest music arises from an untroubled heart. As though from the sky, here is this strong and contented virtuoso – George Harrison, say – whom we envy for being strong, someone supremely contented. What a lucky man to be able to create such harmony and to penetrate our soul; to make us feel better, to help heal us and ease our minds. Isn't it pretty to think so?

The truth is usually the opposite of this. The art that is indestructible and always fresh never comes easy. Its source is typically uncertain or bleak, sometimes harrowing, the pure notes quavering over an abyss of shadows between life and death, that mournful place from which the most passionate yearnings take shape in the form of a song, a poem, a story, a harmonious vision. But even as I write this, speaking of the complex process of creation, words and music made of doubt and the divided self, the conflicts that help us to be sane, and the paradox of opposites, I seem to hear someone mutter over my shoulder, "Rock music is about as metaphysical as my Aunt Fanny..."

And yet it seems to me impossible to overestimate the resonant clarity of George Harrison's music – his songs of innocence and experience; or the subtle wisdom of his lyrics. Even as a relative youngster, more than 30 years before his untimely death, in his All Things Must Pass album, he was singing powerfully of transformation, in the title track, and "Art of Dying," and "Beware of Darkness," and "What is Life." He could be as jolly as his ukulele-strumming hero and namesake, George Formby, but as soon as he seizes our attention with his humour and his teasing, he is reminding us – and himself – that we are mortal and all things end.

George at his best was a man dedicated to whittling down his ego; he was not one being but many and he remains an enduring figure of fascination to those of us for whom his music runs through our head, reminding us of better times. It is no wonder he was so passionate: he was himself his own wicked twin. He made no bones about this and, a hater of pomposity in all forms, he expressed it with characteristic downright-ness:

"I have this kind of strange thing," he said, "and I put it down to being a Pisces. Pisces is the sign of two fish. The way I see it is that one half is going where the other half has just been. I was in the West and I was into rock'n'roll, getting crazy, staying up all night and doing whatever was supposed to be the wrong things. That's in conflict with all the right things, which is what I learned through India – like getting up early, going to bed early, taking care of yourself and having some sort of spiritual quality to your life. I've always had this conflict."

He was at odds with himself, but who isn't? In that respect "living proof of all life's contradictions," as he put it, he resembles most of us. We recognise him as a kindred soul in his contradictions – and though his life was lived on a vast scale, he was unusually truthful, and in his songs much more explicit than we dare to be. He made it his mission to explore his contradictions in his own way, through his music. So, to say that he was one of the great musicians of his time – one of the most innovative guitarists ever, most imaginative songwriters – is to give only part of the story. "The quiet one," is the stereotypical description of the man – but he was on fire within. To make music that mattered over the years, to bring renewal with each work, he seemed determined to burn out one self after another.

"He had karma to work out," his widow, Olivia, is on the record as saying. "He wasn't going come back and be bad. He was going to be good and bad and loving and angry and everything all at once. You know, if someone said to you, 'okay, you can go through your life and you can have everything in five lifetimes, or you can have a really intense one and have it in one, and then you can go and be liberated,' he would have said, 'give me the one, I'm not coming back here.'"

I also think there's a stark difference between "contradiction" and "confusion". He wasn't confused; had he been he would have found it impossible to search and learn with such clear-sightedness. His friend and mentor Ravi Shankar said that George exhibited tyagi, a Sanskrit term for a feeling of non-attachment or renunciation. Shankar wondered how this aspect of enlightenment could have come so clearly to a worldly lad from Liverpool. It doesn't seem odd to me that this thoughtful man came to feel the sense of freedom bordering on exaltation that mendicants experience in non-attachment. But it is a notable, and noble, quality in a rock star to practice it, as George did.

We all feel that we could do a bit better in our lives; in the secret history of this imaginative soul, George was active in pursuing this path. Surely it arose in large part from his having had everything while still young. At 19 or 20 he was on top of the world – inspiring the world to sing and dance. Performing with The Beatles gave him joy – gave us all joy. But he did not see this exuberance as a final fulfilment; the very fact of The Beatles as a musical and financial phenomenon made him doubtful enough to begin to look for a higher meaning, and – after The Beatles – to go on looking. He knew he was living in the material world, but had he been so attached to it he would not have been able to look deeper into it.

