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landinoandco · 3 years

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|Shutter speed|

Chapter two : A New Beginning

{Lando Norris x Reader}

Summary: A photographer. A pair of F1 drivers. Triangles. A sticky situation of morals and fighting fate. What could go wrong?

Warnings: none :) apart from a mention of grief and passing of a loved one

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2.9 k

A/n: welcome to the second chapter of 'Shutter speed.'

I'm going to start a taglist so comment on this post or message me if you would like to be added :)

Previous chapters: Chapter one

Chapter two: A new beginning

By the time Georgie had raced home, it had stopped raining and the sun was beginning to fight its way through the mass of clouds that had filled the sky. The journey home had given Georgie plenty of time to think - to mull everything over about the crazy afternoon she had just endured. They had finally booked their first event since lockdown, the insanely attractive stranger she had met in the coffee shop but somehow it all ended back to a person she thought she had finished thinking about - not that you ever could. Her Theo. Her lovely Theo.

Theodore was her childhood sweetheart. Theo was everything to her, llike Georgie was everything to him. They had their whole future planned out: travelling around the world and experiencing different cultures, photographing their entire experience and showcasing the beginning of their journey through life on an Instagram they had set up. Before settling down and starting a family of their own. Together. It was going to finish like all the fairy tales did...

And everybody lived happily ever after.

In hindsight, they had jinxed themselves before they had even started, not long after they had finished their A - levels and about to start their next chapter at Uni - Theo had fallen ill. Georgie refuses to acknowledge the illness for she believes it shouldn’t be the way he is remembered, instead reminiscing on the short but meaningful life he lived. Theo died not long after he was diagnosed, leaving Georgie behind with a new and tainted meaning to happily ever after because if it wasn’t with him then what did it truly mean?

As they say hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Even now, 5 years on, 23 years of age, she is still plagued with the memories and the thoughts of everything they could have had but for some reason the universe was against it all. She hated to think of herself as unlucky because she was blessed to have met Theo in the first place.

Shaking the memories from her head, she unlocked the apartment door and trudged through - hanging her coat and bag on the hooks then making her way over to the breakfast bar. On top was a fluorescent post-it note that read: “Popped into the city to pick up some new lenses for the cameras. Fill you in when I get back. Fancy getting a takeaway tonight to celebrate? Love you lots ~ Maisie.”

A takeaway was exactly what was needed. She thought. And a nice warm shower.

The thing Georgie loves about showers is that they give her the ability to find an answer and solution to pretty much everything and anything. She spent a lot of time in the shower after Theo passed, it was the only thing she could justify enjoying. Striping her clothes off and chucking them into a pile on the floor, she reached into the shower to turn it on - the water immediately rushing out and crashing loudly onto the floor. As soon as she was happy with the temperature, she stepped in - letting the warm water droplets wash all of her worries away. It was the only thing that she felt helped her relax; come to terms with everything she was feeling.

Her first and main worry was what they were going to do after Goodwood. If they didn’t find consistent work soon they were going to run out of money - they were lucky to have made some good investments and savings leading up to this point to have coped through lockdown.

Georgie grabbed the shampoo and rubbed it thoroughly through her long waves. She had been to Goodwood a few years back - Theo had taken her. It was the best date she had ever been on - she remembered it as clear as day. They had found an empty bench to sit on next to the hill the cars climbed in the ever popular annual hill climb - it was there and then they had decided they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together and travel the world.

Stepping back under the water, she let the water take the shampoo away, watching as the bubbles slipped through the drain. Theo had been a massive formula one fan - dragging Georgie into the sport as well. Jenson Button had been his favourite driver and McLaren his favourite team so naturally that was hers as well. As soon as he passed Georgie had nothing to do with the sport - she refused to watch it and stopped keeping up with the teams.

She reached for the conditioner bottle, pressing her lips together in a tight line. All of this thought about Theo and the racing world she turned her back on - a slight regret forming in the pit of her stomach, was she ready to go back to it? She remembered the atmosphere of Goodwood when she had been, people from all over the world gathered to celebrate the one thing they had in common: their love for cars. She was slightly envious of the people who got to travel the world, following in the car's tyre tracks and capturing the moments you only get to experience once in a lifetime.

Georgie paused and furrowed her eyebrows, she was struck with an idea. Whether it was absolutely brilliant or outright stupid and unrealistic, she was yet to find out. Hoping out of the shower and grabbing her towel, she made her way to her room. It was worth a look, she supposed, there was no harm in that. Once she was dressed, she sat at her desk and turned on her laptop; begging fate to be on her side today.

“Honey, I’m home.” Called a voice from the kitchen.

“Hey sweetie.” Georgie shouted back, “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

She pulled up the McLaren careers page, her mouse hovering over the view jobs link. Georgie was ready to travel the world. She was ready to experience life again - after all it was Theo’s dying wish that she completed everything they were setting out to do. Perhaps she was selfish for not coming to this conclusion sooner.

She clicked.

Taking one last deep breath, Georgie placed her hands to her forehead and moved her face closer to the screen as she read through the roles. Tyre performance engineer. No. Finance analyst - production. Definitely not. Hope was diminishing rapidly even though it was as she had expected. The chances of finding anything suitable were low. She was coming to the bottom of the list when a role jumped out at her. But not impossible apparently.

Lead photographer - team.

And the deadline was Tuesday at 11.59 pm. They had the best part of 6 hours to complete this application. It was going to be tight but possible.

She jumped up and rubbed her hands over her face in disbelief. Running her hands through her hair, she sat back down - hardly being able to keep still. It was only an application advert - many people were going to be applying. She thought as she exhaled loudly. More experienced people. Skimming through the description and requirements, she almost felt like she was dreaming. It was perfect. The role was to travel with the whole team and capture every moment to later be used on social media and advertising.

“Everything alright in here?” Maisie poked her head around the door. She was faced with an almost tearful Georige. Her words almost trailed off.

“Do you want to travel the world?” Georgie asked her, her voice wavering slightly. Maisie seemed taken aback as she moved into the room and sat on Georgie’s bed. “I’m sorry - what? Have you forgotten what’s been going on recently?”

“With a formula one team, Mclaren to be precise.” Georgie corrected and moved aside so Maisie could see the screen. Silence fell between the pair as Maisie read on, Georgie’s leg had started bouncing in anticipation. Minutes later she was met with a frown. “That’s not quite how I had imagined you would react.” Georgia mumbled, sighing. She mirrored her friend's expression, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Before we start fantasizing, I just want to make sure you’re ok with this.” Maisie said softly, taking one of Georgia’s hand in hers. Georgia nodded slowly, rubbing her thumb over her friend’s hand. “This would be his dream. I know he’s watching us - he really is looking out for us, Maise. I want to do it for him.”

Maisie’s smile grew, “As long as you’re sure. Come, let’s discuss it over take away and I will explain how this weekend is going to work.” Georgie stood up, grabbing her laptop and a notebook, “One thing is for sure. We are going to need one hell of a portfolio.”

It was now Sunday - the final day at Goodwood.

To say the rest of their week leading up to this point went smoothly would be a lie. In the end it all got a bit complicated. They submitted their application at 10:58 pm that Tuesday evening - due to it only being a singular role they applied as their business in hope that the combined experience would set them apart from other candidates. Wednesday they spent the day prepping for Goodwood - trying out the new lenses and practising photographing cars they found around London. They were going to watch the Goodwood livestream on Youtube Thursday and Friday to see what they were going to be faced with that Saturday. Until Maisie received a call. It was Mclaren and they had gotten through to the interviews - all taking place that Thursday afternoon on teams. As it turns out, they wanted to have hired someone for the role by Friday in order to be ready for the British Grand Prix the following weekend.

“I mean it makes sense,” Maisie said, blowing her coffee to cool it down before taking a long sip. “It is their home grand prix after all.”

Georgie chuckled, “It’s just, I feel like if we were to explain to anyone they would think we were making this up. It’s all happening so quickly.”

That Friday, ahead of their debut at Goodwood on the Saturday, they got the call. According to the lady Maisie spoke to, it was very close between them and another candidate but the fact they were working at Goodwood tipped the scales in their favour.

“And.” Maisie started. “We are going to meet with a man called Zac Brown on Sunday, he is the CEO of McLaren Racing-” Georgie was very lucky to have Maisie as she was the businessman - or women in this case - out of the pair. Her people skills were unmatched, how she did it Georgie would never understand.

Now on Sunday, Georgie was quite sad to see it coming to an end. The atmosphere was one that she had never quite experienced before - it was one that filled her with pride and adoration; something she hadn’t felt in a long time, not to this extent anyway. The whole weekend, a beaming smile had been plastered onto her face - so much so that her facial muscles were beginning to ache. The whole community of people were ecstatic to be there, watching on in excitement as a sport that had missed the company of their crowds opened its doors once again. It wasn’t long before she had agreed to meet with Maisie ahead of their meeting with Zac Brown that she found herself walking up the infamous hill. The loud buzz of conversation seemed to fade, instead the only sound she could hear was the rumble of engines as they came cruising by. She stopped at a clearing where a bench stood proudly, smiling softly to herself as she slung her camera strap over her shoulder, stuffing her hands into her trouser pockets. It hadn’t aged a day.

Lando Norris had decided to take a break from the main McLaren marquee - he had just finished his final drive of the day and was looking for some time to reflect on the weekend he had just had after having the honour of driving the three cars that Aryton Senna won McLaren their championship titles. It had been a tough season leading up to this point - after Carlos left to join Ferrari he felt this year all eyes would be on him. Many expected Lando to fall into the shadow of his new teammate Daniel Ricciardo, everybody expected him to fade back into the background. Perhaps that was why he trained so hard during the winter break - he had pushed himself right up to the limit. Lando wanted to prove to himself more than anyone else that he was a good driver and he did have potential to fight those at the top, after the taste of a podium in Austria - he was hungry for more. Even as a young boy during his karting career, Lando put pressure on himself - to strive to be the best on the grid - sometimes it meant he forgot to enjoy himself because he was so worried about what other people thought about him.

He had reached a clearing past the trees. All weekend he had kept half an eye out for the girl at the coffee shop. Part of him was disappointed not to have seen her, he really wanted that second chance. He came to a stop and checked his watch - it wasn’t long until Zac wanted him back; he mentioned briefly about a pair of photographers joining the team. They would be replacing his friend Jason after he decided that travelling just wasn’t practical anymore, who could blame him, his first child was on the way and he wanted to be there with his wife every step of the way.

Lando brushed a hand through his curls, casting his gaze around before he would make his way back. When a bench caught his eye or more specifically the girl sitting on the bench. She sat with a content smile dancing on her lips, a reminiscent glaze coated her eyes. He took a step towards her, there was something familiar about her. It was like his feet were frozen in place - his brain was telling him to go back but his gut told him to stay put. He stood for a minute or two before it hit him - square in the face and quite frankly he couldn’t believe his luck. It was the girl from the coffee shop. Right in front of him. It was now or never. Lando took a calming breath before going and sitting next to her.

Georgie was rudely pulled from her thoughts when a person sat down on the bench next to her. She moved her head slightly to see who the intruder was when her heart stopped. Recognition dawned on her face. Georgie knew instantly he had recognised her as the corners of his mouth twitched into a shy smile. “Hi.” His tone silvery and almost breathy.

“Hey.” She beamed back, “I’m Georgie.” She said, gazing up at him, admiring the way the sun caught around his halo of curls giving them an almost angelic glow.

“Lando.” He told to her, the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly. Neither of them could quite believe that they were sitting with each other.

“I - uh - It’s a wonderful day for it, isn’t it.” Georgie had panicked. She didn’t know what else to say and her mother used to always say: ‘if in doubt talk about the weather.’ It was something along those lines anyway. Silently cursing herself, she cringed at her awkwardness only to hear him chuckle at her comment.

“It’s much better now the rain has cleared off.” Lando instantly felt relaxed around her, he didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was that she seemed just as socially inadequate as he was. “So Georgie.” He savoured the way her name rolled off his tongue. “What brings you to Goodwood? I hope you don’t mind me saying this but I heard you talking about it before you rushed off the other day.”

Georgie inched closer, almost leaning into the comfort and warmth he seemed to provide. “My friend and I are photographers and she somehow got us into working for the Goodwood Festival of Speed brand. I still don’t quite know how she did it, for some reason she didn’t want to talk about it.” She trailed off, a pink tinge creeping onto her cheeks as she had come to a rather astonishing conclusion. The corner of Lando’s mouth lifted at her innocence. “Anyway.” She moved on quickly. “As it turns out I am also here to meet my new boss.”

“It’s almost like it was meant to be.” Lando quirked. “Who are you working for now?”

“I’m the new photographer for the McLaren formula one team.” She explained, pride laced in her tone. Lando’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open in disbelief before he caught himself. Composed his expressions and stated very plainly...

“I’m Lando Norris. I drive for the McLaren formula one team. As it turns out you and I are about to attend the same meeting.”

Taglist: (please message me or leave a comment if you would like to be added :))

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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∘◦ ღ ◦∘ Harrison Osterfield - Quarantine ∘◦ ღ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote this during the first lockdown that Britain were in. ow we’re in the third, and almost a year later, I’m uploading this onto my Tumblr from my Wattpad. And yes, before everyone says it, I am fully aware that the Holland’s and Haz were isolating in two different houses and haven’t been living together for months, but this makes it more amusing, and as I say, it was written a while ago. I do not know Harrison, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction and entirely my own.

Warnings - cursing, smut, detailed sex, cockwarming, oral, kinky names, mentions of sleeping around... you know the drill by now.

Summary - Quarantine with a bunch of sex deprived twenty-odd year old boys isn’t your idea of fun, especially not when the only one you want refuses to pay even the slightest bit of attention. Taking measures into your own hands is only simple until you get caught.

YOU AREN’T SURE HOW, but in some strange twist of fate, you’ve ended up in self isolation with the Holland’s. But it doesn’t end there, no, not just the Holland’s, but Harrison and Tuwaine too.

You have a bed in the attic, the other side of Harrison’s room, but you’re hardly sleeping in it. Seeing as you’re the only girl among an entire collection of (ahem, horny) and barely adult boys, you were most certainly on their beckon call. You didn’t mind being called to Sam, Harry’s, even Tom’s rooms late at night; you simply wished that you'd be asked to sleep with the one you actually wanted. Harrison.

You and he had been friends as long as you could remember, neighbours from age 4 and friends ever since. Even through uni when you studied a double major and you had zero free time, he was still constant in your life. You’d met Tom and the boys, the twins being closer to your age, and gotten on with them all as well. It just so happened that you ended up on a job with Mr Holland, and that’s what brought all of you closer together with you being in their house often to work on this project it also just so happened that you’d been hanging around with them all when lockdown was announced, leaving you to be in trouble if you drove halfway across London to your own home, so they invited you to stay and had any and all necessary items mailed to you by your roommate. You were only trusted to stay with Harrison after your history together and nothing ever having come of you two, though Mrs Holland did not trust the other boys enough with you and therefore did a bed check every night and every morning to make sure you were alone, though it was always a deceitful check on everyone’s behalf.

You didn’t thank Tom, Sam or Harry post-sex since you’d always have to return to your own cold bed, next to a sleeping Harrison, a sleeping Harrison who wouldn’t dare use you as a booty call like the other three did. It was safe to say that Harrison also had no idea of your truancies since he slept like a light and no one would discuss your actions at the dinner table to save your dignity, and their own necks.

Tonight though, you have other plans. Harrison has some papers to look through and will therefore be sitting at his desk, procrastinating before his computer for hours, only to be left to flick through the contract at an utterly ungodly hour, and he’d proceed to sleep tomorrow, all throughout the day. You were going to help him relax: maybe a massage, a cuddle, a blunt. Or you’d sit on his lap, watch to see whether he’d tense or relax beneath your bare legs, or whether he’d pick up on whose shirt you were to wear. That was the only tell: you’d steal a shirt from each brother to wear as a mark the next day, but you’d simply claim they were more comfortable than your own tight fitting button downs and crop tops. Harrison hadn’t noticed, not yet though as far as you knew, but each brother wore a slight smirk every day that you wore their shirt.

It hurt that Harrison wouldn’t be able to tell with his usual obliviousness, but you’d shower before seeing to him tonight, and wear one of his shirts so that when he got it back it might smell like you, a scent he claimed to enjoy.

As soon as dinner finishes, you leap away from the three boys all vying for your attention.

“I have work to do, and a shower to have. Plus, I’m tired.” You respond to all three on your journey up the stairs, hearing Harrison groan very loudly from the attic, followed by his head hitting the keyboard of his laptop. You smile sadly to yourself, a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement expelling from your body while the water lashes at your skin, soothing any pain or fear you may be feeling. You increase the heat, allowing the steam to fill your pores as you lean your head forwards to keep your hair dry, held in a messy bun.

You imagine his touch all over your bare body, his finger tracing your jaw, but a knock on the door and a yell to hurry up snaps you from your trance, making you turn off the water and wrap a soft towel (that you know to be Harrison’s) around yourself. You scowl at Harry on your way out, in response to which he sticks his tongue out childishly.

You end up mostly dry after taking a longer than usual walk up the steps to the attic, lingering on each one until the balls of your feet become sore. You peek your head around the door, only to see Harrison in a hoodie and boxers, a grimace on his lips while attacking his keyboard with a ferocity that you’ve scarcely seen. His anger causes you to furrow your brows, silently wishing that you succeed in calming him instead of making him feel worse.

You slip into a pair of panties and grab your favourite of his shirts off one of the hangers. You pull out your phone under a guise if he spots you, absentmindedly scrolling through your feed while eyeing Harrison. He slows his typing and begins clicking his mouse at the screen slowly, intently reading the reams of white on his laptop.

It’s time, you tell yourself, standing up from the bed and walking behind him. You place your hands on his shoulders, splaying your fingers and digging your thumbs in. Harrison’s body goes lax, his hands falling from the laptop to the desk, laying his hands flat on the wood. He lets out a groan and rolls his head back, falling right onto the pillow of your chest. You continue to rub his shoulders, enjoying the way he’s slowly relaxing under your therapeutic touch, that is until he swats you away with a small, sad smile. You sigh, having none of it, and crawl your hands down to the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his tone dripping with boredom. “I have this contract to read, you know I do.”

“Exactly.” You reply after thinking for a moment. You want to say the right thing, you want this to go seamlessly, so every word has to be perfect, not to mention every action.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t battle against your bid to remove his hoodie, and obligingly lifts his arms up over his head so that you can pull his jumper off. You toss it to the side and hear something fall to the floor, but that’s somehow the least of your concerns. You reward Harrison with a kiss to the soft, unblemished skin of his neck - but it won’t stay that way, not for much longer.

You thread your fingers into his beautiful brown locks and tug a little, just to let him know that you mean business. His lips part as though intending to let out a groan of some kind, but it doesn’t come, so with disappointment you continue to play with his hair the way you love to. He doesn’t stop you, so that’s something, right?

When he hasn’t given you attention for too long, albeit about five minutes, you walk around in front of him. His eyes are forced to retrain from his screen to where your breasts show in his top. Apparently, going braless in one of his tops has its perks, not talking about your nipples.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs. He pushes his chair out and gestures for you to drape yourself over his legs and lap, which you do more than willingly while wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging at the wonderfully soft curls at the nape.

“I know this isn’t ideal, you need to do proper work and be having contact with your girls, but I’ll get you out soon, I know the boys are a lot.”

You simply hum in acknowledgement, adjusting your seat on his bare legs. Skin on skin, electrifying in every sense of the word.

“That is why you’re doing this, right?” He asks, nervously almost, and you instantly feel as though you’re molesting him, until he wraps his strong arms around your back. You could moan at the contact, his muscles tensing all around you, the feel of Harrison and his smell radiating around you, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You move your hands to his shoulders and begin to massage again, just from the front this time, a feeble attempt to procrastinate against your goal. Harrison’s gone back to reading his screen, so while he’s still gathering what he’s reading, it’s your only shot.

You twist on his lap until you’re completely straddling him, your forehead pressed to his. The beautiful blue-green of his eyes sends you into a trance, melting your insides. You can swear that you see him nod a little, so you begin to move your hips. You grind and swirl on his lap, undulating your hips in a perfect figure of eight when you feel him harden beneath you.

With your ministrations paused momentarily, you take a sharp intake of breath and say, “This was never about attention because I’ve been stuck with the boys, this is because I want you.”

Harrison’s face instantly melts into an expression of relief, a goofy smile on his (what you hope to be) soft lips.

“I thought you didn’t want me because you were sleeping with the others,” he says, and you shake your head, tears of relief and happiness almost spilling from your eyes. You feel warm and fuzzy despite the guilt, shame and anger bubbling from your truancies with the Holland boys.

“You knew then?”

“How couldn’t I?” He remarks, “you’re all they talk about when there’s no adults and no Paddy in the room. What they did to you, how many times they made you cry out their names, the marks they tried to leave on you until your own dominant side came out. Every conversation I had to excuse myself out of mainly respect from you, because what they said upset me but I just couldn’t say so, but then I just came up here and imagined what you’d be doing to me.” Your heart hitches in your throat, butterflies filling your stomach and travelling into your every limb, making your skin tingle. Your stomach rises in goosebumps, as does the skin of your thighs, and you notice that it’s because Harrison has his hands underneath your (his) shirt, and he’s skimming over your waist and legs, holding you and savouring the feel of your skin beneath him. He kisses your neck, once, twice, and it’s gone.

He turns back to his computer and continues his work, looking over your shoulder and letting his eyes train every tiny black line of script on his screen. Your neediness is at an all time high, one hand resting absently on your hip, just above your bum while his other hand clicks at his keyboard and mouse like it’s second nature. The speed of his fingers makes you even needier, craving for him to be inside you already, so you climb onto his bare thigh and trap it between your own.

You dig your hips down into his leg, grinding and aching for friction, and you already know that you’re dripping onto his skin. The fine hair on his thighs gives a delicious amount of friction - not too much but not too little. As you go further, your mouth parts a little more, allowing you to let out a strangled whimper. Your thigh brushes Harrison’s cock through his boxers, and you feel his hand grip your waist tighter, almost painfully.

Your pussy starts throbbing, aching for more of him, while your hands rake his back, leaving scratch marks in their wake. Your head falls to the crook of Harrison’s neck as you approach your high, moving your hips more fervently and letting out moans is anticipation. You wonder if Harrison is even able to pay attention to his contract anymore with what you’re doing to him, but that thought is set to rest when you’re right on the edge, but both of his hands grip your hips and move you off his thigh, the skin glistening with your essence.

For a minute, you think he’ll be angry, make you clean it up, but instead he just kisses you. His lips catch yours more desperately than you could’ve dreamt, immediately biting down on your lower lip, trapped inside his mouth. You let out the loudest moan you could in the moment, but Harrison finds it heavenly, delving his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss while his hands grip your ass. He pulls away, looking at you with those puppy eyes that he knows you can’t resist.

“Sit on my cock? Just ‘til I finish this section, then I’ll take you as hard as you want.”

You look sceptical, and Harrison can tell, you know because he kissed you again and moves his hands from your bum to wrap his arms around your whole body and keep you close to him. His lips pressed against your own is enough convincing, so you move your panties aside and accommodate while Harrison takes his boxers off.

