#i was so devastated and frustrated with all my drawings lately

[starkspi]

Trying to bribe @morningstarwrites with these sketches so I can read the new chapter earlier ha! Thank you for the inspiration, the challenge and the absolute joy this fic brings me. I’d kiss your brain folds if I could.

[hungharrington]

Could you write some smut of Steve with a girl who’s insecure about her thick thighs and he’s like obsessed with them

thank u for the request honey! hope this is okay <3 1.3k. warnings: afab!reader, steve eating r out, fingering, r is very critical of her own body image so beware!) remember babies, every body is a good body <3 ur all hot as fuck

By the time Steve’s kisses reach your stomach, you’re beginning to squirm.

Not for the reason’s one might hope for though.

Somehow, Steve notices as well — which is a surprise considering you’re focused entirely on trying not to show this part of you, literally and figuratively. Maybe you should be endeared that he’s so keyed onto you that he can tell the moment a concern worms into your head. It’s all love, after all.

“Uh oh,” Steve says, mouth still hovering just above your belly. He presses one more quick kiss and moves up a bit more so he can see your face clearer. His own brows knit together as he says, “You got that little wrinkle between your brows—”

He pokes between your eyebrows with his finger lightly and you realise he’s right, your face smoothing as you try to school it. Too late.

“Something’s wrong.” He states obviously. His next words are softer, kinder. “You not in the mood anymore?”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence, sitting up a bit straighter. “No, no, it’s not that.”

Steve relaxes a bit at you words, more of his weight resting back on the cradle of your hips. You can feel the hairs of his happy trail press against your tummy, the bend of his arms pressed against your sides. He ducks his head low and plants another kiss to your ribcage.

“Mm, what is it then?” He hums lowly. Another kiss, his bottom lip scraping as he drags his mouth along your skin lovingly. They drop from his mouth easily, one after the other, leaving a mess of wet kisses across your midriff.

You sigh softly, desire churning up inside your belly, fiery hot. Steve trails down, hands slipping to pinch at the edges of your panties and he begins working them down. You let him, breathes turning to pants as Steve’s kisses turn a little meaner. He nips and nibbles as he travels down.

Pulling back for a moment, Steve grins as you kick out your ankle and send your panties flying— his hands settling back on your knees and gliding down to hold your thighs tenderly. You can’t help it— you squirm again.

“There!” Steve says, about to lean back down to kiss you but pausing when he notices it again. “What are you- why’re squirming, honey?”

And oh, he’s figured you out completely.

You fight the urge to pout and find it hard to meet Steve’s brown eyes when he’s doing that goddamn sweet look that makes you want to tell him everything. It’s stupid. It’s stupid.

Steve tries to give you a comforting squeeze but he doesn’t seem to realise he’s squeezing the very problem; your thighs. You squirm again.

“C’mon, what is—”

“I just don’t… like my thighs that much.” You admit, swallowing back your embarrassment. You stare at the ceiling, a little annoyed that you’ve interrupted sex so you can talk about this. “And when you touch them too much… it just draws attention to them and— ugh! Can we not talk about this right now?”

Your try to press your thighs closed, feeling too exposed, but Steve doesn’t let you. His hands are gentle but firm and you look back down at him, wilting a bit at his sad and confused expression.

“What’s wrong with your thighs?” Steve asks earnestly. He sounds genuinely a bit devastated.

“Steve.”

“No, I wanna know.” He insists, hands still on your thighs, fingers pressing in. “What’s wrong with your thighs?”

You feel like you might cry — in frustration, in your own freakin’ self pity. Your voice is a weak whisper when you say, “Steve, they’re huge.”

Your eyes crush close so you don’t have to see Steve’s face, sighing to yourself and the ugly emotion wrestling with your chest. You wait for the touch on your thighs to retreat but… it doesn’t.

“And?” Steve says finally. He seems to remember his hands, fingers moving deftly to start massaging the flesh of your thighs. All the moves of a well-learned lover, devoted.

“And you don’t think that I love that?”

He bends and peppers kisses along the inside of your thigh, slow and purposeful. You can’t help how you squirm under the touch but this time Steve is expecting it. He doesn’t let up, just switches to the other thigh and murmurs against your skin, “You think that I don’t love that there’s more of you I can love on?”

You feel like, maybe, you want to cry again for a whole ‘nother reason this time. He’s so fucking nice to you.

Steve’s kisses grow more fervent, his teeth nipping at the skin — his hands slide down to your hips, grabbing at the doughy flesh appreciatively.

“Can’t believe,” he murmurs between his kisses. “You don’t think I love these— that these aren’t one of my favorite things about you.”

His kisses are so far down your inner thighs, it sets your arousal spiking high, you’re slick just inches from his hungry mouth. This time when your say his name, it’s in a whiny keen.

“Steve.”

“I got you, honey,” He assures you, his fingers gliding along the softness of your inner thighs, finding the well of slick building at your entrance. He teases at it, fingers gathering your slick and spreading it through your folds.

His kisses resume where you thigh meets your hip, easing his finger into your cunt and this time, when you start to squirm and write, it’s because of the blazing lust that aches deep in your gut. You can’t help but moan.

“Shhh, I got you.” Steve whispers, his finger fucking slowly in and slowly out. Every movement is paired with a dozen kisses along your thighs, dropping little reminders of his love. Your heart blazes nearly as hot as your cunt, especially as Steve’s murmurs continue. “Yeah, that’s it, I got you, sweet girl.”

You mewl pitifully at his words, torn between the urge to squirm at how he grips your thighs again, fingers spread wide and grip hungry — but it’s devoured up instantly when he leans down and puts his mouth on you.

His tongue is warm, poking around your clit almost experimentally. He hums, a deep nearly growling noise of content, and dives in. His lips wrap around your clit and he flicks his tongue expertly, in time with his finger pumping in and out of you, making your back arch and another whimper of his name leave your mouth.

“Steve, fuck— Steve,” you pant. One of your hand begs to be holding his but he’s too enraptured by doting on you and your particular insecurity.

Steve pulls off, reaching his thumb up to roll your clit beneath it tantalising well. He nuzzles into your v-line adoringly, planting even more kisses. “My pretty girl, mmm,” He says, voice raspy. “So good, letting me make her feel good, yeah? Letting me love on her thighs.”

You nod without thinking, just agreeing with whatever comes out his mouth. You’re getting warmer and warmer, wound tighter and tighter. This time when you go searching for his hand across the sheets, Steve spots it right away and his free hand lurches out to intertwine with yours. He gives it a quick squeeze.

“You squeeze real hard to tell me how good m’doing, okay?” He says, not really asking — because then his mouth is back on your clit, his finger in your cunt joined by another and moving with renewed vigour. A moan warbles out your throat, hips rolling in your pleasure as he plays with your body in that perfect way only he seems to know. Pleasure mounts, close to blooming. Your thighs start to tremble.

Your hold his hand is so tight, you must leave indent marks, half moons on his skin — and you don’t let up the whole entire time. Testament to how good he is, at loving you and making you feel good.

[emilybeemartin]

Hey so, I just happened across the "the river knows its time" drawing you posted at the end of February; and maybe this is a bit personal but it meant so much to me to see that picture when I did that I had to express my gratitude. I've been Going Through It with stuff related to the fact that I keep having miscarriages and nobody knows why. I lost four before I had my only child back in 2019 (literally a miracle), and lost yet another back in November- my first since getting up the nerve to try again, and it very nearly took me out physically as well as emotionally. It's been a long, exhausting journey of grief, anger, confusion, pain, and fear, and there's been a lot of asking "why?" with no real answers to be had. And with some stuff going on lately for me with testing and doctors and whatnot, it's been extra frustrating and emotional. So seeing that piece, which is so beautiful just as an art piece alone without adding context into it, but knowing the reference too... Idk how to words it right now, I'm getting all weepy again just trying to explain. But thank you. I needed that so much, far more than I realized, and I feel seen, understood, and comforted. Thank you so, so much. <3

I'm sitting here trying to think how to respond, because there don't seem to be any words that are adequate. My whole heart goes out to you, as a mom but also just as someone living in the same world as you. What a truly intimate and devastating form of grief. I'm so sorry for your losses and struggle.

One thing about the Queen's Thief series that I can't say about other book series I read as a child is that it's the only series that has grown with me as I've aged. Whatever juncture I'm at, whether it's navigating childhood friendships, feeling lonely in college, adjusting to new motherhood, or feeling creatively stuck, every re-read seems to unveil something new that helps me makes sense of whatever I'm struggling with. The "river knows its time" line has helped me, too, and for that, of course, we can thank @meganwhalenturner.

All the peace and love to you on your journey, you're not alone.

[chthonicgodling]

okay!

an Elysium Drama Update!

ahem that is, another textual Elysium drama update, in my hopes and dreams I want to draw things SO MANY THINGS but I have many things to draw first and i have zero energy lately so. TEXT POST disclaimer this did get very very long what a shockerrr but woo

recap: here. Crucial to read that first! (and its linked predecessor!) *our timeline is all fucky wucky right now: Elysium time has been like. a day. two days.

Tory and Maci divided and conquered through the palace to try to scope out if Loki was like, hiding in another room. he is not—oh my god he is not. he’s really gone. Elysium Loki-pregnancy number 3 officially 3 for 3 on cryptically panic vanishing.

cat was kind of let out of the bag as mentioned in my last informal update when Tory stumbled upon Vali, Nari, Eisa, and Einmyria and accidentally told them about the baby. (not who the other parent was!) AND NOW, here’s what’s happened since, ending with where we are right now which is a genuinely unexpected and pending hilarious twist of events! READ ON✨✨

So, aforementioned four Lokikids went off to convene another Sibling Meeting with Rane about newfound baby info and Loki’s REAL disappearance while Tory went off to find Maci. did we find him?!?! no, says Tory very quietly. Maci’s whole face falls she’s now in tears. (“…He really left…?”) okay.,, well. NOW what do they do?????

Tory mentions that some of the kids know what’s going on now and that they were calling a meeting together; maybe they could pop in and see if the kids had any ideas on how to find Loki so they could all work together. okay great plan! Only problem: this is a TOP SECRET meeting.

….Problem quickly solved by ambushing Libby (worst liar of the litter) in the hallway.

Unfortunately when Libby returns from asking Rane if they can join, Rane’s apparent answer was not even a no, it was an ABSOLUTELY NOT. too fucking bad though— Tory and Maci follow Libby and crash the meeting.

it is here that Maci and Tory — and we, the eagerly watching distressed audience — now discover some things about the LokiKid clan:

1: hilariously, Rane is in charge as self appointed leader. - she is 11 years old yes. ruling with an iron fist. No one questions this, not even much older and bigger brothers Fen & Jör, who are present through this meeting as looming figures OVER HER SHOULDER backing her up. Rane is holding court.

2: less hilariously and actually very upsettingly - this may be the worst possible moment to discover, in a crisis, how apparently most of Loki’s kids seem to FUCKING HATE TORY AND MACI. oops! uh-oh! Especially Rane and Vali, glaring the most predominantly.

After a tense stand off with Rane (finally with Tory desperately threatening to pull rank on her to let them attend this meeting; Rane’s response, dryly: “Don’t bother. Your titles carry no weight amongst the children of Loki. We only humor you to be polite.”) Eisa and Einmyria convince Rane to let THEIR parents stick around, also helped along by Tory finally telling them that the new baby on the way was sired by him.

…mass shock. Oh so MACI drove him out?!??! QUICK reassurance that no no no she’s on his side now she’s just as devastated that he’s gone— no one’s really even buying this and tensions grow.

Because well, the kids want him back but THEY know the drill. Loki leaves when he has babies. He’ll send for THEM eventually, privately, but he’s not to be disturbed - certainly not for Tory and Maci, eeeugh. Rane (and Vali) are the most coldly vicious about this but lmfao all of them are kindave in agreement, at least no one’s correcting them. They go back and forth, Tory trying to explain in increasing frustration - the baby is Too big and Loki is weakened. Loki’s a fucking idiot and running from his problems and is not in a good mental space. They love him they need him he has to come home. He just has to.

But Rane, and on behalf of her siblings in a United front, is having none of it- YOU KNOW WHAT some choice canon convo snippets and oh my god I desperately want to draw this REMEMBER RANE’S 11 AND WEARING A FUCKING TOP HAT - btwwww Rane’s ALWAYS been like this, in my brain. this is her very first opportunity to shine! ahem,

Rane: “How arrogant it is to presume he’s better off with you, of all people, than caring for himself.”

Tory:  “Is he better off without us?”

Rane: “Well. My father’s judgement of his own circumstances is absolute. Seeing as he’s no longer here, you tell me.”

[…]

Vali: “Well, here we are. He always has reasons for fleeing as well.”

Maci: “Your father’s an anxious self-destructive wreck, who we love and care about. His judgements and reasons historically suck, and he needs to come back home.”

Rane: “You especially have no business seeking his return. You’re an enemy of my family. And now you’ve driven him away.”

melting melting melting AHHHHHHH

this back and forth goes on and on until finally LIBBY interrupts, watching this whole thing timidly as newest Lokikid, adjusting to the dynamic;

what happens, says Libby, if we don’t find him and bring him home?

well, worst case scenario, says Tory, is injury to the child; to Loki himself; or both. Maci points out that he could end up losing his powers and stuck somewhere where no one can get him, as he had lost his powers during pregnancies before (Rane herself even.) suddenly the gravity of this all hits home when Nari points out that their pantheon can die - Loki could DIE. childbirth is an injurious death. Suddenly, it’s not a matter of what Loki would want (they know what Loki would want, to be left alone) but what’s BEST for his well-being (bringing him HOME). Reluctantly…,,, the tune changes. Vali is the last onboard, but Rane’s word is absolute (lmao).

…Fen also admits he was going to look for Loki anyway regardless of this meetings outcome.

So! How to find him? Finally, the kids share with Tory all of Loki’s usual hiding places. Across realms, though with a baby he’s probably too weak to do this. Often in the upper world, cloaking houses in disguise and blending into Midgard. And finally, in the POCKET VOIDS of the Underworld……..

IMPORTANT INTERLUDE! Now, the pocket voids are an Elysium canon thing. When Loki magically fused with the Underworld long ago, the aftershocks of the magical turnover created many little spaces and gaps “between” physical spaces of the Underworld. They’re almost impossible to find, shifting and infinite, private and discreet. …unsettling and empty. Kind of a collection of “backrooms” of the Underworld, liminal spaces that no one but Loki, as accidental creator, can get into. Only Loki knows how to thoroughly navigate them.

The existence of the pocket voids was discovered when Thanatos escaped back in 2013, I promise I’m going somewhere with that thought. as this was a series of areas that Thanatos was able to escape to. well how was Thanatos able to get into those himself?? I’ll get to that. :3

For now, back to the present — so, Rane assigns her siblings to look for Loki. Vali and Nari are adept at haunting the upper world and could potentially find him up there; Fenris and Jör can travel between realms; the other kids can spread across Elysium, the Underworld - finally as for those pocket voids- still hold that thought! Anyway!

The meeting disperses with Rane refusing to give Tory and Maci an assignment to look for Loki. oh you’ve done MORE than enough, she sneers. Just wait around for him, if you really must. ….ummmm Firstly never forget that Tory’s got JUST as much as a temper as Maci does - it’s just.,, downplayed due to how much time he spends next to Maci, who is worse fgkfkf. But here now, Tory, angry and upset, demands to know exactly what he’s even done?! This isn’t fair!

Rane responds,

“What have you done? You’ve driven our parent away from here - the harder you cling, the further he runs. Not with any of us - but we know him better than you do. And though he may come and go, as through the births of myself and many of my siblings, the child you’ve given him could properly kill him, and now he’ll have to be dragged back against his wishes. Furthermore, you’ve inserted yourself into a private gathering of which you’re not welcome.

We will handle this. Your involvement is no longer needed beyond what you’ve already begun.”

Tory snaps back,

“He consented to having the child. Everything I’ve done was performed with Loki’s permission, gathered beforehand to avoid this situation, but he ran anyway.”

and Rane, coldly,

“That’s your fault for believing him, then.”

so.

S… so.

Both of them fuming and… hurting and trembling,, Tory takes Maci’s hand and retreats with her. They make it as far as their bedroom before Maci bursts into tears (“Holy fuck, that was horrible”), oscillating between raging at how that had gone, the fact that Loki really fucking left; to devastation, over the helplessness they feel and the fact that Loki really left.

Tory makes it as far as Maci choking out that she doesn’t know what happened “he was happy! I thought he was happy.” before Tory is also quietly in tears (and blaming himself! probably because Rane told him this was his fault!)

and so Maci and Tory spent the evening clinging to each other, ANXIOUS about Loki’s wellbeing, furious that he’s gone, and above all, utterly, utterly, heartbroken.

so…. currently.

🥲

Let’s lighten the mood - Return to those pocket voids.

There is actually one other person besides Loki who can get into those - NOT Thanatos; in fact.,

the ONE other person who can access the voids is CHAL.

First discovered by Chal when she was on the run from Ker long long long ago, Chal has always been able to break into, reside in, and teleport through the pocket voids of the Underworld (and had brought her father there during his prison break Shh oops). It’s where Chal was finally discovered and “captured” when they brought her to the Elysium house. Though she hadn’t known it until very recently, it turns out that Chal’s realm of Reincarnation - a slipping of shades across the thin life and death veil - has granted her unprecedented access to slipping across the thin veils of the spaces of the Underworld itself. Though she can’t NAVIGATE them like Loki, she’s always been able to get into them, and is the only person besides Loki himself who can.

Now here we are back during that meeting where, all potential Loki hiding spots are covered except for this one; the biggest, and the one Loki is probably most likely to actually be in.

Libby volunteers Chal to look!

(chal, notably NOT present during this meeting)

here lmao actually, another canon snip:

Libby: “Chal knows how to get into Loki’s pocket voids, maybe I can look with her.”

Rane:  “Ugh, no. Your horrid rude sister isn’t going to do any favors in courting Father back.”

Einmyria:  “Hey, that’s our sister too! …Agreed, though.”

Tory:  “Maybe if she took Bel with her as a buffer?”

Libby:  “Sure, he’s slightly better.”

Slightly lmao 💀And so here in current canon!!! in a truly shocking turn of events!! of ALL FUCKING PEOPLE, Chal and Bel are currently looking for Loki through the voids!!

will they find him?!?! will they convince him to come back?!?! IS THIS THE MOST INSANE LEFTFIELD TWO MESSENGERS TO SEND AFTER LOKI??????? I can’t believe this but it is SO good! currently:

Chal: “…Loki used to— Loki was a fucking, supervillain. Isn’t Loki fucking dangerous? Is this dangerous? Is he going crazy in a fit of fucking rage? What if we have to fight him? I, I can’t win against him in a fight. I don’t even know if I know how to fight anymore and I can’t do magic.”

Bel: “He hasn’t been overtly malicious in a long while.”

Chal: “Maybe he turned overtly malicious while he was running away. Maybe he’s gonna be in a real overtly malicious fucking mood about me and you trying to talk to him.”

COOL! GOOD LUCK YOU TWO! YOU’RE VERY COMPETENT!! oh my gods!!

some very welcome brevity from Maci and Tory sobbing in each others arms around the gap in the bed where Loki was though. again I do want to draw any of this but!! IN NO TIME SOON SOOOOOO

HEY SORRY I DID SAY this was ALLLLL AN excuse for ANGST….. PHEW!!!!

and so if you made it to the end!!!! first of all jfc gbless ily. second of all: STAY TUNED!’ updates of course to follow!!! maybe art one fucking day too fgfkfkgkkgkgk

[bohemian-nights]

How would you personally like to see the relationship between Nettles and Daemon develop?

So I’ll be basing my ideal scenario off of a “leak” earlier this year that stated Daemon is going to be the one who recruits Nettles. She’s allegedly very reluctant, but he somehow manages to convince her to join their cause.

Ideally, I’d like to see him initially try to recruit her because he sees she has an interest in Sheepstealer therefore he thinks that she really is a dragonseed. She insists that she’s not one of them and then tells him to get lost.

However, she keeps mulling over what he says in her mind and thinking about what she could be if she were able to claim a dragon. She’s always felt called to them, but she knows who she is so she doubts her ability to claim a dragon, let alone tame a wild one. Until she sees Silver Denys becoming dragon food and then something awakens in her to where she knows she can do it.

So she tries her luck and she tames Sheepstealer like in book canon(Daemon either sees her do it and congratulates her which she again brushes off or he’s away somewhere and he finds out via raven from Baela).

Then the Battle of the Gullet happens. Nettles is distraught. Everyone she knows, the people she grew up with, Jace the new friend she made, they are all dead. Daemon catches her at lowest, she tries to brush him off, but she completely breaks down, and she lets him comfort her (which a certain someone later finds out about).

Fast Forward to Team Black taking Kings Landing. Daemon at this point is fully hooked and trying to get Nettles’ attention, but ignores him cause she doesn’t trust him fully due to his reputation. He’s not giving up though. There is just something about her that draws him in(and it has ever since he saw her on Dragonstone).

He’s become so taken with her that he’s going to Mysaria to ahem relieve himself which is a big mistake because she knows about him and Nettles. She tells him that she knows about everything and will tell Queenie(who’s become kind of insane and territorial as of late).

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Nettles also feels guilty about what happened. She tells Daemon that what happened was just a moment of weakness and that it will never happen again. This completely devastates him because he thought it was just lust until he finally had her and saw he wouldn’t ever want to stop having her. Heavy emotions. The situation goes from bad to extremely bad.

A letter from Maidenpool arrives. They fear for their lives cause Aemond is acting crazy. Rhaenyra orders Daemon to go to Maidenpool and take a dragonseed with him to hunt down the one-eyed maniac(I jest, I love Aemond, no one stone me).

Daemon views this as the perfect opportunity to get away from a nosy potentially murderous Misery Nettles still doesn’t fully trust him, but she knows if she stays in Kings Landing she’ll be toast so she agrees to go with him. So they leave for Maidenpool.

At Maidenpool things get a little better. They still haven’t renewed their ahem physical affection for one another, but they are laughing and they are talking. Considering the mission they are having a good time.

Until Lord Moonton is like, dude, my prince, my bro, I appreciate your help and all, but I know your wife and boatload of children need you so why don’t you wrap this up so you can go home? Don’t worry I won’t tell Queenie about this little fling you are having. I get it Lady Moonton can be a real piece of work sometimes too. Bros before hoe’s. Do you guys need some moon tea by the way? 🫠

That sets Nettles off. She tries to go after Aemond by herself, but Daemon finds her in the nick of time. They have a screwing match. She tells him she isn’t a whore or being thought of as a whore and to let her go. He’s trying to get her to calm down, but it’s not working and he is getting frustrated. They are really going at each other until he screams out that he loves her.

Nettles goes completely still. She has tears in her eyes and she doesn’t want to believe him, but he is sincere. She knows she’s sincere and she loves him. She can’t deny that. She can’t deny herself happiness when they may not survive all of this. They passionately embrace. We get to see an actual love scene on this show for once. and everything is golden.

Queue the romance/honeymoon stage of their relationship. The gifts (which are ramped up), the long dragon rides (yes they are working, but they can have fun) the nicknames, the looks (even when someone else is in the room they only have eyes for each other), the baths 🛁, them going at it like rabbits(they may have even created a little Daemon or Netty😏). It’s just perfect 🥰….until the letter.

Rhaenyra knows and she’s pissed. She wants Daemon back and she wants Nettles dead. Daemon can’t lie or deny nor does he want to. Nettles freaks out the moment Maester Norren leaves. Daemon tries to calm her down, but he knows he can’t lie or deny what has happened. He doesn’t want to send her away, and she doesn’t want to go, but he forces her to leave(either reminding her that she’s with child or lying and telling her he’s going back to his wife).

