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adore-laur · 1 year ago

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PINK VELVET

— an italian getaway full of sunshine & surprises 💗

——

SALERNO, ITALY

Crystalline blue waters sparkling under the sunshine, ornate architecture standing high among the cliffsides, and mopeds burning rubber on the cobblestone streets—it's all pure, unadulterated bliss.

Sharing that bliss with your boyfriend enhances the experience. Both of you have been staying at a villa rental for a few days already, and the surrounding greenery and stucco buildings on the precipice rocks of the Tyrrhenian Sea bring a much-needed sense of privacy. It's a getaway for your third anniversary with Harry, and while it's a more extended vacation than usual—two weeks to be exact—the mellow atmosphere makes you feel like you could stay in Italy forever.

Harry said he plans on wooing you with the foreign language, having bought a book filled with romantic phrases at the airport's souvenir shop. You're dreading it because once he starts, he won't stop.

It's four in the afternoon, and you're getting ready to kayak off the Amalfi Coast. The heat will be sweltering, especially out on the open water, so you put on jean shorts over your swim bottoms, leaving just your bikini top on. Harry is standing in the doorway of the master bathroom and tying the strings of his swim trunks. He's wearing a white tank top that you know will be taken off eventually.

A cooler packed with snacks and drinks is by the front door. Once you reach downtown, the journey to the kayak launch takes about fifteen minutes, so you and Harry will drive in the vintage Cadillac he insisted on renting and park on the street before walking the rest of the way.

"Ready?" Harry asks, giving your ass two pats as he walks by.

"I guess," you say flatly.

He smirks and steals a scrunchie from your makeup bag to put around his wrist. "That's enough out of you."

You hoist the cooler over your shoulder, sling a beach towel over the other, and then stroll through the spacious villa rooms toward the door. When you open it, a blast of humid air immediately hits you. Harry brushes past you while jingling the car keys, a drawstring backpack on his back. You lock the door before heading toward the luxurious car you don't want to know the cost of.

Harry swings the passenger door open for you like a gentleman, but you decide to mess with him by ignoring his gesture. You open the driver's side door and smoothly crawl over the console until you're in the passenger seat. Harry slowly shakes his head, reaching forward to pluck your bikini strap with his fingers and lightly snap it against your skin. He throws his backpack under the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life. Harry's hand places itself on your headrest, his body twisting around so he can carefully reverse down the circular driveway. You take his hand and set your interlocked fingers in your lap. He glances at you and smiles, his hair blowing beautifully in the wind and the sun casting a golden hue over his face.

When you arrive downtown, Harry parks along a random street. He removes his hand from yours and claps once. "Okay, here's the game plan. I reckon we should rent one kayak for both of us. It'll be cheaper and more fun, and we can work together like—"

"Absolutely not."

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry, but being stuck in a kayak with you sounds like my personal hell. You'll somehow manage to tip us over or get us lost." Harry can live in a world of his own sometimes. You really want to avoid ending up stranded in the deep, expansive ocean.

"Baby," he says, looking at you with wounded eyes. "What if I drift away and we lose each other? I need you. I'll do all the work while you sit back and relax."

You can't possibly say no to him when he looks like a literal Greek god basking in the Italian sun, his lips irresistibly pink against his tanned skin.

"Fine," you surrender. "I'm not letting you do all the work, though, because we'll probably end up in a different country. Also, I'm sitting in the front seat. Deal?"

"Sì, amore mio," he says, passion dripping off his tongue. "And, um... I may have already paid for just one kayak when I booked the reservation yesterday. Well, singular ticket."

"You're unbelievable." Stepping out of the car, you stretch your limbs while Harry puts his backpack on and grabs the cooler. You hold onto his free hand and begin walking to the beach. Many people are out and about—vendors selling gourmet cuisine, kids riding bicycles through the alleyways, and tourists stopping at attractions.

At the waterfront, kayaks are stacked on racks, shimmering under the sun. Since Harry booked a reservation ahead of time, he walks toward the man who appears to be running the operation. You watch them shake hands and converse. Harry knows enough basic Italian to navigate through any language barrier yet to come.

Eventually, they both wander over to you, and the man caresses your hand and kisses your cheek. You smile and shyly mutter an Italian greeting. The man then excitedly leads you to the kayaks, taking a maroon two-seater from the bottom rack and dragging it toward the water. While following him, you notice only a few people are on the beach today. Only a couple of other occupied kayaks drift in the ocean, looking like mere silhouettes from where you stand.

"You know the rules, yes?" asks the man as he pushes the front of the kayak into the shallow water.

"Yes, I've done this before. I'll teach this guy," you say, pointing at Harry while draping your towel over the seat.

Harry smiles mindlessly, placing the cooler and backpack between the two seats. The man briefly leaves to grab life jackets and oars, leaving you and Harry to get into the kayak. You let him go first since he's sitting in the back. As you grip the side so it doesn't rock, he removes his tank top and hands it to you before steadily climbing in and bending his long legs to fit in the restrictive space.

You're next. Harry plants his foot in the sand to keep the kayak balanced and then offers his hand to grasp. Once you're situated, you sigh relievedly.

"This sucks," Harry mutters, nudging his knee against your back. "I can't even see your face."

"You could've solved that problem if you got us two kayaks."

"Yeah, but I wanted to be close to you," he says, sliding his shoes off. "Just look behind you every once in a while so I can get my fix."

You laugh, looking at the water that endlessly expands past the horizon. The man comes back with two life jackets, and you clip one to your body as sturdy oars are placed across your and Harry's laps. The man gives a thumbs up and slowly maneuvers the kayak away from the shoreline.

"Grazie!" Harry shouts, waving to him as the both of you drift further from land.

"Ciao! Stai al sicuro!" he shouts back.

The destination of the cliffs is a short one; their imminent height is visible far out to the left of the coastal village. You begin paddling, alternating sides to stay on a straight path, while Harry opens the cooler to take out a package of crackers and a bottle of water.

"Please tell me you know how to properly paddle," you say, taking a break to sip some water while the kayak naturally rides the ripples.

"Obviously. I'm kind of the backbone of this kayak, so I know what I'm doing," Harry replies with faux confidence, still not picking up the paddle.

"That's funny, considering I'm literally doing all the work right now. Get to paddling, or I won't turn around so you can get your fix."

"Calmati, bellissima," he murmurs, snatching a handful of crackers before finally helping.

A comfortable silence ensues, with only the sound of water splashing and the slight creak of the kayak that comes with each movement. Harry whistles a tune every so often. A content smile pulls at your lips.

However, it doesn't last long because if there's one thing Harry loves to do, it's acting like a child sometimes. He disrupts the long stretch of peace by pretending to tip over the kayak by rocking slightly back and forth in his seat, gasping like he's not doing it.

"Harry, I swear," you say with a nervous undertone, holding on to the edge of the kayak so you don't actually tip over into the vast ocean, infested with who knows what. "You're like a five-year-old!"

He listens immediately, apparently noticing your anxiousness. He settles back in his seat, stretching his legs next to your body and nudging his foot against your thigh as a silent apology.

"It wasn't me. I think there's an animal under us," he says, playing with your hair to distract you. It doesn't help, because you know that there are probably massive creatures swimming below you. He knows one of your biggest fears is drowning, so he should feel like a jerk now after his little charade.

"Are you going to sit there and braid my hair, or can you help me get to our destination before it gets dark?"

"Sorry," he murmurs, grabbing his paddle and helping you turn left toward the rock formations. They aren't too far away now.

"We're almost there," you encourage softly, dialing back your slight attitude. Harry is quiet, so you turn around to see him pouting softly. "Why are you sulking?"

"Am I being annoying? You sound annoyed with me," he says, avoiding eye contact and setting his paddle down.

"No, honey. I just want to get there as quickly as we can and swim for a bit. We have wine tasting after this, so we can't dilly-dally."

"Dilly-dally," he repeats, laughing at your chosen phrase. "Okay, I'll behave. Kiss?"

You capture his lips with yours, tasting the tomato and basil crackers he's been munching on. He kisses you back and reaches out his hand to push some hair behind your ear. Pulling away, you see the cliffs only about two hundred feet away. You both begin paddling again in serene silence.

At the side of the cliff, you stop the kayak by a large, flat rock that peeks out of the water and appears safe to stand on. You hold onto it; the waves are more active in this area, and you tie some rope around the post provided. You assume it's there for other kayakers and cliff divers to take advantage of.

Once you climb onto the rock, you offer your hand to assist Harry and pull him up. "We made it!" you exclaim, lifting your arms. Harry high-fives both of your hands and bends down to kiss you.

You unclip your life jacket, then do the same for Harry. Free from obstruction, your arms naturally loop around his waist for a hug. He embraces you, his large hand cradling the back of your head. You stay like that for a while, watching waves crash against the rocks as the sun starts painting the sky with blue and orange streaks.

"Wanna do something stupid?" you say into his chest before lifting your chin to look at him mischievously. He has more freckles due to the hours spent sunbathing.

Harry peers at you with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Let's jump off that rock," you say, pointing your finger behind him.

He turns you both around, still trapping you in his arms. A tall, cliff-like rock surrounded by several smaller rocks makes it easy to reach the top. You don't wait for Harry's answer and pull your shorts down, revealing your cherry-red bikini bottoms. Venturing your way up, you glance back at Harry. He grins and immediately follows suit, walking behind you with outreached arms in case you slip.

At the top, you both stare at each other with knowing smiles. This is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Out of nowhere, Harry experiences a burst of spontaneity and quickly lunges forward, cannonballing off the cliff and into the water. He emerges after a few seconds, shaking his hair and letting out a loud holler, probably caused by adrenaline or the cold water.

You shuffle toward the edge and get ready to jump. Harry's gaze never wavers as you daintily leap off, plugging your nose and closing your eyes on the long way down. When you hit the water, a powerful sensation rushes through your body. You glide to the surface and find Harry swimming toward you, his drenched hair plastered to his skin.

The water is at an uncomfortable temperature, so you move briskly to climb back up on the rock the kayak is tied to. Shortly after, Harry lifts himself up, droplets dripping from his body. You dry off with the towel, then hand it to him. Once he finishes, you take your phone out of the backpack and tell him to pose. He presents both middle fingers, sticking his tongue out with a smile. The breathtaking evening view in the background makes the picture ten times more perfect.

"Let's head back," you say after soaking in the skyline. "The wine tasting is at six, and it's a little after five right now."

Harry nods, and you both put your life jackets back on before situating yourselves in the kayak. You untie the knotted rope, push off the rock, and then head toward the coastline. He helps paddle the whole way there, kissing the back of your neck every so often.

Bliss, bliss, bliss.

——

After returning the kayak and packing all the stuff in the car's trunk, Harry says he's going to find a nearby bathroom so he can change into his outfit for the wine tasting. He hands you one of his sweaters out of the bag—a gray crewneck. It's your favorite and still smells like him, no matter how often you've worn it.

You have no idea what outfit he brought; he manages to take it out and quickly runs into a shop while you're distracted by the lively village. Waiting with anticipation in the car, you cozy up, growing tired from the strenuous paddling and calming atmosphere around you.

Five minutes pass before Harry appears, and you immediately laugh at the sight of him. Not because he looks silly, but because his outfit is too fancy for less than an hour of wine tasting in some restaurant's cellar.

"Harry," you say breathily, taking in his outfit. "I'm wearing a sweater, and you're wearing a suit. Where did you even get that?"

It's a bubblegum pink suit left open over a plain white button-up. White dress shoes are on his feet, and he must've fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror.

"Eh?" He spins around. "You like it?"

"You look very handsome, but now I feel severely underdressed. Why didn't you tell me to pack a dress?" You obviously don't have the time to go back to the villa and change, but you're curious as to why Harry didn't say anything about the apparent dress code for tonight.

"I wanted to surprise you, darling. Plus, I know you would be worried about spilling wine on something nice. It's a private tasting, so no one will see you but me and the chef I mentioned."

Harry had booked a wine tasting with a man he'd met when he last visited Italy, the friendly owner of a family-owned restaurant in the village. He has always been able to leave unforgettable impressions on everyone he meets, so the man gladly moved some things around so that he could have you two come to the cellar for an intimate experience.

You sigh, realizing there's no point in arguing. They won't care, so why should you? You have no doubt that Harry will make you feel comfortable once you get there.

"You're right. Hopefully, he doesn't care that I look like I just crawled out of a lake."

"Basta. Sembri un sogno," Harry says, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the car.

You assume he said something incredibly charming. Your face naturally warms as you distract yourself by picking nonexistent lint off your sleeve before walking the bustling street toward a restaurant called Dahlia. The man Harry knows is waiting by the arched front door with a jovial smile.

"Ciao, Signore Styles!" he greets enthusiastically. "Ah, la tua ragazza. Benvenuto!"

Harry shakes his hand. "Che bello rivederti. Questa è la mia ragazza, sì. Cominciamo, va bene?"

"Yes, yes. Seguitemi, cari."

The two of you follow him through the small, packed restaurant and descend a narrow flight of stairs that leads to a wine cellar. Harry is behind you, his hands on your shoulders to ensure you don't take a tumble. His dress shoes click against the polished wood with each step.

At the bottom, you turn down a dim hallway. Endless wine bottles are meticulously stacked on shelves against the walls. There's a table and chairs, and two wine glasses and napkins are already set neatly on the surface. There's even a plate of bread.

