#just garments with thicker and softer fabric for comfort and warmth

[salveticn]

;; ancients wearing winter coats...

[extreme-deals-of-the-day]

Get Fit for Less: Yoga Pants for Women Sale Extravaganza

The first time I stepped into a yoga studio, I was filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. I had heard so much about the benefits of yoga, from improving flexibility to reducing stress, and I was eager to experience it all.

I remember looking around and noticing the serene ambiance, the calming music, and most notably, the variety of yoga pants for women that seemed to be the uniform of choice.

Each pair seemed to tell a story of comfort and style, seamlessly blending functionality with fashion. My own journey to finding the perfect yoga pants wasn't straightforward.

At first, I grabbed a generic pair from a discount store, thinking all yoga pants were created equal. It didn’t take long for me to realize how wrong I was.

The fabric wasn’t breathable, and the fit was anything but flattering. My first few sessions were spent tugging at my waistband and adjusting my legs, distractions that took away from the peace I was hoping to find.

Determined to find better options, I turned to the world of online reviews and recommendations from fellow yoga enthusiasts.

It was then that I learned the importance of quality yoga pants for women. They needed to be made from materials that could stretch with my movements, wick away sweat, and stay in place during even the most demanding poses.

The first time I wore a high-quality pair, it was a revelation. The fabric moved with me, felt soft against my skin, and kept me cool and comfortable throughout my practice.

This experience taught me that investing in the right workout clothes can transform not just your comfort, but your entire yoga practice.

High-quality yoga pants are designed to support your movements, providing just the right amount of compression to enhance blood flow and muscle recovery.

They also come in various styles, from high-waisted to capris, allowing you to find the perfect fit for your body type and personal style.

Beyond the studio, yoga pants for women have become a staple in my everyday wardrobe. Their versatility is unmatched. Whether I’m running errands, grabbing coffee with friends, or lounging at home, they offer a of comfort and style that few other garments can match.

The athleisure trend has taken over, and yoga pants are at the forefront, effortlessly transitioning from workout gear to casual wear.

I still remember the excitement of discovering a sale on my favorite brand of yoga pants. It was a game-changer for my budget. Investing in workout clothes for women on sale doesn’t mean compromising on quality.

Many reputable brands offer discounts on high-performance gear, making it easier to build a collection of essentials without breaking the bank.

I always keep an eye out for these sales, as they are an excellent opportunity to try new styles and materials.

Over time, my collection of yoga pants has grown, and each pair serves a different purpose. Some are perfect for hot yoga sessions, made from moisture-wicking fabrics that keep me dry.

Others are thicker, providing extra warmth during outdoor workouts in the cooler months. I even have pairs that are specifically designed for lounging, with softer fabrics and relaxed fits that make them perfect for a cozy day at home.

The beauty of yoga pants for women is their ability to adapt to various activities and environments. They aren’t just for yoga; they’re perfect for running, hiking, or even a casual day at the park.

Their design and functionality make them a favorite among fitness enthusiasts and fashion-forward individuals alike.

Choosing the right yoga pants involves considering several factors. The fabric is crucial – materials like spandex and polyester blends offer the perfect balance of stretch and durability.

The fit should be snug but not restrictive, allowing you to move freely without any discomfort. Additionally, features like a high waistband can provide extra support and prevent the pants from slipping during intense workouts.

As I reflect on my journey with yoga and workout clothes, I realize how integral they have become to my lifestyle. They’re more than just pieces of clothing; they’re tools that enhance my physical and mental well-being.

Every time I slip into a pair of yoga pants, I’m reminded of the strength and flexibility they symbolize, both on and off the mat.In conclusion, finding the right yoga pants for women can significantly impact your workout experience and everyday comfort.

Whether you’re new to yoga or a seasoned practitioner, investing in quality workout clothes for women on sale can elevate your practice and provide the versatility you need for an active lifestyle.

So, the next time you’re looking to update your wardrobe, consider the transformative power of the perfect pair of yoga pants. They might just become your new favorite piece of clothing, as they have become mine.

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[yespolkadotkitty]

Fighting Blind, pt 5

gif by the amazing @dornish-queen.

Thank you to my beta, @rzrcrst ! Masterlist of all chapters here

Once I started, his hair fell away. What was left seemed darker, thicker; curling at the nape of his neck and slightly shaggy over his forehead. I sat back, admiring my handiwork. Well, I wouldn’t be winning any hairdressing awards in this century - look, I made a joke! - but if I had been trying to make him look hot, I’d succeeded.

The shorter hair seemed to draw attention to the crescent of his eye scar. I had to clench my hand to stop from reaching out to kiss it with my fingers.

“Finished, no?” Tovar asked softly, his tone low between us.

“Yes.” I gestured to the stream. It was nearly dark now, but the rising moon provided enough light.

Tovar bent over to study his reflection in the mirror. “A fine job,” he pronounced at length. “Thank you.”

