#backyard ting

[freshthoughts2020]

(THE CORNER® | OPEN MANUAL AUDIO VISUAL)

#SoundCloud #music #THE CORNER® | OPEN MANUAL AUDIO VISUAL #HAPPY BIRTH #SKEPTA #STORMZY #VICIOUS EP #backyard ting #hip hop music #rap #rappers #dave #central cee #cenc #park chinois #k-trap #aitch #headie one #east london #hackne #detroit lions #skilla baby #detroit rap #kanye west type beat #yeezy #ty dolla sign

[ellieshoochiemama]

Her. (E. W.)

Summary: Ellie joins you in your room during your brother's party.

Warnings (18+ MDNI): smut, swearing, fingering (r!receiving), cum eating (sort of), drinking, smoking, porn w/ some plot, bbf!ellie, loser!ellie. lmk if I missed any!!!

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: my first smut!!! So sorry if this sucks lmaooo

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It was a hot and humid summer night. That sizzling summer day was your brother's choice for a party. His friends were all gathered in the backyard, sipping on buzz-balls and inexpensive tequila shots. To be honest, you wanted to ditch this and curl up with your favorite rom-com instead, but you didn't. Your brother made the effort to persuade you to assist with setup, stay, and speak with the guys who were obviously watching you. It fucking sucked.

Especially since she was here. The only person you didn’t mind stealing glances from. Your brother's best friend for the past five years.

She had no idea how much she meant to you. Her teasing, the looks up and down, and the shivers you felt when she called your name.

Occasionally, she would catch you staring, her green eyes meeting yours, but she would ignore it. The girl she was talking to seemed to be blocking her, making it seem impossible for you to get close to her. Watching the girl drool over Ellie. Fuck.

Just brush it off. As you stood up from your seat to grab your next tequila shot, you rolled your eyes.

You made it to the table filled with alcohol. The moment you had a full shot glass in your hand, you hurried off. Jerking back your head as you sense the liquid burning in your throat. Fuck this boring shit.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Heading for your room, you walked somberly back into your home's solitude. You changed out of the dress you were wearing and put on an oversized crewneck and sleep shorts. As you tuck yourself into bed, there is a knock at the door.

You come to halt. In the hopes that they would go away if you said nothing.

"Come on, I know you are in there." Ellie continued, pounding on your door once more. "Alright, Fuck, I'm coming." When you open the door, Ellie's hands are tucked into the pockets of her sweat pants.

“Can I come in?” Softly, Ellie said. "Why not," and you opened the door to let her in. Trailing closely behind her, you shut the door. In silence, the two of you sat awkwardly on the edge of your bed.

"So what's up-" you begin, but Ellie cuts you off. "I'm sorry for bothering you. It's just so fucking boring out there."

"I was done with it, too, but you seemed real cozy with that blonde chick." You drew your arms across your chest. "Meh, she’s not really my type." She looked at you, waiting for a response of some kind.

The tension was thick. What the hell is she doing to make you feel this way? Her gorgeous brown freckles glistened in the warm light from your room, like stars. Her emerald eyes scrutinize, even torment you. Her lips tinged with saliva as she licked them.

"Listen, if and only if you smoke with me, I will get out of your hair." reaching into her hoodie pocket and removing a rolled joint. It was too soon to decline the offer. So you took it. Taking the joint from her grip and the lighter from your bedside table.

"don't gotta ask me twice." As you lit the joint, you smiled. Breathing in all the smoke, you held it in until your lungs began to burn before exhaling it. With her eyes fixed on you, Ellie observed you. You give her the joint.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It didn't take long for it to hit. Your eyes darkened to a pale pink hue. Ellies' cheeks the same hue. All of a sudden, everything seemed more genuine. The way Ellie observed you and the rhythm of your heartbeat. At once, it encompassed everything.

"I missed hanging out with you." Ellie said, her eyes heavy as she met yours. It was like you could feel everything all at once. The muffled sounds of the 'sex playlist' played from outside. With the joint still burning, a haze of smoke filled the room. Having her here with you, you felt complete.

"Hey, do you want to try something?" Breaking the stillness was Ellie's raspy voice. "Like what?" you laugh. "Just trust me," Ellie says, grabbing the joint.

Her large hand lands on your jaw, gently pressing against it. Breathlessly, you said, "Els, what are you doing?" She disregarded you and took a long drag on the joint, holding it in her mouth rather than inhaling. Her lips found yours as she leaned in. You take a deep breath as your instinct takes over. She and all the smoke combined. It was intoxicating.

She began to back away, but you stopped her by holding onto her wrist, which was resting on your cheek, and drew her back in. You were so eager to feel her again that your nose bumped hers. With her other hand on the back of your neck, her calloused hand found the base of your neck and gripped it. Her full pink lips moved in unison with yours. Her tongue slowly possessing each crevice of your mouth.

She was a fantastic kisser. No guy you have ever kissed has been this good. You both drew back, trying to catch your breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Fuck Els” as you leaned on each other's foreheads.

"I want you." Her hot breath teased your face as she whispered it. Pushing her back, you wrapped your thighs around hers. She took hold of the fat of your ass and began kneading it like dough. It’s driving you crazy.

Her wet mouth latched onto the frail skin on your jawline leading down to your collar bone. All that could be heard were Ellie's labored breathing and the whines and whimpers that were dripping from your throat as she sucked and nibbled until bruises were left.

It was filthy. So filthy. But all you wanted was more. You can feel the slick pooling between your thighs as her hands indulged your body's curves. You gazed up at her, grinding into the seat of her lap. Her mullet cut hair fell perfectly on her face. Her eyes were dark like a gem, so full of lust that you could feel her crumbling beneath you.

Ellie grabs your hips and drives you deeper into her as you grind onto her clothed sex. She knows how badly you want this.

"What are you doing, hmm?" Ellie lets out a groan. Her cold veiny hand caresses the sliver of skin between your shorts and sweatshirt. "Ellie, please." You take her hand in yours and guide it up your stomach, stopping at the mounds of your naked tits. Her lips parted slightly as she felt the hard buds under her rough hands. You lift the hem of your shirt over your head, revealing yourself to her. She immediately gnaws at your tits, groaning from the sensation of you.

Your hands become entangled in her auburn hair, drawing her in as close as possible. You are pathetically wet for her. Your cunt aches for her. Ellie slid her hand up to the hem of your shorts, teasing her finger against your smooth skin. “Can I?” She asked roughly. You eagerly nod your head.

She pulls the thin fabric of your shorts down your thighs. "Fuck you are so wet," she says, her mouth watering at the slick glistening on your thighs. You cut her off by grabbing her hoodie and pulling it over her head. She held you skin to skin, sliding her middle finger down to your puffy clit. Rubbing small circles on it as you grind harder into her hand. Dragging her long digit to your aching hole, dipping the tip in and out ever so slightly. You can’t help but moan.

She puts her other hand around your neck and squeezes, not too hard, but just enough to break you. Her calloused, thick finger slides into your cunt. The pressure on your neck causes your pussy to throb around her finger.

"You are so fucking tight, babe, want me to fuck you with my fingers?" She says with clenched teeth. Ellie’s boxers felt tight around her thighs, probably soaking through her sweatpants just from watching you. She sloshes her finger deep inside your pussy dragging it against your gummy walls. You moan feeling her reach deeper in you. Pulling the slick coated finger out she lines up her ring finger to your hole joining her middle one. She kept her eyes on your pussy watching it stretch around the width of her digits.

“Oh fuck Ellie” you throw your head back feeling the pit of your stomach burn with arousal. You sink fully on her fingers pressing so hard you feel the hill of her palm on your clit. You let out a throaty whine and gasp as she pulls in and out, fucking you deep, hitting that ever-so-sensitive spot in you.

“There it is.” She murmured as she pounded her palm into your pussy. Her mouth finds your tits again, sucking on the peak of your nipple. Your jaw goes slack as she moves against you. "Mmmph fuck Els," you whimper.

"Cum for me. Cum right on my fingers." Ellie mumbles out. Your walls clench around her hand. Ellie grabs your jaw with her free hand and pulls you into a wet kiss. Riding her hand you moan into her mouth.

You inhale sharply. “Ellie I’m cumming”. As she fucks into you and rides out your orgasm, a whine escapes your mouth. She doesn’t pull out of you until you’re all spent. Her fingers pruned from your release. Raising them to her lips, she inserts them. She moans, sucking off your slick. "Tastes so fucking good"

Your thighs tremble around her waist as you give her another hungry kiss. She draws you in by roughly holding your hips with her hands. A knock interrupts your passionate kiss.

"Ellie, are you in here?" Your brother questioned from outside of the door. Oh fuck. You rush away from Ellie, finding your sleep shorts and a random shirt, while Ellie finds her own shirt. Once settled Ellie opens the door.

"You all okay?" Ellie's pink cheeks and the hickeys on your neck catch his attention. She brushed her auburn hair down with her fingers.

"mhm yeah, why?" she responds. "Ellie was just wondering why I left the party," you say.

"I need a partner for beer pong, we are about to play," he says. "All right, I am heading back down," Ellie says, turning to face you. "Okay, guys, have fun," you say as you watch them walk away.

You sink back into your bed. I am in way too deep.

#Ellie Williams #tlou #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #i need her #woman of the year #bbf!ellie #brothers best friend

[extinctionstories]

Tie a string around your finger, so you won't forget...

The Carolina Parakeet was declared extinct in 1939.

Up until just the year before, people were still claiming to have sighted the yellow-headed parakeets in the wild—in the impenetrable depths of Georgia's Okefenokee Swamp; along the Santee River basin of South Carolina, where people still search for the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker to this day—but evidence suggested only escaped, feral species of pet birds, tinged by wishful thinking.

The last definitively identified specimen of Conuropsis carolinensis, a male named Incas, had died at the Cincinnati Zoo in 1918. As it happens, his last home was the very same cage in which Martha, the endling Passenger Pigeon, had spent her final years. 2014, the hundredth anniversary of Martha's loss, brought the publication of a number of new books on the topic of the Passenger Pigeon and even a documentary; the centenary of Incas' death, by contrast, warranted only a handful of mentions of our lost native parrot.

Hardly a hundred years later, our parakeet has faded from common memory—like the fading text on the tags that twine around the feet of the study skins that fill museum specimen drawers, where they should have filled the sky, should have filled roosts in hollow trees, should have filled our backyards; should have filled their lungs with air, and our hearts and imaginations and eyes with the sight of their iridescent green feathers.

The title of this painting is Memory Knot. It is gouache on 18 x 13 inch paper, and is the 9th piece in my series on the extinct Carolina Parakeet. It is also the final piece in the series as originally conceived (though inspiration continues to strike, and this is not the last appearance the species will make in my art).

Please, remember that there was a bird called the Carolina Parakeet. Remember what happened to it. Remember that we are the only ones who can keep it from happening again.

#carolina parakeet #extinct birds #traditional painting #recently extinct

[jasontoddsdarling]

18+ | jason and you as (horny) newlyweds in your new house.

(p.s. mostly just an excuse to write about breeding or pregnancy kink—or not really kink, since they're serious. so yeah these two are the content warnings, proceed with caution. 1,2k words.)

jason and you as newlyweds in your new house.

the house is, albeit small, yours. it's pretty with kind of rustic vibes into it.

the most important thing though, is that it has a cute garden in the front. and also a wide enough backyard to hold some very close friends and family dinners.

and, wide enough garden for a toddler to play and run around, too.

see, you are newlyweds. only been married for four months. you two haven't exactly been trying to get pregnant, but you haven't exactly been trying to not to get pregnant—by the lack of birth controls, or even condoms.

you're not in any birth control and neither does he, but when having sex you two always careful on choosing days for him to come inside based on your tracking calendar on days you're not on your fertile window. mostly he doesn't even come inside.

and it's working, as in you haven't get pregnant and everything.

again, both of you are ever so careful despite without contraceptives.

but now, as jason has you bending on the surface of marble kitchen counter—he had said you two need to christen every surface of your new place, your cute ass up and your toes almost leaving the flooring; while he is behind you, his thick cock pounding into the heat of your cunt, his tight balls slapping on your swollen clit, you wish that he doesn't finish on your back or stomach or your mouth wherever you decide you want him to, this time.

you want him to finish inside of you, filling you up. spilling all his warm, thick seeds deep inside of you.

you want it so bad it hurts, you can almost taste it in your mouth.

you know you're currently at the beginning of your fertile window. and you think he knows too, he's keeping track after all.

but you want it, even though you're currently being fucked thoroughly by your husband, you're still aware that you make this possibly life changing decision. and you are ready. you two are. if this making love session, hot and wild in the kitchen is how you (possibly) get pregnant, then so be it.

jason is giving you hard and deep strokes when you suddenly open your mouth.

“honey.”

“yes, love?”

his deep with arousal voice, a tinge of dark rumble, answers you. it makes you tingle all over. he keeps plowing inside.

“i want you to come inside me, this time.”

he slows his fucking, very shallow trust, keeping his cock inside of your warmth.

“are you sure? you're on your fertile window.”

see, your husband knows.

“i know. but i want you to.”

you say, as you gasp when his cock hit the sensitive part inside of you.

“yeah?”

“yeah. i want you to get me pregnant.”

“fuck.”

jason resumes his pacing back to his deep, hard strokes like before.

not like before, actually. it's more intense and purposeful. it's like your request has ignites an unquenchable flame of lust and want in him.

“that's what you want, hm? you want me to give you a baby hm? fuck, that's what i want too, princess.”

“yeah? you want to make me pregnant, jay?”

jason grips your hip are bruising. he sends your upper body back and forth on the cool marble, your soft tits and peaked nipples are getting very sensitive.

you two have never engaged in this kind of dirty talk, but fuck if all of this isn't the hottest thing ever. moreover because both of you know this isn't just some mere dirty talk or for the whole thing to be strictly kink during sex thing. both of you are serious.

“fuck, yeah. been wanting it since the first time you told me i should ditched my condoms.

“i have been waiting for which one of us will break first, princess.”

you give a barely there laugh because he hit your g-spot just now, your toes are curling, making you whine instead.

“i just didn't expect you to be the one to say it first.”

“how did you know it'll go like this?”

“oh, i didn't. not exactly anyway. but if anything, princess, we're alike in this.”

he sends a particularly hard thrust as if to prove his point, and your cunt tightened around his cock.

“fuck. see?”

you nod, have nothing else to say. you can only moan desperately, you're so close now.

“i will come inside of you, love. i will make sure none of my cum leaks out of your cunt. i will give you my baby.”

he says each of the word after a vigorous stroke, clouding your mind and bumping deep inside your walls.

you moan, your eyes teary, your hands barely holding on the surface of the kitchen counter because its so slippery of your sweat and tears.

“can't wait too see you pregnant, your stomach swell. fuck, i know you will look so hot carrying our baby.”

our baby. that has your closed eyes and you seen stars. yes, our baby, you think. you envision a baby daughter—even though you don't mind if the baby's a son obviously—but you really want a little mini-me. jason too, you think, as you remember your old talk when you're dating about him thinking how baby daughter and dad's interactions he's been seeing in real life and in social media platforms are very precious.

you don't realize you're so stimulated that you're sobbing until jason points it out to you. he offers you to come together with him. no, he needs to come together with you.

“you're very close, sweetheart? be patient for me, alright? i'm so close too.”

his strokes are getting desperate, hard and unforgiving.

you look sideway so your cheek is on the cold counter now, not your whole face, and you can only take it and patiently waiting for him to reach his peak while holding yours back—it is not easy at all.

turns out it's not long at all though, because on your thirty seconds count you cry so hard, your vision blurry with tears.your orgasm being stolen from you as the tightening of your walls send jason to his own with his one last violent thrust.

you can feel his warm thick cum shoots inside of your vaginal walls. coating them thoroughly, not one surface is spared by his seeds. jason draps his massive body on your back, your sweat mingling. he waits until his cock stops spurting his cum.

“that's probably the hottest making love session we've in this house.”

he rasps, kissing the side of your sweaty neck.you can only give him a weak laugh. you feel satiated and boneless and you just want him to carry you after this.

“right. who knows the thought of making me pregnant really gets you going like you never were?”

“oh, love, you're about to see more of this.”

“mhmm?” you hum with seductive tone.

“yeah. we're not done yet even for today. we better ordering some foods after this because i know we'll need it. i'm not stopping, love, until i am sure it takes. even after that.”

jason pulls out of you slowly. he gestures you to tighten your thighs so his cum doesn't spill, and then carrying you to you the bedroom. that's where your phones are.

when he drops you on the soft mattress of your king-size bed, he goes to the nightstand on its side, ordering you both some heavy meals—and desserts—take out for you two's dinner.

then he closes his phone, he’s spooning you.

at that point, you already are being lulled by soft and cool bedding.

he kisses your nape and brushing strands of your hair softly.

“get your little nap, you'll need to gain energy, love, if we want to go all night. don't worry, i will wake you up when the foods have arrived.”

mariea's notea: i can't get this prompt out of my head it's been haunting me for days. glad i wrote it down <3

serious not though, BE SAFE if you're actively having sex. don't try anything above at home.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x female reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd smut #mariea's fics #mariea's writing #mariea's works #need him so bad actually >:(

[sweetercalypso]

Tan Lines (Abby Anderson)

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Abby comes home to find you sunbathing and fucks you in the yard

Notes: 18+ only, minors dni!! Fem reader, slight praise, pet names (pretty, babe), fingering, mentions of Abby’s strap – literally no plot in sight. This was written for every body type in mind because every body is a bikini body!!

When Abby gets home, she’s scorched.

She’s late – she knows because the sky is already tinged orange, painting the landscape in modest sepia tones. The mid-July sun burns well into the evening now, leaving the air warm and sappy and full of life.

Abby’s hair sticks to her neck and small wisps fall into her face, and she’s relieved to be home after a long day out in the sun.

Despite the heat and the cruel humidity, this is Abby’s favorite time of year. Abby loves the summer sun because she knows the sun brings heat, and heat brings bikinis.

She closes the front door behind her with a huff, noticing that the air in the house isn’t much cooler than the air outside. She kicks her shoes off and yanks her ponytail out, unraveling her tight braid while she looks around the house. Usually, you’re waiting by the door when Abby gets home. But today, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Babe?” Abby calls out for you, peeking her head into the kitchen and wandering down the hall in search of you. She finds the back door open, the golden light from outside leading her into the secluded backyard.

There, she finds you laying on a frayed beach towel, soaking in the remnants of the day’s dwindling light. Your feet kick idly behind you while your head rests on your forearms, facing away from your girlfriend’s presence.

Abby swipes at the sweat beading across her forehead, and even though she’s exhausted by the heat, her energy is renewed by the thought of what you’ve been doing all day under the bright summer sun.

She stalks over to you silently, eyes roaming your exposed skin and the barely-there bikini that does little to cover your backside. The straps that are supposed to hold your top in place are now limp at your sides, the planes of your back entirely on display for Abby’s enjoyment.

She hums out a little sound of appreciation, making her presence known. You shift to face her, a small smile crinkling your relaxed features.

“You’re home,” you murmur, stretching your arms out in front of you and rolling your neck to relieve the idle stiffness in your muscles.

From the looks of it, you’ve been outside all day. Little items are scattered around you – books and sunscreen and anything else you could think to carry out into the yard. Your skin is warm and bronze, and Abby’s eyes are drawn to the crisscrossing lines across your back that show where a summer’s worth of golden tan has been interrupted by the material of your swimsuit.