You sit, and Harry does the same. He immediately begins shaking the napkin out and placing it in his lap, like he's done this a million times before. You cross your legs and angle your body toward him, admiring his features in the low, yellowish lighting from the antique wall sconces. He grins handsomely.

The man brings over two bottles of expensive-looking wine, and you think of your preconceived notion of what wine tasting would be like—rolling hills and vineyards in the countryside, getting wine drunk with middle-aged moms wearing patterned blouses, gossiping about their cheating husbands.

Where you are right now is undeniably better. Who wouldn't want to be in a cramped room with their boyfriend, who's wearing a pink suit and looking at you like you're the only thing that exists?

The man fills the wine glasses with an adequate amount of blood-red liquid, then stands back to observe your reactions. Harry spins it around in his glass and sniffs it, acting like he's all fancy. You want to laugh at him, but keep it inside so you don't seem disrespectful. Instead, you bring your glass up to your mouth and take a small sip, tasting wild berries and a hint of an unknown aromatic herb. Harry sips his next, eyes locked on yours the entire time. He smacks his lips after swallowing and exhales, obviously pleased. You roll your eyes at him secretively. He's acting like he owns the place, and it's shameful that you find it attractive.

You rip off a piece of bread from the loaf in front of you and eat it, the buttery dough instantly melting on your tongue. Harry smiles at you, resting his hand on your chair as you rip some more off and offer it to him. He puts it in his mouth and mouths a silent swear, then picks up the entire loaf of bread and inspects it like he's Gordon Ramsey.

"I need the recipe for that," you whisper humorously.

Harry, of course, takes it literally. He beckons the man to come closer and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "La mia ragazza adora cucinare il pane. Potrei avere questa ricetta per favore? Questo è sorprendente."

"Ovviamente! Tornerò," says the man while hurriedly going upstairs.

You turn to Harry with confusion, needing help understanding the exchange.

"He's getting the recipe for it," he explains. "You can make it before we go home."

"Harry," you say with a sigh. "Stop being so nice. I could've just found an online recipe. What if it's a family recipe that's super important to him?"

"Stop worrying, my love. He doesn't mind."

Before you can respond, the man returns with a tattered recipe book. He opens it to a bookmarked page and sets it in front of you. "Fai una photo, caro. Fammi sapere com'è quando lo fai," he says, pointing at the bread drawing—not a picture—on the weathered page. Was this recipe from medieval times? Goodness gracious.

You can't understand him, so Harry takes your phone out of your pocket and snaps a picture of the handwritten words on the paper. You can't believe this man you just met is so willing to give you a recipe from his own restaurant.

"Grazie," you say shyly. Harry smiles at your sudden bashfulness, scooting closer to you and kissing your head.

The wine tasting continues for the next hour. Throughout the various sips of eclectic flavors, Harry amps up his lovable antics—slowly and dramatically reeling off flavors he gets from the wine and spinning the liquid in the glass so quickly that it spills onto the napkin in his lap.

Anything to see you smile.

After what feels like gallons of wine, you and Harry thank the man for his graciousness and ask if he could drive the car back to the villa since driving back yourselves while tipsy would be idiotic. Harry offers to pay a hefty amount for the favor, and the man happily obliges, saying he will drive it back when he finishes closing the restaurant. Harry hands him the keys before you leave, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with the other chefs on the way out.

You're both wine-drunk—arguably the best kind of drunk—and stumbling on clumsy feet with cheeks that won't stop smiling. It's dark out now, and the streetlights guide you to the Corvette. Harry calls for a taxi, speaking in full Italian, which makes you weak in the knees.

Harry removes his suit jacket after hanging up the phone, leaving the white button-up in all its glory, his tattoos and chest hair peeking out from the few buttons undone. You take your belongings out of the trunk, set them on the ground, and then stand beside Harry. You kiss his chest, nuzzling your cheek against it and closing your eyes. He rubs his hand along your back and begins swaying with you under the streetlight.

You look up at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, admiring his matching appearance. "How do you say 'pretty' in Italian?" you ask, getting lost in his gaze.

Harry pouts, thinking. "Patatina," he replies after a few seconds.

"You're patatina," you say lovingly.

He snorts at your cluelessness, smearing a kiss on your forehead.

"What?" you ask, looking at him with confusion. "Is that not what it means? That's not nice, Harry. What did you just make me say?" You gasp. "Is it something dirty?"

He's still giggling, with crinkled eyes and deep dimples carving his face. You poke his ribs to get him to answer. "Sorry," he says, breathing out a final laugh. "No, it's not dirty. Patatina is a term of endearment I read about in the book I bought. It means little potato."

You stare at him with a deadpan expression, thoughts about why you decided to date this boy running through your head. "Little potato... it's actually kind of cute," you admit, shuffling closer to Harry's warm body. "If you're a patatina, what am I?"

"Cipollino," he murmurs, cradling your face. It translates to 'little onion.' The book said it pairs well with patatina, and we're, like, a pair."

Your nose scrunches. "But an onion, out of everything? That's probably the least romantic vegetable. I want to be rhubarb or something, you know? They taste sweet, and I think... I think I'm pretty sweet. Right, Harry?" The wine is making its way to your dizzy head.

"Correct," he says. "And I'm patatina, not Harry."

"Shut up."

"Kiss me, then. Shut me right up."

You don't question him, lurching forward to give him a searing kiss, fingers hooking in his belt loops. He returns the kiss with the same, if not more, passion. You can taste the residue of wine on his cherry-colored lips, opening his mouth with your tongue to suck on his.

You suddenly hear tires rolling up and turn to see headlights shining on your figures. Great timing, taxi. You part from Harry's swollen lips, short of breath, and hastily pick up your stuff. You hope no one witnessed anything too wild.

Harry hands the driver a wad of cash before he climbs in the backseat. You follow suit. The vehicle drives off into the night, and your head rests on your lover's shoulder the whole way back.

——

The villa looms exquisitely under the starlit sky. You're relatively sure you fell asleep five minutes into the drive. Harry helps your sleepy body out of the car after grabbing all your belongings, then walks you up the driveway. He sets you on the outdoor sofa surrounding the fire pit before disappearing through the sliding door. The whispering breeze makes you shiver and burrow deeper into his sweater, which still clings to your figure.

Harry returns with two wine glasses and a bottle of... cranberry juice?

"If I have any more wine, I'll puke. So, cranberry juice?" he says, his voice rising to a higher octave.

"Sitting by the fire and drinking cranberry juice out of a wine glass with you," you say dreamily while scooting over to make room for him. "I can't think of anything better."

You soak up his company. When he went inside, he changed into grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and he looked like such a boyfriend. It's ridiculous. He's always so inviting and lovely. You find yourself wanting to touch him and absorb the warmth he exudes.

Sleep overtakes you again while you're tucked into his side. The next thing you wake up to are silk sheets on the king-size bed. You instinctively curl up to Harry's body beside you. He must have opened the vast bay window that provides an impossible sea view because a beautiful breeze flows over your skin. It has you sinking further into the mattress.

"Want me to get your pajamas?" Harry asks quietly.

You sleepily shake your head, perfectly fine with sleeping in his sweater. However, you do slide off your shorts and bikini bottoms.

You're dozing again when Harry clears his throat. You open your eyes, feeling his heart rate speed up under your cheek.

"I have something special planned for our anniversary tomorrow. It's in the evening, so we have time to do other things. Just letting you know."

"That makes me nervous, but I trust you."

"Tomorrow will be even better than today. I promise."

"Can't wait." You yawn. "Goodnight. Love you."

"I love you more than anything," he says, lightly scratching your back.

You grumble an incoherent response, drifting off to your dreams, which always pale compared to life with the man next to you.

——

The following morning's ambiance consists of Harry's snoring and glorious sunshine pouring through the wind-blown curtains. You must've slept like a rock because the bedside clock reads nine-thirty. You decide to abandon the soft sheets and let Harry get more sleep.

You wrap yourself in your satin robe and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. One glance at the oven, and you remember the bread recipe from last night. It'd be a pleasant anniversary surprise for Harry, considering his surprise for you is shrouded in mystery. Plus, making bread is oddly therapeutic—the kneading, the delicious smell, the endless possibility of flavors. Luckily, all the simple ingredients are in the pantry, so you can start making the dough.

By the time it's in the oven, Harry is still dead to the world, and the time is nearing eleven. Some days, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to go on a stupid run, or he'll sleep until noon on the weekends after a long week of work. There's really no in-between.

While the bread bakes, you clean up the mess on the counters before sitting at the kitchen table to aimlessly scroll through your phone. Another twenty minutes pass before you hear feet shuffling against the hardwood floor. You glance up to find a puffy-eyed Harry rubbing his face. He's wearing black swim trunks, and that's about it, except for the sunglasses on top of his head.

He bends down and kisses your cheek. "Buongiorno, mio piccolo cuoco," he says, his voice as raspy as the slight mustache above his lip that seems to have grown overnight.

"More like good afternoon." You shut your phone off and set it aside. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mm, the best I have in ages," he answers, scratching his stomach. He then smiles lazily, his eyes looking more awake. "Happy anniversary."

"Three whole years. I don't know how I've gone putting up with you this long."

"Hey. I can go back to bed if you want," he says, pointing his thumb toward the bedroom.

"No, stay," you plead softly. "By the way, I'm making that bread recipe. It's my present to you for being an average boyfriend."

"Being sassy this morning, are we?"

"You love it."

"Got that right," Harry mutters, nosily peering into the oven. He sniffs the bread dramatically and whistles impressively before shutting the oven door. The mouthwatering aroma reminds you of wandering the Italian streets yesterday.

"Going for a swim?"

"Yeah. Join me?"

"I will once the bread is done." You stand and send him on his way with a peck on his lips. "Go ahead. I'll make you a fruit platter."

"Dragonfruit, please?" he requests, opening the sliding door that leads to the infinity pool.

"Got it. Don't forget to put sunscreen on!"

He gives you a thumbs up, leaving the door open to welcome the pleasant breeze. You grab hot pads and take the finished bread out, setting it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off. While it cools, you change into a swimsuit, tie a chiffon wrap skirt around your hips, and then arrange a platter.

You gather the cubed fruit you've both been eating the past couple of days—cantaloupe, watermelon, strawberries, and, per Harry's request, dragonfruit. He wanted to buy some after his wonderful mother grew it in her garden. Then, you precisely arrange the fruit in a circle on a floating breakfast tray that can go in the pool, keeping the middle open for slices of buttered bread. You sincerely hope it tastes close enough to what you ate yesterday.

Lastly, you fill glasses with orange juice before carefully heading outside to keep Harry company. You see him floating on his back, arms open, and eyes closed. You set the platter down on a table and tiptoe to the edge of the pool.

To hell with it. You're going to scare him to get him back after trying to tip the kayak yesterday. It's only fair, right?

He's oblivious to everything around him, a peaceful glow on his face. You almost feel bad for deciding to disturb it—especially on your anniversary—but what good is a relationship without a bit of havoc?

You mull over what you could possibly do to frighten him. Maybe throw a cantaloupe piece at him or pretend the car came back destroyed. These are two vastly different ends of the mischief spectrum, and ultimately, the latter is the obvious choice—and the most fun.

"Harry?" you say quietly, changing your expression to make it seem like you're distraught.

"Yeah?" he replies, keeping his eyes closed.

"Um, your friend from yesterday just dropped the car off. Harry, it's—"

His eyes snap open, picking up on your wavering and anxious tone. He stops floating and swims over to where you're standing by the edge.

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Did something happen? Are you okay?" he asks worriedly, his eyes darting between your face and body to check for any signs.

"The car," you whisper, mustering up fake tears. Harry instinctively holds your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "It's destroyed. It looks like it got into an accident. What are we going to do?"

"Seriously? What the hell? How... I don't..." He heaves himself out of the pool and begins walking around the villa toward the driveway. He looks like he's about to punch something, so you suppress your laughter and decide to end the game.

You grab his wrist, spinning him around. He stares at you with panic, and now you feel bad. "I'm kidding, baby. I'm just messing with you. The car is fine. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, clasping his cheeks and laughing.

His jaw drops. "You're so mean."

"I'm just getting you back for yesterday. Them's the rules."

"Yeah, but you've been quite sassy all morning, hmm? First, you called me an average boyfriend. Then you didn't even kiss me good morning. That hurts my heart."

"You were completely passed out. How would you have known if I kissed you good morning or not?"

"I can always tell. They bring me back to life."

"Shut up," you scoff, grabbing the platter. "Here's some fruit and homemade bread as a peace offering. Take it or leave it."

"Feed me in the pool, and I'll consider your offer."

"Fine. I'm not getting in, though. I want to sunbathe for a bit.

Harry dramatically rolls his eyes and dives back in. When he emerges, he swims to the edge. You sit down with the platter and let it float next to him before putting your feet in the tepid water. You pick up a slice of bread and hold it to Harry's awaiting mouth. He places your legs over his shoulders, his arms hooking around your upper thighs.

Someone's needy today.

He tosses the bread into his mouth, his eyes rolling back like they did in the wine cellar yesterday. He borderline moans at the taste, his jaw flexing with each chew. After he swallows, he leaves grateful kisses on your thighs. "Deliziosa," he murmurs, paired with more nipping and kissing. You know he's not talking about the bread. The 'a' he added to the end of the word makes it feminine. He's not slick.

