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penvisions · 7 months ago

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how we pass the time {by the grit of sandpaper}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: Budding conversations and budding feelings go hand in hand as you begin to spend more time with Joel Miller.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: canon typical language, pining, requited unrequited feelings, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, joel miller's hands need their own warning, joel is so soft in this, pet names, terms of endearment, SET BEFORE THE FIRST CHAPTER

A/N: the lovely @picketniffler sent in an emoji ask for the final chapter celebration and i ran with the idea (it was only supposed to be a drabble but these two live in my head rent free) ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Reading.” You had replied almost instantly, causing a hearty chuckle to sound from somewhere deep in Joel’s chest. His random question of hobbies barely leaving his plush lips. “I spend a lot of time reading, researching.”

“And what exactly do you research?” He didn’t turn from his survey of the trail ahead of him, the trees thick and dense with summer blooms. You had been with him for a few months now, partnered up as Maria begins to reduce her activities, Tommy wanting to remain as close to her as possible in case anything happened. Due in winter, she was about halfway through her pregnancy, something you were trying to fuel with protein and nutrient dense foods. Things you could make to allow for some hormone control and balance. Hence the research. Any and all books on food and cooking found their way to your doorstep, or were delivered to you by hand from the couple themselves, even a few of the other council members should they need to see if had anything of interest for the whole community first.

Your answer wasn’t as instantaneous. Voice caught in your throat as you took in the rather picturesque view of the man’s broad body atop his trusty stead trotting slowly up ahead of you. His shoulders were swathed in a denim button up, fabric taut over the planes of his shoulder blades, allowing you to see how his back tensed and clenched as Kiana, his favored brown and white patterned horse, tackled the overgrown trail. His hair was shorter, as if he had tried to curb the prevalent heat but it only made the disheveled curls his hair had been in begin to show themselves around the nape of his neck. Sweat beaded up and dampened the denim, no doubt even more noticeable on the tank top or undershirt he donned underneath.

But you hadn’t been so modest today, decked out in a pair of jeans and tank top. The sleeveless top allowed for your arms to feel the embrace of the sun, not quite smoldering but still sweltering. Sweat was surly discoloring the pale blue of it, the tone matching Joel’s attire. He had teased you over it when he approached the stables, you already having prepared the horses for the early morning route. But the grin with his tongue between his teeth had told you had hadn’t really minded, and maybe he had even liked that you had unconsciously matching him…

“Olive?” He turned to you know, one thick brow raised in question. “Heat got ya?”

“No, sorry. Just, taking in the views.”

“Views are pretty good.” His eyes moved over your body, taking in the way the strap of the shotgun was nestled over your chest, the collar of your top low. The shade provided by the wide brimmed hat you favored allowed for your eyes to remain hidden from him, though you were sure he could’ve felt the weight of your staring.

“You said you do a lot of research?” You shook the mental image of you both sprawled out on your couch, you with a book in your hands and a notebook to scrawl notations, him with another or even just content with something playing brightly across the room on your small television. He was so…alluring. His quiet demeanor, his willingness to do what he could to earn his keep in the community, his skills of helping Tommy and the scant crew with construction and home repairs. He had been a there since spring, a part of your life since then. Unwilling to imitate the rest of the town as he noticed how they either ignored your presence or gave you tight lipped smiles in response to your scarce interactions. He didn’t really see you much around town, something you had admitted to not doing much, leaving your house. He must’ve sensed the shift in your mood when he had asked why, moving his focus onto something else.

“Oh! Y-yes, research. O-on the nutrient offerings of food, of how certain crops can be boosted through simple scientific fixes, I work in the gardens a lot, have one in my own backyard.”

“I been reading a lot lately myself.” He turned back to face forward, the column of his neck glistening with a light sheen of sweat. “Also been dabblin’ in woodworking.”

“That’s pre-pretty cool. What made you interested in that, if I may ask?” Silent for a beat, his eyes tracing the way a long limb up ahead shook. Searching for anything that would signal another soul this far into the forest, or if it was just a small animal scurrying as they foraged or fled at the gentle rise and fall of your voices as you shared with one another.

But he was also thinking…picturing you sat beside him in his newly set up work room in his home. The light woodsy, floral scent you seemed to have naturally encompassing him as you watch him walk you through carving and painting the small figures he had begun to sooth his aching hands with. Turning to you, a smile so soft you often aimed at him in full bloom as you relished in sharing his space and the smooth baritone of his voice. He knew you liked it, how it was low and gravely sometimes in the early morning. Coffee smoothing the edges of his sleep and shifting it to velvet that prompted more conversation on the days your eyes dilated upon his arrival at the stables.

“Always so sweet with your questions. Thought we were passed that, I’ll talk with ya. About anything.”

“I really appreciate that, Joel.” You tightened the grip of your hands around the reigns. Thinking about how he didn’t shy away from you like most people, even if he was notoriously hard to connect with when he was out and about in town. So busy at all hours of the day, returning to his home, his and Ellie’s home well into the evening nearly every day. You only noticed because his street was just beyond yours, his large build passing by your windows as you made dinner each night. The urge to call out your open window and offer him a serving always on the tip of your tongue. “It…it means a lo-lot to me.”

“I like our conversations, sweetheart. One of the easiest people to talk to.”

Your breath hitched and you hoped he hadn’t heard it, but the minute swivel of his head to the left told you he had despite his bad hearing in the other. He had only ever called you by your nickname. He only ever called people by the names handed to him along with their introduction. Your skin tingled, pride at earning such an endearment from the man making your head swim and your mind go blank.

“Would love to show you the figurines I make sometime, started it as a way to curb the pain in my aching hands but it’s actually pretty calming.”

“Ye-yeah, I get that. Zone out and create something.”

“Exactly, you got it just right, sweetheart.”

There it was again, the new reference and you felt heat rise up from where it came to live in your chest and up the column of your neck. You…you wouldn’t mind hearing it more or even the invitation to see his home, his work. The niggling feeling of the town taking the occurrence and fueling the fires of gossip surrounding you springing up and tainting the moment. You frowned, not liking that the mere possibility of talk deterred you from the man’s kindness.

taglist: @joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal @merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon

@keylimebeag @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc @part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel @blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @r4vens-cl4ws @picketniffler @joeldjarin

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bleuside97 · 1 year ago

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That Night Was Different

paring: richclubowner!Jungkook x lonely reader

genre: one night stand au smut

summary: looking for excitement you unexpectedly found someone who gave you everything you had wished for.

warnings: smut, n*pple play, coochie eating, praising kink.

This month was no doubt one of the most difficult for you. You maintained a stable position in retail that provided you with a satisfactory income, just enough for taking care of your bills. Unfortunately, it was announced to you that due to some financial struggles, the company had to let some employees go, including you. As a strong and resilient woman, however, you refused to give up and started looking for other jobs. But no luck seemed to be on your side, and to make matters worse, your landlord raised the rent. So, overwhelmed by all the stress, you decided to head to a young upscale club called "Dionysus." in Central Seoul, South Korea. To have some drinks to forget all your worries for a while. You've been coming here everyday for a month. The same night every night.

On a cold Saturday night you were sitting alone at the bar. "Alone yet again." Y/n muttered under her breath to herself. Being an introvert for so long has had its benefits but right now you were met with the down sides. In such an uplifted environment you couldn't help but feel drained. You didn't know why but you suddenly didn't want to be there anymore. Your eyes advert to the sixth shot glass you ordered and just been placed in front of you. For a moment you only stare at the alcohol. "You'll be the death of me." You say before gulping the bitter substance down your throat. It burns your esophagus and makes a quick disgusted face before slamming it down on the rough wooden table.

Your eyes gleam with wonder as you observe the recently developed nightclub. With its large dance floor shining brightly in neon lights and illuminated by spotlights and a shimmering disco ball, the atmosphere practically oozes excitement. All around, drunken and flushed bodies move along to the beat of the thumping music; jumping and swaying in a joyous and carefree manner. You can't help but smile along with them. The vibrant, pounding sound resonates within your body, making your heart beat faster. You don't know what it is, but a sudden urge compels you to take a leap of faith and join the others on the dance floor, letting the infectious music guide your body.