When he does, you’re surprised at how big he is, bigger than any of the lads you’ve been with before. Long and substantial, you want to drool just looking at his dick standing proud against his stomach. Nervously, you slide down on him. His girth stretches your every wall and his tip hits new spots until finally you’re balls deep. He groans and exhales, eyes closed while trying to gather his bearings.

“Fuck.” He says. “Your cunt bottomed out on my cock, keeping me warm and hard, you’re an angel.”

His words drive you crazy, making you moan and involuntarily clench around him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, craving to have as much skin to skin contact as is possible. Your head lays on his chest to stay out of his way, and he seems thankful to be able to see the screen but also feel you.

You stay seated on Harrison for no more than ten minutes as he taps away at his keyboard and scrolls through the pages. Occasionally he moves, stimulating you enough for you to gasp or tighten around him, and in those instances he kisses behind your ear.

You listen to his heart, slowing or increasing its speed depending on your movements. The steady heave of his chest moving with his breathing is strangely calming, making you feel closer to him, more stimulated and comforted, something like love.

Suddenly, his laptop slams shut and he thrusts up into you. You yelp a little and snap your head up, nose nudging with his and your lips grazing.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, and you’ve done it on purpose. Were you sleeping with the others to get my attention? Am I better than them already? Bigger?” You whimper, his words building a fire inside you. “You don’t have to answer, love, I can already tell by your body.”

You cling to him even tighter than before as he clears everything off his desk, breaking a pencil pot while he’s at it, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“You choose a desk to fuck me on when we have two beds up here, both of which will make a lot less noise?”

He looks downcast and releases a giggle. “Yeah, didn’t think of that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, cupping his jaw and caressing his stubbled cheek, “you can fuck me harder on this and let the boys know who I belong to tonight.”

He places you down beneath him on the desk, still hard inside you, but instead of attacking you again in a ferocious kiss, he looks down at you and marvels in your beauty just for a moment, his scrutiny surprisingly doesn’t phase you, it only makes you feel treasured, so as your eyes follow the movements of his rippling muscles, he smiles faintly and kisses you softly.

“Fuck me Haz,” you whisper, those simple words being all the motivation needed, because he pulls out, leaving you whining at the emptiness of only his twitching tip inside your core, but within seconds he pushes all the way back in.

He feels heavenly, your eyes rolling back into your head and a surprised moan leaving your lips. He smiles down at you before pulling out and thrusting back inside you, setting a steady pace. Every move feels like paradise, every jolt of his hips swindling shockwaves of pleasure through your craving body, having been desperate for him for a good while.

He feels heavenly inside you, his tip grazing that special spot inside you. “Harrison!” You cry, as quietly as you can. He leans down and pulls the neck of your (his) shirt down so that he can get access to your breast, immediately latching his lips onto your nipple, biting at it viciously while pressing his hands onto your spread thighs. You feel yourself approaching an edge, a timed coil curling inside your stomach as his ministrations continue.

He’s so much better than the others - not that they weren’t good, they have a basic idea of what to do with you and how to use you, and they’re decently sized, but they can’t make you feel the way Harrison can.

“I’m close...” you whisper between incoherent murmurs. He’s not too noisy, which may or may not be a blessing paired with the slamming and squeaking of the desk beneath your bodies, it’s mostly just breathy grunts and occasional curses.

“Me too, beautiful.” He dances his forefinger up your thigh and rubs circles around your wetness, allowing you to let go.

The coil within springs open, and you feel your body fall loose, vision blurring with stars in your eyes and core clenching around Harrison - it feels like heaven. Feeling this, he climaxes soon after you and to save from screaming, kisses you in a messy fight of teeth and tongues, half muffling the pornographic moans that would otherwise be bound to spill.

Harrison falls down onto you, chest heaving and breathless, but nonetheless he still places open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ll wait for you to get your breath, shall I?” You tease while running your finger up and down his spine. He chuckles and climbs fully on top of you, cuddling you into his chest. “Well, now I can see why you don’t have a girlfriend yet. Can’t even go for one round without ending up flustered. Lucky that I’ll have you no matter.”

He hums into you, holding you and savouring the silence filled with only your breathing and a few sounds from downstairs, but soon the wood becomes too uncomfortable.

Harrison slips an arm beneath you and carries you across the room to his unmade bed, as opposed to your neatly tucked in one with your entire collection of clothes and makeup on top of the sheets, but his bed is probably comfier since he’s always in it.

“Round two?”

Your heart rate increases, a burning blush rising to the tips of your ears as well as a shy smile snaking its way across your lips, still swollen from Harrison’s attack, not to mention the swollen parts of your skin where he paid a little more attention, leaving marks and memories for days to come.

“I’d like to see you try.” You tease, keeping your cool resolve despite feeling anxious straddling him, his eyes flitting between your chest, eyes and lips, unsure of what to do or how to use his mouth, a definite rarity for someone like him.

He seems desperate, putting his hands on your hips and thirstily jolting his hips upwards - if you’d been a few inches further down, he would’ve been straight back inside you, and maybe that’s what he was hoping for.

“Any hole’s a goal, isn’t that what Tom says?”

He loves it when you tease him, that much you’re learnt over the years. Every girl he’s been with you’ve found a way to tease him about it, anything he says, anything he does, and he loves it since it usually ends in a play fight and him surrendering control of the tv remote to you. This time however, it ends in something far different.

He tugs the shirt up further and pulls you roughly so that your calves are either side of his neck, your once again dripping core hovering above his face and awaiting tongue.

“Only if it’s yours.” He says, his breath sending shockwaves through your body straight from your core.

His tongue deftly finds its way through your folds and inside your tensing cavern, and it feels heavenly. His nose nudges at your clit while his tongue laps up all around you, his lips working in tandem while his tongue dances inside you. The moans leaving your mouth are otherworldly noises that you’ve never quite made before, maybe because you’ve never sat on anyone’s face, never mind someone as experienced as Harrison, something that you’re now learning is far from a bad thing.

“Harrison!” You cry when he delves a little deeper. His eyes remain between your own and the way your boobs bounce inside his shirt while you squirm on top of him. Every noise the pair of you make masks the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to the attic, and muffle the sound of knocking on the door.

Harrison’s mouth continues its assault on your needy heat, your one hand weaving into his hair while the other massages your breast through your shirt, bringing stimulation to your nipple and bringing your climax closer and closer...

“Haz, we get that you hate work but you really don’t have to make so much noise- OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

You freeze, your recently shut eyes shooting open and darting over to the door, ajar with Tom standing just over the threshold, staring right at the two of you with a face of horror and disgust. Harrison however, bites down on your sensitive nub in his state of shock, and your second orgasm washes over you in such a state of unexpected euphoria that you lose all your bearings.

You cry out Harrison’s name like a prayer, chanting it while he cleans you up, and it’s not for a solid minute after your climax ends that you realise Tom is still in the room with you, rendered speechless, mouth agape and dumbfounded.

When you clock what’s happening, you grasp Harrison’s duvet and yank it up to cover you both while you climb off Harrison’s face, his lips still glistening with your cum. He seems lost for words, too, blanching more and more with every passing second. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. No one moves, except for Harrison’s cock twitching under the duvet.

“It’s not what it looks like...” you say, your words getting lost in the thick tension of the room, like a rubber band pulled so tightly that it could snap at any given moment.

“Really? Because it looks like Harrison was just eating you out!”

You can’t fault Tom's logic, it is exactly what it looks like, so you just blush and pull the duvet up to your chin while wishing for a black hole to swallow you up.

You can’t help but notice how beautiful Harrison looks though, plump lips and that wonderful glint in his eyes, messy hair and no top.

“Ok, so it’s exactly what it looks like, surprise?” You can’t figure out what to say to him in the current situation, but instantly feel relaxed when Harrison begins to rub his palm up and down your thigh beneath the duvet .

“What- oh, this is why you called?” Sam now makes an appearance, folding his arms and standing next to a resolute Tom. You can’t decipher if he’s angry, amused or something else. “Our plan worked!” He suddenly shouts, and within seconds, Harry arrives beside the pair, a smirk on his lips.

“Really? So shagging Y/N and talking about it in front of me was all a ploy to get us together? And if so, why does Mr Fancy Pants here look so angry?” Harrison asks, and you can feel him willing his boner to wilt while in the presence of the brothers.

“Yes!” Comes paddy’s voice from the doorway, swiftly standing in front of Tom.

You smirk, but Harrison scowls, unable to accommodate this situation within his mind.

“He’s probably shocked because he walked in on you two... you know. But yeah, it was all a plan, sorry by the way.” Harry says, you just wave it off but Harrison’s grip on your leg tightens.

“Don’t be angry, it worked didn’t it?” Sam chimes in, patting Paddy on the back before making his way out.

Tom has to have the last word, you can see it on the settling lines on his forehead, so you brace yourself closer to Haz. “And don’t I bloody know that it worked!”

Maybe the drama was worth it for the laugh out of Tom’s reaction, though Harrison would argue with you there.

#harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #tom holland #tom holland imagine #haz osterfield smut #haz osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield smut #Simon and mark #Tom and haz #holland boys

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

innocence - 04

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, sexual harassment (please don’t read this chapter if it triggers/makes you uncomfortable, your safety comes first)

A/N: i do realise i’m on a roll posting every day but uni starts early and idk why i keep writing like i’m running out of time😂 hope you enjoy this chapter. much love xx

* additionally, there is a light sexual harassment scene in this chapter and if anyone is uncomfortable or triggered by it i would skip it. your mental health and safety come first. *

NEXT CHAPTER

One day I’ll fly away...

She remembered the very first role she got to play as a lead. She was the standby for Glinda in Wicked. She could still feel her hand shaking as the backstage technicians secured her to the bubble. She could still hear the bubble machine engine rumble as the bubble raised up in the ceiling and for a moment she was above everything - above the audience, above the cast, above the stage itself. It felt like flying, soaring through the gasping of the crowd. She remembered feeling like this was her height, this was her flight but as things went, as she got more roles and as she progressed to the screen as she always wanted, the feeling of flying just seemed to soar, turning her into a creature of air.

Flying for Bucky was something he couldn’t remember, he remembered crashing. Remembered falling from the train waiting for the peaceful slumber of death to come but it never did, remembered the cold snow melting through his jacket reaching his skin. It’s cold. Remembered diving in after Steve, lungs filled with water, heavy suit. It’s cold, it’s quiet. Soaring was only something he could dream of while frozen or when they put him on a cell with a small window. Crashing was more like something he could remember, drowning, pushed to the bottom by his arm, wishing death came to greet him

More powerful than crashing was sound. The theatre was always filled with whistling from men getting a peak at ladies’ legs, women giggling and security trying to keep out children and teens away. You could hear the laughter reverberating from any material, it was electrifying. Her voice however seemed to melt over distorted past sounds, a melancholy while held hands with the old telling it never of its former glory but of what it can be. Bucky knew now why her agency kept her so locked up, all people with a voice eventually fly away.

- Don’t just stare at me. - she bite her lip, looking the other way. Did she sound that bad? She thought she sounded just fine in the shower that morning, maybe her bathroom had better acoustics. - Should we go back home? Before it gets dark?

- Sure. - he got up from his seat, extending his hand towards her so she could jump off the set. She put her hand in his, another hand coming to rest upon his shoulder as her elevated her up into the air before bringing her down onto the worn out floor.

The walk back to the subway was quiet. People were starting to crowd Coney Island for night time dates. Bucky remembered bringing girls to dates in Coney Island, even remembered bringing Steve along, he just didn’t remember the girls’ names anymore. There were some flashes of what they were wearing but surely those memories were replaced with that of Y/N staring at the ferris wheel as they walked back to the subway.

Once there, her child like wonder of the city that never slept and the city which she now lived in didn’t seem to leave her eyes, sparkling brighter than the billboards in Times Square. The walk back to the apartment was once again quiet, with their footsteps being the only thing echoing in the halls. Soon enough they reached her door, still looking as intact as they left it.

- Thank you so much for showing me Coney Island. - she handed him the teddy he had won. - Thank you gift.

- I won it for you, Y/N. Besides, I think I’m a bit past stuffed animals.

- Well, I’ve had my fair share of stuffed animals to last a life time and I insist you keep this one. - she stuffed the teddy between his arms, finding it incredibly adorable how the little toy looked smaller in the middle of his arms than in hers. - Little Coney Island memento.

- I should get going. - he changed the subject, gesturing with his hands as he looked at the time on his watch. - It’s been a great day, Y/N.

- The pleasure’s been all mine, Bucky. - she smiled as she held the edge of the door. She stood by the slightly opened door watching as he turned the corner which led to the lift. Once he was out of sight, Y/N walked into her apartment, closing the door behind her but still holding the knob with a silly smile on her face.

Bucky reached the headquarters around 11 PM. Despite going the long way home, expecting Steve to be asleep when he returned. Steve had a very mundane routine when it came to sleeping, he could still sleep but he would wait until everyone was asleep for him to go to his bedroom. Bucky didn’t want to have to dance the first day in the job waltz. He knew he cared, he knew Steve wanted him to be alright. There was only one small thing; Steve wanted Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, his Bucky, and he just wasn’t that man anymore. He didn’t like being asked who he was, he doesn’t know who he is.

Opening the door to the living room, he found Captain America himself sat on the big lounge chair, skimming through his list of modern day TV shows and movies. His blue eyes moved from the bright lights of the television to him.

- How was the first day? - he questioned, regular optimism present in his voice. Steve had remained the same, maybe it was that which made him believe the spectre of the boy Bucky was could be revived. He seemed to forget dead people can’t be revived.

- It was good, went to Coney Island.

- Coney Island? - Steve muted the TV, contorted face expression settling into his youthful features. - I thought you were going to guard her door.

- She wanted to see Coney Island. Couldn’t let her go alone?

- Didn’t her personal assistant tell you she couldn’t leave? - he had been noisey, he had looked into Bucky’s contract. He told himself it was just in case, just in case Bucky needed his help. - You don’t want to get in any trouble, specially with agencies. They’re the devil.

- I’ll take it into consideration. - his skin tightened as he smiled a tight straight line.

- Do you wanna stay for a while? I’m watching a series Sam recommended.

- I think I’m gonna just go to sleep.

Steve nodded allowing Bucky to return to his bedroom. There wasn’t much in the bedroom, a bed, side table and wardrobe, nothing else. No mirrors and no windows, silence, grey and black bedding, no decoration rather than a postcard his sister had sent him during the war framed in a plastic frame. No glass, Steve wanted nothing around he could harm himself with. It was almost like living in an insane asylum.

He looked at the little teddy bear in his hands before placing it on the side table, a little smile on his face. A Coney Island memento indeed.

The morning came rushing like the rain which fell against Y/N’s bedroom glass window. She turned around in her bedding, pushing her knitted quilt up to her nose, the scent of fresh crisp cotton invading her senses. The mood would’ve remained the same comfortable, early morning type had it not been for her comforter being yanked off her without any warning. Through the fogginess of morning sight, she could make out Ms. Olson in her traditional black suit co-ord. She thought it fitting, considering her morning was now ruined.

- Get up. We have much to do. - she barked like an infuriating dog.

- But I thought I had the weekend off.- Y/N rubbed the sleep of her eyes, sitting up, quilt covering her body.

- You have last mine commitment. Now run along and change into something more ... - he analysed her before gazing her face, tight expression settling in. - Enchanting.

She left Y/N in the bedroom, clenching her bedding as she looked around the place she’d rather be. Nevertheless, she rose from her bed and walked up to her wardrobe grabbing the first dress she could find and a pair of heels. Her routine during work was different, she normally showered, got her makeup done, dressed and then out of the door. Mechanic, controlled, with Ms. Olson asking her to hurry up. In a split second she returned to the living room, bag held on her shoulder, sunglasses in hand as she prepared to walk out with Miss Olson.

- You should’ve put some product on your hair. The ends look dry. - Miss Olson commented as they walked outside. She looked around hoping Bucky would be around but it was just her and Miss Olson.

- Is Mr. Barnes not coming?

- It’s a dress rehearsal. - Y/N froze in her mind. Dress rehearsals were supposed to be better than fittings but after her last experience she really wasn’t in the mood for another experience with the director.

Time seemed to stop, freeze in spot as she stepped inside the car. No noise, no sound, even colour seemed to fade as the car drove faster and faster. She wondered what she could do, open the door, roll over, maybe do it like what she had seen in Lady Bird but the driver always kept the door fully locked and Miss Olson always had her eye on her like Sauron’s Eye.

She looked at her phone in her lap, fingers loomed over Bucky’s name. He was employed by her, maybe she could ask him to come over. Maybe if he was there it would be easier. She sent the message hopeful he would reply, but the text bounced back. Looking at the network, she was lacking all the bars on her phone. Sighing, she leaned against the car seat, looking off the window, dark clouds on the blue sky mocking her.

As the car came to a halt on the same building as before, she almost had to be pulled out the car by Miss Olson. Once inside, Y/N could see him, she could smell his patchouli fragrance as he wrapped his arm around her. She stood once again in front of the camera lights, muffled cries in her head as she was squeezed into a corset and a then a body con dress. Her eyes were blinded by the lights, behind those lights Miss Olson and Mister Powell gazing at her. Her hand slide down her collarbones to her lap, feeling the fabric as the cameras kept flashing, locking her in a case of lights.

Once the lights dimmed, she could see them looking down at her, almost five feet tall, mumbling she couldn’t hear as one of the costume designers helped her out.

- Costumes are looking fantastic. - the director walked up to her, hand wrapping itself around her waist, raising up to lay just below her breast. - Maybe you should try and cut some weight. You would look a bit better.

- We’ve already started a diet plan. - Miss Olson added. - Not to worry, Mr. Powell. Y/N is fully invested in this movie.

She remained caged in the conversation, being moved by someone back onto the car and dropped at home. She looked around her hallway, wondering if it had always been this cold. As she opened the door to her home, she noticed the jar of flowers the director had sent her on her kitchen balcony. White carnations in a crystal clear jar. She stormed to the kitchen, ripping the tag of the carnations. To my perfect leading lady. The handwriting wasn’t his, probably his assistant.

When had it all gone so wrong? Why did it felt wrong? Why did the flight felt like a burning crash? When did it all get so screwed up?

She wrapped her hands around the glass jar, hands trembling, the sound of her ring hitting against the glass being the only thing she heard before a shattering sound filled her mind. It was fast, too fast but she threw the jar against the wall, watching as the glass shattered into a thousand pieces, falling into the ground like small diamonds. She thought it would make her feel better but instead she feel to the ground, trying to gather the pieces together as guilt embraced her.

- Y/N?

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equalseleventhirds · 4 years

Text

Pilgrimage

I made a fun & friendly post about considering all the fates worse than death for a tragedy, and I got to talking to myself about it. Self, I said, if you were asked to write a terrible fate worse than death for these boys, what would it be? Well about that…

- - -

Georgie hasn’t been to visit Jon since the apocalypse ended. Or, before that probably, she certainly hadn’t been popping in for a cuppa when she was trying to cut him out of her life. But then the world ended, and then unended, and Melanie has been insisting on having him around for dinner, or to go on a shopping trip, or just to visit the Admiral. Because they’re friends. Because this is what friends do: meet up, talk, and make sure their other friends aren’t alone.

Melanie’s been to visit Jon. Georgie hadn’t gone with her.

The… place where he lives is too creepy, she thinks. It was probably creepy back when Smirke built it, it was extra creepy when it was some impossible tower, and it’s still creepy now, even if it’s fallen down to earth. The Eye’s tower.

“So this is it? The Panopticon, or whatever?” Georgie felt Melanie’s hand shaking, and tightened her grip.

“…yes. I’m afraid so.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “See what I said about him being ominous?”

Jon opens the door before she knocks. It’s either some remnant of power in him, or he’d been watching out the window after Melanie called him. Georgie doesn’t ask.

“Hey, Jon.”

“Georgie. Hi.”

She steps inside, then stops. “Shoes on or off?”

“Oh, er… on. I haven’t quite finished cleaning all the… Shoes are probably better on.”

Jon was panting, standing over the nearly-empty chair where Jonah Magnus once sat. Martin laid a hand on his arm. “You did it, Jon. He’s gone.”

“That’s it? All done? You killed the big bad guy, so the apocalypse ends?”

He barely even winced at her tone. “It’s—I don’t think it’s going to be quite that simple—”

“Then why are we here—”

“Melanie sends her love, by the way.”

“Does she?”

“Yes.” She holds his gaze as levelly as she can. He just grins at her, holding his hand palm-out until she rolls her eyes and reaches into her bag. “Fine, and she sends her latest batch of halwa.”

“Thank you,” he says, plucking the container out of her hand and immediately popping it open to try a piece. “Mm… you can tell her she’s almost as good as my grandmother now.”

Georgie can’t hold back her laugh at that, short and disbelieving and a laugh, which she wasn’t sure she’d ever accomplish here. “Your grandmother always bought halwa at the store, you told me so—”

“Ah, yes. But I haven’t told Melanie, have I?”

“Jonathan Sims!”

It hurt. She’d thought she was immune to fear, to the fears, and maybe she was, to smaller ones. Normal ones. Real ones. But every ounce of impossible, enormous Fear that had clawed its way into their universe was bearing down on the tower at once, and Georgie wasn’t afraid, but it hurt.

“What now? What do we do? Jon, Jon, what happened, what do we do?”

“I…” She could see a trickle of blood coming from his nose… his eye… Hadn’t Martin said Jon couldn’t See anything about the Fears? Was that what he was trying to do? “I think… we can still stop it, maybe, but it’s… the tower, Jonah’s throne…”

“What do we have to do?”

They make it through about an hour, sharing out the halwa between them and chatting, about the books Jon finally has time to read, about the podcasts Georgie’s gotten Melanie into, about the really huge rug Jon’s planning to order when he gets everything cleaned up enough. It’s… it isn’t normal, but nothing’s really ever going to be normal again, is it? But it’s almost nice.

Except then she has to go and say the halwa’s made her thirsty (and it is sweet and dense and perfect, Melanie did an amazing job and she’s going to rat Jon out as soon as she gets home, and Georgie really cannot eat something that sweet at her age without something to wash it down). And then Jon gets up to make tea. And stops at the cupboard, and pulls out three mugs.

He doesn’t look at her, keeps his eyes on the kettle, on the mugs, on the tea bags, on his hands. But eventually he says, low but clear: “Whenever I make tea, I. Um. Bring some to him. He can’t really drink it, but it helps me feel better.”

And what can she say to that?

Jon stared at the seat, the throne, horror dawning on his face. She could tell—they all could tell—that he Knew what to do. He just had to tell them.

Martin grabbed his arm, shook him, spun him around to look at them. “Jon. I know this is—hard, for you. But what do we need to do?”

“Not us. Me. What I need to do. Someone touched by the eye, and who more than me?” He was biting at his lips, and she recognized the rhythm, from when he was stressed from essay after essay and trying to calm himself. “I have to take his seat. There has to be a king.”

“If there’s a king—” Melanie’s voice was strained, from the fear or the Fear, and Georgie tightened her grip again “—then wouldn’t it just be the same? Someone ruling over this, this ‘ruined world’?”

Jon was already shaking his head. “No, not if it’s now. Not if it’s someone who wants to stop it. Dream logic, remember? Except.”

“Except?” Melanie prompted.