Before you both get carried away—wanting to save your pent-up tension for later—you feed him a plethora of fruit before deciding to make both of you an actual meal. You're starving, so you'll catch some sun later.

Harry whines at the loss of contact. You use your foot to push his chest until he's floating on his back again. He throws you a peace sign before you head back inside.

As you whip up a quick breakfast, you watch your boyfriend from the door, appreciating his sunkissed body and tattoos. You smile and think about how time has flown by with him in the most remarkable way.

Three years, and hopefully a lifetime more.

——

You're nervous.

You don't have the faintest idea what Harry's surprise is. All he's said is to dress nicely and not eat anything yet. Maybe he's taking you out to dinner? Or perhaps you'll walk downtown together and stop at vendors. You're stumped. He's annoyingly good at keeping secrets.

It's nearing seven as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Harry is in the bathroom spraying cologne on his neck, looking casually handsome in a flowing, off-white button-up. He's paired it with matching cotton shorts and sneakers that need washing. You keep telling him to clean them, but he ignores your pleading and claims the dirt gives them character.

A short cherry-colored dress with puffed sleeves adorns your body. Red lipstick to match. Hair loose. The necklace Harry bought you for your last anniversary is glimmering against your neck.

Harry comes behind you in the vanity mirror as you apply a final coat of mascara and starts soothingly scratching your upper back. He can probably sense you're feeling nervous, knowing you don't particularly like surprises. However, you think he looks undeniably handsome, with his new tan and stubble pulling you into his coziness. Somehow, just looking at him eases your nerves.

"Gorgeous," he whispers.

You smooth any remaining wrinkles out of your dress. "Thank you. I'm almost done."

"Take your time," he replies, squeezing your shoulders. "I'll start the car."

You make sure your makeup is smudge-free and then shut the bedroom light off on your way to the front door. Harry is waiting by the passenger side of the Corvette with a distracted look on his face. When he finally sees you coming, he opens the door for you. This time, you accept his gentlemanlike gesture.

He drives to an unknown destination, taking the backroads. You can't even guess where you're headed since everything outside the villa is unfamiliar.

Ten minutes later, Harry slows down and turns right toward what appears to be a small seaside forest. He drives along the path leading through the trees until a hidden beach area eventually reveals itself. He parks the car while you're speechless at the sight before you. The only things on the sand are a round table with two chairs surrounded by tiki torches.

No one else is here. If Harry tells you he rented the entire beach, you'll kill him.

"I rented this portion of the beach for the night."

Of course.

"You're ridiculous," you say, taking in your surroundings. "Thank you, Harry. This is a wonderful surprise."

He ducks his head bashfully. "C'mon, let's eat."

You follow him to the table and sit on the wicker chair across from him. In front of you is a plate of stuffed ravioli with a side of roasted asparagus, cooked just how you like them. Harry has vegan fettuccine Alfredo with peas—a lot of peas. A gagworthy amount.

"I'm floored right now," you say, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "I can't believe you did all this without me knowing."

"I'm a sneaky guy. There were lots of secret phone calls while you were in the shower or swimming in the pool.

You take your sandals off and enjoy the cool sand between your toes. "Yeah, I bet. I'm not even going to ask how much it costs to rent this part of the beach."

"It's not important," he says. "Let's eat, shall we? And talk me through this little outfit you have on. Why on earth haven't I seen you wear it yet?"

Then, both of you eat, talk, and watch the waves glide on the shore. The sun is dipping past the horizon, turning the sky a violet shade with splashes of fading orange. You talk Harry's ear off about random stuff in your life and humorous anecdotes since the trip started. His body naturally leans toward you to give you his undivided attention. He listens the entire time, eyes on you with his chin in the palm of his hand, except for when he pops some spearmint gum into his mouth after finishing his truckload of peas.

After you finish rambling, you wait for him to start talking your ear off. He can usually drone on and on about anything for hours, but right now, he's just sitting and staring at the sunset.

"You're quiet," you point out, gently poking his arm with your fork.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

He sighs longingly before saying, "I know we still have more than enough time here, but I kind of don't want to leave. I love it here so much. This is the happiest I've ever been."

Your heart melts. "I feel the same way. I could stay here forever and never get bored of it. Especially with you by my side."

Harry finally looks at you, his eyes holding something unreadable yet powerful. He stands abruptly and reaches his hand out. "Let's walk for a bit," he says with a tone that kicks your anxiety into high gear.

You grasp his hand, and he leads you along the shoreline, your feet getting wet whenever the tide washes up. It's quiet except for the pesky seagulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. Where you are right now makes you want to bottle up the memory so you can keep the feeling forever, replay this trip, and relive the most joyous moments of your life.

Harry eventually stops, facing you with both hands holding yours tightly. He looks... pale. Are his hands shaking, or are you imagining things? Is he about to pass out from sunstroke? Did he eat too many peas?

He clears his throat and visibly gulps, squinting at the sky and exhaling quickly. His feet shuffle nervously. An incomprehensible thought zings to the front of your brain.

Is he about to do what you think he's about to do?

"I might cry and possibly throw up, so please bear with me," he says, his voice shaky.

You just stare at him, unable to say anything. Then he begins lowering himself on one knee, and you just about go down with him.

He removes his hands from yours and takes something out of his pocket. It's a velvet ring box, pink and delicate.

You gasp as Harry opens his mouth, his watery eyes trained on nothing but you. "I love you with all my heart. I'm weak for the things you do, and it consumes me to the point where I feel like I might burst from loving you so much. Every word you speak or smile you give me makes me fall for you deeper and deeper. And you love me back. You love me better than anyone. And I realized when we first met that you're someone I not only want in this life but also need. You're the only one for me, and I'll take care of you, support you, and love you so thoroughly until you get sick of me. I'm rambling now, so I'll shut up and cut to the chase. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? Please? Il mio cuore è solo tuo. If you want it, it's yours."

Harry finishes his speech by opening the ring box to reveal a silver oval-cut ring that takes your breath away. A tear trails down your cheek as your lips wobble. You nod your head what feels like a thousand times. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. Holy shit."

He laughs beautifully, his eyes squinting so much that the captured tears in his waterline spill over. He stands and shakily puts the ring on the correct finger. It fits perfectly.

You cup his cheeks and bring his face toward yours. "I love you," you say while kissing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. "You're so sneaky. I wasn't expecting this until you looked like you were going to pass out in front of me."

"Be glad I didn't throw up on your dress."

"That's true." Suddenly, everything hits you. Harry, we're going to get married."

He smiles with unbridled happiness, nodding before picking you up and running into the sea. The splashes he makes strike you with cold splatters, and you squeal, but it quickly turns into uncontrollable laughter when Harry spins you around and dips you toward the water. You squirm with resistance and manage to escape his arms. He stumbles from the waves but remains upright, then stares at you intensely for three seconds before kissing your lips like they're his life source.

"My fiancée," he says, kissing down your face to your neck. "I adore you."

"Can we"—you whimper breathily—"go back to the villa and celebrate? Some wine, dessert, and... maybe some other things."

He can't propose to you while looking this good and expect you not to jump his bones.

"Sì, mi amore."

——

At the villa, palpable tension lingers in the air and throughout your body. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing through your blood as Harry makes a beeline straight to the master bedroom. It's only right to follow with shallow breaths and a hammering heartbeat.

Approaching the bedroom, you see Harry already taking off his shirt. You walk over and lie on the bed, waiting for him to initiate the celebration. You're usually the one who likes to be in control, but being the sexually dominant type calls for preparation and the right kind of mood. Now, at this moment, all you want is to writhe in pleasure on silk sheets and feel Harry's touch everywhere.

You're already impatiently aroused because of Harry's teasing on the drive back. His fingers were stroking the inside of your thigh, traveling up, up, up until they reached dangerous territory. He'd start to pull away after realizing how wet you already were, but you would trap his hand with your thighs, making him groan. Two could play at that game.

Now, Harry saunters over to you in nothing but his cotton shorts. His tanned skin looks tempting in the muted lamplight. The rest of the lights are off, and the moon is brightly shining in the indigo sky.

"Ready for me?" he asks lowly, hungrily glancing over your body.

You nod and bend your knees. Harry lies on his stomach and gets between your legs, his hands gripping your upper thighs with fervor. He must've put his rings on when you weren't looking. He knows you love the feeling of them. You're not picky as to where.

"Gonna let me take care of you?"

"Please. Please, Harry."

"Patience, my love. Let me see you."

"I'm right here. Do something. Please, I need you."

He shushes you with a soft timbre, scooting closer to where you need him the most. He lifts your dress, bunches the material up by your stomach, and then readjusts his grip on your thighs. His lips trail closer to your lace underwear, and he looks at you under his eyelashes. His eyes ground you, make you nervous, and leave you spellbound. Maintaining eye contact with him is hard when you know you'll come undone way too quickly from just his intense gaze. You're not giving him the benefit of that. Not tonight, at least.

Instead, you stare at the vaulted ceiling and gasp when his lips graze over your underwear. Soft, purposeful movements have you closing your thighs around your head as a reflex. Open-mouthed kisses over your wet lace drive you crazy. You're clenching and internally soliciting for him to just do something.

"Stop teasing," you say firmly, still not looking at him.

"Don't be bossy."

"I'm not being bossy. You're my fiancé, so you're supposed to be nice to me."

He moves your underwear to the side. "Yeah? Does my fiancée want me to be nice to her? I'm always nice, baby. I'm always good for you; you know that."

"You are. It's true. The nicest man I've ever known. No one has even come close." You squirm with impatience. "Just take them off."

Harry doesn't waste any time, propping himself up to slide the material down your legs. You lift your ankles above his head to fling them off, then plant your feet back on the mattress and spread them wide open so he can resume.

His mouth immediately latches onto your clit, sucking it, and his nose fits perfectly above it. You moan loudly, your back arching and your hands grasping his neck. You have to look at him now and watch him take care of you like only he knows how. When you do, it's like a sight straight from heaven. His brows are drawn in, his eyes shut, and his pink lips bring you pleasure in the most intimate way.

Harry continues sucking before soothing his tongue along your entrance. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers. He dives two of them in, curling them in a way that makes you inhale sharply. His mouth occupies itself with kissing the inside of your thighs, biting little marks so you can remember this experience.

The feeling of both his fingers and mouth is overwhelming, and your hand can't help but involuntarily pull his hair.

"God," he mumbles against your thigh. "Do that again, baby."

You pull harder, and a deep, raspy moan leaves his mouth. He begins kissing across your body while his fingers continue to bring you to your peak. He adds a third as he nips your waist, his head exploring under your bunched-up dress. He props one arm up to hover himself over you. You look at him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted, and soft moans escape when he hits a particular spot. He smears a messy kiss on your lips, and you try your best to return it as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

An orgasm quickly forms in your lower stomach. Harry massages your clit with the pad of his thumb to bring you there, knowing your body and when you're about to let go like the back of his hand. He grinds against the bed to soothe his own arousal. He's been hard since your act in the car, having felt your thighs clench around his hands, his fingers so close to his favorite spot. He apparently couldn't help himself.

When Harry hits that final spot that has you crying out, you arch your back and let go. Your eyes squeeze shut as you moan from the delightful pressure freely flowing out of your body.

Harry places his mouth back on yours as you finish, removing his fingers from inside you and gripping your hips, leaving a coat of your arousal on the love bites left there. Your body is strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows and leave marks on Harry's neck. He grunts when you bite the sensitive skin below his earlobe and grinds against the bed once more, stilling and then shuddering through a fierce release.

Oh. He came from that one touch.

He falls flat on the bed, cupping himself and breathing heavily. There's a damp spot on his shorts. It's a filthy sight.

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry," Harry murmurs, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I thought I'd be able to last."

You brush some sweaty hair off his forehead. "It's fine. I don't have to do any work now."

"Hilarious," he says monotonously. He suddenly jumps up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, confusing you. You hear him wash his hands and then turn on the jacuzzi. He returns with a clean pair of boxers and smoothly lifts you from the bed. Your dress covers your exposed state, yet it doesn't hide the slick feeling between your legs. The warm water will feel amazing.

Harry gently sets you on the sink counter as the tub fills up. He grabs a washcloth and dips it under the faucet before cleaning you. It's comfortably silent, with only rushing water in the background.

When the jacuzzi is adequately filled, Harry helps you stand and remove your dress. Once naked, you quickly go to the bathroom while Harry removes his boxers. He then leads you to the jacuzzi to sit down. When he climbs in, you cling onto him for a cuddle as sleepiness washes over you. Harry presses a button to turn the jets on. Everything feels so lovely.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says.

"You knew I would. How could I possibly say no to you after a speech like that?"

"Dunno. We're, like, together forever now." He rubs the ring on your finger. "Well, not yet. But when we actually get married, it's a lifetime with each other. It's wild to think about, but I want nothing more."

"I get what you mean," you say, scrubbing the red lipstick stains on his neck with the pads of your fingers. "I want this with you too."

When you softly rub around his lips, he kisses your finger and looks at you with disbelief. You pluck his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, then lean in to plant a truthful kiss there.

Everything with him is so simple. Every touch is meaningful. Every unspoken word holds the weight of a million words. Every laugh leaves you teary-eyed with a heart full of love.

He is pure love. What he gives so naturally is exactly what he is.