Gearing up to leave, Nettles slaughters a lamb with Dark Sister(it’s become their custom). She climbs on top of Sheepstealer with tears streaming down her face. Daemon watches her fly away not moving a muscle. Caraxes let’s out that infamous scream and their time with each other at Maidenpool is over.

Daemon flies for Harrenhal. He’s waiting for Aemond. He has this token he keeps of Nettles that he often stares at. Aemond comes after a fortnight. They battle. He plunges a sword through Aemond killing him. Their dragons go down and hit the water. If Daemon dies with Caraxes he dies with Nettles’ name on his lips and the Rogue Prince is no more. If he lives, well then let’s fast forward one last time to the last scene of the last episode of this show(it’s a mid-credits scene coming after we see a sad Aegon III on the throne).

It’s the middle of winter and we see that Nettles has settled in the Mountains of the Moon. She has a little cottage which she’s puttering around in(maybe rocking a baby👩🏽‍🍼, idk it’s hard to tell), but we are outside seeing her from the perspective of someone who is watching her from a bit of a distance.

It’s nighttime, the cottage is a beacon of light and coziness in an otherwise bleak landscape, the snow is really coming down, and we see Sheepstealer resting and then perking up at the sound of something.

We hear footsteps in the snow and breathing. With each step, the illuminated cottage keeps getting closer and closer. A pale hand reaches out to affectionately pat the wild dragon who leans into his touch. We pan out to see the owner of said footsteps who is none other than Daemon Targaryen making his way to an oblivious Netty.

(I know my behind is crazy when it comes to Dettles, but someone else out there is just as crazy as me because look at the edit of this glorious art work😭).

Cut to black. Roll the rest of the credits. The end 😁

Lol there is a 75% chance at least half of this will never happen, but as long as they keep the essence of Dettles, I.e. that this isn’t just lust(🤢 )or she’s Rhaenyra 2.0(🤮), and Daemon is shown to actually genuinely love and care for Nettles to the point where he’d do anything for her(🙌🏽), then we’ll be good 👍🏽

It doesn’t have to be perfect but show unselfish unconditional love for once on HOTD😊(please feel free to use any of the above for seasons 3 and 4 HBO).

Otherwise Ryan Condal we are going to have some problems ☺️

👆🏽Me trying to keep the writers from ruining Daemon and Nettles. Shonda Rhimes can you please come in and save my OTP🥺

[sinkat-arts]

Daisuga WIP (Thursday) Wednesday

So, I decided at to start doing WIP Wednesday. I'm actively working on a long fic that won't be posted for... forever, and it might help me stay motivated if I can post little bits here and there? Anyway, I decided that at, like, 1 AM Pacific Time last night, so... very late. Which is why I'm posting this today. This is actually a part that I've scrapped from the larger fic, but I like it well enough to want to maybe do something else with.

For context, this is after the Interhigh Tournament, which was in June. Since Suga's birthday is also in June, I decided to combine the two. And since it's in Suga's POV, I use Koushi? I honestly don't know how he'd refer to himself in his head;;;; I also juggled the timeline and events of the day after Interhigh around a little bit, which is partially why I scrapped this.

--

13 June 2012

Suga

It should have been a day like any other. Just a Wednesday. There were many like it before and there would be many like it after. But this particular Wednesday was maybe a little different. This one was… well, it was a mixed fucking bag so far. 

“I can’t even be happy on my birthday,” Koushi groused aloud. He picked halfheartedly at his packed bento, but even though his mom had made sure it was full of his favorite things, he just didn’t have much of an appetite today. “Thanks, Seijoh, just what I wanted. A big fat L for my birthday.” 

Asahi took a sip of his juice. His giant paw of a hand dwarfed the box, making it look like a prop from a kid’s toy kitchen set. He gave a solemn nod in agreement, the picture of serious contemplation with the straw of a baby juice box still stuck in his mouth. Koushi couldn’t hold the giggle that bubbled up despite the dour mood.  

“What?” Asahi asked, snapping into attention in a mild panic, “Something on my face?” 

“You’re adorable,” Koushi answered, grinning and reaching over to pat his head, “You just make sure you finish your juice box like a good boy, ‘kay?”

Asahi didn’t miss that he was being teased. “Oh, ha ha,” he grumbled, running his empty hand over his hair to make sure none of it had escaped the tie holding it back, “You’re never too old for a juice box… and anyway, you’re the old man here, not me.” 

“By, like, 6 months,” Koushi returned, but his attention had strayed away from his friend. His eyes scanned the courtyard, seeking. Koushi sucked his teeth in frustration - he hadn’t found his target. Again. “Are you sure…” he began.

“I’m sure,” Asahi cut in, doing a decent job of masking exasperation, but Koushi caught it all the same. The exasperation was well-deserved, though, so he let it slide. It wasn’t that Asahi predicted what he was going to say because he was psychic… he’d just been asked the question already. Twice in the course of 20 minutes. “I saw him this morning, but not since.” 

“Lunch is halfway over,” Koushi said, pushing a piece of fried chicken around. “We could at least eat lunch together for my birthday… Do you think he forgot?” 

Asahi raised his head, face inscrutable for a few seconds. Most of the time, the guy was an open book, he had all the guile of a puppy… but every now and then he had these moments. Moments where Koushi felt like Asahi knew something and was holding back. 

“No,” he said, taking the last, loud draw of juice from the container before setting it down neatly on the table in front of him, “He wouldn’t forget. Something must have held him up… maybe a teacher grabbed him.” 

“You think?”

“Maybe?” Asahi said with a shrug that was somehow sympathetic rather than dismissive, “We could go look for him.” 

It could have been the shitty mood after losing yesterday - which was surprisingly devastating, considering how often the third years had experienced loss since coming to Karasuno - but something really wasn’t sitting right. He didn’t like the fact that he himself hadn’t laid eyes on Daichi all day, he didn’t like the look Asahi gave him, he didn’t like that he was at their table and Daichi wasn’t. He’d expected today to be kind of off, but it was too far off. Something had to be going on. 

“Nah,” Koushi said and started pulling his bento back together, “I’ll go… you, uh… you hold the fort down in case he does come. Text me?” 

Asahi nodded, but that weird look was back on his face. He wished he knew what it meant, but if he wanted to find Daichi and (gently) reprimand him for skipping out on lunch, he couldn’t press. He finished packing back up and turned away, walking at a pace that he hoped hid the fact that he was getting just the tiniest bit scared of what might be going on. 

It’s nothing. Probably just what Asahi said… a teacher asked him to help with something. And Daichi can’t not help someone. The guy’s hopeless. 

Still, his feet carried him faster and faster as he got closer to the nearest entrance to the school. There were a few places Daichi might be, assuming a teacher hadn’t sequestered him somewhere, so he turned himself towards what he thought the most likely spot would be and made his way to the gym.

At first glance, the place was empty, but that wasn’t cause for worry yet. He wouldn’t be on the court, not if there was something wrong, so Koushi made a straight line to the storage room. Closed, but unlocked… someone was in there. As silently as he could, he turned the knob until he felt the weight of the door swing free of the catch, and moved inside with a few soft steps. Ah, and there he was. Leaning against one of the ball caddies, shoulders slumped over and head in hand, Daichi was facing away from the one window that was the sole light source for the room. It was hard to make out his face, bathed in shadow as it was, but it was clear he was… lost. In thought, in his head, he was somewhere far enough away that he hadn’t noticed Koushi’s approach. 

Koushi took a step forward and stopped at the sound of a sniffle. His heart dropped a little as he realized that those slumped shoulders were shaking a little. Even more when he realized Daichi wasn’t holding his head to support it, he was clutching one hand over his mouthing, desperately pressing against it and trying to keep everything in.

Part of him wanted to leave. Slip back out the door unseen. This was something private, something vulnerable. It wasn’t meant for anyone’s eyes, and if Daichi knew he’d seen… would that be a betrayal of some kind?

But that wasn’t all. Part of him wanted to leave because he was scared. Not just of how Daichi would react when he finally noticed him, but of himself. He was terrified of what he wanted to do in this moment. Rush forward, collect Daichi in his arms, find out what hurt and make it go away. How, though? What should he do? What could he possibly do that would help… and still keep him on that highwire he’d been walking ever since they were idiot first years and Daichi had smiled at him like that with his warm brown eyes and the sun in his stupidly handsome face. 

What he wanted, what his instincts said to do, was too much. But his friend - his best friend - was hurting right in front of him, and whatever nonsense his heart was trying to pull right now, Daichi needed… something. It was, Koushi figured, in his job description to at least offer. Daichi could make the choice himself to tell him to leave or let him stay.

[theeverlastingshade]

Javelin- Sufjan Stevens

Very few contemporary musicians own their respective lane quite like Sufjan Stevens. The idiosyncratic songwriter has dabbled in everything from ornate baroque compositions to minimalist glitchy electronic music, but the wispy folk stylings that he perfected on his sublime 7th LP, Carrie & Lowell, (and that haven proven to be well-trodden territory for a myriad of musicians) is rarely rendered with as much heart and personality in the hands of any other contemporary artist that I'm aware of. Sufjan recently returned with a new record called Javelin, and it marks a refreshing departure from the electronic pop approach of his last LP, The Ascension, by reaching the sweet spot between the sparse folk confessionals of C&L with the baroque bombast of his other most celebrated work, Illinois. It's all too easy to write Javelin off as another pretty folk record from a guy who could seemingly crank these out in his sleep, but the gorgeous arrangements, cathartic vocal melodies, and devastating songwriting throughout Javelin serve as strong affirmations that one of the most consistently rewarding songwriters of the 21st century is still releasing some of his most accomplished work a few decades into his career.

The sound of Javelin will be familiar to anyone even remotely familiar with Sufjan's work, and presents the album as both an ideal entry point to his music as well as a satisfying late-career stunner. The music is lush and vibrant, replete with woodwinds, horns, strings, and glockenspiel in addition to a standard assortment of guitars, drums, and keys. Sufjan's voice is hushed but tremendously expressive, and it's rounded out by a children's choir that provides an uplifting lilt to these already gorgeously adorned compositions. There are moments that are almost overbearing in their melodic richness, like the coda of opener "Goodbye Evergreen", but it never quite lands in excessively cloying terrain. A large part of Sufjan's appeal is his knack for couching devastating sentiments within impossibly pretty sounding music, and he delivers that in large spades throughout Javelin. While it's a tad frustrating that most of these songs are so structurally similar (highlight "Shit Talk" and his closer/cover of Neil Young's "There's A World", notwithstanding), essentially beginning as these sparse acoustic ruminations and slowly blossoming into ornate chamber pop epics erupting with melody, it's hard to deny how superbly realized they each are. While most of the songs on Javelin aren't among his most adventurous to date, they're easily some of his most richly rendered, and thankfully they never manage to obfuscate the poignant lyricism woven throughout.

The writing is generally the largest draw of any Sufjan Stevens record, and Javelin is no exception. The album would have been disarming in its understated vulnerability regardless of the context, but on the day it was released Sufjan shared a statement dedicating it to his late partner, Evans Richardson, who passed this past April, which lends a heightened level of pathos to these immensely affecting songs. Sufjan seems to be trying to reconcile his Christian faith with the loss of Evans, which is laid out in the first verse of "Goodbye Evergreen" ("But everything heaven sent/Must burn out in the end") and subsequently touched on throughout the album. "Genuflecting Ghost" seems to find Sufjan using stereotypical Christian imagery in service of paying tribute to Evans (Give myself as a sacrifice/Genuflecting ghost I kiss the floor/Rise, my love, show me paradise/Nothing seems so simple anymore") while the 8 minute centerpiece, "Shit Talk", unfurls like a breakup in slow motion with Sufjan questioning his complicity in its demise (Did I fail to believe in positive thoughts/Our romantic second chance is dead/I buried it with the hatchet/Quit your antics"). On Javelin, Sufjan reckons with tragedy in the way that he's historically done best: creating music that's simply bursting at the seams with craft and catharsis. Javelin isn't a particularly easy listen, but like the bulk of his work, it rewards close listening multiple times over.

Essentials: "Shit Talk", "Goodbye Evergreen”, "So You Are Tired"

[phoenixbsblog]

When Push Comes To Shove

Later that day Harry travelled back to the Capital of Corona, he stopped just outside of town and put on his magical shapeshifting cloak and changed into a random Royal Guard, which just so happened to be Pete.

It was quite easy to slip into the castle, no one had seemed to notice him, he just had to find the Princess.

Rapunzel sighed heavily as she sat in the shelf with her journal open on a blank page, she had a terrible case of art block, no matter how much she tried she could not think of what to paint, whenever she did try something it came out looking horrible.

“Good afternoon, Princess.”

Rapunzel lifted her head, she was surprised to see Pete, the guards did not usually walk into her room and chat to her. “Uhm… Afternoon.”

“What’s up?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know… I want to draw but I just can’t think of what to do,” Rapunzel sighed again as she looked back at the book. “I see this page and my mind goes blank.”

Harry looked at her with a deadpanned expression. “Really? That’s what’s bothering you?”

Rapunzel nodded. “Yeah… It’s just so frustrating.”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes or make a dig at her, instead he took a moment to clear his throat. “Yeah that sucks but I’m sure it will sort itself out.”

“I don’t know,” Rapunzel rested her head on her hand. “I’ve been so stressed lately.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah… That was a terrible day but what’s done is done.”

Rapunzel nodded. “Yeah but I still feel terrible.”

“Hmm… Luckily your parents were saved,” Harry eyed her handiwork on the walls. “What about that little friend of yours that ran in here during the blizzard? Don’t you think you ought to check up on him?”

Harry clenched his jaw, it was hard to stay in character when she was so infuriating. “That hasn’t stopped you before but if you had trustworthy people like Eugene and Cass with you then that could put his worries at ease.”

Rapunzel sighed heavily. “Sneaking out is what got me into trouble in the first place… I’m sorry for Varian, I really am but I’m not a miracle worker! What am I supposed to do?”

Harry shrugged. “You can at least give it a try then you can figure out something together.”

Rapunzel furrowed her brow, this was not like Pete at all, why was he encouraging her to go against her father the KING! Why did he care so much about Varian after he dragged him out of the castle? She shook her head.

Harry sighed, she was really pushing his patience. “I know it can suck being a Princess or Queen at times, expectations of perfection, everyone turning to you for guidance when you have no idea what the heck you are doing yourself.”

Rapunzel nodded. “Yeah.”

Harry bit his lip and listened out for anyone else approaching her room, he sighed with relief as the coast was still clear. “You have a lot of pressure on your young shoulders, thrown at you as soon as you returned home.”

“It’s been really overwhelming, I know I am very fortunate but… I still feel unhappy with my life,” Rapunzel said.

Harry nodded. “You remember the day you met Varian?”

Rapunzel narrowed her eyes, why was he bringing Varian up again? She sighed as she came down from the shelf and faced the balcony doors. “Hmm… I went over to his home with Cassandra… She said he could help with my hair… Find answers about why it has changed so much, last time it was easily cut but this time it’s indestructible.”

Harry nodded again. “He was very busy that day… Working on the boilers, how would you have felt if he had turned you away that day?”

Rapunzel sighed as she bowed her head and stroked her hair. “Upset.”

“Hmm… He had pushed his work aside to assist you and in doing so had an accident which got him into trouble with his dad and villagers... Now how do you think he feels now after he was turned away when he came to you for help?” Harry asked.

“Devastated,” Rapunzel replied then walked forward and placed a hand on a door.

Harry nodded. “Definitely, as if you turning down was not bad enough… He was thrown into the snow by Stan and I… You know what the right thing to do is?”

Rapunzel groaned, he was getting on her nerves. “Just leave it, Pete, please… It’s none of your business and I-I had a really stressful day yesterday, I need to rest!”

She had just completely missed the point! He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before drawing closer towards her. “Would you like me to paint you a picture, Princess?”

Rapunzel furrowed her brow. “What?”

He held his hands close to her head, he slowly moved his fingers like he was playing the piano, a flash of red light emerged from his hands and passed through to her mind.

Rapunzel froze like she was in a trance as the vision played, she saw Varian, his house was surrounded by strange men in masks and different armour to what the guard normally wear. Then she, Eugene and Cassandra had to fight them for the gratych to give to Varian! He convinced her to take him down to the Royal Vault, while also drugging most of the castle staff with truth serum. The Sundrop flower turned to dust, Varian realised his mistake that Rapunzel is the Sundrop. Soon after more chaos ensues on Rapunzel’s birthday as Varian snuck in automatons, later they are attacked by a giant monster who turned out to be Ruddiger.

While they were doing that he kidnapped her mother, those that were still standing joined her and her family to fight Varian in the Battle of Old Corona. He threatened to trap her mom in the amber, she gave in and let him use her hair for the drill. It did not work, her mom was freed, they had a group hug which only made Varian more angry. The fight escalated between them as he came out in a automaton, he picked up her mom and Cassandra with the crab like claws. She remembered the rocks responded to her, she touched them with her hair and there was a huge explosion!

Next thing she knew Varian had turned into a ‘villain’ he stood with Andrew and a bunch of other people she did not know in the throne room, they had to fight them then the vision ended.

Rapunzel froze, her jaw dropped in shock. She turned and stared at Pete in fear and terror.

Harry pulled his glove back on and looked at her with a grim expression. “That is the future, Princess Rapunzel, which way it goes will depend on you… If you do not reach out to Varian, he will fall into darkness and turn against you… Try to help him and he will remain your loyal friend, the only way to get through this is to work together.”

Rapunzel gapped her mouth like a fish. “P-Pete… How did you do that? You never told me you had magic powers to.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah… Things aren’t always what they seem, Princess.”

Rapunzel nodded. “Yeah, I learned that a long time ago.”

“Hmm… What will it be Princess? Saving a good friend from darkness or let him fall?” Harry asked.

Rapunzel was quiet for a while then nodded. “Alright… I’ll go to Varian.”

Harry nodded. “Good choice, Princess… The sooner you do that the better.”

“Hmm,” Rapunzel hummed as she moved away from the doors. “I’ll just get Eugene and Cassandra to come with me.”

Harry nodded then his eyes widened and held out a hand to stop her, he could just imagine how they would react to being told that this Pete guy had shown her the future and told her she needs to see Varian. “Actually… I think it would be best for Varian not to have an audience, he would be in a lot of distress.”

Pascal climbed onto Rapunzel’s shoulder, he seemed suspicious of Harry, he made the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, he was not happy about using his magic to scare her.

Rapunzel furrowed her brow in confusion. “You just said my dad would be-“

“I know but… Thinking about it again, it would be best they did not see it, anyway you need to move quickly!” Harry gasped as he heard the sound of Eugene’s voice and his footsteps coming closer.

“How would I get to Varian’s then?” Rapunzel asked as she put a hand on her hip.

Harry pulled out his wand and held a hand out to her.

Rapunzel gasped, he was just full of surprises today! “Y-You’re a wizard?”

Harry did not reply as Eugene was dangerously close, he grabbed her hand and held out his wand, there was a flash of white light and they disappeared.

Just at that moment, Eugene strolled into the room with a smirk and a cupcake in hand but his heart dropped when he realised he was in an empty room. “Rapunzel?” He looked all over, behind the dressing board, the balcony, he could not see a sign of her, even Pascal was gone. “Rapunzel!”

He dashed out of the room and through the corridor, he just hoped she was somewhere in the castle and not the worst case scenario that some sicko had kidnapped her again.

“Woah, where’s the fire, Eugene?” Pete asked as he and Stan were on their way to guard the Princess’ room.

“Uh… Have you guys seen Rapunzel by any chance?” Eugene asked.

Stan and Pete looked at each other with a worried expression, they had not seen her for a while.

“Ah no… Don’t tell me she’s escaped again!” Pete groaned.

Stan gulped as he rubbed the back of his neck. “She better come back soon… Her father will go nuts if he finds out.”

“What did you muppets do this time?” Cassandra sighed as she crossed her arms.

Eugene took a deep breath and looked at her. “Rapunzel’s gone.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened. “What? Last I saw her she was in her room agonising over what to paint next!” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s check out her room.”

Stan and Pete nodded and followed after her and Eugene.

“No signs of a struggle so she must not have been kidnapped,” Cassandra said as she brushed her finger tips over a few book spines and looked at the bed which was still neatly made up she looked down and thought about earlier. “She must have gone to Varian.”

“Who is Varian?” Stan asked.

“Didn’t her dad just tell her not to leave without his permission?” Pete gestured to the balcony doors. “He’s going to have bars put in on her doors if she keeps running off like this!”

Eugene furrowed his brow. “Why would she go back there without even telling us?”

Cassandra sighed. “While you were out saving the King and Queen Varian came in crying that about something to do with his dad and the rocks, Rapunzel pulled him to one side to talk but then Nigel called those two over to escort him outside… He said he was attacking her.”

Eugene frowned. “I suppose we will find out the truth when we get there… Come on, let’s go!”

The four of them headed to the stables, careful to avoid Captain and the King if either of those found out it would be chaos.

Harry and Rapunzel reappeared outside of Varian’s house, Old Corona was in a terrible state with the menacing black rocks scattered everywhere and very quiet with hardly any other people around.

“Pete! Why did you do that? Now everyone is going to panic about me!” Rapunzel cried.

“This is an emergency, Rapunzel!” Harry shouted. “Come on, you can explain later!”

Rapunzel frowned. “You’re acting really… Strange today, Pete.”

Harry sighed. “I’ll explain later.”

Rapunzel still felt wary as she followed him up the steps and stood beside him as he knocked on the door.

Varian rushed over and pulled the door open, he could not believe it… Harry had actually done it and brought Rapunzel over to him. “Rapunzel… You’re here!”

She nodded. “Yeah, Pete had talked me into it… Let’s see what I can do.”

Varian felt hurt to hear that she had to be ‘talked into’ helping him after he had just begged her for help, he sighed and let them in.

“Where is he?” Rapunzel asked.

“In my lab,” Varian replied as he led them to it.

“Praise yourself, he’s in a very bad way,” Harry said with a grim look on his face.

Once they entered the lab Varian pulled off the tarp to reveal his father being frozen as a statue, trapped in the amber.

Rapunzel threw her hands over her mouth as she gasped in horror. “Oh no!”

Varian sighed heavily. “As I said before… It’s only you who can fix this, you are the only living vessel of the Sundrop flower.”

Rapunzel gulped then moved over to Quirin, there was only one thing she could think of, she unbraided her hair and wrapped it around the amber, she took a deep breath and began to sing. “Flower, gleam and glow… Let your power shine.”

Her hair did not glow like it used to or appeared to have any affect on the amber. “Make the clock reverse, change the fate’s design… Saved what has been lost, bring back what once was mine… What once was mine.” She opened her eyes looked at Quirin, disappointed that she had had not even made a dent in it.

Varian cried in frustration as he slammed the amber. “No! No!”

Harry sighed as he facepalmed. “You need to break the amber, not make it stronger…You need the opposite of the healing incantation.”

Rapunzel backed away and held her head in her hands. “I-I don’t know any other incantation!”

“Break the amber,” Varian muttered under his breath. “I have a drill! If I use that with Rapunzel’s hair-“

Harry held out a hand and shook his head. “No, you would end up breaking the drill and drain out Rapunzel… What is the opposite of gleam and glow?”

Rapunzel groaned. “I-I don’t know! What if there isn’t any other incantation for the Sundrop?”

Harry touched her shoulder. “There is… Even the Sundrop has a dark side, the Phoenix has the ‘Dark’ Phoenix curse which I will not recite because it would hurt people… Think, lass… Gleam and glow, what is the opposite of that?” He swirled his wrist to try and egg her on.

Rapunzel felt more nervous, she had no idea what to do and worried about someone finding out that she was gone. “I-I don’t know!”

“Oye!” Harry groaned as he threw a hand to his forehead. “Gleam, glow… Wither, decay!”