It was perhaps the first nice thing he’d said to me.

“Now, we sleep.”

He headed off towards the camp and I cleaned my teeth as best I could, covering the cloth in the herb paste and then wiping it over each tooth, wringing out the cloth and rinsing with the liquid in the wineskin. My mouth felt… weird afterwards. I wrapped up the little bundle and set it by William’s pack.

Tovar had already curled up by the waning fire. I reached for the pile of wood one of them had stocked before I’d woken up and tossed a few pieces into the maw of the flames. The night chill was already making itself known to my blouse and jeans - it would get much colder.

Tovar looked smaller, softer somehow under the swathe of fabric and fur that covered his body. When I sat cross-legged between him and William’s sleeping form, he opened one eye.

“What?” I asked. He definitely had a resting bitch face and it got under my skin. His mustache reminded me of a little permanent frown.

He huffed. “You look cold.”

I hunched my shoulders. “Oh, you care?”

Tovar sat up. “If you die of the cold, I will have to work hard to dig a hole deep enough for your corpse, princesa.”

Reluctant amusement bloomed in my chest. Hadn’t I sassed him with the same thing while he’d probably been terrified that I would slit his throat? “You’re all heart, Tovar.”

He grunted, then rolled to his feet. When he approached me, he held a poncho-style garment in his hands. The fabric looked thick and soft. “Take it.”

I hesitated. 

“Your choices are humility or death from cold, princesa.”

I took the garment from him, slipping it over my head and wrapping it around my torso. The scent of lemon oil drifted up to my face, and I had the sudden urge to press the worn fabric to my nose to inhale. However, I couldn’t give Tovar the satisfaction.

He gazed down at me for a moment longer, then nodded stiffly and tromped back to his makeshift bed, burrowing under the remaining pile of furs and cloth.

As he’d turned away from me, I could indulge myself, and I brought the edge of Tovar’s blanket to my face. The lemon oil scent bathed my skin, along with the aroma of leather and something like thyme, or bergamot. Not the smells I’d expected of this time period. It was… comforting. I stared across the crackling fire and let my gaze trace over Tovar’s sleeping form, let myself fantasise, for a moment, about curling into the warmth of his body.

Time passed. I’d no idea how long. The sounds of the desert at night washed over me. I took a quick and uneasy break behind the scrub to relieve myself before resuming my watch. The men snored softly, and I had to wonder whether that was natural or if they had been conditioned not to make too much noise so as not to alert any enemies.

I had many hours to mull over my situation. I could have cried, I suppose, but I’m not really a crier. I’m a planner.

But how to make a plan when I felt like I was drowning in a sea of molasses, each step potentially pulling me further and further under?

When the moon started to descend, I figured it had been enough hours. My eyes were starting to droop, and the comforting weight and scent of Tovar’s blanket lulled me into a sort of waking-doze.

I poked William awake, crouching by his sleeping form.

He grunted, but within a few seconds had brought himself into full wakefulness, drinking deeply from his water canteen. He ducked behind the scrub for a few moments’ privacy, then gestured to his pile of blankets. “You’re welcome to use them.”

I nodded gratefully, still wearing Tovar’s woollen throw. If William noticed, he didn’t comment.

William’s belongings smelled different. Not bad; faintly of rosemary and something I couldn’t name, another herb perhaps.

I was asleep in moments.

*****

Sunlight flickered over my closed eyelids and I groaned. Five more minutes. Was there a limited number of times you could hit the snooze button before the alarm clock just gave up?

I stretched. The bed felt extra warm this morning and I let myself drift. What a great dream. I was snuggled into warmth, lemon scented. A broad chest rose and fell at my back, and if I wiggled my behind I could tell that the other person was - well, very aroused. Hmmmm. I snuggled in and the arm around my waist tightened. Low murmurs of praise reached my ears in a husky-edged voice. Hermosa. Querida. Mi amor. The words flowed over me like honey and I turned my head, the scrape of heavy stubble against my skin inflaming my senses. Soft kisses pressed to my forehead made warmth flow through me languidly, pooling at the apex of my thighs. I rolled over, pressing myself to the firm body beside me, hooking a leg over his hips, rubbing my lower body against his. The scent of lemon and thyme and warm, sleepy man engulfed me, and I lifted my face to burrow it in his neck. A calloused hand brushed over my breast and I leaned in as a warm thumb caressed my nipple.

In response, I slid my hand down his body to cup his hard cock, drinking in the sound of his broken growl as he started to lazily thrust into my fingers. Yes.

Abruptly, the splash of water on my face made my eyes pop open.

“What the fuck, Tovar?” I demanded, scrambling away.

The Spaniard looked equally horrified.

Above us, William stood with an up-ended wooden cup, his brows raised. 

“You poured water on us?” I shouted.

He shrugged. “You seemed… deeply asleep.”