Once your skin turns wrinkly and the water becomes lukewarm, you and Harry get out and dry yourselves off. He retreats to the bedroom to grab pajamas. When he returns, you put on an oversized shirt and walk out of the bathroom after draining the tub, running toward the bed and bellyflopping on it like a kid. Harry shuts the bedroom light off and flops beside you, letting out a long and blissful sigh.

"I'm hungry," he says.

You snort. "You ate a million peas not even an hour ago. How are you still hungry?"

"Sex makes me hungry. And stop making fun of my love of peas. Hey, can you get the cantaloupe? I'm knackered."

His rapid change of topics makes you laugh. "Anything for you, pea boy."

You hear him faintly whine at your new nickname for him as you stroll into the kitchen. You open the refrigerator to grab a bowl of cantaloupe cubes and then return. Harry's eyes are fluttering shut, and his limbs are spread out on the mattress. You climb over him, sitting against the headboard, as he blindly reaches his hand for some fruit. He chews against the pillow, his cheeks squishing adorably.

"Thanks," he mumbles with his mouth full.

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to sleep. I'll put the bowl on the nightstand for you."

Once you've moved the cantaloupe, you scoot down and lie on your back. Harry keeps reaching for the bowl without moving his head, sometimes missing entirely and waving his hand around to find it. You eventually close your eyes, a smile making its way to your face when you realize you'll wake up tomorrow as an engaged woman next to your future husband.

Harry finishes all the fruit in the bowl and then turns off the lamp. He tugs you against his chest, and you exhale happily, his warmth effortlessly pulling you under into a deep sleep.

——

Two Weeks Later

After situating yourself in the airplane seat, you pull out your phone and open Instagram. You and Harry are on your way back from Italy. It was an unforgettable two weeks together, and not one day went by without you making new memories.

You had told only the closest people to you about the engagement—your parents and Harry's. No one else knows, so you decided to announce the news with an Instagram post. You wanted to wait until after vacation to worry about making phone calls and giving details about how it happened.

Now, you start creating a post on the fourteen-hour flight to California. You already know what picture to use—Harry cutely holding a bottle of wine along the lusciously green countryside, ready for a picnic date in a park. Also with an impressive mustache. Throughout the ten days after the engagement, Harry decided to grow his faint mustache into a full-fledged one. You don't know how it grew so fast, honestly. You also didn't know how to feel about it at first, but you're accustomed to liking it now. It makes him look mature.

How it feels between your thighs—well, that's a story for another day.

Harry has chosen to post a picture of the ring, gleaming brilliantly in the pink velvet box. And with him being the artsy, moderately strange social media poster, he had to add something extra to the picture—a paint swatch. Both of you spontaneously went paint shopping one day when you got bored in the villa. You had been talking to him for months about redoing the bathroom at the house, so you went to a local paint store to look at different options. Harry, being the sentimental and cheesy man he is, suggested painting it the color of the ring box he proposed with. You remember thinking the diluted pink would complement the white tiles and granite counter of the master bathroom perfectly.

You couldn't possibly refuse the idea, especially since it would always remind you of that special evening on the beach.

You had searched with him to find a color that resembled the box, all while goofing around and laughing at the bizarrely specific names of the swatches. You pointed to a light green swatch appropriately named Peapod and told Harry he should paint the kitchen that color since he loves peas so much. He pouted at you and dramatically walked down another aisle. Typical. And so sensitive about his peas!

Harry is sleeping beside you, his head snugly settled on a pillow propped against the airplane window while soft snores escape his mouth. You'll wait for him to wake up so you can both post at the same time. As for now, you rest your head on his shoulder to also take a nap. Harry stirs and drowsily slaps his hand onto your knee to keep you close.

You'll miss Italy's golden sunsets, good-natured people, and ethereal views. However, the thought of going home and beginning a new chapter with your fiancé doesn't sound too bad.

Bliss, in all its glory, takes hold once again.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #pink velvet

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acourtofmishapandmistakes · 7 months ago

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Reluctant Arms and Baby Charms

Summary: In response to a comment by @b7717 on one of my posts, I was inspired to write a scene depicting the complicated yet evolving relationship between Amren and baby Nyx. Here, Nyx makes a daring attempt to finally win over his Auntie Amren.

Content Warning: None, just baby fluff

Amren perched regally in an oversized armchair tucked into the shadowy corner of the sitting room. The room was awash in the soft glow of evening; golden light spilled across rich mahogany bookshelves and glinted off delicate glassware, casting long, dancing shadows. This was the families normal routine for their Thursday night dinners.

Across from her, Nesta found refuge against Cassian’s broad side, her body curled into his protective embrace on the plush, sage-green couch. Cassian, his voice a low rumble of amusement, was deep in conversation with Azriel, who lounged in an adjacent wingback chair. With a casual grace, Azriel swirled a glass of amber whiskey, his dark eyes lighting up with laughter at some jest from Cassian.

To the side, on a sprawling, plush rug that dominated the floor, Elain and Feyre created a softer tableau. They sat encircled by a flurry of colorful cushions, their attention devoted entirely to the animated babblings of ten-month-old Nyx. Feyre’s laughter, bright and musical, punctuated the air as Nyx attempted his earnest, albeit wobbly, first steps.

Nearby, Rhysand stood by a towering bookshelf lined with well-worn leather spines. In his hand, he swirled a glass of dark liquid, his posture relaxed against the cool, stucco wall. His gaze, however, was only on his wife and son.

Amren idly swirled her glass of wine, her movements detached and mechanical. Meanwhile, Feyre gently coaxed Nyx onto his unsteady legs, supporting him under his tiny armpits. "Come on, baby boy," she whispered, her voice a tender murmur. Her face lit up with a radiant smile as Nyx cooed, reaching out to tenderly touch his mother's face.

The dinner conversation earlier had bubbled with excitement over Nyx’s recent milestone—pulling himself up to stand while in Rhys's office. Amren, however, found herself drifting away from the animated chatter about the boy's achievements. While she recognized the deep affection that enfolded the family, Amren's own sensibilities were far removed from such domestic warmth. She was not one to revel in the sticky, noisy presence of infants. To her, children were a disturbance, often leaving a trail of havoc on a woman’s physique and serenity. Observing Feyre, now slightly rounder and visibly more worn from motherhood, only cemented Amren’s resolve to remain detached. She preferred her life orderly and unencumbered—precisely the opposite of what she viewed as the chaos of child-rearing.

Feyre gently turned Nyx so he faced his Aunt Elain, who was eagerly extending her arms toward him, a stuffed linen bat—his favorite toy—clutched in her hands. "You can do it, Nyx, come on sweet boy!" Elain cooed encouragingly.

Nyx responded with a series of cheerful, unintelligible babbles. "Oh yeah?" Feyre chuckled, engaging playfully with her son. "That's very interesting." Rhys, overhearing the exchange, let out a soft chuckle. When Nyx emitted another joyful burst of sounds, Cassian jumped in with a teasing grin, "Whoa, let’s not use that kind of language, dude!"

Amren watched the scene unfold with a mixture of bemusement and detachment. She could never quite grasp why the adults indulged in such earnest conversations with Nyx as if he could grasp their words. To her, Nyx was akin to a household pet—endearing perhaps, but fundamentally incapable of meaningful interaction. The distinction, however, was clear: Amren found the company of cats or dogs decidedly more preferable.

Elain jiggled the doll enticingly, and Nyx stretched his chubby little hands toward it as Feyre gradually released her gentle hold. "Come on, Nyx, come to Auntie Elain," Elain coaxed softly. Nyx hesitated, glancing over his shoulder back at Feyre.

"No, no, not mama, go to Elain," Feyre encouraged, guiding his attention forward.

Nesta rose from her place beside Cassian and joined Elain, both aunts reaching out invitingly.

"Look, baby, it’s your Auntie Nesta!" Feyre announced, her voice bright with excitement. "Go to your aunties!" She urged him on.

At the sight of his aunts' animated expressions, Nyx's face broke into a wide, gummy smile. The room filled with the soft chorus of coos and delighted squeals. Nyx wobbled on his unsteady legs, swaying slightly as Elain and Nesta leaned in, their faces alight with anticipation.

With a sudden giggle, Nyx's balance gave way, and he toppled back into his mother’s waiting arms. Feyre enveloped him in a warm embrace and planted a playful raspberry on his cheeks, eliciting an even louder giggle from him.

"You silly boy, that’s your mama, not your aunties," Feyre chuckled, her voice bubbling with affection as she held him close.

Amren managed a tentative smile as Azriel met her eyes. Both shared a similar detachment from the exuberant affections showered upon the new babe. While it was evident they cared about him, neither harbored much interest in the typical rituals of feeding, holding, or babe-watching.

Nesta rose from the floor. “Cass, we should get going. We have an early morning tomorrow.”

Cassian got up from the couch and moved to stand behind Nesta, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a protective embrace and pressing a gentle kiss into her hair.

Elain also stood, stretching slightly. “I should head out too. I’m helping at the farmer's market on Saturday, and they want to meet with me tomorrow about a booth assignment.”

“That’s wonderful,” Feyre replied, her voice warm even as Nyx tugged at a strand of her hair, his small fingers gripping tightly. She winced slightly before freeing herself from his enthusiastic grasp.

Elain bent down to give Nyx a playful tickle on his stomach. “Bye baby boy,” she said, grabbing his bare foot and pressing a kiss onto it.

Nyx, feeling the confines of his mother's arms too restricting, began to fuss and squawk, eager to crawl towards his abandoned toy. Feyre set him down, and he quickly scooted across the floor, grasping the bat and immediately sucking on its wing.

From her vantage point, Amren watched, her expression turning to one of slight disgust at the copious amounts of drool Nyx managed to produce.

As Feyre and her sisters exited the sitting room, trailed by Rhys and Cassian in deep conversation, the atmosphere shifted. Suddenly, it was just Nyx, Azriel, and Amren left—an unlikely trio, each not entirely at ease with the others. Amren contemplated leaving, yet she hesitated, recalling Feyre's promise of a new jigsaw puzzle featuring a painting of herself and Varian that she was eager to acquire.

Nyx, oblivious to the subtle tension, babbled joyfully, waving his stuffed bat energetically above his head. In an overzealous flutter, he released it, sending it sailing across the room to land at Amren's feet. She looked down at the soggy, forlorn toy with a hint of dismay. Nyx, realizing his toy had escaped his grasp, let out a groan of displeasure and began searching for it. Spotting the toy near Amren, his gaze shifted upward, locking eyes with her.

With a faint sigh, Amren nudged the toy back toward Nyx using her foot. Her movement was reluctant but gentle, a small concession to the innocent expectations of a child, even as she maintained her composed detachment.

Nyx flipped onto his stomach and, with a burst of determination, scooted over to the nearest coffee table. Sitting up, he grabbed the edge and pulled himself to his feet. Both Azriel and Amren exchanged nervous glances, unsure of their roles in this sudden display of infantile agility.

As Nyx clung to the table, he glanced back at Amren and flashed her a toothless grin before taking a tentative step forward. Amren's eyes widened in surprise as he cautiously moved along the edge of the table, his small fingers clinging for balance. Suddenly, with a daring little laugh, Nyx released the table and tottered forward unaided, making four shaky steps toward Amren.

Without hesitation, Amren set her wine glass aside and knelt down, extending the soggy bat toy toward him. Nyx's wobbly approach continued until he was close enough to dismiss the toy, instead opting to bury his chubby hands into Amren's cheeks and gaze deeply into her eyes. Overcome by an unfamiliar rush of affection, Amren pulled him close, their foreheads touching.

Azriel, witnessing the scene with astonishment, called out loudly for Feyre and Rhys. The parents rushed back into the room, their questions halting as they caught sight of Amren embracing their son, who stood confidently on his own. Feyre wasn’t sure if she was more taken aback by her son walking, or by Amren willingly touching him.

"He, he walked to her," Azriel managed to announce, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Feyre whipped her head around. "He did what?"

"He—Nyx walked. All on his own, to Amren," Azriel repeated, his arms gesturing wildly toward the pair still on the floor. Nyx, content within Amren's embrace, finally accepted the bat and nestled into her lap.

With a careful adjustment, Amren scooped Nyx up, securing him comfortably in her lap as she reclaimed her seat in the oversized chair. Once settled, she casually picked up her wine glass, swirling the contents before taking a final sip.

The roomful of astonished adults watched, still processing the unexpected turn of events. Amren, feeling their eyes on her, looked up coolly. "What?" She queried nonchalantly. "He's chosen his favorite," she remarked, a hint of a smile playing at her lips as she carefully set the glass down.

Rhys chuckled, "Cassian is going to lose his shit when he finds out about this."

Nyx, ever the adventurous little one, leaned forward a bit too eagerly and nearly tumbled out of Amren's lap. With swift reflexes, Amren caught him by the back of his shirt and pulled him safely back against her. She then wrapped one arm securely around his midsection, holding him close to ensure he wouldn’t take another unexpected dive. This gesture, protective and almost instinctual, surprised even Amren herself.

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simsantoinc · 9 months ago

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Nicheknacks: Some Meshes Repo'd to BB Niches and Recolors

I originally intended to have this be an even larger upload than the rocks ones from a few years ago. I couldn't sustain enough motivation to work on this anymore after working on and off for years, so I just made it a smaller upload. I made or modified a handful of meshes and made a few dozen recolors. I also edited some of the nook folly garden grounds and borders to remove shine and outdoor shadows.