“Did y’have a good day?” she asks, raking a hand through her crimped hair, trying to brush out the subtle waves left behind from her tight updo.

“Mmhm,” you answer affirmatively, reaching a hand out to motion her closer.

She shuffles towards you before crouching at your side, knees landing on the edge of the shabby towel that you’d spread out on the lawn.

“It was so hot today,” you say, admiring the pink of Abby’s flushed face. The apples of her cheeks are ruddy and dark, and you remind yourself to take care of her developing sunburn when the two of you head inside.

She nods in agreement, letting her fingers trail over your warm skin now that you’re within reach. Her calloused hands trace the curve of your spine, sending a burst of soothing energy through your core. The combination of Abby’s touch and the warmth of the evening air lulls you into a relaxed state, causing your eyes to flutter until they’re shut.

“Your top’s undone,” she comments, entranced by the sheen of sunscreen glistening against your skin.

“I don’t want tan lines.”

She scoffs under her breath, running her fingers over the faint stripes left behind from previous days spent outside. “It’s a little late for that.”

Her fingers slips under the waistband of your bottoms, pressing softly into the warm skin there until you snap back into focus, looking back over your shoulder at her.

“Maybe these should come off too then,” she suggests in a slow voice. “You’ll get tan lines.”

A short nod is enough of an answer for the blonde, and her fingers work to untie the strings at each hip. The garment slips free and Abby pulls the loose bottoms from around your waist.

Her hands come up to grip the globes of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh like she doesn’t know her own strength.

“So pretty,” she murmurs, swinging one knee over your form to straddle you from behind.

With quick fingers, she slips the untied top from beneath you, throwing it somewhere in the yard without much care.

Your face falls into the crook of your arm as Abby’s hands return to your backside. Her hips shift against your ass, hinting at the friction you’re desperate to receive.

“Abby,” you mutter into your arm. “Need you – need your fingers.”

Her digits press gently into the dip of your lower back, massaging the muscles there with lazy pressure. “Need my fingers here? Is that what y’wanted?”

Your response is something indecipherable, a combination of pleasure and frustration fueling your muddled thoughts.

Abby seems to understand anyway and she shuffles back to rest her weight on the backs of your legs, giving her just enough room to part your thighs.

“Thought about you all day,” she says, ghosting her fingers over your center. “Laid out in the yard, looking so sweet for me – wanted me to come home and find you like this, huh?”

Your hips buck in impatience and Abby quickly settles you back in your place. “Sit still, pretty. Wanna fuck my girl nice and slow.”

Two thick digits delve into your core, parting your slick walls with a delicious pressure.

“Worked so hard today,” she says mainly to herself, scissoring her fingers to gently stretch your cunt. “Now it’s my turn to relax.”

Breathy moans fill the air, reverberating off the wooden fence that encloses your yard. Abby’s speed picks up, her fingers pumping into your cunt faster than your languid mind can keep up with.

She slides in and out in quick motions, drawing slick down her knuckles and onto your inner thighs.

“That’s it, pretty. Show me how good it feels.”

Abby thrusts her fingers into you a couple more times before changing course and sliding them out entirely. Before you can complain, she grabs you by the waist, pulling your ass into the air and pushing back into you.

The new angle allows Abby to move deeper into your cunt, curling her fingers up and pressing into that spongey spot at the top of your walls. With her free hand, she reaches around the front of you to rub messy circles over your clit.

“Pretty pussy’s sucking my fingers in,” she says. “Sounds fuckin’ beautiful.”

With her fingers working at a steady pace, her hips begin to follow suit, shifting slightly in stride with her movements. Her dense thighs smack into the backs of your legs, reminding you of her familiarity with this position.

“Takin’ me so good,” she grunts, becoming more aggressive with her movements. “Gonna take you inside and fuck you properly after this. Stretch you around my cock until you’re crying.”

Her promise fuels the tightness that had been building in your core, and with a few more strokes of her fingers, the pressure snaps and brings you to a finish.

The hand rubbing at your clit moves to grab your waist to hold you up, keeping you from sinking onto the hard ground beneath you. Abby slows her fingers inside of you, coaxing out the end of your orgasm before she’s pulling her fingers out and slipping them into her mouth.

She moans as the taste of sunscreen and sweat and you settles on her tongue.

Before you have time to catch your breath, she’s on her feet and pulling you up to stand on shaky legs.

“C’mon, let’s go inside — we’re not finished yet.”

#calypso writes #Abby Anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fluff #abby x reader #the last of us #tlou abby #tlou #abby anderson drabble #tlou x reader

[peachesofteal]

John Price/female reader The Ocean Anthology

You're not overly familiar with wolves.

On the zoology side, you preferred marine animals. As a child, you preferred the aquarium to the zoo, the beach to the park, water instead of land. Something about the sea, floating weightless beneath a tide, modeling your own movements after tail fins and flippers, salt water drying on your skin at the surface.

The wild of the open ocean, unending depths, reaching where light could not touch, soothed something in your heart. It always had.

Which is why, when you looked out your kitchen window into the duplex's shared backyard and saw Aly, seated with criss crossed legs, ten meters from the largest wolf you've ever seen in your life, you screamed.

It was the surprise, twisting your vocal chords into a strangled cry, the shock and fear echoing past the frame of the house and into the gnarled slope, that had Aly turning back to peer at you, had the wolf lowering it's head in what you could only assume was a predatory lean.

"Aly." Your voice trembled when you made it onto the back deck, a hand outstretched, beckoning her back to safety. The wolf inches away, shying from your panic, the scent of your fear souring the breeze. It's stale, and sharp, and your heart thunders in your ears, rapid beat wild in your veins.

She did not even spare you a glance.

"It's okay." She calls over her shoulder. "She'd never hurt me." She? You look around. Where is John?

"Aly. Come inside." Your force yourself steady, pushing authority, what little of it you possess, into the syllables.

And then, a softer plea, from someone who doesn't understand. "Please." The wolf, massive and grey with tinges of orange and brown, watches you, golden, glinting eyes, upper lip curled, revealing devastatingly sharp teeth. It steps away, up into the cover of the trees, drifting into the darkness of the forest, glow of it's face in the morning rays just barely visible.

The little girl sighs, unfolding herself and brushing dirty palms against her coat.

"You scared her." Fogged breath rolls from her mouth, and all you can do is stare, incredulous, as she rolls her eyes and traipses over to her back door, giving you a skeptical look before stepping inside.

What the fuck was that?

You find yourself on a twisted forest path later that night. Unable to sleep, you walk towards the harbor, cutting through a side trail you've seen John on in the mornings, and others, occasionally.

It's just a side trail. Close to the road. You'll be fine.

The woman's warning from your first night at the bar vibrates in your bones.

Skip the shortcuts through the forest at night.

Warnings, pleas, instructions from John, all laid to waste in your trek, bundled up in your warmest jacket, gloves and hat. Your jeans stick to your thighs, cold prickling between the friction, headlamp illuminating the way, red light casting shadow into the forest, a thick fog settled in around the way.

You're not walking long, when you hear the first snap. You whirl, light pointed in the direction of the noise, to find nothing but silent woods, branches hanging low with the weight of icy winter.

Something cracks at your back. Something sharp, splintering through the fog's silence.

Your shoulder's raise. Your lungs go still.

Fear wraps around your throat, and chokes.

Don't look. Don't look.

John's voice echoes in your memory, severe blue gaze and downturned lips, opposite you at the table.

"Run."

You turn on your heel, digging into the dirt, and sprint. Around you, brush crashes. Branches and twigs break. There's a glimpse of paws, long strides eating the distance between yourself and your pursuer, panic bubbling up in your chest as you push yourself to the brink.

Faster.

To your left, a streak of white. Large, and graceful, taking downed logs and large branches with ease, cutting closer and closer, your movements growing clumsy each second.

The road, the house, are eons away. They might as well be on the other side of the earth, sanctuary vanishing before your very eyes.

From your left, from your right, breathing grows louder. Growls and yips and a howl bounce off the density of the darkness, heading you off.

Hunting you.

You can feel them. Wild, untamed lupine prowess stalks closer. Playing with their prey before they close you off from the end of the path completely. You're a child again, running into bed after flicking off the lights, terrified of what lurks beneath your bed. Sprinting up the basement stairs, hoping you'll be safe as soon as you touch the door handle and burst into the light.

Your tears come, sob ripping through your chest, a bleat of terror sounding off like a gunshot. You stay focused on the dark frame that's just in view, trying to outrun the snarling brutality chasing you.

When you find the road, you don't stop. You push yourself harder, faster, until the house is in sight, exhaustion turning your feet into concrete blocks, sending you pitching forward-

into a thick, warm, chest.

"What are you-" hands grip your upper arms, holding you steady, holding you close. An embrace of cedar and cigar, wilderness and ocean wrapping you up.

John.

"I- There- I saw-" You can't get it out. Tongue as clumsy as your limbs, you go limp and tremble.

The forest behind you is dead silent. Still.

"Shhh now." He murmurs, hand cupping the back of your head. It's large, nearly the size of your skull, and you press your nose to his jacket, gasping. "It's alright. You're alright."

"W-wolves." You bite, and his muscles go tense, neck rigid. You can feel torsion, the survey of the land behind you.

You brace for the scolding you know you've earned. The admonishment you deserve. "I'm sorry, I c-couldn't sleep, and thought I'd just... I'd walk. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, love. They're gone. You're safe." Love. The word suggests familiarity, affection, and you blink. He's gentle, still holding you close, grip firm and tense. You should pull away, salvage your dignity, your sanity.

You're a scientist. Not a child. What kind of display is this?

It all falls away, his thumb stroking a slow circle behind your ear. "Let's get you inside, hm?" You nod, still unsteady, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, tucking you close. Adrenaline keeps you in unsteady limbo, hands shaking so badly you're forced to press them against your heart.

He keeps you in his side the entire walk back, murmuring softly, accent lilting on the night's breeze. He helps you with your key when your fingers can't quite get a good grip, pushing your door wide and flicking on the lamp, pale yellow glow comforting in the inky black.

When he sits you down on the couch, you don't protest. He handles you carefully, long touch on your knee, turning with a distant expression, gaze fixed out the window. "Need you to be good and listen to me from now on. Don't want anything happening to ya."

"I know." You croak. You do, now. Before... before, you didn't take any stock in it. Averse to being told what to do, naturally resistant.

Now. Now you see.

"They were so close." you try to explain, avoiding his eyes. "Like they... like they were-"

"Hunting." You look up, big breath trying to fill your lungs, and he gives you a grim smile, palm still cupped over your knee. Something else starts to unfurl in the pit of your stomach, butterflies shaking the terror and spreading their wings, fluttering anxiously against your ribcage. His proximity suffocates you, too warm, too close, and it clouds the space between your bodies, confusion roaring in your mind. He clears his throat.

"Get some sleep." At the door, he turns back one last time, and gives you a nod, expectantly. Like he knows you'll take yourself right upstairs and curl into bed, bury yourself beneath a mountain of blankets. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, John."

#john price #john price x reader #captain john price #the ocean anthology #peaches writes #still trying to shake the rust but it’s not working lmao

[blindmagdalena]

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #depowered homelander #i was originally just going to edit the original post but #i couldn't add a title to it that way #so have a brand new post lol #i never posted this one to ao3 because i always meant to do this #so i'll cross-post this later #also i think i want this to serve as the foundation for my depowered HL verse #especially that one where he's seemingly lost his powers for good #my writing #ho ho homelander #enjoy some wildly out of season christmas btw lol

[youaintnothinbuta]

“I’ve got her, you relax.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: daddy Elvis comes home from tour finally, and you’ve been extra tired lately having to take care of a sick toddler. He goes straight into dad mode when he gets home and gives you a chance to relax and he’s just the best dad ever to your daughter n I love domestic elvis <3

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Word count: 678

Warnings: fluff!! Domestic!Elvis n daddy!elvis 😋 probs typos SORRY

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Finally the day had come where Elvis was coming home for a break from touring. You were originally going to meet him at the airport with the others, but your daughter had been under the weather, and sick toddlers and overstimulating environments don’t mix well. Instead, you waited at Graceland for him to return, your daughter resting on your lap.

As soon as she heard the lock of the front door click, she lept out of your lap, running over to Elvis, her arms outstretched towards him, cheering, “daddy, daddy!”

Elvis’ face lit up with a radiant smile as he scooped her up, spinning her around in the air before cuddling her to his chest, peppering her face with kisses. You watched with a smile, waiting for your turn. “My little girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with affection as he planted another kiss on her cheek. “My other little girl. I’ve missed you,” he continued, turning to you and enveloping you in a warm embrace, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss.

As he lifted your daughter onto his shoulders, her giggles filling the air, you felt relief wash over you, “I've missed you too, E,” you replied, your voice filled with warmth.

“How is she?” He asked, his concern evident in his voice, reaching up to tickle your daughter’s tummy, who was perched happily on his shoulders.

You let out a tired sigh, the weight of the past few days evident in your voice, “Getting there.”

“Tell you what, I’ve got her, you relax this afternoon, tonight it’ll be just me and you,” he suggested, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. Your heart raced a little at his suggestion, “I’d love that.”

You made your way to the bathroom, the promise of a warm bath beckoning you, Elvis followed closely behind, your daughter still perched happily on his shoulders. Together, you ascended the staircase, the sound of y/d/n’s laughter filling the air as Elvis carried her up to her bedroom to retrieve a coat.

“And mama,” Elvis said, his voice filled with determination as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you back towards him, “don't you even think about cooking, or cleaning, or tidying, or nothing, okay? I got it.”

You couldn't help but smile at his insistence, a wave of gratitude washing over you at his thoughtfulness. “Alright, daddy,” you replied playfully, backing up against him and teasing him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. You wandered away into the your bedroom, Elvis shot you a knowing smirk, shaking his head in amusement as he watched you go, saying you’re going to get it tonight.

“Alright, monkey,” Elvis said, turning his attention back to your daughter, who was now perched on her bed, her eyes shining with excitement. “Let's get a jacket and go play outside.”

Bending down, he gently lifted her off the bed, setting her down on her feet. Opening up her wardrobe, he sifted through the clothes until he found a warm coat, zipping it up around her little body snugly to protect her from the chilly November air.

Once she was properly bundled up, Elvis took her hand in his, a smile lighting up his face as he led her out of the room and down the stairs. Outside, the world was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, the crisp air tinged with winter on the horizon. The bathtub in yours and Elvis’ ensuite was positioned perfectly next to a window, allowing you to watch on as he and y/d/n headed out into the backyard, their laughter echoing through the air.

The pair ran around playing together, first in her cubby house, then playing chasey, before she got bored of that too. You leant against the bathtub ledge, smiling at your little family.

“Baby, come here, look,” Elvis pulled her into his lap, “see, look, wave to mama, do you see her?” He cooed, pointing to you in the window for her as she waved both hands around at you, making you laugh.

#elvis fanfic #elvis film #elvis imagine #elvisaaronpresley #army elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fanfiction #Elvis Presley x yn #reader x elvis presley #reader x elvis #yn x elvis presley #yn x austin butler #y/n x elvis presley #austin!elvis x y/n #yn x elvis #elvis x y/n #y/n x elvis #austin butler elvis #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis fic #austin!elvis fanfiction #daddy elvis #domestic fluff #domestic Elvis #50s elvis #elvis the pelvis

[iovesia]

❛⠀SEEING DOUBLES.

kinktober 2023. — entry three.

synopsis. don't answer the door, don't leave the house, don't pick up the phone, but most of all, don't scream.

✶⠀ ׅ⠀ ࣪⠀warnings. ghostface!john wick 𝑥 f!reader 𝑥 ghostface!john constantine — threesome. breaking and entering. extremely dubious consent. non con elements. use of knives. oral (m receiving). reader's hair can be grabbed.

josie's little note .. ignore the fact that this is a month late.. i'm so sorry y'all. i hate writing threesomes, so probs my last time doing it LMAO but i hope you guys enjoy !!

YOU WERE HOME ALONE. 

How cliché.

The muffled sound of the ads on tv filled the eerie silence in your house. You laid comfortably on your couch, flicking through your newest edition of 'Seventeen’ magazine. Your roomates were out for a night in the city, leaving your recluse self to enjoy proper solitude for once.

The landline snaps you from your reading as the obnoxious ring echoes through your desolate house. You groan annoyedly, tossing your magazine to the side as you lazily stroll to the kitchen. 

“Who the hell is calling me now?” you huff. 

Taking the white phone off the wall, you put it to your ear, gently toying with the phone cord. 

“Hello?” You sigh, a tinge of annoyance in your voice. The hoarse breathing on the other end makes you quirk your brow. “Uh… hellloooo?”

The voice breathes hoarsely before clearing its throat, then a gravely melody follows. “Hello.”

A long silence fills the phone line. A sudden crackle of the popcorn cooking on the pan snaps you into conversation. “Who is this?”

“Who’s this?” The gravelly voice repeats my words back. 

“You called me, man,” you roll your eyes, resting your head against the wall. The raspy voice just breathes quietly on the other line, slowly ticking you off. A second wave of silence washes over this dry exchange. “Okay, then…”

You hang up the phone. Just as you turn away, the damn landline starts ringing violently again. With another groan, you harshly grab the landline. “Hello?” Your tone switched 180, getting more irritated the longer you’re away from rotting on the couch with your magazine.

“What’re you up to?” The same raspy voice chuckles softly. You squint your eyes, raising a brow as an incredulous laugh escapes your throat. 

“Is this your pickup line? Calling random strangers and asking what they’re up to?” You retort, holding the landline with your shoulder as you walk further into the kitchen and rummage through some snacks. 

“Aw, I wouldn’t say we’re strangers,” the unknown man replies with faux-hurt in his voice. Resisting to roll the eyes out of your skull, you hum in response. You take out a small packet of popcorn.

“Oh yeah? You don’t even know my name,” you scoff, using your teeth to rip the plastic wrap before carelessly tossing the popcorn package into the microwave.

“I’d like to,” the raspy voice teases, and you can envision the cheeky grin. The gravely stranger finally manages to weasel out a weak laugh from you. 

“Is that so?”

“Don’t be a tease.. How about we play a game for it?” The voice offers. Now you were intrigued. The microwave beeps in the background as you rest against your marble countertop. There’s a pregnant pause before you shrug.

“Fine, what the hell,” you indulge this stranger. “What game?”

“20 questions. Think of someone, and I’ll guess.”

A snort and giggle comes through your nose. Jesus, how old is he? 

You take a brief glance out your kitchen window, eyeing the empty garden and illuminated pool in your backyard. You roll your shoulders back, elbow resting on the countertop. There’s quiet breathing on the other end again before it coughs. 

“Ew,” you whisper at the sound of the hacking cough.

“Are they a woman?” The voice murmurs in your ear. 

“Yeah,” you smirk. Trying to screw with this guy a little, you think of yourself, knowing this random stranger would never get it. 

“Are they famous?”

“I wish,” you snicker, enjoying your own little inside joke. Your childish snickers suddenly died at this mysterious stranger’s next words. 

“Do they like to read girly Seventeen magazines, like the one on your couch?”

Beep. Beep. Your popcorn finished snapping in your microwave.