Tovar shoved wet hair out of his eyes. “Cabrón!”

I gathered as much dignity as possible while I fought my way out of the pile of furs and blankets. “What the hell were you doing?” I hissed at Tovar, who was staring at the ground he sat on, probably willing his erection to go down. The erection I’d felt in my hand. I’d wanted more.

He scowled. “When I took over from William, you were shaking. From cold.”

“Right. And you couldn’t inconvenience yourself by having to dig a hole big enough for my corpse, right?” I snapped.

William threw his hands up in the air. “I’m saddling up. You two can kill one another for all I care.”

*****

Tags: @badassbaker @songsformonkeys @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @a-seeker-of-imagination @keeper0fthestars @agentpike @littlemissthistle @alldatalost @ly--canthrope @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @starlight-starwrites @stylelovechild @maryan028 @seawhisperer @restingnurseface @emesispo @pedropascalito @holographic-carmen​ @havenforafrazzledmind​ @hdlynn​ @tardisfangurl @thewaythisis​ @mstgsmy​ @jaime1110​ @10-96dispatcher @talesfromtheguild​ @kindablackenedsuperhero @marydjarin​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @irishleesh93

[virgilmydarkstrangeson]

Trying to Survive: Chapter 30

A/N: Thirty parts and we’re so close to the end now! Also, this is the longest chapter and I mean can you really blame me when you read this?