The rhythm of the song shifted into a captivating, slow melody. Deliberately, you began to move with a seductive grace, allowing your hips and legs to sway freely, independent of any outside influence. Your arms glided slowly down your body, accentuating every curve. Suddenly, you could feel the presence of another body behind you. His hands lightly gripped your waist, subtly indicating his presence without interrupting your movements. In perfect synchronization, his hips matched your pace, creating an unspoken harmony. Your gaze was drawn to his muscular arms, belonging to a handsome man with an olive complexion. He pulled you closer, intensifying the connection, inviting you to feel his undeniable presence. Maintaining a steady rhythm, you bit your lip, longing for increased tension. His hands on your hips guided you as he turned you to face him.

It was like a fantasy come to life, as you gazed upon this breathtaking man. With long, black locks framing his chiseled features and captivating doe-shaped eyes, he exuded an aura of charm and allure. His tight-fitting shirt showcased his sculpted chest, the muscles beneath emphasizing his strength. Utterly captivated by him, you were unable to look away. Sensing your reaction, he smirked, radiating confidence. His right hand glided from your hip, up along your side, until it reached the nape of your neck, holding you gently but with purpose. Leaning close, he whispered in your ear, "Come with me to my table."

Before you can even consider, your involuntary movements had agreed for you. You nodded your head, following closely behind him amidst the sweltering crowd of flushed bodies on the dance floor. The sensation of being amidst the flurry of the dance floor was something you had suddenly yearned for. The anticipation of what the night would bring fueled your excitement. A magnificent gold and velvet stanchion rope stood as a barrier at the entrance of the elevated section. Swiftly, the security personnel removed the rope, granting you both access. As you stepped into the new setting, you felt a sense of liberation. The section was occupied by individuals most likely of a similar age. Their closed and self-assured expressions hinted at their elevated status. You felt out of place amidst them. Jungkook found an unoccupied seat on the lounge chair and graciously offered it to you. In a relaxed posture, he placed one arm on the headrest of the couch while the other remained nestled in the space between his spread legs.

You settled down beside him, avoiding eye contact. In fact, you instinctively stiffened your posture on the couch as you sensed his piercing gaze. There was a slight eerie silence between you. "May I get you a drink, my dear?" he smoothly inquired, his gaze filled with thoughtfulness. "Pleasure meeting you I'm Jeon Jungkook." He removes his hand from between his hand and offers it to you. You take it. "Y/n." You say with a charming smile. "Y/n..." He holds your hand and kisses the back of your hand. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." The intensity in his eyes was undeniable. "I see something exceptional in you," he replied in a suave, charismatic tone. "To the extent that I believe you are the most stunning being I have laid eyes on in a considerable time." "Don't I feel like a rare gem amongst the ordinary?" you chuckled, amused by your own remark. "How do you justify deeming me special?" He smirked and playfully winked at you. "You are more than just a rare gem, my dear. You are the brightest star illuminating the entire night sky; your radiance is so captivating that it becomes impossible to look away. You are a true masterpiece."

Unimpressed you chucked, "Is this how you're gonna win me over?" Y/n scoffed shaking his head at the lame small talk. He smiles confidently in response. "I'm going to treat you to every wish of yours and to everything you could ever want. I want to show you the time of your life." He gives you another confident smirk. So you're a genie?" You sarcastically asked.

He chuckles confidently, not deterred by your sarcastic tone. "If I am, what wish would you make if I could grant it?" He asks as he leans forward slightly, his eyes twinkling with interest. She backs up a bit at his closer contact but remains quiet. "Oh come on, love," he says mischievously, giving your arm a squeeze. "Let me win you over." He smiles at you. "I know you like me already. So let me prove to you that I'm serious." "Oh. Such rumors don't exist." You turn looking away. He chuckles. "Oh you don't?" Jungkook asks with a sly smirk. "I know you're playing hard to get." His demeanor becomes confident once more. "You're playing this little game of cat and mouse as if I don't know exactly what you're trying to do." He gives you a playful wink to show that he knows you're playing along with him. "Let me be your man i know I can treat you like a princess. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you." She gets up all close and personal to his beautiful face, "You know what I want." He looks at her with a mystery to her answer. "A night where I can have blissful fun and forget about my life, just for one night. I wish for the best night of my life."

He looked at her with a sad expression for a moment, a pause before answering. "I've been watching you for a while, y/n, I watch you come into my club every night for the past month. At the same time every night. I don't want you alone in your hard times." You stopped talking and just listened to him. He twists lip ring before continuing, "I'll give you an offer." You immediately shake your head. "Oh I'm not like that. No Thank you, sir."

You get up to leave but he pulls you back down. "Before I can tell you, Let me give me your wish, y/n." Y/n thinks for a moment. Wondering if this is the right thing to do? Who knows what she is getting herself into. Jungkook smirks at the kiss that you place on his hand. "I told you I'd make you feel something," he purrs. "This is just the beginning, love; I plan to show you many nights like these." He gives you a flirtatious wink and holds you closely against him. "Follow me," he says as he leans in close before pulling away. He motions with his hands to follow him and begins to walk out the door, motioning for you to follow him with his hand. Jungkook leads you from the bar and into what appears to be a private suit in his club guarded by security his best men. Before coming to a halt. The security grants him and you access. He unlocks the door with a key. Opening it to a grand suite. You are awfully impressed. "Close your eyes," he commands. "Trust me. You'll love what I have in store for you."

You close your eyes with hands unsure of this was safe. He doesn't waste time before he's kissing you sensually, licking your bottom lip asking for entrance. You open your mouth his tongue swirls around yours and fights for dominance as you let him have it. Spending some time making out, getting to know each other with your mouths he begins to kiss down your neck leaving open mouth kisses down your neck behind your ears occasionally nipping at it. He rips your dress and your bra and attacks your left boob. Sucking on your nipple and palming the other one in his other hand. “Hmm? You like this don't you?" His tongue begins to swirl around the nipple. You bite your lip and you have to force your eyes to look at the ceiling. Jungkook’s inked hand reaches down your lower back. His subtle touches leave a trail of shivers, until his pads brush over the slope of your ass. He squeezes your cheek, firm fingers kneading into your skin.

Leaving you breathless Jungkook's hand graze the sides of your body. As you continue kissing, Jungkook’s hands creep bare body up your thighs until your panties are revealed. His hands press further toward your inner thighs, and you gasp into the kiss when his thumb pushes against the seat of your underwear.They have been damp for a while now and you know he knows this, so you aren’t surprised when he breaks the kiss to smirk. With hon many times you see him smirk tonight it makes you want to punch him. "All for me?" He chuckles before removing your panties. He pushes you to the nearest wall and begins playing with your pussy. He spreads your wetness with his finger. Your hand on Jungkook's shoulder squeezing it when he brushes past your clit. His finger dwells there, putting pressure on your swollen clit. Then Jungkook’s hand is reaching for you again. He brushes a finger over your hole, and your body twitches from the sensitivity. He slides that finger through the wetness and then uses the lubrication to push only the tip of his finger in. he dips it in and out, teasing the nerves at your entrance. Your hips impulsively start to rock, a shaky whimper rolls past your mouth.

Then quickly transitions to his tongue is on your pussy. Using both his spread your cheeks open for better access. His tongue dives between your folds, inciting breathless whimpers from you. His head nudges your entrance. You inhale sharply ready for him inside you. He pulls out his cock out of pants and sdjust the tip to your entrance. Brushing the tip against your quivering hole. Jungkook pushes his cock inside "You can take it.” Jungkook’s hand finds your tit, firmly palming the smooth flesh. “You’re gonna take my cock like the good girl you are, right?” You only cry out in pleasure. He continues to thrusts deeply in you. “Damn, you feel so fucking amazing,” he grunts, a harshness surrounds his tone. Jungkook loses himself. He finds his rhythm and thrusts inside your pussy with sharp motions. “So fucking pretty.” A hand travels over your ass to your spine and back. “The prettiest girl,” he rasps. A smack on your butt was given. The pain leaving your walls clenching around his thick cock. He grops your breasts as you both reach your climax. Collapsing in your shoulder. He whimpers in your ear.

a/n: alot of mistakes and im not sure if i like it too much so i will be editing it alot tmrw but enjoy fkr now

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justhereforsomethingnice · 29 days ago

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It is ridiculously hot for this time of year where I’m at which reminds me of the climate crisis. So here, have a prompt where Danny takes over the body of a billionaire to fix first his country’s problems and then branches out to the world.

They had planned it for a long time. If it ever came to a time where Danny had to run for his life, he was going to pull out some big moves. Who would expect someone trying to lay low and not be found to take over a billionaire? Plus, with all the money he had at the tips of his fingers, who would tattel on him. With him having escaped the GIW just a day ago and his parents in prison for trying to raid a federal government lab (saving him) he had no where else to go. Besides, if he possessed someone he would ping as human, because the person was.