The landline nearly fell from your hand as you froze. You felt your chest tighten, and you furrow your brows in confusion. “What did you say?” Your voice drops to a mere whisper, the colour draining from your face. Goosebumps swim on your skin, and out the corner of your eye, you glance back at the living room.

The magazine was gone.

“I’m more of a Playboy guy myself,” The voice continues, completely ignoring your worried tone. “Maybe I’ll see you on the cover one day,” he teases.

“This isn’t funny, asshole!” You blurt angrily, but the voice cracks alert him of your fear. Your mystery caller simply laughs at your cursing, his voice sounding more ominous than playful by the second.

“At least now we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I’m calling the cops,” the threat is empty, but you hope to strike fear into this (hopefully) prank-caller. Your bare feet pad against the wooden floor, rushing to the front door and checking the locks. 

“Aw, but I still have 16 questions left..” the voice pouts mockingly. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, hanging up the phone with a trembling hand. The sound of your shaky breath fills the vacant home. Crickets chirping out the window fail to ease your nerves as they set in your unfortunate reality. 

You’re home alone.

Immediately, you rush to your porch to make sure the door’s lock and immediately come to see a dark figure standing by your lit pool. A bloodcurdling scream erupts from your throat at the sight, and you stumble over your feet to lock the glass sliding door. 

The light of the pool barely illuminated the figure’s face— a mask. The pale white mask, with a long mouth, and big blacked out eyes. His silhouette was concealed by the long black cloak.. Like a babadook. The face of a ghost. The unknown stranger lifts his hand up, revealing a small black flip phone. He waves it mockingly before holding it to his ear.

Ring. Ring.

Your landline rings again, unbreaking your eye contact with the looming stranger in your backyard. Cautiously and carefully stepping back from the glass door, you reach for the phone once again.

“H—”

“Hang up on me again and I’ll gut you like a fish,” this time the voice was at least 4 octaves lower, and growled at you. Your lower lip trembled, as your eyes stung with tears. 

“W-What do you want?” You whisper, swallowing a lump in your throat. 

“Next question..” the voice pauses. “Does she have an unlocked backdoor?”

Suddenly, a booming crack of wood followed by the sound of shattering glass echoed in the back of the home. Another weak squeal leaves your lips when you instinctively turn your head to the hallway, seeing a broken vase on the ground. When you turn your head back to the porch, and scream again when the stranger is pressed up against the glass door. His mask now flashing in all its plastic glory.

“Let me in, baby..” his disgusting pet name only makes you whimper. Your big eyes well up with fearful tears and you quake right where you're standing.

“Go away.. Please go away..” you sob. 

His black gloved hand pressed against the glass, his index finger tapping in a rhythm against the transparent door. Your brows furrowed in confusion, more sobs falling from your quivering lips. 

A breath hits your neck.

You watch as the stranger pressed against the door starts laughing, his head lolling back and his ominous laughter rings in your ear. Turning around painfully slowly, the landline falls from your hand, smashing to the ground. 

Any sound dies in your throat, jaw dropping when you crane your neck up to a twin of your intruder on the porch. With the same jarring ghostface mask, and long black cloak, the second stranger tilts his head to the side. 

Your wobbling legs only take you so far back away from the nightmarish figure, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Held in his vice grip, you instinctively start kicking and sobbing desperately, accidentally (yet successful) managing to shove your foot into the groin of the second intruder.

He lets out a sharp groan, barely bending in pain as the first intruder continues holding you in his tight grip. He’s unrelenting in his hold and damn near picks you off the ground, as if you were a sack of flour. 

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it.”

The once comforting feel of your living room carpet felt like smaller daggers as the broken glass of your porch door dug into your knees. The two matching intruders towered over you, the shorter one holds a tight grip on your hair, while his blade rests under your chin. 

“Please—” Your begs were silenced when the blade pressed against your delicate skin, a small slice stinging your neck. The taller masked figure’s scratchy gloved fingers stroke the side of your tear covered face. 

“Question 15... is she a pretty crier?” the slightly shorter ghostfaced figure tugs your hair, making you whimper. 

“Enough, Constantine,” the other chimes in. His voice much lower than his partner in crime’s— a baritone, authoritative sound that did nothing to soothe your fears. It’s clear the accomplice with a death grip on your scalp was the one on the phone, his husky voice that was a melody to your ears, had this been under any other circumstance.

“I thought we said no names, Wick.”

Constantine and Wick. You finally matched names to the two psychos.

“It’s not like she’ll be alive to remember them.” 

The two go back and forth, their argument silenced when “John” grabs the bottom of his plastic mask, and whips it off his face. Your lips part slightly, eyes widened at the sight. An older man, mid 40s at most. His short black beard decorated across his lower face, and his piercing black eyes piercing down at your trembling figure. His calloused hand reached for your chin, redirecting your head side to side, as if you were cattle being inspected.

“She’s pretty,” he hums, almost sounding impressed. This older man speaks as if you’re not even forcibly knelt down before him. The other man, who you now know to be Constantine, tugs your hair once again and this time makes you gasp sharply. 

“Ow—”

“Be quiet,” Constantine hisses, the blade pressing an millimetre deeper, releasing a few droplets onto your tight t-shirt. The cool metal shifts from under your neck, and now presses against your cheek, a faint crimson line staining your face. 

“Please just let me go. I won’t say anything!” your voice is shaking, as you desperately plead with the two burglars. “Take whatever you want! I won’t say anything! I promise!”

A pregnant pause fills the air, and the two men share a sly glance. The sinister look in their matching dark irises only made you squirm more. Like a mouse caught under the sharp metal trap.

“Anything we want?” Wick raises a brow, his monotonous tone barely masks the innuendo in his words. The older man nods to Constantine, and your second assailant finally reveals himself, taking off his own ghost mask. 

Constantine was presumably a few years younger than Wick, lacking in the facial hair department with only a 5 o’clock shadow, but it defined his sharp jawline more. He almost mimicked Wick to a T. 

The sinister look in their matching dark irises only made you squirm more.

“I think you need to apologise for your little tantrum earlier,” Constantine taunts, his tug on your hair, forcing you to crane your neck fully upwards to Wick. Horror hits you like a bucket of ice water when Wick’s large hand slowly rubs over his clothed groin. “Maybe you should kiss it better—”

“Fuck you!” You blurt out, absolutely appalled at the suggestion from these two devilish older men. Another pathetic whimper echoes from you as Constantine, still death gripping your hair, shoves your face against the rough felt material of his cloak. The sadistic asshole only chuckles at your whimpers whereas Wick remained stoic, and unreadable.

“You can either make it up to my friend here,” Constantine’s taunting tone shifts to menacing, “or we’ll find out what your insides look like with this little thing,” he pats the cold blade on your each with each word. 

A bead of sweat rolls down your face, mixing in with your salty tears. The hiccups and measly cries release from your frozen figure. Helplessly you watch as Wick rolls his cloak up to his hips, the sharp sound of the belt unbuckling jumps your heartbeat. 

“Just one little kiss..” Constantine coos with mockery, his hand finally loosening ever so slightly. Wick’s eyes betray his stone demeanour when you notice a cruel glint in his iris. Biles builds in your throat at the ominous zip of his jeans opening. 

Your eyes grew in disbelief when Wick actually took his cock out from under his pants. His cock was flushed, and already hardening. A thick vein ran from the bottom of his thick shaft all the way up to his pink mushroom tip that leaked pre-cum. You look up at him tearfully, almost begging for mercy, only for him to shoot it down by tapping his large dick against your cheek and lips.

“You know what to do..” Wick finally speaks, his baritone voice was soft on your ears. The salty pre-cum made you grimace as Wick pressed his tip against your plump lips, slowly penetrating your mouth. You let out a loud gag and couch, your lips fully stretched around Wick’s cock, and his tip almost hitting the back of your throat.

Constantine’s hand grips your hair tightly again, guiding your harsh movements like a ragdoll. He tugs you back and forth on the older man’s cock, before suddenly forcing your nose against Wick’s short pubes, his shaft fully lodged in your throat. 

Guttural moans fall from Wick’s lips, as he clenches his cloak tight, his knuckles widening. You struggle to breathe as you gag on the intrusion in your mouth. Your fingernails found their way to Wick’s thighs, pinching through his jeans. Constantine holds you in this position, until your eyes begin to roll backwards. 

“She’s already crying...” Constantine scoffs when he tugs you back. A thick string of spit and saliva connects from your puffy lips to Wick’s glistening cock. You cough harshly, as your throat already begins to ache, and globs of spit dribble down your chin.

“I think you can do better than that..” Wick purrs, his large hand grips your jaw, before gently patting your cheek. You hiccup on your spit, eyes fully blurred with tears when Wick presses the tip of his cock back onto your lips. You flatten your tongue against the underside of Wick’s shaft, taking kitten licks to stall time. Swirling your tongue around his tip, tasting his pre-cum once again, you elicit another husky groan from Wick.

Meanwhile Constantine’s hands venture down from your hair and lower on your body as he kneels behind you, his gloved fingers meticulously feeling each bump of your spine before reaching the swell of your ass. His hot breath hits the back of your neck, and his intruding fingers slide in between your legs, over your silk pajamas shorts.

You squeal suddenly, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Wick grabs your hair once again, focusing your attention back on him, his dick promptly thrusted right back in your mouth. 

“I think she’s enjoying this,” Constantine’s chuckles darkly, his thick fingers sliding under your flimsy shorts, feeling the damp spot on your panties with his digits. He presses hard on your bundle of nerves, and a girly whimper is muffled by Wick’s intrusion. Your toes curl, and your hips involuntarily buck when Constantine’s digits move in a slow circle. 

“So pretty with my cock in her mouth..” Wick says with a smug smile on his lips, his hand pushing your head aggressively. Your head bobs up and down Wick’s thick cock, your throat sore and your jaw aching as you cling to the fat of his thighs for support. 

“She does fucking like it. What a dirty little girl..” Constantine’s slippery fingers managed to hook your panties to the side, your juices coating his digits and only making him laugh cruelly at your expense. Two of his thick fingers slide past your folds, and your spongy walls clenched tightly. 

This seesaw movement of your hips grinding on Constantine’s hand as Wick abuses your mouth, has your body trembling, and legs burning from the uncomfortable position. But the two older men drink in every whimper, every cry and every tear— sickeningly getting off on your pain.

Your hair is ruthlessly pulled once again by Constantine. Coughs fill your lungs as you try to catch your breath, your lips completely smeared in spit and pre-cum. Wick’s fingers gather the globs of white spit and shoved into mouth, making you choke. Your throat throbbed, eyes borderline fluttering closed, and your knees were definitely bruised. 

Like a fucked out doll, your body was rendering submissive to your two burglars. 

“Last question..” Constantine snickers, his lips pressed against your ear. 

“How long can she last before she breaks?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fin.

— taglist. @alwaysinblck @sickzmbie @nyxblessed @hearteyedbambi @worldsgreatestsinner @slutforsoldierboy @rizunaur @alox @sughcashsaiki @cillivnz @starrgurl46 @beansricejc @97keanu @the-trash-site @keanuthot @sulibbyyyyy @20s7nn @aerangi @alyssagames01 @nogr4vity @gea-chan96

#𓂃 josie's kinktober ˚ ₊ ‧ #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #john wick x reader #john constantine x reader #john wick imagine #john constantine imagine #dark.josie #nsfw.josie #banner cr: cafekitsune

[itsnotgray]

what a duo | jack hughes

imagine jack hughes with a grumpy x sunshine trope

like you’ve got mr.sunshine personified, who somehow winds up with his own little storm cloud.

~

he meets her at a bar in jersey, where she’s sitting in the corner, fondly watching her friends, happy to stay out of their chaos. and jack just spots her from across the room, dead set on getting to know who she is.

now, the second she makes eye contact with him, she knows who he is. how could she not? his face is plastered all over jersey, the gem of the city. but does that make her change her normal attitude? ahahaha- no.

she immediately locks eyes with him, and says “no, nice try,” and makes her way to her friends, unable to see jacks entire body seemingly recoil at her rejection.

a few days later, one of nico’s friends is having a baby shower, and nico unfortunately couldn’t make it, claiming he was “sick” (jack knew the man had a date he thought jack didn’t know about) instead, sending jack in his place.

jack, while loving to be social, isn’t into being social with a massive crowd of strangers. so instead, he gravitated towards the corner. where, surprise surprise- he’s met with the face of the woman who rejected him.

upon seeing the man, she goes to move away, before seeing his demeanor not as cheerful as she remembered it (which she instantly decided she hated. he should always be cheerful- it looked so much better on him).

“what, not running away this time?” he snaps, eyes glued to the masses of people congregating in the backyard. after a few beats of silence, she sighs, before answering, “i’m sorry.” “stormy, apologizing to me? never thought i’d see the day!” he exclaims, cheerful personality seeping through his pores yet again, a brightness within him unable to be contained.

she giggles, quickly getting used to his antics, before pausing. “…stormy?” she questioned, head tilting in jack’s direction (jack thinks she looks adorable- a bit like an angry kitten).

“well when i saw you in the corner of the bar, you looked like the sad guy in the cartoons who has a literal storm cloud hovering over their head,” he shyly muttered, taking a sip of the now warm drink clasped in his hand, glancing nervously towards the sea of people.

a longer period of silence ensues, jack beginning to grow fearful of her reaction. so much so, that he goes to get up to relocate to the opposite corner of the room, before she suddenly speaks.

“well then i guess that makes you sunshine?” she questions in a teasing tone.

“excuse me?” he quickly answers, confusion radiating from his body.

“if i reminded you of a storm cloud, then i guess that makes you sunshine. because the minute you made your way towards me, despite my reaction, you lit up the room jack. so- that makes you sunshine,” she finishes, her cheeks growing red, matching the red tinge on jack’s cheeks

at her sudden outburst, jack has relaxed back into his seat, a comfortable silence now taking over.

the pair sit in a short silence before jack breaks it, “sunshine and a storm cloud- what a duo we are,” he states, causing the duo to burst into a fit of giggles.

and that- that was the start of something truly beautiful.

#jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey oneshot #new jersey devils #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl hockey #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagines

[didhewinkback]

you're my best friend

the last chapter of the something old universe. it is, in fact, the proposal. the photos are more for a general vibe, he is not wearing a baseball cap when he proposes okay.

warnings: smut; switches pov halfway through. word count: 18k

---

June 2022

“I wanna marry you.”

You freeze, the plate in your hand clattering onto the table as you look up at him, his own eyes as wide as you imagine yours are, looking like he absolutely did not mean to say what he just said. Your heartbeat is thundering in your ears as you stare back at him, his mouth opens and closes a few times like the words won’t come out.

“Are you -” you start to ask but stop yourself, not sure if it is totally ruining the moment if you ask if this is what you think it is, if he is actually proposing to you in the backyard in Italy while you’re wearing your ugliest pair of gym shorts, covered in stains from the dinner you had just finished cooking. It’d be fine if he was - more than fine, it’s just you haven’t talked about any of this and he’s still on tour for another year - 

“No. ‘m not - this isn’t -” he cuts off your mental spiral, as he plants his hands on the back of the chair he’s standing behind, shaking his head. “This isn’t a proposal.”

“Ookay.”

“It’s a… proposal for a proposal.”

“Okay?” you say with a laugh as he grimaces, head dropping down with a big exhale. 

“Swear ‘ve planned this out better, been practicing what to say -” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair before holding it out to you. “Can you come over here, please?”

You walk over towards him, taking his hand and he pulls you in, wrapping his arms around your waist as you bring your hands up to his face, thumbs rubbing over the pink tinge blooming on his cheeks.  

“Your heart’s racing,” he mumbles, pulling you closer against him. “Can feel it.”

“Yeah, well, you gave me a bit of a shock there.” you say and he groans, leaning his head into your hands. “You’re blushing.”

“Feel like I mucked this all up.”

“You haven’t -”

“I didn’t mean to say it like that -” 

“It’s alright,” you say gently. “I just don’t really know what you meant to say?”

His eyes graze over your features as he takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

“I want to marry you.” he says, the look in his eyes making your breath catch in your throat. “Been thinking about it for a while now and think - I know it’ll be the best thing I ever do. But I - ”

He pauses, looking down for a moment before looking back up at you, his eyes a bit unreadable as he shifts his weight to his other foot. You brush your thumb along his cheekbone before sliding your hands down to his shoulders, squeezing the back of his neck once. 

“But I know that ‘s a bit complicated because I’ve done this bit before.” he continues, eyes flitting across your face when your stomach drops, his ever perceptible gaze picking up on even the slightest change of your expression before he quickly speaks again. “‘S important to me that we talk about this ‘nd see where we’re both at with it. Because I don’t want to do anything that’s gonna make y’ feel uncomfortable or second rate or summat -” 

He cuts himself off, brow furrowing as he shakes his head in frustration, staring off into the yard, eyes watching the slowly falling sun. He turns back to face you after a few moments, new determination in his eyes. 

“This means everything to me, you and I.” he says, eyes never wavering from yours. “Everything. But I want us to do this whatever way you want. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, however you want to. I mean - if you want to -”

“I do.” you say, breathlessly cutting him off, heart stopping in your throat when you watch the way your words hit him, his whole face opening up, his eyes blinking rapidly. 

“Okay. That’s -” he huffs out a laugh, swallowing before speaking. “I mean that’s good. That’s really - Christ, I’ve never been less smooth in my life -” 

“I know, what is going on with you?” you ask, laughing when he drops his head with a groan. “Did you think I was going to say something different?”

“No - I just.” he stops himself with a sigh. You give him a second, before gently cupping his jaw and lifting his face back towards you. He looks at you, eyes grazing over your features before he plants a kiss to your palm. “‘s been fucking me up a bit, thinking about how I may have ruined some part of this for you. ‘S a big step, this. And it bloody kills me to think that my past may have soured this for you. ‘S the last thing I ever wanted to do-” 

“Whoa, hey, I know.” you say gently, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone, the days old stubble scratching your skin as he goes quiet, watching you with rapt attention. “It’s not been soured at all.”

“No?” he asks, hands tightening around your waist. 

“No,” you say with a firm shake of your head. “I mean, I don’t love thinking about you proposing to someone else but I don’t think that has anything to do with us, not now, after all this time has passed. It feels very different now, you know? Everyone’s moved on and your bloody Uncle Mack has finally stopped making jokes at weddings about how your cousins should watch out for me, how it only takes Twist men one time to get it right -”

Harry groans, squeezing his eyes shut as you laugh. “I still am really sorry about that. Mum did give him a proper bollocking for it, though, if that makes it any better.”

“It does.”

“Good.” he says, the corner of his mouth hitching up slightly, his shoulders relaxing, looking the most at ease he has since this conversation began.

“You know, I have given this a fair bit of thought myself this past year,” you say, you can feel his breath hitch. “And never once has anything I imagined felt soured or ruined by anything you or I have done. So I really wish you’d talk to me, instead of tying yourself up in knots over it -”

“Talking to you now, aren’t I?” he grumbles sheepishly.

“Yeah, and how’s that going for you?”

“Oiii -”

“Can feel you sweating through your shirt -”

“Oh cheers for that, darling. Next time I have one of the most important conversations of my life I’ll be sure to keep my perspiration levels in check -” 

“Perspiration levels? You are such a nerd -” 

“Yeah, a nerd you’d like to marry - 

“Oh god, you’re right,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, heartbeat picking up when his mouth twitches into a smile. “What does that say about me?” 