Summary: Virgil just wants to live as himself. There are bumps in the road, but hey, life isn’t easy. Pairing: Analogical Trigger Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, transphobia, a lot of blushing, some happy crying, this is like pure fluff w h o o p s, if you see anything else tell me! Word Count: 1,763

~~~

Virgil awoke to silence, which was uncommon but not out of the ordinary for him, as he had several soothing music radios that he cycled through for sleeping and they would occasionally stop during the middle of the night. After a minute of revelling in the warmth of his bed, equipped with a new, thicker sheet and softer pillows, he forced himself to sit up and properly wake up, blinking for a moment at the bright sunlight filtering in through the window.

It was at this moment that Virgil’s phone began to ring, and with a groan, he picked his phone up and answered the call, not checking who was calling before doing so.

“Happy birthday, bud!” It was Virgil’s dad, and Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed at being called this early in the morning.

“Thanks, dad,” Virgil replied as he slowly climbed out of bed to make some coffee, feeling the chill of his apartment as he walked to his kitchen.

“Your present should be arriving today, I found something online I knew you’d like so I had it sent straight to your apartment.” Virgil nearly groaned as he clicked the button on his coffee maker, which was an early Christmas present from Patton.

“Dad, you know you didn’t have to do that…” Virgil’s dad simply chuckled.

“I know, but I want to spoil my son once in a while, even if you’re an adult now.”

“Thanks.”

“You know I’ll do anything for you, son. Now, you enjoy the rest of your birthday, okay?”

“I will dad. I love you.”

“Love you too, Virg.” Virgil then hung up the phone and, coffee mug in hand, settled down on his couch to scroll through the various notifications on his phone. He had a few arbitrary happy birthday messages from old friends on Facebook, and some new tweets from the multiple band Twitters he followed, but nothing too special. He hadn’t even received a text from Logan or Patton, which he thought to be slightly odd, as with it being nearly 11:30 am both of them would no doubt be awake. Virgil decided to send a simple ‘you busy?’ text to Logan anyway, not really upset at the thought of his birthday being forgotten, and downed the rest of his coffee to get ready in case Logan was okay with him coming round. It was almost strange, how much Virgil liked just hanging around Logan’s apartment.

Virgil was brushing his teeth when his phone buzzed again, this time with a reply text from Logan. [I’m grading a few papers, but you are more than welcome to come over.] Virgil smiled to himself and replied to say he’d be there in around ten minutes, before finishing up his morning routine with this new skin cream his dad had sent over - just because he was a guy didn’t mean he couldn’t look after his skin, after all - and then, Virgil was out the door and at Logan’s apartment within five minutes. He was early, oh well. Luckily, he was used to just walking into Logan’s apartment at this point, so he opened the door and walked straight in.

“Happy birthday!!!” was the shout that caused Virgil to jump back several feet, back hitting the door he had just closed. Standing in front of him was a grinning Patton holding a large, purple cake, an equally smiling Roman who was holding a stack of presents, and after a second, Logan came into view, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Patton I thought I told you to wait so we don’t scare him?” Logan chastised, giving Virgil a sympathetic glance.

“Sorry, I’m just so excited!” Patton’s grin turned slightly sheepish before he put down the cake and looked at Virgil again. “We didn’t mean to scare you, kiddo, we just wanted to give you an awesome birthday party!” Virgil took a deep breath, recovering from the shock before he spoke.

“You guys actually set something up for me? I thought you’d forgotten.” Virgil admitted, to which Patton let out an almost horrified gasp.

“We would never forget your birthday, Virg! We just didn’t want you to figure out the surprise because we wanted it to be special!” Patton then pulled Virgil into a hug, while Roman spoke.

“We knew you’d be sceptical if we told you to go to some random location, so Specs here thought it would be less conspicuous if you came to us of your own free will, so we’re celebrating here instead of a bigger place!” Virgil caught a glimpse of Logan’s face turning red from the corner of his eye before Patton pulled him into the living room and sat him down on the couch.

“Okay, present time! You’ve gotta open mine first!” Patton grabbed the first present off of the pile Roman was holding and nearly thrust it into Virgil’s arms, bouncing on his feet as if he was the one receiving a gift. Virgil carefully opened the black and silver wrapping paper that was surprisingly not Christmas themed, to reveal a black lump of fabric, which, when Virgil pulled it fully out of the wrapping, was, in fact, a pullover hoodie. And, on further inspection, the hood had a pair of stuffed cat ears sewn on.

“Do you like it? Now we can really be hoodie buddies! And you’re totally welcome to put patches on it like your other one!” Patton seemed to almost be bursting at the seams from excitement and anticipation for what Virgil’s reaction would be, and Virgil smiled, both from the present itself and by how happy Patton was, before slipping off his hoodie and pulling the new one over his head. It was large, large enough to sink into, and incredibly soft. The sleeves were even a very comfortable length to have sweater paws, so Virgil’s smile grew without him even realising it.

“I love it, Pat, thanks.” Patton squealed in delight before hugging Virgil again, even tighter than before, before pulling away and going to the kitchen, presumably to grab the cake.

“Me next!” Roman exclaimed, dropping himself next to Virgil and handing him a smaller, neatly wrapped present in the same wrapping paper. Virgil took it and, again carefully, unwrapped it, uncovering a shiny, silver-covered notebook. “I noticed that you tend to doodle when you’re stressed, so I thought you could do with something to keep them all in one place. I know it’s not much, but-”

“It’s great,” Virgil cut Roman off, flicking through the pages to find a mix of lined and blank paper throughout the book. “Thanks, Princey.” Roman smiled and patted Virgil’s shoulder.

“No problem, Storm Cloud. And now it’s Logan’s turn!” Roman picked up the last two presents, both of them small, and gave them to Virgil, while Logan spoke.

“I knew you wouldn’t care for anything ridiculously expensive, so I,” Logan cleared his throat, and his face was turning a light shade of pink again. “I went for something more personal.” Virgil opened the smaller present first, revealing a long silver chain at the end of which was a very familiar looking design.

“This looks just like my lucky pin,” Virgil breathed out, examining the thundercloud design and noticing that it was even engraved with his name, exactly like his pin, which his dad had gotten him back when they had started their life away from Virgil’s mother, and Virgil started living as a boy. It was one of Virgil’s fondest memories from that long ago, and it caused his eyes to water ever so slightly before he blinked it away and moved onto the next present. It had a fair amount of weight to it and was a similar shape as the notebook, only slightly larger, and when he opened it he felt his face burn a bright red.

“What is it?” Patton spoke, moving from where he was setting up the candles on the cake when he noticed how red Virgil’s face had gotten. Virgil, however, quickly manoeuvred the gift so neither Patton nor Roman, who was still sat at his side, could see what it was. Not that it was anything particularly bad or embarrassing; the present was a solid, oak wood photo frame with the selfie Virgil and Logan had taken together on one of their earlier dates together, and if Virgil didn’t have a surge of emotion hit him when he saw the photo, then he was soulless and also lying.

“Just a picture, Pat,” Virgil finally spoke, hoping his slightly shaking voice and glassy eyes didn’t give away just how much the presents meant to him. “Now, you’re not going to sing happy birthday before I blow out those candles, are you?”

They did, in fact, sing for him, led mainly by Roman, whose voice carried the loudest out of the three, before digging into the cake Patton had made, which was a multilayer consisting of coffee and chocolate sponge and some of the best almond icing Virgil had ever tasted, before spending the rest of day just talking among themselves. At one point, Flora came over and sat squarely in Virgil’s lap, refusing to move until Roman and Patton had left to avoid travelling in the dark, and she finally got up when Logan got out the cat food. After a few more hours of a lot more mellow conversation, Virgil went to sleep, using Logan’s spare room as he couldn’t bring himself to trudge back up to his apartment.

It was after Virgil went to sleep that Logan began cleaning up his apartment, storing the leftover cake in a few airtight containers to stop it from going stale and to keep it safe from Flora. Then, while collecting the wrapping paper, Logan noticed Virgil’s patchwork hoodie was still on the couch, he had gone to sleep still wearing the one Patton had gifted him. Curious, Logan picked up the garment, and sure enough, there was a pair of pins attached to the jacket, the storm cloud and the black cat. Carefully, Logan removed the cat pin, making a note of where it was positioned before turning it over. Neither Roman nor Virgil had ever revealed what was so special about the other side, and Logan figured there would be no harm in taking a look, so long as he didn’t break it. Logan paused, looking at the silvery back of the pin, and then his cheeks were warm once again. Staring back at him was an engraving of his own name in an elegant font.