Chosen person? With 264 billion in the bank, it was of course Elon musk. Go big or go home! He did everything very carefully. First observed the man for two weeks, every waking moment, then he took him over. After a week of seeing if anyone would notice, he acted.

He said he had a new interest. He financed an entire city in the United States that ran off of all the new green energy initiatives and innovations. Plant electricity, solar, wave, roofs covered in greenery, amazing public transport, bike and walking safe roads, sand battery’s, red light to go against light pollution and for the first ten years, the rent would be $1. Many were suspicious, yes, but also, no rent in this economy? They’d risked it.

He branched out, paying millions into research of the climate crisis, making the field have leaps and bounds not seen in many years. Organized contests to keep the people’s competitive spirit going and awarded every brilliant mind handsomely. He hadn’t even spent 5% of his wealth yet.

With that project rolling, he moved on to affordable health care and education to keep the health care and care of the land up so when he was gone, people would still profit. That world wide mission made his wealth drop down to a measly amount of 254 billion. He bought up buildings and rented them out in many mayor cities of the world for just 10-20% of the average rent in that country (he would’ve made it free, but apparently appearances are important to upkeep). By now the world accepted that he was weirdly doing this for the betterment of the world. So he started his new projects, reforesting the entire rain forest and giving all the illegal lumbers and farmers a nice well paying job and resources to live comfortably now replanting the rainforests. Every single thing that got discovered had to be taken into account in every new restoration project world wide.

Great, the planet was healing, the people had great healthcare and the creatures on earth consumed less plastic due to alternatives he pushed through. Sam would be proud. And he still had a couple billion left to spend. Bye bye anti ecto acts. You will not be missed.

The end. This was more self fulfilling ranting about climate change and universal health care while also shitting on billionaires then a fic or prompt. But those assholes need to get off their high stacks of gold and actually do something good with it for once. Fucking asshats >:(

Also, if you want to make it a cross over or if this does already exist like with Danny trying this while taking over Bruce, Oliver, Aquaman or hell even ra’s al ghul, Lex luthor or vandal savage I will read that. Over all take home message: Fuck billionaires, eat the rich

#dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #billionaire #fuck billionaires #dpxdc #bruce wayne #stop trying to leave this planet and try to fix it instead assholes #I swear to the goddesses #annoying ass fucks

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meirimerens · 2 months ago

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how do i save money as a college student? there are cafes at every corner luring me in with coffee and food. cooking in a dormitory kitchen can be stressful (there are other people there sometimes), i generally don't enjoy the process of cooking, and the ouroboros of dirtying and washing the dishes is exhausting. i've moved to making coffee at home (grinding the rocally loasted beans), but still sometimes buy takeout coffee during classes to lift my mood 'cause education is eating my soul alive.

i will likely not have the bestest of tips because 1) my living situation is different from yours and i can tell you not dealing with dormitory kitchen nightmares actually helps a lot 2) i'm gonna be saying stuff you will not like. but you might have to hear it regardless.

full disclaimer as far as "saving money": i have worked fulltime all summer and was living at my parents' at the time, who would legitimately look at me with horrified eyes if i implied i wanted to pay a rent in my own house. i also am currently working (part-time) and, due to my low income, i qualify for multiple types of government aid. a tip: if there is anything like that in your country just apply apply take em take em all. even if it ain't much just take it. i also live very close to some of the cheapest supermarket chains in my country, which might not be the case for you.

now here are tips, including things you won't like hearing:

you're just gonna have to be neutral towards cooking. you don't even have to like it. just be neutral. you're also gonna have to be neutral about doing the dishes. is it sisyphian in nature? yes. is it a normal part of being an adult? also yes. you're not always gonna have mommy to do your dishes for you. partners and friends are not dishwashing machines. in the same way you have to become neutral with being alone like in your life in general for your own peace of mind, you have to become neutral with cooking and cleaning.

plan your meals for the week and ONLY GO SHOPPING FOR WHAT YOU HAVE PLANNED. this video got me on that grind and this is how i'm handling food way better this year than i was the first time i was on my own. you might have to stock up on "essentials" (at least a cooking oil such as olive or canola, salt, pepper, some spices that you can fw with, depending on the cuisines you fw some soy sauce,...). if you go shopping without a set bunch of ideas, your food will go bad before you eat it. or you'll try to eat it by making shit up and you will be disappointed and it will put you off from cooking.

related to above: look up low-effort recipes. look up shit like "student meals" "one pot meal", "easy lunch", stuff of the sort. save them their dedicated youtube playlist. and then do them. do a one-pot recipe, eat in the pot, have leftovers, that you keep in the pot, cover it with film, put in fridge, and eat the rest, from the pot, another day. less cleaning up.

speaking of cleaning up: check out this video. it will not make washing dishes any more enjoyable like you won't yippiiii kick your feet in glee but it might at least make it suck a little less.

get on what my dad calls "cuisine de célibataire" or "bachelor's [maidenless] cooking". it's bullshit meals that you can whip out quickly. typically in my case it's recipes i found online that i lower the effort for even more. doesn't have to be cute doesn't have to be fancy it needs to be nourishing and good enough that you'll want to eat it.

also kinda sucks if you're a meat eater and goddamn i could go for a marinated chicken breast rn but lower your meat consumption if it's not already done. the world is so beautiful these days that you can find plenty of vegetarian or even vegan meals that don't suck. i really like pickup limes' recipes. her cherry tomato orzo recipe entered my regular rotation, sometimes i swap out the orzo for pasta, or the cherry tomatoes for normal tomatoes, or i make it soupy, whatever. make sure you still get protein because otherwise your brain and body will hate you like for real for real, but thankfully chickpeas and lentils can be very versatile & also tasty & pretty cheap.

leftovers. always do more than you think you'll need. if you want to cook for 2 meals, actually make a portion for 3.

now this is a part that just sucks. won't even lie to you. just sucks. to quote marx "The less you eat, drink, buy books, go to the theatre or to balls, or to the pub, and the less you think, love, theorize, sing, paint, fence, etc., the more you will be able to save and the greater will become your treasure which neither moth nor rust will corrupt—your capital. The less you are, the less you express your life, the more you have, the greater is your alienated life and the greater is the saving of your alienated being." the one way to save money in this world is to deprive yourself of stuff. means not buying clothes you would like but don't necessarily need. not getting little treats as often as you're used to. it just sucks. won't lie.

related to above and to little treat : make of the treat more a Reproducible Vibe than something you systematically buy. my little treat is a biweekly (as in one every fortnight) boba tea (the cheapest they have on the menu). but between these, i still must have a treat to keep myself from going nuts. this i do by making a tea of mine, from my stash that i would have regardless, and make it a little bit fancier. sweeter than i usually have it in the morning. and with a little cookie. i buy the pack of cookies regardless because i will snack on it over the span of the week/the two weeks it takes me to finish, but it is the combination of sweet tea + cookie dipped in the tea (very important) that constitute The Treat. The Treat for me can also be lying down in the middle of the day with my glasses off.

resist the temptation. even if it fucking sucks so so bad and i'm aware of it. but if you try to save money, you won't do it by spending it on stuff.

tried to word it in a way that doesn't make it sound kinda erotic and failed but basically the harder you resist the temptation the better it feels when you give in some days if not a week or weeks after the first desire crept upon you. makes it special 💋 or so help me god

on god it's gonna be okay in the end and if it's not okay it's not the end. AFFIRM!!!!!

#ring ring (answers)#anonymous #adulting with meiri. it sucks the whole way through #actually kind of a lie i was able to try making marinated eggs for the first time in my life #while living on my own and it was kinda so good so. the little things.#try marinated eggs btw food of the summer. i make the ones from ''drive me hungry'' website their ramen eggs.

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mpregstory · 4 months ago

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THE COTTAGE

Oliver and Julian had been enjoying their vacation by the seaside, a much-needed escape from their bustling city life. With the baby’s arrival just a couple of weeks away, they thought a serene getaway would be perfect for some relaxation. They had rented a charming cottage overlooking the beach, where they spent their days basking in the sun and their evenings listening to the soothing sounds of the waves.

One afternoon, as they lounged on the porch, Oliver suddenly winced and placed a hand on his belly.

Julian looked up from his book, concerned. “Hey, are you okay?”

Oliver took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I think… I think I’m having Braxton Hicks again.”

Julian frowned and put his book aside, moving closer to Oliver. “Are you sure? It can’t be contractions, right? It’s not the right time. The baby’s not due for another two weeks.”