“Except they won’t be able to leave. They’ll be—be trapped in the fear forever. In everyone’s fears, forever. Like I was, with the dreams, but for seven billion people—”

Georgie couldn’t help the gasp at that. “The dreams like we—with you watching all the time—”

“—or, more like our journey here, when we went through all those domains,” he continued, as if he couldn’t hear her. Maybe he couldn’t, with all his attention locked on Martin, drinking him in like it would be the last time he ever saw his face. “Because, because it’s here, and I said—Martin, I told you at the beginning, the eye can’t see inside itself, so I’d be—”

“Alone,” Martin whispered. “Always watching, and alone.”

She goes with him. Of course she goes with him. On some level, that’s what this visit has been about—seeing Jon, sure, but also seeing… Martin.

Martin is the whole reason Jon’s here, after all. Living in the ruins of the Panopticon. Living at all.

Georgie doesn’t look away. Doesn’t wait in the other room (the little living space Jon had made with curtains and boxes and a folding divider Melanie found for him), safe and ignorant. She knows Jon wouldn’t blame her. Might encourage her, if she brought it up, even if she said she had to go.

She thinks she might blame herself if she did.

It’s still difficult to stand there and watch without some kind of distraction, though, so she does bring her tea with her. Bobs the bag up and down (Jon remembers she likes to leave it in even after she adds sugar and milk, like some kind of monster, he’d teased back in uni, before that word became so damn loaded), clinks the spoon against the side.

She’s trying not to stare, but there’s not a lot else to look at, besides… there’s not a lot else to look at. He must have brought that little end table in here pretty soon after moving in, set it up next to the chair with a lamp and a book and… a pillow on the floor next to it.

She doesn’t ask.

Now Jon sets the third mug down and carefully, carefully pries Martin’s hand off the arm of the chair, pushes his fingers to curl around the mug, guides them down together to the table. He keeps one hand on the mug, like he’s afraid Martin will move suddenly and spill it. Maybe it’s happened before.

There’s only so long she can avoid looking, of course. And Martin looks… a lot like the last time she saw him, just after the end of the end of the world. Very, very still, sitting upright, although Jon’s gotten him some cushions and a blanket since then. His eyes are still wide, too wide, and staring at nothing. At everything. At everything but what matters.

And his lips are slowly, slowly moving.

“But why does it have to be you! It’s always you! The whole world is touched by the Eye now, isn’t it? Can’t it be—I wanted you to—”

“I’m—I ended the world, Martin, it’s only right I fix it.” He was pleading now. “I just—Martin, please.” Jon reached up, curling his hand around the back of Martin’s neck, and pulled him down until their lips just brushed.

He closed his eyes, and Georgie wanted to look away, leave them this one last moment together. She’d be glad, later, that she didn’t, that she kept watching, watched them kiss, watched their tears, watched Jon break away and head towards the chair. Watched Martin grab him and push him away, taking the seat himself.

“Martin, no—”

Martin turned his head, slow, so slow, smiling one last time at Jon. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself?”

“Is he… talking?” She moves closer, squinting. “What… what’s he saying?”

Jon smiles, brushing his thumb over Martin’s slow-moving lips. “The same things he said to people in the apocalypse, of course. No matter how many times I told him they couldn’t hear him.”

And Georgie can see it now, the minute shapes, forming words as familiar as any casual conversation.

Excuse me… Sorry about this… How are you?… You’ll get through this… Just hang on… Hi there…

- - -

End notes: Every once in a while (not every night, bcos he has 7 billion ppl to get through), if someone were to look at the unchanging body of Martin Blackwood, and if they were good at reading lips, that someone might be able to see him talking one Jonathan Sims through his fear dreams. Of course, no one does see that; the only person who’s close enough would be asleep at the time.

#algie writes things #fanfiction #ABSOLUTELY NOT A HAPPY FANFICTION #jmart sad end from georgie's pov p much #flashbacks make a sorta nonlinear timeline but u get the drift p quick i think #sidenote jon's indian but specifically malyasian indian #bcos kim coralreefskim has a galaxy brain #looked up some malaysian indian halwa recipes and they look. so good. so GOOD #my personal headcanon for melanie didn't make it into this fic but however u hc her sometimes ur cooking after the end of the world #and u learn how to make ur friend's favorite dessert bcos it comforts him #even if he keeps insisting his grandmother made it better #...listen sometimes there are bits of happiness in grief. but also the grief is horrific and overwhelming. things happen.#the magnus archives #god absolutely not trying to maintag this can u imagine.#ppl just had to deal with sadness already u want this now???#anyway. i turn martin's politeness into Bad Foreshadowing.#aren't u glad i'm not jonathan jonny writerman sims and do not have control over this narrative. aren't u glad.

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follow-your-fire · 3 years

Text

In your tender hands

Rating: Explicit/NC-17

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (Merlin)

Written for bottom Arthur fest 2020

@bottom-arthur

“You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”

“You did what?” Arthur nearly spits out his coffee, glaring daggers at his assistant.

Freya only rolls her eyes at the dramatic response. “You heard me. I booked you in for one hour when you take your break.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” He rubs at his eyes in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to squeeze a massage in? My break is one hour too, plus the commute, plus I want to have lunch.”

“You’re acting like I don’t know your schedule off the top of my head. How long have I been working for you?”

“Two years,” he replies automatically, taking a moment to appreciate the fact.

All in all, Freya is a wonderful assistant. Arthur knows she’s the only reason why he hasn’t had a mental breakdown yet. She’s punctual and diligent. Stubborn as hell and as ruthless as they come. It’s kind of a double-edged sword though. While she gets the job done - actually goes beyond her line of duty - she also takes great pleasure in bossing Arthur around. And of course, Arthur being the push-over he is, lets her get away with it.

So yeah, Freya is a godsent who saves Arthur from losing it on a daily basis. But she’s also the spawn of the Devil who loves to discover all the ways to drive him nuts.

“And four months,” she corrects. “So cut me some slack, Princess.”

Ignoring the jab - because really, Freya, it’s getting old - he comes back to his previous point of concern. “Then you should know that my schedule is fully packed today.”

“Not anymore,” she announces smugly, walking over to her desk to pick up the iPad before she returns to Arthur’s office. “I moved Masa to tomorrow at 11:15 and Cutforth to Friday at 2 pm, which gives you,” she does a quick count, “two hours and fifteen minutes for your break.” She closes the iPad, smiling victoriously. “Now, stop fretting and make sure you leave on time. I booked you for 12.:15. The commute is about fifteen minutes and you should be there at least five minutes in advance.” She grabs a pen and a post-it-note from his desk, scribbling quickly. “There,” she says, tearing the note off. “This is the address.”

“The enchanted cave,” he reads in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Shut up, Arthur. Merlin is the best there is. He put me back together after I lost my parents. He’s usually fully booked weeks in advance. You’re lucky that he has a soft spot for me and let me squeeze you in.”

Arthur turns more solemn at the mention of Freya’s parent’s untimely passing. It doesn’t make him any less confused, though.

“Sounds more like a shrink to me than a masseur,” he thinks out loud.

“He might as well be,” she laughs, affection evident in her voice, which softens Arthur’s irritation somewhat. “You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

“I don’t have time for self-pampering,” he grumbles defensively.

“That’s exactly why you have to make the time!”

“That’s quite an oxymoron.”

“Shush.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Really, Arthur. You need to unwind.”

“I don’t-”

“Arthur,” she groans impatiently. “Go. Get. The. Massage. I’m gonna make sure you leave on time and I will check with Merlin that you actually turned up.”

“I think you’re confusing who’s the boss and who’s the subordinate here.”

“I think you’re full of shit and need to shut up and listen to someone smarter than you.” She turns on her heel and walks out of the office before Arthur has a chance to retort anything back. “Don’t be a prat, Arthur. For once in your life, do something nice for yourself.” And with that, she shuts the door behind her.

Arthur arrives at the place at 12:07, just in time to walk to the door as a woman walks out. He steps to the side, waiting for her to pass.

“Arthur?”

He snaps his head up from where he was blankly staring at the side-walk. “Oh. Hey, Mithian,” he greets when he recognizes one of his long-time friends.

“Don’t hey me and give me a proper hug hello,” she complains and doesn’t waste any time to rise on her tiptoes and wrap him in her arms. Arthur returns the hug with a smile on his face.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been great but how have you been? I haven’t heard from you in ages,” she scolds him gently.

“Been busy.”

“Aren’t you always,” she scoffs, sympathetic. “Nice to see you’re finally doing something for yourself,” she says, getting a confused look. “You’re coming for a massage, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am. My assistant made me.” Oh, shit. That shouldn’t have come out.

Predictably, Mithian bursts into giggles. “Figures.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, Arthur. Someone needs to look out for you if you don’t,” she explains, her eyes soft and a wave of affection washes over Arthur as he remembers his uni years and their brief but lovely time together as a couple.

Now that he thinks of it, Freya reminds him of Mithian a lot. It occurs to him he’s attracted to a certain type of person. Not necessarily in a romantic sense but more in general.

His sister is like that too. All fiery and strong-willed, calling Arthur names on a good day, but when it comes to it, she’s a protective mother-hen.

So is his best friend. Lance is usually calm and collected but doesn’t hesitate to call Arthur on his bullshit, in the most loving way, though. So does Gwen. Those two really rub off on each other.

What is it with him attracting people into his life who spend most of their time scolding or mothering him? He needs to look into it later.

“I still don’t see how this is supposed to help.” He shrugs indifferently.

“Oh, you’ll see. Just wait for it.” And good grief, she winks at him. “I need to get going. Let me know how it went. You have my number, right?” Arthur nods. “Great. Also, it wouldn’t kill you to get in touch here and there, you know?”

Sighing guiltily, he humors her. “I will.”

“You’d better. Okay, gotta go. Enjoy yourself!” She blows him a kiss and takes off.

He very much doubts he’s gonna enjoy himself but if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get to nap while the guy gets handsy with him. He could use an extra hour of sleep. God knows the five hours he’s come to consider his routine are not cutting it anymore.

He sighs in relief as he walks through the door to find a rather unassuming lobby. Given the name of the business, he expected the place to live up to its cringeiness but thankfully there are no tacky lights, no magical crystals scattered around, no candles in every corner, nor every surface. The only thing that can be considered a bit spiritual or whatever is the incense perched on the counter, right next to the business cards and leaflets. Thankfully, the scent is very subtle and doesn’t trigger a headache.

“Good afternoon! You must be Arthur,” says a voice to his left and Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin. He didn’t even notice anyone in the room with him.

As he looks over in the direction the voice came from, he finds a man, presumably his masseur - Mark, Matt? - standing in the door leading to what Arthur guesses is the massage room.

“Oh. Hey. Yeah, that would be me.” He turns to face the man, straightening his back. He must look out of place, clad in his suit, still wearing his tie.

The man approaches him with a smile. “I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you, finally. Freya talks about you quite a bit.”

Arthur reaches to grasp his hand when Merlin offers it, giving it a firm shake. “Don’t believe anything the little minx lets out of her mouth.” He attempts a joke, hoping his discomfort at being told his assistant talks about him is not too obvious.

He must succeed because Merlin is throwing his head back with a laugh. “She said you would say that,” he teases. “That’s alright. I like to make up my own mind.”

Arthur withdraws his hand and gives him a stiff smile. Outside of work, he has no idea how to make a decent conversation. Not upon the first meeting anyway.

Tilting his head inquiringly, Merlin asks, “You seem quite tense. Is everything alright?”

“It’s just... Look. I know you’re busy, Freya said so. And I appreciate you making time for me. But,” he huffs, knowing he’s gonna sound like a jerk no matter how he phrases it, “I don’t really care for massage much but Freya insisted. She can be fucking scary sometimes. Don’t tell her that though! And I just... I feel really out of place, okay?”

He expects to see Merlin’s expression sour, thinking Arthur is just a pompous douche. He wouldn’t even blame him. But, to his bewilderment, the man’s face is nothing but open, not a single trace of judgement.

“I won’t, I promise,” he says with humor. “If you don’t mind me asking - have you had a bad experience in the past?”

“More like no experience at all.”

For the first time, Merlin looks caught off guard. “You never had a massage?”

“No. I just never saw the point. And anyway, I don’t really have time to spare. The only reason I’m here is that Freya did some magic with my schedule and cleared it up enough to give me two hours off today.”

“Oh.” Merlin suddenly perks up. “In that case, I’d like to show you some of my magic, if you let me.”

Arthur’s brain short-circuits for a moment. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Or is he so tired he started hallucinating? Plus, his dry spell of six months is probably not helping either.

“Um... I... magic?”

“Yeah, you know...” Merlin sweeps his hand over the lobby. “The enchanted cave? Seems fitting?”

“Oh.” Arthur chokes out. “Right. Right...”

“Oh God, I just realized how cheesy that sounds,” Merlin reflects with a hint of embarrassment. “Anyway, I should stop talking. You didn’t come here for a chat, after all.” He steps to the side, gesturing towards the massage room. “I’d just finished setting it up before you came in, so it’s all ready for you.”

Arthur gets the hint and with a deep breath, he makes his way to the room. Unlike the lobby, it’s bathed in a soft yellow light and.... yup, those are candles alright. No crystals, though.

Merlin is right on his heels. “I’ll let you undress in private, to your level of comfort.You can hang your clothes here, or you can just fold them and put them on this chair.” He gestures to the chair in the corner. “After that, lie down on the massage table, on your stomach, this way around. You see the sheet over there? That’s for you to cover yourself with. I’ll be back in a few minutes when you’re ready. Do you have any questions? Requests?”

So many questions. He goes with the most concerning one. “Yeah, um, when you say my level of comfort...” He cuts himself off. Thankfully, Merlin picks up on it.

“Whatever works for you, really. I can even massage you with your clothes on, although...” He gives Arthur a quick once-over, “I can’t imagine it would be comfortable for you.”

Yeah, no. Definitely not. And he has to go back to work after and he’s sure that showing up in a wrinkled suit would earn him a few judgmental looks.

“But really, it’s up to you. You can keep your clothes on, or just your underwear. If you’d prefer to be completely naked, that works too.”

Arthur hopes the dim lighting of the room conceals his blush. There’s no reason why a man of 32 years should blush at the thought of being naked.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Merlin echoes with an encouraging smile. “Be back soon.”

Arthur releases a relieved breath when Merlin closes the door behind him. This whole thing is even more awkward than he expected. Merlin seems like an alright bloke, if a bit odd but Arthur supposes that comes with the job. He seems nice though, with all the reassurances and effort he put into making sure Arthur is comfortable.

He wonders how many male clients Merlin gets. So far, he knows that Freya and Mithian are swept away by him. Although it’s hard to tell if it’s because of his supposedly outstanding massage skills or his looks.

He groans internally and maybe even a bit out loud. Nope, don’t even go there. No hitting on your masseur. Yeah, that wouldn’t end well. Not with Merlin about to spend the next hour gliding his large hands over Arthur’s whole body.

A shiver runs down his spine and in an attempt to push his thoughts away, he begins undressing, starting with his tie. He hangs his jacket and shirt on the hanger by the door and the rest he puts on the chair, just as Merlin instructed. In no time, he’s standing there clad only in his underwear, debating whether to leave that on or not.

To hell with it. Merlin must have seen it all already.

He ends up ridding himself of his briefs too, face going aflame as he adds them to the pile on the chair and rushes to climb onto the table, settling on his stomach and doing his best to arrange the sheet Merlin provided for him so it covers him as much as possible.

A minute or two pass with him fidgeting in his position. Whether it’s from discomfort or nerves, he doesn’t know, but then Merlin is knocking gently on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah,” he calls hoarsely, grateful Merlin can’t see his face.

The door clicks open and Merlin walks into the room, speaking from somewhere to Arthur’s left. “You probably already figured but one hour allows for a full body massage. Is that alright with you? Or do you want me to forgo any areas? Or spend some more time on a specific one?”

Logically, Arthur knows these are all valid questions but they do nothing to help him relax. More like the opposite.

“Um, no, that’s... you can do whatever you want.”

“Alright. Any contraindications I should know about?”

“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.” Oh God, what did I just say? Stop trying to be funny, Arthur!

It draws a boisterous laugh from Merlin, easing some of Arthur’s tension. “Thanks for clarifying,” he says, catching his breath. “Any injuries?”

“No. I twisted my ankle playing football, but that was years ago.”

“Okay, good.” There is some rustling and thumping, then Merlin speaks again. “Do you care for any specific scent? I’ve got a variety of essential oils, energizing or calming. I have a special blend for stress relief if you’d be interested.”

Arthur winces a little at the fact he’s so easy to read. “Um... sure. But maybe not too much? I still need to go back to work after this.”

“Duly noted,” Merlin promises and busies himself with what Arthur assumes is mixing the oils or something.

Thankfully, he doesn’t take long, preventing Arthur from driving himself into a frenzy. He doesn’t know why he’s so flustered about all of this. So he never had a massage, so what? People do it all the time.

It’s just then that he notices that music is playing but it’s so soft it could almost escape his hearing. He focuses on listening in hopes of distracting himself.

“Okay, I’m all set. I’ll start with dry massage, working my way down from your shoulders. That alright with you?”

Yeah, he never had a massage but he’s pretty sure that asking for affirmation every two minutes isn’t how this usually works. It occurs to him that Merlin is doing this only for him.

He’s equal parts irritated and touched by it.

“Yeah.”

Gently, Merlin places his hands on his shoulders over the sheet. It’s just a simple touch, not even on his bare skin, but Arthur swears he can feel the heat of Merlin’s hands seeping into his own body and spreading throughout. He suppresses a sigh.

“I’ll start with medium pressure. Let me know if it’s too much or if you’d like me to go harder.”

Arthur hopes the whimper that makes it past his lips is not very audible. He clears his throat to cover it up.

Merlin doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses his hands into the tense muscles of Arthur’s upper back, finding all the right spots from the get go.

A guttural groan escapes Arthur before he knows it.

“Too much?” Merlin asks, stilling his movement.

“N-no. No, it’s... it’s good. Just didn’t... expect it.”

“Good. Let me know if it changes.”

He stays on that area for a few minutes, lingering when he finds a sensitive spot, working out the kink. It’s a curious combination of pain-pleasure and Arthur is not sure if that’s what it’s supposed to feel like, but he knows it leaves him all pliant and floaty, so it’s probably alright.

Merlin makes his way down the spine, to his lower back, then goes back up and pays the same attention to his arms and hands.

He walks around the table and starts working on the legs.

Arthur releases a shuddering breath. He just had a leg-day in the gym yesterday and damn, can he feel it. Merlin’s touch is like a balm on his sore muscles and he exhales as pain gives way to relief.

It’s not long before Merlin comes back to the head of the table, hands grasping at the sheet.

“I’ll move onto the oil part now, yeah?”

“Okay.” At this point, Arthur will take anything. Why has he never done this before?

Merlin pulls the sheet down to his lower back, folding it over and leaving his back and arms exposed. The air of the room is not chilly by any means but Arthur shudders all the same.

There is a slick sound as Merlin covers his hands with oil before bringing them to Arthur’s shoulders again, spreading the oil over the whole expanse of his back and arms. Although the pressure is not as hard now, with the oil easing the way, Arthur finds this part even more intense, Merlin’s touch nearly searing without any barrier between them.

He glides his palms, fingers and forearms over Arthur’s back with long, confident strokes, then switches to short, firmer ones, alternating between the two.

Arthur’s vaguely aware he’s all but melting on the spot, feeling almost detached from his body despite every nerve ending being on fire.

At some point as Merlin rubs at the tense muscles of his neck, he slides his hands into Arthur’s hair, at the base of his skull, rubbing in circular motions.

This time, it’s definitely a whimper that Arthur lets out, blushing furiously.

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Arthur,” Merlin instructs in a gentle voice. “You carry a lot of tension here. Plenty of people do but you even more so. Just let go.”

Against his better judgment, he does just that. As Merlin’s hands continue their ministrations, he lets out a series of little huffs and whimpers, unable to stop himself when he starts.

“That’s it. Just let go,” Merlin repeats and puts more force behind his touch, making Arthur’s noises grow in volume.

He both welcomes and mourns the loss when Merlin’s hands leave him in order to grab a hot towel and wipe the remaining layer of oil from his back before covering him with the sheet again.

“I’ll move to your legs now, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He’s surprised when Merlin touches his shoulder, prompting him to lift his head. “Since I’m finished with your back, you can have a pillow if you want. It might be more comfortable for you.”

Arthur doesn’t object in the slightest, taking the pillow Merlin’s holding and resting his right cheek on it, sliding his hands underneath. Yeah, much more comfortable.

“Thanks,” he mumbles almost sleepily and hears Merlin chuckle.

“You’re very welcome.”

Then, Merlin is exposing his left leg, tucking the sheet in the space between his legs and over his hip, revealing his left butt-cheek in the process. He doesn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed.

Merlin doesn’t waste time before coating his hands with oil again and bringing them to Arthur’s leg. He starts with his feet, then moves to his calf, then thigh until he’s worked all the way to his bum.

Arthur nearly jack-knives from the table as Merlin’s thumb presses into the middle of his cheek.

“Sorry! Was it too much?”

Arthur presses his face into the pillow to hide his flush. “I... ugh... I just... didn’t expect... that.”

“Oh,” Merlin quips. “I can skip that part.”

Jesus, Arthur, stop being such a sissy. It’s just a massage. A professional massage.

“It’s fine. You just... surprised me.”

“Sorry about that,” he says genuinely and resumes the massage, albeit more tentative than before.

Now that the initial shock is over, Arthur begins to appreciate the attention Merlin’s paying to that particular part of his body. He never knew how tense he was in... well.... there.

He whines a little when Merlin presses his thumb into a tender spot.

“Shit. I would’ve thought that going to the gym four times a week would make up for sitting on my ass several hours every day,” he grumbles more to himself.

“I think you’re doing an excellent job at the gym,” Merlin replies with humor, then promptly freezes, Arthur following suit. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. That was... very inappropriate. I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. Not that you don’t have a nice ass. I mean... oh shit,” he starts panicking, removing his hands from Arthur’s body. Funny enough, witnessing Merlin freak out makes Arthur strangely relaxed.

He responds with a huff. “Take it easy, Merlin. I appreciate the compliment. You can continue.”

“Are you... are you sure?” Merlin asks tentatively.

“I’m sure. You like my ass, so what? I’ve been working hard on it.”

Merlin laughs, a bit nervous, a bit relieved, and eventually listens, resuming the massage on the other leg, starting from his foot again.

Maybe the whole exchange should make everything weird but strangely enough, Arthur is even more relaxed than he was before. The realization that Merlin is only human, with no filter it seems, making it easier.

Merlin hesitates when he works his way up to Arthur’s bum again, but with no complaint in sight, he repeats what he did on the other leg.

When he’s done, he steps to the side of the table and lifts the sheet off of Arthur, holding it in front of himself like a screen. “Can you turn over, Arthur?”

Arthur gathers all his strength to prop on his forearms with the intention to do just that, but stills momentarily.

“Arthur?” Merlin questions when nothing happens.

“I... um....” Well, shit. How did I not notice I was sporting a semi?!

“What’s wrong?”

“I... might have a... situation,” he admits, face burning.

At first, Merlin is silent, then the realization dawns on him. “Oh. I see. That’s fine, Arthur. It happens more often than not,” he reassures but it doesn’t help much.