“That you’re very charitable.” he says, arms tightening around your waist, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Or quite stupid.” 

You snort out a laugh, leaning in slow, nudging your nose against his.

“Feeling quite lucky actually,” you mumble against his mouth before pressing your lips to his. He instantly crushes you against his chest as he kisses you back, taking his time, kissing you the exact way you like to be kissed. He’s mumbling in between kisses, “‘s me who’s the lucky one, baby” the words falling against your lips as he refuses to pull away for too long, kissing you like he has all the time in the world. 

He pulls away slowly, lips dragging across your skin as he kisses a line up your face, resting his mouth against your forehead. 

“Nothing has ever felt like this before,” he says quietly. “Never wanted anything more in my life.” 

“Me either.”

“I did want to talk about it for real though.” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’d like to propose to you, properly, get down on one knee, tell you how much you’ve made me a better man…unless that is something you don’t -”

“No, I would.” you say, his lips twitching up at how quickly you cut him off. “I would like that. But I’d like that to just be us. No one else but you and me. if you do it publicly or have a flash mob planned, I’m going to say no.” 

“There goes all my plans,” he says, soft smile on his face as he brings his hand up to cup your jaw. “What else would you like?”

“I’d like to have a wedding.” you say, the look on his face making your stomach swoop, your cheeks heat up as his thumb brushes against your skin, matching grins practically splitting your faces in half. “Would quite like to see you cry when I walk down the aisle.” 

“Baby, ‘m gonna weep.” he says, pulling your face towards his so he can kiss you, though it's not much of a kiss, given how wide you’re both smiling, giggling against each other's mouths. “What else?”

“I’d like to say vows to you”, you say, your breath catching as you watch him take a deep breath, his eyes going misty. “Tell you that it’s only ever been you, for me. And that it’ll over ever be you.”

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips gentle against yours despite the way his grip has tightened as he walks you a step back so you’re flush against the table, his hips resting against yours. 

“What else?”

“I’d like to go on a long honeymoon and have a lot of sex,” you say and he huffs a laugh against your neck, tapping your hip with two fingers before helping you push yourself up onto the table, widening your legs so he can fit in between, his hands slowly roaming your body. “I mean, a lot.”

“What else?” he asks softly, lips dragging against your skin as he plants a line of slow kisses up your neck. 

“I’d like to be your wife,” you say, breath catching when he pulls his face back to look at you, adoring eyes trained on yours. “Been dreaming about what it’s going to feel like when you call me it for the first time.” 

“I’d like to be your husband.” he says gruffly. “‘S all I -”

“Me too.”

You regard each other for a moment, hearts racing, misty eyes locked on each other, in awe of this life you’re building together, of the road that lays ahead of you. Knowing the person right in front of you is who you want to be with for the rest of your life. And knowing they feel the same. 

You can’t really help it when the tears start to fall, feeling overwhelmed with the love you have for the man in front of you. Overwhelmed by how much that love has grown and shifted over the course of your life, never not a part of you, never stronger than it is now. He cups your jaw with his hand, thumb softly brushing away the tears, looking none the more held together himself.

“I know, baby. I know.” he says. “Me too. S’ - just - c’mere.”

He leans in, kissing you with everything he has, hand steady on your jaw as his lips drag against yours, pulling you closer to kiss you deeper. You wind your arms around his neck, your hand coming up to play with the hairs on the nape of his neck as his tongue slides over yours. He’s holding you like the most precious thing, his other hand tightening its hold on your hip as he kisses you over and over.

He pulls back to breathe, leaning back in to kiss you once before pulling back, his lips dancing along your cheeks until he hears you laugh, pressing one more kiss to your temple before pulling away. 

“Can I say one more logistical question and then I swear this sweaty conversation will be over ‘nd you can make me sweat in other ways -”

“Jesus Christ -” you say and he barks out a laugh, smiling wide when you laugh with him, his hands holding you tighter as he smacks a kiss to your forehead with a giggle.

“‘S just - I’d like to wait a bit.” he says. “Work is still quite crazy ‘nd I’ve kinda got this fantasy of getting to be in one place with you for a while once we’re engaged. Not having to jet off to any obligations or anything. Unless you’d rather-”

“No, no I don’t think I’m ready for all that quite yet. That makes sense to me, waiting a bit.” you say. “I’m not really in a rush, I’m still quite content being your girlfriend.”

“Oh that’s great to hear, cheers for the feedback.” he says, grinning when you giggle. “So how’d you feel about like… sometime after the end of tour next year?”

“Yeah, I think I could be someone’s fiancée by then.” you say, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face as he smiles back at you, the two of you just staring at each other giddily. “I’d have to check my calendar, but I should be able to squeeze you in.”

“Never had a problem doing that before,” he says, giggling when you swat at him before grabbing your hand and interlacing your fingers, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “So that sounds alright to you then?”

“Yeah, it’s alright with me.” you say, and he squeezes your hand, planting a kiss to your knuckles. 

“I love you so much baby.”

“I love you too.” you say, words drifting into a sigh when he leans in to capture your lips. His hands fall to your hips, gripping tighter as his mouth starts to pull away from yours, planting a line of kisses along your jaw, slowly making his way down your neck and taking his time.

“Is dinner gonna be fucked if I do you on this table right now?” he says, and your laugh quickly turns into a gasp as his tongue darts out along your neck, sucking at the skin and making his presence known. 

“We can reheat it.” you say breathlessly. “Or go into town later. I don’t care. I need you, I need -”

“Yeah, yeah - me too baby - ”

He lifts off your neck to capture your lips once more, immediately deepening the kiss as he groans into your mouth. His hands slide down your hips and trail along the front of your thighs, gently guiding them wider. He pulls back, licking his lips as his eyes roam your body, his pupils blown wide as his chest heaves before leaning in to kiss you once more. 

“Suppose I should should start practicing getting down on my knees.” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling back slowly with a wink as he slowly sinks down to the ground, pulling you closer to the edge of the table as his lips start to trail down your thighs and everything else fades away.

September 2023

“This spot look okay?” he asks, pulling you to a stop on the middle of the hill. You look out at the completely empty field that surrounds you, the view of the town just a ways down the hill, almost sparkling in the September sun. It’s just you and him for miles.

“Bit crowded, innit?” you say and he snorts in reply, waiting for you to look back at him so you can see his eye roll in full effect.

“Good one.” he deadpans, seemingly taking your snarky answer as confirmation that this is a nice spot to stop, as he squeezes your hand once before letting go, placing the picnic basket on the ground. You reach into your bag to pull out the blanket, unfurling it before laying it down and taking a seat as he gets to work on unpacking the basket and you know better than to disturb an artist at work.

It’s a new hobby of his, borne out of a competition with Gemma a few weeks ago to see who could arrange the best snacks for the boat. Naturally, he lost and has not been a decent sport about it. He is now a man possessed. You bite your tongue as you watch him pull out the board - yes he packed a board - and begin to assemble the charcuterie with utter concentration. 

“Can feel y’ about to laugh at me.” he says, not daring to look up from his careful arrangement of cheeses.

“I’m not even saying anything!”

“Yeah but you forget how well I know you,” he mutters, pulling a container of sliced peaches out of the basket and making quick work of getting them on the board. “Can feel it in your stare.”

“I -”

“But don’t you worry, baby,” he continues and you can feel him on the precipice of a dramatic monologue, “I’ve dealt with my fair share of critics. People who don’t understand the vision of a true artist, don’t appreciate the skills required to tackle such a task. I know how to rise against adversity -”

“Jesus Christ -”

“I believe in myself ‘nd my work,” he barrels on, undeterred, trying his best to maintain a straight face but you can see the corner of his mouth twitch up, “‘m not afraid to face my haters -”

“Oh my god,” you say, laughter breaking through your words as you tackle him back against the blanket, straddling his hips as you slap your hand across his mouth, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he looks back at you, looking all too pleased with himself as his hands coming up to rest against your thighs. “Are you done? Can you be? Please?” 

He shakes his head, eyes crinkling as you slide your hand down, resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm.

“I’ve got more in me baby. But you’ve found my kryptonite,” he says, eyes darting down to your mouth before looking back up at you, hands sliding up to squeeze at your hips. “Quickest way to shut me up. You on top of me.”

“You forget how well I know you,” you say, in a horrible impression of his voice, expecting him to take the bait, crack a joke but instead his face softens as he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, his hand coming up to rest at the back of your neck, pulling you in. 

“Could never forget that. Not ever.” he whispers. “Come here.”

He pulls you in, his lips pressing against yours so gently you almost forget how you ended up here, trying to shut him up from his stupid joke that you secretly loved, which he knows as well as you. 

You both pull back slowly, slightly panting into each other’s mouths as you lock eyes and he’s got that look on his face, the look that makes your breath catch in your throat, the look that makes your heart race, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The look you’ve seen more times this year than any other, the look that you won’t let yourself fall for this time. Because you know what's on the other side of this look. You can feel it in your bones, can read it in his eyes, knowing you want the same things just as badly. Looking at you like you hold the keys to the universe. Like it’s just the two of you on this planet. Like he’s moments away from saying those words you’ve been waiting for, the words you talked about last summer.

You saw it on his face after his last night at Wembley, convinced he was about to propose to you stark naked in his dressing room, his dungarees still pooling around his ankles. You saw it the morning after the last night of tour, when he slept in the latest he’s slept in two years, after he rolled over to find you quietly reading as you waited for him to wake up, sleepy eyes locking with yours. You’ve seen flashes of it all week, when you came back from the market when you got the exact honey he likes, when you woke up early three days ago to join him on his morning run, when you decided to go for a midnight swim completely naked two nights ago. 

He’s always been shit at surprises is the thing, always too excited to see the person’s reaction so he inevitably spoils it anyway. It’s something Gemma has ragged on him about for years, the amount of times during their childhood that he blurted out the gifts they got their mum for her various birthdays, always too excited to see her reaction that he couldn’t contain himself. It happened throughout your friendship too.  Like the time he burst into your room on Boxing Day when you were ten to tell you your families were going on a joint holiday that year mere hours before your parents intended to surprise you, or the time he flew on a red eye from Paris mid filming to see you on your 22nd birthday, completely ruining Roxy’s elaborate ruse by blurting out, “I’m outside” on the phone when he was supposed to pretend he was stuck on set all night.  So you’ve always had the feeling you’d know when he was about to propose, that he wouldn’t be able to contain himself due to the excitement and gravity of the occasion but so far this motherfucker has been a steel trap.  

But you can see it now, in the look on his face. And you can feel it, you swear you can. It’s in the way he’s slowly brushing your hair from your face, his other hand resting on your hip, a light but possessive hold. But you know better than to fall for it this time, know this will be another one of those moments where he can knock the wind out of you with a mere look in his eyes and then say something completely mundane like…

“Food’s ready.” 

Exactly. You barely suppress an eye roll, giving him a quick kiss as you roll off of him, though he doesn’t let you get far as he sits up, rearranging himself so you can settle back between his legs, your back pressed against his chest, the platter of snacks within reach. 

“Did you already take a pic to send to Gem or should I wait before diving in?”

“Y’ know sometimes, the artist just creates for the sake of creating. Doesn't need an audience to validate his passion - ,” he says, laughing when you groan, pressing a kiss to the back of your head before mumbling, “course I’ve already taken a picture.”

You dive into the food from there, reaching into the basket to pull out the wine you packed, pouring it into the paper cups you brought and handing him a glass. You’re both buzzing about having this time together, just the two of you, no work obligations, no friends or family to host, just getting to hold each other close and talk about everything and nothing. 

He teases you about the absolute state you left the kitchen in a few weeks ago, when you Gemma and Roxy had a few too many and were convinced you could make authentic Italian pizza, which resulted in more dough stuck to the ceiling than you’d like to admit. You tell him about the early stages of planning you’ve been doing for your parents 30th anniversary party, desperate to properly celebrate the most aspirational love story you’ve ever known, two people who have always put their love for the other first in everything they do, just two best friends who have loved each other deeply all this time. And he only asks about 15 times to see pictures of Sammy, the puppy you’re adopting in two weeks when you get back to London. It’s mostly just the same two pictures he’s seen one hundred and nine times but that doesn’t stop his face from completely lighting up all the same, as he says “he’s gonna be ours”. 

Hours pass, but it could be minutes, time always seeming to fly when the two of you are together.  And most of the food is gone, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence as you play with his hands resting in your lap as his head rests against yours when you’re almost bowled over with emotion for a moment. It’s just - you love him. Can’t believe that after all this time, you can still have the most fun just sitting and talking to each other, never getting bored of hearing every thought in his head or getting to make him laugh or being on the receiving end of one of the cheesiest jokes of all time. 

“This is just one of my favorite things,” you say softly.

“What is?” he asks.

“Talking to you. Listening to you talk. Like in my life I’ve probably talked to you more than I’ve talked to anyone else and I still just never get tired of it.” you say, leaning back into his chest as his arms tighten around you. “I just really love you, you know?” 

“Yeah, I do.” he says softly, his hand coming up under your chin to guide your face back to his, kissing you gently as his thumb strokes against your cheekbone. He pulls back slowly, planting kisses along your cheek, temple and hairline, arms wrapping around you to pull you tighter against him. “Do y’ remember the first time we met?”

“When we were six?” you ask and he hums in response. “I mean…not really? I can’t tell if what I remember is because I actually remember it or if I’d been told it. I remember being really obsessed with Gemma.”

“Oii –” 

“Just because - hey, let me finish,” you say with a laugh, “She was nine going on ten and we were only six and she was so bloody cool and I got to be neighbors with her.”

“Fair play.”

“Thank you very much.” you say, smiling at how easily his delicate ego can be bruised. “I can remember like, flashes of that time but my more vivid memories with you are from years later. But my mum talks about it all the time - when we first moved to Holmes Chapel, meeting your family and it always, always makes her cry.” 

“Why?” he asks softly, his hands finding yours again, squeezing lightly. 

“I think -” you start to stay, brow furrowing as you try to place these memories flashing through your mind. It’s nothing tangible, there’s no clear image in your mind but you’re grasping at the ghost of a feeling, that that little six year old you felt, surprising yourself with how emotional you feel. “I think she had been quite nervous about the move, feeling badly we could no longer afford our old place once Dad lost his job and she’d been really nervous she just fucked my whole life up, taking me away from the friends I had made at that age. I was quite a loud kid but became pretty quiet when we first moved, like I could sense that my entire life was changing even if I didn’t fully understand why, so she got scared that I would just be alone all the time or have a hard time making friends. But she always says that - oh fuck, this is going to make me cry now too -”

“What is it?” he asks gently, thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands.

“She says that there was a moment that she knew I would be okay, and that we’d be okay and that her and Dad had made the right call. It was a few weeks after we moved, she had left me playing outside for a moment when she ran in to grab something and a few minutes later she heard me laughing really, really hard. Like when she tells this story, she says she’d never heard me laugh that hard before. And she came back out to see what was going on, and there you were. And we were just playing together and really cracking each other up. And that’s when she knew we’d be alright. Because of you.”

You can feel his sharp intake of breath and you turn in his hold, his hands falling to your hands to steady you as you settle onto his lap. You just take your time looking at him, the man that boy grew into, the handsomest man you’ve ever known, the only man you’ve ever loved. God, you love him. You’ve always loved him, but it’s different now. You’ve never felt like this before, about anyone, him included. What your younger selves thought was love was merely scratching the surface of what it means to know him like this, to be entrusted with his heart like this. It’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you, him. It feels impossible to describe most days, how the hell you got lucky enough to fall in love with your best friend, to have him love you back just as hard. You blink back into focus and he’s got that look on his face again, his eyes glassier than usual as he swallows back against the emotion. 

“Y’ never told me that story before,” he says, leaning into your touch when your hands come up to frame his face.

“Think Ang was saving it for a big speech someday. So if you hear it again, just pretend you didn’t.” you say and he huffs a watery laugh. “She’s got a new ending for it now though.”

“What’s that?” his voice is barely above a whisper.

“That there are three times she’s known deep in her bones that I’d be alright, that I was right where I was meant to be.” you say, breath catching as you blink back tears, softly brushing his hair back over his ear. “One was when she found us playing when we were six, one was when I gave that speech at graduation and the third… was when you came out onto that courtyard, looking for me.”

“Baby -”

You close the gap between you in a millisecond, wrapping your arms around his neck as he wraps his around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he kisses you back, giving as good as he’s getting, barely giving you time to breathe before he’s diving back in for another one. His lips drag against yours as he licks expertly into your mouth, goosebumps erupting all over your body as his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, the two of you getting lost in each other. 

You pull back eventually, unable to stop yourself from kissing along his jaw, planting a final kiss against his temple before pulling back completely. 

“Thank you for playing in the backyard with me.” you say softly.

“Could play with you right now if y’ want.”

“You’re disgusting.” 

“Not like that, you deviant mind.” he laughs, lying through his teeth. “Could play cops ‘nd robbers or summat -”

“Roleplay. Kinky.”

He honks out a laugh at that, head tilting back as his shoulders shake and you can’t help but laugh with him. 

“Dirty, dirty mind.”

“Yeah, I learned from the best.” you say and he grins, eyes crinkling as he looks back at you. 

“Hey,” he says, keeping one hand on your hip as he reaches back into the bag, pulling out this camera and handing it to you. “Could y’ take a picture of us please?”

“You wanna do a selfie?” you ask and he nods with a smile. 

You turn back around in his hold, pulling the camera up to face the two of you. He nestles his chin onto your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and you can feel the movement of his cheek against your face, his beard lightly scratching you as he breaks into a wide grin that you can’t help but match. You take the picture going to pull the camera back but he stops you.

“Do another one please.” he murmurs and you’re about to press the trigger when he turns his head, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you take the picture. You scrunch your nose almost involuntarily, feeling a swoop of butterflies as a blush forms on your cheeks like you’re fifteen years old. 

It just never gets old, with him. The way he wears his adoration on his sleeve, the little things he does almost subconsciously to keep you close, letting you know you’re always on his mind. Like how he can’t walk next to you without having his hands on you in some way, whether it’s holding your hand or wrapping his arm around your shoulder, sometimes just sliding his fingers through your belt loops.

It’s just every time he’s next to you, like a few weeks ago when you were sat next to each other, both in separate conversations but he slipped his hand along your thigh, thumb rubbing back and forth as he laughed with Mitch. The way he lets you sleep in any time he can, like this morning when he quietly slipped out for a long run before sliding back into bed a few hours later to wake you up slowly, pressing soft kisses to your neck as he slipped down under the sheets. It’s the way he listens, always hanging onto your every word even if you’re telling the most boring story in the world. It’s a lot, to be loved by him. It’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you and you can only hope that he feels your love just as strongly as you do his.

“Where’d you go?” he asks softly, brushing your hair back from your face as you turn to face him. 

“Just thinking about you.” you say and his smile softens into something more private, something just for you. “How much I love you.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath, thumb softly dragging down the side of your face as his eyes roam over your features.

“I love you so much, baby.” he says, pulling you in to kiss you gently. 

He pulls back, kissing the corner of your mouth before reaching down to take the camera out of your hands, now aiming at you.

“Oh, H -” you groan, instinctively bringing a hand up to cover the lens before he gently grabs your wrist and pulls it out of the lens’ way.