Early in his life as a musician, towards the end of the explosive new sound of The Beatles (and much more than music, it was a seismic shift in popular culture), George found his way to India. Through music and meditation, and the mantras that he chanted until the very end of his life, he was drawn to an unselfish, and ultimately a more mystical view of the world. The man who could make a whole stadium rock began to see silence as another ideal. He has described himself as an idle, smirking, doodling student at school, and yet in India he became devout and studious, a reader of the swamis – and notably, of Swami Vivekananda.

What has become apparent in the decade since his death is the uncanny symmetry of George's life – a life lived to the fullest. What might have seemed random or impulsive in him while he lived, is, in retrospect, a pattern, part performance, part pilgrimage.

His saturation in the material world drove him to seek the spirit in things – and so his life seems a series of vanishings and reappearances, journeys there and back, and even the portraits of him that seem iconic are various, a progression of so many faces, his features, his hair, his posture – different in each one. Yet his gaze is unchanged, his eyes telling us that the same soul is inhabiting this body.

All this sounds solemn, but he was a man of subtle and often self-mocking humour. George was interested in many things beside music, and although music was his first love, he was vitalised by travel, movie-making, and car racing. Look at his friends – the Pythons Gilliam and Idle, Jackie Stewart, Billy Preston, Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan, Ravi Shankar: the funniest men on Earth, the fastest, his most brilliant contemporaries in music.

But equal to his passion for music, and his diverse and close friendships, was an overwhelming desire to get back to earth – literally so, to dig, to plant trees, to surround himself with flowers that he himself had grown. The most obvious characteristic of the houses that he built, or bought and fixed up in the course of his life, are the gardens he planned and planted. No matter how extraordinary the houses, the gardens he created around them surpassed the bricks and mortar. In George's case the gardens he made gave him the sense that he was living in isolation, on an island of his own making. "...it's great when I'm in my garden, but the minute I go out the gate I think: 'What the hell am I doing here?'"

"From the day I met him he was defiant," Olivia said, "and so determined that nothing was going to stop him from leaping as far as he could."

She was thinking of his words in the song "Run of the Mill": "How high will you leap?/ Will you make enough for you to reap it?/ Only you'll arrive – at your own made end/ With no one but yourself to be offended/ It's you that decides."

- “Something in the way he moved us”, Independent (Sep. 2011)

#george harrison #olivia harrison #paul theroux #the beatles #ravi shankar #living in the material world #all things must pass #independent #2011

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buck-nialled · 4 years

Note

"So uh, to be honest im quite nervous for tonight as well" Niall scratches the back of his head and smiles down at his shoes "Got a special lady to come out and see me.” could you maybe write an imagine based off this and have him be all smiley and cutesy about you coming out to one of his tour shows and he even brings you out on stage since the fans are asking to see you? You’re such a talented writer omg I love ALL of your work 😭❤️❤️

AHH, this idea’s so FLUFFY I’m gonna die! thank u anon, enjoy!

Serenade - N. Horan Imagine

Niall’s eyes gazed upon the crowd before him, who was incessantly applauding his entrance onto the stage. His heart was palpitating at a rate faster than usual, Niall acknowledged. He knew why, and thought what could the harm be admitting it to thousands of strangers who felt like a group of old friends in need of catching up? He asks her city how it is doing tonight and hoped her scream would reach volumes above all the others. It would lead his eyes right to her. The logic was flawed but Niall remained hopeful, knowing he’d pick her out in the audience eventually.

“So, uh, to be honest, I’m quite nervous, tonight.” he scratches the back of his head, fingers mangling through his dark locks as he spares a smile at his shoes. His cheeks begin to turn pink beneath the spotlights before he extinguished the theories snowballing in the crowd’s mindless prattle. “Got a special lady to come out and see me.” This made a few cheers and “oohs” echo about the stadium, which did not aid Niall’s cheeks but rather reddened them further. Not knowing what else to do as the audience took in this news, he let out a subconscious chuckle to ease his abashed state. Do what you do best, Nialler, the man thought to himself, make a joke out of it.