“But I... God, this is embarrassing,” he hides his face in his hands.

“I understand why you would think that, but I promise it’s alright. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just a natural reaction.”

It takes some more prompting but eventually, Arthur flips onto his back and closes his eyes as Merlin drapes the sheet over him again, the outline of his half-hard dick painfully visible.

“I can fetch you a blanket if it makes you feel better?”

“If you don’t mind,” he squeezes out without opening his eyes, only doing so when Merlin hands him the blanket and he rushes to throw it over his lower half. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”

He dares a look at Merlin and finds him smiling in empathy. “Not at all. It’s no big deal, Arthur.” He reaches for a bottle of oil and puts his hands on Arthur’s arm. “Just lie back and relax.”

Arthur does his best to do just that while Merlin massages his arm and hand before switching to the other one.

By the time he’s finished with them, Arthur’s calmed down considerably and, thank fuck for that, the embarrassment was enough to have killed any interest his dick might have taken in the situation.

He expects Merlin to announce the massage has come to an end when he finishes wiping his arms with a hot towel, but to his surprise, Merlin slides a chair behind him, sitting himself down, hands coming to cradle Arthur’s head. Arthur lifts it automatically, assuming that’s what Merlin wants him to do.

“You just relax, Arthur. Don’t help me by holding your head up. I’ll manage.”

It’s not an easy thing to trust someone not to drop your head but Merlin is nothing but cautious as he maneuvers it around to get to the spot he’s aiming for and Arthur finds himself giving up control completely. Head massage doesn’t sound like anything special but to his bewilderment, it’s the most relaxing thing ever. At some point, he even starts dozing off. At least he thinks he does because he nearly jumps out of his skin when Merlin says his name.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” he snaps his eyes open, looking up at Merlin upside down, seeing the other man smiling fondly.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“N-no?” he stutters, cheeks growing pink.

“Of course,” Merlin says in the way that screams he doesn’t believe him but humors him anyway. “Well, I’m all done here. How are you feeling?”

“Weirdly disconnected from my body,” he says with a grunt, attempting to sit up. “Shit, I don’t know how I’ll get any work done for the rest of the day.”

“What time do you finish?”

“Officially? Around five. Actually? Seven. Sometimes eight.”

“God, that’s disgusting.”

“You have no idea.”

“Thankfully, I don’t,” he agrees. “I’ll let you get dressed. Meet me in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s with sloth speed that Arthur puts his clothes on. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of Merlin’s busy schedule and can only hope he’s not stalling.

He squints at the bright light of the lobby when he emerges from the massage room. When his eyes adjust, he spots Merlin walking towards him with a glass of water. “Here, have some water.”

“Thanks,” he accepts without objection, just because he’s barely standing. He doesn’t know what Merlin’s done to him but it feels like his body doesn’t even belong to him. He has no idea how he’s gonna drive back to work without driving himself into a street-lamp.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks when he’s chugged down the whole glass, reaching for his wallet.

“Oh. It’s already paid for. Freya used your credit card when she booked you in.”

Arthur blinks at him blankly. How dare Freya pay for something that Arthur hadn’t even agreed to yet?!

Yeah, as if she would ever take a no for an answer.

He sighs, pulling out a twenty pound bill regardless. “She would, wouldn’t she. That little shit,” he grumbles under his breath. “At least let me tip you,” he holds a hand with the bill to Merlin.

“Actually, she included the tip, too,” he says sheepishly, giving Arthur a crooked smile.

“Bloody hell,” he huffs indignantly, then takes a deep breath. “Whatever. Just take it.”

“But-”

“Merlin. Take. It. You’ve done a great job,” he insists, holding eye contact.

Merlin still hesitates at first but resigns eventually. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay. Thank you, Arthur,” he smiles appreciatively as he accepts the money. He bites his lip, seemingly in thought, then turns around and plucks one business card from the pile on the desk, grabs a pen and writes something down. “Here,” he turns to Arthur, holding the card to him. “If you ever feel like coming back for another massage.”

Arthur takes the card, noticing that Merlin wrote another number on in besides the one already printed. “Thanks but... I’m sure Freya has the number.”

“This is my personal number,” Merlin explains and Arthur’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m not always able to pick up the phone here but if you text me on my personal number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, that’s very... um... I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Merlin mumbles, fidgety. Arthur finds it both amusing and confusing.

“Well, I should get going. Thank you again.”

“Oh! Of course, don’t let me keep you,” he rushes to say. “See you next time?”

“Yeah.” As non-committal as he sounds, he finds he means it. Something’s telling him he’ll be back sooner or later. Probably sooner.

“Take care of yourself, Arthur,” Merlin calls as Arthur opens the door on his way out and his heart skips a beat at the genuine tone.

He turns around to give the man one last smile before the door shuts behind him.

“So? How was it?” Freya advances on him as soon as he comes back. He slumps into his chair, sitting upright when Freya places a box of takeout in front of him.

“Fine.” Freya is not impressed. “It was good, okay?” he adds, opening the box to reveal his all-time favorite pad thai and all but inhales the food.

“Told you,” she says smugly, ignoring Arthur’s glare. “Gonna go again?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s convincing.”

“Shut it, Freya,” he shoots back. “I got his business card. I’ll give him a call when I feel like it.”

“I can do that for you.”

“Nope, thanks. I’m sure I can manage to make a phone-call myself, even without an intervention of my obnoxious assistant.”

Freya throws a balled-up napkin at him. “Ungrateful prat,” she retorts and stomps out of his office.

“I heard that!”

Arthur lasts exactly four days and two hours before giving in and taking Merlin up on his offer to text him on his personal number to book another appointment. He didn’t expect to snap so quickly but after waking up the next day after his massage, refreshed and chirpy, feeling as though he had a brand new body - who could blame him, really.

Hey, Merlin. It’s Arthur. I was wondering if you had a slot available this week?

There, simple and straight to the point. Freya said that Merlin is usually booked out weeks in advance but asking never hurt anybody.

His phone chimes with an incoming message about ten minutes later.

Hi, Arthur! Nice to hear from you again. :)

Sure thing. Did you have a specific day and time in mind?

Nope, he didn’t. He was willing to adjust his schedule just to squeeze in an hour.

Not really. Freya implied that you’re usually fully booked so I thought I’d leave that up to you.

She’s over-exaggerating ;) I can make time.

Oh, God, he’s one of those people. Emojis and shit.

Oh. Okay, then. Thursday work for you?

It does :) What time?

This is... unexpectedly easy. He should have never let Freya bullshit him. But that’s what she does. She’d do anything to get her way and make Arthur do whatever she wants. No Christmas bonus for her this year!

Is 6pm too late?

As a matter of fact, he never finishes before six. Hell, he never finishes before seven. But maybe his friends are right. Maybe he should make time for himself once in a while. It won’t kill him, will it?

Thought you didn’t finish work until ungodly hour :D

He’s already typing out a reply but Merlin beats him to it with another message.

And it’s not too late. I’ll write you down for 6, then ;)

Oh. That easy, huh?

Thank you, he sends first, then rushes to add an explanation. I can make an exception once in a while. He hesitates with the next part but decides to throw caution to the wind, just this time. It’s worth it.

He regrets it as soon as he hits send, but doesn’t get a chance to wallow in it for too long before Merlin’s reply comes.

Oh no, now there are expectations I need to live up to :O

Jk. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself last time. See you Thursday ;)

Red to the tips of his ears, he types out a quick see you before pocketing his phone, busying himself with the remaining paperwork in hopes it will calm down his racing heart.

He’s not that lucky.

On Thursday, he wraps up his work just before 5:30, hoping it’s enough time to get through the traffic.

It is, as it turns out.Though he’s cutting it close, parking the car just two minutes before six.

“Sorry, I underestimated the traffic,” he rushes to apologize when he bursts through the door, finding Merlin lounging peacefully on the sofa, swiping through his phone.

As soon as Merlin lifts his eyes to meet Arthur’s, his whole face lights up with a wide smile. “Hey! No problem at all. You’re my last massage for today, so no rush.”

“Thanks but it’s already late. I don’t wanna keep you any more than needed.”

Merlin dismisses his worries with a wave of a hand. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble. Come on in,” he smiles encouragingly and Arthur dutifully follows him to the massage room. It looks exactly the same but Arthur feels much more at ease than last time, now that he’s familiar with it.

“Thank you again for finding time for me,” he says gratefully because it feels like he hasn’t said it enough.

It earns him an indulgent smile. “I was happy to do it. It’s no trouble, really,” Merlin repeats and Arthur takes the hint.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. “You know the drill by now, right? I’ll be back in a few.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Merlin nods his head in acknowledgement, leaving the room to give Arthur privacy.

Similarly to last time, Arthur hangs his suit and shirt and folds the rest of his clothes, laying face down on the table and covering himself with the sheet. As promised, Merlin knocks on the door a couple minutes later, entering when Arthur gives him a go-ahead.

“Any requests today?”

He suppresses the urge to crack an inappropriate joke. “Not really. Same as last time is good.”

“Alright,” says Merlin and he starts the massage exactly in the same way he did last time, humming appreciatively when he rubs at Arthur’s shoulders.

“You’re not nearly as tense as before. Both literally and figuratively,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “I felt really good when I woke up the next day. All loose and relaxed.” He clears his throat, cringing at his wording. “And I was just nervous because it was my first time, I guess. Now that I know the ropes, it’s easy to just...”

“Let go?” Merlin finishes for him and... is that smugness he hears?

“Y-yeah,” he replies, feeling silly all of sudden.

“I’m glad to hear that. Glad I could help.”

“Me too.”

They remain silent after that. While Merlin doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary - or rather, anything that would be different to last time - Arthur can sense a shift in the energy in the room. In Merlin. In himself. He might be imagining it but he would swear that Merlin’s hands... linger - which is kinda a stupid thing to say, this is a massage after all, touch is a crucial component here - but... yeah... that’s what it feels like.

Every touch of Merlin’s hands on his body feels amplified, Arthur nearly vibrating in response to... he has no idea what he’s responding to. He only knows it feels good.

It feels right.

When Merlin asks him to flip onto his back, he’s relieved to find that the humiliating experience from last time is not gonna be repeated - no awkward boners today, ladies and gentlemen!

He hisses through his teeth when Merlin presses into a tender spot of his arm.

Merlin’s immediately apologetic. “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive here.”

“ ‘s fine,” he mumbles drowsily. “I might have overdone it in the gym today.”

“When did you have time to go to the gym?”

“Before work. Around five.”

“God, that’s disgusting. Why would you do that?” Merlin sounds truly appalled which only amuses Arthur.

“I’m too tired by the time I finish work. At least this way, I get a bit of a boost in the morning.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“Shut up, Merlin. Without the gym, I wouldn’t have the ass you like so much.”

He snaps his eyes open in panic and finds Merlin gaping at him in shock.

“I... I did not... ugh...”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that, I swear! I’m just really tired, basically falling asleep. I just talk shit when I’m like that.”

Forget the boner. This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him.

Funnily enough, his stammering helps Merlin fight through his shock and now he’s more entertained than anything.

“No filter, huh? I can relate,” he brushes the whole thing off and resumes massaging over Arthur’s arm, softer this time and Arthur would moan appreciatively at the soothing effect the touch has on his sore muscles but given his previous faux pas, he doesn’t think it’s the right time for it.

Merlin works his way down to his hand, paying special attention to the spot at the base of his thumb that is always so stiff after spending hours and hours every day typing on his laptop.

A weird thing happens after that. Same as the last time, Merlin slides his fingers in between Arthur’s, squeezing and pulling until he hears a cracking sound of the joints. That is all well and good but instead of pulling away, he remains with their fingers interlaced. It almost feels... almost feels like they are holding hands.

Arthur opens his eyes again to give Merlin a questioning look but Merlin is staring at their joined hands instead, an expression on his face that Arthur can’t really decipher but if he were to guess, he would almost call it... longing.

Merlin must realize what he’s doing because his eyes widen as they lock onto Arthur’s, panicked and so blue.

“Sorry!” he blurts out, pulling away and ducking his head as he makes his way to the other side to repeat the process on the other hand.

Arthur feels the air around them grow thicker. He doesn’t know what happened exactly and doesn’t dare ask.

He can tell Merlin keeps himself in check as he finishes with his other side and it’s not long before he moves to the head massage.

After all of that, it’s really hard for Arthur to relax but he does his best as to not make things even more awkward.

He’s equally relieved and disappointed when Merlin’s hands disappear, signaling that their session has come to an end.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?” Merlin asks stiffly.

“Okay,” Arthur agrees, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding when Merlin shuts the door behind him.

Since he knows he doesn’t have to rush because he was the last client today, he takes his time putting the clothes on and mentally prepares himself for facing Merlin in a few moments.

It takes all of his courage to maintain eye contact when he leaves the room, coming to the desk where Merlin’s already waiting for him with a glass of water.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t finish the whole glass, his stomach too unsettled for that and pulls out his wallet.

“I know for sure Freya didn’t pay in advance since I booked the massage myself this time,” he comments in what he hopes is a light-hearted tone. It works because it draws a chuckle from Merlin.

“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, going quiet again but shaking himself off at Arthur’s expectant look. “Oh! Sorry, it’s seventy pounds.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow in surprise. While he wouldn’t know anything about the regular massage price, it doesn’t seem too much considering how popular Merlin is. According to Freya, anyway.

He plucks out two fifty dollar bills and hands them over. Merlin blinks at him in confusion. “Um... that’s a bit--”

“Just take it. You deserve it. You’re good and you went far and beyond to make time for me even at the late hour.”

“It was no tr--”

“Merlin, will you shut up and take the bloody money?” he nearly whines at the man’s stubbornness, relieved when Merlin eventually gives in.

“You’re so bossy,” he shakes his head almost fondly.

“Goes with the territory. I’m the CEO after all.”

“In that case, that was a lousy tip for a CEO.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

And just like that, the tension has disappeared and they are back to their easy banter.

“I’m just teasing,” Merlin reassures unnecessarily, a dopey smile still in place. “Let me know if you wanna do this again, yeah?” He sounds unsure, although why, Arthur has no idea.

“Actually, if you really don’t mind, could we make it a weekly thing?”

“Oh,” Merlin says with surprise. “Sure. Thursday again? Or do you want a different day?”

“Thursday is good. Six o’clock?”

“Yeah. Yeah, works for me.”

“Brilliant,” Arthur smiles back. “I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Looking forward to it.” The way Merlin’s face softens further shouldn’t make Arthur’s stomach do flip-flops but for some reason, it does.

Oh, no. Abort, abort!

“Yeah. See you,” he mumbles and all but runs to his car.

Arthur lets out a girly squeal when Freya slams a pile of papers onto his desk.

“Why haven’t you gone see Merlin again?” she asks accusingly and... wait, what?

“Excuse me?”

“I thought you liked the massage. That you felt better after. I thought you’d go back.”

Well, not that it’s any of her business but...

“I’ve been like four more times since,” he argues back, watching Freya’s furious expression turn confused.

“No, you haven’t. There’s no way you could have altered your schedule yourself without me noticing.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, annoyed that he, the fucking CEO, has to explain himself to his assistant. “Yes, I have. I’m going today, actually. I go every Thursday after work. Well, I finish early, so I can be there at six. Which, by the way, you could have done the first time around. I truly don’t understand why you’d rather mess with my appointments to get me a rushed massage on my break instead of simply booking one in the evening.”

If anything, Freya grows even more confused. “You’re lying.”

Arthur positively bristles at the insult. “I’m not!”

“You so are. Merlin doesn’t work evenings. And he doesn’t work weekends. His last bookings are for 4 o’clock. Hence why I had to book you for your break.”

He’s already preparing a come-back to defend himself when the words finally sink in. He snaps his mouth shut.

Then why... why did Merlin agree to Thursday evenings? That doesn’t make any sense.

“Are you sure you’ve got that right?” he asks instead because... because if it’s true, it puts many things into perspective.

Like the fact that Merlin literally beams every time Arthur shows up.

Or the fact that his touch seems to linger, seems to grow more and more intense with every visit. Like he’s enjoying touching Arthur.

At first, Arthur thought it was just his imagination, but upon checking the time when he got to his car only to find Merlin had extended the massage by at least ten or fifteen minutes, it was obvious that he wasn’t making it up.

Most importantly, it would explain why Merlin started texting Arthur randomly, usually on Fridays to ask how he was doing, if he felt alright and so on.

It would even explain why he would sometimes text on the weekend too.

It did not explain why Arthur indulged in the texting.

It did not explain why it was the highlight of his days.

“I’m sure,” Freya replies, confirming his growing suspicion. When he doesn’t react, she turns concerned. “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitates. “You’re not lying.” A statement, not a question, but he still answers it.

“No.”

“Oh,” she breathes, out of words.

“Do you...” He clears his throat. “Do you know why Merlin would make an exception for me?”

The glint in her eyes suggests that she might have a good idea about that, but doesn’t say so. “I think you should ask Merlin that.”

Yeah. Yeah, he should.

He will.

“You seem very... serious today. What happened?”

“Why did you agree on 6pm Thursdays?” he asks directly before he loses the nerve.

“Huh?” Merlin blinks at him.

“Freya told me you don’t do evenings. Why would you let me impose on your time?” God, he feels so stupid.

“Oh,” says Merlin. “Well, first of all, you’re not imposing.”

“But-”

“Second, working for yourself has a lot of perks. Like that I can do with my time as I see fit.”

“So you decided to spend it on me.”

“More like spend it with you.”

Spend it with-- oh. Oh.

“What? Why?”

Unexpectedly, Merlin snorts. “You don’t know?”

No. No he doesn’t.

“No.”

“Oh, my, you’re a right dumbass.”

“Excuse you?!”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, apparently running out of patience. “I simply like you, okay? At first, I agreed because you seemed like you could use some relaxation. Quite a bit of it, really.”

Arthur bites his lip, hesitating with the next question. “And then?”

Merlin sighs, shoulders sagging almost in defeat. “And then I just liked seeing you.”

Arthur takes in a shaky breath, both startled and excited by the admission. “Why didn’t you just ask me out, then?”

Merlin laughs, but there’s very little humor in it. “That’s hardly professional, Arthur.”

“That’s what worried you?”

“Of course it did! It does! Jesus, Arthur, you have no idea,” he shakes his head, “no idea how much I have to hold myself back when I have my hands all over you.”

Arthur swallows audibly, noticing for the first time how dry his throat has gotten. Well, here goes nothing.

”What if... what if I don’t want you to hold back?”

Merlin stares at him with his mouth hanging open, his gaze roaming over Arthur’s face in search of something. Probably a confirmation.

“Arthur, that’s not--”

“It’s 6:02,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“It’s two minutes past six. You should have started with the massage by now.”

Initially, Merlin doesn’t respond, looking as though Arthur’s talking in a different language. When Arthur holds his eyes, hoping to prove his point, he resigns on any further arguments.

“Come on in then,” he instructs tiredly and Arthur follows him to the room. He’s shedding his jacket even before they get there. He hangs it and starts taking off his tie just as Merlin turns around to face him.

“Okay, I’ll let you--” He cuts himself off when Arthur pulls the tie over his head, throwing it on the chair and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don’t bother,” he says, too pleased with himself when Merlin stays rooted to the spot, openly staring.

“Uh...” Is all he manages when Arthur gets rid of the shirt, exposing his chest (which - it’s not like Merlin’s never seen it before anyway) and begins working his belt and trousers open. Soon, he’s pulling them down together with his briefs, stepping out of his shoes in the meantime.

As he straightens up, completely naked, he takes a few seconds to appreciate the way Merlin looks at him, his jaw practically hitting the floor. Lips twisting into a smug smile, he turns to the table to climb on it, settling on his stomach as he does every time, except now he doesn’t bother covering himself up with a sheet.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he calls with barely concealed amusement when Merlin doesn’t move an inch.

“Uh... yeah. Yeah, let me just...” he stutters, reaching for the sheet.

“Leave it.”

“W-what?”

“No point.”

“But--”

“Merlin,” Arthur says darkly, “leave it.”

Thank fuck, Merlin actually listens and abandons the sheet in favor of grabbing a bottle of oil, pouring some in his hands with trembling fingers.

“Arthur...” he tries one more time, hesitant.

“Merlin,” Arthur returns. “Shut up.”

He hears Merlin exhale shakily and then, the familiar sensation of oil-slicked hands takes over all of his senses. He sighs in relief when the touch causes his body to go completely lax as it always does.

Merlin’s hands are unusually tentative, like he’s still not sure he’s got Arthur’s permission to touch him - like this - after what he admitted to him. It’s for that reason that Arthur starts making deliberate noises of pleasure, humming softly, or outright groaning and moaning when Merlin arrives to a particularly sensitive spot.

Above him, Merlin begins making noises of his own, but he sounds more pained than anything. Out of curiosity, Arthur turns his head to the side to peer at Merlin, just to be able to see what expression is on his face right now.

He doesn’t get that far because all of his attention is stolen by the very visible, very prominent bulge pressing against the front of Merlin’s trousers.

“Shit,” he utters before he can stop himself, feeling his dick twitch helplessly where it’s almost squashed between his body and the table.

Immediately, Merlin freezes on the spot, his breath hitching.

“I... Arthur...”

Arthur lets out another moan at witnessing Merlin’s obvious desire for him and returns his head to the previous position.

“You can do my legs now,” he says suggestively, but it sounds more like an order. For a moment, nothing happens. Merlin doesn’t withdraw his hands but he doesn’t move either. Arthur is about to impatiently prompt him to action but in the end, Merlin goes willingly, moving around the table until he’s standing at Arthur’s feet.

He covers his left leg with oil and proceeds to massage it from the foot up, almost as if nothing unusual is happening.

It’s not until he makes his way past the knee, to the hamstrings and inner thigh, that Arthur feels him falter, the pressure letting off and in a desperate attempt to urge Merlin on, he spreads his legs further apart.

Behind him, Merlin makes a choked off sound, his grip on Arthur’s thigh tightening.

“A-Arthur,” he says like a prayer and Arthur feels himself grow harder the lower Merlin’s voice drops.

“Go on,” he orders and this time, Merlin recovers faster, sparing barely a few seconds before he starts rubbing his thigh in circular motion, slowly working his way up, up, all the way to his ass - his very exposed ass.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, barely audible, but Arthur hears him all the same. He knows what he’s asking and in lieu of an answer, he digs his knees into the table to push his hip up and back, groaning when the movement provides friction to his now fully erect cock.

“Do it,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.”

Merlin makes an indescribable sound and then his slick fingers are dipping tentatively between his cheeks, brushing against his entrance.

Arthur feels his pulse quicken, heat spreading throughout his whole body at the single touch.

“Gods, Arthur, the sounds you make...” Merlin praises, rubbing at his opening in tiny circles.

“Merlin,” he returns, attempting to spread his legs further apart. Merlin all but growls at the display and then he’s bending over to pepper kisses over Arthur’s naked shoulders, even as his fingers press against him more insistently.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Arthur,” he mumbles into his skin and Arthur trembles at the soft-spoken words.

“Fuck me,” he moans, hitching his hips up. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Shit, Arthur, you can’t just.... can’t just say stuff like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just hurry up and get on with it,” he tries to sound irritated but it falls flat when a whine is torn out of his throat as Merlin enters him with one finger.