“If you know the answers why are you asking me?” Rapunzel snapped. “What are you some magic expert all of a sudden?”

“No but… I know someone who is,” Harry said.

Varian leapt on his feet. “Who?”

“Ivy, she lives around these parts… She knows about all kinds of magic, she is the embodiment of the Earth,” Harry replied. “She could help with these rocks to.”

Varian looked longingly at his father, he was devastated, he hoped this Ivy woman had the answer. “Take us to her.”

Harry nodded and held a hand out to him then looked at Rapunzel. “Hold my arm.”

She was hesitant. “I-I really need to get back home, Pete… I can’t stay out here for long, Eugene or Cass could come into my room any minute.”

Harry breathed out an exasperated sigh. “Quirin really needs to get out of that amber, we can’t wait around for you, Princess!”

Rapunzel nodded and took his arm.

“Rapunzel!” Eugene cried as he and Cass barged into the lab followed by Stan and Pete, he froze and looked in confusion seeing her holding onto Pete but before they had the chance to do anything they vanished. “No!”

Pete was stunned. “What the heck? That guy… Looked just like me.”

Cass groaned in frustration then took one glance at Quirin and her jaw dropped, now she understood why Varian was in such a panic. She pushed her sword back in and turned to the exit. “Come on, they could not have gone far!”

[bookloveravenue]

Harlequin Crew (book 3): Carnival Hill by Caroline Peckham & Susanne Valenti 

I thought that I was broken before, but my damage never tasted as bitter as this.

The Harlequin boys are more than just a memory now. More than a daydream of our youth and an idea to cling onto.

They’re my greatest weakness and my biggest regret, but I’ve started to realise that coming back to Sunset Cove was always my fate.

My heart beats to the turn of the tide here. My skin only warms beneath this sun. And my soul will only ever be home on these streets and with the men who grew out of my memories.

But nothing is the same as I remember and the time for childish games is coming to an end.

I may want to pretend that the last ten years never happened, but the nightmare I lost myself in has followed me home and I can’t keep ignoring the things I once did to survive.

The question is, will my mistakes be the end of me and my boys? Will the choices I made then change everything now? And will the life I never wanted steal away my only chance at the life I’m afraid to wish for?

This is an enemies to lovers contemporary series where the girl will end up with multiple love interests and all of the characters are in their late twenties. Trigger warning: this series features gangs, violence, dark romance and jealous/possessive themes.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58349113-carnival-hill

********

January 5, 2023

My Review: 4/5 Stars

Another book of chaos and another horrible cliffhanger. Dang. These authors really know how to pack a painful punch of a cliffhanger. Never been so glad to read a series by them that is actually complete. At least I never have to wait long for the next book. So this book picks up right where the last one left us. In a bombing that has Rogue buried in the rubble as Fox, JJ, and Maverick desperately try to dig and find her. And Chase. But they don't know that he was taken by freaking Shawn. Really rough time for Chase in this book while everyone thinks he is dead for a while. The war against freaking Shawn continues. And what happens most in this book is there is a lot of truth and revelations. Good and bad. Some of it having the power to bring this family back together where we thought it was hopeless before. Yet, still devastating. And on the romance side, things are still chaotic. JJ and Rick seem to understand that Rogue needs all of them. Chase is starting to see it by knows he won't be allowed to stick around. And Fox is still being dumb. Though I have to say Rogue is a bit back and forth as well. Lots of frustration all around and things blowing up. But I think we're a step closer to getting that happy ending. Eventually. This cliffhanger may have blown things up even worse, but I'm hoping that these boys won't be dumb for too long in the start of the next book. We shall see! This series is pretty chaotic but as this way of drawing you in too. It's hard to put the story down when you want to know what happens next and see everyone finally stop and think for a bit. Plus I love of our cameos from the Brutal Boys series. Always fun. Oh! And absolutely hilarious to see mentions of Dark Fae in this book. Fox clearly needs to keep reading the series if he is ever gonna understand how his future is gonna look LOL. Off to the next one! Expecting yet another brutal cliffhanger but hey at least then after that there is only one more.

[redorich]

Oh my god... they have return and now with Hermit Ghostbur ideas and fic... Yes another blessed day for December 1st on my timezone.

<333

Ghostbur sneaks into Wels's disc collection to see if he has taste. He does, and furthermore there's a couple of discs that are separated from the rest, hand-labelled and containing music that Ghostbur is very curious about.

“Oh, that?” Wels says, looking up from his dustpan as he sweeps the living room. “That's Hermitgang; long story, that one.”

“I've got time,” Ghostbur says mischievously. He smells a story.

Wels takes his dustpan to the trash can, leaving his broom in the corner. “Well, I don't know exactly what happened, so if I get it wrong, you didn't hear it from me.”

It would be cruel to ask where else he possibly could have heard it in this abandoned world. Ghostbur keeps his mouth shut.

“So, there was a prank war that escalated a bit-- something about a chicken on someone's base, and a murder on the Queen Mary ghost ship? Uh, Grian and Tango broke into the stock exchange where Doc and Ren kept their diamonds, and Grian messed with a bonsai that took Doc hours to trim, so Doc got so mad that, uh… the Hermitcraft Civil War broke out.”

Dread like ice runs down Ghostbur's spine. A civil war? But the hermits all seem so…

Wilbur stands atop the walls of L’Manberg, clean and righteous in his fight for independence. The land beyond the walls is untouched by mankind's unclean hands. All he wants is this little piece of land he's carved for a home.

Wilbur shakes hands with Dream. Eleven and one half stacks of trinitrotoluene for a promise he can't take back. If he can't have his country, no one can.

Wilbur laughs, wild and set free not by victory but by total crushing defeat. It's difficult to stand, buffeted by explosions razing everything he's created to ground zero. Tubbo is now president of a crater.

The hermits seemed so peaceful-- so kind, so devoted to their art. He'd thought they were all like Wels, but apparently not. (In his mind, only for a moment, Ghostbur wonders if he was wrong about Wels too. He crushes the thought. Wels isn't like the others.)

“I was on Team STAR,” Wels continues obliviously, “that's Doc’s team. The other team was the G-Team. Anyway, I wrote Hermitgang as a… an intimidation tactic? An excuse to roast people? It was fun. Wanna see the battleground?”

There's still a battleground left. Interesting. “Sure,” Ghostbur says weakly. “Should I bring..?”

“Hm? Oh,” Wels realizes. He waves his hand in the general direction of the kitchen. “Yeah, bring the picnic stuff; it's late enough in the day that we could probably just make a bonfire and camp by it, if you want.”

How are you so casual about your civil war?! Ghostbur wants to scream. Did it even affect you at all?!

-------

Even from a distance, as they fly toward the battleground it's obvious where it is. To this day, there are still fires scattered across the field, which burn eternally in the demolished landscape. On one side of the field is a giant castle, complete with a deadly moat and turrets. On the other side, a massive…

“Is that a Brita?” Ghostbur says faintly.

“Y’know, come to think of it, Grian does have a thing for accidentally making stuff that looks like kitchen appliances, huh?” Wels muses.

“Oh, this is Grian's build? Were they the G-Team general?”

Wels scratches his cheek. “Yeah, I guess? I don't know if general is the right word, but he was definitely their leader.”

Ghostbur looks around at the devastation of the landscape, the holes blasted in the side of both team bases, the fires burning not five feet away from him. Frustration and fear and just plain confusion congeal at the back of his throat, infecting his tongue with a bitter taste.

“Then why did you take me to his base?!”

Wels's eyebrows draw together in confusion and hurt, like he can't possibly understand why Ghostbur is upset. “What do you mean?”

One of Ghostbur's hands tangles in his hair, fist tight and manic while the other hand gesticulates wildly. “Why did you take me to his base when it could have been bloody trapped?! You were on opposite sides of a war, Wels; how did you survive this long without thinking about that? We could have both died!”

Wels steps forward, hands up in front of him nervously. “Ghostbur, you're hurting yourself,” he echoes the words Ghostbur said to him once.

“We could have both died,” he repeats, “Wels, why aren't you listening to me?”

Inching closer with his hands still up in a pacifying manner, Wels asks, “Ghostbur, what does war mean to you?”

Do I shoot him, Wil, or do I aim for the sky?

My L’Manberg, my unfinished symphony, FOREVER UNFINISHED! If I can't have this, no one can!

Down with the revolution, boys! It was never meant to be.

My first decree as the president of L’Manberg-- the EMPEROR of this great country-- is to revoke the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit.

“Ghostbur? Ghostbur, please-- you're scaring me.” Wels's cornflower blue eyes, full of worry, gaze down at Ghostbur-- down, because he's kneeling on the ground with his head buried in Wels's chest and tears welling in his eyes, threatening to etch themselves into his skin.

“Ghostbur, war isn't evil here. There's no betrayal, no death, no hate. We fight because it's fun, not because we have to.” Wels hesitates, fearing that he might overstep his bounds, but says it anyway: “You're safe here.”

“We should-- we should go.”

“Yeah,” Wels agrees. “How about we have that picnic somewhere far, far away from here?”

Staring at the firey battleground without seeing a thing, Ghostbur laughs wetly. “Sounds like a plan.”

[shockinglysubmissive]

Corruption Collab

A/n I am so excited to be a part of @ultimate-astridwriting​ and @bummie​ Valentine’s collab! I haven’t done much writing in years and I was inspired by both of them. 

Word Count: 2.5k

WARNINGS: *ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP* Edging, Overstimulation, Semi-public, slight degradation, master/pet play

You lay in bed, mind hazy and legs still shaking from the intense orgasms ripped from your body only a few minutes prior. Despite the dull ache in all your muscles, you can’t help but close your eyes in peace. You feel Tetsurou’s breathing slow as he drifts to sleep, and your mind begins to wander to how a new pair of panties led to the best Valentine’s day sex.

“Kitten… I don’t want to force you into this… I just thought… you know… it could be fun since you’ll be in class most of the day.” Your boyfriend hands you a small box. Taking it from him, you hesitate to open it. Tetsurou Kuroo is many things but being nervous around you is not one of them.

“Valentine’s Day isn’t until tomorrow master.” Your head cocks to the side as you untie the ribbon holding the box closed. Inside is a pair of black lace panties. At first glance, they seem to be a simple pair like you already owned. It wasn’t until you lifted them up that you heard the soft thud. A bullet vibrator falls into the box and suddenly it clicks. On his phone is an app that connects to the bullet, so he can not only turn it on or off, also but control the intensity and rhythm of it.

Being a scheming tease, this should not have come as a shock to you. You already knew your boyfriend loved to tease you to the point of tears, and you loved the power he held over you. You’re not even aware that you are smiling until you hear a low chuckle. “I take that adorable face you are making as a yes.”

Waking up to the sudden blasting of your alarm is not the ideal way to start your day, but the small note sitting on top of the panties brought a smile to your face. ‘I’ll be trusting you my kitten, don’t get caught, and more importantly, no cumming without permission. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.’

After getting dressed, a new sensation washes over you. The total uncertainty and suspense caused by never knowing if or when the small toy will kick on. The first class you attend you feel like you may explode from waiting. You feel it putting slight pressure on your already budding clit and a blush creeps over your face when you feel how wet you are without any stimulation. Focusing on your class is out of the question. Your mind is only thinking about your cunny and staying quiet if it were to turn on.

As if on cue, as you stand to walk to your second class an eruption of vibrations shoots through your whole body. The sudden feeling causes you to drop your books, and you have to bend over. The toy pushes further against your clit as a breathy moan escapes your lips. Gathering your books quickly from the floor, you hurry out of the room in case one of the few people left overheard you.

The walk to your next class only makes it worse as the intensity surges to extreme levels and getting you to the brink of orgasm, before dropping off completely. You’re not sure if you are glad or devastated when it shuts off completely. You squirm in your seat, fully aware that your poor cunny is dripping and leaving a wet spot on your chair.

The toy stays off for a bit and you are able to start focusing on the lecture, that is, until you are asked a question. Your usually wonderful boyfriend seems to know the worst times to kick it on because your mind goes blank when you feel a low but constant buzzing between your clenched thighs. You stammer out the best answer you can manage before grabbing your things and making up some lie about being sick.

The buzzing does not stop the whole walk home, and tears burn in your eyes as you hold back what you know could be such a nice orgasm. From the second the toy nuzzled itself against your clit, your whole body has been on edge with anticipation. Such a new and exciting feeling of being left in the dark and having to act as if your cunny isn’t dripping and aching for your master’s perfect dick.

“Home already my kitten? Did your slutty little cunt need daddy to take care of it?” He quips, seeing the way your legs shake at the strain to hold off from cumming. You nod and make your way over to him as he cuts off the vibrations. A small sob escapes your tightly pursed lips but is quickly muffled by his hand resting on your throat and his lips against yours. “I’ve never seen you this desperate that you’re crying already. Does my naughty kitten get off on the thought of someone finding out? Does she want others to see how much she loves her master?” He asks against your lips.

You nod, which makes his hand tighten just a touch. “Use your words kitten. The rule is all questions must be answered verbally. That way I know for sure.” He whispers against your lips.

“Yes master. I’m sorry for forgetting the rules… I just need you to fuck me.” You whine. He smirks a bit and takes a step back.

“So, all it takes to tame my bratty kitten is a little bit of discreet teasing? Or is it because it is Valentine’s day you want to try out being obedient?” His hands tug the bottom of your shirt slightly. “May I see my beautiful girl?” He asks.

You toss your shirt aside, growing frustrated as his large hands barely touch you as his hands trail from your collar bone to your hips. “A little bit of teasing? From the second I put those panties on it has been teasing me.” You whine, bottom lip sticking out slightly.

“That long? You must be soaked and sensitive. I’ll forgive that attitude then.” He laughs, smirking down at you. You swallow hard, knowing that look means you are about to be fucked in the most feral and passionate way imaginable.

You are unable to worry too much about his look since he quickly turns the bullet as high as possible and attaching his lips to your neck. Loud, unfiltered moans spill from your lips as you are backed against the wall and lifted off the ground. His teeth rake slightly against the sensitive skin while leaving deep marks. You feel yourself rapidly approaching your orgasm, hands tapping his shoulders as warning.

“Cum for me Kitten. I want these panties soaked before I even think about giving your desperate cunt my dick.” He growls against your neck, lowering his assault to your chest, unclasping your bra and letting his warm breath fan over your pert nipples.

Even if you wanted to, you would not be able to stop yourself. The panties target your overly sensitive clit, and his tongue swirls around one of your nipples. Your vision spots slightly as your cunny clenches around nothing. The sensation only intensifies when you feel him rutting against your clothed core. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were teased all day. You’ve soaked through the panties already.” He teases, guiding your hand to the wet patch that spread from your cunt to his pants.

Incoherent babbling is the closest thing to a response you can muster as the vibrations continue and force you through another powerful orgasm. Your hands claw desperately at your clothed cunt to try to move the bullet from your abused clit as the pleasure has your head spinning.

He grips your wrists in one of his much larger hands. “If you want something, you need to ask.” He says simply, his free hand reaching to unlock his phone.

“Fuck me. Please master. I need you to fill me up.” You beg, words breaking off as a third intense orgasm is ripped from your sopping cunt. “And turn it off! Please… it is too much… I can’t handle anymore.”

Taking pity on your trembling body, he shuts it off. But before you can relax, you are dropped on the ground, legs wobbling to support yourself. Tetsurou takes your hand and guides you gently to the bed, undressing you, leaving the just the panties before removing his shirt. Your eyes scan his slightly muscular build, smiling a bit seeing the half-faded love bites scattered along his skin.

“See something you like kitten?” He asks, pulling your gaze from his low hanging sweatpants up to his smirking face.

“I already told you, I want you to fuck me. Stop taking your time.” You whine, shivering at the feeling of the cold air on your exposed body. Your eyes go wide when you realize what you said, but it was too late.

In the blink of an eye, he is hovering over you, one hand around your throat and the other holding himself up. His lips lower until they are brushing yours. “I forgave you once for being a brat. And this is how you thank me? After all I have done. The new panties, allowing you to cum three times, and not punishing you when you broke the rules.” He lists, speaking softly against your mouth. His hand tightens briefly as he bites your bottom lip hard enough to draw a whimper from you. “You want me to fuck you? Beg for it, my pet.” He growls before letting go of your throat and pushing himself up to stand over the bed.

“Please. Master please. I’m sorry I broke the rules again. I’m just so desperate for your perfect dick. I need you to fuck me until I can’t walk.” You babble, sitting up and propping yourself up with your hands behind you. He crosses his arms and looks at you with an uninterested look.

“Is that all you got? Only begging to get that greedy pussy filled. Not a single care about my pleasure? I should have known that gifting you those panties would turn you into a selfish slut.” He says simply, his voice scarily calm despite the harsh words he spits at you.

Dropping onto your knees at his feet you look up at him. “Master… You’re right. I wasn’t thinking… Please use me however you want.” You set your hands on his thighs and gently trace your tongue over the tent in his sweatpants. To your delight, and smile spreads across his face and he grips your hair.

“There is my kitten. You just needed a reminder that this isn’t just about your greedy, naughty pussy. It is Valentine’s day for me as well.” He tugs your hair to guide you back to the bed. Once you are standing at the foot of the bed, he shoves your face into the plush blankets. His hand detangles itself from your hair as he moves away from you. You know better than to move from the position he put you in, only turning your head enough to breath. Your ears perk up as you hear a drawer close near the bed and slight crinkling as a condom is opened.

A low moan from the other side of the room nearly has you moving; however, you hold still, knowing your master would take good care of you for being patient. Sure enough, a few moments later your panties are moved aside, and with a quick snap of his hips he fills you all the way.

He laces his hand in your hair and gives you no time to adjust before setting a torturously slow but brutal pace. He pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the tip hitting your cervix in a way that has you squirming beneath him. His pace quickens as you tighten around him.

Small whines slip from your lips as you tetter right on the edge of another orgasm, but the position youre in offers no stimulation to your clit.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? To be fucked. To be full.” He yanks you back against his chest and growls in your ear. He moves his hand to your throat, but he doesn’t even need to apply any pressure, as you are already gasping for air and babbling.

“C-can’t… I wanna… Please I need to cum.” You beg, hands struggling to rub your clit with the bullet still on top of it.

“Then cum. You have everything you were begging for. I won’t stop you from falling apart on your master dick.” He says simply, a harsh contrast in the way he is rearranging your insides. “You don’t need to touch your silly clit. You didn’t want that. In fact, you were begging for me to turn the toy off because it was too much.” You can feel his smirk against your neck as he alternates between gentle kisses and hard bites.

“I can’t cum without my clit! Just a little bit of contact. Anything. Please.” You beg, feeling his hips stutter as he nears his own release. You let out a small whine as you feel him cumming, leading to him to slow down and pull you away from the edge.

“You want your clit played with? Well, if you insist.” He says, reaching for the phone sitting on the bed.

You knew the mistake you made before he ever touched a button. The bullet shoots to life at its max setting. The most powerful orgasm you have ever experienced tears from your body. The edge of your vision goes fuzzy as you lose any control you had over your voice. Loud moans echo around the room of your apartment as every cell in your body feels like it was touched by heaven. You are barely aware of how tightly your pussy is clenching around him until you hear him groaning.

His hips rock against you as he cums again, feeling the vibrations traveling from your clit. Not wanting to hurt you, he turns it off and slowly pulls out. “Hot bath? Or just a warm rag and sleep?” He asks, kissing your temple in an attempt to gently bring you out of subspace.

“Sleep… please…” You say softly, trying to open your eyes to look at him after he lays you down against the pillows. Standing to get cleaned up, he places a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Can you stay awake for a few minutes? So I can get you clean and get you a cup of water?” He asks. A small pout forms on your lips but you nod, knowing he is right and you need water.

After a few long minutes, you are finally able to hold him close and reflect on the day.

[kindahoping4forever]

...Ready For It? // Ashton Irwin

Thank you to everyone who said they wanted to read this story, whether it was in the poll I posted 12 hours ago or when I first posted In My Dreams... You Should See The Things We Do back in June (!) - I actually started working on this not that long after I posted and while the skeleton concept stayed the same, everything else was kind of fluid until last month when I finally felt satisfied with it. As always, thank you to @cal-puddies​ for listening to me whine and obsess over every detail and for (virtually) slapping me upside the head every time I said I was going to just scrap it (and there were many times, trust.)

Note this is a sequel but I think there’s enough context within this piece that you’d be able to enjoy as a standalone if you haven’t read or forgot what happened during In My Dreams...

Warnings: Sexual tension, frustration and resolution. I couldn’t figure out how to do specific warnings without also spoiling the narrative (yes, really) so this is kind of a blanket fluffy smut warning. The sex is explicit in detail but not extreme in nature. ‘Tis a soft, dirty story you’re about to read. Also yes, Ash wears the mountain pants again and no, I will not apologize. 

Word Count: 10,555

Masterlist // Ko-Fi and New 2021 Taglist linked above

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

“I can’t say this is how I imagined getting you out of your clothes for the first time but after months of isolation, I’ll take what I can get,” you quip.

Ashton giggles as he peels off his button down shirt, leaving him in a classic white tank. “I can’t say anything about tonight has gone the way I imagined it would,” he confesses. “I’m sorry things have been kind of a bust.”

You try not to blatantly ogle his muscular build as you playfully jab, “You mean, you didn’t spend all that time longing for us to spend hours waiting outside a restaurant for a socially distant table only to be turned away because now it’s closing time and ending up having to eat drive thru burgers in the backseat of your car?”

“With ketchup dripping all over one of my best shirts? And you saving the day with a suspiciously convenient stain remover pen?” He riffs, passing his top to you.

“Exactly how I pictured it,” you shrug, dabbing at his shirt with the aforementioned magic pen.  “Shame, our fantasies tend to match up a lot better than this.”

You’d never thought much of long distance relationships and you especially never thought you’d find yourself in one with only a few miles separating you but 2020 had been full of surprises; getting to know Ash had turned out to be the silver lining in an otherwise terrible year. 

You’ve each reflected on it plenty and agreed it seems as if your connection was destined to see you both through this strange period. You met at the last party you were invited to before quarantine started, you ran into each other again at the last concert either of you got to attend. Your first date was also your final restaurant meal, the last time you went to a movie was with a group of mutual friends and you sat next to him, giggling like a teenager, intentionally brushing his fingers in the popcorn tub.

When the stay at home order was issued, it didn’t take long for you to check in with each other and while it wasn’t an easy time, you were grateful to build a bond with literally no outside influence. And now after countless texted inside jokes, heart to heart phone calls (and more than a few naughty ones), restrictions had been relaxed and you were finally able to reunite. Only the real world is proving to be a bit more complicated than either of you remember.

“You know, I’m not usually a ‘hop in the backseat on a first date’ kind of gal, but this is pretty fun,” you joke.

Ashton grins. “If it makes you feel any better, I think technically this is maybe our third or fourth date?”

“Anything pre-quarantine doesn’t count,” you shake your head insistently. “That was a lifetime ago, another world. I cook now, I go for walks, I do crosswords now. Whoever you went out with in The Before Times - I don’t know her.”

His loud laugh fills the car and the warmth of it overwhelms you; after months of hearing it through a speaker, you can’t believe you’re finally getting to witness it in person. 

"So if we’re starting over at square one, then what’s the explanation for that kiss you laid on me when I picked you up?” He teases.

“I’m a complex woman, I feel like you should know that by now,” you reply with a coy shrug, handing him his now stain free shirt.

The two of you finish your meals, chatting happily and making non-stop jokes about what a fail your date was. You’re relieved at how natural things are flowing; you knew there was undeniable chemistry but part of you was still nervous about getting used to being around each other - another person, even - again. But beyond the standard date jitters, things were comfortable and familiar.