Oliver nodded, but his face remained tense. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. It’s just that these feel stronger than the ones I’ve had before.”

Julian rubbed Oliver’s back gently, trying to calm him down. “Okay, just breathe through it. Remember what the doctor said, they’re usually harmless and just a way for your body to practice.”

Oliver took a few deep breaths, his hand still on his belly. “I know, but it’s hard not to worry. What if the baby decides to come early?”

Julian shook his head, trying to sound reassuring even though he felt a twinge of worry himself. “Hey, don’t think like that. The doctor said it’s normal to feel these false contractions as we get closer. It doesn’t mean the baby’s coming right now.”

Oliver closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as the contraction slowly eased. “I guess you’re right. It’s just so hard to tell sometimes. I don’t want to risk anything.”

Julian kissed Oliver’s forehead and wrapped his arm around him. “I know. And it’s completely okay to be worried. But let’s take it one step at a time. If these start becoming regular or more painful, we’ll call the doctor. Right now, let’s just try to relax.”

Oliver leaned into Julian, finding comfort in his embrace. “You always know how to calm me down. I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

Julian smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Oliver’s forehead. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. We’ve come so far, and we’re going to meet our baby soon. We’re ready for this, no matter when it happens.”

Oliver nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. “You’re right. We are ready. And we’ll handle whatever comes our way.”

Julian squeezed Oliver’s hand. “Exactly. Now, how about we make some tea and put on a movie? Something light and funny to take our minds off things.”

Oliver smiled, the tension slowly leaving his body. “That sounds perfect. Thanks, Julian. For everything.”

Julian helped Oliver up and together they walked into the cottage, the earlier scare slowly fading away as they focused on the simple joys of their evening.

Once inside, Julian led Oliver to the cozy couch, where he helped him settle down. “You rest here,” he said softly, “I’ll get the tea ready.”

Oliver watched Julian as he moved around the small kitchen, admiring the way his partner’s muscles flexed under his shirt. Despite the earlier scare, a familiar warmth began to spread through him. Perhaps it was the adrenaline wearing off, or maybe just the comfort of being with Julian, but he felt an undeniable desire building within him.

When Julian returned with the steaming cups of tea, he noticed the change in Oliver’s expression. “What’s that look for?” he asked with a playful smirk.

Oliver took the tea, his fingers brushing against Julian’s hand. “Just appreciating how lucky I am to have you,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of mischief.

Julian raised an eyebrow, setting his tea down on the table. “Oh really? And what exactly are you appreciating?”

Oliver took a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving Julian’s. “Everything about you,” he murmured. “Especially how good you are at making me feel better.”

Julian leaned closer, his hand sliding up Oliver’s thigh. “Is that so? Maybe I should do more of that.”

Oliver’s breath hitched as Julian’s hand continued its journey, stopping just shy of the growing bulge in his pants. “Maybe you should,” he replied, his voice now a whisper.

Julian’s fingers traced the outline of Oliver’s erection through the fabric, sending shivers down his spine. “You know,” Julian said, his voice husky, “I’ve missed this closeness.”

Oliver moaned softly, his hips instinctively pushing towards Julian’s touch. “Me too,” he admitted, his hands clutching at Julian’s shoulders.

Julian leaned in, capturing Oliver’s lips in a deep, slow kiss. As their tongues intertwined, Julian’s hand slipped beneath Oliver’s waistband, wrapping around his hardness. Oliver gasped into the kiss, his body arching towards Julian, craving more of his touch.

Julian broke the kiss, his forehead resting against Oliver’s. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, his thumb brushing over the sensitive tip.

Oliver nodded, his eyes dark with desire. “I need this, Julian. I need you.”

With a tender smile, Julian carefully maneuvered Oliver onto his back, his hand never leaving its place. He kissed his way down Oliver’s neck, savoring the soft moans that escaped his lips. Julian’s other hand slid under Oliver’s shirt, caressing the smooth skin of his belly, feeling the gentle curve where their baby grew.

“You’re so beautiful,” Julian murmured, his lips trailing over Oliver’s chest. “I can’t wait to meet our baby.”

Oliver’s hands tangled in Julian’s hair, pulling him closer. “Neither can I,” he whispered. “But right now, all I want is you.”

Julian’s fingers worked deftly, freeing Oliver from his pants and underwear. He took a moment to admire the sight before him, the way Oliver’s body responded to his touch, the way his eyes shone with love and lust.

Lowering himself between Oliver’s legs, Julian took him into his mouth, drawing a deep, guttural moan from his partner. Oliver’s fingers tightened in Julian’s hair, his hips moving in time with Julian’s ministrations.

It wasn’t long before Oliver felt the familiar heat pooling in his belly, his climax approaching fast. “Julian,” he gasped, “I’m close.”

Julian’s response was a low hum of approval, sending vibrations through Oliver’s entire body. With a few more skilled movements, Oliver tumbled over the edge, crying out Julian’s name as pleasure surged through him.

Julian continued to gently stroke him through the aftershocks, his own arousal evident. When Oliver finally came down from his high, Julian moved back up to kiss him deeply, their bodies pressed together.

“Thank you,” Oliver whispered against Julian’s lips. “That was incredible.”

Julian smiled, brushing a sweat-dampened strand of hair from Oliver’s forehead. “Anything for you, my love. Now, how about that movie?”

Oliver laughed softly, feeling more relaxed and content than he had in weeks. “Sounds perfect.”

As they settled back onto the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, their love would see them through. And soon, they would welcome their baby into a world filled with warmth, tenderness, and unending love.

#mpreg #malepregnancy #pregnancy #fiction #birth #contractions #belly

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unabashegirl · 1 year ago

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Enticing 31 (HS)

Summary: Harry is a young billionaire and CEO of his own company. He mostly keeps to himself, he is stern and very meticulous when it comes to business. He also likes to keep his personal life very private for the sake of his newly born son Oliver Styles. It isn't until he meets Y/N Y/L/N that everything changes. She becomes his new nanny after his previous one quits due to personal reasons. She is young, caring, and sweet. Will they ignore their feelings? Will Harry's girlfriend accept their love and leave them? Will she be able to cope with his busy agenda? What about Oliver's mother? Where is she? Who is she?

masterlist

word count: 1.5K

It was late in the afternoon. Harry was still in his office. He had planned to leave earlier, but as always issues had surfaced in the office.

“This is wrong” Harry exhaled as he read over the contract that had been drafted. He ran his hand across his prickly face. He was still getting used to the new sensation. At first, it was because he was too depressed to shave. He was not motivated to get ready or look sharp.

A few weeks ago, Harry had looked at himself in the mirror and hadn’t been able to recognize himself. His life was a mess. His routine had gone out the window and the company was paying for his absence. Then, Harry realized that she was never coming back. He realized that he needed to accept it. He needed to accept that he had lost her forever. Harry allowed himself a few more minutes to mourn their relationship before getting into the shower and putting on a new suit.

“What is William thinking? Has he gone over this?” Harry asked Andrew as he flipped through the pages. William’s company had redacted the contract and all the information was mismatched to what they had previously discussed at a meeting. Harry couldn’t sign it.

“I believe he has” Andrew answered as he scrolled down the email to which the document had been attached to. The email had been sent from William’s email and had been signed already on his behalf.

“Get me a car” Harry ordered.

“But sir, you have a meeting scheduled in twenty minutes” Andrew reminded him, to which Harry brushed off with his hand.

“I am sure they can wait for me. I’ll be very quick. I just need to discuss this with him” Harry got up from the seat and button his blazer before slipping on his trench coat. “Tell them that I had another meeting, and it is running late. Call me when they all get settled in the conference room”.

“Yes sir” Andrew nodded as he opened the door for him. “Would you like me to order dinner?” He could tell that they would be working until late. Harry had missed a lot. There was multiple unfinished business, that he had to go through.

Andrew was only glad to see him out of his apartment. Andrew was sad to know that he had given up on Y/N. However, he could understand why he had decided to let her go. Harry had a son and a company with hundredths of employees, and he needed to move on. He had a bunch of people to take care of and the thought of her obstructed him from fulfilling his duties. He obviously looked different, but it suited him. The slight beard made him look much older and serious, but there wasn’t anything that Harry couldn’t pull off. He was an attractive man and there was no denying it.

“That would be wonderful. Order something for yourself too” Harry said as he left.