“Shit. Shit...”

“Payback,” Merlin laughs, kissing just behind his ear.

“Merlin, I swear to God...”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” he retorts with fondness and starts pumping the finger in and out.

Satisfied when Merlin actually listens, Arthur is able to relax again, offering himself to Merlin’s skilled hands.

He is nothing but gentle as he works Arthur open, adding more oil before a second finger joins the first, then a third one.

Under him, Arthur’s rolling his hips against the table, seeking as much friction as he can because Merlin’s taking too bloody long, checking on him every two fucking minutes. Just as he’s about to call him out, the fingers brush against his prostate, successfully stealing all the words out of his mouth, together with his breath.

“Fuck,” he grips at the edge of the table, struggling to breathe.

Merlin chuckles at his reaction. “You like that?” he asks smugly, totally unhelpful and unnecessary and hits that spot again.

“Would l-like it better if you f-finally got your dick in m-me,” he trips over his tongue, panting.

“Impatient,” Merlin clicks his tongue but before Arthur can tell him where he can stick it (pun intended), Merlin’s fingers leave him.

His breath hitches at the sudden emptiness and in hopes of speeding up the process, he gathers his strength to hitch himself up until he’s on all fours. He expects Merlin to climb up behind him but instead, there’s a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to twist to the side.

“Not like that,” Merlin explains, nudging him until he’s turned over completely, facing him. “I want to see you.”

Arthur wants to crack a joke, call Merlin sappy and whatnot, but he can only blush.

“Oh.”

“Can you sit on the edge?” Merlin instructs, helping him to get into position. He manages just fine by himself, sitting on the side of the table with his legs hanging off. He watches, mesmerized, as Merlin rids himself of his T-shirt and trousers in under ten seconds, feeling accomplished at seeing him so impatient himself even though he chastised Arthur for it only minutes ago.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, hearing the blood rush in his ears. Merlin gives him a dark look, clearly disapproving of his tone, and takes the final step until he’s standing between his open thighs, grabbing him by the hips and pulling forward.

The movement is so sudden that it sends Arthur flat onto his back, hips hanging off the table. Merlin nudges him to wrap his legs around him and braces himself against the edge with his hands.

“You’re such a bloody tease,” he chides with a shake of his head.

“Shut up, Mer-- fuuuck,” he nearly chokes as Merlin’s cock breaches him without a warning, sliding in fully with one push. “Shit.”

“Okay?” Merlin checks with a quake in his voice, proving he’s not as collected as he makes himself to be.

“Y-yeah. Just move already.”

Merlin chuckles. “So bossy.” Then proceeds to do just that. He pulls back almost completely before pushing back in, again, and one more time until he’s settling into a rhythm.

It takes Arthur a couple more minutes to catch his breath but when he does, he focuses on meeting Merlin halfway, although the position barely allows it.

“M-Merlin.”

Merlin snaps his hips almost violently at hearing his name tumble from Arthur’s lips in that tone and Arthur moans loudly when he drives directly into his prostate.

“Fuck! Fuck, Merlin. R-right there.”

“God, Arthur. It‘s so good. You’re so good.”

Arthur keens at the praise, urging Merlin to go faster.

Instead, Merlin halts all the movement, earning a desperate whine from Arthur. He chuckles at the reaction and leans forward to slide his hands underneath him to pull him up until he’s sitting up, their chests close enough to touch.

“Arthur,” he whispers in the space between them before there’s none because suddenly, Merlin’s crashing their lips together, unexpected and so good. He swallows the surprised sound from Arthur’s lips, licking into his mouth.

Arthur moans in agreement, wrapping him in his arms and deepening the kiss.

Merlin grabs him by the hips again and starts a new rhythm, his thrust shorter but harder.

Arthur whimpers against his lips, squeezing Merlin between his thighs. He gives up any effort to help Merlin out and decides to kiss the living hell out of him while Merlin plows his ass.

It works just fine and it’s not long before Merlin’s thrusts grow erratic and uncoordinated.

“A-Arthur,” he chokes out between kisses. “I’m gonna...”

Instead of replying, Arthur takes his lips in another kiss and clenches around his cock, drawing a hiss from him.

“Arthur!”

“Yeah, come on,” he encourages and clenches his ass again.

Merlin manages two, three, four more thrusts before he stills, buried to the hilt and spills himself inside Arthur. He presses his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, panting against the sweaty skin while his hips continue their subtle grinding motion.

Arthur presses a kiss to his temple, sliding his fingers through the dark locks, marveling at the silkiness.

Merlin lifts his head to peer at him from under his lashes. His pupils are blown wide, overtaking all the blue of his irises. There’s a lovely flush to his cheeks and the way his fringe sticks to his sweaty forehead is almost endearing.

Arthur’s never seen him like this and he wants to appreciate the view but doesn’t get much time because then, Merlin is untangling his legs from around him and slides to his knees in front of Arthur. He gives him a little smirk before opening his mouth wide and swallowing his cock.

“Nngh!” Arthur yelps with surprise, throwing his head back in unexpected pleasure.

“Shit, Merlin.”

Merlin hums around his cock and starts sucking him in earnest. It feels so good he can’t even feel embarrassed when he feels Merlin’s come leaking out of him and to his shock, he also feels Merlin’s fingers slide into him again, hitting his prostate with deadly precision. “Merlin!”

It barely takes another half a minute before Arthur’s screaming himself hoarse as his orgasm overtakes him and he comes in Merlin’s mouth. Still, Merlin’s mouth doesn’t leave him, working him through his release instead until he’s whimpering from over-sensitivity and pulling at his hair to pry him off.

Merlin releases his cock with an obscene sound that echoes in the small room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up between Arthur’s open legs.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks and Arthur can’t help but laugh.

“Are you for real?” Merlin just blinks at him. “We should have done that ages ago, instead of the massage.”

Merlin groans in annoyance. “That’s not the nature of my business, Arthur!”

His irritation only amuses Arthur further. “You could make an exception for me,” he teases, pulling Merlin closer and Merlin goes willingly, although the scowl is still on his face.

“That depends on how much you’ll tip me,” he shoots back.

“Oh, I’ll tip you all you want, Merlin.”

Merlin slaps the back of his head gently. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Hmm. But I think you like it,” he says smugly, pulling him into another kiss, letting out a moan when he tastes himself on his lips.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who just got fucked on a massage table.”

“You mean for someone who just talked his masseur into fucking him on a massage table.”

“I think manipulated is better-fitting.”

“Or seduced.”

Merlin scoffs. “You did not seduce me.”

“Oh, really?” he teases. “I’d say you gave it up pretty easy after seeing me in my birthday suit.”

“I did not!”

“You did, though.”

“Your mind is misleading you.”

“Whatever you say,” Arthur concludes dismissively, then gives Merlin a wicked grin. “Next time, you’re gonna lie down on this table and I’m gonna ride you.”

Unsursprisingly, Merlin all but chokes on thin air. “That... uh... sounds... agreeable.”

“I’ll say.”

“You’re so annoyingly confident.”

“Just because you make it so easy.”

“Arthur.”

“Merlin,” he huffs. “Shut up. And kiss me again.”

And for once, without a single protest, Merlin does just that.

OMFG, Merlin! You DIDN'T!

Huh?

Don't "huh" me! You know bloody well!

Apparently not.

You fucked my boss!

!!! JFC, I can't believe he told you! :O

I sent him your way so he got that stick out of his ass. Not for you to replace it with your dick!

He didn't. His limp did, jsyk.

He could have hurt his leg or something...

And he brought me coffee. He'd never brought me coffee before! I've never seen him in such a good mood!

Your welcome :-*

*You're

That's disgusting. I'm never getting a massage from you ever again!

Oh, well... it was worth it :-p

*Freya has left the chat*

#bottom!arthur #merthur #top!merlin #massage #bottom arthur fest

54 notes · View notes

imma-sucker-for-a-beard · 4 years

Text

>WHAT IS IT ABOUT BEARDS<

I finished the post and posted it on my blog, and sat there drinking my water, smiling to myself. I found my phone and found Chris’ number and texted him. ~Hi Daddy. Long time no see. I miss talking to you… and so much more. *Winking at you*~ I sent the text and a couple minutes later my phone started ringing and the caller ID said ‘Daddy Evans’ I smirked thinking to myself. It is going to be a long night and a loving sensitive beard burn in the morning. Taking the phone and spoke in a low lustful voice. “Hi daddy. I’ve missed you”. Character Paring: Chris Evans x Female Reader

Word Count: 2388

Warnings: Few swear words, slight smut, beard kink.

Requested by: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork - I would love a story where the reader appreciates the beard. Can be soft or smutty. Both, it’s up to you. And for one of the actors on your board. – I hope it lives up to what you were looking for. Love you always. <3

A/N: I wanted to try something different and write it sort of like an article or blog, mix with personal (Female Reader’s POV) experiences. So let’s see how it goes. Before starting this story I did a little research to see what the real picture is when it comes to the view on beards. For the article Read here, actually an interesting read. J Constructive feedback is always welcomed. To @ajs-playroom-you-may-enter, thank you for your quick read through. Love you always. <3

NOTE: This story will be written as a Blog post with flashbacks, there will be switched between them. It will be clearly shown: Blog will be written in block quote, and Flashback with the title “Flashback”. ~Text message~. Mentions of: Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, Jamie Dornan.

Summary: your two friends are named Tris and Jess. Tris is a single, 33 years old that works as a gallery. Jess is a married, 35 years old woman that works part time as a hairdresser. Then there’s you. Single, your own age, a freelance blogger and your own personal real life job, if you have one. You, the female reader start thinking about what a beard means to society in general and to women. You think about your own experience and you start looking at some of your favorite men.

What is it about Beards???

Hi Lovelies, sorry for my absence. Life happened – you all know how it is. Anywho… I hope you all have been enjoy life and are in good health.

I want to share something with you all and hope you will leave your comments below, because I’m really curious about what you think. Now that all the formalities are done let’s start.

I was sitting with a couple of my girlfriends, (for the sake of their privacy I will give them other names), Tris she’s single like me, and Jess is married. We had started talking about men and beards and what it was about them that made them so damn sexy. Tris loves a good beard and Jess finds them gross and wouldn’t want her man to ever grow one. Personally I don’t understand why, but that’s her and her husband’s business. This got me thinking.

>>>WHAT IS IT ABOUT BEARDS<<<

When you think about it beards are a weird thing. It’s hair growing out of a man’s face. Then you look at it like that is can be kind of disgusting. Hair around a man’s mouth just the thought of it sound highly unhygienic. If a Woman finds a hair on her face that is out of place, she pulls it immediately, eye-brows aren’t supposed to be too thin or too wide, heaven forbid there’s hair between your brows at the risk of a uni-brow. The slightest hint of too long hair around a woman’s mouth and its gone, women almost franticly study their faces in the mirror every day to find and remove unwanted hair – But men – That’s a whole different story. A study shows that out of 2500 women over 60% of them prefer men with beards. That’s a high number. I have to be honest with you I’m among those 60% because COME ON – Beards are fucking sexy.. Pardon my French.

Sitting here writing an entry for my blog, I start thinking about what experiences I’ve had with men with beards vs. those without. There was a world of difference.

Flashback: It was back in late summer 2007, I was at a festival north of Boston with a couple of friends, Jess being one of them.. We had decided that everything was possible that week, since we were leaving after that week. The second evening we had been drinking heavily. Jess had seen a handful of guys standing to one side and nudged me. “Y/N, LOOK!” I had looked at the men. “Yeah? What about them?” I had asked until one of the men moved and I saw him. “Holy Fuck!! That’s Harvard Hottie!” Jess had nudged me several more times, first stopping when I nudged back harder. “HEY! WATCH IT!” she had exclaimed saving her drink. She had said it just loud enough for the men to look our way. I was looking straight into the eyes of Chris fucking Evans I thought I was going to faint. Quickly making my escape I went to get a drink. Waiting for the drink and when the bartender had pushed the drink to me and said what I had to pay, I watched a $20 bill slip over the counter. “I got this one.. I’ll have a beer as well, thanks” I didn’t need to see who it was. I knew that voice anywhere. “Hi. I’m Chris.” I had looked at him with the straw in my mouth and smiled accidently drooling when I spoke wetting my tank top. “I kno… Shit!!!” jumping back only spilling more of my drink over me. I had quickly put the drink down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and pulled my tank out and away from my body turning beet red. Chris chuckled lightly but was quick on his hands and had pulled a lot of paper towels and acted on instinct and stuffed them down my top. “I hate when that happens” he had joked and we both laughed. Stepping away from me he had ordered a new drink. I had not been wearing any bra under my top and of very conscious of the fact that my breasts were visible through the fabric. “Here, let me help you” Chris had offered and we walked behind the trailer bar. He had shrugged his flannel of in his half drunken state. “You need something dry to wear” I had looked at him like I had seen a ghost. “You’re letting my wear your flannel!” “Yeah! We can’t have you getting sick.” I had just been standing there. “But… You’re Chris Evans!” He had laughed. “I know and you’re Y/N, or so I was told. Turn around.” I had done as he asked and had felt him move up behind me as he moved his hands to your waist grabbing the hem to pull my top off. His beard was tickling my skin and he made me giggle when he had sniffed my neck. “Mmm. Pineapple smells good on you.!” He had said pulling my top over my head. Dropping it to the ground and taken his flannel and wrapped it around me and buttoned it while resting his chin close to my neck. “I’m wondering if you taste like pineapple as well.” I had been just drunk enough to look at him on my shoulder. “Only one way to find out!” and he had taken the bait. I had turned around and stepped closer to him and cupped his face when he had wrapped his arms around my waist. Our lips found each other and we kissed softly at first, the kiss became deeper and more urgent. His beard scratching my lips and chin, our tongues meeting and we gave in to the pleasure of the moment.

I traced my lips remember the buzzing feeling that kiss had giving me.

Then we look at the different types of beards, there’s a wide range. The mustache with a whole range of look, then the Goatee with a few different looks as will. The five o’clock shadow aka THE SCRUFF now we’re getting somewhere. To run one’s hands, cheek or even lips over the scruff. The sensation of the scruff or a beard over one’s skin is to me one of the best feelings in the world. That was one of the things I talked with Tris and Jess about. Tris agreed completely whereas Jess made a face of disgust. Personally I think she doesn’t know what she’s missing. – But that’s just my personal opinion. What do you think? Let me know in the comments.

Flashback: After Chris and I shared that moment behind the bar trailer. Chris has picked up my tank and we went back together to the others and the moment Jess saw that I was wearing his flannel. She hooked her arm in mine and pulled me a little to the side. “Y/N what’s up with this picture?” I had chuckled and explained to the best of my drunken abilities, what had happened and she had laughed so hard that Chris and one of his friends looked over as us and Chris had given me a questioned looks, if everything was okay and I had given him a smile and a nod making him relax. Jess and I came back to the guys. One of the guys had moved up behind Jess and wrapped his arms around her waist and she had let him. (This was now her husband).

That night Jess had gone with the guy and that was the beginning of their long relationship. I had been standing alone watching one of the performers when Chris had come up to me and rested his head on my shoulder and I had rested my head against his. “Are you okay?” I had asked him and he had lifted his head again and sighed. “I’ve lost my sleeping arrangement!” I had looked at him completely lost. “Huh?” He gave his well-known chuckle. “Yes! I lost it…. To your friend! And since she took my spot it’s only fair that I take her spot.” Winking awkwardly at me and I giggled. “You’re cute. Who am I to deny you a place to sleep? Besides you’ll need your flannel back in the morning!” He flashed a smiled. “Nah you can keep it. But I’ll still need a place to sleep!” We had made our way to the tent, and when we had passed the tent where Chris was supposed to be sleeping it was clear by the sound of it that Jess was having the time of her life. Chris and I laughed as we made our way to my tent.

Inside the tent we got comfortable and talked for a while before Chris took a chance and leaned in kissing me softly at first, and slowly the kiss became deeper and more urgent. I pulled him down with me, Chris laying half on top of me. Chris ran his hands over my body and under my shirt and I gasped feeling his warm hand against my skin. I ran my hand over his body and caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and he helped getting it off. And my shirt followed suit soon we were both laying naked and Chris was kissing down me body his beard adding to the sensation. The moment he reached my mount I yelped and he giggled adding a teasing lick. I was about to sit up when he pushed me back down and positioned himself between my legs kissing up me inner thigh again his beard added to the pleasure. He had looked up at me from under his lashes as he had placed a kiss on my vulva before parting my labia in a long slow lick making me moan aloud. “Aaaaarh”. My moaning only coaxing him more. He had wrapped my legs over his shoulders as he had hungrily started to eat me out with licks, nibbles, sucking and biting, until I had begun trying to push him away but ended up with me grabbing a hold of the covers, screaming out my release, shaking uncontrollably as he prolonged my climax, topping it off with another climax.

Just remembering the sensation that I had that night, the beard burn had affected me for days made my squeeze my thighs together. And Chris had kept it burning deliciously, the burning also being added to my lips, neck, breasts, inner thighs. God I missed that.

I read that a man’s facial hair signals masculinity. And I couldn’t agree more… I also read that there’s somewhat of a hidden message in the length of a man’s beard. Stubs/Scruffs are for flings and a beard means relationship meaning the man is ready for commitment. I never thought of it having so much meaning, simply the length of it. That’s in my opinion pretty damn awesome. But I’m still and bit sceptic about it. Because some men prefer to have it at a max length and some men looks better with a specific length. Or is that just me? Let me know your thoughts.

Another I read is that women become even more turned on by beards what we are ovulating. Our biological urges lusts for the masculine man. Our primal cave woman has urges and hungers for the primal masculine hair cave man to claim us and breed us. Uuuh I get shivers just thinking about it. LOL... Am I the only one? Oh, and I personally love a man that has a perfect hairy chest..

Another thing is that apparently bearded men are supposedly better fathers as well, because they are better at sticking around to protect and invest time in their offspring. *points to what I wrote about stubs and beards* I’m not sure what I personally think about this, because there’s so many aspect that’s a part of this. Social environment, Family background and so much more not just the length of beards!

I’ve found a few handsome men that are in the public eye. Tom Hardy a.k.a James Delaney or Venom and Mr. Bad boy with a heart of gold, Chris Evans a.k.a Captain America, Ransom and My forever crush and Boo <3, Jason Momoa a.k.a Aquaman or Conan or Liquid God. lol , Henry Cavill a.k.a Superman or Geralt of Rivia and buns of steel. LMAO. Jamie Dornan a.k.a Christian Grey or The Huntsman or Mr. twitchy palm. ;)

When we look at these men, they all look handsome, no matter what but they have a preferred look. Tom, Jamie and Chris prefer to have a beard and preferably the length as in the pictures and personally I won’t object. Jason told in an interview that his wife told him that if his ever shaved his beard again (bottom picture), then she would divorce him, he did it for charity but he also said that he felt naked. He truly looks the best with his trimmed caveman beard. Now Mr. Cavill. Looks amazing with a trimmed beard or a scruff. But he himself prefer to be clean shaven, not because he has a problem with his beard he just prefers it easy. Then he makes up for it with a nice hairy chest. But we’ll reserve that for another time. LOL

I personally love a man with a well-trimmed full beard and that beard burn you can get from it… Whoa YES PLEASE!!! I’d like to know what you think of a beard so please feel free to leave your thought in the comments.

Till next time. Remember, Be your beautiful selves, be kind – even when no one’s watching. And be brave. Take care lovelies. Much love. XOXO Y/N.

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arpwrites · 4 years

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arpu, how can we connect to our intuition? i know some say "meditate" but my mind is not calm and my butt itches most of the time. i cant stay still

this is actually perfect timing because I’m feeling the same way so helping you is also going to help myself 🌞✊🏽divine timing fr ✨

okay the goal is to get your mind to stop double checking every thought you have. we’re wired to check the veracity of our thoughts and discard ‘nonsense’ that comes from ‘nowhere.’ the subconscious mind kills it before we’re even aware of it. it goes back to the renaissance/age of reason where the scientific method (that was developed largely by muslim/arab scholars btw!) was heralded and factuality became an important component of clear, rational, logical, good thinking. it’s what you’re taught in school now and what is prized in technological societies.

so, we need to let the brain know it’s okay (and encouraged!) to have thoughts where the source of origin is unimportant. fun story: I accidentally did this when I read Einstein didn’t remember anything that could be looked up. this integrated itself into my worldview very deeply very quickly and I found myself remembering only interesting things without remembering or caring what the source was. didn’t help when I couldn’t pull stats out of my ass while arguing with someone, but did wonders for my intuition.

we can do this through repetitive activities where conscious thinking becomes irrelevant and/or you assign importance to ‘nonsense’ thoughts. this is the core of meditation too if you think about it – its about focusing on a single thing and acknowledging thoughts but not involving yourself in them. these activities will calm your mind in a similar way to meditation and also help your restless ass lol

morning pages!! I personally do this and I love it, it’s helped me grow immensely, I highly recommend it. when you write down every single thing in your head and just empty it out without stopping to consider its worthiness, you are telling your brain every thought is equally important and more of the subconscious intuition comes through to the surface.

random associations!!!!! let your mind wander

play this game with your friend!

pacing! I do this a lot, there’s an origin story if you’re interested lol but the main idea is this: put on music you’ve never heard before and walk really fast and/or run till you can’t think bc you’re barely able to breathe. focus on the music and let your mind wander and go wherever the music takes it. soon thoughts that are completely unrelated will pop up and though they really are nonsense in the beginning, keep encouraging it and u can tell when they eventually have truth to them

dancing! focus on nothing but the music and go crazy. doesn’t matter what kind but fast paced usually works better. don’t think about how to dance, think about it as the music controlling your body! you stop thinking and in that space, u can listen to the under-thoughts that usually go unnoticed

tbh, any activity u enjoy that takes up a lot of your focus + peripheral wandering thoughts. gardening! cutting 1000 stickers by hand! copying a textbook so u study and develop your intuition at the same time! there’s a lot of ways to integrate it into your daily life once u know what it feels like. this is pseudo meditation too btw.

overthink!!!!!!!!!! I loved doing this as I drove to uni every day lol. i’m not saying to distract yourself while driving! safety is most important!! but after the 100th time I drove the same route, I became a pro at it and my lizard brain took over. it didn’t need my thinking brain to drive. so I thought and thought uncontrollably and my thoughts got more nonsensical and irrelevant and there was no connection and like I said before, they were ridiculous at first. just my fears coming through. but then they started having truth to them and I started getting information about the universe and our purpose etc. etc. I think I had the most breakthrough intuitions while I was in that daze. I could predict things really accurately, it was spooky. I recommend this but its a double edged sword bc overthinking doesn’t help have a happy, healthy life. use it as a stepping stone and don’t! drive!! while u do it. pace instead or pour it into a private tumblr.

also! give importance to these random associations/thoughts! document them or record them however you can. write them down, text it to yourself. this tells your brain they’re valuable and encourages their production

dream journal!! do it first thing as soon as u wake up. and within a week or so you can reliably remember a loooooot of what happens and it also helps lucid dreaming actually. since dreams are nonsense anyway, repeated action tells the brain to encourage these types of thoughts and voila! intuition developed in daily life!

you have to Want it! your intentions create another layer of under-wiring in your brain that grows stronger with use and influences the overall synaptic network esp. the parts that control which thoughts are important and not. so start being curious! let things like trying to make predictions and having super powers take up space in your brain! try and guess things before they happen or guess what random strangers are about to do or predict the score you’ll get on a test. the more you do it, the more u tell your brain this is an Important Activity and then it builds the required ‘code’ to make that function run better. you’ll be completely off in the beginning but then slowly your success rate will climb.

like anything in life, you’ll get a lot better with practice. even if what i’m saying sounds like nonsense rn, try it a few times and you’ll see what I mean. btw, you don’t have to stick to a single method!! switch them around, everything counts as +1. you aren’t starting from zero with every new technique.

these should be enough for you to get a head start! if none of them work, let me know a bit about yourself and I can probably come up with more methods custom made for you~

also, this old post I wrote about meditation might help 🌞

good luck!!!!! hope you have as much fun as I did discovering your spiritual side 🌝💖

edit – special anon message for you: For meditation anon: There's a common misconception that meditation requires you to "quiet your mind" and disallow it to wonder, but really, it's more about getting into a flow state where you allow your thoughts to come and go with ease. It's mindfulness more than anything imo, acknowledging the thoughts but bringing yourself to a point where you aren't questioning/over-analyzing and thus reacting emotionally to them (like you ordinarily would throughout the day). It's okay to get distracted by your external environment or physical sensations, because you definitely WILL as a beginner, and still at times even if you're more advanced. It all comes down to practice, and the point is to train your mind, so any time you lose focus - Don't let it discourage you. Let it be a teacher of sorts. Refocus and try again. As you progress, you'll be less likely to get out of focus. Sitting isn't for everyone, definitely try things Arp mentioned, like walking!