Your anxiety briefly returns as he pulls the car into your driveway. Of course you want to invite him in, you’ve been waiting so long to invite him in but things just feel… off. You turn, ready to offer an apologetic goodnight but before you get a chance, he’s turning to look at you sheepishly.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but would you mind if we maybe called it a night?” He rushes out, nervously running a hand through his hair. You watch him, fascinated. You’re still not used to how long his hair got in quarantine and you’re definitely not used to seeing him bashful. “I know we joked about it and I appreciate you being cool about everything but I really did want to give you the night out you deserve… and that just didn’t happen. I’d like to try again.”

Your heart swells at his sincerity; he’d always been so genuine and open over the phone, but it’s almost overwhelming experiencing it while he’s looking into your eyes. “Have I never told you that ketchup stains are one of my biggest turn ons?” You tease, hoping to ease some of his obvious embarrassment. “Hey, we’ve waited this long, what’s a little bit longer?”

A little bit longer ends up being the following weekend. It turns out, coming up with romantic and yet responsibly distanced date ideas is harder than either of you thought. With you both having the luxury of working from home and generally not having to venture out unless absolutely necessary, you both decide you’re most comfortable with eliminating the public out of the equation as much as you can.

You settle on a short hike followed by a picnic and when you open your front door you realize just how unprepared you are for the concept of Morning Ash. You smile to yourself as you realize that he must have overslept as his face is still adorably puffy from sleeping, hair still wet from the shower. Yesterday’s five o’clock shadow is still present - he must have been running so late he had to forego his morning shave. The thought of waking up next to him looking like this pops into your mind, that soon you could be the reason he’s running late in the morning and your stomach actually drops.

You push your thoughts aside as you move to greet him with a hug; his cologne is prominent and obviously freshly sprayed and you think to yourself that you're excited to smell like him for the rest of the day.

“Got a surprise for you in the car,” he murmurs.

You’re in the middle of wondering how he makes even a simple white t-shirt look devastating when he opens the passenger door for you. Before you even climb in, you’re instantly greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and breakfast burritos and he chuckles at the way your face lights up. 

“Flowers seemed too formal for a morning date, I figured caffeine and grease was just as nice.” 

“I’ve never felt more seen by a partner,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a sweet, slow kiss. 

You start to pull away to get in the car but Ashton snakes his arms around you and draws you back in for a few more smooches. “Figure we should get as many of these in as we can now, those burritos are no joke,” he laughs.

It’s a bit of a drive to get to a hiking trail that seemed unlikely to be crowded but you don’t mind. After months of waiting to be in this man’s presence, the more time you can spend with him the better. The trip passes quickly, with the two of you basking in each other’s company, play-arguing over playlists and agreeing that “when this is all over” you should plan a road trip together.

“Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves,” he observes, pulling the car into the empty lot. He’s first out of the car and you hear a distinct “UGH” from him as soon as he steps out. He sees your puzzled look through the windshield as he walks around to your side to open your door. “I didn’t expect it to be so fuckin’ hot,” he explains.

You get out and instantly scrunch up your face as a gust of hot wind breezes over you. “Well, we did travel more inland, I guess it makes sense it’d be a little warmer,” you reason. 

You commiserate about the weather and then Ash starts gathering your things from the trunk of the car, taking non-essentials out of your backpacks since the heat is going to make your hike a lot less leisurely than planned. 

Despite the weather, the first portion of your hike is nice: you stroll and talk, enjoying the scenery and your time together. Ashton brought his camera with him and you catch him sneaking a few photos of you along the trail so you teasingly start snapping an excessive amount of pics of him using your phone.

As you get closer to the area you planned on stopping at for lunch, the heat starts getting more and more intense. The morning clouds have now dissipated and the sun is bright and unrelenting, causing the conversation to drag as you both start breathing a little more labored, focusing on getting to your stopping point as quickly as possible. It takes a lot longer than expected and by the time you reach your picnic spot, you’re both exhausted and covered in sweat.

You spread a blanket on the ground and immediately throw yourself on it, grateful for a chance to rest. You look up and see Ash peeling off his t-shirt and draping it over a rock in hopes it will dry before you have to head back.

Normally you’d be silently reprimanding yourself for staring at his bare flesh on display but truthfully all you’re thinking about is how much skin he’s exposing to the sun. “Think we left the sunscreen in the car,” you declare, sitting up to dig through your stuff. “As much as I’m enjoying the show, you’re gonna get fried if you don’t throw that back on.”

He sprawls out on the blanket next to you. “We’re shaded, it’ll be fine,” he insists, pulling his sweat-soaked hair back with a rubber band from his wrist.

The picnic is pleasant but far from the romantic adventure you’d envisioned. You’d hoped the two of you would be laughing under a tree, eating a delicious meal as an equally delicious breeze grazes your skin. The reality is the two of you sitting in silence because you’re so uncomfortable under the unforgiving sunshine, eating food that you would’ve preserved better had you known about the weather, as a hot wind scorches your skin. The part of you that had fantasized about sneaking in a heated makeout can’t get enough of the irony that this date is definitely heated, just not in the way it should’ve been.

With the peak temperature of the day still to come, you agree to call it and head for the car already; Ash puts his shirt back on and you notice him wincing as he moves his obviously sunburned skin, but you choose to say nothing.

The trek back is quiet, both of you physically drained and a bit mentally defeated at yet another date gone awry. At one point, you stop in a shaded area to catch your breath and you give him a quick kiss. “Had fun,” you say quietly. He offers you a soft smile in return.

The drive home is equally lowkey, the discontent and exhaustion of the day filling where there should be sexual tension. He knows the mood has deflated considerably so he doesn’t even ask you to come back to his, he just drives you home. 

The car pulls into your driveway and you turn to him. “Think we’re cursed or something?” Your voice is joking but he can detect the undertone of worry.

Ash gives you a bright smile that’s instantly a comfort. “Nah… maybe cursed with too much ambition and insufficient planning skills but I have no doubt this is exactly where I’m meant to be.” He reaches for your hand, interlacing your fingers and kissing your knuckles.

He walks you to your door and gives you a long kiss that almost has you reconsidering inviting him in. “We got this,” he whispers. 

You ruffle his hair. “I’ve also got aloe you can borrow for these sunburns, how are you even able to move?” You laugh, unlocking your door.

A few days pass before either of you broach the subject of another date; you’re finally the one to bring it up and you both agree on a simple dinner at home for the next night.

“Third time’s a charm, right?” You joke as he opens the door.

He draws you in for a slow kiss as you step inside. You murmur when you feel his facial hair brush against you; his beard is fuller than when you last saw him and you suspect he may have quit shaving simply based on the reaction you’d had to the look on your date. “Well, we’re already off to a good start, I’d say,” he comments against your lips.

You’ve only ever seen Ashton’s house in the background of your video chats and when he notices you looking around with fascination, he excitedly offers to give you a tour. You swear you can actually hear your heart going pitter patter as he proudly escorts you around, sharing funny memories about his friends involving each room or telling elaborate stories about different trinkets he owns. You can tell he’s missed entertaining people in his home and you’re so happy that you’re able to fill that void for him tonight.

You follow him to the kitchen. “Smells amazing, must be quite the dish,” you tease, knowing full well you sent him the “secret” recipe for your grandma’s spaghetti sauce the night before. He pokes at you and you giggle, “Anything I can do to help?”

“The groceries should be delivered any minute,” he answers, checking his phone. “There’s gloves and sanitizer wipes under the sink if you don’t mind taking care of that when it arrives.”

A few minutes later, you peck his cheek as you pass by to go outside and tend to your assignment. Ash nearly spirals when it’s discovered that the shopper made some substitutions without asking but you reassure him that dinner’s not ruined even if the sauce uses regular sugar instead of brown and will be poured over fettuccine noodles instead of spaghetti. 

“Not to jinx anything but I think this is our best first date yet,” you joke after dinner, getting out two coffee mugs from the cabinet he’d directed you to.

“All we had to do was eliminate the variables: other people, the weather, the outside world in general,” he ticks off the list on his fingers with a smile.

You hit the brew button on the coffeemaker and slide closer to where he stands loading the dishwasher. “Well. Just proves that all we really need is each other,” you muse, with a sweet smile. He grins at you, drying his hands so that he can cradle your face and kiss you. His hands are soft from the soap he just used and you sigh approvingly into his mouth as his thumb draws circles on your cheek.

That flirty but sweet tone continues as you move to the living room; you sit on the couch, drinking your coffee, chatting comfortably. You both keep finding reasons to scoot closer together, a thick layer of tension between you. You’d each talked a big game when sharing fantasies about what your first time might be like but now that it might be here, you’re surprised by the hazy combination of excitement and nerves you feel.

It’s hard to say who makes the first move: there’s a lull in the conversation and then suddenly, a kiss. Ashton’s hands quickly make their way into your hair and before long, things get heated and you find yourself climbing into his lap to straddle him. This was about as far as things had gotten between you pre-quarantine and it’s as glorious as you remember.

You roll your hips above him and he groans into the mark he was leaving on your neck; your shirt rides up with your movements and his fingers softly dance over the exposed skin. As you nibble along his jaw, his hands find their way up the back of your shirt and you shiver at his warmth. You put your hands on his wrists, guiding them up, letting him know it’s OK to take your shirt off; he does and you silently thank your past self for wearing one of your pretty bras tonight. 

“So beautiful, baby,” he breathes and then his mouth is back on yours, hands busy exploring the new skin on display for him. You shift your hips again and this time find yourself the one to groan, feeling him hard beneath you for the first time; you’ve spent a lot of time wondering what this would feel like and it’s more intoxicating than you ever could’ve imagined.

Ash lifts you off his lap and lays you back on the couch, peeling his own shirt off before moving to be on top of you. He kisses you hungrily and then makes his way down your body, the scratch of his beard deliciously teasing you, lips pecking over every inch of your neck before they attach to the tops of your breasts.

You pull him back up to your mouth and slide your hands down to unbuckle his belt. You brush over his length through his jeans and nearly gasp at the contact; you know he’s not even fully hard and he feels huge. This revelation has you getting impatient and you attempt to push his pants down. "Jesus dude, are these painted on or what?" You joke, struggling.

 "Hey, I could ask you the same thing," he retorts, running his hands along your ass to prove his point. With a goofy smile, he asks, "Should we pause and de-pants ourselves?" 

You laugh as you untangle yourself from his body and pull your pants off while he does the same. He eyes your matching lace lingerie and teases, "That’s some mighty fancy underwear you've got on there, Miss ‘Let’s Take The Pressure Off And Not Expect Anything To Happen Tomorrow Night’.”

You feel your cheeks warming at both his gawking attention and his implication you were hoping things would end up this way. You playfully fire back, "Maybe I dress like this all the time, you don't know me… or maybe I wanted to feel sexy for myself tonight." You try to pull him into a kiss but he pulls back, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "Or maybe I'm really behind on laundry and I only have the nice stuff left," you say with a sheepish giggle. 

“That I believe,” he laughs delightedly. "Whatever the reason, you look fucking incredible.”

You intend to murmur a thanks but the way his kisses are currently being  peppered in between your breasts causes it to come out as a moan instead. His fingers toy with the closure of your bra and he looks at you to softly ask, “May I?”

You nod enthusiastically and close your eyes as his mouth acquaints itself with your bare breasts, your hands tangling in his hair. Your mouths find each other again, tongues familiarizing themselves with every detail of each other. You reach between your bodies and grip the tent in his underwear; you trace the shape of him through the material and he breaks your kiss to let out a strained moan. “God, I can’t wait to make you cum,” you murmur, a bit surprised by your own boldness.

You feel Ash breathe deeply, affected by your words. “Well, I’m afraid I have a strict ‘ladies first’ policy in this house, so I clearly need to get started,” he jokes, attempting to steady himself. “Bedroom?”

He helps you off the couch and you start to reach for your discarded clothes but he pulls you along, shaking his head. “You won’t be needing those for a while,” he grins.

You follow him to his room, impressing yourself with how steady on your feet you are, how calm you feel; your heart is racing but it’s from anticipation instead of uncertainty, which is unusual for you when you’re about to sleep with someone new. You tend to make these decisions impulsively, with a bit of a “fuck now, ask questions later” attitude. The fact that you’ve waited for this long to be with him and that you feel totally at ease, wandering through his upstairs hallway in just your panties, is the latest in a series of signs telling you that your feelings for Ashton are different.

You settle on the bed while he pauses in the doorway, fiddling with the dimmer on the light switch, determined to get it just right. He finally comes over and you don’t waste any time, climbing over to the edge of the bed to pull off his boxers. His cock springs free and you bite your lip, hoping you’re not actually drooling like you fear you might be.

“You good?” He goads you with a smug smile. During a couple of your video romps, you’d gotten yourself off with toys and he teased you about your selections, calling you a size queen. As you find yourself fascinated surveying the notable length and girth in front of you, you have to admit, he’s not wrong.

You silence his remarks by leaning forward and tentatively licking his tip, closing your eyes in satisfaction when you taste a drop of precum. You roll your tongue around the head, tracing every curve and ridge with your tongue. When you get comfortable enough to wrap your lips around him and slowly start taking him into your mouth, he quietly breathes your name, brushing your hair out of your face, and you feel like you could cum right then and there.

He senses your eagerness and lets you work for a bit longer before he gently pulls you off with a heavy sigh. "Ladies first, remember?" He rasps, flashing you a dazzling smile that would've made you weak even if he wasn't naked in front of you.

He gestures for you to lay back as he kneels at the edge of the bed, dragging his beard across your thighs before hooking his thumbs in your panties to slowly pull them off. You close your eyes, a blissful, close-mouthed smile decorating your face. Ash groans, gazing up at you. “Do you have any idea how many times I laid in this bed picturing what it’d be like to have you here like this?” He asks, raising himself up to kiss you passionately. “Better than I ever could’ve imagined.” 

His lips travel back down your body and you’re so caught up in how dreamy it is to finally feel him like this, you don’t notice he’s already made it back down your body and you cry out when his tongue licks a bold stripe up your center. You’re almost certain you feel him smile against you, proud of the reaction he’s achieved. 

You run your hands through his long hair, trying your best not to tug at it too much, although you suspect he might enjoy that. He alternates between soft, fluttering licks at you and long, intentional strokes, using every centimeter of his wide tongue. It’s overwhelming but you breathe deeply, trying to maintain control; it’s when he wraps his lips around your clit and starts sucking that you start writhing, your legs involuntarily closing in around his head and you tap at him to get his attention.

He immediately pulls back. “Too much?” He reassuringly squeezes your ankle, looking at you encouragingly. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart, wanna do what I can to make you feel good.”

You sit up on your arms, lightheaded from both pleasure and his care. “Ash, oh my god, it feels amazing,” you insist, reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I just… I really wanna cum with you in me... and I can’t always go for two… and it was feeling so good right now…”

Ashton leans up, pausing your nervous rambling with a sweet kiss. “Hey, it’s all good, I’m glad you told me,” he soothes. “Do you want to go ahead or do you need more time? We can do something else to get you ready. Your call.” 

You grin and guide his hand to run along your wet folds. “I think this qualifies as ready, don’t you?” 

“Alright, cheeky girl,” he teases, casually lifting his fingers from your wetness to his mouth, tasting you on them. “Still, there’s lube in the left nightstand if you want to get it out just in case.”

“Gentlemanly offer and a brag at the same time, I’m into it,” you laugh.

He giggles loudly, moving off the bed. “Gotta grab the condoms,” he explains, leaving the room.

You retrieve the bottle of lube like he suggested and tidy the bed up a little bit, adjusting the pillows to make yourself comfortable. He’s gone for what feels like a long time but you chalk it up to your excitement for what’s about to happen. You sit back, surveying the room, making mental notes about different things you want to ask him about later. Finally, you hear him call your name from down the hall and you curiously holler back at him.

He pops his head in the room, looking mildly panicked. “Please tell me you saw a box of condoms in the groceries you put away,” he inquires breathlessly.

Your heart sinks. “Um… no? I didn’t,” you take a steadying breath, bracing yourself for what seems like very bad news. “It was mostly food. And the napkins we used. Toothpaste I put in the bathroom. No condoms.”

Ash inhales sharply, nodding rapidly, which unsettles you; he comes to sit on the edge of the bed and drags his hands over his face and through his hair. “Well. This is just never gonna fucking happen, I guess,” he declares dramatically. You feel weirdly exposed now that the mood has shifted and you reach for a blanket to cover yourself with before you crawl over to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder, letting him know you’re there. He smiles sadly and strokes over your hair. “I’m so sorry, baby. I hadn’t dated in a while and then with lockdown… I didn’t know until yesterday what I had was expired so I tossed them and ordered some today… and they’re just… not here,” he says regretfully.

You chew your lip, evaluating how you should respond; you’re disappointed, obviously - very disappointed - but Ashton is clearly upset with himself and you don’t want to make him feel any worse. “I suppose it’d be irresponsible of me to suggest we ignore this road block by employing the old ‘spray and pray’ method?” You joke… at least you think you’re joking.

He snorts, turning to look at you with a smile on his face, which makes you feel better about things. “I’m sure you’re not serious but no, after all this time, after we finally had the perfect date, no, I’m not going to pull out and ‘spray and pray,’ he chuckles.

You smile back at him. “Well,” you start flirtatiously, “I meant it when I said I couldn’t wait to make you cum.” Your fingers dance along his bare thigh, travelling close to his softened cock. “We can still fool around, if you want.”

He looks at you fondly, squeezing your hand on his leg. “I really don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Ash, as sweet as you are, this is an entirely selfish act on my part, I really just want you to moan for me,” you smirk, moving to sit back against the pillows. “Plus this is possibly the most turned on I’ve ever been and if I don’t get off soon, I might actually die.”

Grinning, he crawls up the bed and settles in next to you. “Well. Can’t have that, now can we?” He teases in a low voice, kissing you with an intoxicating restraint. “Got anything particular in mind?” He feels you sigh against him as he gets his mouth on your neck and his hand on your breast.

It takes you a second to find your voice again, still getting used to the novelty of being able to feel his touch. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind getting my mouth back on you,” you confess with heavy breath. “Or we could just, you know, play with each other.” You slide your hand down to find his cock, lightly rubbing your fingertips up and down his shaft, feeling it start to rise for you again.

Ash groans and throws his arm around your shoulders, turning so that you’re cradled into his side. Your hand lazily drags over his length while he holds you, kissing you with a renewed intensity. The arm around you softly massages your shoulder while his free arm is exploring your body: palming your breasts, twirling your nipples, fingers caressing the rise and fall of your tummy. 

He breaks the kiss as his hand makes its way between your legs, tentatively brushing along your inner thigh, watching you closely as his fingers move to trace your lips and then your folds. He swirls through your wetness and then gently starts rubbing your clit; your hand instantly stills on him and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“This feel alright?” He asks, studying your face. 

You take your free hand and place it on his, encouraging him to apply more pressure. “So good, Ash,” you murmur, raising your mouth to his again, eager to have his affection completely enveloping you.

You resume your motion on his cock, stroking him firmly, listening for the hitches in his breath or gentle grunts to tell you that your instincts of how to please him are correct. You try to recall what you can from the months you spent watching him touch himself online; you vividly remember him twisting over the tip while he used his other hand to cradle his balls. You give it a try and he lets out a loud moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

The two of you familiarize yourselves with each other’s bodies, savoring the noises you’re pulling from each other because although it’s not the first time you’ve ever heard them, it’s the first time they’re being caused by you. 

Ashton’s fingers tease along your entrance and you can’t breathe out a “Please” fast enough; he slides two fingers inside and starts thrusting. He starts with a moderate pace but you’re so worked up, you’re bucking against his hand almost immediately, overwhelmed at the thought of some part of him finally inside you.

You try your best to keep jerking him off but it’d be an understatement to say you’ve become distracted as his fingers move in you; you whisper an apology as you let go of him, starting to lose control, digging your nails into his bicep, whining at how you can feel it flex from the way he’s working your body. 

Ash can’t get enough of how receptive you are to him so when you mutter out another “Sorry” upon realizing how red the skin around his snake tattoo is from you holding on to him, he squeezes your shoulder in reassurance. “Listen, you can scratch that thing clean off if it means I’m making you feel that good,” he teases, nipping at your neck. “Are you as close as it sounds like you are?”

You’re sure your cheeks must already be flushed but you still feel them warm up at the implication that he recognizes your noises from quarantine. You nod, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.

"Do you need something different to help you finish or keep this up?" He asks, understanding in his eyes.

You groan and jump as his fingers hit your spot again. "Um, actually I think I’d like if you went back to just my clit."

He nods, following your instructions. He rubs careful circles, checking your face to see if he’s getting the pressure right. You start to tuck your face into Ashton’s chest to minimize your reactions but he tenderly pulls you back to lay with him, stroking his hand through your hair to soothe you as he feels you start to shake in his arms. “God, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this,” he praises, sucking below your ear. “Let me hear you, baby, you always sound so good when you cum for me.”

His raspy affirmations work in perfect tandem with the vigorous movement of his fingers and you begin to unravel. You breathily cry out his name as your back rises off the bed and your hands fly out on either side of you, one gripping the sheets, the other grabbing for his arm again.

Your hips buck, riding the waves of pleasure surging through your body. Ash watches you carefully, continuing to work you until he detects a slight wince of overstimulation and he removes his hand, deciding to kiss you through the rest of your orgasm. 

Your body finally relaxes and while you’re definitely exhausted, you’re also eager to satisfy him in return. While he presses kisses over your face, whispering quiet praises as you settle, your hands move to explore his body again, one caressing at his chest and abs, the other taking hold of his cock, making good use of the precum he released while playing with you, starting to build momentum again.

He groans, closing his eyes, losing himself in your touch. You can't resist shifting slightly to travel down his body, pecking your way down his stomach, nibbling at his hips before moving your lips back to his cock. You suckle at the head and the throaty "Baby" you receive in return is already worth your trouble.

Ashton traces designs on your back while you suck him off; he constantly murmurs encouragement, which you appreciate because your heart is racing, this is the first time tonight you've felt truly nervous. You've always enjoyed giving head but you've fantasized about blowing Ash for so long you were slightly afraid it might not live up to expectations - for the both of you, since you'd shared many fantasies with him.

You try to pace yourself, not wanting to get greedy and take too much at once, using your hand to make up for what your mouth can't handle yet; every time you pull off to catch your breath and check in with him, he sweetly wipes at your mouth with his thumb and it's much cuter than it should be, considering the situation.

You bob along his shaft a few more times, fluttering your tongue along the underside, finding a particular vein you remember him paying special attention to. Your memory serves you correct and he emits a surprised whimper. He squeezes your shoulder a few times and you pull off curiously.

"Want your mouth on mine when I cum," he rasps.

You quickly reclaim your place laying in his arms, kissing him as requested. It’s just a few tugs until his breathing starts to stutter against your lips. "Fuck, yes, cum for me, Ash," you murmur, letting out a little moan yourself when you feel his cock throb in your hold.

Ash huffs out short belabored breaths as he moves his hand down to join yours, showing you how to work through his orgasm, adjusting slightly so that his cum shoots on to his own stomach instead of yours.

You lightly kiss him through it until he pulls your hand off of him, lacing his fingers in yours, squeezing briefly. You lay back in his arms, basking in the intimacy of the moment.

He pecks your forehead before he regrettably pulls away from you to gesture towards the tissue box on the bedside table. “Would you mind?”

You start to reach for it and then pause, deciding you’re comfortable enough to make a request. “Actually… could I…?” You trail off, raising your eyebrows as you steal a glance at his torso.  

Ashton chuckles out a surprised “OK” and then you’re quickly shuffling down his body to get your mouth on his cum covered skin. He breathes in sharply when he feels your warm breath on him and his stomach flutters under your tongue as you clean him up, blissfully humming as you discover his taste.