“Don’t ask me how the hell I convinced her to do that because I don’t have an answer for you. Maybe it’s because I’m Irish or something I don’t know.” He continues, earning boisterous laughs from seats that were flights away. But he could not discern her giggle through the rowdiness of screams and limbs waving about.

“Can she come out on stage?”

“Bring her on stage, Niall!

“We want to meet her!”

Those seated closer to the stage made their opinions loud and clear about both Niall and the woman he was very much infatuated with. And had he known where she placed herself in the crowd, he would accede to their requests. But her presence had yet to introduce itself amongst the mass of bodies, jammed together like sardines in front of him.

“Um, I have not quite found her in the crowd yet. But here’s hoping I do, and to this person—you know who you are,” his deep tone and blue eyes piercing into the waves of people standing before him sent many girls into a frenzy of squeals and shrieks and all that alike, “this first one is dedicated to you. Everyone who knows this, sing it with me, this is Nice To Meet Ya.” He begins picking the strings of his guitar skillfully, hoping she would take notice of how much passion she held for his craft; if not on the stage then on the ginormous screens zoomed to frame his face as he belts out the pop-rock tune with ease and a gargantuan smile on his face. The adrenaline rush was one he never tired of feeling and hoped would never leave him. His thoughts went back to her: what if she didn’t enjoy the show? What if she decided to leave the show, or even worse, leave him? He had not even seen her through the preparation of his show to now, the beginning of his set, which begged the question if she had even shown up like she eagerly promised.

Somehow, time passed on with the deafening screams and glow of flashlights from phones, and he was almost through with his set. His heart was cracking in the process of the final song he was persisting in smiling through, no matter how heavy his cheeks felt. After giving his “thank you’s” to both the audience and the city, they were objecting to his leaving. It made his heart lighten slightly, enough for him to offer a possible encore after a short break.

He raced off of the stage with the audience applauding to no end. It always made the biggest grin overcome Niall’s face and a surge of warmth inundate his insides. But tonight, it sounded like a thunderstorm he heart yearned to seek shelter from before becoming flooded.

He zig-zags through all of the moving tech carts and stagehands scattered about backstage, keeping his head down and trying to remember the directions to his dressing room. His head was throbbing so hard he felt the only remedy was to retreat to his bus and numb it with alcohol and long sleep. He did not even want to contemplate the vast reasons why she had not shown up to his show. His theory was him wanting something more serious than what she might want. But he could have sworn he read all the signs correctly. He took every hint and seemed to check all of her boxes, as she did him. This must have been her way of telling him she was not interested, which was quite a way to be silently rejected. Thousands were watching his heart crumble for an hour and a half without even realizing it.

His feet pick up speed as he neared his dressing room, and right as his hand was reaching for the doorknob, it turned itself and the door opened without his doing. Niall was afraid security had not been as precocious as they should have been and was expecting to greet a fan who was a bit more obsessive with their affection, or maybe “hands-on”. It would not be the first time Niall has walked into his dressing room with a few of his items missing.

But it was neither of those, it was her. A smile graced her face as she said his name. And Niall discovered then that two syllables from her lips were all it took for his heart to feel whole again. It still did nothing to help the boy’s confusion.

“W-what are…why aren’t you…out there?” Niall sputtered out, hands now running through his locks to maintain his sanity.

“Well, I guess when your team mailed me the ticket, they gave me a backstage pass too.” A nervous chuckle leaves her at his frantic hands trying to occupy themselves. “When I came and started talking to one of the stage managers back here, he said you two were close friends and I told him my name. He told me you wouldn’t shut up about me and to stay back here if I wanted as a little surprise. But my feet got tired of standing by the stage, and you hadn’t looked my way all night but you were so in your element up there…I just figured you had enough to focus on so I’d wait for you back here.”

“But you were here the whole time?” She nods and grabs the boy’s hands; afraid he was going to scalp himself by the end of this conversation if she did not stop him.

“Thank you for inviting me. This was the best concert I’ve ever attended.”

“Really?” Niall lifts a brow, thumbs now subconsciously rubbing circles onto the back of her hands.