“Indulge me, darling.”

“You’ve got nine hundred pictures of me on there.”

“Yeah, well, ‘d like to make it nine hundred and one.” he says, already adjusting the focus on the camera as he holds it up, clearly not taking no for an answer. You heave a sigh, smiling when you hear him chuckle as he takes the picture. And then takes another one, and another one. And another one. 

“Oh my god, you said one!” you laugh, pushing the camera down away from your face as he laughs.

“Changed my mind. Needed photographic evidence of me making you blush,” he says, trying to pull the camera back up before you push it down again. “Alright, alright. Can’t blame a man for trying to capture his favorite subject.”

You’re helpless to do anything but shake your head at him, heart skipping a beat as he smiles back at you, quickly putting the camera back in the bag before wrapping his arms around you once more, burying his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, the two of you just sitting there for a few moments, holding each other close, breathing each other in. 

“What do you say,” he starts, mumbling into your neck as he slowly presses a line of kisses along your jaw before pulling back completely, smiling softly at you before continuing, “we head over to Leonardo’s to grab a drink and check out the sunset? Supposed to be a good one.”

“That sounds nice.” you say, running your fingers through his hair as he smiles back at you, a twinkle in his eyes that you can’t quite decipher. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” you say, smacking a kiss to his cheek before standing up and helping him up as you both start to clear up the picnic. You can feel his eyes on you more often than not, and every time you look over at him you catch him staring right back, smiling at you in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. You fold up the blanket together and he smacks a kiss to your forehead when you meet in the middle, giggling when you roll your eyes. He gathers the bags, putting them one on top of the other on his shoulder and picks up the picnic basket, always making sure to leave one hand free for you to grab onto. 

“Ready?” you ask, holding your hand out towards him and he looks back at you and suddenly your simple question feels like something more, though you can’t quite put your finger on what. It just feels like there is something in the air, like you’re on the cusp of something bigger. But you just let the thought pass, deciding to just exist in the present moment instead of overanalyze it because there he is, smiling that brilliant smile at you, eyes full of love as they stare back into yours.

—

He takes a moment to take everything in. The slowly sinking sun, the trees blowing in the summer breeze, the town sprawling out below. It’s been stunning all day, almost as if he planned the weather along with everything else. The perfect day for his perfect girl. He looks over at you, patiently waiting, knowing how he likes to take his time, to soak a moment in, commit the day to memory, take a second to express his gratitude to whoever in the universe let him have days like this, let him have you. 

He looks at you, gorgeous, stunning, beautiful you, and the way you were looking back at him, your hand outstretched towards his. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this, to deserve you looking at him like that but he’s determined to do everything he can to get you to look at him that way for the rest of his life. He takes your hand, squeezing it once, resisting the urge to run his thumb along your bare ring finger, feeling giddy with the knowledge that this would be the last time he would hold your hand without a ring on that finger. Holy shit. 

He’s trying desperately to sneak in a meditative breath, to manually slow his heart rate down so as to not raise suspicion as you make your way back towards town. Trying his best to appear calm, cool and collected and not like he was mere minutes away from one of the biggest moments of his entire life.

He’s not nervous, necessarily. He knows what you’re going to say, feels like the luckiest man in the world that he knows with absolute certainty how you feel about him, that you are in this as much as he is. He just needs to get this moment exactly right. He’s spent a lifetime choosing his words carefully but never more so than now, desperately hoping the words he came up with can begin to encapsulate all that you mean to him, knowing no words will truly ever be be able to do you and all that you are justice but he’s going to give it his best try. 

It’s been a perfect day so far. He slipped out in the early hours while you were still sleeping under the guise of a long morning run to get everything set up, facetiming his Mum and Gemma and your parents sporadically, texting Johnny, Roxy,  Archie and Jeff in between set ups before he put his phone away, wanting this day to just be about the two of you, wanting to set up as quickly as possible to get back to where you were waiting for him in bed. 

And now, after spending the afternoon on a picnic, wrapped up in each other with no one else for miles, here you both are, turning down familiar streets as you make your way closer to Leonardo’s and he feels like he might scream, the energy building inside him coming to a near boiling point. He’s just really bloody excited, is the thing. More excited than he’s ever been in his life, which is saying a lot, considering all he’s done this year, this life. But none of that has even come close to this. 

Because all that out there, while wonderful, while the most unbelievable thing to happen to some guy from Holmes Chapel, it belongs out there, to everyone else. He’s proud of all he’s done obviously and knows how much he’s had a hand in it but all the accolades, the adoring fans, the hundreds of shows, that comes down to a lot of people. It’s for public consumption, something to be shared with as with everyone who works with him, a team effort. It’s something he’s used to, something he’s been doing since he was sixteen years old. It’s second nature at this point, sharing himself with the world. 

But this? With you? This is his. You’re his. He’s never had anyone know him like you do, can’t believe how much more you’ve learned about each other over the past three years, becoming aware of each other’s little habits in a way you hadn’t been privy to before and using this new knowledge to care for each other. It can come down to the tiniest of things sometimes, how when he falls asleep reading - because he’s going to become a reader this year damnit, if only he could stop falling asleep three pages in, book splayed out on his chest - he’ll wake up the next morning to find the book on his bedside table, a bookmark in place of where he left off. 

How he likes to spend his mornings listening to records while he makes his coffee and will come home from a long time away to find new records added to his collection, long sought after legends you likely spent ages digging for. How he made a passing comment when you first moved in to the new flat two and half years ago about how one of his favorite things to do when he’s home is check the mail, that it makes him feel like he’s got a place he belongs, a place that’s his, somewhere he can settle down and now whenever he’s home, you never get the mail, not once, always leaving it for him, sometimes even going so far as to send a postcard from your office to the flat, a little love note, something nice for him to find as he flips through bills. 

He’s never had that before, not in romantic relationships, having typically found himself stuck in the archaic mindset that one person gets the gestures, one person gives them but it’s not like that with you. And he can’t believe how nice it feels to have someone love him like that. To be listened to and cared for like you do for him. You’ve taught him that love is paying attention, and it can be so simple, can be so effortless but it makes him feel like he’s flying, soaring. Knowing with you, he’s always got a soft place to land. And he works hard to do the same for you, to study his favorite subject. There is nothing he loves more than learning something new about you, figuring out a new way he can get you to smile. 

This is something he waited his whole life to experience, something he had given up any hope on actually finding. Resigning himself to settle for good enough, for fine. Not ever daring to think the greatest person he’s ever known was loving him all this time. He physically has to stop himself from picking up the pace, the temptation to start sprinting to Leonardo’s, to get down on his knee as soon as possible far too strong.

It’s all led to this, hasn’t it? This journey the two of you have been on, that started the day his mum dragged six year old him to meet the new neighbors next door. The day his life changed forever. The day he met the greatest friend he has ever had, who became the truest love he’s ever known. The kind of love that feels impossible to capture, too big and all encompassing to be dwindled down into a few words or a simple melody. It’s why he always has to have his hands on you, finding it easier to physically express himself when the words don’t feel like enough to capture all that you are to him, what this love feels like. It feels bigger than him and yet he knows it's his, that it belongs to him. That there’s no one else you look at like this, touch like this, love like this. There’s no one else for you. And there’s no one else for him. How fucking lucky is he?

He looks over at you and it’s almost game over, breath catching in his throat as his eyes sweep over your profile, the soft smile on your face as you look over the familiar buildings. He’s so in awe of you, so, so in love with you that he’s about to start crying in the middle of the street. He’s going to spend the rest of his life with you right here by his side, holding his hand and he’s never felt luckier in his life. You. Magnificent, luminescent, radiant you. 

He’s helpless to do anything but pull you in close, unwinding his hand from yours in favor of framing your face, praying you can’t feel the way his hand is slightly trembling. He barely gives you a second to react before he’s pressing his lips to yours. If you’re surprised, you barely show it, melting into him as you wrap your arms around his waist, his hand on your face clutching you tighter, thumb running along your cheekbone as he kisses you over and over again. He’s still holding the damn picnic basket but can’t be arsed to care, trying his best to communicate his love with every push and pull of his lips, every tease of his tongue against yours. 

He pulls away slowly, pressing kisses along every inch of your face until you laugh and push him away though he doesn’t let you get very far, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close, resting his cheek against the top of your head when you hug him back. Your hands slide up his sides, squeezing at his biceps once, seemingly unaware of the goosebumps your touch leaves in its wake before you let go, tilting your head up to look at him. 

“Were you holding that picnic basket the whole time just so you could flex?” you ask with a laugh, grin widening when he laughs with you. 

“My girl told me she’s got a thing for my arms. Gotta give the people what they want.”

“Oh my god -” you start to say but he cuts you off, kissing you once, twice, three times in rapid succession, before pulling back to plant a kiss to your cheek. Taking a moment to stare at you, the love of his bloody life. 

“Gonna miss the sunset if you keep looking at me like that.” you say softly. 

“Don’t need any view but the one I’ve got right now.” he says, heart flipping when your smile widens, your eyes crinkling as a blush blooms on your cheeks and he has to bring his hand back up to feel that warmth under his thumb. “You’re so beautiful.”

He watches in delight as you huff a breathless laugh, swaying on your feet slightly as if his words knocked you off balance.You just stare at each other for a moment, both your grins growing as you lean in to kiss him softly, squeezing his arm once before you pull back. 

“Could kiss you forever.” he mumbles against your mouth, and it’s true. But he really, really can’t wait anymore. “But actually I really want to see the sunset.” 

“Yeah, I know you do.” you say with a laugh, pushing him away gently. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, almost there.” he says, trying to ease the shake out of his voice as he takes your hand again, his heartbeat suddenly thundering in his ears as he can see the way your stare lingers on his face, knows you can read him like a book, that whatever you’re seeing in his eyes is giving you pause. But you don’t say anything, squeezing his hand once as you head on down the street. 

“You never answered your own question, you know.” you say, as you turn a corner, Leonardo’s coming into view and he just might scream. 

“What question?” 

“Do you remember the first time we met?” you ask, looking over at him, not yet noticing how different Leonardo’s looks at this hour, that it is completely closed,  though it’s still a bit far away so there’s still time for you to notice. But if you don’t, it is possible that he has successfully pulled off a surprise for the first time in his entire life. Okay. focus, Harry. Focus. 

“I think it’s like y’ said,” he says, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders, if only to hide how sweaty his palm has become. Trying his best to sound as normal as possible though his stomach is flipping with every step you take. “I can’t remember the exact day, I don’t think, though I have, like, a sense of that first day? Like standing on your step with Mum ‘nd Gem, ‘nd like, flicking Gemma’s ear.” 

“Nice to know both of our first memories of each other are about Gemma.” you say with a laugh and he squeezes you a bit tighter as you get closer and closer to the destination. 

“Think my first proper memory of you is when we were, like, 8. In my backyard. Trying to send telepathic messages to each other. Which we were absolute shit at.”

“Heeey, I thought we were quite good at it then. Especially in school and stuff. We only fucked up when we tried to communicate with your old cat.”

“Oh yeah, Petey. Legend.” 

“Legend.” you agree with a laugh, “I reckon we’re a lot better at it now, though. Like I can always tell when you really want to leave a party or when you’re on stage and -”

You cut yourself off, slowing to a stop right in front of Leonardo’s. He watches as your brow furrows in confusion as you take in the shuttered windows, the lack of lights and activity. You take a step forward, out of his hold as your eyes search the front of the trattoria, searching for answers that won’t come. He can’t breathe, is the thing. His mind on a constant loop of “this is it, this is it, this is it.”

“Wait, what? They’re closed? On a Sunday? Are they alright? Do you think something’s wrong?”

“I’m sure they’re alright. But we can check it out if you want.” he says, and he feels like he’s a dam on the verge of breaking, clenching his fist once before releasing it, taking a deep breath as he reaches into his pocket. “They gave me the keys.”

“They gave you the keys?!” you ask incredulously. “Why would they -” 

You turn to face him, mouth snapping shut the moment you lock eyes with him and he knows, in an instant, that his poker face has been absolutely shot to shit. He can see the understanding bloom in your eyes, a wave of emotion passing over your face as your hand flies up to cover your mouth. You did say you could read his mind. 

“H, why did they give you the keys?” you ask, your voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“Needed someplace to store the flash mob.” he says, warmth blooming in his chest when you huff a watery laugh. He reaches out to pull your hand down from your face, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before pulling you closer. “Do y’ want to go inside?”

You take a deep breath, biting down on a grin as you nod. He smiles back at you, squeezing your hand as he leads you both to the door, trying to use the keys on the door but his hands are shaking too bad, he tries to bring up the other hand to help but the picnic basket gets in the way, muttering a curse as he tries again. 

“Here, let me -” 

“Yeah, could you -” he starts to say, but you’re already reaching for the picnic basket, taking it out of his hands, always anticipating what he needs before he can vocalize it, always there to ease his burdens. Is he being too dramatic about a picnic basket? Yes. But he can’t help it, emotion flowing through him like a tidal wave, in disbelief that what he’s been working towards for a whole year is on the other side of this door. 

He grabs the doorknob with his newly freed hand, keeping it steady as he works the lock with the other and this time it swings open to reveal the restaurant, completely shrouded in darkness. He holds the door open for you, letting you walk in first, living for the slightly confused expression on your face as he follows in behind you. 

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” you deadpan and he honks out a laugh, closing the door behind him and locking it as he feels the last of his nerves shake free, comforted by the fact that while he’s about to walk into the moment he’s been waiting his whole life for, the two of you are still you. Still giving each other shit.  And why should he be nervous when he’s about to get the opportunity to tell you how much he loves you? And wants to spend the rest of his life with you? God, he’s so, so lucky. 

“Taking the piss at a moment like this. Should’ve known.” he says, shaking his head as you grin over at him. 

“So should I be expecting the dancers now or …”

“Give a lad a moment, jesus.” he says, grinning when you laugh. He reaches over and takes the basket from your hands, placing it on the nearest chair. “Can y’ close your eyes for me?”

You take a deep breath, nodding and shut your eyes. He quickly pulls the bags off his shoulder, placing them next to the basket and reaching into the depths of his bag to pull out the small square box and slide it into his pocket, squeezing once. He grabs his camera out of the bag and swings the strap over his shoulder before shuffling up behind you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he covers your eyes with his hand. 

“H, my eyes are already closed -”

“Can’t be too careful with you,” he says, laughing when you grumble. “Alright, walk forward for me. I’ll guide ya.” 

He guides you through the restaurant, through the kitchen, and onto the back patio where you had dinner that night three years ago and where you’ve had several dinners since. He gently pushes you forward and then pulls you to a stop. 

“Keep ‘em closed,” he says, taking a step back and plugging in the twinkling lights that he hung from the wood paneled roof and the space is suddenly illuminated, looking just as he imagined it, the sun beginning to set in the distance. Fuck yes. He snaps a quick picture of you, completely unaware of your surroundings before placing the camera down on a nearby table. This is it. He looks himself over quickly, running his hands through his hair, adjusting his shirt, reaching into his pocket to quickly squeeze the box once before he takes a deep, deep breath and moves next to you.

“Y’ can open your eyes now, love.” he says, not daring to look away from your face, watching you with rapt attention as you open your eyes. Your eyes widen instantly, tears brimming in your eyes as you squeeze his forearm. 

“Oh, H.” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes sweep the space. It’s been completely transformed - most of the tables have been shoved to the side, except for a semicircle in the middle, leading to a perfect view of the sunset. Every single table is absolutely covered in bouquets of lilies - your favorite flower, asiatic lilies if he’s going to be specific, and he was, calling every florist within a 100 mile radius until he found the perfect ones, blooms of pinks, reds and purples covering every inch of the patio. 

Every inch, except the six tables in the semicircle. Those each hold a different photograph from the two of you over the years, blown up, framed and propped up, encircled with smaller photographs from the same time of your lives. You go to inspect them further, linking your fingers with his as you pull him behind you. 

The first photo is the two of you in his kitchen, age 7, hands absolutely covered in paint from an arts and crafts project you had taken up yourselves. You smile wide as you take it in, taking your time to look at the pictures covering the table, like one from when you were both ten, still in your costumes from the school play, arms slung around each other’s shoulders as you clutch onto the flowers your mums gave you or the one of you during Boxing Day charades when you were twelve. He had spent days in his mum’s house, looking over his and your parents’ piles of photos, desperately eager to find the best ones, the ones that would make you smile like you’re smiling right now. 

You pull him along to the next one and he hears you huff a laugh at the teenage awkwardness in all its glory, the two of you making some questionable fashion choices while on a family vacation in Paris, right before the band’s first single came out. He’s smiling wide at the camera, an arm around your shoulders and you are looking right at him, the braces adorning your teeth adding some extra shine. 

“Stupid in love with you, even then.” you mumble, sniffling as you give his hand another squeeze, eyes poring over the photographs surrounding the biggest picture. There’s a noticeable shift, as school pictures fade into pictures taken backstage at venues or near historic monuments all over the world. A time capsule, watching his life drastically change in every sense right before his eyes. But there’s always you. Right there, by his side. 

The next table has a photo from your 22nd birthday, the two of you practically tackling each other outside your flat, when he absolutely fucked up the surprise, but he hadn’t seen you in ages and was too excited. He stared at that picture for a while when setting up this morning, wondering how he could have possibly missed what he knows to be deeply true now, when he can see the joy and love so clearly written on his younger face.

You turn as you pull him to the right, to the next three tables, all covered with pictures of you both from the last three years. Each table represents a different year of your relationship, there’s one with the photo of when you first moved in together, the self timer picture you took in the middle of the barely set up living room, both of you smiling wide at the camera, giddy despite the exhaustion from the move. There’s the next one with one of his favorite pictures ever, from the vacation you took in the Cayman Islands after his insane year of touring last year, a selfie you took in the pool together and you look like the hottest woman alive. 

He feels you squeeze his fingers to smithereens as you get to the last table, covered in photos he knows you’ve not seen yet, including the big one that knocked the wind out of him when he first saw it. It’s from a few weeks ago, taken by Johnny. You’re at dinner in the backyard with everyone but the two of you are lost in your own world, his arm is wrapped around the back of your chair with his other hand resting on your thigh as you stare into each other’s eyes, laughing at a dumb joke one of you must have told. The love in the photo is palpable, it makes his stomach flip the more he looks at it.

He feels almost shy then, as you look everything over once more. He hasn’t done something like this for anyone… ever. He hasn’t tried to make a gesture this big in ages, certainly not by himself (though Leonardo did insist he and his sons help with the flower unloading, but they left Harry alone to set up the photos.) He wanted a visual of your lives together, everything that led up to now. He’s been working on this since your conversation last summer, scouring over photos in your family homes, going through all the film he has. He wanted it to be perfect for you. Wanted to show his love as best he could. He can feel a blush blooming on his cheeks, desperate to know what you think, hoping it’s not too corny, hoping you can see what he meant.  

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you say softly, voice thick with emotion. 

“Y’ like it? ‘S not too -” he asks and you’re already shaking your head before he can finish the question. 

“No it’s perfect, it’s…” you say, looking around at the tables, all the photographs, all the years of memories the two of you share. “It’s crazy to see it like this, all of our years together. It’s…”

You bring your hand to your forehead, shaking your head in disbelief, words seemingly failing as you look around at everything. He squeezes your hand, thumb rubbing over the back of it as you take a deep, shaking breath, tears falling from your eyes. 