Your hair falls in your face and he brushes it out of the way, not wanting to miss a second of what you’re doing. When you’re finished, you sit up and daintily wipe your mouth with your fingertips. You catch a glimpse of Ash looking downright dazed, chest still heaving from his orgasm, eyes glazed over from watching you eagerly volunteer to lick up his release.

With the heat of the moment having passed, you start feeling slightly self-conscious about your boldness. “Was that over the top? I feel like that was too much for a first time, oh my god,” you laugh, hands covering your face nervously. “I just… on our calls, every time I would watch you cum, I would just… think about it…” You shake your head, surprised at your own behavior.

He laughs and reaches for you, kissing the top of your head as you lay against him. "Just the right amount of 'too much', trust me." His voice gets deeper as he leans in to whisper, “I’d thought about it too, for the record. As fuckin’ hot as I’d thought it’d be.”

You lay quietly wrapped up in him for a bit longer and when you move to get out of bed, he grabs your hand, squeezing it gently. “D’ya wanna stay tonight?” He asks, hazel eyes swimming with sweetness and sincerity. “I didn’t want to jinx it and get stuff for breakfast but I was thinking we could order in.”

You smile brightly, leaning in to peck his lips. “You can finally make me your famous coffee you’re always bragging about,” you tease.

“It’s disgusting, you’ll love it,” he grins, playfully pinching your ass as you get out of bed.

The next morning you wake up to the feeling of Ash climbing back into bed beside you. You open one eye and look him up and down suspiciously. “Where have you been?” You murmur.

He settles on his side, pulling you closer to him so your faces are inches from each other, at the edge of your respective pillows. “Ordered breakfast already, had to go unlock the front gate,” he explains, voice still thick with sleep. He strokes your hair and smiles at how you close your eyes, melting into his touch. “Sleep OK, baby?”

You feel your lips curl into a dreamy smile; you already knew you loved hearing him call you that but hearing it in his deep morning voice is fucking transcendent. “To be honest, it’s been so long since I slept next to someone, I wasn’t sure how it was gonna go at first,” you laugh, scooting closer. “You’re warm, though, which was nice.” 

“Well at least I have that going for me,” he jokes with a mock pout, which you promptly move in to kiss right off his face. You enjoy a sleepy, slow makeout for a few minutes and then he pulls away. 

He takes a deep breath before quietly saying, “Hey… I wanted to apologize for how I acted last night with the whole condom thing. I just got so frustrated because it seemed like we’d finally gotten it right… but that kind of negativity has no place in our relationship. Especially in a situation like that where you were feeling disappointed and vulnerable as well. So I’m sorry.”

“Ash,” you whisper softly. You take in the sight of him: long, dark curls darting out every which way from sleeping, scruffy beard you’re still certain he grew just for you, lips swollen from your kisses. His eyes are gorgeous as always but you can see the concern and remorse behind them and you feel like you can’t put him at ease soon enough. “You don’t have to apologize, it was disappointing and you don’t have to be Mr. Positivity 24/7 if you don’t feel like it. Not for me. I’d rather know how you’re really feeling.” 

“I guess I thought this would be easier. We’ve had so long to think about being together and to plan for it and it’s just been a constant let down,” he admits.

You chew your lip. “Well, listen. Last night still worked out? We still got to be intimate, I still got to experience waking up next to you. Sort of,” you tease. He cracks a smile and you couldn’t be more thankful. “But what you just said, maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe because we had so much time to think about this, maybe we’ve built it up too much in our minds and we’re just setting ourselves up to be disappointed.”

He nods, mulling over your words. “Like the fantasy was important during lockdown but now it’s tripping us up. If we were in more normal circumstances, we would’ve just slept together without much thought.”

“You really think your game’s that good?” You joke and he pinches you in response. “You’re right, though, I haven’t thought this much about a first time since I was a virgin.”

“So we need to find a middle ground between this idealization we’ve invented and doing it just to get it over with,” he suggests.

“Exactly,” you peck his lips in encouragement. “At the end of the day, it’s just sex. I’ve been looking forward to being with you, not to some super romantic, candlelit lovemaking experience at the end of a dream date.” “Whenever it happens, it’ll be perfect because we’re perfect,” he smiles.

The two of you carry that mentality with you throughout the next couple weeks. You hang out, go on a couple dates and even end up having a spontaneous video sex session like old times. You still burn with desire nearly every time he’s near you but removing that looming pressure to set the mood really does help put you at ease with each other. You feel more connected than ever, like you’re able to focus on him now instead of the experience.

“The drive-ins are opened back up now,” Ashton mentions during your afternoon call. “Think you might wanna catch a movie tonight?”

“God, remember movies? That could be fun,” you agree.

“A buddy of mine went last weekend, opened up the hatchback, put a bunch of pillows down, made it nice and cozy. Thought I might ask if I could borrow his car… we could have a little picnic back there before the movie,” he proposes.

You smile to yourself, loving how excited he gets planning dates. “Better bring your comfiest hoodie for me to steal, we’re gonna get fuckin’ snuggly.”

Ash loves a good reveal so when he picks you up, he’s sure to walk you around the front of the car so you don’t peek in the back of the mini SUV. You have fun teasing him on the way there, adjusting the mirrors, exaggeratedly acting like you’re glancing over your shoulder; watching his eyes go wide and hearing his stern “Hey!” simply never gets old. 

Amused as he is by your game, Ashton knows how to tease you right back and when you arrive at the drive-in, before he gets out of the car to finish setting up, he offers you a kiss and a quiet warning of “Be good” that basically guarantees you’ll stay in your seat until he says otherwise.

After a few minutes, he finally calls you back there and you’re blown away at the elaborate transformation. He pops the hatchback up to reveal the back rows of seats have all been laid flat and a thin layer of memory foam lays across them, covered by piles and piles of blankets. Pillows of every shape and size adorn the setup, along with a small cooler and a tote of movie snacks. In the center of the makeshift bed is the pizza you picked up for dinner and two champagne flutes filled with your favorite soda.

“Ash,” you coo as you climb into the back of the car. “This is so fucking cute? You said your friend put some pillows down, not made an entire love nest back here.”

“Well, I may have embellished a little,” he chuckles modestly, following you inside. “One of our first hang outs was at a movie, so I thought our grand return should be special.” 

You grin as you serve pizza onto each of your plates. “That feels like that was a thousand years ago but I still remember the chill that ran down my spine every time you leaned over the armrest to whisper some comment about the movie.”

“Yeah? I remember being nervous because I couldn’t tell if you were aroused or annoyed, to be honest,” he laughs. 

“Oh it was definitely both at first. You talked a lot and I didn’t pay LA ticket prices to hear your commentary track,” you giggle, playfully shoving his shoulder as his jaw drops. “But then I decided I really liked how it felt to have you pay attention to me.”

“And of course what I was saying was clever and enlightening and added to your cinematic experience,” he adds on with a smirk.

You give him a tight-lipped smile, raising your eyebrows in exaggeratedly mocking agreement. He flicks your leg in response and you yelp, unable to keep from smiling at him. The two of you continue reminiscing and making easy conversation while you devour your pizza dinner. By the time you’re done, the sun is setting.

You lay back on the pillows you’ve propped up and watch intently as Ash gets rid of the pizza box at a nearby trash can. You’d both agreed that the dress code for tonight was ‘comfort’ and he went with a black t-shirt and an endearingly bizarre pair of lounge pants that feature a mountain landscape illustrated across the legs. Unsurprisingly, the t-shirt hugs his chest and biceps, drawing attention to the tattoos up and down his arms that you haven’t been able to keep your hands off of. What is surprising is how the loose pants still cling to his body in all the right ways - pulling across his thick thighs and ass, making you wonder if he’s keeping things in his pockets or if the bulging in front you’re seeing is all him. You squeeze your legs together, pleased that he’s almost back at the car, eager to feel him, even if it’s just for a snugged up movie date.

He flashes you a dazzling smile as he walks up to the car. “What’s got you all dreamy-eyed?” He teases, settling in next to you. You feel your breath hitch as he comfortably rests his hand on your bare thigh, toying with the hem of your lounge shorts, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Just happy to be here,” you shrug, leaning over to peck his bearded cheek.

He hums at your affection, leaning his head on your shoulder as he fiddles with his phone, pulling up a radio app so he can tune to the station that will be broadcasting the audio for your screen. “It’s kind of a deadzone out there, there’s only maybe 5 other cars,” he reports, reaching behind you to make sure the bluetooth speaker he’s connected to is on. “Even with all the distancing, we probably didn’t need to park all the way back here.”

“I like it… Gives the illusion you rented out the place just for me, makes me feel special,” you joke. He giggles and kisses your shoulder.

The first movie of your double feature starts a few minutes later and you couldn’t possibly enjoy it more. The two of you trade jokes and snacks; it’s all just so comfortable and lovely, unfiltered and natural.

During the intermission, you decide to get out and stretch a bit before the second film starts. You notice that when you feel Ashton’s eyes poring over you as you bend and twist, you only feel pride and desire, none of the nervousness or timidity you’d felt a few weeks ago.

Once the movie starts, you sit and try to patiently wait and see if he’s going to make a move but by the time the opening credits are over, you can’t help but advance things yourself. You scoot closer but his eyes remain trained on the screen; you decide to more explicitly ask for his attention by nuzzling your face into his neck, pressing a few light kisses behind his ear, scratching his beard with your nails. “I’m having a good time,” you whisper, feeling him grin under your touch. “This was such a great idea, I’m happy you suggested it.”

He slinks his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m so glad you like it,” he beams at you. “It’s fun to be out in the world again but also still pretty much alone.”

“Alone enough to do this,” you lilt, leaning in to plant your lips on his. Your kiss is gentle but urgent and he reciprocates your energy, cupping your face with one hand and using the other to press you against him, murmuring when you slide your tongue into his mouth. Just when things start to get heated, one of you pulls back and warmly smiles at the other, as if you’re both excited for more but still wanting to appreciate what’s happening in this moment.

You don’t want to disrupt the makeout but you can’t fight the craving you have to feel more of him; you’re finally able to pull yourself away and you lay down on the bed, patting the spot next to you in what you hope is an alluring manner.

He moves closer and you close your eyes, ready to feel his touch. You’re startled to instead hear a grunt of frustration and the shifting of a leather seat. Your eyes snap open and you see him straining to reach into the front seat, trying to reach the keys in the ignition. You’re half a second away from asking what the hell he’s doing when you hear a distant beep and the hatchback slowly begins to close at the end of the cabin. 

He plops himself on the pillow next to you. “Thought we could use a little more privacy,” he explains, grabbing a handful of your ass and using it to pull you closer. “Just in case someone else out there thinks the movie is as boring as we did.”

You start to giggle at his remark but your laughter is interrupted by his lips returning to yours. You both let your mouths and hands do as they please, exploring and enjoying without hesitation and without expectation. You’ve just peeled off his shirt and are sucking a mark at his collarbone when you feel his hand slip up your shirt to palm your breast. You give a light bite to his skin as his fingers pull at your nipple; he groans as you breathily tell him, “You can do it harder.”

A few dozen kisses later, his hand is sliding down your stomach and past the waistband of your shorts. You pull out of his kiss to whine quietly as his long fingers brush through your wetness, only touching your clit incidentally before adding light pressure. 

“Good?” Ashton checks with a smile as your head lulls back and you grab onto him.

“Oh, you know… ‘s alright I guess,” you joke, your attempt at being casual undermined by the way you’re basically grinding into his hand. You let out a long moan and he quickly brings his mouth back down to yours in an attempt to silence it.

As his fingers and lips drive you wild, you find your own hands reaching for his pants and you sigh into his mouth when you feel his cock hard and ready for you. You run your fingers across the straining fabric, teasing him with one hand while the other works to loosen the drawstring. 

You dip your hand inside and grip his cock, choking back a moan when you feel how much he’s already leaked for you. The slickness helps you easily begin stroking him and you shift so you can study his face, wanting to see evidence of the pleasure you’re giving him. As your thumb swipes over his tip and your fingers firmly squeeze his length, Ash’s eyes flutter shut and he bites his lip, quietly muttering your name under his breath.

His fingers slip inside you and you gasp as pumps them in and out, dragging them against your walls, teasing your spot. It’s an intense moment when your eyes lock as his fingers work inside of you while yours glide up and down his cock, the two of you breathing heavy as you basically fuck each other without fucking.

“Ash…” You start, voice wavering.

“Yeah,” he answers in strained agreement. “Do you want --”

“Yes, yes I do. I brought --”

“So did I.”

You break apart from each other and reach for your belongings, chuckling as he pulls a handful of condoms from his backpack and tosses them onto the bed at the same time you pull some from your purse and add them to the pile.

“Well it’s good to know we’re both the kind of people who can learn from their mistakes,” he laughs, pulling you into a delighted kiss. 

An exciting energy fills the car as you both shift around, getting yourselves situated. Ashton pulls back a layer of blankets from the seats in case you want to cover up and bursts out laughing when he turns around to see you’ve already stripped off your shorts and panties and are sitting there pantsless and unbothered.

“We’re parked in the back, there’s barely anyone here and the windows are fogged up,” you shrug, grinning.

You find yourself captivated as you watch him kick his pants off and get up on his knees, wrapping a hand around his cock, pumping it a few times before rolling a condom on. This is really happening. Finally, really happening.

“C’mere,” he breathes, reaching for you. You crawl to him and he cradles your face, kissing you softly. You nibble at his lip as you pull away and the two of you can’t stop smiling.

You climb into his lap, sitting on his legs, staring into his eyes. “Ready?” He asks you, sweetly rubbing your thighs. 

You nod eagerly and lift yourself up to hover over his cock. He slicks the tip through your folds, stopping to tease over your clit a few times and then he’s watching your face as he presses against your entrance. 

Your mouth drops open as you start to take him. He's so thick the stretch is instant, breathtaking and everything you've been dreaming of. His fingers gingerly brush over your hip, encouraging you as you ease him further inside you, rocking up and down until you're impossibly full.

Ash wraps his arms around you, kissing you deeply, hands in your hair then running down your back, then squeezing your ass. You feel completely surrounded by him and it’s overwhelming in the best way. You break the kiss to quickly peel your t-shirt off and then you’re reattaching your lips to his, pressing your chest against his, needing to feel as much of his skin on yours as you possibly can.

“Yes, baby, fuck” he murmurs as you slowly begin to move on his cock. “Feel so fuckin’ perfect… better than I’ve been imagining.”

You respond with a series of whimpers, so caught up in the feeling of finally having him in you. You move cautiously, almost torturously slow until you adjust to his size and then you pick up the pace, his hands firmly gripping your ass, helping you along.

You don’t even have the end goal of an orgasm in mind, you just can’t get enough of the new sensations his cock is making you feel. You shift from rocking to bouncing on him, moaning loudly each time his length hits a new place inside you.

“Ash… your cock feels so fucking good,” you pant, riding him with increasing speed, losing yourself in it. “Can’t believe you’re finally filling me up, baby… fuck.”

Your movements are bordering on frantic when you feel Ashton lightly squeeze your hips, attempting to still them, gently breathing your name. You slow down and look at him inquisitively. The mixture of amusement, desire and warmth painting his face is enough to make your pounding heart skip a beat.

“Can I?” He softly asks. You nod and he carefully pulls out of you and lays you back against the pillows before settling over you. He pecks over your neck and face as he guides himself back inside you. “Think we owe it to ourselves to slow down and live in this for a while.”

He starts to push up so he can get to work but you stop him, tucking his long hair behind his ear, stroking your hand over his beard. “You’re right, just feels so good,” you grin. “Hard not to get carried away.”

Ashton kisses over your palm and begins leisurely moving his hips. He keeps a moderate pace, steady enough that you’re feeling consistent pleasure, feeling something building in your core, but not so hurried that you’re aching to reach the finish line. You hook your leg around his hip and when he pushes it slightly back towards you, he slides in deeper and his groan blends with yours to form possibly the most gorgeous sound you’ve ever heard.

“Jesus, baby… pussy’s takin’ me so well,” he praises, voice sounding more wrecked than you expected. “Such a pretty, giving pussy, baby… what a good girl.”

You shiver at his words, your hands running up and down his back, feeling his muscles flex as he moves above you; you slide your hands down to grab his ass, pulling him closer, willing him even deeper. Ash reaches between your bodies to find your clit, teasing it with just the right amount of pressure to make you moan. The snap of his hips has become slightly quicker and you can tell by his breathing that he’s getting close.

“Ash… so good, yes,” you mumble, reaching down to direct his hand in the pattern you need. He mimics your movements expertly and you start rocking your hips along with him, feeling the stirrings of your climax. “Fuck, like that… god, please.”

“Yeah?” He pants, watching your body start to tense. He takes his free hand and reaches for yours, lacing your fingers, squeezing encouragingly. “Been waiting so long to feel you cum around my cock… come on, baby, cum.”

The first pulse of your orgasm hits you so forcefully you’re shocked he doesn’t react to how hard you squeeze his hand. By the time the next one hits, you’re crying out in senseless mutters from how heavenly this moment feels, how his thick cock couldn’t fit more perfectly inside you as you tighten around it. The sensations feel like they might echo forever as you start to come back down, Ash continuing to move gently in you, reassuring you in a soft voice about how incredible you feel around him.

You pull him down to kiss him breathlessly, satisfied from your orgasm but still hungry for his affection, still needing him on you. “Want you to cum for me, babe,” you whisper. “Let me know how much you love being buried in this pussy.”

Your words drive Ashton’s thrusts to become frenzied as he growls your name, followed by a raspy string of curses. He lets out a deep groan as he fills the condom, rocking into you deep and slow as he works through his climax. His head drops to burrow into your neck and you shiver at how his beard prickles your overstimulated skin. You stroke through his curls, lightly damp with sweat, and whisper in his ear, “So good, Ash… so fuckin’ good.”

He plants an exhausted but sweet kiss on you, only breaking it for you both to whine as he pulls out of you; he carefully ties off the condom while you reach for some of the leftover napkins from dinner to clean yourself up. You sort through each other’s clothes, the two of you grinning like fools the entire time you’re getting dressed.

Ash leans back against the pillows and sighs loudly, gesturing for you to come lay with him. You crawl toward him, making a small detour over the front seat to press the release on the hatchback again. You settle against him as the door opens, the cool night air filling the car again, the long forgotten movie still being projected in the distance.

“Worth the wait?” You tease, giving him a toothy smile.

He holds you tight to his chest. “Fuckin’ hell, baby… as much as we built it up, think we still might’ve undersold it. Like. Goddamn.”

You hum in agreement, closing your eyes, enjoying the afterglow. “I’m glad we just kind of let it happen. That’s probably the best first time I’ve ever had. Definitely the most comfortable.”

“Same. Easy but still just… perfect,” he says dreamily.

You play with his fingers, chuckling, “I was so comfortable I almost asked you to cum on me until I remembered we were fucking in your friend’s car.”

“I mean, it was already questionable for us to have gotten fully naked in his car, we might as well have gone all out,” Ashton laughs loudly, squeezing your hand. “I think Cal had a suspicion this might happen, he left breath mints, condoms and Clorox wipes in the glove compartment.” 

You cackle. “No blacklight, though?”

He pinches your leg and leans in to drown your laughter with a kiss. You gaze at him for a beat, marvelling at how normal everything feels for once. You notice he’s looking at you with a familiar fire in his eyes and you swear even though you were naked with him just a few minutes ago, you actually feel butterflies in your stomach.

You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly and Ash smirks. “Was just thinkin’ it’s for the best anyways. The first time I cover you in cum I don’t want it to be in a dark backseat, I want to be able to see it.”

You quietly groan, a naughty glint in your eye to match his. You sit up and plant a heated kiss on him, pulling away to murmur, “Well. It’s still early… my place or yours?”

————-

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[nightingaelic]

I was reading your "Fallout 4 companions meet Arcade Gannon" reacts when I had an idea. FO4 companions reaction to visiting the Mojave Wasteland with the Sole Survivor.

"She was Boston, I was Vegas

She was Crêpes Suzette, I was pie

She was lectures, I was movies, but I loved her."

- Frank Sinatra, 1981, "I Loved Her"

Cait: "I've never been much of a gambler, but where there's gambling, there's usually a good time to be had."

While Cait finds the casinos of the Strip a little too ritzy for her liking, she rather enjoys the smaller, satellite venues: The Atomic Wrangler in Freeside, the Vikki and Vance casino in Primm, even the saloons in Goodsprings and the Mojave Outpost (the latter of which being where she foolishly engages in a drinking contest with Cass and happily gets her ass kicked). Her greatest enjoyment, however, comes upon discovery of the Thorn in Westside, with its arranged bouts between wasteland critters and the opportunity to go a round yourself if you're feeling lucky. Instead of the trapped horror she felt when the Combat Zone was taken over by raiders and she was forced to fight, Cait revels in the glory she reaps when choosing to face off against a fire gecko, a night stalker or a cazador with her trusty baseball bat. By the time the visit is over, she and Red Lucy have grown close, and the Thorn's mistress is going around openly calling Cait "my hunter."

Codsworth: "Ah, Las Vegas! Why, I can recall when you considered a quick getaway to this paradise just before young master Shaun's arrival. It appears we aren't too late, after all."

Codsworth is somewhat comforted by the lack of overt nuclear devastation in New Vegas, but that feeling wears off as soon as the first set of thugs in Freeside tries to corner him and the sole survivor and take their caps. Once the would-be muggers are laid out on the ground, Codsworth abandons his rose-colored glasses and puts his quippy, dismayed personality back on. Still, he loves the Strip, particularly the Ultra-Luxe with its refined guests, decor and hygienic practices, but he quickly sours on their hoity-toity attitudes. Instead, Codsworth turns to the presence of the NCR as a sign that civilization is creeping back into the wasteland. He's also tickled pink by the Kings and the Chairmen, but not the mobster-esque Omertas: They remind him too much of the pre-war mob activity in good old Boston.

Curie: "Excusez-moi, but what is that structure there? The tallest one, with the blinking lights."

Curie is thrilled to be out in the desert, observing the local populace and documenting their survival techniques, social structures and power struggles. She's fascinated with the area's history, and drags the sole survivor along to seek out the Mojave's most (in)famous individuals to record their stories for her research into post-war civilization. This lands her in quite a few questionable situations, but her general attitude of perseverance and wide-eyed wonder about the world open a lot of doors for her. She makes a lot of friends at the Old Mormon Fort among the Followers of the Apocalypse, though most of them assume her frustration about her own "biological reactions to extreme living conditions" is just her complaining about the heat like everyone else. Arcade's pretty sure she's a robot, though he's too polite to ask about it outright.

Danse: "We're close now, to the birthplace of the Brotherhood of Steel. This is an honor I never thought I'd experience."

Though it's boiling hot inside his power armor under the desert sun, Paladin Danse is overjoyed that he's accompanying the sole survivor on this journey into the cradle of the ideology that he's devoted to. He's heard about the Mojave from Brotherhood of Steel veterans, those who traveled with Elder Lyons when they initially came to the Capital Wasteland and those who accompanied Elder Maxson when he was just a Squire, and he keeps spouting off random trivia about the area. Any run-ins with disillusioned Scribe Veronica might leave him a bit put out, but it's overall a fun trip for him through a part of the continent that's a little less smashed to rubble than the rest of the world. He especially enjoys visiting the NCR and Brotherhood military outposts, if only to offer critiques and suggestions to any soldiers that give him the time of day.

Deacon: "Sheesh, visiting the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter, am I right?"

Deacon has been here before. Well, he doesn't actually say he's been here before, but he keeps dropping hints to the sole survivor that he's somehow on a return trip. He knows the legends of the Sierra Madre and the Blue Star treasures offhand, he has a whole conversation with the Securitrons guarding the Strip about what happened to Robert House, he even knows how to competently play Caravan. Every time the sole survivor asks him about how he knows so much, though, Deacon just grins and keeps chugging his Sunset Sarsaparilla. Obviously no one recognizes him by face, but he does have a setting-appropriate wardrobe along that includes NCR bandoleer armor, a coat-tailed tuxedo, top hat and White Glove Society mask, and a black leather jacket to go with his pompadour wig.