~~~

TtS Taglist: @exquisitestardust @romanamongthestars @darknightvirgil @coffee-spice @faacethefacts @ten-cent-thoughts @a-whole-lot-of-screaming @roboticpenmanship @samuelcwboslyn @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415 @louvrejpeg @allycat31415 @aquilacalvitium @midnightalex12 @sinful-stars @princeanxious @randomperson0055 @snowcherri @individual-charlie @certifiedfangirlluna @lowkeyvirgilobsessed @cdragontogacotar @enderperson43 @your-username-is-unavailable @awkward-avocado-of-death @lesliealiceinwonderland @mewmewmika @whatcanisay-imafan-der @dorkanddrearykay @kingalexdreaming @queerly-anxious @logically-emotional @illogical-anxieties @hamster-corn @canadian-crofters @astraastro @ab-artist @raygelkitty @featuredfander @confinesofpersonalknowledge @kameraishere @starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer @secretlyanxiouspersona @cjcipher234 @booksandpages @thestoryofme13 @kri-marie-b-the-nb @hissesssss @they-call-me-anxiety @the-literal-fae @ravenclawunicorn1 @crownswriter123 @avvkvvardmermaid @never-the-maknae @dannerism @nightmareelmst @infinitysgrace @strongindependentcheesecake @caffeinated-casper @lucifer-in-my-head @theresneverenoughfandoms @pixiedylan @no-life-no-problem @periwinklewinter @edgykatdoesthething @aleicim @soft-boy-patton @jazensnothuman456 @band-be-boss-blog @sanders-s1des-blog @quietwords-loudthoughts @potassium-over-dose @derp-a-la-sheep @imbasicallypunklogan @theitalianalchemist @meep-meep-motherfucker @emily-in-wonderland @a-little-bit-of-ace @pastelprinceofthestars @hemooryctolagus @kiwisandsprinkles @unikornavenger @shadowsfromthesun @lotusthatexists-festivestyle @echomist13 @sopi-montezzz @noahlovescoffee @a-fander-named-skittles @kitthepan @podcastsandcoffee @sherlock-lives-on-bakerstreet @everyday-emo-stuff @jadekitten1 @singingjo @anxiouslogan24 @thecripplingloneliness @youridisfake @squishyturtle44 @luckybanana948 @peanut0303 @fuck-spock @sombraplayslazertag @justasadchildwithablog @a-heartbroken-patton @theunoriginaldaisy @onesmolegg @euphoni-um-no @flamingfawkes @lunalikesgamesandstuff @hitsmetheultimatetrash @why-would-i-tell-youu2 @anxiousvirgilsanderss @grey-lysander @megamysticmermaid @introverted-happiness

[marisa-writes]

the pleasure’s all mine ‘cause we have seen good times

for your listening pleasure // for your viewing pleasure

Georgia cannot stop staring at her husband.

For at least five minutes, she’s been stood here, just outside the door to the loo adjacent to their bedroom, watching him as he watches his reflection. He’s fascinating, this man she loves, every shade of him—the many roles and facets he seems to slide into and switch between almost effortlessly. Kind-hearted. Driven. Sexy. Musician. Son. Husband.

Father.

Not more than twenty-five minutes ago, she’d stood with their two-year-old son, Carter, on her hip, and watched as her husband rocked the eldest of their newborn twins, Zeke, to sleep in the rocking chair in the twins’ nursery. He was all sweet brown eyes and warm honey tone as he sang Zeke a lullaby, Zeke’s counterpart, Zara, already fast asleep in her cot.

Then, maybe five minutes later, she’d laughed as he crawled around the playroom on hands and knees with Carter on his back, their dog, Artemis, barking as he tagged along. He’d had a goofy grin splitting his handsome face in between the moments in which he shuffled around the carpeted floor in his well-worn jeans, roaring like a great grizzly bear—a sound that seemed fitting for the way his jaw had become overgrown, adorning a heavy beard he’d yet to tame much since the arrival of the twins. As he crawled and growled, Artie nipped playfully at his heels and Carter lay draped across his back, little arms curled around his father’s neck and giggling as he cried, “Daddy bear! Daddy bear!”

This, which was slowly becoming a routine way of closing out the night with their eldest son this week, had gone on until Carter was nearly tuckered out, and then Georgia had scooped him up from off of her husband’s back to cart him upstairs and put him to bed with a kiss to the forehead and a few pages of Goodnight Moon.