“Oh, baby…” he says softly, pulling you in by the hand as he brings his other up to frame your face, thumb wiping away the tears that fall.

“I’m good, this is all good, it’s better than good. I’m just …overwhelmed.” you say, with a watery smile as you look back at him. “Just like all this history…and the flowers and the photos, like this must have taken ages. The thought of you looking through everything is killing me.”

“Been searching for the best photos for the past year,” he says softly, hand not leaving your face. “Our parents helped with the childhood photos but a lot of the other ones come from my film.”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me that,” you groan, quickly squeezing your eyes shut. “I already look a mess enough as it is.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” he says softly and you blink your eyes back open at that, leaning into the gentle caress of his hand. “Got something I’d like to say to you, if that’s okay.”

He watches as you take a deep, shaky breath, your face lighting up as you look back at him with such love in your eyes, he may faint. 

“Yeah, that’s okay.” you say back just as softly. “Do you need me to like, let go?”

“No, y’ can stay right where you are. Actually hang on.” he says, walking you backwards so the two of you are perfectly in line with the sunset, the sky a perfect pink. He stares at you for a moment, can already feel the tears brimming in his eyes as he takes a deep breath. 

When he looks at you, it’s like he can see all versions of you at once. The versions of you that surround the two of you where you stand. His new neighbor that became his favorite person to play in the backyard with when he was six, the girl he wanted to kiss more than anyone when he was thirteen, his best friend who answered his phone call no matter the time or place when he was nineteen, the woman who stopped him from making what would’ve been the biggest mistake of his life, his girlfriend who makes him laugh more than anything in the world and loves him more than he’s ever been loved. The first face he seeks out in a crowd, the first voice he longs to hear when he’s been away, his love, his life, the love of his life. The woman who is going to be his wife. 

He didn’t realize the tears started to fall from his eyes as well until he feels your hand, gently  cradling the side of his face, brushing his tears away. He huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to your palm before taking your hand in his, holding both of your hands with both of his. It’s reminiscent of what you’ll be doing in the future, at a ceremony somewhere and you both seem to be struck with that thought at the same time, squeezing each other’s hands as your grins widen. He’s got to do this now. He’s got to. He’s got to. He clears his throat, takes a deep breath. 

“I never said thank you, you know.” he begins, “Not properly. For being brave enough to tell me how you felt on the courtyard that night. For wanting better for yourself and for me. Y’ always…always want better for me. I don’t think I’d have ever had the courage to go against what was being expected of me or the situation I put myself in. And I can’t think about that too much, what my life would look like if you hadn’t done that. What a life without you, without this would look like. Because this is everything to me. You’re everything to me. And I’m grateful every single day that you told me how you felt when you did.” 

Emotion clogs his throat and he has to pause, shaking his head slightly as he takes a deep breath, knowing you’re not better off, biting down on a smile as tears fill your eyes, taking your own shaky breath, sliding your thumbs along the back of his hands, the move comforting him more than you know. 

“I never knew love could feel like this.” he continues, his voice shakier than before. “I didn’t have many examples of it growing up in my own family, not of this type of love. Always thought that people exaggerated, that it couldn’t be as good as they’re making it out to seem. But with you…it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. I love how you love me, I love the way being with you makes me feel. You’ve been my best friend for my entire life and getting to be in love with you is the greatest gift you’ve ever given me.”

You make a soft sound at that, a small sob escaping you as you try your best to hold it together, the look on your face is going to make him absolutely lose it, as if he hasn’t already. He squeezes your hands, letting go of one to catch the tears that start falling from your eyes.

“Keep going,” you croak out, both of you laughing softly at the absolute state you’ve found yourselves in, matching tear tracks and smiles. He pinches your cheek and you swat away his hand, and he takes it once more in his.  “Please.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles, his vision already swimming again as he takes a deep breath. He can do this. 

“I love your mind and your heart. I love being able to come home to you every single day and waking up next to you every single morning. These last three years getting to love you like this have been the best of my life. I’m the best version of myself when I’m with you. Being loved by you has made me a better friend, a better son, a better partner. The way you pay attention, the way you support me and believe in me has changed my life completely. You make me happier than I ever thought possible. You make me feel alive. You make me feel loved and cared for in a way I’ve never experienced before. And, if y’ let me, all I want to do is spend the rest of my life making you feel the same.” 

“You already do,” you say softly, and he has to bow his head at that, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for this life, this moment, this love. He looks back up to see you looking right back at him, his beacon of light, his home. 

“I wanted to do this here because it was one of the first places that felt like ours.” he says, “This is the first place I ever called you my girlfriend. And I’d like for it to be the last.” 

He gently lets go of your hands, eyes never leaving your face as he sinks down to one knee, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the ring box. He opens it, living for the way you gasp, hands flying up to your face when you recognize the ring inside. Your Nana’s ring that your mum gave him that weekend in Scotland all those months ago. Updated, slightly. He couldn’t resist a Cartier twist. You’re proper crying now ,all pretenses of holding your composure long abandoned and he knows he’s no better, can feel the tears sneaking their way down his face. It’s just everything to him, knowing this means as much to you as it does to him.

“Baby,” he says, and the smile you give him in response makes his heart skip a beat, feeling like he could fly. “Will you marry me?

“Yes.” you say instantly, 

“Yeah?” he says, grin practically splitting his face as you nod fervently.

“Yes yes yes yes yes.”

You practically lunge at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and almost knocking him backwards. He wraps his arms around your waist, careful not to drop the ring as he pulls you close. You pull back, taking his face in your hands, wiping the tears away with your thumbs. You take a moment to stare at him, your watery gaze matching his as you smile at each other, the look on your face making him feel like he’s on fire. You lean in, kissing him so softly, so carefully, he’s going to start crying harder. It’s messy, both of your faces wet from snot and tears, but neither of you seem to care, pulling each other closer and closer, his hand coming up to squeeze the back of your neck as you mumble against his mouth, a mix of  “yes, please, I love you I love you I love you.” 

He presses kisses to your cheek, temple, the edge of your jaw before looking you in the eyes, both unable to do anything but laugh, feeling overwhelmed with love and joy. 

“Getting snot all over your face.” you say softly, laughing when he does. “Quite gross, sorry.”  

“Don’t care.” he mumbles against your cheek. “Can I give y’ the ring now please?” 

“Please.” you say back, pulling back and sitting back on your heels as he unwinds his arms around you, pulling the ring out of the box before placing it down. 

He takes your hand in his, smiling up at you as he slides it onto your finger, the two of you doing a collective sharp inhale as he does. You both are quiet for a moment, staring at the ring glimmering on your finger, a perfect fit.  

“H. I…this is my Nana’s ring, yeah?”

“Yeah, your mum gave it to me earlier this year. Said your Granddad had wanted you to have it.” he says softly, kissing you on the shoulder when your face crumples slightly, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. 

“He did?”

“He did. He told her to give it to the person that makes her daughter the happiest. That that’s what he and your Nana would want. Ang said she almost gave it to me that first Christmas we came home together. Said that she..uh,” he stops for a second, voice catching on emotion as he remembers the conversation, tears springing back to his eyes. “Said that she had never seen you that happy.”

“Oh Jesus. I’m gonna be crying for a month,” you say, bringing your hands up to cover your face as you’re overwhelmed for a moment. He huffs a gentle laugh beside you, his hand not leaving your arm as you lower your hands to stare at the ring again. “I can’t believe it’s Nana’s ring.” 

“I upgraded it a bit -”

“Yeah, no shit.” you say and he honks out a laugh, breath catching when you look at him, eyes aglow with affection. “It’s stunning.”

“Yeah? Y’ like it?”

“I love it. More than I can say.” you say, softly smiling at him. “I love you.”

You lean in to kiss him, resting your hand against the back of his neck, only this time he can feel the back of the ring against his skin and he just about loses his mind. He sits back, pulling you onto his lap with his arms around your waist as he kisses you back, having no interest in leaving the ground when he gets to have you this close. 

“You know it’s all the same for me, right?” you say, pulling back abruptly as your eyes search his face. “Everything you said?”

“I know, baby -” he says, already leaning in to kiss you again but you stop him, pressing your fingers against his mouth.

“Hang on, just let me -” you start to say, smiling when he presses a soft kiss to your fingertips covering his mouth, before you bring them down to rest on his jawline, your eyes roaming over his face, lighting up when they lock with his. “You’re my best friend, my favorite person to spend time with. And I can’t quite believe this is real, that we’re now bloody engaged.”

You pause for a moment, blinking back tears as he tightens his arms around you, brushing the back of your knuckles against his face. 

“Forever wouldn’t be enough time with you. You make me so, so happy, happier than I’ve ever been in my life. These last three years your job has brought us to the most beautiful places but - I’m going to be cheesy right now, you just have to let me, - there’s something about getting to come home to the flat and have you there that’s just…there’s nothing like it in the world. I feel so lucky. You make me better. You make me believe in myself more, take more risks, knowing I’ll always have a safe place to land. Nothing has ever felt like this before. Getting to see you grow into the man you are has been like, one of the greatest privileges of my life and now, getting to grow alongside you, build a life with you… dream come true doesn’t do it justice. I am so, so in love with you -”

He closes the distance between you in an instant, choking back tears as he crashes his lips against yours, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of your head. He feels all out of words at the moment, unable to articulate the way your words have his heart about to beat out of his chest. He never knew it was possible to feel this much about another person, love radiating out of every fiber of his being as he kisses you over and over again.

You press a line of kisses up his face, wrapping your arms around his neck as you whisper into his ear an endless loop of “I love you, I love you, thank you, I love you” and he may just melt. The two of you sit there for a while, holding each other tight. He pulls back, eyes grazing over your face before he leans in again, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Did you bring your camera out here?” you ask “Should try to capture the moment, yeah? Document the craziest I ever looked?”

He laughs, shaking his head almost instantly. “Y’ don’t look crazy. You’re gorgeous.”

“You only saying that because you just put a ring on my finger?”

“Caught me there.” he says with a smile. “Camera’s over by the door.”

You squeeze his shoulder once before standing up and walking over to grab it. He watches you walk away, the swish of your dress as you walk, the dip of it in the back, the way that ring on your finger now glimmers against the lights. He stands up once you have the camera in hand, watching with a curious smile as you place it on the table, propping it up, getting the angle right before pressing the button on the back for the self-timer, the red light instantly flashing as you hurry back to where he stands in the center of the patio, the flowers and photos surrounding him. 

He holds his arms open for you and you step into his embrace, your back to his chest as you both face the camera. He loops an arm around the front of your chest, hand resting on your shoulder as you bring your left hand up to clasp his forearm, both smiling at the camera as it takes the picture. 

He presses a kiss to your head, squeezing your shoulder once, as he mutters into your hair, “Gonna make you do a selfie.”

Not listening to your half-assed protests as he walks back over to the camera, picking it up and instantly snapping a picture of you standing there, amongst the flowers. His favorite sight. 

You immediately wrap your arms around his waist when he gets close, settling your head in the crook of his neck as he fumbles with the camera.

“C’mon, you gotta hold your hand up. Show off the goods”

In response you smack your hand over his face, completely covering it,  laughing when he glares at you through the spaces in your fingers. He clicks the shutter, unable to stop his smile when you honk out a laugh. 

“Cheers for that, darling. Just how I wanted to capture the moment.”

“I’ll be framing that one, me.” you say with a laugh, trying in vain to dodge his hand trying to pinch your side. “Alright do a real one, I’ll be good.”

“Heard that one before,” he says, giggling when you swat at him before you turn back to the camera, holding your hand up with a quirk of your lips and he’s so hopelessly endeared as he presses the button, taking four pictures in rapid succession, knowing you’re about to smack him but you surprise him by just tightening your arms around his waist before you turn to face him, your hand coming up to tilt his face towards yours. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, one that almost sweeps him right off his feet. His hand falters on the trigger, feeling a little lost in your lips before he snaps a photo quickly, heart flipping when you laugh against his mouth. 

“Take another one,” you mumble against his lips before leaning in to kiss him again and he all but forgets the camera in his hand as he wraps his arms around your waist,  both of you smiling too wide to get a proper kiss in, but you can’t be arsed to care. He pulls back, pressing a line of kisses along your jaw, smiling against your skin when you hum contentedly. 

“Got the shot?” you ask and he nods, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before pulling back, smiling at you the way you’re smiling at him.  

“Got something else, too,” he says.

“Yeah? What’s that?” 

“Heard a rumor that Isabella may have left a treat for us in the kitchen.” he says, watching in glee as your mouth opens in shock. “Something about a tiramisu -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Should be a nice bottle of bubbly in there somewhere, too.”

“Why are we still out here?!” you say, pulling the camera out of his hands and placing it on the nearest table before grabbing his hand as you beeline back inside towards the kitchen. 

It’s a struggle to get the lights sorted inside, resulting in him absolutely slamming into a table, your bark of laughter echoing in the empty space. He figures it out eventually, hindering your mission towards the fridge with a hand around your wrist, pulling you back and pressing you against the wall to steal a few more kisses, completely ignoring your warning that you’re “breaking about 100 health codes right now,” laughing when you roll your eyes at his offer to break about a hundred more. 

He eventually lets you go, leaning over to open the fridge, a wave of emotion flowing through him when he sees the dessert, “Tanta felicita!” written across the top in Isabella’s handwriting, a bottle of Dom right next to it. Just feeling very lucky that he has people in his life that dropped everything to help him with this, who believed in your love from day one, people who looked out for him when he was younger and would still do anything for him, despite him being on much steadier feet now. 

“Oh, fuck yes.” you say as you peer over his shoulder. He laughs, smacking a kiss to your head as you grab a pair of forks and glasses while he handles the food and drink. You head back outside, moving some bouquets out of your way before sitting down at a table, pulling your chairs right next to each other as he rests his arm around the back of your chair. He lets you do the honors with the champs, both of you cheering as the cork flies off, toasting when you get your glasses filled. You let him get all of two bites in before you’re demanding he tell you every detail of how he pulled this off. 

He tells you all about how he first got the idea when he was at his Mum’s house last year and came across a picture of the two of you that he had never seen before and started to wonder what a time capsule of your lives together would look like. How he had begun working on it in private for a few months before telling his mum, how he asked your parents when you were all staying together in Scotland. Your eyes widen in disbelief that that all happened without you having a clue, though maybe you should have been paying more attention because your dad was “so, so weepy that weekend.” 

He tells you how when he told Archie his plans, he had cried, though he swore to deny it if you ever asked him about it, telling Harry he’s been like a big brother to him all his life. How he had brought him, Gemma, Johnny and Roxy with him to Cartier, trusting his instincts but wanting input from the people that knew you best. How all your friends begged him to propose while they were here a few weeks ago, but he knew it was meant for just the two of you. How Leonardo and Isabella leapt at the opportunity to help, how Isabella was tempted to hide in the kitchen to cook you a full seven course meal but begrudgingly agreed to settle for a tiramisu. How he had done this whole operation by himself, no assistance from a single member of his team, determined to prove he was capable and worthy of your yes all by himself. 

How he almost threw it all away when he got the finished ring in early July, running on fumes from the end of tour, the greatest year of his life, desperate to get down on one knee as soon as possible. How he couldn’t look at you for too long without getting emotional,  knowing what the end of summer was leading up to, tripping over his tongue to tell you how much he loves you no matter where you were, sometimes looking over at you in the cleaning supplies aisle of the grocery store and being unable to breathe for a second, in disbelief that he was going to get to spend the rest of his life with you.

He usually hates to talk this much, but finds he never minds it when you’re the audience, a soft smile on your face as you listen with rapt attention, reacting at all the right parts, just the way he imagined you would. You’re in tears again by the end, insisting they’re good, that you’re just feeling happier than you’ve ever felt and your body just has no idea how to respond.

“I’ve turned into a bloody fountain,” you say, huffing a laugh as you wipe your eyes. “You know you can’t tell me anything about Archie being nice, I instantly lose it.”

He laughs, moving his arm from the back of your chair to your shoulders, pulling you in to press a kiss to your head. You lean into his hold, resting your head against his shoulder as your eyes scan the space, a soft smile on your face. It’s a while before either of you speak, taking your time to relish the moment, both your eyes catching on that ring every so often. Happy to take time to just hold each other close, surrounded by the flowers and years of memories. It’s gotten cooler since the sun went down an hour or so ago and he can feel the shiver in your spine as the breeze passes through. 

“Y’ cold?”

“No, I’m fine.” you say, though the way you burrow your head into his chest may give you away. 

“Got a sweater in my bag -” he says, already on his way to get up and grab it for you but you pull him back down with laugh. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist, as your eyes graze over his face, your lips quirking up into that smile that’s just for him. “Wanted to say thank you. It’s been the perfect day.”

“Y’ happy, yeah?” he asks, living for the way your smile grows as you nod. 

“Best day of my life.” you say with such sincerity it makes his breath catch, saying a silent vow to himself that he will do all he can to have a hand in every best day of your life for the rest of it. “Could stay here forever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, already leaning in to kiss him, pressing your lips to his once, twice, three times before you pull away. “But -”

“You’re cold.”

You simply shake your head and he can see something shift behind your eyes and - oh. He clears his throat, heat simmering in his veins. You slide your hand up to rest at the back of his neck, fingers softly moving through the curls, he’s helpless to do anything but lean into the touch.

“Kinda feel like if I don’t get my hands on you soon, I’m gonna lose my mind,” you say.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Could do stuff here but I’d really rather be able to look Isabella and Leonardo in the eye next time I see them,” you say and he laughs, the laughter fading into a sigh when your lips find his neck, the hand not in his hair sliding up his thigh. 

You press a soft kiss right behind his ear, squeezing his thigh once before whispering right into his ear, “Do you want to take your fiancée home?”

He captures your lips in an instant, groaning when the hand in his hair tightens as you kiss. There’s fire, heat. It’s different from the countless kisses you shared today. There’s intent behind it and you both realize it at the same time, shivers going down your spines as you pull each other closer, his hand coming up to frame your jaw as he takes over the kiss. 

He kisses you until he can’t breathe, only pulling back when his lungs feel like they’re about to burst. Panting against your mouth as you’re no better off, trying to catch your breath as you run your fingers through his hair. 

“C’mon baby,” he mumbles, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away, “Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t remember much of the walk home. He knows the basics - knows he turned off all the lights, locked up the doors with a vow to come back to clean everything up early tomorrow, thanking his lucky stars that the restaurant is closed on Mondays. He knows that he packed up the remaining dessert and champs and his camera, that you grabbed the loose photographs and one of the vases of lilies, that he made you wear his sweater for the walk home. But everything else fades away. Nothing else matters except here and now, where he’s pressing you against the hallway wall, too eager to get his mouth on yours to make it all the way to the bedroom. 

He feels your hand squeeze at his shoulder before sliding down his chest, scratching along his pecs as you make your way down his abs, fingers digging into the grooves. You don’t stop kissing him, every swipe of your tongue against his setting his every nerve ending on fire, as you slide your hand lower, fingers sliding under the waistband of his briefs as you wrap your hand around him. He groans into your mouth, kissing you harder as you start to stroke him.

He pulls back, kissing a line up your jaw, moaning every so often when your hand twists just right. 