“This is the only concert I’ve ever attended.” Her admission makes Niall laugh in disbelief. “But now when I go to any others, I have something to compare them to.”

“Well, trust me when I say you’ll be at plenty of mine from now on. A little extra encouragement never hurts, ya know?” She hums and moves her hands out of his, before bringing her arms up to rest on his shoulders. “I-um…I thought you hadn’t shown…was worried that you weren’t interested.” Her smile dissipates as his eyes flicker down to the floor. This makes her grab his neck and tug his body closer to hers. The unexpected jostle has Niall’s hands on her hips instinctively, a feeling both had been missing for these past few weeks.

“Niall, I’ve never not been interested in you. And if there is ever a day where I am, then know that I’ve surely gone crazy.” She has always been mad about him. And if the kiss they share moments later isn’t proof that the feeling is reciprocated, Niall knew something which surely would. After breaking apart from one another’s lips, the “come on” is barely heard by her before her body is trailing shortly behind Niall, their hands remaining connected as they approach the stage. The millions of eyes that were focused on her, Niall speaking to them, and all of the thunderous hands smashing together all came into view so fast, it was impossible for her to let the view sink in for a few moments, let alone protest his spontaneous show and tell of his new girlfriend. Well, if four months was still considered new. Clearly, Niall did not think that as he shrugged his guitar back over his shoulder.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep my lady out here for this final song.” Of course, nobody in the audience protested, especially to Niall’s last few words. Before he continued, a stagehand ran up onto the stage to set a stool down beside her and disappeared before she had the chance to thank the man. She just sat there, gushing at how close she was to him, and how many strangers stood gawking at it. But if she’s being honest with herself, she was always gawking at Niall, even if it was not noticeable. She’s learned to keep her jaw from falling whenever he joins her in the shower impromptu or let saliva trickle from her mouth when she woke up beside him and he was still snoozing, giving her time to admire him. She just learned to let her eyes do all of the talking, especially with him standing in front of the largest crowd her eyes have ever been introduced to, ready to serenade her.

“This is an older one, but I’m sure most of you know it. Feel free to join in if ya do.” It only took the opening chords to send the crowd into a mild frenzy, but it morphs into a riot in a matter of seconds when Niall begins singing.

“Your hand fits in mine like it’s made just for me but bear this in mind: it was meant to be.” Many voices layered over Niall’s instantaneously. Of course, she had heard the song before, and she knows exactly why Niall chose it.

It was the last time they saw each other before Niall’s departure for the start of his tour. The morning of his flight, he found her in his shirt, in his kitchen, in a trance as the eggs sizzled on the pan above the stove and her body swayed while she hummed a particular tune. In his groggy state, the notes took a moment to register. Upon entering the bridge of the song was when his arms wrapped around her middle and they began swaying together, his tired voice singing quietly into her ear. It was like a letter addressed to her and nobody else, a poem for her ears and her ears only.

“You’ll never love yourself half as much I love you. And you’ll never treat yourself right darling but I want you to. If I let you know I’m here for you…maybe you’ll love yourself like I-“

As though it were premeditated, the audience bellowed “YOU SING!” nearly in-sync with Niall. And she did. While he kept strumming the guitar, the voice he had been itching to hear all night was finally heard above all of the others, before melding in with them like a perfect choir.

“Love you, oh-oh-oh…”

But before the line was finished, Niall’s lips connected with hers, and the audience’s composed singing was squeals yet again.

i’m in loooveee with my masterlistttt...and all it’s little blurbs

maybe leave a request too if you wanna

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laws-yellow-submarine · 4 years

Note

Hiiii! Can you please do the NSFW A-Z for Zoro? 💕

Hello! Thanks for waiting so patiently for this, I’ve been working on it in between shifts and breaks and all that haha much easier to do the whole thing if you do it in chunks rather than all at once! I hope you enjoy!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Considering that he falls asleep pretty much instantly, he’s not too good about aftercare; he’s absolutely down for cuddles though, and will likely even seek his partner out in his sleep.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On his partner: He’s an ass man, he just really loves touching/grabbing/squeezing/whatever-ing his partner’s butt.