William’s office was just a few blocks away from Harry’s. Harry could have walked there, but the day was so cold and so rainy that it was the last thing he desired to do. As usual, there were tons of traffic which gave him the opportunity to answer some emails and check up on Oliver and the new nanny through the apartment cameras.

Oliver was sitting in his brand-new highchair while the nanny looked like she was preparing a bottle in the kitchen. Harry decided to not move to the new apartment. He was still paying the rent for it, but he wasn’t ready to move in. He was also not ready to let go of it. Harry knew it was something that he needed to do, but it wasn’t a priority.

“Thank you” He thanked his driver as he got himself out of the car. He made sure that he hadn’t left his phone or the contract before entering the building. “Good morning,” Harry said to the receptionist.

“Mr. Styles! It’s good to see you! We weren’t expecting you” Mia walked up to the phone. “Let me announce you.”

“Something came up. It will only be a few minutes” Mia only nodded and gained him access to the elevators. “Thank you,” he said to her as he walked past security and waited for the elevator. He smiled at her, one last time before getting in.

“What are you doing here?” William questioned him as soon as the doors from the elevator opened on his floor. Mia had called him that he was coming up which had gotten him on his feet right away.

“Came here to talk about the contract that you just sent to me. It’s all badly written” He frowned as he pulled the contract up and handed it to him. “I was just about to sign it when I realized the numbers didn’t match what we had discussed.” William looked over his shoulder and nodded at his words. “What’s going on?” Harry asked confused about his erratic behavior.

“Nothing. Everything is fine” William said as he took the documents. “I’ll look over them. Anything else?”

“No—”

“Alright! I am sure you are busy!” William requested an elevator for Harry.

“William! What the hell is going on with you!” Harry finally exclaimed, “Why are you kicking me out?” He asked as William basically pushed him into the elevator.

Before any of them could share any other words. The clicking of a pair of heels interrupted them. It was Y/N, walking down the hallway and on her way to her office, holding a fresh cup of coffee. She wore a tight dress that showed the few months of pregnancy that she had experienced on her own.

“Y/N?” Harry asked as he pushed himself away from William. Her expression of utter shock, and her watery eyes, let Harry know that she wasn’t happy to see him.

“Harry” Her voice broke as she gripped the cup of coffee tighter to her body. “What are you doing here?” She asked as her hands went down to her low abdomen, trying her best to hide her small, but evident bump.

“I came here to talk to William. I didn’t know you were working already” Harry’s eyes move down to her stomach, but quickly move back up to her face. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He exhaled loudly and tried his best not to demand answers. Harry could tell that she was only a few months ahead. “Congratulations”.

“Thank you” She softly smiled at him. Y/N was surprised by his temper and how calm he looked. She expected him to start yelling and making the floor shake. “It’s good to see you”. She said before she could stop herself.

“You look perfect” He smiled but held his tongue from asking who was the father. She blushed, but still kept her distance. “Can we speak privately? Harry asked noticing the multiple people that were watching their interaction.

“I-I am currently busy. I have a meeting.” Y/N explained, nervous about what he might say to her behind doors.

“I understand. Maybe for dinner?” Harry suggested he could understand that she no longer had the same schedule as before. Y/N was now an executive which meant she was busier than ever.

“Harry. I —” He could tell that she was going to decline his invitation. Therefore, he interrupted her.

“Then schedule me a meeting for tomorrow” he dictated. Y/N tried her best not to smile. “Should I get in contact with your assistant?” Harry asked noticing that he was causing her to smile. The dynamics were now different.

“That would be fine” She nodded, “I’ll see you soon then,” Y/N said just before heading into her office. Her heart was racing, and she needed to decompress. The last thing that she had imagined that she would be doing that day, would be speaking to him.

Harry smiled and asked for the elevator. He no longer needed to speak with William. His day had turned dramatically. He was obviously extremely nervous about what might have been revealed during their meeting. William got into the elevator with him before the doors closed.

“Harry —”

“How long?” He interrupted him.

“Three months or so” Harry hummed and looked down at his watch. “She asked me not to tell you, Harry. She begged and cried”. William explained he knew that he had messed up. William had always claimed that his loyalty always lay with Harry. Unfortunately, his silence proved him otherwise.

“If she is pregnant with my son or daughter, and you hid it from me. I will never forgive you.” Harry said before leaving...

Click below and join our community to continue reading Enticing and/ or Lycan. Check our different tiers one for $3.00 USD or get access to all three series for $5.00 USD.

TAGLIST: @0oolookitsme, @happycupcakeenthusiast, @kennedywxlsh, @hsfics, @stylesbrock, @cuddlingwithharry, @sucker4angstt, @bluemoonedwings, @cherriesrae, @vornilla, @mellamolayla, @harryscurls21, @stilesissaved, @be-with-me-so-happily, @harryssattelitestomper, @jerseygirlinca, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @lomlolivia, @stylesfever, @daphnesutton, @n0vaj3an, @breezykpop

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simonsrosebud · 4 months ago

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heyy I'm absolutely in love with ur foxes next gen socmed au like they're so funny and chaotic and thus I have a foxes next gen au living in my head rent free cause of it😭😭😭 anyways I'd love to know more about ur ocs or even get more content of them😞😞 (picture me holding out a cup to u begging for more of ur foxes next gen socmed au)

brb i’m falling in love with u rn😭🫶🏼 i love them w all my heart check the bottom for a gift

As mentioned in the socmed au, Elliot has ADHD, dyslexia, and anxiety.

Abram helps Elliot’s ADHD a lot when they start living together freshman year of college because his patience is unrivaled. He doesn’t get bothered by Elliot losing track of his point mid-speech or excessive talking, or when he’s easily distracted.

When Elliot is unable to sit still or starts fiddling (aka picking at his nails) Abram will give him his hand to fiddle with instead (and it makes Abram’s chest flutter) and will actually limit him to 10 minutes when he gets hyper-focused on a task and says “one more minute” bc it’s never one more minute.

Amalia doesn’t always look indian to people (based off my google search that Muldani is an indian surname) and she gets pissed off when people ignorantly decide point it out. She likes jokingly pulling the brown skin card to the other fox kids as a power move: “Annie go grab the TV remote” “You grab it” “Is it because I’m brown? Are you being racist?”. She pulls it with Kevin too but he does not put up with it.

Annie is such a daddy’s girl that when Andrew babysits them as little girls she clings to him all day and follows him around with her little hand in his. It’s jarring for him the first time she does it.

Jace treats Elliot like a little brother and it’s very wholesome and needed. The Boyd’s only live 25 minutes from Andriel so Jace and Abram see a lot of Elliot and Blake once Andriel folds them into their lives.

It takes Blake a while to let go of her mother hen tendencies over Elliot bc of how they were raised.

It also takes Blake one single week living with them to realize that they are not only retired pro Exy athletes, but literal gold medalists. She does a deep dive on them on the internet and freaks out a bit when she reads the stuff about Neil’s past. Neil is very open with her about it and offers to have them housed somewhere else if she felt unsafe, but also that she arguably could not be more safe than with him and Andrew.

Jace has a peanut allergy. In 3rd grade he tried peanut butter at school bc good dammit he wanted to try it. It was very good but he immediately went over to the lunch aide to get his epipen. Matt picks him up from school and is in awe that no no, this was not an accident.

Due to being raised in Georgia (where Matt got drafted and Dan coached high school) and then South Carolina when Matt retired early, Jace & Abram have slight southern accents.

Naturally this makes Elliot shiver every time Abram calls him baby (or sugar in private).

When Sabrina is 19 her and Addie decide to take a break from their long distance queerplatonic relationship bc Addie didn’t know what she wanted, and Sabrina ends up dating Drew Barrymore’s daughter Olive for 6 months. Drew and Sabrina keep in contact amicably afterwards.

#i love u for this ask #next gen foxes #aftg #kevin day #neil josten #andrew minyard #all for the game #the foxhole court #palmetto state university #social media au #matt boyd #david wymack #dan wilds #renee walker #allison reynolds #katelyn mackenzie #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #next gen foxes social media au

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darlingillustrations · 9 months ago

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I feel like I should be panicking more. My rent is due in one week, my landlord isn't friendly, and I have no one to ask for help. And yet? I have an eerie sense of calm about it.

I know the calm that happens when you are not actually calm but panicking and your body is helping you survive. This isn't that kind of fake calm. I am sleeping at night. I'm not snaping at my kids. I am *at peace.*

(Read more for musings about the economy, my spiritual mindset in the midst of it all, and some Mary Oliver poetry.)