Meshes:

Floor edge hider straight and corner pieces, cloned from Honeywell's bespoke build set so these need to be placed on the same level of the floor edge you want to cover

Outside wall corner, also cloned from and based on the one from the bespoke set

Shelf beds based on and cloned from igne's shelf beds.

Pet bed, top used edited cushion from dark moon's niche crib and is also repo'd to the maxis bedding like the changing tables and cribs in that set. I fixed the issue with the niche part of the mesh being dark after I did the preview. From what I've tested, this can be used as a pet bunk bed with shiftable everything and moveobjects on.

Tudor support from Cyclonesue. I removed the floor part of the mesh. It's in the columns section but doesn't function like a true column. Has a new GUID.

Retaining walls and wall tops that are a mashup of both versions of tbugett's retaining walls

Walls used for Recolors:

4t2 corrugated walls from the eco lifestyle EP. I don't recall which conversion for these I used, but there's at least 2 versions of these around.

Poppet's plain jane stucco half of the files for this are older than my simblr, I just added the other half recently

A handful of Feverfew walls

Lifa's plain GLS wood wall addons

Shasta's BV and AL chimney walls

2 metal panels from MellySim's 1t2 walls

LS little hexagons tiles. I used Corax's wall addon for the blue one and made my own addon wall for the white one, which is included in the download

Swatches: Part 1 | Part 2

Known issues:

Shelf beds clip through the floor into the below floor if the built in setting to make them floor level is used. Though it's still above the AL ceiling level and should only be an issue in some situations without a ceiling. It was a tradeoff between this and having the beds clip though the bottom of the was when in use.

The retaining walls are dark looking unless a significant portion of them is above ground.

All files are compressed with included swatches, the main niche mesh, and preview.

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#sims 2 download #ts2cc #sims2cc #ts2 download #s2cc #download #dl:comfort #dl:pets #dl:surfaces #dl:garden #dl:pool #dl:architecture

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lipstickghoulie · 5 months ago

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Walkin’ the Floor over You

Lucy MacLean/Cooper Howard, eventual smut, mind the future tags.

In which Cooper yaps and Lucy is fed the hell up with him.

Chapter One (word count nearly 2.5k, not explicit)

In the house that Cooper had grown up in, there had been a tangle of ivy going up one side of the stucco outside. It had been one of his favorite features of the old homestead, the beautiful and verdant green splayed out across the brownish-red like a scrawl of cursive. One day, he’d come home to the plants all gone and pitted cracks in the masonry all that remained of where they had been. His parents had explained to him that as pretty as it had been, it was actually damaging and needed to go. He had nodded sagely at the time, already an old-hand at pretending to understand the serious adult issues of the world even as a pre-teen, and put on the most brave face possible. If he felt a twinge of resentment for the ivy being removed at all, then that was between him and his god, wasn’t it?

Still, Cooper found himself thinking of that ivy and its soft and lively little leaves whenever he had to dash out his autograph as an adult, the ink across his own awkwardly smiling photo making him think of grasping vines. He grieved it in his own way even years later, the loss of such a sweet piece of nostalgic scenery. He always felt bittersweet tug on his heartstrings when he would drive past some adorable starter home and see the wisp of green creeping up a wall.

Maybe deep down, Cooper didn’t care that much if the things he enjoyed were destructive… especially if they were easy on the eyes.

It shouldn’t have been surprising that he had developed such a soft spot for the vault girl. She certainly was as pretty as a picture; those big waifish eyes like something some lovestruck painter would have committed to canvas with oil paints. At first, Cooper thought to himself that Lucy seemed better suited for his time than her own, even considering the vaults. But now that he really thought about it, she seemed too good even for the time before the bombs laid waste to all the American dream coated shells of ivy-decorated ranches and idealistic men that used to believe in doing the right thing.

Lucy was a creature that seemed outside of time and more like a perfect caricature of one of those superheroes from an Unstoppables comic book.

The memory of her biting off his finger and showing a shimmery vein of something darker underneath all that golden girl can-do attitude made him smile and Cooper’s cock twitch whenever he thought on it too long. It was gratifying in an odd way that he had been the only one to bring that out in her, to see that secret side of her that he felt like Lucy probably kept hidden even from herself. It felt like he knew her more than people she had spent her entire life with in that safe little vault of hers.

Sometimes Cooper looked down at his hand where his trigger finger had been replaced with hers, the image of herself with blood-greased teeth bared and eyes flashing and he knew that he was letting Lucy creep into the cracks of his heart and cause some damage already.

After so much time alone, Cooper was admittedly open to her causing some damage. For years, Cooper used to fantasize about traveling with someone else that he could trust and who wasn’t just waiting to sink a knife or a bullet into his back for their own benefit. The New York Times had articles about maladaptive daydreaming that he could remember surprisingly well after all these years; he could barely remember what his older sister’s voice sounded like but he could recall the exact font in the newspapers he’d pore over at breakfast while Janey giggled over the funny pages. But for Cooper, he didn’t think about it as maladaptive daydreaming, just hypothetical situations. Something harmless to help him survive each day out here in this terrible and brutal world, imagining the ‘what-ifs’. And hypothetically, he had always wanted someone at his side that was clever, beautiful, adapted well to problems…

If only she would talk to him right now.

Ever since they had started on this leg of their journey together, any ghosts of cheerful smiles and conversation seemed reserved for the dog alone and Cooper himself had been met with terse silence. At first, it didn’t irk him much since part of him thrilled at simply being near her, at having Lucy in his orbit. There was something thrilling about not only hearing the dull clap of his own boot soles hitting the ground as they traveled, at always hearing the answering echo of Lucy’s own and the patter of Dogmeat padding after them. Cooper hadn’t realized how painfully lonely he had been until even little reminders that he had company were enough to quirk up the corner of his mouth. His loneliness had settled into his bones like a break that had never quite healed right and now, the ghoul felt aware of it in a way that he had never quite allowed himself to be before.

It wasn’t until they were crossing what passed for a river around here, carefully making their way across the derelict remains of a bridge across it, that Lucy’s change in demeanor started to actually bother him. Cooper hummed to himself as he looked out over the brackish, murky water, remembering a time when it was clean and clear. When he used to see young kids with fishing poles and lunch pails trying to catch some wily fish on his drive to filming on set. Back when he used to wake up all hopeful and optimistic at what each day would bring.

Cooper peered over the worn guard railings thoughtfully, remarking, “Y’know, I heard some do-gooder had gotten some water purification project runnin’ some years back. It was supposed to provide free, clean water to all of the people across the Capital Wasteland…”

Lucy didn’t comment or ask any questions like he thought she might, her eyes fixed on the concrete underneath her feet. Cooper frowned, though he didn’t let that deter him from talking. Maybe she was keeping an eye out for possible danger, especially since feral ghouls had a liking for hiding underneath abandoned cars littering the roads and bridges. You never knew when dry-rotted and vicious arms might shoot out from under some mass of rusted metal and grab at you.

“Of course, whole thing got mismanaged to hell. Brotherhood of Steel spent more time arguing over how to best distribute the water and who was deservin’ of it than actually helping folks-“

“You certainly like the sound of your own voice,” Lucy interrupted flatly, her small little mouth a straight line of annoyance.

Cooper barked out a laugh despite himself, though it was fueled more by surprise than anything else. Well. It seemed the kitten was in a bitey mood. At least she was saying something, even if it was rude (or was by her Vault-Tec approved therapy speak standards anyways).

“Aw, vaultie, I thought you’d be happy to have some conversation about how things have operated out here in the real world. You seem the type to be real keen on learnin’ and absorbing information,” Cooper crooned, only partially mockingly. A lot of his barbs at her had less vitriol these days than they would have when they first met.

Lucy gave him a tired and annoyed look and said nothing else before glancing away to keep her eyes fixed in front of her. It was the same kind of look that one might turn on an unruly toddler throwing a tantrum at bedtime. Her patience had run out with him probably around the time of the Super Mart debacle.

Cooper was not a man who could let this go though. Despite his insistence on “taking things as they come”, it disquieted him more than he’d like to admit to see her sullen and silent. During his time ‘hypothesizing’ about what it would be like to have a traveling companion, he used to imagine all kinds of scenarios where he could discuss books he had read (and still occasionally skimmed through before trading for caps when he could find one intact), events from pre-bomb drop, etc. Lucy seemed particularly interesting to have conversations with, based on his previous interactions with her… if he could get her out of this funk.

Dogmeat stalked along, unbothered, alongside them, silent except for the sound of her panting. Cooper watched her for a few moments, trying to think of something else to say. Finally, he cleared his throat and tried again, “I used to have a dog back before the world went to hell. A beautiful creature named Roosevelt-“

Lucy came to an abrupt stop where she had been walking in front of him, whirling around to stare at him. Her eyes were incredulous, exasperated. Cooper found them easy to get lost in; huge, limpid pools that made his head spin faster than a hit of Jet. Even after everything, even with her shiny brown hair mussed and disheveled, her Vault jumpsuit rucked down and undershirt coated in grime and sweat… Her beauty was almost too much when turned on him directly. Like staring directly into the sun.

“Mister Ghoul-“ She started to say but this time, Cooper cut in to correct her.

“Cooper Howard. You can call me Cooper.”

He had expected a bit more fanfare from the only I person he had willingly shared his real name with in years but she merely huffed out a ‘I’m so done with you’-style breath and steamrolled right over his dramatic revelation. If Lucy recognized the name at all, she evidently didn’t care enough to comment on it at this moment.

“Mister Cooper,” Lucy began again, annoyance coloring her tone in a way that he’d imagine would be similar in shade to a red Nuka-cola cap if it was visible and not just audible.* “You have been a downright beast to me and this has been one heck of a week. You can’t blame me if I’m not feeling particularly eager to listen to you monologue.”

Cooper hummed a bit, undeterred by her aggravation at him. Reasonably (or at least he thought so), he suggested, “Well, sweetie, it wouldn’t be a monologue if you would join in and ask some questions. Then it would be a downright conversation, wouldn’t it?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his previous behavior towards her, per se. He supposed that in an abstract way, he felt a little bad about it, in the way that one might if a prank goes wrong. Cooper merely hadn’t seen her as much of a person back then and more so a walking, talking Vault-Tec advertisement in the flesh. It’s not like he had held it against her; after all, hadn’t he once been that naive? He just wasn’t going to give her any extra allowances beyond conversation for her idealistic views. Besides, he had stopped looking at most others as more than inconvenient obstacles to his goals at best and dangerous enemies-turned-possible-food at worst. People had shown Cooper over these past two hundred years that they were only looking out for themselves so why waste any consideration or kindness on them himself when it was emotionally exhausting to care at all?

But now that Lucy had proven him wrong, that she alone was different, and had done something nice for him without any benefit to herself? Cooper saw her as a person and a very, very interesting one at that. He had enjoyed messing with her admittedly and he suspected he'd have an even better time now if they could warm up to each other a bit.

Lucy was apparently not on the same page at all judging by how she was slowly blinking at him, taken aback by how casual he seemed in his response. Tersely, she spat out, “I don't want to ask you questions. I don't want to be… buddies and have conversations. I want to find my father, put this whole catastrophic section of my life to bed and see my brother again. We aren't friends, Mister Cooper.”

He couldn't help but smile crookedly at how the vaultie seemed to say “buddies” as if the taste of the word was sour on her tongue, like the very thought of it was too disgusting to even consider. Cooper would be offended if he didn't find it so damn cute.

Besides, he was confident that he could wear her down, ooze into her cracks the way that Lucy had with him. They were going to be spending a lot of time together on the road and Cooper Howard could be a persistent, dogged man when it came to getting what he wanted. He’d weave his way into her good graces steadily and surely until he found some fissures in her heart’s foundation in which to make his home. The Ghoul was not a man who was known to give up easily.

Still, Cooper held up his hands in a placating gesture, chuckling wryly as he murmured, “Alright, alright, sweetheart. I get the message, loud and clear. You aren't going to be making us friendship bracelets and carving our initials together in a little heart on a tree trunk any time soon. I completely understand.”

Lucy stared him down for a few stony moments before grumbling that she didn't understand half of what he had just said to her and turning away to keep walking. She seemed at least slightly mollified and satisfied that she had gotten her point across. Dogmeat chuffed out a happy noise and stopped her sniffing of some nearby concrete to pad after her.

Minutes passed in silence, the only noises the dog’s excited breathing and the dull swish of Cooper’s coat. He couldn't help himself though and remarked out loud, “Back before the bombs made everything so fucked, you used to be able to fish by this bridge-”

Lucy made a high pitched noise of fury similar to a tea kettle indicating it was ready on the stove top. It's funny what sounds you remembered even after not hearing them for decades. It was wild what memories your brain chose to hang onto even if they were irrelevant in the scheme of more important things.

“I. Don't. Care,” Lucy hissed out through gritted teeth, not turning to address him this time, her spine ramrod straight and tense from where he could see the lines of her back from behind.

Cooper attempted to bite back a grin and failed. Oh, he would wear her down alright. She just didn't know it yet.

But he’d get there and he’d have fun doing it.

#my writing #ghoulcy fic #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #fallout tv fic #cooper howard x lucy maclean #cooper x lucy #my fanfiction

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labuenosairesfrancaise · 9 months ago

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Palais Albert Rothschild

Hi guys!!