Now, she watches her husband as he leans towards the mirror, freshly showered, brows furrowed in concentration as he glides the electric trimmer along his jawline. The last time they’d had a new baby in the house—which was also the first time they’d had a new baby in the house—and she’d found him in the mirror like this, his hair had been a bit longer, the lovely, damp strands curled over the shell of his ear.

His hair is wet now, but not long enough to curl up the way she loves, just long enough that he’s pushed it back from his forehead, to keep the water from dripping into his eyes. His powerful shoulders and well-defined back are glistening in the glow of the recessed lighting overhead, and there’s a bath towel slung low on his hips, secured with a simple tuck at the front. A wave of desire washes over her now, and she wrings her hands in the fabric of her camisole. As if his heart isn’t reason enough to want him, being built the way he is and the rich bass of his voice factors in the lust and...Christ. He’s—he’s so much to take in, this man. Her husband.

Her Liam.

It’s the moment his brows unfurl and lift that she realises she’s been caught. Switching off the trimmer, he sets it aside, turns to look at her full-on and stares for a long moment, but he doesn’t say a word, just crooks a finger, a grin curling his lips and a devilish gleam in his eye. She knows, taking slow steps into the loo, that she’s willingly walking straight into the lion’s den.

There are worse ways for one to meet their demise, she decides.

Liam’s hands find her waist the second she’s within touching distance, and the way his fingers settle there, caressing her hips with delicate fingertips, makes her body sing even beneath the layer of fabric between his hands and her skin.

During her first pregnancy, she had been self-conscious about him touching her here—around her hips, her stomach, and her thighs, the baby weight she’d gained prominent there. She was softer, thicker in parts, and struggled to make peace with the changes her body had undergone in the thick of pregnancy. It had taken months before she’d even grown comfortable enough with her changed body to let Liam get truly intimate with her, but he was a prince about it, bless him. The first time she’d dared to let foreplay return to their lovemaking sessions after Carter’s birth had begun in this very same place, with their roles reversed—Georgia in the mirror, Liam watching from a distance, and when he’d finally taken her to bed, his clever mouth had made the evening more than worthwhile.

But this time around, she’s come to embrace all of her softer parts much sooner, and revels in them, actually. The weight settled around her tummy and her hips, the stretch marks, are all the result of motherhood, and motherhood is the greatest honour that has been bestowed upon her thus far. Aside from that, Liam’s hands worship every inch of her body with great passion and care in every state—pre-pregnancy, post-pregnancy, and all the little moments in between. She doesn’t wish to deprive herself of his masterful touch at length this time around.

As he gathers her up, Georgia revels now in the closeness of him, his warm hands sending heat rippling through the thin fabric of her silk camisole. In one swift motion, he has her feet off the ground and her bum planted on the countertop, and she smiles at him as his hands move from her waist to the inside of her knees, and he gently pushes her legs wide to lend himself enough space to fit his body between.

���Hello, wife of mine,” he greets her at last. The way his eyes settle on her stirs something thick and warm in the pit of her belly, and she reaches a hand up to cup his now less-bearded cheek. It’s lovely to feel herself align across the spectrum—maternal, nurturing and much more confident with her parenting skills this second round, but also desirable, cherished by her husband in every way at every point in time they’ve spent together.

“Hello,” she replies softly, leaning forward on the countertop until her lips touch his forehead, pressing a kiss there. She hears Liam release a deep sigh as she does, and a smile curves her lips. Against his skin, she whispers, “Happy Anniversary, Liam James.”

Four years. Georgia’s had the great fortune of being married to Liam Payne for four whole years. They’ve been together even longer, but the past four have been spent as husband and wife, setting them on a path filled with countless adventures and parenthood, an adventure all its own.

When she pulls back, Liam’s hands find her waist again, fingers crawling up beneath the hemline of her camisole to work gentle circles into her bare skin. He leans in, gently presses his lips to hers, and replies, “Happy Anniversary, Georgia Walker. Sorry we couldn’t get out for this one, like usual.”

Georgia dismisses the notion with a wave of her hand. “‘S all right, babe. I don’t need a special night out. Spending time with you—wherever we are—is enough.”

Their fourth anniversary falls about two months after the birth of their twins, and both Georgia and Liam, unable to part with their children, decided to spend a quiet night in as a family. The day began sweetly and with tradition, Georgia waking up to the sound of Tony! Toni! Toné!’s “Anniversary” while Liam presented her with a good morning kiss (or three), a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and a serenade as he pulled her out of bed, followed by a slow dance in their pyjamas.

He’s begun each of their wedding anniversaries in the same manner, and Georgia has yet to grow tired of it.

After that, the pair went about the day as if it was any other. Just having Liam near made her feel special, to be honest. He made her favourite for breakfast, gave her more kisses whenever the mood served, and they spent time with the kids until the evening drew to a close.