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endofjunee · 5 years

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📚 Drunk in Love (last thing I remember) by @lovehoperomance He’s stumbling to the left of the street, hopeful that it’s in the direction of his flat, when he sees it. A food truck. Lit up in gold. It's as if God has taken a giant highlighter and drawn a halo around it. Okay, so it might be the streetlight shining down on it and the yellow light emanating from within...but Louis will still claim godly intervention if anyone asks.

He weaves across the pavement, shivering in what he now realises is a very brisk London evening, coated in fog.

“Hello. Hi.” Louis steps in front of the entire line, waving an aimless hand at the man in the truck who looks completely bewildered by Louis’ antics. The man is littered in tattoos and wearing a green headscarf that matches the sea foam of his eyes. “Do you have any fried chicken? Or a drink? Oh, oh, do you have chips? Oh please tell me you have chips?”

The man’s face, which Louis faintly registers is quite angular, shifts from bewilderment into a stunning, slightly crooked smile.

Or, the one where Louis wakes up, naked, in a stranger's bed and has no idea how he got there. Maybe it's foul play. Maybe it's just the kindness of a handsome stranger amused by his drunken antics. 🌹 Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy by @chloehl10 Harry whimpered as Louis pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, grazing his ear lobe with his lips. His breath tickled Harry’s ears, and Harry swallowed, already anticipating what Louis was about to say.

“I’d like to ride you, cowboy…”

Or, Harry's a barman at Flaming Saddles, a country and western themed gay bar.

Louis’ a customer who’d like to see if the tall barman is as good on the ropes as everyone says he is...

📚 And That’s The Tea by @2tiedships2 I’d like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.

Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.

At fourteen he didn’t understand. Soulmarks don’t just disappear. Not unless…

Unless one of them dies.

Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be. 🌹 I’ll Fly Away by @vintage-harry “Harold,” Louis spoke, but not too loud. He didn’t want to startle the cat pile. “Louis? What are you doing home?” Harry greeted him with a toothy smile. “Why are there three cats?” Louis pointed at the third one. “That’s Hail. He’s so sweet.” Louis blinked and shook his head slightly. “Why is he on the sofa, in the house, on the cats?” “He lives here now,” Harry stated as if Louis should already be aware of this. He was not aware of this news until now. “Since when?” He poked the cat in the head, his tiny black curtained head with white ears popped up. He mewed softly before blinking a few times. Louis thinks he looked offended. He looked at Harry expectantly. Harry looked fond. “For three days now.” He smiled at Louis. It reminded him of Dori smiling at Marlin in Finding Nemo.

Or, Louis and Harry live in a small town in Texas of just over 500 people and Harry seems to be growing cats in his garden. Love and fluff. 📚 Baby Honey 2.0 by @vintage-harry A few weeks passed by and Louis had spent a large portion of his time with incognito mode on as he Googled ways to hint at pregnancies. He came up with a few ideas but was impatient and felt uncreative at any idea. The most he read about was for online announcements. Louis decided one day while he was at Niall’s with two kittens laying on his stomach to take a photo and post it. He knew Harry would see it pretty quickly as he had Louis’ Instagram notifications on.

Louis held his phone out and took a few shots of the sleeping kittens on his stomach, thumbed through them and found the one he liked best and posted it with the caption, “Three little kittens” he hit post and waited. It didn’t take long, ten minutes later Harry left a comment asking where the third kitten was. Louis rolled his eyes and deleted the photo.

Or, Louis is pregnant this time and tries to find creative ways to hint about it to Harry. Only it doesn’t go as planned. 🌹 fuck fake friends by @artxghoul It’s better to just stay away. So he does. He tries his very best to. It’s just weird when you can’t be happy for someone. When you can’t encourage their achievements anymore, because they did it alone or with someone else, when it was supposed to be with you. Harry was supposed to always be with Louis.

Or, if you love someone, set them free. if they don't come back, text them when you're drunk. 📚 The Daddiest Place on Earth by @chloehl10 dilfs_atdisneyworld: Ooh he's popular. Is it me or has it got hot in here? #dilf #hothothot #gimme

louist91: What the hell? Why the fuck am I on a DILFs page again?"

dilfs_atdisneyworld: louist91, Hello! You're on here because you're a DILF. A dad I'd like to f...😜

Louist91: dilfs_atdisneyworld Oh my god. Fuck off mate.

Or, Louis. Harry. Instagram. A whole lot of confusion and a whole lot of laughs... 🌹 Harry Poppins by @jacaranda-bloom When Louis’ best friends pass away he finds himself with an instant family. Maddie and Thomas are wonderful children but take an immediate dislike to every nanny that sets foot inside their house. After nanny number six is summarily dismissed Louis is at his wit’s end, that is until an unusual man arrives on their doorstep. Harry Styles is like nothing any of them have ever encountered before, and perhaps, exactly what they’ve been looking for all along. 📚 tonight’s not over (come over and stay) by @microlouis Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, “Have you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?” Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password.

“No, I hadn’t,” Louis says truthfully. “Where did you hear that?” “Tell anyone this and I’ll kill you, but I’d consider myself a big fan,” Zayn says. His face doesn’t change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis. “Big fan? Like run a blog and everything?” Or, harry is a famous singer and louis is a student who just wants to write his novel. 🌹 Fiction Romance by @rougeandtonic Harry has a type.

He likes older, sophisticated, mature men. Well-educated men. Men with life experience and passion for arts and social causes. Men who are established in their careers, who've sorted their lives out.

Niall knows this.

And so Harry can't understand why he's sat here opposite Louis Tomlinson.

Or, a punk Louis/uni Harry blind date AU. 📚 Hope when the moment comes, you’ll say I did it all by SilverShadow1 Standing in front of them with an amused smile was an — there really was no other suitable word to describe him — angelic creature. Soft brown hair that was shaved on the sides and bright blue eyes that Harry had only seen in photos of the ocean; the lad was probably close in age to himself, yet seemed entirely boyish.

“Dad, put me down!” demanded Jess with no malice in her voice. Harry looked down in surprise, forgetting that she was in his right arm. “Oops,” he said, flushing. That caused the other lad to laugh. “Hi,” said the man at the door.

Or, the one where Louis is a piano teacher and Harry and his daughter are goners for him. 🌹 Graphic design is my passion by @kingsofeverything Graphic design student Louis Tomlinson has exams to study for and final art projects to complete, if it would stop raining long enough for him to walk across campus. Luckily Harry Styles has an umbrella, and he’s perfectly willing to share.

Louis doesn’t plan to get his heart broken and he doesn’t plan to make almost a hundred silicone dildos. One of these things definitely happens. 📚 i gotta get better! by @dystopianharry Harry’s sex life has been pretty nonexistent since he broke up with his last non-soulmate boyfriend. after a chance encounter with someone online, he decides to enlist them to help him out. no strings attached, obviously.

Or, soulmates can feel each others’ pain and harry has some kinks he wants to explore. 🌹 Dreaming of You by @mizzwilde The Begrudging Starbucks AU.

The world is winter and steamed milk and creamy espresso shots. The world is a never ending queue. The world is a Starbucks logo and a pink-cheeked smile from Niall and a bored scowl from Zayn and the world is Louis watching his best mate, Liam, fall in love with their newest customer, Harry. Who may or may not be in love with Louis. The world is cruel. 📚 Through a Mirror Dimly by @londonfoginacup Louis Tomlinson, in his third year at university, does not expect nor want the roommate that is being assigned to his room.

Harry Styles, in his first year at university, has just been kicked out of one dorm and doesn't want to deal with yet another snobby, rich roommate.

They don't get along, and that's just how it is, until circumstances force them to reevaluate. 🌹 Raise a Glass to the Four of Us by @2tiedships2 Louis stared at his luggage.

Well. Apparently not his luggage, because the clothing he was looking at currently was a: worth more than everything he currently possessed, b: not his size at all, and c: more suited for a fancy ass lawyer than a holiday in NYC with his best mates.

“Ooh, nice loafers,” Niall said as he pulled one out of the suitcase. “I love the rainbows.”

“Okay,” Liam began. “What do you want to do first? Eat, shop for new clothes, or spend hours on the phone with the airline?”

Louis continued to stare at the luggage. 📚 His and Mine by @kissyboystyles Harry is adopted by a wealthy family, soon to be cleared of his connection to his soulmate without discussion on his twentieth birthday-- a gruesome rite of passage. For the past eight years, Harry has been staring at one name: Louis. But what happens now that his heart starts fluttering for a stranger, helping him remain strong at his weakest points? Harry feels he should be cautious; what kind of person goes by the name Tomlinson anyway…

Or, Harry legally isn't supposed to meet his soulmate-- he's rendered physically unable to recognize him even if he did-- but yet, of course, he does. 🌹 Drop to Hold You by @becomeawendybird After the end of the Second Wizarding War and the ensuing diplomacy between Muggles and the Wizarding world, the long-defunct Merlin College at Oxford opened it's doors again.

The ultra-competitive programs at Merlin require a rigorous application process. None more than the Auror training program. Louis finally manages to get in with his best friend Liam after a few false starts, only to be faced with the most beautiful, distracting man he could ever imagine. 📚 The Lone Hydrangea by @lightwoodsmagic “Thank you again,” he smiled at Harry as he picked up the arrangement and headed towards the door, and Harry quickly realised he didn’t know the man’s name. “I – wait! Sorry, I just...what’s your name?” At the man’s eyebrow raise, Harry stumbled over his words, “It’s just, if you’re coming back, I thought I should…know.” As the man looked at Harry, his smile only grew, and Harry’s heart thumped in his chest. “My name’s Louis. Louis Tomlinson, and it was so lovely to meet you,” he shot one final grin in Harry’s direction, “I’ll see you next week, Harry.” And then he was gone. “It was lovely to meet you too,” Harry whispered to the empty shop, putting his head on the counter, “Louis”.

Or, the post Hogwarts AU where Harry's a florist, Louis' a muggle who edits fantasy books, and they both have no say in how quickly they fall for each other. 🌹 A Little Bit Like Fate by @28shadesofpink “So,” Harry starts. “Since I heard you and your friend are not getting married, uhm... Would it be appropriate to ask you to stay for the kiss-in?” “Really?” Louis says, light and playful. “And who would I be kissing?” He looks up and offers a sweet smile, perfectly innocent. “Oh, I don’t know.” Harry is playing along, keeping his tone airy, but he takes a step forward and smirks. “With those cheekbones, I think you could kiss whoever you wanted.”

Or, Louis stumbles upon a kiss-in protest for LGBTQ rights, and he meets Harry. They click. It feels a little bit like fate. 📚 come together by @bottomlinsons Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and haven’t talked.

Their coming group project is gonna change that. 🌹 Seeing Blind by @that-idiot-overthere Louis finally turns his head in Liam’s direction, knows his face is showing the longing he’s been aching with ever since it took root in his chest. “What the fuck do I do, Liam? He wouldn’t want me like that, but I want-” his voice cracks, and he turns his face back downwards. “What do you do when you’re not perfect for the person who’s perfect for you?”

Or, the one where Harry’s an independent omega who likes to have his fun and Louis is the blind alpha that changes Harry’s priorities. 📚 Sweet as Cherry Wine by @harrieberrie Broken hearts are healed by the luck of the Irish

Or, Louis and Niall are a mess, Niall’s daughter has a hopeless crush, and Harry is hopelessly clueless 🌹 at the end of my rope by @saffona "Baby?” Harry mumbles, voice laced with sleep and a shiver goes through Louis at hearing the term. He hasn’t called him that in so long, in that voice and, clearly, even Louis’ body fucking misses it.

“Did you cheat on me?” Louis finds himself asking. If he’s being honest it’s more so he can see Harry’s reaction, than a genuine question, but what has he got to lose? Sure enough, Harry’s face changes from sleepy to the most incredulous look Louis’ ever seen on him. He actually looks terrified, all wide eyes, mouth gaping like he can’t believe Louis would even assume that and Louis would laugh at it, but he’s so done with the way Harry’s been acting, he just wants to know what the hell’s going on.

Or, the one where they go to Crete and Harry is definitely hiding something. 📚 truth, justice, and the gay way by @hattalove Liam needs a costume. Louis needs a best best friend award, a holiday, and to get a grip.

(Harry’s just in the right place at the right time.) 🌹 Hello My Name Is Harry by @a-brighter-yellow Louis’s 20-year high school reunion takes a turn when a celebrity classmate – who also happens to be Louis’s long unrequited crush – unexpectedly shows up.

A famous/not-famous AU inspired by Chris Evans.

[Previous Monthly Recs]

#my fic rec #monthly recs #larry fic rec #hl fic rec #fic rec #to read #my post

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a-damson-in-distress · 5 years

Text

From Dusk Till Dawn - Chapter 5

Pairing: MadaSaku

Plot: Sakura was searching for a purpose. Madara was thirsting for revenge. Little do they know their fates intertwined centuries ago. Once he broke free from his banishment, he would usher in a new dusk. Until he realised that she was his dawn. Historical/mythological AU.

Note: Salutations, my lovelies. I’m back from the dead. So I know most of you will have probably forgotten this fic even exists (hell, even I forgot lol), but guess what - IT’S BACK BITCHES! I honestly have no idea what came over me today, but somehow I got reminded of this blog and the fics I started here, so I decided to dig it up out of the depths of my browser history, and you know what? I totally forgot how much fun I had writing these and that daaaaaaamn I had some good stories going on, which were in desperate need of updating, if only to ease my guilty conscience.

Speaking of which, I honestly have no excuses for going AWOL for so long. I know some of you may have been bummed, because I think this fic did have a teeny tiny bit of a following, but honestly guys, this writing blog was only one of my many hobbies and it was never meant to take up too much of my time. It was one of these things I occasionaly devote my time to, but that was always doomed to be second place to my life/relationship/university responsibilites. But on the bright side, I did finally get my Bachelor’s degree, whoooo! Buuuuuuuut I am still at uni doing my Master’s, sooooo ya know - still not going to be a regular thing here.

Anyways, TL;DR: I wanted to update this little nugget here out of pure nostalgia and curiosity to see how many of you will still remember the story, to see how many will appreciate and like this update and depending on your reaction, I might actually take up writing again. Goodie, I’m excited to be back. Have fun! :)

Oh also, please check out the first 4 chapters before reading this one, since - you know - I let so much dust settle on this story none of y’all will probably know what’s going on.

EDIT: I had to delete the links to the first 4 chapters, because this chapter wasn’t showing up under the madasaku tag or any of the other tags, but as soon as I deleted the links it did? Soooo yeah whatever, fuck you Tumblr links. You’re gonna have to scroll through my blog to get to the other chapters, I’m sorry. I’ll figure out a way to post all of it in one piece, promise. Have fun and let me know what you think! :)

500 years ago…

The heavens stood still.

Silence.

Death.

Victory.

Tsunade watched a tired Jiraiya fall to his knees and let out a pained groan. Allowing a nervous sigh to escape her lips, she closed her eyes.

They did it. They finally did it. After decades of warfare, bloodshed, and carnage, they finally managed to seal away the bane of their existence.

The last of the dusk gods had fallen.

Opening her eyes again, she let her tired gaze wander across the scene of their final battle. Slain gods lay scattered across the barren field, the ashen ground beneath them stained in the colour of their blood. Giant craters burning with the dreaded flames of the underworld tore through the otherwise idyllic scenery of the heavens like wounds from blade. The black flames of the dusk god’s feared Amaterasu eating up what little was left of the trees that once made this surrounding a forest.

It matters not, she kept telling herself. He is gone. And the dawn gods shall rebuild.

Just as Tsunade was about to join Jiraiya to take a look at his wounds, an ear-piercing screeching tore through her head, forcing her to her knees. Barely managing to open her eyes against the penetrating pain in her mind, she watched the other surviving gods around her writhe and hold their heads in agony.

All of a sudden, the screeching ebbed, giving way to a low hissing sound before a mysterious voice whispered into all of their ears:

At the fall of dusk, at the fall of old, spring shall bring forth his keeper,

who will call to him until his return at the night the darkness swallows the heavens.

Young and weak, the Eastern light shall seek out the old power in the West,

who will envelop her in darkness to unleash their true might.

Dawn will be his light, and dusk shall return.

It was only when the throbbing pain in her head finally dissipated that Tsunade dared to look up. The remaining gods looked at each other questioningly.

They were familiar with this pain, with this feeling. The hissing voice in their head. The dawn gods all knew what this was.

A prophecy. Foreshadowing the return of Madara.

The survivors did what they could to tend to the wounded on the battlefield. When no one else could be saved, the gods set them aflame and watched their bodies dissipate into golden dust, releasing their divine essence into the vast expanse of the universe, praying for them to be reborn again. Then, they retreated to their respective homes – or what was left of them – to lick their wounds, celebrate their survival, and grieve the death of the fallen.

Tsunade felt a heavy sadness weighing down her heart that night. Despite their unimaginable victory over the mightiest god to ever grace the face of the heavens, they had lost so many. She knew more peaceful times lay ahead of them now, and yet she felt restless. It had been ages since the universe had whispered a prophecy into their ears. And this one was particularly unsettling.

Dusk shall return.

But they sealed him, Tsunade reminded herself. And with one of Hashirama’s seals, no less. She was the one who studied the dusk god’s inscriptions, who knew his incantations like the back of her hand. She was certain Hashirama’s seal would be enough to imprison Madara for the rest of his miserable days.

And yet, mere minutes after the dawn gods managed the unthinkable and sealed away the last dusk god, the universe decided to warn them of his return. And prophecies always came true, the dawn goddess knew that much.

Not only that, but the prophecy also spoke of some Eastern light, who would supposedly help him unleash his true might. A cold shiver ran down Tsunade’s spine at the thought of Madara teaming up with such a force of nature that will grant him even more fearsome powers than he already had.

Yet the goddess of healing had no time to dwell on her worrisome thoughts, as her mind picked up the desperate prayer of a mortal couple. Never one to abandon the ones in need, the blonde goddess raced down into the mortal realm and materialised unseen in the living room of a small hut. She watched the couple on their knees, huddled together in front of the fire. They were rocking back and forth, with the woman holding a small bundle in her arms and the man raising one arm pleadingly into the air, calling out to the goddess of healing to save this poor baby.

This baby? Is that not their own child, Tsunade thought suspiciously. Babies do not just fall from the heavens.

Taking one step closer to the fire, the goddess suddenly felt a divine glow emanating from the bundle in the woman’s arms. Tsunade would recognise that anywhere – the essence of the gods. This was indeed not the mortal couple’s child, but a newborn of the dawn gods.

Still hidden from the mortal’s view, she leaned down and caught a glimpse of pink hair and emerald green eyes, staring knowingly, yet tiredly at her. As Tsunade stretched out a hand towards the babe to check its body temperature, a tiny chubby fist suddenly enclosed her index finger. This little touch was enough to flood the goddess with a feeling of warm motherly love.

Tsunade knew in that instant that this deity shall be hers to raise, care for, and love.

With her divine power, she mentally reached out to the mortals and willed them to lay the small bundle on the floor by the fire. She watched them carefully lower the baby and step back from the fire, worriedly glancing around the living room and waiting for something to happen.

In the blink of an eye, the small bundle was gone. The couple sighed in relief and fell into each other’s arms, knowing their beloved goddess of healing would take care of that weak little girl.

“Do you really think that was a wise choice?”

Tsunade ignored Jiraiya’s incessant nagging and kept bouncing the little babe on her arm. Immediately after taking the young goddess from the mortal’s hut, she returned home to her half-standing palace in the East, where some of the surviving gods have retreated to recuperate. One of them being Kakashi, the feared god of lightning, who was pinning her with a scrutinising gaze.

“Jiraiya’s right, you know. Tonight, of all nights, with this new prophecy looming above our heads… Have you even thought for a second that she could be this Eastern light, his keeper that was prophesised?”

Tsunade scoffed and shot him a challenging glare. “Please, Kakashi, don’t be paranoid. It was just one of the millions of prayers I receive every day. Only this time, it happened to involve a newly born dawn goddess, instead of a weak mortal. Just because she is one of us, does not mean she is tied to the prophecy. In fact, we should be thankful our pantheon is growing again after we lost so many.”

“The prophecy clearly said that at the fall of dusk some kind of keeper will emerge who is destined to help Madara unleash his full power upon the heavens. The fall of dusk was tonight, and after decades of no new deities, tonight is the night the universe decides to give us a new goddess, during spring no less? Coincidences like these might happen to the mortals but not in the heavens,” Shikamaru grumbled before taking a well-deserved puff from his ivory kiseru.

Rolling her eyes at the god of wisdom and strategy, Tsunade switched the little bundle to her other arm and kept bouncing her up and down, before she said, “What you all fail to see is that she cannot be the Easter light from the prophecy, since I found her in a mortal village in the middle of nowhere, not even remotely close to anywhere East. And don’t you think that if such a powerful force destined to be tied to Madara emerged that we would not have felt its birth? Elemental abnormalities, time standing still, earthquakes – anything that might indicate a new divine force has emerged. But there was absolutely nothing when this little goddess here was born. In fact, she is so tiny and weak, I honestly doubt that she will have a purpose grander than making flowers grow, that’s how harmless she is.”

Tsunade saw the uncertain faces around her, their doubtful gazes boring into her determination to keep the babe. She had to convince them, somehow. She could not just leave a part of her divine family, especially now that her kin was nearly wiped out. As soon as the young goddess had touched her, Tsunade felt responsible for her. She had to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her head screaming at her to listen to the prophecy.

Yes, there were too many coincidences, Tsunade had to admit that herself. The prophecy clearly talks of a female, emerging during this particular night, during spring. All of which applied to the little dawn goddess in her arms.