I'm sharing the Palais Rothchild from Vienna.

House History: The Palais Albert Rothschild was a palatial residence in Vienna, Austria. It was one of five Palais Rothschild in the city that were owned by members of the Rothschild banking family of Austria, a branch of the international Rothschild family. It was located at Heugasse 26, Vienna. Commissioned by Baron Albert von Rothschild, it was designed and built by the French architect Gabriel-Hippolyte Destailleur between 1876 and 1884, and demolished in 1954.

Family History: After the annexation of Austria by Nazi Germany in 1938, the Rothschild family was forced to flee and went into exile in England. Almost immediately, the Nazis turned their attention to the Rothschild art collections, which were the largest and most valuable Jewish-owned art collections in Austria. The treasures of Baron Louis von Rothschild, composed of paintings, statues, furniture, books, armour and coins, were all seized and removed from his house at Theresianumgasse, prior to the Gestapo commandeering the building as its Vienna headquarters. Baron Albert von Rothschild was forced to sign a document giving his consent to the art collection's confiscation, plus the appropriation of all Rothschild assets in Austria by the German government, in exchange for his brother's release from Dachau concentration camp and safe passage for them both out of Austria.

Demolition: In 1954, the palace was torn down. Any items of value that were still left, such as chandeliers, woodwork and fireplaces, were sold off to the Dorotheum auction house at a minimal price, well below their actual value. The stairs and pillars of marble were sold to an Italian; the rest of the stone-work was simply destroyed, and the ornate iron fence and window grillwork were sold for scrap. The richly gilded stucco was ripped down: efforts to reclaim the gold-leaf proved uneconomic.

More info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palais_Albert_Rothschild

------------------------------------------------------------------------------INTERIORS

You will find several rooms to decorate. The most amazing part of this house is de stairs hall, which turns out pretty well :)

I did finish exteriors, but interiors are for you to decorate on your own taste. I just completed some rooms to give you an idea.

This house fits a 64x64 lot. It has many rooms, a set for private apartments, a gilded ballroom, a service sector and a gree house.

You will need the usual CC I use: all of Felixandre, Tha Jim, SYB, Regal Sims, etc.

Please enjoy, comment if you like it and share pictures with me if you use my creations!

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waterrestorationlv1 · 23 days ago

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Kitchen Contractor

Stucco Contractor

Drywall Contractor

Water Damage Restoration

Fire Damage Restoration

Mold Removal Service

https://waterrestorationlv.com

#Kitchen Contractor #Stucco Contractor #Drywall Contractor #Water Damage Restoration #Fire Damage Restoration #Mold Removal Service

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davycoquette · 5 months ago

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the summer of our discontent

June, 1996

Ruck took the stairs slowly with his cigarette clenched between his teeth. At the bottom, he shifted his gig bag and backpack on his shoulder and stared into the wet morning fog.

His life unfurled ahead of him; a flat, unbending, and featureless road.

There was no sidewalk, so he walked in the overgrown bluegrass. He headed west, toward the Styx River, because why the fuck not? It felt as if he had been borne into this world just then, disconnected from the brief and meaningless past before Decatur. He had nothing now but his baggage, which guided him like a migratory instinct toward one of the last places he had been besides home.

The fog simmered away in the heat and he sat on the curb at Crossroads eating a cold gas station breakfast pizza between sips of Grapico. The sun tanned the back of his neck and drops of sweat fell from his jaw onto the sandy asphalt.

At the intersection a man in a sweat-yellowed undershirt that clung to his ribs stopped him to ask for something. His voice was a copperhead hiss and Ruck eyed the calluses on his upturned palms.

“I cain’t understand you,” he said, and left the man mumbling where the four paths met.

In Hurricane he reached the edge of the earth and the air was heavy with salt and damp. He watched the Spanish moss on the cypress trees swing over the Tensaw River then on impulse thumbed his way into the back of a pickup that came shuddering down Bayou Road.

The driver was an old man with eyes as yellow as his few teeth, and his wife, aged indeterminably between forty and seventy, asked Ruck if he didn’t want out before they merged onto 65. He addressed her through the open back glass, and told her no, he’d better sit tight.

At sunset he tilted his head back to gaze up at the weathering steel arches of the Dolly Parton Bridge, then closed his eyes and breathed in the cloying wetland stench.

It was dark when they let him off at the edge of Creola, and he walked south to the La Quinta to book a room with his lawn-keeping money.

His clothes peeled audibly off his skin and he scrubbed them with a bar of handsoap in the bathroom sink after a long shower. He draped them over the rusted balcony railing and smoked a cigarette while he watched one treefrog fuck another one on the fake stucco wall. Voices carried down from the balcony above his, and Ruck left the sliding door open when he went in to drop his towel and fall into bed.

Close to nine in the morning he woke, removed a treefrog from the curtain, fetched his clothes from the balcony, and crushed Adderall on the little table next to the TV set. He got dressed and headed down to the lobby, where he fixed himself coffee and a waffle while his teeth chattered and the blood threatened to burst out of his veins.

Inspired, he walked down to the truck stop after breakfast with the previous day’s clothes souring in his backpack. He wandered the lot in the heatwaves and an old trucker leaned his head out his cab window and said, “You’re ‘bout the meanest lookin’ lizard I ever seen.”

Ruck hauled himself up on the passenger side step to goad the man into a fight, but the Yorkshire terrier in the seat jumped up and bit him the moment his fingers hooked over the edge of the window and the fire was doused from his blood. He dropped a few coins in the payphone outside and summoned a cab while sucking the joint of his finger.

Mobile was a short ride south of the truck stop, but the fare was twenty bucks he couldn’t afford to spend. Outside a musty music store at the fringe of the business district, he set up in the shadow of a live oak growing from the sidewalk and earned a couple bucks playing some Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash. A kid from the University wanted Freebird and Ruck played and sang a while, but the young man rode off on his bike half the song in and the street cleared out.Ruck picked up a late lunch from a mom and pop oyster bar, and sat reading the free classifieds he picked up from a stand outside. There wasn’t much of anything — except that the Greater Gulf State Fair was hiring. On closer inspection, they wanted interns from the college — but he couldn’t see the harm in paying a visit, anyway. Surely the damn fair didn’t intend to run a background check, and anyway, his attention had been good and grabbed by the logo of the cowboy astride a bronc printed in the ad.

#writeblr #writing community #creative writing #ruck #that 90s incarceration #original writing #writing share #writing excerpt #excerpts #writerscommunity #character exposition #exposition #tw #tw addiction #tw drug mention #tw withdrawal #drug mention #withdrawal #that90sincarceration

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ukrainenews · 1 year ago

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Mutinous Russian mercenaries who surged most of the way to Moscow have agreed to turn back to avoid bloodshed, their leader said on Saturday, in a de-escalation of what had become a major challenge to President Vladimir Putin's grip on power.

The fighters of the Wagner private army were just 200 km (125 miles) from the capital, said the leader, former Putin ally Yevgeny Prigozhin. The rebels had captured the city of Rostov hundreds of miles to the south before racing across the country.

"They wanted to disband the Wagner military company. We embarked on a march of justice on June 23. In 24 hours we got to within 200 km of Moscow. In this time we did not spill a single drop of our fighters' blood," Prigozhin said in an audio message.

"Now the moment has come when blood could be spilled. Understanding … that Russian blood will be spilled on one side, we are turning our columns around and going back to field camps as planned."

The decision to halt further movement across Russia by the Wagner group was brokered by Belarusian President Alexander Lukashenko in return for guarantees for their safety, his office said. There was no immediate word on the deal from Putin.

Earlier, Prigozhin said that his "march for justice" was intended to remove corrupt and incompetent Russian commanders he blames for botching the war in Ukraine.

In a televised address from the Kremlin, Putin said Russia's very existence was under threat.

"We are fighting for the lives and security of our people, for our sovereignty and independence, for the right to remain Russia, a state with a thousand-year history," he said, vowing punishment for those who "who prepared an armed insurrection".

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy said the Wagner revolt exposed complete chaos in Russia.

"Today the world can see that the masters of Russia control nothing. And that means nothing. Simply complete chaos. An absence of any predictability," Zelenskiy said in his nightly video address.

Video obtained by Reuters showed troop carriers and two flatbed trucks each carrying a tank driving 30 miles (50 km) beyond Voronezh, more than half way to Moscow. A helicopter fired on them near Voronezh.

More than 100 firefighters were in action at a fuel depot ablaze in Voronezh. Video footage obtained by Reuters showed it exploding in a fireball shortly after a helicopter flew by.

Further along the road, video showed, vehicles apparently placed as barricades to slow Wagner's advance had been tossed to one side.

Prigozhin, whose private army fought the bloodiest battles in Ukraine even as he feuded for months with the military top brass, said he had captured the headquarters of Russia's Southern Military District in the city of Rostov without firing a shot.

'WILL THERE BE CIVIL WAR?'

In Rostov, which serves as the main rear logistical hub for Russia's entire invasion force in Ukraine, residents milled about calmly, filming on mobile phones as Wagner fighters in armoured vehicles and battle tanks took up positions.

One tank was wedged between stucco buildings with posters advertising the circus. Another had "Siberia" daubed in red paint across the front, an apparent statement of intent to sweep across the breadth of Russia.

"Will there be civil war?" a woman in Rostov asked the mercenaries who took over the city. "No, everything will be fine," a fighter answered.

The region surrounding Rostov is an important oil, gas and grains hub.

In a series of hectic messages overnight, Prigozhin had demanded that Defence Minister Sergei Shoigu and the chief of the general staff Valery Gerasimov should come to see him in Rostov.

'SIGNIFICANT CHALLENGE'

Western capitals said they were closely following the situation in nuclear-armed Russia. U.S. President Joe Biden spoke with the leaders of France, Germany and Britain, while Secretary of State Antony Blinken spoke to counterparts from G7 nations.

The top U.S. military officer, Army General Mark Milley, cancelled a scheduled trip to the Middle East because of the situation in Russia.

The insurrection risked leaving Russia's invasion force in Ukraine in disarray, just as Kyiv is launching its strongest counteroffensive since the war began in February last year.

"This represents the most significant challenge to the Russian state in recent times," Britain's defence ministry said.

#russia #wagner group #rostov

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drrubinspomade · 1 month ago

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#stucco

STILL ROCKIN’.

We post glorious pinups like this one all day, every day, all unique! If you dig this pic we’ve found online, u should investigate the creator/subjects of the work and fan them, follow them, hire them.

If you’d like us to remove, or you know who made this so that we can credit, DM. Thanks and greetings from Los Angeles.

YOU ARE THE LIGHT

Dr Rubin’s Pomade

#pinup

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

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CLOUD NINE

— a swoonworthy sequel to pink velvet 💍

——

Lake Como is an area with timeless appeal that seizes the eyes of every wanderer roaming the enticing paradise of solitude. Rolling vineyards weave throughout the countryside, with snow-capped mountains rising above the clouds. Romanesque cathedrals and theaters overlook the grand lake, beautifully shaped by glacial movements. Opulent gardens of cascading wisteria and olive groves blossom across the region, decorating the premises of historical villas and estates.

It's bliss for the second time.

It also happens to be one of the most desired places in Italy for wedding venues, which is why you're currently driving through the captivating village of Bellagio with Harry the evening before the big day. A year has passed since you were in Salerno together for your third anniversary. A year since he proposed on the secluded beach he rented out for you, bent down on one knee with shaky hands holding a pink velvet ring box that encapsulated evermore.

Now you're back and ready to marry the man who has one hand on the steering wheel of the vintage car and the other resting on your thigh.

Bellagio, which juts into Lake Como, greets you with cobblestone streets hugged by dainty shops and restaurants. Stucco and terracotta houses painted with pastel colors sit with their wooden shutters open, plants on their balconies, and ivy climbing their walls. Everything is perfectly placed and flourishing under the European sky.

A boat launch is where both of you are headed since the sun will be setting soon, and being on the lake is where tourists say it is the most idyllic place to admire. You're going to rent a private speedboat for two hours to wind down and spend time together on the alpine waters before being the center of attention tomorrow.

The narrow backroads lead to the pier, where many boats are docked. Harry has brought a comically large backpack filled with various snacks, books, and other items to keep busy while on the lake. He's currently humming along to a solemn Italian waltz statically playing through the car's antique radio speakers. His hair whips in the wind, and golden hour light dances across his face.

"I know you're looking at me," he says, gently squeezing your thigh.

You snap out of your trance and lean over the console to kiss his dimple. "You're just really... bello? Is that how you say pretty?"

His cheeks flush an endearing shade of pink. "Bello, yeah," he murmurs with a shy smile. "Thank you, baby."

After another few peaceful minutes of driving, Harry pulls into a parking lot by the docks. The piers bob in the shallow water. The lake is even more stunning up close, with delicate ripples and a mountainous backdrop that resembles a contemporary impressionist painting.

As you gaze upon the elegant villas sitting along the coastal cliffs, the passenger door swings open, a gentlemen-like gesture Harry always makes, no matter how many times you've told him you're entirely capable. You sling your tote bag over your shoulder and pick up Harry's backpack, which is crammed in the space behind the seats. You hand it to him and then interlock your fingers with his before walking to the launch. Luxurious boats rock in the water; their exteriors are glossy and classic, and their interiors are more modern with white leather seats.