Now, with all three of their children settled into bed, the hour offers a rare moment of privacy. Georgia grasps at it wantonly, the way she hooks two fingers between the tuck of the towel and his bare skin beneath and grasps at the terry cloth fabric, tugs him closer, ‘til they nearly bump noses.

Georgia feels the laugh rumbling in Liam’s chest in her own as they collide, and he slots his lips to hers, this kiss deeper than the last as she grants his tongue entrance. Strange, how many times they’ve kissed—their seven years of it feels more like a lifetime—and each one always seems better than the last.

She’ll never tire of it, of kissing him.

They kiss until Liam’s wandering hands come from beneath her camisole to grip the hemline, and Georgia receives the message he’s sending almost instantaneously, lifting her arms. He breaks their kiss long enough to pull the silky garment over her head, leaving her in the old, ratty pair of joggers she nicked from him ages ago, the ones he keeps insisting she toss in the rubbish, but they feel like home to her, the way he feels like home to her, and she can’t bear to part with them. They gave and stretched and wore down even further in the earliest months of her pregnancy but she is too attached to sever ties, and how absolutely comical, to place such sentiment in a pair of threadbare cotton trousers, but sentimental and irreversibly attached she is.

Well, not so attached that when Liam urges her to lift her hips that she’ll deny him the access to slide them past the curve of her bum and down her thighs to pool on the floor, at his feet. That, she does willingly.

In just her knickers now—a simple cotton pair; not even sexy ones, at that—Georgia sits on the countertop, colour in her cheeks that she knows is present from the warmth that radiates beneath her brown skin. It’s the way he looks at her now, the way he’s always looked at her, like he can’t believe his eyes, that makes those simple cotton knickers feel like the sexiest lingerie she’s ever purchased for herself. His eyes devour her like she is a visual treat, and her body hums in anticipation as he crooks a finger beneath the waistline of her knickers, begins to tug them down.

Georgia curls her hand around his wrist before he gets them far, and she tuts at him, using her other hand to tug at his towel again. “Now, I’ve been thoroughly undressed while you haven’t removed a thing,” she says, nodding towards his waist.

“I’m in less, Gee,” he says, with a lopsided grin, as he pushes a hand through his wet hair. “But you don’t care about that, do you?”

“Not a bit,” Georgia replies, mirroring his grin. She motions towards the towel. “Off with it, then.”

Liam chuckles and nods, leaning back so that he can untuck the towel. The pace at which he pulls it loose is cruel at best, and the grin he wears is worse as he lets it drop to the floor with a flourish.

When Georgia raises a brow at him, he says, “Thought you might enjoy a bit of flair.” His smile, now, is devastating.

“Clever man,” Georgia quips, though the words come out much softer than she intends.

“Why, thank you,” he replies as he leans forward again, his hands pressed to the countertop, bracing him on either side of her hips. His eyes, clouded with lust, level with hers and he says, “Now, to level the playing field entirely…”

Georgia lifts her hips before she is asked, and Liam swears under his breath before taking the invitation, tugging down her knickers until they, too, are on the floor. Then, his hands are on her thighs and her breath is caught in her throat as the anticipation in the air runs as thick and heavy as the cock growing restless against his belly, and she’s unsure of what his next move will be.

But suddenly, his brows furrow, remembrance cast across his features, bringing light into his darkened eyes. “I just remembered...I have a surprise for you prepared downstairs.”

“A surprise?” Georgia inquires, her interest piqued despite the synapses firing off in her brain that cry out in base carnal desire, fuck me, now.

Liam kisses her chin, a delicate little kiss, and nods his head. “Chocolate-covered strawberries,” he says, and Georgia’s eyes light up as a switch flickers on in her mind. “Made ‘em meself, while you were out running errands yesterday afternoon. Tried to hide them in the fridge, out of sight—”

“I saw them,” Georgia says softly, with a wince as she notes his crestfallen expression, hating to ruin his surprise. She didn’t mean to, but she discovered them while sifting around for something to eat for lunch this afternoon, tucked away behind a few cartons of takeaway Chinese.

“Aw, fuck.” Liam ducks his head in disappointment, chin dropping to his chest. “Damn. I tried.”

Georgia slides her fingers beneath his chin and lifts his face upward, so that their eyes meet, and holds his gaze firm.  “I was going to act very surprised, when you showed me,” she assures him. “I was surprised, by the way.”

“Well, that’s something,” he says, his eyes going soft.

“You’re something,” she counters, feeling the corners of her lips tug up into a small grin. “You’re...just incredible, is what you are.”

Liam shrugs. “I just love you, is all.”

A pang shoots through Georgia’s chest at that, makes her breathless. Just. He just loves her, as if that is an accurate description of the great, fantastic love he has for her, that he showers her with on a daily basis. As if just could truly describe what she feels for him in return. Just love. Unbelievable, this man.

A beat of silence passes between them, and Liam leans forward just enough to press his lips to hers, firm and warm and good. Neither of them are bothered by the tone and weight of this conversation mixed with their state of nudity; it’s intimacy at its finest, in Georgia’s opinion, and she’d never want for anything less.