Five years ago? I would be panicking and staying up late working long hours and burning myself out. But now? These days I'm working full days, then stepping back and cooking meals or working on projects for my kids. It feels more stable this time. I feel like I've matured.

I got a report in my email yesterday which showed that retail sales in January plunged 0.8% from December, far worse than the consensus forecast for a decline of just 0.2%, and the largest monthly loss since March 2023. On the one hand, it made me feel better that it's not just me. On the other hand, it sucks that lots of other people are struggling, as well.

Still, I make the time to meditate every morning. Still, I pull out my poetry books and take my life advice from Mary Oliver. In the poem One or Two Things she wrote:

One or two things are all you need to travel over the blue pond, over the deep roughage of trees and through the stiff flowers of lightning--some deep memory of pleasure, some cutting knowledge of pain.

You don't need to have all the answers. You just need to put one step in front of the other.

Last year when I launched my wholesale business, I drummed up over 1000 leads. I'd pick a city and use google maps or yelp to search for gift shops, stationary stores, coffee shops... anywhere that I thought might want my work... and I took the time to write a personal note to each and every one of these businesses. This month I decided to check back in with them again, and so many of the businesses are now closed or their email addresses no longer work.

Having exhausted these leads, I sat at my computer yesterday with the knowledge that I needed to wait on people to get back to me, that the wholesale leads were out of my hands. And that I still did not have money to pay my landlord. Not once did I fear I would join the list of closed businesses. I did not despair.

Instead, I turned to my first joy. I went back to the sales history on my website and found my very first customers from back in 2016 when I launched my web shop. I emailed them, each of those first customers, sending personal emails. I did not ask them to buy anything. That wasn't what I needed. I asked how they were, what they have been up to, where their lives have taken them.

I was searching for that deep memory of pleasure, that cutting knowledge of pain. One or two things is all we need, after all.

And I got one email back.

This woman was the first person to ever buy an art print in my online shop--a honeybee boy painting--and it is still hanging in her stepson's room, nearly 8 years later. She shared pictures of her new baby, and I shared the pictures with my kids. This woman had sent me many emails over the years, asking for life advice or encouraging me on a hard day. She shared that she didn't realize her emails had made such an impact on me.

Funny how none of us truly sees how impactful we are to those around us. Funny how life keeps going on, whether we worry about it or not.

In One or Two Things, Mary Oliver also wrote:

For years and years I struggled just to love my life. And then the butterfly rose, weightless, in the wind. "Don't love your life too much," it said, and vanished into the world.

I want my character to be defined not by what I do when things are easy but by how I carry myself when things are hard. And I do believe things happen for a reason. Maybe the line between delusion and faith is very thin, but the universe has shown me time and again that it's had my back. I've been in worse scrapes and still came out ok.

If you've read this far and you want to help me get through the next week, you can buy something from my shop or support me on Patreon.

And if you've read this far but you are in a similar boat, don't fret. We will find our way through the fires. one. step. at. a. time.

#mary oliver #capitalism #queer artist #support queer artists #patreon artist #darling illustrations #erin speaks

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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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highladyelenna · 7 months ago

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ACOFAS ReRead

Many people seem to have the idea that you shouldn’t read FAST bc it’s a novella and not important. But i really think everyone should ready it because it really sets up for SF. Obviously.

So something stood out to me. When Feyre is talking about her building a grave for their father so Elain could have somewhere to visit him bc she had burned his body. She says that she had invited Nesta many times and she had turned them down every time. I think this really shows how Feyre was trying to extend any sort of olive branch for them to spend time together, but met with a wall. I’m SF we see why Nesta acts this way. But I’ve seen a lot, not every, but a lot of Nesta fans forget that Nestas POV isn’t the only thing to take into consideration. Feyre did try to spend time with Nesta, did try to rebuild a new relationship with her. And obviously Nestas trauma prevents this from happening and she pushes them away, which is a realistic trauma response. But I don’t think it’s fair for those fans to say Feyre “forgot” about Nesta, or “let her destroy herself”, or “treat her like an outcast”. And when Amren made a comment about Nesta saying “Let’s see if she shows up drunk” Feyre said “Leave Nesta out of this” Basically telling Amren to not use Nesta to make Cassian mad. Making me confused when fans say Feyre never defended Nesta. She even defended Nesta to RHYS multiple times. Ain’t he beginning of the book telling him “She’s my sister you will have to forgive her some day” and saying “If you blame one you have to blame the other” calling him out for being a hypocrite about Elain and Nesta. Even in ACOWAR she defended Nesta to Rhys when he made a joke about Nesta. She said “my sister isn’t some wild animal”. Just something to throw out there since it stood out to me.

Another thing that really stood out to me was Feyre asking Nesta to come to Solstice.

It starts off by Elain telling Feyre she invited Nesta to their dinner and her reply was “you have your lives and I have mine. This comment kind of backs up my point about the fans that say Feyre “treated Nesta like an outcast”. Nesta made herself into an outcast. Feyre even told Elain “Nesta is still apart of this family” Elain later says that Nesta said she didn’t want to come to anything. Ever. Again outcasting herself from Feyre and Elain.

In the tavern she notices “For every once that Elainbhad gain, Nesta seemed to have lost” Noting that Nesta was withering away. Much to like how she was when she was back in the Spring Court after UTM. This really sets up forSF as to why Feyre decided to force Nesta out of her isolation. She sees her sister withering away, drunk all the time, killing herself if the slowest way possible. Feyre knows how that feels (aside from the drinking) so why would she just sit by and continue to allow that? Especially since she had wished that anyone would have stepped in when she was in that position. She then tells Nesta “Solstice is the day after tomorrow. What will it take for you to be there” “For Elaina sake, or yours?” “Both”. Feyre outright telling her that she isn’t there just for Elain but for herself too. That she wants Nesta to celebrate it with them. Nesta says “It’s not even our holiday. We don’t have holidays.” I think this really shows how Nesta was choosing to be cruel towards Feyre. Because let’s not forget that Solstice is Feyres BIRTHDAY. And Nesta knows that. Feyre asks “Why? Why this insistence on distancing yourself.” Instead of getting angry or blaming her for their falling out she asks her why. Giving Nesta the opportunity to open up to her sister. Obviously Nesta doesn’t have to but a lot of fans again seem to ignore this and say that Feyre never cared or didn’t see that Nesta was struggling. When Feyre is leaving she just says “Please come” and Nesta says “My rent. It’s due next week. In case you forgot.” Which again was just Nesta choosing to be mean and vindictive.

While I understand that Nesta is going through something, all of them are. They all are going through so much. They all are going through the after math of UTM of Hybern, Elain being made as well as Nesta, Elaina dan Feyre losing their father just like Nesta, Feyre being tortured by Amarantha for 3 months, just as Nesta was tortured by the cauldron. Yet Nesta is the only one who is being so cruel on purpose. And yes, trauma is different for everyone, but trauma is not an excuse. Your actions still have consequences. Though in SF we see why Besta acts the way she does, she still acted the way she did and that doesn’t change.

I am glad she’s healing! I’m glad she has the Valkyries. I’m glad she started to make amends with Feyre after she saved Feyre and Nyx. I’m glad she finally went to see her father’s grave. I can’t wait to see more of her growth.

But I’m tired of some fans completely ignoring and excuses all of her actions. The point of her character is to admit and take accountability of her behavior and to move on from it. To grow. To learn. If we just completely excuse it, ignore it, then we aren’t doing her charcater development justice! We’re throwing the whole point of her journey into the garbage!

Anyways, this is my opinion. These are just my thoughts since I’m rereading the series. If you have a different opinion awesome! I will not be arguing with anyone so if you have anything negative to say, say it somewhere else not in my page. Keep it respectful and I’ll gladly hear your takes. Otherwise, I won’t give you the time of day. 🩷

#feyre acotar #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #acofas

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the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 1 month ago

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marinas-drafts · 1 year ago

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Crawfever 1

Plot: You weren’t the first war widow to indulge in this, and young Elvis wasn’t the first young man who justified it…

SUMMARY: I adore the notion that Elvis Freakin’ Presley himself might have shown up at your doorstep to fix your electrical problems in the early 50’s. The concept that all that untapped charisma and talent and beauty could be found just going about his business, helping housewives with their glitches…well, this came out of the imagining of what one such call might look like. And if it devolved into poorly written Southern Gothic literature, blame Eudora Welty. 🥰. Also, A Streetcar Named Desire may have influenced my artistic choice of copious descriptions of sticky southern summers and the *feelings* they can provoke. This hasn’t been proofread by any eyes except my own exhausted ones.