"Ciao, siamo qui per il noleggio di due ore," Harry greets the group of men standing on the pier with cigars poking from their lips.

They all smile and wave the both of you over. Harry initiates a foreign conversation with them that you can't understand, save for a few fleeting words. Eventually, one of them claps their hands together and leads you to a speed boat. As the other men remove the ropes that secure it, Harry reaches his hand out to help you step on. He then guides you to the driver's seat, sitting down and settling you on his lap as he sticks the key into the ignition.

"Ready, cipollino?" he asks, recalling the nickname he gave you last year while tipsy under a streetlight. His hand rests on the curve of your back as the engine rumbles to life.

"Yeah," you reply with an eager nod. "And stop calling me that!"

"What should I call you, then?"

"Your wife."

"Not yet, darling." He kisses your neck and then looks behind him, giving the men a thumbs-up.

They return his gesture, and he doesn't waste any more time as he pushes the throttle forward, making the boat lurch. With your legs draped over his, the village becomes farther away. Sailboats and ferries float on the water, and Italian flags are proudly attached to them.

The speed creates swells of water that refreshingly spray your skin as you lean your cheek against the top of Harry's head. He steers with one hand as the other reaches down to unzip his backpack. He sifts through the belongings, eventually taking out a container of mixed cheese cubes he bought a couple of days ago when he went shopping at a local food market.

"Close your eyes and guess," he says over the gusty breeze, hiding the container behind his back.

You close them and open your mouth so he can feed you. You hear him snap the container's top off and then feel a cheese cube on your tongue. You chew it, humming thoughtfully while you figure out the distinct flavor.

"Provolone. That's too easy," you say after swallowing. "Give me another one."

A second piece is given; this time, it's a uniquely rich flavor you've never tasted. You decide to just guess fancy names you've heard in passing. "Um, mascarpone? No, wait. Gorgonzola?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I have no bloody clue what it is." You laugh and open your eyes, but Harry quickly covers them with his large hand. "One more," he murmurs cutely.

Parting your lips again, you wait for another piece of unknown cheese. However, a pair of soft lips capture your mouth instead. You feel Harry smirk against it, causing you to tilt your head with a bright smile.

"Was that too cheesy?" he asks, playfully tickling your ribs before cutting the engine so the boat can drift. "Eh? Get it?"

You drape your arms over his broad shoulders. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

He scoffs under his breath. "What do you mean? I come up with these killer jokes on the spot."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, calling his bluff. "Tell me another one."

Harry pouts his lips and thinks. "Let's see. Give me a second; I have loads of good ones." You giggle into his neck as he struggles. "Okay, I've got it. Why does water never laugh at jokes?"

"I don't know. Why?"

He cradles your head and whispers in your ear, "It isn't a fan of dry humor."

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. "That was terrible."

He pretends to throw you overboard, leaving you squealing and holding on tight to his shirt. "Sii gentile."

The following two hours are spent cruising around the lake, pointing out extravagant architecture, and reading the several translated Italian romance novels you bought from an independent bookstore. The mountains are hazy due to the clouds drifting past the jagged crests. The faraway sounds of ferry horns and coos from the wading birds provide a serene atmosphere. You don't plan to remove yourself from Harry's lap anytime soon since his calm breathing and affectionate kisses against your skin make you fall into a blissful reverie.

It doesn't feel like the wedding is tomorrow. The reality hasn't quite hit you yet; you've always felt like it's been some unreachable day that won't ever happen. But now you sense the forthcoming nerves and anticipation somewhere deep in your bones.

There's only one more sunrise until he's eternally yours.

Once the sun has plunged below the horizon and left a blended tangerine and turquoise sky in its wake, Harry lets you take control of the steering wheel to drive the boat back to the docks. You successfully maneuver it between two narrow piers. The men that previously helped get up from their chairs and come over with rope. Harry takes the key out of the ignition, puts his backpack on, and then grabs your hand and ushers you to land.

"Grazie per la vostra generosità," he tells them with a hand on his heart. "Buonanotte."

"Sei il benvenuto," replies one of the men with a kind bow. "Guidare sicuri."

The both of you smile and walk to the parking lot, getting back in the car.

"That was so relaxing," you say as you slightly recline the seat and sigh happily.

"Mm-hmm." Harry rubs his full stomach and yawns. "I'm definitely going to sleep like a baby tonight."

"Really? I think I'll be up all night with anxiety."

"Why? Getting cold feet already?"

"No, just nerves," you say. "It's a life-changing event we've been planning for so long."

His thumb strokes the back of your hand as he starts driving. "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty confident I made the right choice in marrying you."

"I'm not doubting that. I just—"

"I know, love," he interrupts softly. "I'll probably be a jittery mess tomorrow if it makes you feel any better."

You give him a reassuring glance before closing your eyes while he takes the backroads that lead to the villa. The windows are rolled down, warm air envelops your face, and the smell of bread makes you hungry again. Harry will often read the random names of restaurants and shops that he passes or quietly hiccup from all the food he ate earlier.

Just as everything becomes background noise, you suddenly feel the car slow down and jerk to a stop. You open your eyes and see that you're on a flat bridge made of gray cobblestone that connects the downtown area to a dirt path lined with cottages. You look over at Harry and find him staring at you with an indecipherable expression, his mouth downturned, and his eyes dancing between yours.

"I think there's something wrong with the car," he says.

"What?"

"It just stopped." He scratches his jaw and sighs. I'm pressing on the gas, but it's not moving."

You blink in confusion. "The car is in park, Harry.

"No, I think the car just broke down. Stay here. Let me check under the hood."

"Just put it in drive. Nothing's wrong with it."

Harry ignores you and opens the door, getting out and slowly walking to the front. His hands place themselves on his hips as he bends his knees and studies the car, like he knows what he's doing. He definitely does not.

"Hey!" he calls out, pointing a finger somewhere next to you. "It's a little chilly out. Do you mind grabbing my suit jacket from under my seat?"

Suit jacket? What is he talking about? You turn your head and reach under the driver's seat to blindly grab the jacket he apparently brought along. You feel a soft material against your fingertips, and you pick it up and set it on your lap. Sure enough, it's a suit jacket that's neatly folded and the color of a robin's egg. You've never seen it before, and you don't know when he could have possibly bought it since you've been inseparable since arriving in Italy.

You hold it up, and Harry grins, shuffling over to the passenger window. You notice that the stripes on his button-up perfectly match the jacket. Interesting.

"Grazie," he says nonchalantly, taking it from you and putting it on. "Fits like a glove. Speaking of..."

You cross your arms over the window and rest your chin on them. "You're acting really suspicious right now, and I suggest you tell me what's going on before I cancel the wedding."

Harry simply laughs and heads over to the hood. You watch as he reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a pair of white gloves made of lace.

Now you're concerned.

He gazes up at you from under his eyelashes and smirks, putting on the gloves like he's about to perform surgery. "What?" he asks while straightening his collar. "I don't want to get my hands dirty."

You shake your head in disbelief. "Where did you even get those?"

He ignores you once again and pulls out his phone. He types something briefly and then holds it against his ear. "Towing company," he mouths to you, pointing at his phone with a wink.

You're speechless as you sit in the car, wondering what he mysteriously has up his sleeve. You're not stupid; there's obviously something going on because the car clearly has not broken down, and he's calling a towing company for some reason.

During the short conversation, you listen to him speak Italian in a low murmur, and before you know it, he's hanging up and strolling toward the metal railing of the bridge. He puts his hands in his pockets and paces back and forth, looking up at the peach-colored sky and then out at the sapphire-blue water.

As you're about to step out and join whatever he's doing, you hear distant music start playing. You look out the window and see a group of people walking in your direction, all holding instruments such as mandolins, horns, and accordions. Harry is also walking your way in your peripheral vision, a cheeky expression on his face.

You don't know where to look, but your ears recognize the familiar tune of "That's Amore" by Dean Martin when the group starts singing. Harry quickly rounds to the front of the car and does a clumsy spin, then leans his body and elbow on the hood, lifting one foot up as he begins mouthing along to the lyrics with a satisfied smile.

"Dance with me, amante."

You release a shocked laugh and join him. "Did you plan all this?"

He daintily sticks out his gloved hand for you to take. "I might have researched Italian wedding traditions a while ago. One of them involves serenading the bride from outside her window, but... I put my own twist on it, I guess. The car didn't actually break down."

You hum against his chest as he begins swaying you. "Yeah, I caught onto that pretty quickly."

"I'm a shit liar," he mumbles into your hair, giving you a twirl. "Anyway, the bride is supposed to lower down a basket of bread, cheese, and prosciutto to accept the marriage." His hand leaves your waist to dig into his pocket. "And my darling, I just happen to have some leftover cheese cubes. Would you be so kind as to do the honors?"

He pulls out a small bag with only three pieces of cheese left. He takes one out and holds it gently between his fingertips. You take it and dramatically clear your throat. "Harry Styles, I accept this marriage. I cannot wait until tomorrow."

Grabbing your wrist, he pops the cheese into his mouth, grinning widely as he chews. "I accept your acceptance."

You continue slow dancing on the bridge as the song crescendos, the singers happily crooning the love-filled lyrics while you're pressed close to Harry.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

——

White silk with a subtle hue of lavender feels cool against your skin, the thin fabric of your dress lightly blowing in the breeze.

Harry is right around the corner, probably fidgeting with his fingers behind his back, toeing the ground, and ensuring his outfit is wrinkle-free. You can almost feel his energy, along with the collection of yours and Harry's close family and friends who flew out for the wedding. You hear them distantly chatter as they wait for your arrival.

Deep breaths are the only kind you've been taking all day, and you're surprised the pendant of your necklace isn't shaking from how hard and fast your heart is pounding. You haven't seen Harry since you fell asleep next to him last night, knowing he planned to sneakily slip out of the villa to get ready with his groomsmen early in the morning.

It's evening, so a golden tint casts over everything. The private ceremony occurs outside the lakeside courtyard, surrounded by lush gardens and pathways shaded by trees. The white aisle is rolled out, and a tall, flowered arch can be seen from where you stand behind the trimmed hedges. Stone statues guard the premises, some with moss and chipped bodies.

As you focus on a yellow butterfly that lands on a blade of grass, you suddenly hear the ceremonial music begin playing. Someone behind you squeezes your shoulders and gently pushes you, whispering encouraging words in your ear. You're too distracted by the movement of your dress to comprehend them as you begin walking down the aisle.

Watch your step.

One foot in front of the other.

Don't trip.

Yet when you finally turn the corner, keeping your eyes on the ground is impossible. It's as if everything happens in slow motion. You hear excited gasps and violins in your ears, but your eyes are your strongest sense at the moment. They naturally gravitate upward to find Harry. He's wearing all silk, just like the both of you planned, along with the same hue of lavender threaded into the fabric. Silk trousers with a silk dress shirt tucked into them and white suspenders. A couple buttons are undone.

He's so stupidly handsome.

Once your gaze meets his, matching smiles of pure love take over both of your faces. His is a dimpled one that leaves you breathless, and yours is a gentle one that makes his tears spill over.

You see him roll his trembling lips in, looking down with a soft laugh and a sniffle. When you reach him, you accept his bouquet of flowers and stand face-to-face with him for the first time today.

"You look gorgeous," he whispers while shaking his head in awe.

"You look pretty," you whisper back.

He bites the inside of his cheek and glances down at your lips. "I want to kiss you, but I can't."

You laugh and look at the officiant when he raises his hands. "Welcome, everyone," he says. You may be seated."

Everyone sits, and you exhale a long breath. You feel Harry squeeze your hands as the officiant drones on about the joining of the couple and what lifelong commitment means. You're not listening; you're too lost in Harry's teary eyes as they roam your face and dress.

"Is the bride ready to say her vows?"

You snap your head to the side and nod, a little embarrassed that you zoned out during what were probably important and sentimental words.

You release Harry's hands and take the folded note from your bra, making the crowd laugh. Harry rolls his eyes with a smirk. As you smooth the paper's creases, you feel your throat bob with emotion, thinking about how you poured every bit of your soul into the inked words you wrote for him.

Inhaling deeply, you swallow the lump in your throat. "Harry," you say with a tender squeeze of his sweaty hand, "you are someone who I believe comes into people's lives with a purpose. You came into mine when I wasn't looking for love, but you swept me off my feet with your kindness and attentive nature. I'm so in love with you, truly. When your eyes crinkle with laughter or when you remember intricate details about me. I even love the annoying things, like how you really love peas or how you have to turn the radio down when the roads are busy so you can concentrate. Everything you do and say is beautiful. Your presence is graceful and warm. I'm so thankful I get to be around it for the rest of my life. I love you and promise to do so through every moment, whether rain or shine. Ti amo."

When you finish, your cheeks are damp with tears as the crowd claps. Harry looks past you, quickly wiping under his eyes.

"And would the groom like to say his vows?" asks the officiant.

"Yeah, one second," Harry says as he tilts his head and blinks back tears. He looks back down and takes his vows out of his sock.

"Ew," you say.

"Shush," he says with a smirk. "Okay, um... I'm going to try to get through this without completely losing it." He clears his throat. "So, I wrote this last night when you were sleeping. I wasn't procrastinating; I just wanted to write it when my emotions were high."