Dogmeat: [curiously sniffs everything]

Dogmeat can't figure out why this place is so dang dry, but he's on his best behavior for the sole survivor as they make their way over the dusty roads of the Mojave. He politely greets each other traveler on the roads, who keep asking his companion where they got "a non-cyber cyberdog." For the most part though, the trip is pretty in line with everywhere Dogmeat goes: Big rodents, big bugs, tired people and plenty of ruins to explore. Dogmeat's one outstanding adventure comes in the form of an attempted kidnapping by some of the Kings, who think their leader needs a new dog after Rex hit the road with some fool. The King doesn't take kindly to this, and graciously has the dog returned to his friend.

Hancock: "Oh, man, how does anyone live out here? I'm drying out, I feel like a radroach husk."

Hancock is having the time of his life in the Mojave, apart from constantly complaining about how he prefers the Commonwealth's weather. He's chummy with everyone, but especially with the ghouls he encounters. He buys Raul a bunch of drinks and asks him about his past, he suggests future career paths and hobbies for Calamity, and he is absolutely enchanted with Beatrix the dominatrix. He's also rowdy enough to attract the ire of nearly every casino in New Vegas: The White Glove Society seethes when the sole survivor points out that his Revolutionary War outfit technically meets the dress code, the Omertas howl when he starts encouraging the strippers and sex workers to band together and take over the casino, and the Vault 21 dwellers keep asking if he's liable to turn feral. The Chairmen, however, treat him as something of a novelty and gift him with a seersucker suit to go with his jaunty personality.

MacCready: "You know, I played cards with a guy from out here once. He tried to teach me a game called... what was it, Candyman? Kilogram?"

MacCready has the barest smattering of knowledge about the Mojave Wasteland, and he keeps injecting it into conversations no matter how inaccurate it is. He's fascinated with the sole survivor's recollections of what Vegas was like before the Great War, and his expectations are sky-high by the time they arrive on the city's outskirts. Those expectations are absolutely met once inside the Strip, even if the sole survivor's are let down. MacCready is just tickled by the existence of a city that is solely dedicated to parting you from your caps, and he settles into each new business for the express purpose of people-watching. He only tries gambling once, and immediately quits after he loses all of his pocket change.

Valentine: "Good old Las Vegas. Somehow, I'm not surprised it's still got a reputation as 'Sin City,' even this long after the bombs."

The Nick Valentine of old never visited Las Vegas, but he certainly knew about it well enough for the Nick Valentine of today to draw on those impressions. He's extra-wary about the city as a result, an attitude not helped by the many people staring at him because of his detective getup, jagged edges and golden eyes. Some people are polite enough to walk up and ask what he is: Others offer to buy him off the sole survivor directly, much to Nick's chagrin. When James Garret offers him a thousand caps for "one night of his services," Nick puts his foot down and starts glaring at everyone who so much as walks up to him and the sole survivor during their trip. The exceptions to this rule are Veronica, who is extremely polite and non-invasive with her questioning; Arcade, who is too polite to even mention Nick's synthetic state; and Raul, who finds the whole thing hilarious but admits that his ghoul status has landed him in some similar situations.

Piper: "I've heard plenty of stories about this place, and if even a quarter of them are true, I ought to get a good travel piece out of just about anyone we pass on the street."

Piper's on a mission to track down the history of New Vegas, which, like Curie, sends her on a path toward its biggest political figures. Aside from them, she's particularly interested in the services of the Mojave, like the Gun Runners, the Crimson Caravan Company, and especially the Mojave Express. Piper gets along swell with just about everyone, and she basks in the widespread acceptance that she lacks back home due to her chosen profession. She desperately tries to get Johnson Nash to ship a case of Sunset Sarsaparilla cross-continent for her, but he gently turns her down and tells her that the only courier he knows crazy enough to undertake a trip to the Commonwealth is too busy nowadays.

Preston: "They're not too friendly to outsiders here, or so I'm told, but there are always good folks to be found if you know where to look."

Preston, true to form, offers help to every little settlement he and the sole survivor come through on their journey, which delays their path to Vegas quite a bit. He makes a beeline for the Old Mormon Fort as soon as he hears the Followers of the Apocalypse have a base there, though, and spends most of his visit picking the brain of its leaders about the best ways to aid those in need in the wasteland. He and Arcade get into some spirited debates about the pros and cons of having a civil service force focused on military matters versus civilian matters, and the Minutemen leader leaves the Mojave with a lot of new ideas to carry home to the Commonwealth.

Strong: "Strong not looking for 'good time,' puny human. Strong looking for thing that make super mutants stronger."

Strong hates New Vegas, but that's nothing unexpected. The sole survivor tries to limit their time in the city and take him around the desert to locales where super mutants are more likely to be found, which brings them to Jacobstown. Surprise surprise, Strong hates Jacobstown - at first. Little by little, through talking with Lily, the other nightkin, and Marcus, Strong starts to realize that the super mutants of the town are doing exactly what he values and sharing their resources among each other for the good of the community, just minus the usual violence associated with super mutants. He struggles with this alternative way of life for a bit, but eventually comes to accept that to be a super mutant, you don't have to constantly attack those around you to show off your strength.

X6-88: "Be careful. The Institute's records about this area indicate high levels of theft, murder, and unsavory characters. It would be best to keep our guard up."

Like Nick, X6-88 greets everyone in the Mojave with open suspicion, and can hardly be convinced to leave the sole survivor's side for their entire journey. His dedication to this task leads those around him to joke about him being "a human Securitron," which the sole survivor finds amusing: X6-88 does not. Still, the ability to hire and maintain a professional-looking bodyguard while visiting New Vegas doesn't go unnoticed, and most people assume that means the sole survivor has a lot of money to spend or be separated from by force. Criminals are more likely to be ruthless, hell-bent on stealing the loads of caps the sole survivor surely has tucked away. Business owners, on the other hand, are more polite to the pair on their travels, giving them better service and goods that ingratiate X6-88 a bit more to the common people aboveground.

BONUS!

Ada: "Jackson brought us out here once, when Zoe decided she wanted to try acquiring a Securitron. The leader of the Strip turned us down."

While Deacon is playing coy about his experience in the Mojave, Ada is completely open about hers. She hasn't been to the Strip, the dam, or any of the Mojave's "fun" destinations, but she remembers the Crimson Caravan Company headquarters, the 188 trading post, and many of the small towns along the way. Her fondest memories are of scavenging around the ruins of the REPCONN test site, the Aerotech Office Park and HELIOS One. She also recalls that her caravan friends came to visit primarily to find a Securitron to take apart and repurpose, but won't say exactly what happened when they tried to do so, other than warn the sole survivor "not to invite the wrath of the House."

Gage: "Now this is a town that knows how to run a successful racket. We need to find out who's in charge, see if they can give us some tips."

Porter Gage walks right up the steps of the Lucky 38 as soon as he finds out that someone inside is running the Strip, and demands that the Securitrons let him in to "talk to the boss." The robots aren't impressed, of course, and toss him out straightaway. Gage, not one to be discouraged easily, tries to find information among the nearby raider gangs instead: Fiends, Vipers, Jackals or Great Khans, he's not too picky. The current state of the raiders in the Mojave quickly informs him that they're failing one by one against the power of New Vegas, and he renews his efforts to find the recipient of the endless streams of caps. Thwarted at every turn, he and the sole survivor retire to Gomorrah, where they bemoan their bad luck while the courier sits a few seats down from them, listening in and smirking.

Longfellow: "Just point me to the nearest saloon. If I can't cool down, I'll try to forget I'm hot."

Longfellow parks himself at the nearest watering hole and does his best to avoid the scorching Mojave heat. The Maine-born grandpa is pretty miserable during the daytime hours unless he's sitting in front of a fan with a cold beer, swapping stories about Far Harbor critters with the bar regulars. At night he's a bit more open to adventuring with the sole survivor, when the desert cools down and he can see the sights by moonlight. Although he's not a fan of the hustle and bustle of the Strip, most of the large casinos there have air conditioning thanks to the Lucky 38, so he claims a table in the back and glares at anyone who disturbs him and his drink. He gets along with most of the New Vegas crowd though, if they agree to pick up the tab.

Maxson: "We came this way, when the Elders sent me to the East Coast. I wonder if the chapter here is still persevering."

Elder Maxson is surprisingly reluctant to visit the two things that the sole survivor would've thought he'd be interested to see in the Mojave: The Strip, or the Hidden Valley bunker. If pressed, he'll admit that he's not the type to cut loose and gamble, drink or participate in general debauchery as a result of his upbringing and position of authority, but neither is he keen to drop in on the dying Western chapters of his order and become stifled by protocol and ass-kissing. He prefers to wander the desert itself, seeking solitude among the cacti and under the stars. Given the chance, he'd probably nip off to Quarry Junction and anonymously solve the NCR's deathclaw problem, if it hasn't already been taken care of. He refuses to wear his uniform for the entire trip.

Desdemona: "The Mojave probably wouldn't know what to make of our mission, which is how you know it's a good place to hide. I wonder if any of our rescued synths made it out this far."

This is by far the most relaxed the sole survivor has ever seen Desdemona, and why wouldn't it be? She's so far removed from her usual sphere that she drops her usual, tight-knit demeanor and embraces loosening up. She's still not talking openly about the Railroad's operations, but she is more likely to answer questions both personal and professional. Like Deacon, she knows a bit about the Mojave, but not so much that she can blend in completely. Instead, she embraces being a tourist and does all the usual things that go with it: Visiting the Strip, the Sunset Sarsaparilla headquarters, the Thorn, and especially Hoover Dam. When she's looking out over Lake Mead, with the sun getting caught in her hair as it sets on her left, she almost looks happy.

[irisofpurple]

Good Girl

Summary: What happens when Lana comes home to Ethan, fashionably late after a girls night?

Book: Open Heart Book 3 (post ending)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey×f!MC (Lana Stevens)

Word Count: 2k.

Warnings/Rating: Smut, Swearing, NSFW; Explicit.

A/N: This is pure filth and nothing but filth. A self indulgent produce of my very Scorpio brain and the smuttiest fic I've ever written. I'm not exactly sorry but you've been warned jskssjjkkhhssk. It follows up after New Look, which was my first ever Pictagram edit. I suppose you can still read this if you missed that though. Hope you enjoy reading!

This work is NSFW and meant for 18+ readers only. Please use discretion.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry.

A rush of giddy excitement hit her as she turned the keys to his apartment, making her stumble slightly at the doorstep as she entered.

Alcohol from the countless shots Jackie made them do was still hot and pumping through her veins. In her drunken haze, Sienna had actually convinced her to keep the wig on.

She adjusted it slightly before she realised she'd stepped into pin drop silence, the moonlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows the only source of light cutting through the darkness.

A quick glance at her watch told her it was 2:30 AM. Way past Ethan's bedtime.

Her stomach dropped. The girls night had went on longer than she'd anticipated. They'd gotten a bit carried away between gossiping and drinking to new beginnings. It had been a while since they'd had a relaxing night as this after all.

As fun as that was, what Lana was really looking forward to tonight was seeing Ethan. All that teasing had made her as hot as she'd hoped to have made him. She wanted to leave right then but it wouldn't have been fair to her friends.

Her shoulders slumped. It was no use now.

She turned head into the bedroom, the knowledge that she'd find him peacefully asleep making her heart sink a little.

"You're late."

The familiar rumble of his voice echoed through the room, making her gasp in surprise and turn back around.

There he was. Sitting at the bar with a glass of scotch nestled in his hand.

Her heart jumped in her throat, a fresh surge of adrenaline coursing through her, renewing her excitement even more than before.

The contrasting shadows and moonlight highlighted his already sharp jawline, making him look more beautiful than ever.

Slowly, he rose from his seat, drawing nearer to her, his dark predatory gaze never leaving her. She wasn't able to look away either, her belly clenching with anticipation with every step he took.

She shivered as he ran his fingers though the red hair, his blue eyes going the deepest shade of sapphire possible.

"You're still wearing it, I see." he muttered darkly, a dangerous edge to his voice.

A slow smirk spread across her face. She knew no joy like seeing Ethan Ramsey tethering on the edge in a struggle for control.

And she'd make sure he fell over tonight.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep." she said, feigning nonchalance, pointedly ignoring his observation.

In a sudden movement, he pulled her hand by the wrist to the front of his pants, making her feel his hardness though the fabric.

"Do you know how hard it is to sleep like this?" He said through gritted teeth.

Lana was unfazed. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she stared right back into those celestial blues.

"I can only imagine." She murmured huskily as her fingers caressed him ever so slightly, confidence oozing through her as he twitched violently at her touch.

He pulled her hand away and onto his chest, having realized that his move had backfired.

"You made me wait." He accused, his rebellious gaze dropping to her lips.

"I think I know exactly how to make up for it." Lana said with coquettish smirk.

She captured his lips soon after, not letting him a chance to say anything more. Her hands travelled down to palm his bulge once more, making him groan against her lips. Tongues tangled in a desperate battle for dominance, their need for each other assuming more importance than air for a few breathless moments.

Lana pushed him onto the couch, looking down at him with a devilish smile as she pulled off her wig, shaking free her natural blonde curls. They fell around her shoulders gracefully as Ethan watched her with an awestruck look on his face, all traces of resistance gone. She took off her top next, taking delight in his sharp intake of breath as her breasts spilled free before his reverent eyes, following to straddle his lap and continue kissing him with abandon.

Her lips trailed down the corded muscles of his neck, sucking and biting as she goes. Ethan's hands meanwhile were firmly gripping her waist, another one inching underneath her skirt, closer and closer to her soaked core.

But she wouldn't let him get there. Not yet.

His shirt flew across the living room in a matter of seconds and then she on her knees before him, her lips having left a wet trail of kisses all over his chest and abs.

She unbuckled his belt with deft fingers, pulling down the redundant material of his trousers. His cock sprung free, jutting out in all it's glory, demanding immediate attention.

Her delicate fingers gripped him firmly, pumping him a few times torturously.

"Lana.." Ethan groaned helplessly.

She gave him a smile that she knew he found devastating.

"Feel free to pull my hair." she said as she moved to give a long luscious lick along his length.

Her blood red lips were wrapped around his cock the next second, causing Ethan's hips to buck up involuntarily. His fingers tangled in her hair, making her hum around him in satisfaction.

She was on her knees but the one surrendering was Ethan, completely at her mercy. That knowledge was as beholding as it was empowering.

She sank down the length of him, hollowing out her cheeks, relishing every grunt and moan that escaped his throat as she took him deeper into her own.

She repeated the motion, working him up, not letting the involuntary gags or tears brimming in her eyes stop her from taking him where she wanted.

Keeping eye contact, she realised him with a dizzying pop only to suck on his heavy balls till they were as wet as his now glistening cock.

The look of sheer adoration mixed with lust and frustration on his face had to the hottest thing she'd ever witnessed. It made her own folds drip with arousal.

Her tongue flicked across the slit of his tip, before her warm mouth engulfed him once more to bob down his steely length with determination, taking him all the way in.

"Sweetheart, you're going to make me.. FUCKK!"

His grip on her hair tightened, almost to the point of pain. It only served to excite her more. She didn't let up till he emptied himself down her throat, cursing as he shook and came like never before.

She licked him clean, not leaving a single drop.

She felt breathless and a little punch drunk as he pulled her up and into his arms, kissing her tenderly, softly caressing her cheek and wiping away the tears.

He pulled back to look at her, concern etching his handsome face. "Are you okay?"

She laughed. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

He seemed satisfied with her answer because the look of worry gave way to a roguish smirk.

"Just needed to be sure cause I'm not done with you yet."

"Wha-"

"Shhh." He silenced her with his fingers. "You had your way with me, didn't you? Now it's my turn."

"But.." her query died in a moan as Ethan's fingers found her dripping core.

"Damn." He hissed. "How are you already so wet?"

Lana was in no shape to answer because his thumb was working her clit in maddening circles, excruciating pleasure rippling through her as two fingers curled into her slick passage.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as his skillful fingers moved over her with precision and expertise, over and over again. Just when she was about to reach her peak however, he ceased all movements.

Lana cried out in disappointment from the sudden loss of sensations.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him in frustration.

Ethan only smiled. "You didn't think I'd let you get away with all that teasing so fast, did you?"

"What do you-"

"Hush, my darling. I said it was my turn. You made me wait for you all evening. Now close your eyes."

"But-"

"No arguments." He said firmly.

Lana hesitantly shut her eyes, the ache between her legs getting unbearable with each passing second.

"Good girl." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Don't move an inch and keep your eyes shut. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" she cried. "You can't leave me like this."

"Don't you trust me, my love?" He chastened.

Lana gulped. "I do but.."

"No buts then. I promise I'll make it worth your while but no cheating or this ends here."

"No!" Lana shook her head. "I'll do as you say."

"That's my girl."

She heard his footsteps fade away as she struggled to stay still. She was tempted to take a peek and more anything else, touch herself and soothe the throb between her legs. She could get off so easily right now.

But she didn't dare disobey. The wait and build up made her wetter and more turned on than she'd ever been.

Her breath came in shallow pants as she waited and by the time he was back, she felt like one touch would be enough to make her explode.

He secured a silky fabric across her eyes and she heard a low click of glass on the surface of the table.

What the hell was that?

Her heart pounded in her chest and her sex clenched in anticipation.

"Hands above your head and don't move. Or I'll have to tie you up."

She nodded eagerly, following his instructions. "Please Ethan."

He chuckled. "Patience, my love. If there's anything I learnt tonight, it's that waiting makes everything better."

She gasped as she felt his lips on her inner thighs, his beard deliciously scraping her skin as he kissed her everywhere but where she needed him most. It was too much but not enough.

His fingers hooked around the lace of her panties. "As pretty as these are, they have to go."

A loud rip followed, tearing through the room and informing her that her panties were definitely in shreds.

"That was.." she choked out, almost in alarm, unable to finish her sentence. But Ethan seemed to understand her concern.

"I'll buy you more." He grunted.

She felt warm liquid slosh onto her chest, flowing down slowly between the valley of her breasts and down her belly, making her entire body tingle.

Her back arched as the flow inched closer to her pulsing core. She moaned out loud as it finally reached it's destination, suddenly cooling her hot sex.

Ethan's mouth closed on her clit before she could process what was going on.

"Ethannn" She cried out.

She didn't recognize the feline noises escaping her, gasping and moaning for her life as she climbed higher and higher with each masterful stroke of his tongue.

"God. I thought scotch was best had neat. I was wrong. So wrong." He muttered against her sex.

The low rumble vibrated through her body and as soon as his fingers joined the ministrations of his mouth, Lana catapulted over the edge, fireworks exploding behind her eyes and blinding her with hot white pleasure as she came all over his face harder than ever. He didn't stop till all the aftershocks rocking her subsided, letting her ride out her orgasm.

He removed her blindfold and pulled her into his arms, gently kissing the top of her head as she hugged him feebly.

As she caught her breath, her eyes landed on the expensive half empty bottle of scotch and she laughed. "Scotch and sex? Who would've thought?"

Ethan chuckled, running his fingers through her hair. "Me apparently. How did it feel?"

She buried her face in his chest, feeling her face heat. "You know how I felt. I was pretty vocal about it."

Low masculine laughter rumbled through his chest making her heart squeeze and sex clench, like she didn't just have the best orgasm of her life.

She wasn't embarrassed though because she could feel his rock hard errection against her thigh.

She looked up at him mischievously. "Are we ready for a round two?"

She yelped as he lifted her, her thighs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bedroom.

"Always."

Whew! I hope you enjoyed reading that. As usual, I'd love to know what you think. Please forgive the mistakes if there are any. I couldn't proofread due to shortage of time.

Tags: @lem-20 @pixie88 @aleynareads @maurine07 @whimsicallywayward15 @lovingramsey @coffeeheartaddict @txemrn @shewillreadyou @aussieez @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @schnitzelbutterfingers @imaneditorthankyouverymuch @mercury84choices @thegreentwin @adiehardfan @custaroonie @headoverheelsforramsey @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

[permanentcrossfics]

Blurred Lines: A Different Christmas // h.s.

How do we write Christmas fics in a really weird year? I’m still not sure, but I tried to string together a bit of relief for the end of December. I’m shutting myself up now, even though there’s lots I want to say. This is for anyone who wants it, anyone who needs it, anyone who enjoys it (or hates it!) silently and vocally alike. My Christmas gift is the happy and unexpected bonus of anyone reading what I have so much selfish fun thinking of and spinning out. Happy and Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, and a happy and merry end of December if you don’t and are just doing you! x

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It was the big Christmas tree you’d dragged back home by yourself on top of a rickety shopping cart all the way from a place on Second Avenue that had been your breaking point. Picking it had its own bittersweet undertones, but the smell of fresh pine tickling your nose even through a mask had kept you afloat as you struggled to get it off and onto curbs before traffic pancaked you in the middle of the road. It wasn’t until you were back inside, still wrapped in your coat and struggling to get it upright in the stand the correct way that you burst into a torrent of hot, selfish tears and bowed your head, kneeling next to the mass of needles and branches. He should be here! He should be helping you. He should’ve helped anchor lights in windows, he should’ve had an opinion on the scented candles, he should’ve made you go back for decorations you just weren’t sure of because you wanted them regardless of what he thought, and he should’ve helped pick, and carry, and set up the tree. The whole reason you’d gone out to get a fresh tree – something real in a year that had felt anything but – was to lift your spirits, but instead you were sobbing next to it and it all felt a little dramatically pointless. It was everything you’d avoided last year by flying off to England but that you couldn’t escape this time. What was the point? What was the point of pretending?

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“You coming home with me this year?” 

Again. He asked the same question you’ve been dodging for weeks since plans had started to look uncertain again, not because he was pestering you, but because somehow, some way, you were both hoping for an answer with a loophole. 

“I can’t,” you said softly, regretfully, holding your phone close to your face with one arm as you curled up under the duvet of a bed in an apartment that had somehow become yours together instead of his alone throughout the course of a very new, very different, very unsettling year. “For a few reasons.” 

And he knew that. 

Harry’s deep breath crackled and he dragged his hand down his face, holding it there as he shook his head, the thought processes you’d learned to read so well hidden from view. 

You’d liked going home with him last year -- loved it, even. You’d hardly had time to look forward to a repeat when the world had flipped in the first quarter or sooner, and the sand had just kept slipping through the hourglass until all time for hope of a new and normal Christmas was gone and sucked away into the void of the year. 

So many plans. So many memories that lived only as memories of daydreams now. So much else, so much more important, devastating, and tragic you couldn’t even put it into words and, frankly, didn’t want to. Not now -- you spent too much time thinking about it to think about it now, too.

“Filming’s done soon,” he said from behind his hand. “I can book my flight to New York--”

“Harry--”

“And then go to Manchester after Christmas -- after the New Year, we always take a bit of a longer break. Mum won’t mind--”

“Your mother’s barely seen you since last Christmas,” you said. “Your sister, too, and there’s not enough time to--”

“Course there is!”

“Two weeks quarantine in each?” you asked. “That’s a month of staying put, let alone--”

A split second glance at his face was all you saw before the screen went black and you bit your tongue. He hadn’t hung up, because you’d heard the soft thud when his phone collided with his chest, and you could hear him breathing now, so you waited, suppressing your own urge to snap as he had his. Despite having spent the better part of the year together, it was frustrating to think about not being together for the season. All you wanted was him, though you knew better than to voice it out loud. He’d do it -- for you, he’d do it if you asked him to -- and you’d have to live with the guilt of taking him away from his family at the time of year where family should be together most, if it mattered to them. And you’d been weirdly lucky enough to have him most of the year between carefully navigated business trips. He was only one man with one body. It didn’t -- couldn’t -- matter that you wanted him, too. 