But there was no way she could be the Eastern light; the goddess was not tied to any particular region. And Tsunade could not – for the life of her – imagine this tiny, frail little thing would be capable of stoking the fire of Madara’s wrath to the point that she would be the one to unleash his true might.

Shaking away her doubts, Tsunade gazed into the tired emeralds of the little girl in her arms. A smile spread across her lips when the tiny goddess snuggled closer to her chest.

There was absolutely no way she would abandon this little thing, not now after she lost so many of her family.

Raising her head, she shot a determined glance at all of the surviving deities in her presence and exclaimed, “I will not resign this precious goddess to a prophecy we have not even fully deciphered yet. None of us know what half of that steaming pile of donkey dung even means, so nobody is going to determine her fate based on any of that. Besides, even if she really is this keeper of his, this way we can at least raise her on our side. Teach her our story, our ways, our kindness. She will never be corrupted by him if we have the power to tell her the things we want her know. If he really does come back and they really do cross paths, there is no way she will choose him. I will tie her to me as tightly as she tied me to her.”

Lowering her caramel eyes, she cast a loving glance at the newest addition to her family and whispered softly, “I will protect my daughter from him. No matter what.”

Went to him… willingly … kidnapped … she chose him … sacrifice …

Sakura’s muddled mind started picking up fragments of speech as she slowly started to wake from her slumber. Forcing her weak body to sit up, she cast a disoriented glance around her only to find herself in her chambers at her mother’s palace.

All of a sudden, memories started flooding her mind and she felt her heart rate pick up.

Madara.

She finally met him. She was in his palace. She was so close to getting some answers. A blush crept up her neck at the thought of his calloused fingers holding her chin in place as he was leaning closer to her, before… Before the dawn gods laid siege to his palace to take her away from him.

Wait, from him? Where did that thought come from? Since when did Sakura think she belonged by his side? She had only known him for a few moments and from what she had seen on the battlefields, he was not a god whose company she should be yearning for. And yet, she had never felt so strong, so alive as when being close to him.

And now that they were separated, her old familiar frailty had returned as well.

The young dawn goddess could feel frustration bubble up inside her. Rarely did she get mad at something or someone, but her constant state of weakness had been a source of anger for all of her short life. And the one being who could rectify that just had to be her mother’s mortal enemy and the one who had been waging war against her kin for the last weeks.

Sakura felt like throwing something against the wall. Alas, all the smashable things in her room were solid gold or heavy ivory, all of which was too difficult for her to even pick up now. In Madara’s presence, however, she felt like she could carry the entire heavens on her shoulders.

Her depressing thoughts were interrupted when she felt the voices on the other side of her door grow louder.

“Look what Tsunade’s tying down has brought us. She went to him, willingly. All that keeping her close was for nothing!”

“She is so weak, she cannot even open doors without struggling, and you really think she made that trip all the way to the Western end of the heavens on her own? He clearly kidnapped her. We are lucky he left her alive for whatever reason.”

“Then tell me why she was reaching out to him when I-“

The angry voices were silenced when her mother suddenly burst through the doors and stomped into her room, glowering at Sakura with a furious expression.

“What in the heavens were you thinking?!”

#madasaku #naruto #naruto fanfiction #Sakura Haruno #Uchiha Madara #madasaku fanfic #sakura uchiha #sakumada #sakura haruno fanfic #madara uchiha fanfic

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madzblue · 6 years

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Welcome to the most awaited blog post yet: my skincare routine. Now I know what you’re thinking…theres a lot of skincare posts out there, what makes this one any different? Well for ONCE this is a post to do with dry, sensitive skin (even though most of the products mentioned will work for combo/ oily skin types as well). No one ever speaks about how people with DRY skin get acne, as well as most of the ‘acne’ products being tailored for people with ‘oily’ skin. So I didn’t always start out with bad skin, I used to be the ‘baby soft cheeks’ and the ‘odd pimple once a fortnight’ type of girl, and then I began living the ‘uni lifestyle’ which involves drinking a lot, eating frozen/ junk food and just partying and having fun without looking out for what I was putting into my body. Not only did my diet contain a lot of sugar, I also started eating less frequently (eating once a day as oppose to 3 times) all this effected my body and my skin drastically. I was gaining weight because of what I was eating and drinking as well as getting spots more frequently due to my poor dieting choice.

I got very frustrated at the fact that I got spots and to try and make them go away I purchased the Clinique solutions acne starter kit. When purchasing the kit I got a face wash, toner and a moisturiser and the kit itself claimed to minimise the amount of spots you get and clear your skin out. This was the biggest mistake I made. I regret it till this day. There was nothing wrong with the kit as it has claimed to work on a lot of customers that have OILY skin. However, I on the other hand had DRY skin, so what this product was doing was taking out all the moisture from my face and my spots to ‘dry’ them out. As my skin was already dry it only got dryer using all those products and this caused me to breakout A LOT MORE. I had 3x as many pimples on my face at the end of using the kit than I did when began. At the end of it I was fed up and I was determined to find a cure for acne for people with dry, sensitive skin such as myself. I disposed of all the Clinique products and began testing a bunch of products suitable for dry, sensitive skin. I researched a lot into this and finally found a skincare routine that worked and was tailored to me. Today I want to share this routine with you and hopefully it can help you in achieving that healthy looking, radiant face.

(I will attach a couple photos of me BEFORE I started doing my current skincare routine, to get a better insight of how bad my skin was with regard to spots, marks, texture, dullness, etc.)

this is my skin without any makeup BEFORE

even if I wore makeup my spots would still show

as you can see the texture of my skin was extremely bad and no longer ‘soft and smooth’

Daytime Skincare Routine:

With dry skin it is extremely important to remember to keep as much moisture in your face as possible. Therefore always look for products that are meant to ‘hydrate’ you. This is exactly what my aim is every morning: try and get my face to have as much moisture as it can. I begin my day by washing my face with a cream cleanser such as the Body Shop’s Vitamin E Gentle Facial Cleanser (when looking at dry skin always look for the cream based products as they will irritate your face less as well as leaving your skin feeling not as tight). This face wash has been a holy grail for me for the past 2 years. Its the only face wash gentle enough to use in the morning that will clean your face without irritating it or breaking you out. It is so gentle its suitable for all skin types however I feel like it works best as a morning cleanser.

£8 from bodyshop.co.uk

I then shower and all and as soon as I get out I make sure my face is completely dry and use a Vitamin E hydrating toner on a cotton pad which I then sweep all across my face. Toners are very important as they balance out the PH of our skin as well as unclog our pores. Toning is the key step to having glowing, healthy looking skin. You also need to make sure you pick a toner that has NO ALCOHOL in it and is gentle on the face. I have used toners in the past that claim they suit “every skin type” but please STAY AWAY FROM THOSE. They kept breaking me out and the ONLY toner that actually worked in unclogging my pores and not leaving my skin feeling tingly was the body shop vitamin e toner. If you have dry skin this is the BEST toner to use. I have tried a couple others but they are too harsh for my skin and make my face go a little red and irritated after. However the body shop one gives me just the right amount of moisture as well as always leaving me with a healthy looking glow.

£8 from bodyshop.co.uk

I then go ahead and use my serum which is by The Ordinary and it is the ‘Hyaluronic Acid 2% + B5’. Hyaluronic Acid may sound scary but it is a vital ingredient in retaining moisture. This acid holds upto 10x its weight in water and is a key in achieving that healthy looking glow in your skin. I use a few drops of this and apply it directly to my face before applying any creams. I then use the Vitamin E intense moisture cream on top after my serum has dried to lock everything in my skin and this allows my face to be super moisturised throughout the day. This is also the key to keeping your pimples at bay or preventing them from growing into 3D objects on your face. The more moisture you have on your face, the flatter your pimple will turn out. This hyaluronic acid makes sure I have 10x more moisture on my face and keeps my spots so tiny they are barely visible when they do pop up.

£6 from beautybay.co.uk

£13 from bodyshop.co.uk

SPF- why have you forgotten it??

SPF is one of the MOST IMPORTANT and missed out steps in anyones skincare routine. I have been on a mission to try and find a sunscreen that works and won’t leave a white cast behind on my brown asian face. So many people that I speak to don’t use SPF at all but if you don’t: START NOW. SPF protects our skin from the environment when you go outside. If I were to wear a face full of skincare and not lock it all in with SPF, the skincare would not be as effective on you. It also means that the dust, dirt and pollution from outside is touching your face and skin directly as you haven’t created a barrier of SPF to protect yourself with. All this is gonna slowly start making your skin sag and get wrinkly, meaning you’ll be showing signs of ageing before anyone else. SPF is also the key to having that makeup free ‘glow’. And if you think you don’t need SPF if the sun isn’t out, don’t blame me when you face starts to age sooner then everyone else’s. No matter what the weather: if you are leaving the house, YOU NEED SPF. The one that I’m currently using is again from the Body Shop’s Vitamin E range (which is perfect dry skin, I do recommend to check out the range in-store or online), it is the Moisture Protect Emulsion with SPF 30. This ’emulsion’ has a very runny/ watery consistency therefore its perfect to layer on top of your serum and moisturiser. I just use one pump and apply it all over my face. I let it sink in for a couple mins before heading outside.

£15 from bodyshop.co.uk

Makeup Removal:

I cannot stress enough how important it is you remove your makeup at the end of the day and DO NOT SLEEP IN IT. When you do your makeup you initially create a base that covers your skin. This base won’t allow your skin to breathe as everything will be covered in a layer of pigment. Makeup should only be worn for a couple of hours and then thoroughly removed. Every time I have a face full of makeup I ALWAYS double cleanse. This means I will clean my face twice: once with a makeup remover, and one more time after that with a cleanser. To remove my makeup I like to use the Clinique ‘Take the Day off Balm’. This is the most amazing makeup remover I have ever used (I have also done a review about it on my blog if you look at my other posts). This is the only remover I wouldn’t mind spending £30 on as it lasts me 3 YEARS (yep thats just £10 year). It’s the most magical balm that you rub onto your dry caked face and it transforms into an oil as soon as it comes into contact with your skin. You then just rub this ‘balm’ all over your face and just wash it off with warm water and pat dry. Thats it. All your makeup gone in ONE GO. No eye makeup remover needed, no need to go in with another wipe. Its magic in a tub. Highly recommend everyone to try this at least once in their life.

Night-time Skincare Routine:

At night times I like to keep my skincare a little extra, at the end of the day you’re washing everything off your face including the sweat and dirt. You need to make sure you’re giving your face a good deep cleanse and are scrubbing away at the places that need it most. I’ve realised hands alone can’t achieve this. I use the Vanity Planet Skin Spa on my face (this is a face brush that I use with a silicon head attachment as the brush attachment was too harsh for dry, sensitive skin). I use this face brush along with my Kiehl’s ultra facial cleanser (this is the perfect cleanser to use at night as it is very gentle yet effective and doesn’t leave the skin feeling ‘stripped’ of moisture) and make sure I’m working at each part of my face for at least 10 seconds with the brush. This brush has not only given me clear, tight skin but has also shrunk my pores and is 100% the reason why my spots are not as big as they used to be. It is an amazing brush and I got it at 70% off using a code (which I can give you if you message me) and I definitely think you need to try it out with the silicone brush head to actually see a difference in your skin. This has improved the overall texture of my rough skin and made it a lot smoother to touch and look at.

£16.50 from Kiehls.co.uk

I then go ahead and tone again as it is very important to tone after you wash your face. I use the same toner as mentioned above and then go in with my serum. I am currently using the Ordinary’s ‘Lactic Acid 5% + HA’. This is a mild chemical exfoliant that will help my skin with improving its texture as well as fading away scars and marks. As this is an acid you always need to remember to wear SPF the following few days after using it. I take a few drops of this in a cotton pad like I do with my toner and sweep the pad across my face. I then use a night oil on top as an acid by itself could damage my skin (so I dilute it with using a facial oil on top). I love using Kiehl’s Midnight Recovery Concentrate. This is an extremely pricey oil (costing around £40) however I am in love with it and it is one of the main reasons my skin is so nice today. You only need four drops every night therefore the bottle should last you about a year, and honestly this oil is an investment; you’ll wake up the next day seeing a change in your face, it looks a lot plumper and brighter. This oil is like sleep in a jar for your face. It helps me look fresh and awake the next day knowing I haven’t gotten as much sleep.

£38 from Kiehls.co.uk

Exfoliate to radiate

I never used to think much of exfoliation but thats where I was going wrong. There are two kinds of exfoliants one is the physical kind that are basically beads or larger pieces you find in scrubs and microdermabrasion scrubs. These physically try and lift away the dead skin cells sitting on your skin to give a more radiant glow. The skin cells on your face renew every 28 days which means after 28 days you have dead skin sitting on top of your face waiting to come off and expose your lovely new cells, but if you don’t rub away at the dead skin your face will never glow like the gods and will always look dull and boring. I was using a physical exfoliant before however it didn’t do much for me but give me red skin (my dry, sensitive skin needed something less harsh that would be more effective). Honestly speaking I didn’t see any difference in my skin while using a physical exfoliant HOWEVER a chemical exfoliant changed my life. A chemical exfoliant does exactly what a physical one does but with the help of an acid. This acid would ‘eat away’ at the dead skin sitting at the surface and bring forward the new healthy skin without you having to do any work. My favourite chemical exfoliant that honestly works from day 1 is The Ordinary’s ‘AHA 30% + BHA 2% Peeling Solution’. This is such a good affordable chemical exfoliant that you use weekly as a 10 min mask. I literally start my phone timer AS SOON AS this acid touches the skin on my face. As it is an acid you will experience some tingling but its honestly not that bad at all and isn’t painful. As soon my timer hits 9 minutes 30 seconds I go to wash my face with lukewarm water (don’t go over 10 mins as this is an acid and has to be used on your face with care, otherwise you can end up doing more damage to your skin). I use this exfoliant after washing my face in the morning but BEFORE toning. I let my face dry after I have showered and then use the peeling solution. After I have washed the peeling solution I continue with my regular daytime skincare routine and tone, apply serum, moisturise and then use SPF. After exfoliating you want to make sure you have as much moisture on your face as possible as your pores are open and your face is sensitive; the more moisture on the skin, the less likely you are to break out. With this exfoliant the effect is not immediate, however when you wake up the next morning you will notice your face being a lot more brighter and even toned than before. This product has honestly been the cherry on top, it makes your already good skin look even better when you didn’t think it could!

£6.25 from beautybay.co.uk

The result?

After years of struggling with acne and dry skin and using the wrong products recommended by friends that had different skin types I have finally cracked the code to having clear skin. You need to tailor your routine to suit your skin as everyones skin needs are different. Check your face to see the places where your pores appear more and thats where you need to exfoliate more. Also check for spots on your face where your skin feels really tight (these are your drier spots) as well as checking where you get oily. I also recommend you use face masks (such as sheet masks and mud masks) once every 1-2 weeks. The Sephora sheet masks are amazing if you feel like your skin needs to be treated now and again. But this skincare routine alone will guarantee you clearer, better looking skin even without the face masks. Just remember to take care of your skin and listen to it, if you feel a new pimple about to come out put a lot of moisture in your face that night (use items that you know will hydrate your face), it’ll stop the pimple from growing bigger. As well as drinking a lot of water. Water builds the foundation to have good skin. I drink A LOT of it to keep mines looking the way it does, and I have finally come to the skin I’m in.

Below are a couple photos of what my skin looked like AFTER I followed this skincare routine:

This is my skin now: natural, unedited makeup free.

here I’m wearing powder products but am wearing NO FOUNDATION all the makeup is done on my natural skin.

You can see the texture of my skin has improved a lot more. Again I have NO FOUNDATION it is my natural skin with makeup on top.

Here I just put a little bit of colour on my face but again NO FOUNDATION, and my skin looks like its airbrushed..

Skincare 101- how to get the confidence to bare it all Welcome to the most awaited blog post yet: my skincare routine. Now I know what you're thinking...theres a lot of skincare posts out there, what makes this one any different?

#august #beauty #blog #cleanser #colour #daily #dry #favourites #health #kiehls #makeupartist #moisturise #oil #ordinary #pimple #routine #sensitive #serum #skincare #skinspa #toner #vanityplanet

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simsstuffmarie · 7 years

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TAG / 100 QUESTIONS NOBODY ASKED

I was tagged by the beautiful @yesdarlingsims. Thanks bean

1. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED? I have no choice as its a built in wardrobe, and when the carpet men fitted the carpet they did it so the doors cant close!!

2. DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS? Not usually, because they are awful on my hair

3. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT? Definitely out!!!

4. HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE? Does a traffic cone count....I wore it on my head like a hat

5. DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST-IT NOTES? Only when I’m studying

6. DO YOU CUT OUT COUPONS BUT THEN NEVER USE THEM? We don’t really have them in the UK

7. WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES? The bear only wants a cuddle

8. DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES? Only when the sun comes out....over my nose

9. DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES? Not a big toothy smile...I generally smirk

10. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE? People with no manners

11. DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK? I wear a step counter at work to see how much I’ve done

12. HAVE YOU PEED IN THE WOODS? Yep!

13. HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS? Not that I remember

14. DO YOU EVER DANCE EVEN IF THERES NO MUSIC PLAYING? Yeah....when I get a song stuck in my head

15. DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS? I don’t chew them, but I suck the end

16. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK? I’m female....its not the right week for such activites lol

17. WHAT SIZE IS YOUR BED? Double

18. WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK? Despacito....it keeps getting stuck in my head because its always on the radio

19. IS IT OK FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK? Yeah....if it suits them

20. DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS? American Dad and Family Guy....do they count?!

21. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE? I don’t really know tbh

22. WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME? That’s for me to know and you to never find out

23. WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER? Any liquid

24. WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN? Mayonnaise!!

25. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD? Macaroni cheese

26. WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE? Green Mile...I cry every time

27. LAST PERSON, YOU KISSED/KISSED YOU? William, my one and only

28. WERE YOU EVER A BOY/GIRL SCOUT I was in the rainbows

29. WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE? Nobody wants to see my body

30. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A LETTER TO SOMEONE ON PAPER? Nearly every week at work

31. CAN YOU CHANGE THE OIL ON A CAR? No, but I can change tyres

32. EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET? I don’t think you can get them by walking

33. EVER RAN OUT OF GAS? Nope

34. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE KIND OF SANDWICH? A ham and cheese salad in garlic and herb pitta bread

35. BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST? A full english breakfast

36. WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME? When I’m tired

37. ARE YOU LAZY? Depends what I’ve been doing all week

38. WHEN YOU WERE A KID, WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN? Either a cat or a ghost

39. WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN? I think I’m an Ox

40. HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK? English and a tiny bit of Spanish

41. DO YOU HAVE ANY MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS? Nah

42. WHICH ARE BETTER: LEGOS OR LINCOLN LOGS? Lego....I have no clue what Lincoln Logs are!!

43. ARE YOU STUBBORN? Definitely

44. WHO IS BETTER: LENO OR LETTERMAN? Haven’t watched either of them....

45. EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS? I used to watch Eastenders religiously, but I don’t any more

46. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS? Totally! I cried on the London Eye

47. DO YOU SING IN THE CAR? That’s a must

48. DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER? When nobody is in

49. DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR? Yep, because I don’t drive so I’m the annoying passenger

50. EVER USED A GUN? I used an air rifle when I was little

51. LAST TIME YOU GOT A PORTRAIT TAKEN BY A PHOTOGRAPHER? When I did this “modelling” thing

52. DO YOU THINK MUSICALS ARE CHEESY? Totally, but they are so good to watch

53. IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL? Only if you’re not organised

54. EVER EAT A PIEROGI? What is that?

55. FAVORITE TYPE OF FRUIT PIE? Cherry Pie

56. OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID? ballerina, vet, doctor, air hostess, night club owner, architect

57. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS? Yep, a lot

58. EVER HAVE A DEJA-VU FEELING? Quite often

59. DO YOU TAKE A VITAMIN DAILY? I go out daily so I get vitamin D from that

60. DO YOU WEAR SLIPPERS? Yep, because I’m cool!!!

61. DO YOU WEAR A BATH ROBE? Nope, they annoy me

62. WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED? Depends on the weather

63. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CONCERT? It was supposed to be a band called 5ive (Five) but they bailed and ended up being a band called Damage

64. WALMART, TARGET, OR KMART? We have none of them

65. NIKE OR ADIDAS? I have 2 pairs of Adidas Superstars

66. CHEETOS OR FRITOS? Cheetos!!!

67. PEANUTS OR SUNFLOWER SEEDS? Peanuts will kill me and sunflower seeds are for planting...

68. EVER HEAR OF THE GROUP TRES BIEN? Who?!

69. EVER TAKE DANCE LESSONS? Nope

70. IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING? He wants to be an online games streamer

71. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE? Nope....I cant even roll my R’s

72. EVER WON A SPELLING BEE? We don’t have them in England

73. HAVE YOU EVER CRIED BECAUSE YOU WERE SO HAPPY? Yeah....when my best friends got married (they are twins and got married a year apart)

74. OWN ANY RECORD ALBUMS? Yeah....they are hiding somewhere

75. OWN A RECORD PLAYER? Yeah

76. DO YOU REGULARLY BURN INCENSE? Not regularly.

77. EVER BEEN IN LOVE? Yeah....3rd time lucky

78. WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN CONCERT? Coldplay

79. WHAT WAS THE LAST CONCERT YOU SAW? I went to V Festival, so saw loads of different people

80. HOT TEA OR COLD TEA? Either

81. TEA OR COFFEE? Either

82. SUGAR COOKIES OR SNICKERDOODLES? Cookies

83. CAN YOU SWIM WELL? Not overly well....I nearly drowned when I was younger so its kinda put me off

84. CAN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH WITHOUT HOLDING YOUR NOSE? Yeah

85. ARE YOU PATIENT? Not if someone is being a knob cheese

86. DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING? Both

87. EVER WON A CONTEST? Nope :’(

88. HAVE YOU EVER HAD PLASTIC SURGERY? No....but I’m not apposed to it 89. WHICH ARE BETTER: BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES? Neither....they are like salty balls

90. CAN YOU KNIT OR CROCHET? I’ve tried both and can’t do neither. I can cross-stitch

91. BEST ROOM FOR A FIREPLACE? The front room

92. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED? Yeah....I’m always making plans in my head

93. IF MARRIED, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MARRIED? I’m not married yet

94. WHO WAS YOUR HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH? Oh I changed them every month hahaha

95. DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY? No....I just do it anyway

96. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Not yet

97. DO YOU WANT KIDS? Defo

98. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR? Oranges, yellows, reds

99. DO YOU MISS ANYONE RIGHT NOW? William, and my friends....haven’t seen them in ages because of uni/work

100. WHO ARE YOU GOING TO TAG TO DO THIS TAG NEXT? I don’t know who has done this yet but @edgypandasimmer @haleingsimblr @alwaysimming @coliemoon4sims4

#100 questions #non-sims

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mellofellowblog · 4 years

Text

Looking Backwards to Move Forwards

*WARNING: LONG INTROSPECTIVE LIFE STORY REFLECTIVE POST INCOMING*

As an aside from the daily exercises and actual songwriting that you don’t see here I’ve taken the plunge and started getting songwriting lessons as a kind of third prong to my attack on my writing process. Apart from a couple of songwriting workshops and little insights from my old guitar teacher at school over a decade ago my entire ‘songwriting journey’ has been just doing it, chipping away every now and then and glacially figuring out what works and what doesn’t. So this one on one learning experience is quite new to me and a little scary since it makes things really feel like i’m starting again, like a fully grown 30 year old going back to high school to study algebra or something. Well, i guess it’s probably a lot closer to going back to uni and getting a tutor, but even that gives off a feeling of going backwards to a part of my life that I’ve ‘moved on’ from. It might seem like i’m throwing everything I’ve built out the window and starting again this year with my overhaul, but I think its really more so that I am hyper focussing now on something that always had an air of “...and later I’ll put in the work and hone this properly”. That said I think its important to acknowledge where I’ve come from and give my old self a little bit of props despite the fact that I’m mentally burning all the progress I’ve made down, because really, although I hope this ‘reset’ helps improve my songwriting a lot and fixes areas that I have neglected over the years at the end of the day nothing can really erase the instincts I carry in regards to music that I’ve built up over the years. That and theres still a part of me that rejects the notion of putting myself out there as “starting again” when if I stop to think about it, I have actually put in a lot of work over my life so far. Obviously i still feel that I have a fair ways to go, but I thought it would be fun to look back at my humble beginnings and give a rough timeline of musical events that have got me to where I am today, with a rough focus on songwriting. So basically a TLDR mellofellow life history lesson that nobody asked for but I thought might be fun to do. Welcome to my musical “this is your life”

1998/1999?: My first guitar Not sure if i was 8 or 9, but at around that age on one of our family trips to my grandparents in Mount Gambier (South Austrailia) my dad bought me a 3/4 nylon string acoustic guitar. I remember he got a good deal on it because when removing the price sticker it peeled off a little section of the paint on the bridge next to the saddle. My best friend at the time was getting lessons and I don’t think there was anything really extra that motivated me to get one, but I have distinct memories of the day we bought the instrument home and I had it sat on the bed at my Grandparents place, blindly pulling at the strings to make sound come out of this foreign wooden box. No idea that this was the start of something that would consume my life in years to come.