He unfolds the paper and straightens his posture. "I love you so much. You know it. Everyone knows it. You've had me whipped since I met you, and I swear it's only gotten worse over the years. I told you when I proposed that I was weak for you. Well, I still am. Always will be. Because I hang onto every word you speak, and my heart beats like a madman every time you look at me. The tremendous love you give me is something I don't deserve. It keeps me going, and the fact that I get to feel it for a lifetime makes me the happiest man in the world. Ti amo forever."

You let out a soft sob and dab under your eyes with your knuckle so your makeup doesn't smear. You secretly give Harry the middle finger for making you cry, and he gives one back, making your family and friends cackle.

"Now for the rings." The officiant hands both of you your designated bands and then looks at you first. "Does the bride take the groom to be her lawfully wedded husband?"

You slide the gold band onto Harry's ring finger, his hand shaking. "Lo voglio."

He seems surprised by your unexpected Italian, raising his eyebrows.

"And does the groom take the bride as his lawfully wedded wife?"

Harry slides your ring on. "Lo voglio," he repeats confidently.

"Then it is my delight and honor to now pronounce you husband and wife," concludes the officiant. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Mr. and Mrs. Styles!"

Everyone stands and cheers, hollering in celebration. Harry spreads his arms and pumps his fists with a wide smile.

"Can I kiss him?" you ask impatiently.

The officiant laughs and nods. "Yes, you may kiss the groom."

You immediately grab Harry's cheeks and slot your mouth over his, feeling his arms tightly wrap around your waist as he dips you toward the ground. The crowd whoops, and camera shutters click, capturing the official moment.

"Mrs. Styles," Harry murmurs against your lips, kissing them repeatedly until they ache.

You grab his hand and walk down the aisle together, waving and smiling at your families as they throw white flower petals in your path. There's a green convertible parked at the end, a getaway car of sorts, for you and Harry to take to the reception. It has a wreath hung across the trunk and bottles of alcohol and bread in a basket on the console. Harry opens the door for you as family and friends gather around, taking pictures and chatting with one another.

"Wait, we have to change into our outfits before we get there," you say abruptly as he begins slowly driving away. "We didn't think this through."

When you and Harry were planning the wedding, you agreed that you should both change into comfortable party outfits for the reception so it would be easier to move around and dance. Outfits the others hadn't seen yet were picked out and secretly packed in separate suitcases.

You took a risk with yours, to say the least.

"No," he gasps dramatically. "What are we possibly going to do? Bloody hell, we'll have to change in the woods!"

You smack his arm. "Shut up, I'm serious! I've been waiting all year to show you my outfit. We have to stop somewhere."

"Love, we can just change in the bathrooms once we get there."

"Fine. Hurry up, though. I'm excited."

He rolls his eyes and presses on the gas pedal harder.

After about ten minutes, you arrive at the outdoor reception area, which has circular tables and chairs on the lawn with a dance floor in the middle. String lights decorate the low-hanging trees, and some people are already gathered with flutes of champagne and plates of appetizers in their hands.

Harry parks the car and grabs your suitcases, sneakily going around the back of the old-fashioned estate that the venue is a part of. A security guard, wearing sunglasses and an earpiece, stands straight as a pin in front of the fancy double doors.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry says, never letting go of your hand. "Where's the nearest bathroom?"

He clears his throat and looks him up and down suspiciously. "Take the first left. The door is the fourth one on your right."

"Thank you!" you call out from behind, since Harry is already dragging you down the porcelain hallway.

Once you reach the bathrooms, Harry enters one stall while you go into the other. You're both breathing heavily and giggling as you unclasp your suitcases and pull out your outfits.

Yours is a rose gold mesh bodycon dress decorated with rhinestones that came with long, matching gloves. Your beige underwear and bra will be visible under it, but that's the intended purpose. You also bought a faux fur boa scarf to hook around your elbows. You unzip your wedding dress and slip on the other one, then walk out of the stall with your empty suitcase.

Harry walks out a minute later, and your knees weaken. He's wearing a suit jacket and trousers with no shirt underneath. What's even more incredible is that the color of the sequined material is almost the exact shade of what you're wearing.

"Shut up," Harry says with a laugh of disbelief. "No way we picked the same color."

All you can respond with is, "Your tits are out."

He looks down at them. "Yeah... I suppose they are."

"You look so hot."

"So do you." He runs his hands from your waist down to your ass. "You look dazzling, Mrs. fuckin' Styles."

"Don't start anything," you warn, gripping the lapels of his suit. "We need to say hello to everyone."

He smirks. "It's crazy that we thought of the same color. I was going to buy a white vest and matching pants, but something told me to get this instead."

"That just means you have good fashion intuition."

"No, I think it means we're soulmates."

You kiss him. "That, too. C'mon, let's go before people get bored."

The reception commences, and hugs and well wishes are all around as you and Harry wander the lawn hand in hand. The weather is perfect, and the sun isn't too sweltering because of the breeze from the nearby lake.

Hours pass, the moon is out, and string lights twinkle around the venue. The dance floor has been open for a while, and everyone is a little tipsy and sweaty as they dance with each other. You've already done the first dance with Harry, swaying to "Moonlight Serenade" by Frank Sinatra as he whispered sweet nothings with his forehead pressed against yours.

After another slow song ends and couples find other people to dance with, "Careless Whisper" starts playing. Harry screeches in your face while shaking your shoulders.

When the bridge plays, he gets down on his knees before you and belts the lyrics, his hair falling in his face as his outfit shimmers from the strobe lights. You put the fur boa around his neck and pull him closer. His hands run up the length of your legs, eventually reaching your hands as you help him.

"My pants just ripped!" he yells over the music.

"Seriously?!" you yell back with wide eyes.

He tilts his head back and laughs with his hands resting on his exposed stomach. You immediately spot the small, ripped seam on his right thigh and begin laughing along with him. It's not even that funny, but cloud nine lifts you too high to care.

The party goes on, and people slowly leave as midnight nears. Soon enough, it's just you and Harry left as the music volume lowers and the chairs start being put away. You eventually stumble with flushed cheeks and giddy smiles to the sleek black limo waiting at the front of the estate.

"Where am I taking the happy couple?" asks the driver.

"Villa Balbiano, please," Harry replies. "And turn the music up loud, yeah? Apologies in advance."

The both of you clamber into the back of the limo, immediately putting the partition up. You straddle Harry's parted thighs as he begins massaging your breasts. "Take your bra off. Let me see your tits under this dress."

You unclip your bra, sliding it off and tossing it to the side. Harry kneads your ass and tilts his head back against the headrest, the veins in his perspiring neck becoming noticeable.

"I'm so gone for you," he says, biting your thumb as if restraining himself from doing a more provocative act.

"That's sweet." You climb off his lap and sit beside him, putting your seatbelt on. "But you'll have to wait."

His jaw clenches in annoyance, and you grin. You love giving him whiplash.

The ride to the villa is short but filled with tension. Harry broodingly looks out the window when the driver pulls into the gravel driveway, his right hand gripping the edge of the seat, his thighs tense.

Once the car is parked, Harry kindly squeezes the driver's shoulder, opens the door, and gets out. In an instant, your door is opened, and you're suddenly scooped up and thrown over Harry's shoulder as he walks up the driveway toward the arched doors. He navigates through the spacious rooms and up the grand staircase in complete silence.

You know what you're in for.

Harry tosses you on the king-size bed and crawls over you, placing his forearms on either side of your body. His cross necklace dangles over you, which is ironic considering how he's looking at you right now.

"Gonna let me fuck my wife, or do I have to wait for that too?" he asks lowly, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your breasts and keeping eye contact with you.

You bite your lip and slide the straps of your dress down, quickly slipping it off. Harry then grabs your wrist and uses his teeth to take one of your gloves, biting the fabric at the top of your fingertips. They're long and tight, so he struggles, huffing and closing his eyes in disappointment.

"This is supposed to be sexy. Stop making fun of me," Harry says with a defeated laugh, taking the route of just yanking them off and throwing them on the floor.

"I didn't say anything," you say, covering your mouth so you don't let a laugh escape. "And those are really expensive, Harry!"

He just shushes you and takes your underwear off. He then buries his face into your inner thigh as you spread your legs open. You're already wet; your warm arousal is sticking to your skin. He laps some of it up and rumbles a groan.

"Will you let your husband take care of you tonight? Hmm? Tell me."

"God, Harry." You whine when his nose nudges your aching clit. "Yes. Please."

"So polite for me." He teasingly licks the inside of you with one stroke of his tongue, but it's not enough. "Such a good girl that was dressed like a filthy slut tonight."

"Says you," you reply breathlessly. "You had your tits out all night while you danced with my grandma."

Harry hums a laugh and pushes his nose forward, making you wrap your legs around his waist and arch your back on the bed. He lets out a long moan, beginning to unapologetically lick every last slick drop of arousal that seems to keep pouring out. His hands grip your thighs so tight that you're positive there will be bruises left from his rings.

His quiet moans and suckling are muffled by his face pressed right up against your pussy, his hair tickling the bottom of your stomach as his head tilts with each new angle he tries. Your mouth is parted open, and desperate whimpers leave it as your hands tug at his curls.

You know he won't use his fingers; he's always keen on making you come with just one method. You feel dizzy from the tingling sensation in your thighs and core; your orgasm is knotting with a deep ache.

"I'm going to come," you tell him, digging your heel into his back. "Harry, I'm going... I feel it. I can't hold it."

What he does next is heaven. Without moving his head or stopping his tongue, he lifts his hand and presses his large palm down on your lower stomach, massaging it in small circles to help coax the swelling pleasure out. Just as you feel as though you're about to burst, he removes his tongue and lifts his head.

"No, no, no," you say, jerking your hips up.

"Hey, look at me," Harry demands, his lips swollen and glistening. "What's wrong? Am I being mean?"

"I hate you."

"That's no way to talk to your husband, now is it?" He unbuttons his trousers and takes them off, along with his boxers. "What makes you think I'm not going to stuff you full right now with my cock? Or is that not what you want?"

You catch your breath and swallow, your throat feeling terribly dry. "No, I want it. I do."

Harry squeezes his throbbing cock and hovers over you with one hand placed next to your head, his arm bulging and sheening with sweat. It isn't going to take long for you to come undone.

"Yeah?" He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. "You like it when I'm that deep inside you?" he asks, tearing the package open.

"It's my favorite part."

He rolls the condom on and kisses your knee. "Is that what you want?" His voice is now soft as he strokes strands of hair from your face. "You want me to be nice and give you what you want?"

"I know you like it too," you whisper. "Don't even try to lie."

He smirks while running his tongue across his teeth. "And how would you know that?"

"Because you always put your hand right here"—you grab his hand and gently place it below your navel—"to feel it. Your eyes roll back every time. I love it."

His nostrils flare. "You love watching me? How did I not know this about my wife?"

"You're too fucking gone for me to notice," you say, repeating his words from earlier.

He nearly growls, lining himself up with your entrance before thrusting in with no warning. You gasp, holding onto his shoulders as he rocks inside of you, his cock burning past your walls. The headboard hits the wall with each of his powerful thrusts, and you moan pitifully when he goes long and deep. One of his hands holds onto the top of the headboard, and the other holds your limp hand on the sheets.

"So tight," Harry breathes out. "How do you fit all of me, huh? You're so tight and pretty."

Your legs ache as they bend from the force he pounds into you. He sloppily kisses your lips, his teeth knocking against yours and pleading moans escaping into your mouth. His scruff rubs against your face as he continues thrusting faster and faster until the knot forms again, this time stronger than before. You can feel him in the pit of your stomach, leaving you breathless and crazed when his abs move against the slight bulge that forms there.

"There we go," he praises. "That's it, baby. Is that what you needed?"

After another couple of thrusts and encouragements from him, you arch and release while gripping his hand and looking into his eyes. Harry comes at the same time, rutting his hips into yours as he shudders with a deep, guttural moan against your neck.

He hums, pulling out and cradling your cheeks. "You good?"

You nod, watching him quickly discard the condom and flop on top of your heaving body. Everything feels hot: the sweat dripping down your hairline and Harry's skin sticking to yours.

"Thank you," you say hoarsely.

"For what, giving you an orgasm?" he asks with a laugh.

"For everything," you reply, running your fingers through his damp hair. "I always feel like I'm floating around you."

"I'm your cloud."

"That oddly makes sense. How do you say that in Italian?"

He starts giggling into your chest, dimples carving his flushed cheeks. "Nube."

You scoff. "Did you just call me a noob?"

His head whips up as he says, "No. Nube means cloud in Italian."

"Nube… that's funny." The both of you start silently laughing at each other, slowly coming down from the high.

"Shit." Harry exhales. "Someone left us some wine."

You turn your head to where he's looking and see a wine bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag on the dresser. There's also a little note attached to it.

Harry gets out of bed and walks over to it with his ass on full display, making you start giggling again. He grabs the wine and gets under the sheets, weaving his legs with yours.

You take it from him, popping the cork and raising the bottle. "Cheers to us. Ti amo forever, nube."

He grabs your hand and kisses the ring on your finger. "Ti amo, Mrs. Styles."

You take a swig, letting the crisp sweetness coat your throat before Harry has some.

You've come to realize that bliss can be tangible. Silk sheets and red wine. Heated skin and purposeful touches. Soft eyes and kisses just because. If you could, you would bottle this moment up to drink, letting the liquified love permanently stain your soul.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #adore-laur #cloud nine

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