“Perfect fucking hands,” he grunts out, not letting his lips leave your skin as your hand lets him go, your fingers deftly undoing the button on his trousers, pulling the zipper down before you bring your hand up to your mouth.  When your next touch comes back wet, he has to bite down on your skin before capturing your lips with his as you move your hand up and down his cock. His hands slide down your body, gripping your skin every so often before settling on your arse, squeezing once, breath stuttering against your mouth when you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, just the way he likes it. He’s going to lose his mind. 

“C’mon baby, let’s go to bed.” he grunts out, when the need burning in his veins reaches a boiling point,  kissing you quickly before sliding his hands down your thighs, encouraging you to jump into his arms as your legs wrap around his hips, your arms settling around his neck. “Want to fuck my fiancée in our bed.”

“Say it again,” you gasp out as he starts to walk you both towards the bedroom, your mouth already starting to work down his neck, tongue splaying out on the parts you know are his favorites. He nudges his nose against your jaw until you pull back your head to face his and he kisses you right away.

“Want to fuck my fiancée,” he whispers, kissing you again, hard. “My fiancée. My fiancée. My fiancée.”

A moan punches out of you at that, sliding your hands up into his hair as you kiss him back, not letting his lips leave yours as he crosses the threshold to your bedroom, bending down to lay you back against the bed. He plants his hands on either side of your head as he lets you kiss him into oblivion, your legs tightening around his hips as you grind up against him. 

He pulls back for a moment, catching his breath as his eyes roam your body. Your perfect body, your beautiful face. That look in your eyes making him weak, looking at him with such open want, such need, it makes his hands start to tremble. It’s a lot, to be wanted by you. There’s nothing like it in the world. And god, does he want you. He wants to give you everything. 

He leans back in, slowly brushing his lips along your jaw, tongue darting out to taste the skin of your neck, taking his time as he feels your hands work open the buttons of his shirt, doing your best to push the fabric off his shoulders while he refuses to part from your neck. Your legs fall from his hips as he moves his way down your body, shaking his shirt from his arms as he covers every inch of your exposed skin with his mouth, his lips diligently following the path the deep V your dress makes, living for every sound you make. 

His hands fall to your thighs as he slides down the bed, kissing the skin he exposes as he slowly pushes the fabric of your dress up, taking his time to suck a mark in your inner thigh as he pushes the dress farther and farther up your skin. Your hands meet his on your belly, where he rubs smooth circles as his lips work their way up your thighs before you sit up to pull the dress over your head. 

He’s frozen in place for moment, unable to take his eyes off your body before you nudge him with your foot, huffing out a, “Take your trousers off, you look a bit insane.” He looks down, huffing a sheepish laugh at the state of himself, trousers open with his hard cock poking out of his briefs. He quickly stands up to pull them off, molten lava traveling down his spine as your eyes scan him up and down and he has to give himself a few tugs for relief as you pull your underwear off and lay back down on the bed in all your naked glory. 

He’s crawling back over you, the least graceful he’s ever been by the way you giggle at him. He takes a second to hover over you, nudging his nose against yours, chucking softly. A well of emotion flows through him as he says, “Thank you for agreeing to spend the rest of your life with me.”

He watches as you swallow, eyes blinking a few times before you whisper back, “Thank you for agreeing to spend the rest of your life with me.”

“Easiest decision of my life, baby. I love you I love you I love -” 

You cut him off by leaning up and capturing his lips with yours, though he's still trying to mumble it against your mouth in between kisses. He slides his hand along your arm to interlace his fingers with yours, groaning when he can feel that ring against his skin. Proof that this is real, that you’re his. That you’re going to be his forever. 

He pulls back and smacks a kiss to your jaw before sliding back down the bed once again, needing to be close to you more than he’s ever needed anything in his life. Pressing his lips to your belly, his kisses getting slower and wetter the closer they get to your core. You’re making the prettiest sounds, sounds he finds himself in the studio desperate to translate to a melody, unable to find a combination of notes that comes close to making him feel the way these do. He pulls your legs over his shoulders, squeezing your thighs as he kisses his way up to your core. He looks up at you, the look of bliss on your face, the gleam in your eye and dives in. 

He gets lost in it, in you, his favorite way to make you fall apart. Your hand slides up into his hair and pulls when he sucks your clit into his mouth just right, keeping the rhythm of his tongue just the way you like it. Heat sears through him when he hears you moan, spurring him on to work harder. His tongue lapping over your folds, nudging his nose against your clit as he buries himself in the heat of you. He loves this, loves how wet you get, loves being able to directly feel how much he affects you, every tense of your thigh, every quiver of your core. 

He squeezes your thigh, dragging his hand towards your core and he slides one finger inside your tight, wet heat, the slide slick and easy with how wet you are. He crooks his finger and your back arches, your hand gripping tight in his hair as he groans against you. He works double time, more determined than ever to get you to your high. He slides another finger into, mumbling nonsensical praise against your folds, dragging his tongue up to encircle your clit. A twist of his fingers, a hard suck of his mouth and that’s it. 

You gasp out his name as you come undone, a never ending loop of “Harry, Harry, Harry” falling from your lips as he works you through the orgasm, only pulling back when he feels you tug on his hair. He looks at you, gloriously fucked out you, and lifts his fingers to his mouth, indulging in the taste of you, stomach flipping when you mutter “oh fuck” and shut your eyes, too overwhelmed by the sight. 

You’re reaching for him but he’s already making his way up to you and you kiss him the moment he’s close enough, sliding your hands up and down his back as you lick into his mouth, moaning when he rolls his hips down against yours. He pulls back, pressing a slow line of kisses along your jaw before looking at you, hand slightly trembling as he brushes your hair behind your ear, the look in your eyes making him melt. 

He’s usually talkative during sex, unable to stop an endless stream of praise from falling from his lips but here and now, he feels all out of words. Too overwhelmed by how good it feels to be with you like this. One look at your face tells him you’re right there with him. It always feels good with you but there’s something different happening here, something deeper, the heat between you almost palpable. It feels like making love. He grinds down against you a few more times as his lips map kisses across your face, your hands squeezing at his skin every so often. 

When he locks eyes with you,  you can instantly read his mind, nodding at his unasked question, emotion passing over your eyes as you pull his mouth back to yours. You kiss him deeply, the twist of your tongue making him groan out loud as he reaches down to guide himself into you, both of you moaning instantly when he sinks inside. White hot heat sears through him, everything is warm, wet, perfect. 

He’s never felt like this before, almost choking on his desperation, his need as he drives into you slowly, steadily, resting his forehead against yours to see your every reaction up close. He slides his hand along your thigh and presses it up, the new angle making both of you moan. You squeeze his shoulders, nails digging into his back muscles as you pull him closer to you, not wanting a centimeter of space between you two, the slide of your bodies making him feral, biting down on your neck as need seeps deep into his bones. 

At one point you flip over and he thinks he may die here, feeling useless as you take him apart with each roll of your hips as you ride him, resting your left hand on his chest. He puts his hand over yours, his fingers catching on the ring every so often and making his heart clench in his chest. He brings the other hand up to feel the way your hips circle his, moans being punched out of him as he melts back into the mattress, almost paralyzed by the sight of you, your kiss swollen lips, your breasts bouncing with every twist of your hips, the look in your eyes. You wrap your hand around his neck, pulling him up to you to kiss him deeply, panting against his mouth as he gently lays you back against the mattress. 

He wraps one arm around your upper back to pull you close, pressing the other against the mattress to drive his hips into yours, hard. He’s kissing you until he can’t, until you’re both too far gone, just moaning against each other’s mouths. He knows you’re close, can feel you squeezing him tighter. He squeezes the back of your neck once before sliding his hand down to rub circles against your clit. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, biting down on his neck as you come, making the prettiest, softest sounds that make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. You’re murmuring praise in his ear, scratching your nails down his back and it’s all but two seconds before he comes, hard. It’s never felt this good. Kissing you as he comes down, can’t stop sliding his tongue over yours as he kisses you with everything he has. Needing you to know, to understand when the words are failing, that you’re everything. That you’re always going to be everything. 

You pull back slowly to let him breathe, gently rubbing circles on his chest as you both pant. He buries his head into your neck and you wrap your arms around him, the two of you holding each other close through the comedown. You’re so close he can feel it when your breath hitches, can feel it when your tears mix with the sweat on his shoulders. He pulls back to look at you, any concern fading instantly when he sees the look of love in your eyes, the smile on your face. 

You shake your head slightly when you lock eyes, in disbelief of what the two of you can create, your smiling growing when he grins as well. He crushes his lips to yours, you slide your hand up into his sweaty hair as he kisses you so thoroughly, chuffed knowing you’re as in awe of this dynamic as he is, that you’re as excited as he is to spend the rest of your lives together. 

“I don’t think I have words for how good that felt,” you say softly when he pulls back, pressing a kiss to your cheek before sliding out of you. 

“Quite alright with doing it like that for the rest of my life,” he says, feeling warm all the way down to his toes when you honk out a laugh. He quickly hops off the bed and into the ensuite, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with the sink before coming back to you. Where you’re laying completely naked staring at the ring on your finger with the greatest smile on your face. God. 

He crawls back onto the bed, gently pulling your thighs apart as he cleans you up, unceremoniously throwing the washcloth on the floor to make his way back up to you, where you’ve been watching him with a warm smile. 

“I love you so much,” you say, threading your hand into his hair as he settles on top of you, your eyes scanning his face as you scrunch your nose to hold back your emotion. “You’re going to be my husband.”

“You’re going to be my wife,” he says back, his voice cracking at the end as emotion flows through him. “I am so bloody in love with you.”

“Me too,” you say sincerely, staring into his eyes, the corners of your lip twitching up. “I’m also in love with me.”

He honks out a laugh shaking his head as you giggle, clearly proud of your own joke. 

“Such a little shit,” he says, pinching your side as he rolls over, carrying you with him, settling against the mattress with you on top of him. “Should’ve known that was coming.”

You look at him for a few moments, running your hands through his hair, smile deepening when he leans into the touch. 

“I’m really bloody in love with you, too.” you say softly and it feels like his heart grows five inches. He knew, he’s never questioned it with you, not once. That doesn’t stop the butterflies from swirling in his belly when he hears you say it out loud.

You lean in at the same time, kissing each other so tenderly, goosebumps erupting on his skin when you sigh into his mouth. You both pull back slowly, grinning at each other so wide that you start giggling like school kids, feeling so giddy, so grateful for this love, you’re overflowing with joy. It’s so nice that it always comes back to this, just two best friends making each other laugh. 

But there’s something different, he thinks, as you whisper something about the leftover tiramisu and champagne and not saving any for him as you bound out of bed, grabbing one of his t-shirts from his drawer before taking off down the hall. He hastens after you, those morning sprints coming in handy as he catches up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you shriek, your cackles echoing through the house. 

It’s the same but it’s different, it’s stronger, it’s deeper, it’s a love he never thought himself capable of feeling. It’s like how he felt standing outside your hotel room that night all those years ago, feeling like he was about to jump off a cliff, but somehow knowing he had a safe place to landAs he carries you into kitchen, laughing against your neck as you try to break his hold, the ring on your finger shining in the light, he thinks about how this has grown, how it’s turned into something he never thought possible. How even today feels like the start of something different. 

It feels like something new.

---

a/n: oooooooomg. wow. can you actually believe it. i in fact cannot. its been a year & 2 days since i posted the first part of this story, meant as a one off to see how my writing skills would fare. i cant BELIEVE how many of you have read this and loved it, it has meant more than you could ever know. thank you for sticking with me, for encouraging me, for supporting any little blurb i pu tout. writing this story was a real lifeline for me this year and i cant tell u enough how much your support of it has meant. this is the final part. knowing me, never say never. but. i think this is a really nice way to end it. pls let me know what you think!! thank you so, so much for reading.

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

#something old #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #the end of something old #please let me know what you think !!!! #love u

[nerdytyrantphantom]

the contractor | part one (pre-breakout!joel x f!reader)

summary: a summer of house-sitting for your parents turns into a scorching affair as you find yourself irresistibly drawn to the charismatic contractor, joel miller, amidst the chaos of home renovations. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader word count: 3k rating: 18+ explicit a/n: i’ll continue this story based on how well part one does! i have a LOT of ideas for things contractor!joel and reader get into >:)

When your parents asked you to house-sit for them over the summer, they warned you of one caveat: the home would be undergoing renovations. However, that seemingly small detail slipped your mind at the time of their request. The only thing you were thinking about when you heard the word “house-sit” was the Texas sunshine baking your skin while you laid out poolside, and the freedom of having an empty two-story house all to yourself for two months. 

It wasn’t until you were lying on your childhood bed, feet kicking in the air as you idly scrolled your phone, that you remembered the refurbishment that would be going on in the master bedroom and bathroom. A text bubble from your mother appeared at the top of your screen: “Contractor’s on the way.” You groaned to yourself, dreading that you’d inevitably have to talk to strangers. Then, just seconds after replying with a thumbs up emoji, the doorbell rang. 

You quietly padded down the stairs in your socked feet. Making your way through the foyer, you stole a quick glance in the mirror. Could be worse, you thought, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and lazily tightening the knot of your thin linen shorts.

“Hey, I gotta go. At a client’s,” you overheard the man saying as the door swung open. He turned around to face you as he tucked his phone into his back pocket. While his expression was at first dull – hardened and irritable, eyebrows furrowed in exhaustion – his grimace immediately melted into a smile upon seeing you.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he introduced himself, his voice tinged with that southern twang you loved coming home to. His brown eyes sparkled with warmth as he extended his hand towards you. 

You shook his hand and introduced yourself, feeling a pleasant tingle run through your fingers. “Nice to meet you,” you said, offering a shy smile.

Joel's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than expected, and a faint blush crept up your cheeks. "Likewise," he said, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. "Your parents mentioned you'd be house-sitting. I'll do my best to keep the disruption to a minimum."

As you led Joel through the house, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of your eye. His presence filled the air with a captivating energy that stirred something new inside of you. With most strangers, you would’ve remained nonchalant, going through the necessary motions of conversation until you could retire to your bedroom in peace. But with Joel, you found yourself not wanting to leave him.

He glanced around the living room, his eyes taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the backyard. Outside, the pool’s aquamarine surface sparkled invitingly, while a vibrant red cardinal fluttered next to the birdfeeder. His eyes met yours again. “Your folks have a beautiful home,” he complimented sincerely, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

You smiled bashfully. “Thank you,” you replied, a touch of pride in your voice. “Well, I mean – it’s my parents’ house. But they’d appreciate you saying that,” you clarified. Joel appeared to be suppressing a bigger smile than the one he was showing and nodded. 

“So, what about you then?” he asked, turning his attention towards you. “You live here as well or visiting from out of town?” His tone was gentle and curious, something you weren’t used to hearing in the voices of most men your age. 

You giggled nervously from the attention. “Sorta,” you said, scratching the back of your neck. “I just finished my spring semester of school,” you explained. You finally let yourself resume eye contact with him and tried not to squirm under his penetrating gaze. “So, I’m just house-sitting for the summer. Then it’s back off to the dorms.”

Joel chuckled. “Ah, a smart college girl, huh?” he said, like he’d uncovered a secret about you. Your stomach fluttered and for a moment you felt like you were floating. Shy yet appreciative of his comment, you mumbled: “Something like that.”

Once you showed Joel the rooms he’d be remodeling, you tried your best to listen as he explained the scope of the renovations and the timeline for completion. As he spoke, you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting to his lips or drinking in the sight of his biceps rippling underneath his t-shirt. 

Maybe it was all in your head, but part of you wanted to believe that there was a subtle tension between you. It was as if the air itself crackled with unspoken words and wants for something more. You ached to believe that the attraction between you was undeniable and intensifying with each passing moment, but that bubble burst quickly when Joel’s cell phone interrupted your conversation – and spiraling fantasies.

He apologized and scanned the caller ID. Holding a finger up to indicate that he’d only be a minute, the two of you exited the bedroom. You watched him idly wander into the foyer and stop in front of the mirror. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, adjusting his appearance with a casual confidence, before tossing his head back in annoyance.

“Yes, Tommy, I’ll take care of it,” you heard him say exasperated, before he was sliding his phone back into his pocket and returning to the living room. 

He quickly shook his head, as though he were shooing away the conversation he just had. "So, where were we?" he asked, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of playfulness.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. "We were discussing the renovations," you replied, feeling a mixture of relief and anticipation that the interruption was over. "You were explaining the timeline and what needs to be done."

Joel nodded, his gaze locked with yours. "Right, right," he said, his voice filled with a touch of enthusiasm. "Well, it's going to be a bit of work, but I'll make sure to keep things as smooth as possible. I want you to enjoy your time here without too much disruption."

“Oh, please,” you assured him, quickly brushing away his concerns. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. I’ll be set.” You nervously placed your hands on your hips, and then at your sides, before putting them on your hips again. 

Joel began to head towards the door. “Well, I got just one more question for you and then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said over his shoulder. You walked closely behind him, hanging on to his every word. “Besides house-sitting, any other plans for the college girl this summer?” he asked. 

You felt your face warm. “Oh, you know,” you said, bouncing on your heels. “Just hanging out here at home, laying out by the pool…” as your voice trailed, your gaze absentmindedly wandered over his arms one last time, committing the sight to memory.

Joel smiled. “Sounds like we’ll be seeing each other a lot then,” he said, opening the door.

You stood behind him, watching him walk towards his truck. “Looking forward to it,” you blurted, immediately cursing yourself. 

But Joel just laughed and threw a wave over his shoulder. “Me too.”

So, that’s how your summer began. Joel and his crew would arrive in the mornings, retiring to their trucks for their lunch break, and then continue to work late into the afternoon. You’d be sprawled out on your bed, texting a boy you were only half-interested in, when you’d hear knuckles rapping against your door just before five. “Just letting you know we’re heading out for the night,” Joel would say. “Be back around the same time tomorrow.” 

He was considerate like that – always communicating, always setting your expectations, always making sure you were comfortable and at ease despite sharing a roof with a bunch of men you didn’t know for the majority of the day. Part of you wanted to be annoyed and have something to complain about, like the house full of strangers or the noise from the drills. But then you’d be sitting at the kitchen table, eyes concentrated on your bowl of cereal, and you’d look up to catch Joel using the bottom of his shirt to wipe away sweat from his forehead. You’d ache at the sight of his tanned stomach and black happy trail snaking into his pants, and everything would be okay. You wouldn’t’ve changed a thing.

Over time, though, Joel’s presence under your roof began to feel natural. You slowly became more relaxed around him, finally able to maintain your composure most of the time without being a babbling, blushing, giggling mess. You gave up on trying to look picture-perfect everyday, and with that, started prioritizing getting attention from boys your own age. You and Joel even developed a repertoire, him frequently teasing you about the stupid smile you had while staring at your phone. But your giddiness with men who weren’t Joel was short-lived. 

After one particularly bad day when you decided fuck all men, you changed into your swimsuit and aggressively lathered yourself in coconut oil. After greasing your skin, you dried your hands enough to pour a steep cocktail – aka vodka with a splash of orange juice – and marched outside on a mission to do nothing but work on your tan and ruminate on your hatred for the opposite sex.

Sure, in the back of your head, you knew Joel was an exception – but Joel was also out of your league. There was no way you were going to have a chance with the contractor your parents hired to renovate their bedroom, the same way there was no chance you were ever going to find a guy your age in Texas who was worth a damn.