“Thoughts, Mrs. Walker-Payne?” Liam inquires, after a while. There’s only a breath of space between their mouths.

Georgia takes a long moment to compose herself, to put her desires into words less blunt or vulgar than the ones her brain’s been firing off since he stripped her entirely bare. “I’m thinking that I’m looking forward to your surprise,” she replies.

Liam nods and takes a step back, and she realises he’s misread her when she sees him make a motion to crouch down to retrieve their garments for redressing. Quickly, she catches his opposite hand before he does.

“Wasn’t quite finished, my love,” she says.

Her eyes seem to pin him where he stands, and his brows furrow, confusion etching lines into his forehead.

“The strawberries will save,” she tells him, stroking her fingers up his arm until she can grasp his bicep and pull him close again. “They can wait. I, however, cannot bear another moment waiting to feel you…”  

She places her free hand against her chest, glides it down her torso slowly, until she reaches the juncture between her thighs.

“Here,” she finishes.

Liam lets out a guttural groan, quiet but rousing, and he reaches for the handle of a nearby drawer and pulls it open, rummaging around. Georgia doesn’t have to look to know that he’s in search of protection, their stash as plentiful as ever in this space, as it is in various other places in their home.

They’ve never been shy about their tendency to make love wherever the mood finds them enraptured.

Liam sighs as he strokes himself for a while, his half-lidded eyes seeming to delight in the way she touches herself while she watches his prick grow thick and heavy in his palm before he rolls the condom over his length. Georgia feels her back involuntarily arch like a cat as he takes hold of her hip and slides her closer to the edge of the countertop. Their eyes lock as she feels his cock at her entrance, and her mouth falls open as he guides himself inside, slowly, until he’s filled her entirely.

Georgia is so wet that he builds them up to a steady rhythm in record time, a thump-thump-thump of his hips rutting into hers at the edge of the countertop and Georgia leans her body into him to meld them closer, nails in his back as he thrusts into her again and again.

On the cusp of orgasm, she finds her mouth at his shoulder, teeth grazing his now flushed skin as she tries to keep her cries at bay, in fear of waking their children. Still, the earth seems to split apart and shatter when she finally comes, a feeling in every cell of her being so intense that her final cry reflects this, even when muffled into her husband’s broad shoulder.

Ever the please-her-first kind, he has yet to come, thrusts several times more before he joins her in bliss, a heavy grunt as his hips seize and he finishes.

It’s quiet afterward. Georgia is blissfully sated, and she blinks away the stars that dust her lashes as she pulls back enough to eye the state of his shoulder. “Sorry,” she muses, as she leans into him again, soothes the sting of his red-marked skin with her tongue.

Liam just laughs—that sweet, gentle laugh she’s always loved—and she can feel the grin that follows pressed into the crook of her neck. “I love you,” is his response, murmured into her skin. After a moment, he pulls out, takes care of the condom, and asks, “Can you stand?”

Georgia is sure that if she tried to slide off this counter right now, her legs would give and she’d be a pile of limbs on the floor. So she shakes her head, and feels Liam nod, then move back to create some space.

“Can I carry you, then?” he asks.

Georgia is surprised that he’s even entertaining the thought of mustering enough strength in his own legs to move not just himself, but the both of them, out of the loo and into the next room. But she nods anyway, marvels at the way he curls his arms around her, lifts her up with nothing but a soft grunt as he adjusts to her weight in his grasp before walking them towards their bedroom.

He’s as sweet as ever, doting and kind as he pulls back the covers and sets her down upon the mattress, helps her into pyjamas before tugging on his own, and then begins rummaging around in the nightstand. It takes her a minute or two, but she finally crawls beneath the blankets, until Liam taps her awake and makes her open her eyes.

“You know you’ll regret it,” he says, waving her silk headscarf in front of her face, and knowingly, she nods and sits back up, accepting the hairbrush he supplies her with.

Knelt behind her, Liam waits patiently while she wraps her hair, gentle brushstrokes keeping the strands in place, and then he helps her situate the headscarf just right and ties it for her. Georgia smiles when he presses a sweet kiss to the back of her silk-covered head before following her into the sea of dark sheets that awaits them.

“So, strawberries tomorrow?” he whispers, his arms encircling her waist as he slides into position behind her, nose nuzzled into the back of her neck. “When we’ve both got the energy?”

“Tomorrow,” Georgia agrees, before letting out a yawn. She slides her toes against Liam’s ankles and sinks back into him, the warmth provided by his closeness seeping quick and heavily into her bones.

“Happy Anniversary, Gee,” he breathes, before pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck, just beneath where her headscarf is tied.

Georgia sighs deeply. She’s never been more in love.

“Happy Anniversary, Liam,” she whispers in reply.