On himself: So this’ll be hard to explain, but Zoro doesn’t really have a favorite part of his own body. Not because he’s unhappy with how he looks or anything to do with that, after all he puts a lot of work into keeping his body strong and in shape; but it’s all a vessel for his dream of being the World’s Greatest Swordsman. The closest thing you could come to for an answer would be his muscles, but that’s only because they’re the physical embodiment of what he can do as a fighter. He doesn’t attribute any emotion to his physical form, it’s all just hardware.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Considering how grossly filthy Zoro is at pretty much any given time, he has zero qualms about getting cum everywhere. Please spray him with a hose (honestly just spray him with a hose even without the sex, the man only bathes once a week, and that's a crime)

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Zoro actually really likes getting pegged (when he's with a woman), and when he's with a male partner he actually tends to bottom. It's not something he's ashamed of, per se, but it's not something most would think when they look at him, so it can be a bit of a surprise

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Zoro has zero experience, but once he finds someone he wants to be with he's ready and willing to learn the ropes. He approaches it just as earnestly as his regular training (though with a few more blushes of course). He mostly just needs to be guided through at first; his instincts are pretty sharp, and they’ll kick in pretty easily.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He's fine either being on top or bottom, but his favorite positions are ones that let his partner grip him to the point of scratching him. Feeling their nails dig into his skin is a pretty big turn on and just gets him going even more than he already was. He's also a fan of sex while standing up, and he can easily hold up his partner's body while he's slamming into them.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He's unintentionally goofy, as in he's totally serious about everything he says and does, but the things he's saying and doing are so ridiculously silly that the whole thing ends up being hilarious. As he gets more comfortable having sex, he'll stop getting so embarrassed when his partner starts giggling at his antics, and he'll even be silly on purpose.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

It's a mess down there, and to be honest he can't be bothered to trim it. Maybe if he's asked really nicely (aka threatened) he'll do something about it, but otherwise it's staying a mess.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Zoro is just downright affectionate during sex. Even if it's super kinky sex, he's finding every opportunity he can to kiss his partner, whether it be on the mouth, back, shoulder, stomach, or just wherever he can reach; he just wants them as close as possible. He's so intense about it.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

When he's not interested in anyone in particular, he can go quite a while without masturbating; he even considers it a form of discipline training (how long can I deal with the fact that I'm horny right now, and can I hold off long enough for it to just go away?). It can become harder to keep his focus when he is interested in someone, but either way he's no stranger to masturbation. As long as he's alone and no one can hear him, he's fine.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Zoro's down to try anything once, but the one thing he knows for sure he likes (after trying it) is anal, both giving and receiving. Also impact play (on himself, though if his partner's into it he's up for that as well)

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere he knows he won't be walked in on; he's really got no particular preference on location. He'll try to stick to comfortable places (like a couch or a bed) whenever possible for his partner's sake, but comfort isn't an issue for him as long as it's private.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He gets turned on the most when his adrenaline is high; so after working out, after a battle, things like that. His blood's already pumping, and then afterwards he can settle down for a nap. Win-win!

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He won't do public sex; not because he's embarrassed about his performance or anything like that (after all, it's one more thing he can lord over a certain cook), but he's a private person. Others don't need to see how he acts with his partner in their intimate moments, and nobody except him gets to see his partner in that situation.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Zoro loves receiving, he goes just absolutely wild for it; but he definitely gives as good as he gets. The man can hold a whole ass sword in his jaw, and can even hold a clear conversation while doing so! He can go for a long time without his jaw getting tired, and he’s...dextrous? Shall we say? He also can absolutely talk to his partner while he’s going down on them, which the first time he did that was definitely a shock, but after that he occasionally just...says something (about the weather for instance), just to be silly. What a dork.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He is the definition of "fast and rough", he's relentless. But, there's passion in what he does, and that's its own kind of sensuality. He can go slower if his partner would like, but he has to physically slow himself down as it's not his default setting

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Zoro has no problem with quickies. If it's a matter of "we have about 5 minutes before someone walks in here but we're both horny", that seems like an easy decision for him. He does still prefer to take his time with his partner though, so he might find them again later, time permitting. It's also going to be very rough, and may leave his partner a tad sore for a while afterwards.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

As long as the risk isn't "let's see if we can fuck without getting caught" he's fine, and even then it's mostly that he doesn't wanna be caught with his pants around his ankles in an emergency. But honestly, this is Zoro; what's life without a little risk?