Note: there were three other parts to this but I lost them with my old blog, alas. You can find them on tumblr still on my main blog. 💋

An Electrician Named Elvis

Summer in Memphis is a sticky, windless, oppressive thing, only relieved by the occasional swim, creaking fans and a chilled beverage held to the throat. The ice box is revered as a savior during these months and those nights the electricity shorts out due to the thunderstorms rolling across the Mississippi are spent in anxious fretting that it would turn on again by morning. But by ten o’clock this morning there’s no such luck, even though the lines have been fixed you’ve been told it’s a problem closer in.

Probably in the house.

Exactly the sort of problem your Billy would have solved himself with no extra cost but the odd washer or wire.

But Billy’s not here so instead you’ve got Crown Electric sending out whoever they deem expendable enough to waste on fixing a housewife’s ice box.

If it’s Marvin they send, you just might flip -you appreciate the man but haven’t any patience for that or him. Not today, not on top of milk going rancid and your baby girl having a pathetic breakfast before school. You can’t mend Marvin’s pants any faster for all that he mows your lawn. The lawn you pay him to mow. The lawn he owns as your landlord anyhow -oh and there’s the sound of the Crown truck coming to a stop on the drive.

You recognize that staring at the ice box won’t do much good so you go to the screen door in time to see a whole lotta leg swing out from the drivers seat.

You’re not sure you’ve ever appreciated a pair of legs so much as you do this blazing morning, and as they stretch out you have an epiphany of sympathy for the wolf whistles you yourself have received on windy days.

This pair goes on for miles, and they’re owned by an eager, doll-faced boy.

Heavens, is this his first job? At least it isn’t Marvin and you won’t be pestered about rent or mending, but wether or not a man who favors pink socks under his drab olive work-suit can fix a problem that’s befuddled many a handyman before him -well, that remains to be seen.

He’s halfway up the drive when he catches sight of you behind the screen door, his face animates and he jogs up the rest of the way. Taking the front steps two at a time.

You push the door open.

In the shade of your doorstep his complexion looks softer than any of your sister’s and you’re greeted by the same expression you see each morning when you wake your young daughter up -a desire to please. The effect is a little unsettling on a grown man, so obviously well proportioned, towering over you and decked out in a rough handyman’s attire.

“They said you’ve got an outage ma’am?”

“Yes, couldn’t fix it with the lines apparently.”

“Probably just the lightening shorted somethin’ out.” He assures you, voice going ever so gentle, like he’s comforting someone deeply bereaved.

Like he’s gonna fix all your troubles by turning the ice box and fans back on.

That won’t cure all your troubles, but it would be a start, a way for you to handle the rest.

“May I come in?” He adds softly when you say nothing.

You’re still standing in the doorway, unconsciously guarding it as you’ve been doing since you got that wretched telegram in ‘44. Nine years ago. Nine years and no one but relatives and Marvin when collecting the rent have crossed the threshold since.

Certainly no long limbed boy with hair as black as Billy’s and the intention of helping you around the house. Fixing the house, rather. No, damn it, just the electricity like it’s his job to do.

Just as Billy would have done if Billy were here.

This ain’t Billy, Billy had an earnest, sweet face and none of this boy’s ripe prettiness. Billy never talked softly either.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, right this way -what’s you’re name?”

“Elvis…Presley, ma’am.”

“Welcome to the oven, Elvis.”

The house has become a swampy inferno and though the windows are open the curtains hang limp, there isn’t a breeze between all these houses packed close together. It’s stifling under the low ceiling and whatever fresh look he had maintained flying down the road in his aired-out truck is melting now.

“Downright nasty in here.” He comments, and then he grins at you as the sweat begins to collect atop his cupid’s bow. “No wonder you’re out of sorts.”

“Yeah that’s gotta be it.” You manage to return the grin, ignoring the insinuation, “And spoilt milk always makes me testy.”

“You kept your ice box closed?”

“Sure have.”

“Then it might be alright. Only been off a few hours, right?”

“Since midnight.”

“Well, then, should be fine.” He’s got that comforting voice going on again and you reckon that either there’s an old soul in that daisy fresh face or else he’s spent most of his young life reassuring somebody. Reassurance flows from him naturally, and for once, you don’t feel like shrugging the comfort off.

And there’s a strange clench in your heart at how long it’s been sense you let someone metaphorically pat your back and tell you everything will turn out right. You’ve got lots of relations and a few friends who busy themselves and you with worrying about how you’re gonna manage to raise your daughter, earn a living and climb far enough out of the fog of widowhood to be considered socially acceptable again. It’s nice that some boy who’s never had his guts ripped open overseas wants to restore your ice box to you and make everything alright again. It’s precious that he thinks that’ll do it.

You’ve been pondering too long and now you’ve got a frog lodged in your throat and it ought to be awkward but he doesn’t look away, he just shyly peaks down at you under copious lashes and smiles encouragingly. “The electrical panel is in one of the bedroom closets, I’m guessin’?”

“In the Master.”

“Alright then.”

You usher him back to the stuffy little room that's glowing orange from the drapes trying to block out the noonday sun.

You’d pulled some clothes out of the closest beforehand to make it easier for him to reach the panel. When you’d done that you were imagining Marvin or man of his stubby frame working on it, but Elvis is unfazed, he just gracefully folds his long limbs into a squat in the tiny cubby and cranes his neck until he level with the panel. He’s got his tool kit balanced on one thigh and he gives you a thumbs up to suggest your presence is no longer needed. He is starting to look as miserably sticky as you feel, his black hair turning somehow darker with sweat.

His lips pucker up as he starts unscrewing a bolt. It’s rather obscene.

“Would you like some lemonade?” You’re offering as you need some yourself.

He looks startled you’re still standing there but after a minute’s hesitation he asks: “is it pipin’ hot?”

You laugh and he immediately looks pleased with himself. Damn, he’s so young. “I’m gonna crack open the ice box” you explain.

His humored look flees and earnest blue eyes go round in protest. “Ma’am I haven’t fixed this yet! I just got in here!”

“I know, silly,” you swat the air at him, “take it as a sign of faith you’ll manage it.”

He grins back, and a man squatting in a sweltering closet oughtn't to look that alluring. You assure yourself it’s just the domesticity of the whole thing. Billy changing a bulb or scrubbing a dish or hanging Christmas lights that one Christmas you had him to yourself -that’s the stuff that made you throw yourself at Billy in the mid afternoon of a balmy work day.

Raven haired young Elvis might work for the electrical company and be earning a commission with each moment of his work day you waste but if you squint a bit, he could be a beautiful boy who wanted to wife you up and give you babies and rub your feet when you’d been on them all day.

Lately you’ve gone out of the habit of assuming someone who looks as fresh as he does would be eyeing up a sweat soaked war widow, but young Mr. Presley had either never been shamed for his lack of subtly or never bothered to hide it because while his looks were tender, they weren’t respectful in the proper sense. You only wished you could see his revering expression as you sauntered away from him back into the kitchen.

The ice box was tolerably cool for having been kept shut. The milk was safe for now but would spoil sooner for the dip in temperature. That waste didn't rankle you as much as it had an hour ago. The thought “that’s alright” actually made it past your lips for the first time in months and you couldn’t help but marvel that you might have lost a bit of your cantankerous streak on the front steps.

With a sudden swoosh and buzz the small pedastol fan on the counter top buzzes back to life and the light in the ice box clicks on.

You whooped “you’ve done it!”

Heavy footfalls came out of the back bedroom and Elvis came into view with a bewildered look on his face: “You haven’t got a A.C. unit ma’am?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Oh you should!” He warmed up to the argument, “They make the air crisper than anything, sucks the river mist right out the air.”

“Not gonna be able to manage that on a war widow’s pension.” You retort nonchalantly, handing him a glass of chilled lemonade which he takes slowly and carefully, eyeing you over the rim.

“So that’s what happened.” He said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem so sad. That’s what started it?”

If he stayed this empathetic for the rest of his life he’d end up burned out and hollow before he hit fifty. He had no business looking out to solve every hurting person’s problems, not when he was so obviously lost himself.

“Three days into the Normandy campaign, at least that’s what they told me.” You've explained your husbands absence many times in the same way, but you aren’t sure you ever had a more sympathetic audience than this boy who is pressing the beaded lemonade glass to his cheek and looking at you like he knows exactly what it’s like to have your sweetheart get burned up by a nazi flamethrower. He doesn’t say a word of comfort on the matter, he doesn’t need to, his eyes show it all and his lips part and he murmurs:

“But he gave you a child?”