That you wanted to be with the man you loved. 

When he picked up the phone again, his face was drawn, tired, and not just from filming, you suspected. 

“Go home,” you urged, swallowing the break in your voice. “You miss home, and home misses you. I’ll have fun decorating and send you all the pictures you won’t be able to do anything about.” 

His throat bobbed hard, audibly, and his eyes looked dangerously shiny. 

“Next year I’ll go home with you,” you said, burrowing half your face into your pillow. “London and Holmes Chapel both.”

“Next year,” he said eventually, voice raspy. “We’ll have Christmas at home next year.” 

You nodded, forcing the lump rising up, up, and up back down. “You should go to sleep,” you said. “It’s late and you have to be up early.”

“Later for you,” he said and you sighed, noting the 3:08 timestamp at the top of your screen. 

“Let’s go,” you said. “Call me when you can.” 

“I will.” Sad, but resigned. You wanted to reach through the screen and touch the downturned corners of his mouth to push them back upright again. “Sleep well, and I love you.” 

Taking a deep breath, you murmured, “I love you, too,” before hanging up the call and the room descended into darkness and you into a fitful sleep. 

***

At first, you were determined to make the most of it. Your studio had always been small, cozy, and Christmasy to the best of your abilities, but his -- your -- apartment had so many more possibilities. Candles were the first to be set out, with strategic clusters of red, green, and gold-colored wax placed all about and nestled in fake holly wreaths. String lights that cast a pretty glow lined windows even in the bedroom for some last minute holiday cheer, and despite the urge to drive him up a wall, you did your best to only pick out other decorations that you’d both like and want to use in the future. Because as much as you might avoid talking about it in many certain terms the longer the relationship went on (it still felt so funny to think that a one night stand had turned into a relationship), there was a future. He was your future. It wasn’t your first Christmas together, but it might be your last one apart. 

It was the big Christmas tree you’d dragged back home by yourself on top of a rickety shopping cart all the way from a place on Second Avenue that had been your breaking point. Picking it had its own bittersweet undertones, but the smell of fresh pine tickling your nose even through a mask had kept you afloat as you struggled to get it off and onto curbs before traffic pancaked you in the middle of the road. It wasn’t until you were back inside, still wrapped in your coat and struggling to get it upright in the stand the correct way that you burst into a torrent of hot, selfish tears and bowed your head, kneeling next to the mass of needles and branches. 

He should be here! He should be helping you. He should’ve helped anchor lights in windows, he should’ve had an opinion on the scented candles, he should’ve made you go back for decorations you just weren’t sure of because you wanted them regardless of what he thought, and he should’ve helped pick, and carry, and set up the tree. The whole reason you’d gone out to get a fresh tree -- something real in a year that had felt anything but -- was to lift your spirits, but instead you were sobbing next to it and it all felt a little dramatically pointless. It was everything you’d avoided last year by flying off to England but that you couldn’t escape this time. What was the point? What was the point of pretending? 

Wiping your nose, you stood, eyes heavy, swollen, and itchy. With your coat gone, you heaved the tree up until it was sitting securely in its stand, needles scattered in its wake but branches full and outstretched, enveloping you in the warm smell of Christmas in a way the cedar- and balsam-scented candles couldn’t. Stepping back with your hands on your hips, you looked up at it, the swell of your anxiety simmering, thanks partly to your crying fit and partly to succeeding at the task. You’d decorate it bit by bit to draw the season out, and then on Christmas Eve, you’d call him and you’d both sit by your own trees and talk until it was Christmas Day for him. It was just for now -- this wasn’t the way of all ways for all time. 

Click.

You nearly passed out cold from the rush of fearful adrenaline shooting through you when the lock on the door clicked. In three seconds, you ran through whether or not you’d locked the door, determined that you had but then had forgotten, and figured out that somehow, someone had gotten in and they weren’t supposed to. You spun, frozen, brain zooming to determine if you dove behind a sofa or if you charged, but you didn’t get the chance before the door opened. 

A duffle bag, a foot, a body, in that order, and then a pair of wide, green eyes rimmed with circles just above a cloth mask.

“You do not get to be mad at me,” he said, voice muffled. He grunted and pushed the door open wider to bring in the rest of his luggage as you stood there, as equally speechless as you were breathless. “I tested before I came here,” he said, speaking with a loud if exhausted sort of authority, like he was trying to get the words out before you could protest. “But I’ll take the guest room, and I’ll get my own food, and we’ll keep out of each other’s space until the two weeks are up.” 

He brought his bags in the rest of the way, and it was only when he was halfway by you that he stopped in his tracks. “Y’haven’t moved,” he said, eyebrows furrowing as he narrowed his eyes on you. “Are you all right?” 

Lightheaded, you nodded. 

“O… kay,” he said, stilted, still eyeing you. “M’just gonna go get settled and showered, then.” 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, the words finally forcing themselves from you. 

“S’Christmas.”

“You’re supposed to--”

“Mum knows,” he interrupted. “M’taking Christmas here this year. Gem’ll have Christmas with her and I’ll go along after. She’s excited about having two. ‘Scuse me….” 

Nodding, you waved him away to hurry, shoo, because you could feel the emotions rising in you again and your confusion wasn’t enough to quell them. Fifteen minutes ago, you’d been kneeling on the floor with aching knees, crying, and now here he was. 

You’d wrestle with the confliction of doing what was right and doing what you wanted… later. Later, when you could wrap your head around it and the choice he’d made. 

Two weeks. That would put you just on Christmas Day, basically. Just two weeks.

***

Dodging him around the apartment was a lot more difficult than you would’ve guessed for how big it was. More than once you nearly slammed into him in the kitchen, and someone was always in the favored bathroom. For his part, he’d taken to wearing a mask when he roamed, and even though you told him he didn’t have to do that, all he did was hum behind it. You got it -- the positive result from the crewperson on set had spooked everyone, and he was being safe. You both were being safe, but for as mindful as you’d been throughout, all you wanted to do was hold him, hug him, kiss him. Video calls were ridiculous when you were in the same house and you could hear his laugh through the walls. But you got it, and if you kicked too much he’d book a hotel to quarantine away from you, so you’d rather have him here, as selfish and risky as it was. 

It was three days into your little bubble that he finally dared to get within arm’s reach of you. You were mulling over where to put the chimney sweep ornament when he shuffled over to the foot of the ladder you were leaning on, and you raised an eyebrow, arm outstretched.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He shook his head, the lights from the tree reflected in his eyes. “Just watching,” he said from behind his mask. 

“You’re standing a little close, aren’t you?” you teased. Jokes were all you had -- all anyone had this year, if they were lucky. 

Immediately, he scowled -- how funny you could tell what his face looked like so clearly even with the cloth stretched firmly across it -- and you giggled. “Watch what you’re doing,” he said, taking his hands from his sweatshirt pocket to grab the ladder legs, and with his support, you held on tightly and leaned over to place it on the prime branch. 

“Thank you,” you said. “Do you want to pass me that box?” 

He did so and you murmured your thanks, resting it on the top step as you pulled ornaments out to hang them. 

“Not there,” he said before you could drop a hook over a branch with a snowflake. “Give it… thank you.” He took it carefully from you and placed it on a different one closer to him, lower than where you were placing it but slightly higher than you could reach without a ladder. 

“Thank you.” 

Together, slowly, ornaments were hooked and rehooked (and rehooked yet again when one of you noticed the other had moved them from a spot you each thought was perfect) until the tree was trimmed, each branch heavily laden, bearing the weight of ornaments and of providing joy after the year behind. 

“How’d you get this home?” he asked, looking up at it with you once you were off the ladder. 

“Carefully,” you said dryly. “Oh! The top.” You turned, but he cut across your path.

“I’ve got it,” he said, grabbing the box from the precarious stack next to the coffee table. 

“I want to,” you whined and he snorted.

“You’ve done the whole bloody thing,” he said without venom. “Let me do just the one.” With it in hand, he climbed the ladder as you held it steady, and he set it on the topmost branch, prodding it until it was tall and straight up, all five points outstretched and shining. 

“That’s perfect,” you said under your breath, resting your head on his leg, and he patted the top of your head gently. You stayed like that for a minute, two, three, and more, with your arm curling around his calf, embracing as much physical contact as he’d allowed since he came home. “How many more days?”

“Eleven.” He sounded thoughtful, resentful, and exhausted all in one go. You squeezed his leg and kissed his knee through his joggers. 

“Then it’s Christmas,” you said.

He exhaled slowly, still patting your head. “Christmas morning.” 

***

Eleven. Whole. Days. 

Eleven days of more of the same. He’d eased up, thankfully, and dared to venture a little closer with a mask on, because, as you’d reminded him, he had tested negative. You sat on opposite ends of the couch, enjoying the Christmas tree and decorations together, laughing, talking, planning, and exchanging stories about everything that had happened while you were apart. His, of course, were wildly more interesting, but he somehow managed to hang onto every word of even your most droll and mundane ones, and always with the right questions and supportive murmurs of agreement as necessary. 

Eleven days of saying goodnight and crawling into a bed that was too big for one when two was next door. 

Eleven days of not being able to share meals properly or touch each other -- sex aside -- and eleven days of Hell.

“It’s your fault,” you said one night from your end of the couch, scowling with your arms crossed. The tree twinkled happily despite your sour mood, and music that was too merry and bright played from the television. 

“Me?” he asked indignantly. 

“Yes! You had to do that stupid film.” 

“It’s not stupid.”

“You’re wearing a mask in our home,” you said, burrowing into the cushions. “If I want to call it stupid, I will.” 

He groaned, dropping his head forward. “Baby….”

You grunted. 

“It’s only a couple more days. A couple more days, and then it’s Christmas. Think of it like a present you’re waiting for.”

Despite yourself, you snorted. 

“I’m all you want for Christmas, aren’t--?”

“Shut up,” you said, kicking his thigh with your extended leg. He snickered, eyes crinkled and full of light all their own. 

“Couple more days,” he said, patting your ankle. “Couple more days, and then you won’t even be able to get rid of me. We’ll be in bed all weekend.”

“I’m not calling your mother from bed.”

He waggled his brows with some exaggeration and you rolled your eyes. 

That had been around day five, maybe six. Suffice it to say, by Christmas Eve, you were done. 

“It’s one day!” you said over breakfast in the kitchen. “One day, Harry!” 

“We made it this long,” he said, pouring hot coffee into a mug that had his face printed onto the head of dancing elf -- a gift from his mother shipped along with a matching one for you that she insisted you both open ahead of time to enjoy for as long as possible. “We can make it a couple more hours.”

“If I stripped naked, what would you do? Stand there and watch me?” 

He froze and looked at you over his mask, the heated warning pinning you in place. Huffing, you pushed the stool away from the counter and hopped off it.

“Where are you--?”

“Out,” you said. “I’m going to get--” You floundered. “Coffee.” 

A beat passed and his eyes dropped to the mug in his hand.

“We literally have--”

“I’m going out!” you said, wrapping your neck and half your face up in a scarf to keep warm. You were going out, because you were mad, and the tantrum was burgeoning. That poor man had seen more unreasonable tantrums from you this year than he had in the entire two and a half you’d reciprocally acknowledged each other’s presence, and you hated it. But he’d hate it, too, if you’d gone on a trip for work and come back and things were off.

Could be worse, you reminded yourself. It could be so very, very much worse.

“I love you,” you said, calmly, firmly. “I’ll be back. I’m only going around the block. Take that--” You waved at his mask, “--off. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way in..” 

When you returned, he was in the guest room, but a fresh cup of coffee in your own dancing elf mug rested on a mug warming plate. The last of your frustrations that hadn’t melted with the walk deflated and you picked it up, enjoying the aroma before taking a deep sip. 

He always made it better. And the coffee was nice, too. 

His mother called in the afternoon and you hardly noticed he was at your side until the phone was in front of your face and you gave a startled hello. 

“Has he been wearing that the whole time he’s been home with you?” she asked, her gleaming eyes and wide, genuine smile matching her son’s own warmth. 

Home. With you. 

“He has,” you said. 

“S’posed to be proud of me,” Harry said and Anne laughed.

“Of course, sweetheart. We’re still calling tomorrow?” she asked you. 

“Yeah,” you said. “We’ll be here.”

“Next year will be different, won’t it?” she all but clucked. “Did you like your mugs? I got one for me, Gemma, and Michal, too.” 

“Used them just this morning,” he said, squeezing your hip and wandering away. “Won’t be posting them anywhere for people to see, though….” 

Eventually -- finally -- the day drew to a close, and you crawled into bed with the knowledge that it was just one more night. One more night, and then in the morning you could say hello like you wanted to. One more night and you wouldn’t want to bite his head off. One more night and you wouldn’t feel so mental, as he would put it. 

And yet, lying there, the minutes dragged. Ten? No, just one. Fifteen? Five. 

It felt like Christmas, though. As much as this was pure torture, this was what Christmas was supposed to feel like -- like it used to feel when you were a kid and you’d wait for weeks tingling anticipation, counting down, hoping that you’d find what you wanted under the tree, bursting with more energy than any amount of sugar could give you. Except instead of presents, or money, or sweets, you were waiting for the man who’d been under your nose for two weeks by this point. You got to kiss your boyfriend tomorrow. You got to see your boyfriend, hold your boyfriend, and celebrate Christmas with your boyfriend. 

Twenty minutes? Two. 

12:02.

Two minutes after midnight.

Christmas.

Fourteen days. 

Oh!

You sprang from the bed before you could think about the matter and darted to the door over the cold wooden floor, but when you rounded the corner in the hallway, out of nowhere, something all but slammed into you. Sucking in a sharp breath with a screwed up face, you squeaked when you collided with a very warm, very sturdy frame. Belatedly, two arms shot out to grab you by yours to steady you. “Oh my God, I--”

Hair, forehead, eyes, nose, and mouth, too. No mask. 

“Are you o--?”

He didn’t get to finish his question. You clapped your hands over his cheeks and kissed him soundly before he could kiss you first. Under ordinary circumstances, he’d laugh -- you both would -- but rather than that, he locked both his arms around you tightly and spun you, teetering precariously with you in tow until you got to the guest bed. Tackle was an apt word for how he delivered you to it, but you were the farthest thing from upset at finally having not even an inch of space between you. The bed smelled like him and it was warm, he was warm, and you were kissing again, and again, and again, cold noses smushing together as you found new angles. 

“Christmas,” he mumbled between them.

“Mmhm,” you returned against his mouth, legs interlocking with his. “I missed you,” you whispered.

“Missed you, too.” 

Shivering, you both pulled the duvet up over your shoulders, and you curled up against him. Cologne, skin, and laundry detergent, with a bit of his minty toothpaste. There was no scented candle for that. You pressed your fingers against his chest and scratched lightly through the smattering of hair there. “We could go to our bed,” you reminded him, but he shook his head.

“Y’here now,” he rasped, leaning in to press his lips comfortably to your hairline, one arm draped over your back. “Let’s stay here tonight and we can change things later.” 

“Were you coming to get me?” you asked, voice shaking as the last of the shivers left your bones. 

“Yeah,” he admitted. You laughed, teeth chattering, and he pulled you closer. “Don’t laugh!” he said, rubbing your back and warming you. “S’been two weeks for me, hasn’t it?”

“For you!”

“You try bein’ home with you for that long,” he mumbled. 

Shaking again, but less than before, you kissed the underside of his chin. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.” 

***

When you woke up, his back was to you, and his one shoulder was rising and falling with the rhythm of his sputtery, wheezy snores. You smiled, closing your eyes, and snuggled into the pillow. Better -- much better. You dozed on for an unknown amount of time, and you were walking the line between sleep and consciousness when featherlight kisses across your brow startled you and you jerked awake.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, only sounding slightly truthful. You made a noise and stretched, shaking from head to toe before curling up into a tight little ball next to him and opening your eyes fully. His own were puffy with sleep, but he grinned radiantly as if he’d been awake for a while.

“What?” you asked in a croak.

“Nothing,” he said. “Mum’s gonna call soon.”

Groaning, you halfheartedly turned your head to look over your shoulder. “What time is it?” you asked, straining to see the window and get a gauge. 

“S’ten,” he said. “So about three for them. Sure you don’t want to call from bed?” 

You glowered at him and his lip twitched. “I’ll put the coffee on.” 

When you finally managed to leave the warm nest of the bed, the living room had been transformed. The tree was on, twinkling under the streams of light pouring in through the windows, and he’d lit the fireplace, too, flames licking up and up behind the glass. Soft, melodic Christmas music floated from the far corners of the room, and the smell of coffee tickled your nose. 

“So,” he said from his spot at the island as he unwrapped cheeses and opened jars of olives, and jams, and honeys, and other goodies. “What time do we pop the bubbly?” 

Laughing softly, you shuffled over. “It’s ten.”

“Little after ten now,” he said, lips pressed tightly together and arms flexed until the lid popped. “And somewhere in the world it’s five o’clock.” 

You pulled a grape off the bunch lying on the counter and popped it into your mouth, chewing not so delicately but enjoying the sweet burst of freshness. You’d no sooner swallowed than his phone started buzzing and you grabbed it, sliding your finger to answer the call from the incoming Mum and pointing it at him.

“Happy Christmas, honey.” Anne’s voice was warm even through the phone, and Harry’s head whipped up.

“Wh-- Happy Christmas-- didn’t know you were-- ‘scuse the mess,” he said as you giggled behind the phone. 

“Having a good morning so far?” 

“Goin’ ok, yeah,” he said. “Just getting started, heating up the coffee.”

“Where’s your better half gotten off to?” 

Trying not to melt, you waved your hand in front of the camera. 

“Hello, love,” she said. “Happy Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas, Anne.”

“Are we going to get to see you today?”

“Fair’s fair,” Harry chimed in. “Turn that thing around, why don’t you?” 

Rolling your eyes, you flipped the phone and waved, sliding around the counter to stand next to him. 

“That’s better,” Anne said with a firm nod. She had a red top on with a festive, sparkly necklace, and looked a good deal more put together than either one of you.

“Where’s Gem?” Harry asked, taking the phone from you so you could unbox the crackers. 

“Upstairs napping off the morning,” she said. “She’ll want to call again later.” 

And that was how the morning went, with each of you passing his mother back and forth while you carried plates and trays full of snacks to the coffee table and couch in front of the tree to nibble while tearing into gifts on camera, including a box full of chocolates for you, Branston pickle for him, and Christmas crackers for both of you to have, “A little bit of home this year.”

“Thank you,” you said, clutching your sweets close. “And thank you for--” Unbidden, you choked up, and Harry glanced at you sharply, his inquisition vanishing with his understanding. For sharing him -- allowing you to steal him away during the holidays in a year where everyone needed family, either by blood or choice. He squeezed your shoulders and his mother, as adept as he was at redirecting a conversation, piped up. 

“Promise you’ll come see us again next year,” Anne said. “It’s been too long.”

“It has been,” you agreed, resting your cheek on his shoulder. 

“Maybe sooner.” Harry looked down at you. “If things ease up?” 

You nodded. “Summer in London,” you mused. “That would be nice.”

“And then a bit of time back home. We could go before things pick up in August.”

Summer in London. A beacon of hope you couldn’t erect just yet, but a beacon nevertheless. A bit of time with him before he, hopefully, went back to work and you got to revisit adjusted and postponed plans. 

The rest of your Christmas Day was quiet -- different from the year before when you’d been overwhelmed with names, faces, screeches of Uncle Harry, and not being sure how to break your way in. You kept trays of cheese, crackers, and other snacks within an arm’s reach, and by the early afternoon both of you had a comfortably steady buzz from the bubbly he was good at topping off both your glasses with -- never sloppily drunk, but enough to be warm in your fingers and toes and to seek out cuddles from him under the blanket you were snuggled in on the sofa with paper crowns on both your heads. 

“Can I tell you something?” you asked, ribs crunched from how far you’d slid down on the sofa to nestle into his side, all but eye-level with his chest. “And have it not be as awful as it sounds?” 

You felt his laugh before you heard it. “Sure,” he drawled. “What is it?” 

Squeezing his wrist, you turned your mouth into his forearm, eyes on the television as a snowman leapt and bounded over a wide, snowy plain before jumping into the air. “I like this Christmas,” you admitted into his skin. 

Harry snorted. “S’not awful, s’the point -- Christmas is supposed to be likeable.”  

“You know what I mean,” you said, sighing. “I know it’s just us and there’s no family or anyone around, but… I dunno… it’s not all bad, is it?” 

“Like having me to yourself?” 

You groaned and rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Shut up,” you mumbled. 

He kissed the top of your head, crown crunching under it, and you grunted. “S’not so bad,” he said into your hair. “Like having you all to myself, too, y’know.” 

“You’re just saying that because you have to because you’re stuck with me,” you said and he laughed with another smacking kiss. 

“Not stuck with me yet,” he crooned. “Can leave any time you want.” 

“Maybe I will….”

“Oi!”

Giggling, you untangled yourself from him and squirmed out from underneath the blanket. “More bubbly?” 

***

Boxing Day was a Christmas redux, with more cheese, sparkling wine, music, and calls with family and friends. Long distance versions of old favorite games were adapted and adopted, and you snickered quietly from the corner of the couch, staying out of his way when he shouted about how he had hit the button, it was his trackpad that hadn’t worked. 

The late afternoon and on, though, was yours together and alone with the time difference breaking up the party earlier than it normally would be. The bittersweet cloud vanished, though, when you at some point you separated even further into your own activities -- him with his stack of new books and you with a film you played quietly on your laptop. Able to be near each other without having to be wrapped up and begging with your bodies for sorely missed attention, it finally, really, felt like home again. 

“It’s so pretty out,” you murmured, nose pressed to the windowpane to see as much of the light-lined streets as you could. It got dark earlier and earlier these days, and yet later than it had even a few days ago. “I love Christmas in New York. I wish--” You caught yourself ahead of finishing the sentence, thinking better. 

You wished it was a normal year -- for many reasons -- so you two could go out and see the city. So you could show him your favorite places, so you could make memories together like you had with him last year. It wasn’t anything life altering or new, but it was different when you were with someone you loved. You wanted him to know you -- all of you, even the unknowable parts. 

“Y’know,” he said next to your ear, hand on the back of your neck as he slunk up behind you, “it’s getting pretty late.”

You turned your head slightly, looking at him in the reflection of the glass. “Do you want to go to bed?” 

Too early for sleep. Was he asking for sex? 

Harry hummed and shook his head. “How ‘bout you get your coat on?” he murmured. “Let’s have that Boxing Day walk we didn’t get last year.”

“Now?”

“When else?” he said. “Haven’t been out yet, and it’s late. Streets’ll be empty. We can go wherever, do whatever, see whatever.” 

“You’re serious?” 

Nodding, he pulled you by the arm and you stumbled with him, still processing it even as you pulled beanies on with masks and (winter) gloves.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

He shrugged, calling the elevator. “Dunno,” he said. “Figured you’d lead the way. Show me your favorite bits. Seem t’remember summat about Bryant Park last year.” 

There were sobering realities at the street level, too. Gates were down on storefronts that hadn’t been pulled up since March, awnings above them tattered from months of neglect and ‘For Rent’ signs flapping against them in the wind. The usual post-holiday influx of tourists was thinned, with hardly a white sneaker in sight, and everything was just a little quieter than it should be and would be in a usual year.

But there were lights. Broadway’s may have dimmed for the time being, but endless, endless displays of lights, brighter without the ambient light pouring from storefronts diminishing their power, offered beacons of hope -- literal lighthouses in a storm of a year -- and led you uptown like a trail of breadcrumbs. 