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Zoro has ridiculous amounts of stamina. Sex can end up lasting a pretty long time with him, so hydrate well before and after. It'll lead to some nice sleep afterwards, though.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't own toys, but if his partner has them he's more than happy to try using them. It's all part of the learning/training process for him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Zoro would like to tease, and he gives it a fair shot, but he usually can't hold himself back for very long to really make it worth it. He just wants to taste and feel every inch of his partner's body, and he loves the sounds they make when he's pleasuring them.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

If/When he’s being teased, or just during foreplay when his partner is touching him or blowing him or grinding on him or whatever they may be doing, Zoro downright whimpers. He’s trying so hard to remain in control of himself, but when he feels good it’s harder and harder for him to remain disciplined, and those little sounds just slip out of him (especially pre-timeskip, before he’s had further training with Mihawk; he’s much less self-controlled then). He’s pretty embarrassed by it though, so don’t tease him about it (but feel free to continue teasing him in other ways hehehe). Otherwise he's pretty loud anyway, but not much for words; it's just a bunch of noisy grunts and caveman noises. He's so noisy!

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Surprising probably no one, Zoro is a bit of a masochist! Nothing too crazy, but the slight sting of pain during foreplay and sex is a huge turn on for him, and drives him absolutely wild. It's part of why battle gets him worked up.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

His penis is pretty average in length and girth, with a slight curve to the left.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He's pretty good at staving off the urges, but his sex drive is remarkably high. He's honestly always DTF, so long as circumstances permit it.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He passes right out, sorry. He’s just exerted a lot of energy and stamina, no different than when he trains and works out, and he celebrates by taking a nice nap. He’ll be up again soon though, he never sleeps for very long.

#roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro headcanons #not safe #one piece #one piece headcanons #thanks for the ask!#anon asks #and with this we complete the trifecta of 'One Piece Boys I'd Smash If Given The Chance' lmfao #more soft/bottom Zoro please...

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t4t-lumpygrab · 3 years

Text

Bedtime

me @ the lumpygrab fandom: pspspspspspspsps

Anyway this is day one of fluffember! Yes I am doing it 8 days late mind ur own business <3

Lemongrab would never be able to understand how his subjects did it. All he needed to do was yell “LIGHTS OUT!” and every single one of them would drop as if dead. He’d had to stop calling lights out while they were working, or they would literally fall asleep in the trees they were picking fruit from. Lemonblombo broke his leg and since then bedtime in the Lemon Earldom had been made longer with extra steps like “make sure you’re actually in a bed first” but even so it was astounding. Just like that they’d all be asleep.

If only the same could be said for him.

Lemongrab tossed over again and muttered something incomprehensible. Why couldn’t he do it? He was tired, he was in bed, he’d done everything you were supposed to, he’d drank the stupid warm milk and everything- so why couldn’t he just sleep already?! It bordered on unacceptable.

It was his fourth night in a row having insomnia. Fourth! It was disgusting. Unbelievable. His brain- how dare it. If LSP was here he’d complain all about it to her, but four nights ago she’d moved back to Lumpy Space for her coronation.

As soon as he remembered that his chest tightened and it felt like his insides were tying themselves into knots. He instinctively reached out to touch her side of the bed, seeking her warmth but finding only cold, empty sheets.

He drew his hand back. He was busy during the day so he could distract himself with paperwork and manual labour from the gnawing loneliness. He wouldn’t think about how each day she wasn’t with him, it grew a bit bigger. Till now it was all he could feel and he couldn’t hide from how much he missed her.

Lemongrab muttered something else and yanked his pillow down so he could hug it. He sadly stroked it but the texture was all wrong. LSP was covered in a fine coat of fluffy fur, so when he touched her, his hand dissolved in softness. And she had been so warm.