1999?-2003: First lessons from a one horse town I grew up on a farm near a very small town in rural Victoria called Derinallum and went to the appropriately named local school: Derrinallum College. with about 20 kids per year (that always dwindled towards yr 12 due to most people either changing schools or dropping out to pursue farming) it had a pretty small population of about 90 people, but there was still a music teacher who taught everyone who wanted to learn all the basic instruments they wanted to from flute to trumpet, piano and yes, guitar. I remember having a few different teachers early on as people would come and go, the first one showing me my first G chord and giving me a chart for “knocking on heaven’s door” much to my fathers delight, but soon after my regular teacher had started me basically learning single note flute music with letters written under the dots (something that simultaneously gave me a keen ear for picking up melodies but absolutley ruined any chance at sight reading properly). I remember picking what I considered the hardest tunes to play at the annual performance recitals, the melody from “the entertainer” and the bassline from “the theme from Peter Gun” are pieces that stand out in my mind but my biggest claim to fame from this point in my life was figuring out how to play the melody from “all the small things” by blink 182 all by myself by ear. I felt like I was freaking Mozart not needing to be taught or read something and still being able to play it and that discovery gave me those initial inklings of the potential for what I could do with this wooden box.

2004: New school, new lessons and the Led Zeppelin live dvd So at the ripe age of 13 I had made the big move up in life from Derrinallum to Ballarat Grammar boarding school in Ballarat, Victoria. It was a pretty wild transition from the get go, but musically was initially a little discouraging as at my first guitar lesson (from an amazing human being Laurie) I found out that I had basically needed to start all over again and that the biggest carry over from my entire 4 years of musical pursuits had yielded me the one G chord i still remembered. It was acknowledged that the solo flute lines I had learned were good for training my ears, but really had no real value for the things one would typically learn in a guitar lesson. Laurie had asked me what type of music i enjoyed or would like to start learning and I remember saying that I didn't really had any preference for music, that I liked “anything with a bit of a beat” so I quickly was given my first chord charts in 4 years and it looked like I was going to become a acoustic rhythm type of guy. But then everything changed about halfway through that year when one of my friends got a dvd of a little band called Led Zeppelin... Apparently the year before at the end of year house performance the year 12s had done a rendition of Stairway to Heaven which got my friend to chase up this dvd but oh my god. I have never had such an influential experience as I did watching that live version of stairway. I remember playing that song on repeat for months every morning before class (I’m sure much to my 6 roommates detest) and from there everything about my relationship with my guitar changed. Rather than just putting in a half hours effort before each lesson out of worrying I would disappoint my teacher, I was practicing 3, 4, 5 hours a day for just the fun of it working on my magnum opus of being able to play Stairway to Heaven all the way through. I remember slowly accumulating the entire Zep discography, learning each section of stairway bit by bit until finally being able to nail everything including the solo on my black ashton acoustic. I had made friends with a boy who had a real Gibson electric guitar and remember being dead set on getting a Les Paul of my own, scoping out my dream guitar like Jimmy Page’s on a school field trip to Chapel street in Melbourne and begged my parents for one that Christmas, to which they obliged and I was over the moon.

2005 - 2007: Musical identity and my first songwriting baby steps With a full back catalogue of Led Zeppelin and my Epiphone Les Paul at my side I flourished musically over the next couple of years, cementing my identity as a “long haired guitar guy” mastering improvising blues licks and the discographies of Zep, Hendrix, Pink Floyd, Sabbath, Queen, Cream and anything else that came from that same vein of guitar centric late 60s/early 70s music up to an unhealthy obsession with Van Halen and guitar virtuosos. I ended up getting school colours for music in my year 11 and 12 for the work I was doing in the school jazz band and by the end of my tenure at high school was expanding my musical repertoire to singing and piano because even though my quick pentatonic blues licks were the cornerstone of what I enjoyed playing I still had some shred of understanding that if there wasn’t also a song behind the guitar solos, things quickly became a little too wanky for my liking even at the time. Van Halen seemed the perfect blend of being able to show off when the solo came, but still ultimately still be servicing the bigger picture of a song. I would print off chord charts from entire Pink Floyd and Beatles albums and sit in the practice rooms and sing them front to back at the piano as a bit of a break from my ruthless 5+ hour guitar practice schedule. Near the end of year 11 my beloved guitar teacher was putting on a songwriting workshop where I learnt the basics of songwriting and started putting together my own really embarrassing silly songs. I remember finishing my first one called “Clayman’s Desire” which was an acoustic folk track in the vein of Queen’s “39′” about a little clay person who goes on an adventure to make friends. Even though there was a huge disconnect between the guitar centric virtuosic stuff i was playing I still felt super proud of it. I had high hopes that just like Brian May in Queen I would find a vocalist who would sing over all the riffs and music I was coming up with, but I would still get a song or two on each album that I would sing myself for variety and a way to show an extra notch in my belt not just as a guitarist, but as a guitarist who could also write songs too. Throughout year 12 I kept a little songwriting book where I would write poetry in hopes that i would turn everything into songs. It was all nonsensical wannabe surrealist kinds of stuff inspired by songs like “I am the walrus” by the Beatles, a band that I was gorging on in between my shred guitar escapades. By the end of year 12 in the holidays before starting uni the following year I made my first “album” of basically demo recordings on a CD i called “The Project”. It included some psychy guitar riff instrumentals as well as some very basic songs that were more or less just vessels for me to put little guitar solos into all recorded either DI or with the one microphone I owned (drums too). Still nothing like the shred guitar i was still all about playing, but uniquely me and something I felt that if i kept at it would eventually get to a point where i could write things that sounded closer to the greats I had admired. Even back then I knew everyone had to start somewhere and even though I was proud of the stuff I had made I still rightfully felt that any dreams of making good quality music were far off into the future and that was okay.

2008 - 2009: College After school I basically lived in the music room at college spending any time I wasn't out drinking with friends or cramming before tests playing with anyone who would give me the time and forming a covers band but in terms of original music things had already started to die down so early. I was still coming up with riffs and licks that were inching closer to the sound of things i knew i wanted to make but I kind of fell off the wagon in terms of songwriting throughout the semester, it wasn't until the semester break that I decided I wanted to follow up on my previous writing adventures with a focus on mimicking the styles of early Beatles with a little EP I called “Meatlebania” a cringeworthy attempt to focus on imitating the greats and ending up far from the mark. I remember posting tracks on my facebook page and getting criticised by some of my friends who expected something a lot better given my guitar playing abilities that they knew me for. It was pretty disheartening but to their credit looking back it was some of the absolute cringiest pieces of music i had ever made, let alone released. It had all the awkwardness of an 18 year old falling in love for the first time and not knowing a thing about good songwriting that came off as horrendously bad poetry and I didn't even put much effort into the guitar side off things, thinking that I wanted to bring the music down to the level of the songwriting and slowly move the quality of both of parts up together. A little bit of a profound foresight in concept for the quality of the finished product but again I was hopeful that this was still just the very beginning of my journey with music and that I needed to make these mistakes to move forward even if it was a pretty slow process. every step was going to get me closer to making something I could really be proud of.

2009 - 2010: Open mics and Comedy songwriting After the whirlwind of college came and went I was living in a shared house with some friends I knew from high school. It didn't take long before me and my housemate sussed out a local open mic night and were playing acoustic covers down there every week. It was actually a ‘reunion’ of an original band we started back in boarding school called Alloid (that resulted in some instrumental rock songs that had lyrics I wrote that were very ...not good). We were playing things like Hendrix and Rush acoustically with my housemate on bass and me on guitar/vocals but it wasn't until a few months in that I had a big light bulb moment of bringing a kazoo to do the solos to songs that things really fit into place. We would do things like Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Freebird with kazoo solos that hit all the guitar ones i knew note for note in a kind of over the top silly comedic fashion and with that I had found a new angle for music as a source of entertainment. After a while I started doing the acoustic/kazoo guitar rock thing by myself and phased in some originals that i would introduce with a bit of funny backstory. I remember playing Clayman’s Desire (the first song I had ever wrote) and getting a wonderful reception from the half dozen or so people at the open mic who were very supportive and saw the humour in playing an obviously undercooked song with a bit of charm in the cute awkward stage presence I had started to hone in on. Listening to comedy songwriters like Flight of the Conchords and Tim Minchin I ramped up the writing of quirky songs that i would put together and perform every week before eventually I had my first open mic “hit” with a song I wrote about a man crush I had on the Doctor Who star David Tennant. I would incorporate the shows theme song as the beginning and reprised it as a kazoo solo in the middle 8. It went down well at all the open mic shows I played, which were fast approaching 3 per week. With the disguise of using the fact that songs I was writing were “not serious” I was able to finish a lot of songs and figured out a ton about melody and the fundamentals of writing. I saw this as something I would do to hone my craft and eventually get back to writing “serious music” and apply these skills properly. I was building up a repertoire of comedy songs I would throw in in between over the top ‘kazoostic’ covers of rock songs like Killer Queen and the aforementioned Freebird to a pretty decent reception at the open mics. It was basically a real life meme before I knew memes were a thing. Eventually one of my friends from college was coming to see a fair few of my shows and loved my David Tennant song. She was a drummer with an amazing comedic musical theatre background and I thought I might be a wonderful idea to take our shared love of pop culturey things and start a band together.

2010 - 2012: Blue Turtle Shell With my pop culture sister from another mister at my side we started an original acoustic guitar/djembe “geek rock” band called Blue Turtle Shell, writing and performing silly songs about videogames TV shows and Movies that would incorporate themes from said pop culture topics into the songs as a kind of expansion of my David Tennant song template. It was so much fun being able to write with someone and to put in all the bells and whistles of vocal harmony and jokes in between songs of our open mic set. At the time i was also busking on the side playing all the pop culture and video game theme songs outside the comic book store in Melbourne raking in a pretty decent amount per hour compared to my bar job and one day I managed to get the band a gig at an anime convention from an event organised who enjoyed what I was doing on the street. We put out an EP as a twosome before becoming a trio with a mutual friend on bass and ended up having some pretty good gigs; getting a residency at the newly opened videogame cocktail bar and even “made it to” the finals of what turned out to be a scammy pay-to-play (well, convince all your friends to buy tickets to play) talent show competition in between open mics that we would play semi regularly that always had a good reception. It felt like we were starting to make traction and form some fans but things eventually faded out as I started realising that I was putting myself into a box songwriting wise. It was amazing to be able to write and play music that was uniquely “me” but I felt that I was never going to be able to do “serious music” so eventually when things died down with the band I just sort of stopped and thought of what I needed to do to get things back on that track.

2012 - 2013: Melbournes hardest working bass player So after my foray into the musical comedy world I thought it would be best to just put myself out there and play in some original bands in Melbourne. I put out a couple of ads on a musical craigslist site “Melband” offering my skills as a guitarist. After a week of no interest or replies I figured I’d chuck up an ad as a bass player and instantly had my inbox and phone blow up with requests. Within a week I was playing in 3 bands; one unnamed that was starting from the beginning in the process of writing what I would later know to be Mars Volta inspired porggy psych rock, another Middle Eastern Progressive Frank Zappa inspired band ‘Land of the Blind’ that was basically performing pre written complicated charts that would also have long improvised sections and finally a alternative indie/pop band ‘The Story Model’ where I was writing my own basslines and eventually contributing to songs. Each band held up a pillar of skills that I wanted to perfect as a writer and performer, the psych and prog nature of the unnamed band and Land of the Blind were much closer to where my head was at musically at the time but at the same time I knew I wanted to blend that with more of a pop influence that The Story Model had. Things were pretty hectic schedule wise but eventually after a few months the unnamed band broke up due to some pretty crazy intra-band politics -sadly before we recorded anything or played our first gig, but I still have some phone recorded demos of our jams that I look back on with fond memories- but even juggling two bands with regular gigs was a struggle that I rose to the occasion to. I was learning so much musically from this new life as a bass player, even just from my role in the band. As a bassist I had a world of appreciation opened up for me about groove and song feel, I’d always been a fan of riffs but the relationship between a bass player and a drummer is a sacred bond that is so powerful in conveying the musical ideas of the song. As the foundation of the musical cake I could also take in all the musical ideas of the melodic icing from the vocals or guitar leads, it felt like I was finally piecing everything together that I needed to eventually write my own music that would be closer to the things I wanted to write from the start. On top of all the gigs i was playing I also experienced my first proper studio sessions making demos with both bands as well as my first professionally recorded EP that I provided bass and backing vocals on with The Story Model. Eventually things died down and faded out with The Story Model which luckily coincided not long after I was stretching myself a little too thin anyways picking up work with another band that had contacted me on Melband a good year after I had initially posted my ad and forgotten to take it down. They were an alternative psychy rock band with a little prog influence with a bit of a following from Brisbane. The singer was moving to Melbourne to try and ramp things up musically after they had recorded their first album. To me it sounded like a dream melding of the pop sensibilities of the story model with the hard edge of bands like Rage Against the Machine and even some motifs that harkened back to my beloved Led Zeppelin. It was a band called Greefthief.

2013 - 2017: Greenthief and the beginnings of Mellofellow I juggled Land of the Blind with my new band for a little while but it didn’t take long to see that this was something I was willing to put more effort into since it lined up with so much of what I wanted to do musically, so I quit LotB and became a one band bass player. Things were so musically exciting and intense that there was no other way about it really, Greenthief was rehearsing 2-3 times a week after we found a drummer and had booked a massive 20-something date tour of Australia in support of the debut album they had recorded and were releasing after a month or two of me joining. I bought a Rickenbacker bass and an ampeg 6x10 fridge and set off on my first tour having the time of my life slamming fuzz riffs and writing new material with the band leader. After the tour we would still play a gig or two a week in Melbourne rehearse 2 days a week and usually I would go to the band leaders house for writing sessions once or twice a week on top of that. I loved the bands back catalog but was hungry to get some songs I had helped craft in to the set, I’d be pouring myself into the writing sessions expanding on a lot of my own writing knowledge while picking up a ton about editing down and how to package a hard hitting pop/rock song. While that side of things was amazing it wouldn't dawn on me until much later that while I was perfecting my role in the band writing wise as an editor, I wasn’t actually landing much of the finished product of songs from my actual musical ideas note wise. Structure and direction absolutely, and I knew I was a great soundboard for floating ideas to, but in terms of how many melodies or song sections in the new material that I had actually contributed and stayed in to the final product when it came time to perform the new tracks at gigs there was a bit of a disconnect between the 10s to 100s of hours I had put in to the little bits here and there that were uniquely me. That said I wrote 80% of my own basslines (and interpreted the other 20% in a unique way) and was changing a lot of ideas of the leaders that would have been a bit different had I not been there, but the bulk of the initial ‘heavy lifting’ writing wise was not mine and thats before you take into consideration that I had nothing to do with any lyrics. Luckily there was one track I had demoed that the leader liked enough to add to the set and it actually became the lead single and opening track of the first album I made with them, although I always had a discouraging sense that it was more of a meta move of the leader that he could sense that I was getting a little frustrated that I hadn’t really had much input in major song sections, but this could have just been a projection of my own self doubt (and i was always told that was not the case). Still, on the side of things while we were putting together our first release I was a part of ‘Tremors’ I was upping the ante of writing for myself as a way to demo things to the band but also with the idea that things that didn’t fit would be fair game for me to use for a kind of solo project. When the band’s musical direction moved a little further from my psychedelic rock interests in hope of chasing that holy grail of being played on Triple J, I ended up with a fair batch of psychy demos that wouldn't fit Greenthief that I would listen to each day on my commutes to work and then edit when I got home before rehearsals. Not a lot with lyrics but entire songs with melodies and riffs soley penned by me. Tame Impala had exploded a year or two before and I would see a lot of obvious knock off bands on the bill at Greenthief gigs with the idea of “i could do that” every time there was a washed out riffy set, so i did. I did do that. The plus side of having such an obvious direction helped when it did come to lyrics, keeping things psychy after being around so many psych bands at gigs I knew the basics of what their lyrics are written around subject wise and interspersed that with the influence of the bands I had grown up loving. A friend I had met through Greenthief had a pretty good home studio set up and I eventually took the plunge and recorded my first Mellofellow single with him on the first of January 2017. The weeks before I had hyper focussed on drumming since I knew that was my weak link musically although i had picked up a hell of a lot first and foremost as a bass player listening to the amazing drummers I had worked with. The resulting track “Journey to the Centre of Your Mind” was something I was hugely proud of and finally scratched the itch of being something I had written that was not a joke song but also got pretty damn close to what I was wanting to do musically in terms of my goals all those moons ago to have something that was on the level of quality that I wanted but could never achieve when I was starting out. Really that goal had already been filled earlier with the recordings I had done with Greenthief, but this time it was also my 100% my own writing. All my friends that I had made playing in bands as well as some that weren’t seemed to like my track and although I didn’t really have the means to push it to many people who weren’t in my immediate circle, that was ultimately the goal. My musical peers’ respect was all I could have wanted from a track that was solely my own and I could have so easily not done something like that with how hectic my schedule was at the time. It was at that point that I had to make the decision that I knew was going to be the final nail in the coffin for Greenthief when I went back to uni to get out of the dead end job that I had in retail. As a band we still played a lot, we had a 10 week residency at one of the most known rock venues in Melbourne, kept touring with releases and put out two albums in my tenure but the last of which I was a bit more checked out contributing a little less than I had on Tremors due to the lack of time I had juggling work, uni and the band. Though at the time I wasn’t too discouraged and was a little annoyed that I could put in so many less hours to writing sessions and still end up with nearly the same amount of contribution to the record musically as I had on the last record -though this was partly because there were some tracks on Tremors that were fully completed before I had joined on- I didn’t have any stand out songs that had started from my demos but there were a few that had main riffs that were my own and I think things just flowed a lot easier letting the band leader take more of the reigns and since we had been together for a few years things naturally came together with input from everyone more quickly than they had on the last record. Unfortunately I had to move to Mildura for placement as part of my degree and had technically played my last gig with the band before the release of that album ‘Mirror Lies’ but in the couple of weeks between finishing the sessions for that album and uprooting myself from the city I booked another session with my friend and followed up Mellofellow’s single recording my first release (technically too long for an EP but a pretty short album). Without being in Melbourne/with Greenthief a few less people got to hear the record than would have heard the single but it was still such a creatively fulfilling thing to be able to put out more of my music. It was a high that would keep me going through my year away from the city. To top things off I even had an made a record from start to finish over a weekend with a mate who had his own solo project Steve Tyssen (actually one of Greenthief’s previous drummers from before I had joined the band) who I had been playing with on the side over the last couple of years whenever he had a new album to release -the dude has made like 7 albums to date now its insane- but apart from that everything musically died down when I had moved out of the city. Still not a bad way to finish it all out, 2017 saw me drop 3 records in the one year! Oh yeah, and in December 2017 I put together a line up for Mellofellow in order to have a proper release gig for the record at a festival held by a friend of mine that was another amazing experience but ultimately the only time I have ever performed any of my tracks with a band.

2018-2019: Slowing down and songwriting revelations So after my whirlwind musical year of 2017 everything got a bit quieter. When I got back to Melbourne I was still playing in Steve’s solo project on keyboards and had slowly been working on tracks for a follow up to the first Mellofellow record, but Greenthief had disbanded while I was away after they released Mirror Lies with a hired gun bass player. I suppose things needed to die down though since the last semester of my course needed to be pretty much my sole focus. I actually started playing open mics again when I got the time, doing acoustic versions of Mellofellow tracks but I’ll admit that it more so confirmed my suspicions about the holes in my songwriting ability. It might have been from seeing Steve’s solo tracks work so well in an acoustic context, but there was an obvious drop in quality in the stuff I had written that was taken out when you removed the drums and guitar solos. While a couple of tracks worked alright stripped back, the majority of them failed to have the same punch without the groove of a full band rhythm section and with the focus being placed more on the lyrics I felt awkwardly naked and could see that at the end of the day my songwriting fundamentals left a lot to be desired particularly on the lyrical front. So I started trying to write songs primarily acoustic first with the goal of performing them at things like open mics and maybe even booking acoustic gigs with the knowledge that the songs could easily be expanded into full band tracks when it came to recording. This turned into more of a transitional period than I had hoped, partially not helped by the fact that after graduation I had to move back to rural Victoria for the first job I got out of uni in my chosen profession, which is an amazing but time demanding gig.

So I’ve got another 10 or so Mellofellow tracks in the chamber ready to record from the last couple of years that I’m heading in to the studio with next month but I don’t feel like I totally stuck the landing with the transition I was hoping to make, there are still a couple of tracks that wouldn't really work acoustically and if anything my realisation of my room for improvement lyrically has lead me to second guess a lot of the lyrical choices on these tracks to the point that I just want to finish them acknowledging their flaws and move on to the next record that I will make now that I am undertaking this whole process of honing my songwriting craft. That said there are some tracks I’m getting ready to record that I’m most proud of as a songwriter, songs that I hope are a sign of things to come. Either way I am excited to clear out my bottom drawer of songwriting to see what lies ahead. I’ve already made some big changes to the ways I write and I know things are going to get better.

#long post #songwriting #musical journey #started at the bottom #getting better #looking back #if you made it this far well done

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