You pulled him this way and that way, weaving through side streets to look at any display that looked bright enough from a distance, fingers locked tightly with his in a way they never were outside of the house. As bittersweet as it was no one was out, it afforded you a level of privacy you never had, anywhere. Not even Holmes Chapel. You couldn’t remember a time where you’d ever held his hand for this long at one time, if you were honest, and while you didn’t need it, you enjoyed the option. 

In between zigs and zags, he mumbled stories to you about this time, and another time, and a time after that, pointing at buildings, venues, restaurants, and hotels, and you listened half in awe and half in earnest. It was a whole other life he’d lived without you before, and you’d only been aware of the surface of it. Nobody knew what he was telling you except the people he’d lived it with, and you didn’t think you’d ever get over or be able to thank him for trusting you to be someone he chose to share it with. 

“I love Sixth,” you said, sighing as you walked past giant red Christmas ornaments three times the size of you both, the reflection of the string lights wrapped around tree branches bouncing off their shiny surfaces. Radio City’s electric red script beamed at you both from a distance, and traffic lights winked and waved in the wind up and down the avenue. “They do a lot with it.” 

“It’s pretty,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Tree’s this way, isn’t it?” he asked. 

You raised your eyebrows. “Yeah,” you said. 

He jerked his head and you blinked. 

“You want to?” you asked. 

“Just a bit,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

“There’s people!” you warned him, because even from here you could see the trickle of people with the same thought. “And I saw online they have a schedule--”

“We don’t have to get close,” he said, pulling you firmly. “S’big enough we don’t need to, just wanna take a peek.”��

He was so certain, but you were less so, because all you needed was someone to see him to break the serene bubble you’d blown around yourselves. Despite that, you shuffled with him until the tree was visible, a bright, glowing ball of multi-colored lights stretching towards the sky. “Wow,” you whispered under your breath. 

“S’nice,” he said and you nodded your agreement. It was nice -- despite the sad press it had gotten, the tree had turned out very nice at the end of it all, tall and impossibly beating all odds. What a metaphor for the year.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, squeezing him around the middle. 

“Come here,” Harry said next to your ear.

“Hmm?” Reluctantly tearing your eyes from the tree, you gasped when he pulled your mask down first and then his own in two swift tugs, revealing a cheeky grin with a face cradled by the fabric. “What are you doing?” you asked, eyes darting around. 

“Getting a kiss by the tree with my girlfriend,” he said. “Now, come here,” he repeated. This time, you obliged and allowed him to steal one, two, three kisses, each one of them smashed against your lips with a palpable sort of eagerness that made you think he would drink you if he could. This felt… normal. Normal, safe, and free. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like that. 

When you broke and burrowed against his neck, he covered the back of your head and wrapped his other arm around your back, cocooning you in the shell of the most protective embrace he could give. Just a man -- any man, a regular man -- holding the person he loved, and, after his decision to stay with you through Christmas and New Years, he arguably loved you most. 

Through the thick knit of your beanie, you felt him kissing your head, and you nuzzled into his scarf. “Thank you,” you said, face safely out of sight. “For coming here.” 

“Not mad a’me for it?” he mumbled and you shook your head. “‘Kay, good.” 

Shivering, you huddled closer and he tightened his arms, shielding you from the brisk wind. 

“People will see,” you said, but despite that you held him closer. 

“Who cares?”

He did, despite his quiet rasp. He did, and you knew why he did, but right then, you could pretend that it didn’t matter at all. 

***

It was simultaneously the longest and shortest week of your life. 

The longest, because time didn’t exist, much like it hadn’t for most of the year. Days, afternoons, evenings, and nights blended together, blurred by a happy holiday haze onset by too much of everything good -- sleep, sustenance, and spirits. The weird, if nice, part of all the extra time was having the chance to do things you’d enjoyed over the course of the year all over again. Nine times out of ten, when the two of you were together, it was rushed even on the long layovers. You’d watch one series or a film the whole way through, and next time you’d have to be on to the next one you’d agreed to hold off on until the other was there, but after having spent most of the year under the same roof, the typical race to the next one was paused. Instead, you settled in for old Christmas films and other ones you hadn’t seen since you first started properly dating, lending a timeless sort of quality to the week. 

The shortest, because he’d only just gotten there. How had it been three weeks since he’d walked in the front door with a mask on and a warning? Three weeks, two of them masked, and now it was over and done. The whole year was over and done, with 2020 coming to a slow close after feeling simultaneously like it never would and like it was moving much, much too fast. Who would’ve known this would be how it would turn out after kicking it off in the back of his car with a paper plate full of snacks and the countdown on his phone? You’d made it through another year, together. 

“Do you know what I just realized?” you asked as you unpacked the bag from El Diablito at the kitchen counter. In the background, the low hum of commentators on the TV remarking about how different this year was provided a steady buzz amidst familiar scenery of lights in different cities. Berlin had gone first, then London, and now, gradually, the new year on the east coast was gliding ever closer. 

“What?” he asked over the noise of him unfurling the bag of tortilla chips. 

“This was our first year together,” you said. “Full--” you drew an arc through the air-- “year, I mean. Saying it and all that.” 

He didn’t say anything, but when you looked at him the corner of his mouth was lifted up slightly. “S’pose it is, yeah. Feels like longer.” He fished a chip out with his index and middle fingers before crunching into it noisily. 

“Almost three years of everything else,” you murmured, unwrapping a taco to inspect it. “This one’s yours.” 

“‘Everything else’?” he teased, snickering when you slid the taco across the counter to him. “Watch it, it’ll fall apart….” 

“Shut up and eat,” you said and he barked a laugh, grin permanent and eyes sparkling as he unwrapped it to peek.

“In a minute,” he said, setting down his food, satisfied it looked right. “Come here,” he said.

“Why?” you asked, smiling slightly though you eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want?”

He motioned with his hand. “C’mere a minute,” he repeated, voice light but eyes tight, and he swallowed hard. A cold wave washed down you from head to toe. You didn’t know why you were suddenly so nervous, but the nerves themselves spiked your anxiety and made your scalp prickly and your palms sweaty, and they got worse when he grabbed one of your hands -- your left hand -- to hold between his. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about summat.” 

Oh, God. 

“Harry,” you said, but he shook his head.

“Lemme do this.” 

Five seconds. Five seconds was all it took to imagine the words coming out of his mouth, quietly, with soft, trusting eyes waiting patiently, hopefully for an answer. Five seconds was all it took for you to imagine mucking it all up with a twisted tongue, not because you weren’t sure what to say, but how to say it. No, no, no -- you didn’t want to hurt him, not even temporarily, not even by accident. 

Clearing his throat, he squeezed your hand. “I dunno how to do this,” he said, and for the first time ever, you were pretty sure he laughed without his eyes. You made a noise in your throat and curled your fingertips into his palm. “I love you,” he continued, Adam’s apple bobbing, lips trying and failing to form a smile. He was terrified, but determined, and you held his hand tighter while pressing your opposite one into his cheek.

I love you, too. You couldn’t say it, but you felt them swelling in your chest, growing your heart not two, not even three, but six times over. 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying, “M’going to spend the rest of my life with you,” with a thoughtful quality in his rasp. “I think, if-- if that’s somethin’ you….”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t, you were trying, but it was like sucking in helium. 

“So, m’kind of wondering if--”

“Harry--”

“I’m not,” he shook his head. “I’m not asking you anything right now, because we’re not ready.” He rubbed the back of your hand assuringly. “We’re not ready, you have… and I’m….” He exhaled sharply, dropping his head, and your hand moved from his cheek to his hair and you rubbed the back of his neck. “I just want to know,” he said, breathing heavily, with his voice muffled into his chest, talking very fast, barreling through and tripping over words, “if I’m totally off base here. Cause m’not gonna now when there’s so much shit happening, but like… I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth when-- if I do, so if I could just get an idea of what you think, because we had a talk once but now every time you cut me off at the knees and--”

He sputtered, stopping short, and you pressed your face into his short hair. 

“I want it,” you said, sounding braver than you felt admitting wants out loud. “I do. I will.” 

His shoulders fell with his slow, deep breaths, and you rubbed your fingertips into his scalp gently.

“I will,” you say. “Promise,” you added, voice cracking. “You’re not off base.”

Neither of you said anything for a while. You couldn’t -- you quite literally, physically couldn’t -- and he was gulping for air as quietly as he could. 

“Okay,” he said into his chest finally, sounding inexplicably embarrassed. “S’good to know.”

Silly, silly man. Did he really think… did he doubt…? “I love you,” you murmured. 

“I know,” he said. “I know y’do.”

“No, you don’t.” You kissed his head. “I love you, I-- you’ll never know.” 

Harry took a deep breath before straightening up, head high and curls falling over his forehead above the weariest, most agonized eyes you’d ever seen. His cheeks were bright red, and he might as well have just run a marathon for how spent and miserable he looked. 

“I promise,” you repeated. “I promise, honey.”

He nodded slightly, mouth still set in a thin, grim line, and, instinctively, you stepped in to kiss him, because no. No, that wouldn’t do. Stiff and unmoving at first under your lips, gradually he warmed and softened, releasing your hand to grab your hips and you moaned softly, hands running across his shoulders over his hoodie. You promised -- when it was right, when you both could, if he asked and it was what you both wanted? There was only one answer you’d ever give. 

The stool scraped against the floor when he stood, but he never broke the kiss, and you squeaked when you stumbled back against the counter. You opened your mouth wider when he coaxed you to, dizzy behind your closed eyes, and you let your hands wander freely, pulling him into you as the intensity behind the kiss escalated from comfort to need.

Two weeks. Two weeks -- three -- of pent up energy. Of hardly being able to touch each other, of being close but not close enough. 

“Come here,” he demanded in a mumble, the firm hold he had on your jaw to hold you in place as he kissed you the way he wanted leaving you breathless. Rarely did he ever do that; usually, he guided you into what you both wanted to build it until the bubble of tension popped. There was something thrilling about being told though -- something that reminded you of when you were new, three months instead of almost three years in. Something that was like when time was limited and you had to be efficient to learn each other and what would feel good and do good for the other and yourselves, and telling was sometimes all you had. 

Harry broke away with a wounded little noise and you blinked, dazed. “M’just….” He grabbed two tacos with one hand and threw them back into the paper bag. “M’moving these.” Tacos, nachos, and burritos all went back in, topped off with the chips, and he shoved them aside with some impatience. You laughed breathily and lifted yourself up onto the counter with his help, but it faded when he stepped between your legs and cupped your cheek and jaw and you caught a glimpse of the blown pupils and flushed cheeks that gave him a wild, primal look before your own eyes shut. 

Each and every tender sponging of his lips across your jaw and down your neck made you ache, and it was all you could do to stay upright and not collapse back, limp from how weak you were. His needy, mesmerized groans made your belly tighten, and when he tugged the hem of your shirt you nodded. 

Shirt, sweatshirt, bra, and undershirt were the first to go, and the straps had no sooner fallen down your shoulders than you let out a wordless, guttural shout from deep in your chest when Harry latched on and sucked your nipple with greedy enthusiasm, moving with you when you squirmed, his stubble scraping the soft skin of your breast. 

“Oh my God,” you gasped, eyes watering and elbow nearly buckling underneath you in your effort to hold yourself up. “Yes, please,” you said when he pulled the strings on your sweats. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, releasing with a pop and latching on again. “That’s my girl… gonna make it better for you.” He stood tall again when he pulled by the waistline, and you wriggled until they were at your knees and you could kick them off the rest of the way with your underwear as he dropped his own to his ankles. 

With nothing left between you, you shivered, shrinking into him when he stepped closer and drew his hands around your body in a circuit. Legs first, stomach, back, breasts, shoulders, arms, and repeat, each squeeze and dig of his hands and fingers just a little restrained and not as zealous as his groans and heavy breathing made him out to be -- like he was trying to be good, or patient, or….

“It’s ok,” you murmured between kisses. “You don’t have to wait.” They’d done the waiting -- more than enough of it. You just wanted him now.

“Sure?” Harry rasped and you nodded, eyes rolling up when he slipped his fingers between you both and they slipped up and down your folds. “Sure,” he confirmed under his breath. “Open a little more for me, love-- there we are, thank you.” 

You folded your arms around his neck and over his back and locked your ankles loosely just under his ass, heart racing in your chest. 

“Breathe in--” Harry murmured and you squeezed your eyes shut when he fit his head against your entrance. It slid and you laughed, kissing his jaw when he kissed your brow through his grin. “Deep breath for me.” 

Every time. He did that almost every time with you, first asking for a deep breath and then, invariably, pulling a long exhale from you when he thrust into your warm, wet cunt. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered in awe, holding still. You could feel the tremors pulling each fiber in his muscles, and when he throbbed inside you, you bit your lip. “Holy shit, you’ve got me good,” he groaned. 

You laughed once. “Yeah.” Yeah, something like that. Wincing, you rolled your hips forward and gasped softly from the stretch before tightening your arms and pressing your face against his hot skin. You nuzzled in between your own slow, lingering kisses, taking deep, grounding breaths. He was soft, and smooth, but firm, and hard, and he smelled amazing. Clean -- all soap and cologne with some detergent that smelled even more from the warmth of his skin. 

“Oh, God,” you whispered. “Oh, God, I--” You sucked in a harsh breath, abdomen tightening as you pulsed around him, feeling wetter, and you moved your face higher, nose pressed into the base of his sheared hair as you moaned quietly. “Oh my God, I love you.” Pitchy, bordering on hysteria, but you’d be hard pressed to remember a time you felt it as much as you meant it like you did right then. “I love you, I love-- I-- you feel--” Good. Better than good. No one had ever fit like he had -- too much, but just enough, physically, mentally, emotionally. 

“I love….” Harry gulped. “Shit, ok, m’gonna….” He made to pull his shoulders back, but you shook your head. 

“No, no, stay,” you begged, wrapping your arms and legs tighter. “Stay, please,” you murmured. 

“I can’t-- ok,” he panted. “Lemme….” He gripped your ass and pulled you closer and your back arched as you opened your thighs just a little more. “There we go,” he grunted, hips snapping forward as he finally moved. “That’s… fuck, that’s better now.” 

You could hear the effort you could feel between your legs -- each sharp pull of breath between his teeth, each muted grunt between his driving thrusts, and the pants he let out when he had to stop for a moment to catch his breath. “M’ok,” he said every time between labored gulps for air. “M’good, I just need to--” and he grit his teeth before he began again, and again, you gasped and whimpered, shrinking closer to him. 

You didn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, now or ever. You didn’t want to be this close to anyone else again ever. This was never supposed to happen. He was never supposed to meet you, know you, fall in love with you, nor you with him, but now he had, and you were, and you couldn’t imagine it any other way. You couldn’t imagine a world in which he didn’t come home to you, for you, and where you weren’t there. Not waiting -- never waiting on a man, any man, but ready for him when he returned and ready to move forward together. 

He was yours. He was yours, and you were his, and the mere thought pulled something behind your belly button, making you groan.

“What?” he asked, kissing the side of your head. “What, darling, what?”

“I’m gonna cum,” you whispered and then whimpered, tightening your hold around his neck and in his hair. “Harry--” you choked, shuddering with your deep breaths.

“I know.” He grunted, thrusting with slightly more power. “Fuck! Tight little--”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t stop, I’m close, I’m so-- I just need--” Faster and faster you rolled your hips against his, crying out against him when he wedged his thumb between you both to catch your clit, a stream of mumbled, “I’m gonna cum, you’re making me cum,” confessions hidden in his neck. Deep breaths. Long, slow, and deep, with your toes curling behind him until you were barely breathing in your efforts to concentrate, because you were right there. And then, you did cum, hard, convulsing and sucking in harshly as you trembled your way through whimpers of his name, immediately and thoroughly exhausted. 

Both his arms locked around you, then, all but crushing you to his torso in his efforts to hold you up, and he thrust hard, fast, deep, getting the right rhythm and stroke he needed. Barely able to keep your eyes open, your mouth moved soundlessly around the demand -- request -- to cum. Cum, Harry, cum, baby, please. Wordlessly, he sputtered through a sharp exhale, and it was the only indication before you felt the hot, wet release accompanying his groans.

“Fuck,” he choked, one of his hands landing hard on the counter to prop both of you up. You laughed, eyes rolling up, and you held on tightly through his turn to shake. 

“Happy New Year,” you said, still feeling a little punch-drunk from your orgasm.

He nodded. “H-Happy--” he gulped. “Happy New Year, darling.” His shoulders slumped. “Reckon this was the problem,” he said. “Should’ve fuckin’ rung the year in right last time, y’know?” 

“Right,” you breathed even as you shook your head, not quite caught up with what he was saying. 

“M’only sayin’,” he said. “We had sex the one time last Christmas. Should’ve had… a bit more,” he said indeterminately. 

“We haven’t had sex since you’ve been home.” 

Sighing heavily, he kissed your shoulder. “S’pose we’d better start,” he slurred. “S’not the new year yet.” 

[its-monster-mash]

Marko(Lost Boys) X Frog!Reader Imagines

Gender Neutral Reader

Content Warnings: gun, near death, brief mention of weed

• You spent most of your life on the East Coast, but you had a lot of family out west, including your beloved Grandfather. So when he passed, you dropped everything to attend the funeral

• You didn’t even recognize Edgar and Alan when you showed up at the trailer with your bag; last time you saw them Ed was just learning his first words(“Bullshit”, thanks Uncle Frog), and Al couldn’t even walk yet. Now here they are, a couple of Angsty sullen teenagers

• “You guys used to be so cute, what happened?” “We grew up.” “Oh please, what are you, 12?”

• You decided to stay for a while, help out with the comic book store while your Uncle deals with the legal stuff about your grandfather’s death. Dying sure was a pain in the ass, you guessed

• All things considered, you liked the work. You were a huge comic fan, and the store was slow enough that you had plenty of time to spend working on your own art. You hoped maybe you’d have your own comic some day, if only you could stick to one idea...

• In fact, you were so focused on your art that you forgot to lock up after closing time; so you were more than a little bit started when someone tossed a comic on your desk

• You look up to see a curly-headed blond man, with one of the most beautiful faces you had ever seen, and you can’t help but blush, he smiles at this. “New in town? I think I’d remember seeing you.”

• You notice his friends snicker as they mill around the store. So he IS flirting with you...this does nothing to help your blushing

• You try to collect yourself, ringing up his comic book as you explain your situation; about your grandfather, and how you’re staying with your uncle for a while...how you accidentally kept the shop open way late

• He seems infinitely more interested once he hears that you’re an artist, and absolutely wants to see your work. In fact, he doesn’t even wait for you to respond. “Is that your sketchbook?” Is all the warning you have before he’s snatching it off of your desk and flipping through it

• His jaw all but drops as he appreciates your work. “This is so sick!” Suddenly he’s pushing the sketchbook back to you. “Can you draw me?”

• Normally, you hate that question as much as any other artist, but you’d been dying to draw him since you saw his face, so you absolutely take him up on that

• It doesn’t take you very long to sketch him, and the second you’re finished he snatches it out of your hands, staring at it like he hasn’t seen himself in years

• While he’s busy being in awe, you snatch the sketchbook back from him, much to his surprise, and you hold up a finger to tell him to wait while you scratch your phone number onto the page. You hope he can read your terrible writing

• You tear the page out of the sketchbook, handing it to him. “Here, my phone number...you could call it sometime...if you want to.”

• Your heart flutters when he smiles, and you think you might die when his fingers brush yours when he takes the page. “I want to.”

• His spikyheaded friend nods at him, signaling it’s time for them to leave. “Name’s Marko, I’ll call you!”

• After a couple of late night phone calls, you never leave the shop open late again; Marko never failing to pick you up just after the sun goes down. You tease him about never seeing him in the daylight, like he’s one of those vampires from your cousins’ favorite comic

• “I’ve never seen you in the daylight either.” “Fair enough.”

• Unfortunately, your cousins overhear this little talk just outside of the shop; and one very early morning you notice them sneaking out of the house...you follow of course, you are the adult after all

• Following at a distance, you watch them climb into an old cave...very clearly labeled “Stay Out”. You wonder if maybe they go down there to get stoned with their friends or something...they have friends right? You consider leaving them be...but decide it would be so much funnier to bust them

• Except it isn’t funny at all. By the time you get down there, you hear your cousins’ screams. You frantically follow the sound, and much to your surprise you find Marko, his face distorted monsterously, ready to tear Edgar’s throat out

• You hardly even notice his friends, making a daring slide to pick up the stake Ed had dropped, and grabbing onto Marko. You aren’t strong enough to pry his grip off of your cousin, but the shock of seeing you here causes him to let go anyway. Ed scrambles to Al’s side, terrified under the gaze of the other vampires

• You press the point of the stake to Marko’s chest, and he looks at you with the most devastated expression. “Touch my cousins and he fucking dies.”

• Contempt and fear plays across the faces of the other vampires, guys you thought had become your friends since you started dating Marko; they didn’t know if you could kill him, but they didn’t want to take that chance. David nods for them to part so your cousins can start climbing out of the cave

• Marko...Marko looks at you with his golden eyes full of sorrow and anguish. Seeing him now for the monster he is, you know that the only reason you’re still alive is because he doesn’t want to kill you. You have a stake pressed to his chest, but you both know he could tear your throat out before you ever got the chance to use it

• “(Y/N), please, I-”

• As soon as your cousins reach the safety of daylight, you toss the stake violently to the floor, glaring into Marko’s eyes. You don’t even spare him a final word before you turn and walk away

• Every night, the phone rings; your Uncle doesn’t even bother to tell you anymore, just hanging up the second he hears Marko’s voice. If he knew the truth about what happened that night he’d be terrified, but as it stands he just thinks you had a nasty breakup; and you’re grown...so it’s not his business

• You hate yourself for it, but you miss him...you want to blame it on his Vampiric Charm, but you know in your heart that he never had to manipulate your feelings...they were real

• One night, you just can’t stand lying awake staring at the ceiling anymore. At damn near 3am, you leave quietly so not to awaken your family, and take off for your grandpa’s old shooting range

• Perhaps it was unwise to take yourself to a secluded area so far from any civilization in the dead of night, but you don’t care anymore. You load your grandfather’s old shotgun, the one he taught you to hunt with, and fire at the target

• Eventually, you hear a lone dirtbike pull up the long road behind you; you don’t even turn to look at him. “It’s four AM Marko, what are you doing here?” You fire at the target in the distance

• He walks up behind you, watching you lazily reload. “I could ask you the same thing.”

• “S’my grandpa’s range. I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d get in some target practice.” *Ting* “You know that’s no good against Vampires, right?” “It’s not for vampires.”

• He can’t help but be frustrated with you; how could you just come out into the open like this? In the middle of the night? Were you stupid or suicidal?

• You don’t need to read minds to know what he’s thinking. He opens his mouth to speak and you cut him off. “If you wanted me dead, I never would have left that cave.”

• “So why didn’t you do it? You know what I am now, so why didn’t you drive that stake through my heart?” “Even if I could have stabbed you faster than you could have killed me, your brothers would have torn me to pieces.”

• “My brothers aren’t here now.”

• You finally turn to look at him, tears welling in your eyes at the sight of him. Your heart tenses at the sight of the sun threatening to rise on the horizon. “If you don’t leave now, I won’t even have to kill you.”

• “No (Y/N).” You can see the tears in his eyes as he shifts into his monstrous form. “No, if you really want me dead, you’re gonna see it.”

• You’re confused at first, until you see the smoke beginning to rise as the first rays of morning light threaten him. “Marko, what are you doing?”

• He lets out an agonized hiss as his skin begins to singe. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

• Tears well in your eyes as you run to him, throwing your jacket over him in an attempt to shield him from the sun. “Knock it off!” You practically drag him into the old gun shack

• He collapses to the floor once you get him inside, too weak to stand. “If I’m gonna die, I want it to be you.” He sounds so raspy and exhausted

• You shake your head, tossing an old blanket over him. “Well too bad. You’re not dying on me today.”