He turned his head to look up at the ceiling mural Jermaine had painted for him. Jermaine hadn’t understood why Lemongrab insisted on going over all his sketches and personally drawing in each individual purple flower. Or why he had to lie there and watch him paint every single one. Then he’d seen him and LSP together and it all made sense. The dog hadn’t said anything to him (thank glob) but he’d smiled at him knowingly in a way that made the earl squirm with embarrassment. It was so obvious that they were meant to symbolise her. So he’d always have a part of her with him when he went to bed.

He looked up at the outlines of the flowers in the dim moonlight. They seemed so high up, too high up to reach and touch, as far away from him as she was. It didn’t feel like he had a part of her with him, it felt like he had a cruel reminder of the empty space beside him. Mocking him.

He hugged the pillow and tried to pretend it was her, but the shape was all wrong. The size was wrong. The everything was wrong. And no matter how much he squeezed it, it would never hug him back. The arms that were supposed to be around him were gone. The gentle sound of her breathing was gone. It just lay there, cold and limp.

He turned his head to look at the phone on the bedside table. It would be wrong to call her this late. It would be unacceptable. He should be ashamed of himself for even considerin-

Lemongrab reached for the phone with zero hesitation..

It was stupid. He was a grown man. He didn’t need someone else to put him to sleep.

Lemongrab shakily dialled the memorised phone number.

It was dumb to assume that just because they were in love they could be together all the time. He had to get used to being on his own. He should already be used to being on his own. He’d been alone for all his life- being together was supposed to be the hard part. He’d always found other people difficult. It had always just been him. He’d always been able to look after himself before. He shouldn’t need someone else to put him to sleep.

He jabbed the final button. He needed her to put him to sleep.

He pressed the phone to his head. Nothing. Just the dial tone. A dull beep beep, beep beep instead of her voice. He traced round the phone cord, running his finger up and down as his heart raced. Bump bump, bump bump. She’d pick up soon. He’d hear her voice. The gentle sound of her breathing into the receiver, her voice travelling down the wire he was wrapping his finger round right into his heart. Bump bump. Beep beep. He wound the cord round and round. Beep beep. He pulled it so tight it nearly snapped.

She wasn’t picking up.

He let go of the wound up cord as all the excitement he’d been building up unravelled. It was late after all, she’d already gone to bed. She was already asleep, gently breathing as she dreamed. She didn’t need him, he thought, not like he needed her. It was just going to be him tonight, alone. Like he always had been.

There was a click. “Hello?” came her muffled voice. “What the lump is this, it’s two in the morning. Dummy prank caller. If I ever meet you it’s on sight, I’ll rip off your arms, I’ll rip off your ugly legs, I’ll rip off your wig- unless you don’t wear one, then I’ll put a wig on you just to rip it off. And-”

He instantly felt better. It was like magic. “Hello? Mmmmm Princeeess?”

“Omg hiiiiiiii Lemmy~” LSP switched fast enough to give anyone whiplash. “Why aren’t you asleep is something wrong?”

Lemongrab smiled and gently rocked back and forth as her voice washed over him. “I am, ngh, okay now.”

“Can you like, not sleep, or something?”

Lemongrab didn’t say anything as the answer was obvious.

“Well anyway, I’m really happy you called. I was like, literally just thinking about you this is crazy!”

“Iiii was… thinking about yoouu tooo, my sugarlump.”

“What were you thinkiiing?~” LSP said flirtatiously, “were you like, thinking about how hot I am?”

“Well no-”

LSP switched back to her “I will rip your arms off” voice. “What the hell do you mean no, little man?”

Lemongrab broke into a cold sweat. “I-I meeaaan, my darling, that Iiii…” Lemongrab clutched the phone cord from embarrassment, “I miss you.”

He stroked the cord with a yellow finger. “I know you need tooo go to Lumpy Space for your mm coronation- and very acceptable it is, I’m sure! You deserve to bee a queen, and to have everyone admire you as much as Iiii doo, I want everyone to see how special you are. But… But I wish you were with me too.” Now that he’d started it all came pouring out. All the little things he hadn’t even realised he missed about her, like having her clothes hanging next to his in the wardrobe, or eating dinner together, he hadn’t realised how quiet the table was without her, how lonely, how empty the castle felt. How empty he felt.

LSP didn’t say anything for a while and then there was a weird crackling sound on her end of the line.