“He sure did, bless him. Her name’s June,” your lips quirk up just at the thought of her “my baby girl. She’ll be turning nine, day after tomorrow.”

The sorrow has gone off his face and he looks like he’s scheming now, and somehow that’s the most alarming expression to yet grace his features. He leans in across the kitchen counter, all familiar like, and that’s worse than anything: “Tell me, Mrs. Crawford, yeah, see I caught your name in the directory -but, tell me, does your June like to swim?”

“Loves it almost as much as watermelon.” You know you must look wary, but the last time a man leaned over a bar and eyed you up in this way you ended up married to him. Actually, scratch that. Billy was a darling and a delightful flirt but he didn’t have one ounce of the raw, unconscious danger this boy holds in his pinky finger alone.

“I’ve got a heap of cousins,” he begins quite randomly, “ranging all ages, and we’ve got a watering hole we found just south of town where the trees keep it all cool and the farmer doesn’t mind us so long as we don’t upset the cows. And I’ve got a truck, you see, and I was thinkin’ when you needed to cool off you could come join us. My mama would love to make a picnic out of little June’s birthday, I just know she would. What do you say to that?”

“Mr. Presley, I don’t know you nor your cousins. And I’m sure your mama is real nice but-“

“Right, because I reckon otherwise you get out a lot these days.” You hardly expected that amount of sass coming from his earnest face and it takes you aback.

You try a different route. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to see you smiling and wet from something besides sweat.” It’s a sweet sentiment, if it didn’t come from a man eyeing you up like he has been these past five minutes.

“I don’t know about her birthday,” you give in a little, “my parents always like to be around for it and she likes them to be.”

“Of course, of course” he nods. “And she doesn’t know me.”

“No she doesn’t.” It kills you to turn this down but you aren’t one to go do things your child isn’t interested in in her name.

“Tell her about the swimmin’ hole, then” he says all easy and confident as he straightens himself up from the counter and chugs the lemonade down, “and I’ll be back day after tomorrow with an extra valve so this don’t happen again. No need for it going off every time the rice fields get some rain.”

You’re clutching your glass to your chest and not even the icy chill against your sticky breast can make your heart stop thumping. “You’ve gotta come back?”

“I suppose I could ask Marvin to come instead.” He shrugs a tad too nonchalant, and looks away from you as he maneuvers around you to place his glass in the sink like the good, house tamed boy that he is. Except you’re very afraid you’ve miscalculated and welcomed a wolf in when you thought you were entertaining a lamb.

“How do you know about Marvin?” You demand.

“I work with him?” He replies hesitantly, brows and lips drawn up and eyes glittering with concern at your tone.

“No, no” you smack him lightly on the bicep and realize your mistake when he breaks out into a dimpled smile, “I meant why did you smirk when you said that he could come instead of you?”

“You’d rather your landlord come by and see your still in the back?” He’s cocky now, a hip jutted out against the cabinets.

“How the hell did you notice that?” You cried out, half laughing, half outraged, “You weren’t back in that bedroom longer than ten minutes.”

“I’s just curious what type of moonshine you were makin’.” He mutters, smirk barely wavering. “I’d never judge nobody for how they make ends meet.”

“Alright, you can come back.”

“Marvin talks about you.” He tosses this piece of information out there real cooly. You nearly get whiplash from how fast he changes direction, “Told me you’re a marvelous woman who takes care of the whole block but won’t let no one take care of her.”

You aren’t sure you’re comforted by the fact his tender smile is still in place. But you’re glad that he doesn’t seem to taste an awkward moment when it smacks him in the face. You find you like talking with him about these long neglected subjects.

“Marvin’s alright.” You concede. “He helps me out plenty. And now there’s you. And I thank you for fixing my fans.”

To prove your point turn from him and rest your elbows on the countertop, leaning to push your face up to the blast of the little pedestal fan, letting your hair fly wildly around you.

Somewhere behind you can hear him chuckle. It sounds alarmingly close. “It’s made my day.” You say, voice distorted by the force of the whirring blades.

That’s when you feel him drape himself over you, his chest a centimeter away from your sticky back and an elegant hand on each side of yours against the counter. His voice warbles just as funny thanks to the fan when he says: “Mrs. Crawford, I’m gonna get you a Chrysler air cooling system, just you wait and see.”

Presumably he’s draped himself over the length of you to get in the direct line of the fan’s breeze, but you doubt there’s any other man at Crown Electric who’d dare act on that impulse as he has.

“Oh are ya now?” You don’t even have to try to sound incredulous. You are incredulous he’d dare do this, that he’d read you so well to know you’re starving for a little closeness in this soggy kitchen. “Well, that’s real sweet of you, Elvis. How on earth are you gonna manage that?”

Why he, a stranger, would buy you such a thing is left unasked. Again, it feels domestic and you want to hold onto that fuzzy feeling for a moment longer. Also, you’re desperately trying to keep still, one tiny shift or move and you’ll brush up against some part of him, and at this point you’re not sure there’s an inch of this man that’s benign. Playing along seems safer than trying to disentangle.

His head dips down and the strands of his hair tickle the tips of your ear as his voice drops low:

“I’m gonna make a lotta money, mama.”

“Oh? Is there any money left in Memphis?”

He giggles then, and he never sounded more boyish than when he did that, his voice bouncing off the tinny fan. “Dunno how I’ll manage but it will involve singin” he takes one hand from the countertop and pats your hip familiarly, and right then any bit of deniability on your part goes out the window because you don’t correct him for it.

“‘Cause we’re so short in singers in Memphis?” You tease instead, wishing you sounded less interested. Less gasping.

“Yeaaaaaah baaaaaaaaby” he hollers above you into the fan, laughing again as it spooks you and you jerk back, right into the lanky breadth of him.

There’s a brief wrestling match after that involving you trying to get away from his lithe limbs as fast as you can and him trying to keep you from toppling over by wrapping his lean arms around your shoulders.

That stills you.

No one’s rested their chin atop your head in nearly a decade, and you could sob in frustration that it’s that little motion of his that makes you hungry and angry all at once.

You coulda had this. You had it for one good year. You could have it again if the whole block wouldn’t gape at the fact you were robbing the damn cradle.

Young Mr. Presley seems to have a taste for housewives pushing towards thirty and you aren't too proud to deny you’ve suddenly grown an attraction for sweet boys who just wanna make life sweeter. You two could write a sweet fiction, however brief.

“I wanna see you happy,” he mutters soft in your ear, “tell me you’ll let me come around again.”

“I’ll tell you what, Elvis,” you place your hands atop his forearms, leaning back, “you come around, meet my June, fix that washer business and I’ll feed ya a good meal while you tell her ‘bout that watering hole.”

“Really?” He’s beaming and you crane your neck back further so you can see it clearly. It’s a sight to be admired. “Day after tomorrow, that’ll work?”

“Yeah it’ll do.” His unabashed joy gives you the upper hand for a moment and you do the safe thing, pulling away and giving him a once over. “Tell me, does that nice mama of yours know you go round putting moves on widows?”

He has the audacity to blush at that, looking down at the floor, abashed for the first time since this shameless encounter. “She worries they’ll be the ones putting the moves on me.” And he rolls his eyes as if that sensible woman were delusional.

“Can’t imagine why.” You say dryly. “Now, you scoot, I’ve got mending to do.”

He wakes up at that, grabbing his tool kit and ducking his head not to hit the low ceiling as he makes his way to the front door. You trail after him enjoying the view of something so virile and alive in your house. Since when have men’s waists been so pretty?

“So, see you day after tomorrow?” He looks more vulnerable outside, not so sultry in the glow of blazing sunlight, and the anticipation of somebody wanting to see you puts a pep in your tone, brightens your face -you can feel it, and see it mirrored in his.

“Yeah,” you lean against the frame, “and after that…”

“Yeah?”

You let him fidget, “after that you’ll show me how you plan on getting me that A.C. Unit.”

He snaps his fingers and points at you, “I’ll bring my guitar then.”

“Oh yes, you’d better.”

He’s halfway back to his truck when he spins around and takes a few steps back towards you, “Say, d’you play anything?”

It’s been awhile and you’re rusty but you reckon you’re about to begin indulging in many long abandoned pastimes so you tell him: “Harmonica.”

“Ah,” he sways back on his feet, going back to his truck only to turn, one foot on the runner boards, looking at you admiringly. “You’ve got the lips for it.”

Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog @aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo

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