“W-what was that?”

“I gave you a kiss through the phone.” she said factually.

“O-oh. Mmm thanks?”

“I miss kissing…” LSP said dreamily, “You get so embarrassed about it it’s soooo cute! You know, I’d never seen a boy blush green before.”

LSP would probably be happy to know that he was furiously blushing green all the way through that sentence. Lemongrab didn’t say anything, he just muttered flustered gibberish and played with the phone cord like a teenage girl.

“I miss… I miss so much stuff I can’t even pick one. I just miss you. I am having fun in Lumpy Space, and my coronation is gonna be lumping amazing. But I just keep thinking that it’d be so much more fun if you were here.” LSP sighed heavily.

“Hmmm…” Lemongrab hummed as he listened to her, “mayybee… Iii should visit?”

“OH MY GLOB YEAH YOU SHOULD TOTALLY COME!” LSP yelled into the phone loud enough to blow his ears off if he had them. “Wait aren’t you like, mad busy tho?”

“Yes but… I have come to aaa realisation,” He was wrong when he thought LSP didn’t need him the way he needed her. She did need him. She missed him and she wished he was with her the same way he did. This whole time they’d been secretly yearning after each other. He shouldn’t have to be alone if they both wanted to be together. And maybe they couldn’t be together all the time, but they could try.

“My people need me but, you need mee toooo...I know your parents need you… but I need you too.” he admitted quietly, “I can’t sleep without you.”

“Aw!” LSP gave him another phone kiss, “Okay okay I’ll put you to sleep.”

Lemongrab was overjoyed. “Really?!” LSP shhed him through the phone. The sound of it was gentle and soft, and so real. Almost as if she was there with him, on her side of the bed.

“Lieee dooown~” LSP murmured and he obeyed her, already feeling sleepy, “Close your eyes~” she didn’t need to tell him twice. “Would you like me to tell you a bedtime story or should I sing?” she simpered into his ear and he shivered.

“Sing…” No one could understand why Lemongrab liked LSP’s voice so much, most people just put it down to him having peculiar tastes as he’d never exactly been known for his normalcy. Even LSP wondered why he genuinely liked hearing her sing, no one else really did. She wasn’t used to it so she couldn’t understand it.

She asked him about it once and all he said was; “You have aaa... beautiful voice.”

“Yeah right.” she’d scoffed. “I sound like a freaking grown man trying to do a valley girl impression.”

Lemongrab looked sad and was quiet for a while. “If you do not believe that I like it then, will you believe me if I say, I love it because it’s a part of you?”

“This is the song baby Sweet P likes,” she told him, “he like, totaaaally loves me. I’m, like, absolutely his favourite babysitter eva! Even though I trashed his parents’ house, but that’s not important. What I mean is: I think you’ll like it.”

Lemongrab was already half asleep. He shifted to get comfortable in the bed he’d just been tossing around in, with the phone leaned against him. He heard LSP’s gentle breathing as she inhaled to start singing and then the sweet melody of her voice wrapped him up like a blanket.

“But-ter cakes, cup-cakes and ice-cream-cakes,

Small baby bums, and the friend-ship of pup-pies…”

It was a tiny lullaby and LSP worried for a moment that it was too short, but she heard Lemongrab breathing deeply through the receiver and grinned to herself.

Lemongrab was normally the one who fell asleep first while she stayed up late. She hadn’t realised how much she needed his soft breathing to calm her and lull her to sleep until she tried to sleep alone in her own bed and it felt so wrong. It was so cold without him draping an arm over her when he rolled over. Pulling her close, making her feel safe. It had been so lonely.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, just listening to him until she felt her own eyelids begin to droop. She planted another kiss on the phone’s speaker for him and whispered the final part of the song. She’d hoped he’d still be awake to hear it, but to be honest, she just wanted to say it to him.

“You are more precious than anything in this world. And I will always, always love you...”

#adventure time #atimers #lemongrab #lsp #lumpygrab #lumpy space princess #fanfiction #adventure time fanfiction #my writing #other ppl in the advtime tag: obsidian...#me: purpol cloud... kith yellow pointy....#fluffember #fluffember 2020

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