After chugging your drink on the comfort of your lounge chair, you rolled over to tan your back. The afternoon sun rays mingled with the booze in your blood, and before you knew it, you had dozed off into a tipsy slumber. It wasn’t until you heard your name being called from somewhere in the distance that you began to stir from your stupor. Suddenly, a shadow cast over you; you squinted up at the silhouette beside you.

“Joel?” you blinked, your voice groggy and thick. Everything felt disoriented. As the haze of sleep lifted, a sharp stinging sensation spread across your skin, accompanied by the realization that you had fallen asleep under the scorching Texas sun without any sunscreen.

“Hey,” Joel cooed, crouching on the ground beside you. His deep, dark eyes swam with gentle concern. “You need to get inside, darlin’,” he said softly, and for a moment you wondered if you were dreaming. “Sun’s done burnt you to a crisp.”

You winced, feeling the heat radiating from your reddened skin. "Oh, shit," you muttered, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. The pain intensified, making you wince again. "I didn't realize how long I was out here."

Joel picked up your empty cup and waited for you to stand beside him. As you got to your feet, the world immediately felt lopsided. You were woozy, disoriented, and utterly confused. Without enough time to realize what was happening, you began to lose your balance before clinging to Joel’s arm for stability.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, smoothly wrapping his arm around you to prevent you from falling. Through the perplexed state you were in, you managed to make out an amused smile on Joel’s face. “Jesus, girl,” he said, gradually guiding you back towards the house. “Sunburnt, drunk, and dehydrated. What am I gonna do with you?”

Before you could think, you heard yourself blurt out: “Whatever you want.” As soon as the words slipped from your lips, you felt a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and a strange thrill coursing through your body. The air around you seemed to hold its breath for a moment, as if waiting for Joel's response. You tried to steal a quick glance at him, but the movement just made you feel dizzier. 

Joel's steps momentarily faltered, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. Uncertainty crept in, and you worried that your impulsive confession had crossed a line, jeopardizing the comfortable dynamic you had developed over the past weeks. But then, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, diffusing the tension and bringing relief to your body.

"Well, darlin', I appreciate the offer," he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and a hint of something more. "But I think our first priority is getting you inside and taking care of that sunburn. We can talk about the 'whatever I want' part later."

Blushing with the realization of what you had said, you nodded gratefully, relieved that Joel had taken it in stride. Supported by him, you made your way back to the house, a whirlwind of embarrassment and excitement swirling within you.

Once inside, Joel gently guided you to the kitchen and motioned you to the table. "Sit," he instructed before heading to his truck. Upon his return, he carried a jar of aloe vera and a small packet that resembled powdered flavoring for a drink.

Curiosity piqued, you watched as Joel rummaged through the cabinets for glasses, finally locating them and proceeding to fill one with water from the refrigerator dispenser. As he approached, he placed the glass on the table before biting the tip off the packet, pouring its contents into the glass. With a swirl, he set the concoction in front of you. "Drink up," he urged.

Feeling a hint of childlike reprimand, you took a sip of the orange-infused mixture, finding it surprisingly palatable. Tilting your head back, you finished the glass, momentarily forgetting your discomfort. Meanwhile, Joel stood behind you, bottle of aloe in hand.

"Why do you have all this stuff?" you asked, feeling a sudden chill as Joel gently collected your hair over your shoulder to better expose your back. You listened to him open the tub and dip his fingers into the ointment. "I keep it in my truck for the days we’re outside," he explained. "Can't afford to take any chances with the heat."

Nodding your head, the pieces fell into place—Joel's preparedness as a contractor, contrasting with your impulsive decisions as a college student. A sense of defeat began to weigh upon you, your head hanging low, as the consequences of your actions caught up with you. Then, a sudden icy glide across your shoulders made you gasp, intensifying the burn.

"F-uck!" you exclaimed, jumping in your seat as the pain flared.

Joel paused, his touch retreating. "I know it hurts," he said gently, his hand no longer on your skin. "But it's going to hurt a lot more if you don't do this. Do you want me to stop?"

Shaking your head, you squeezed the chair underneath you. "No, keep going," you meekly replied, hoping for relief from the discomfort.

Joel resumed applying the aloe vera to your sunburned shoulders, his touch remaining gentle yet purposeful. As his cool fingertips glided over your heated skin, a soothing sensation gradually replaced the intense stinging. You couldn't help but relax under his ministrations, feeling a growing sense of trust and safety in his presence.

The room fell into a momentary silence, the only sound filling the air being the rhythm of your breath. You took the last sip from the liquid IV, feeling its replenishing effects coursing through your body. With an embarrassed sigh, you mustered the courage to address the weight of your current state.

"Sorry, I'm such a mess," you confessed, feeling shame flood your body, now exposed in both physical and emotional ways.

Joel's touch paused momentarily, his warm hand stilling on your shoulder. His voice held a genuine reassurance as he spoke, "Hey, we all have our moments, darlin'. Don't be too hard on yourself.” You heard a smile in his voice. “And hell, if this is the worst thing you’re doing at your age, you’re doing pretty good in my book.”

“That’s true,” you agreed, a faint, crooked smile gracing your lips as you contemplated the choices you hadn't made, the ones that had spared you from further disappointment. But amidst that reflection, the memory of your recent mistake pierced through, reminding you of the sting of being let down by yet another guy. A bitter sigh escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but voice your frustration to Joel.

"Boys just suck, Joel," you declared, your words tinged with a mix of resignation and exasperation.

Joel's laughter resonated behind you, a sound that held both amusement and understanding. "Well, I won't argue with you there," he replied, his voice a blend of sympathy and camaraderie. "Can't say I have any immediate consolation for you on that front." His hands descended lower, settling on the backs of your arms, a gesture that surprised you but also felt strangely comforting. You allowed yourself to lean into his touch, savoring the soothing strokes of his fingers as they skillfully massaged the aloe vera into your skin. It was more than a mere application of ointment; it was a gesture of care and tenderness.

As Joel's fingers worked their magic, a wave of sensations washed over you, and you found yourself sinking into the moment. His voice, low and intimate, drifted close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. The warmth of his breath caressed your skin, and his words reverberated with an intense sincerity.

"There's someone out there for you, darlin'," he murmured, his voice filled with a deep conviction. "You just gotta give it some time."

The blissful overload of Joel's proximity, his voice, and his touch engulfed you, and your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the sheer sensory experience. But just as you were fully surrendering to the moment, he withdrew, sealing the lid on the jar of aloe vera, as if closing a chapter.

"There," Joel said, breaking the spell and placing the jar of aloe vera on the table. He took your glass and walked to the sink, his movements carrying a sense of completion. "All set."

Your eyes reluctantly opened, adjusting to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The intensity of the moment slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a lingering warmth and a tinge of longing. You sat there, momentarily lost in your thoughts, grateful for Joel's presence and the temporary respite he had provided.

"Thank you," you expressed, your voice carrying a mix of appreciation and longing. You observed Joel as he unclipped his keys from his belt loop, a subtle indication that his departure was imminent. Part of you yearned for him to stay, to continue soothing your aching body and reassuring your troubled heart. You wished for his presence to fill the void and offer solace. 

However, all you could do was watch as he flashed a warm smile and playfully winked at you. "Anytime," he replied, before making his way toward the door. Just before stepping out, his voice reached your ears once more, a final parting remark. "Be good."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic

[ladylexis]

I Think You Know

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader, afab

Trope: Best friend's brother, friends to more

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: A little suggestive, but not smutty

The pungent scent of lilacs always reminds you of home. You inhale deeply, hands shoved in your pockets, as you walk up the street a couple blocks to your best friend Jina's house. 

After months of studying hard on the other side of the country, you've returned home for the first time since starting college last fall. Jina's spring break coincided with yours, so of course she begged you to fly home to finally catch up. Laughing until you cry on video calls into the wee hours of the morning each weekend has helped soothe your loneliness, yet nothing compares to the real deal of being in your best friend's presence. 

The refreshing chill of the evening air does little to calm your nerves, though. Even greater than your excitement to see Jina is your anxiety at the prospect of running into her brother, Minho. 

After almost two years of studying abroad and traveling for internships, Minho is back at his parents' house for the first time. You've kept up with your best friend's older brother some over the years, mostly butting in when he called Jina. 

Since he left, you've occasionally engaged with each other's Instagram posts. Whether silly, artistic, or merely mundane, Minho's photos almost always bring a bittersweet clench to your chest. When you see his figure framed off-center in front of glittering cityscapes or sunset-tinged coastlines you can't help but picture yourself tucked under his arm, your head resting casually on his shoulder. 

_____

Since you can remember, Minho was a fixture in your life. While playing on the swing set in their backyard, his protective presence always kept an eye on his little sister and you, her closest friend. Minho was quick to help you up after a less than graceful jump from the swing, smirking at the glasses askew on your nose. Unphased, you spun around to push Jina's swing even higher as he chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

As teens, Minho laughed ruthlessly while playing paintball, chasing you and Jina around their shed. She sought refuge at the back of the old pickup while you made a run for the oak tree to get a better vantage point.

Before you could dive behind the sturdy tree trunk, Minho managed to squeeze a shot off. The fierce glare hidden behind his facemask instantly melted into a softer expression the moment you yelped in pain while taking his round to your back, just missing the padding of your vest.

After rushing to the kitchen to fetch an ice pack, Minho returned to the living room to find you sitting on the couch, contorting in an effort to see the source of the pain. Ever the attentive gentleman, he offered to inspect the growing welt to see if your skin was broken. You nodded and turned to face the back of the sofa, gritting your teeth and trying not to focus on the stinging pain radiating from the minor injury. Minho considerately lifted your sweatshirt just enough to check the raised bump at the base of your shoulder blade. 

Chilled slightly from grabbing the ice pack, his cool fingertips innocently grazed your skin causing a warmth to spread through your chest. Minho drew in a quick breath, hand tightening its grip on the bundled fabric for a moment. Fearing the wound must look worse than you thought, you stuttered out a quick, "Is it that bad?!"

But before you could finish the question, he had quickly lowered the hem of your top and reached over your shoulder to shove the ice pack into your hands. 

"It's just bruised," he mumbled as he abruptly turned to head upstairs, taking them two at a time. 

A sharp sting brought your attention back to the predicament at hand. As you struggled to position the ice pack on the welt, you suddenly recalled that you were only wearing your black lace bralette under your sweatshirt. Mortified, you instinctively planted your face in the couch cushion to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. Just then, Jina stormed into the front door. Thinking she was winning for once, she finally realized she was left alone outside and came looking for the two of you. 

Ready to give you a piece of her mind, worry quickly replaced anger as Jina set her eyes on your crumpled form tucked into the corner of the couch. You reassured her that the welt was already feeling better thanks to Minho's quick rescue with the ice pack. Speaking of her brother, she asked where he had disappeared to. You weren't quite sure of the answer yourself, but you wondered for years afterwards if he had felt that same lick of heat in the moment.

_____

You skip up the familiar steps to Jina's front porch, and pause to take a deep breath in an effort to still your fluttering heart. Before you can even knock, the door flies open and Jina launches at you. She wraps you in a bear hug and hops to twine her legs around your hips. Squealing at a pitch you're sure would send her family's three cats into a frenzy, Jina peppers the side of your head with smooches and repeats how much she missed you. 

"Let her go before she passes out. She's already turning red!" 

Raising your eyes from Jina's embrace, you see him there, standing in the door frame. Although you can't quite make out his expression while he's silhouetted by the living room light flooding out the front door, Minho's eyes still manage to sparkle just like you remember. And it's back. Your crush on Minho tightens its tendrils around your heart. If only he knew the real reason your face was on fire.

Jina drops her feet to the ground with a pout. She turns to head inside, dragging you by the wrist and shouldering her annoying brother out of the way in the process. As you pass him you manage to squeak out a soft, "Hi, Min." 

"Nice to see you again, too!" he yells with increasing volume as Jina continues pulling you towards the kitchen. Shaking his head, Minho closes the front door and follows both of you to grab snacks for the TV night ahead. 

Jina settles into the middle of the sofa to share her bowl of popcorn while you stretch your blanket out enough to cover her as well. After sitting his armful of drinks down on the end table, Minho takes the last seat on the couch and immediately turns to flop his legs over Jina's lap.

"You're going to spill all the popcorn! And your legs are too heavy," Jina grunts as she pushes his thighs off her knees while you snicker from her other side. "Go sit on the loveseat!"

"Fine, fine," Minho sighs, rolling his eyes as he stands. "But I'm taking the remote with me! Hah!" 

He sprawls out on the loveseat and flicks the TV on. As the Netflix menu illuminates the room, Minho begins to scroll through the recommended shows. You can't help but eye the dancing shadows forming from the veins on his forearm as he points the remote at the television and periodically clicks buttons. Were those veins always there? 

You're shaken from your daydream by a subtle elbow to the rib. Jina leans closer to whisper in your ear, "Did you come to watch Netflix and chill with ME or my brother?"

You scoff and shove a handful of popcorn in Jina's mouth, shooting daggers at her with your eyes while she smirks, cheeks full. That damn Lee smirk must be hereditary.

"I've heard that series is really good," you pipe up as Minho passes the new releases in romantic K-Dramas. You expect a snarky retort from the reclining man, but he simply pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he backtracks and clicks play on your suggestion.

A steamy scene opens the show before the intro even starts, and you feel your face grow warm. You begin to second guess your recommendation as this is apparently not one of the sweet rom-com shows you are used to watching. No wonder everyone has been chatting it up on social media. Jina however is enthralled, judging by her wide eyes and seeming inability to find her own mouth as she bumps a popcorn kernel into her lips repeatedly before finally succeeding to eat it.

Minho is quiet through the first episode, but movement draws your attention from the TV when you notice him resituating on the loveseat, pulling a throw pillow onto his lap. You have to admit, the show is pretty hot, but seeing his profile again in person is getting you even more bothered. It looks like he might be affected as well.

Nearly two episodes later Jina is failing to keep her eyes open, head lolling towards the comforting support of your shoulder. Unable to resist the call of nature any longer, you gently pat her hair to stir her awake. 

"Hey, Min? Can you pause it while I run to the restroom?" you ask softly as you stand to stretch. He obliges immediately and a thin smile spreads across his face as he looks up at you, hair now messy from trying to find a comfortable position on the cramped loveseat. 

"I can't keep my eyes open," Jina mumbles through a yawn. "Don't stop watching on my account, though. I can catch up tomorrow."

She shuffles down the hall in the Hello Kitty slippers you won for her at an arcade in middle school. You hear the soft close of her door as you head into the bathroom. Rather than feeling jet-lagged and exhausted like you expect, your heart seems to be racing as your mind keeps conjuring images of you and Minho in the scenes the drama characters find themselves in. You have got to snap out of it, you think to yourself. Before leaving you wash your hands and splash cool water on your face, trying to knock the blush down a bit. 

Returning to the living room you find Minho has moved to the empty spot on the far side of the couch. His arm lifts the blanket you and Jina had been sharing. You freeze at the edge of the room, unsure how to proceed. Minho cocks his head and sends a few rapid blinks in your direction. He pats the couch cushion, inviting you to join him under the blanket. "What?," he says, "The couch is comfier and I was getting chilly. Shall we continue?"

You gingerly slide under the blanket at the opposite end of the couch. Although your face seems to get warmer and warmer, you have to admit the air temperature is dropping. You pull your legs up to your side beneath the blanket. Pointing the remote at the television, he plays the next episode and you snuggle back into the cozy warmth of the plush sofa. 

As you become engrossed in the show again, you absentmindedly stretch your legs across the center cushion. Craving warmth, your toes become heat-seeking missiles and begin to work their way under Minho's thigh. You don't even realize your foot has betrayed you until he grabs your ankle. In embarrassment, you instinctively try to pull your foot back, but his firm grip gently holds you still. 

"Tickles," is all he says, eyes still glued to the TV. He pulls your foot out from beneath his leg. Mind racing, you have already planned where you are going to dig your own grave after he lets go, but he doesn't loosen his hold. Turning now to face you, he extends your leg across his lap and squeezes the arch of your foot tenderly. 

"Is this okay?" he asks, staring into your eyes as he awaits confirmation. Almost imperceptibly, you slowly nod your head a couple times before swallowing hard.

"I need you to use your words, Kitten," he whispers, stilling the motion of his hand.

"Yeah, s'alright," you manage as you avert your eyes back to the show. Even in the dim, blue light of the TV, you're sure Minho can now see the unmistakable red tinge blossoming on the tips of your ears. 

His fingers begin to move again as he massages the ball of your foot now resting on his lap. No longer able to concentrate on the show, you reflect on the domesticity of the position you now find yourself in with your best friend's brother. These thoughts only further the spreading wetness in your panties. 

You're screwed.

The episode ends rather abruptly as the main characters are finally starting to realize their feelings for each other. Arching his back and stretching his arms above his head, Minho interjects, "It's time for an action movie!"

"No! We have to see what happens next!" you yell, refusing to quit binging the new drama. Minho brings his hand to his mouth to hold a finger in front of his lips. 

"Shh, you'll wake sleeping beauty," he laughs. You make grabby hands for the remote and he shoots his arm up, holding the object of your desire just out of reach. He can't help but giggle watching you struggle to lean forward and extend your arm enough to pry the remote away, nearly clamoring into his lap.

Your movements suddenly cease and you look up at Minho through your lashes, a devilish twinkle in your eye. 

"Oh, no. That look means no good," he concedes. Before he can piece together what evil plan you have concocted, your fingers attack his exposed armpit, tickling him like your life depends upon it. 

"Gaaaah!", he cries out as he instinctively tucks his elbow to his ribs, trapping your hand in the process.  Ditching the remote over his shoulder, he leans over you to retaliate with more tickles. You squeal as you try to curl into a fetal position to protect your vital organs from the unrelenting tickle-attack.

As you attempt to roll away and admit defeat, your legs tangle in the shared quilt. Off-balance now, you fall backwards from the couch, pulling your blanket-burrito’d partner with you to the carpeted floor. You squirm on your back, Minho straddling your thighs, his hands pressing your wrists to the floor above your head. He has a wild look in his eye as he catches his breath and blows stray strands of hair off of his forehead.

Mouth agape, you notice his eyes drift from yours down to the camisole strap that has slipped off your shoulder. His gaze slowly follows your collar bone back to the taught line of your neck and up to your panting lips. 

Minho’s eyes are now blown out into black pools of lust, no doubt reflecting your own desires. You feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek as his eyes return to yours again, blinking slowly, looking for any sign of apprehension in your expression. Your glance down to his plush lips is all the sign he needs to continue his advance. As he begins lowering himself down to your waiting lips, a door creaks open at the end of the hall. 

In unison, both of your heads snap to the side and you hold your breath as you watch Jina groggily stumble to the bathroom, flip the light on, and shut the door behind her. 

Minho exhales a sigh of relief and bows his head to your shoulder for a moment. You clear your throat, bringing him back to Earth, and he releases your wrists to gingerly lift himself from you. Helping you to your feet, he can't meet your eyes as he whispers, "I, uh, should probably call it a night."

As he pads down the hallway, head lowered, you double back to the kitchen to get an icy glass of cold water. What the actual fuck was that? Did Minho really almost just kiss you? Would he have if Jina hadn't interrupted? What would have happened if Jina had caught you making out with her brother in the middle of the living room floor?!? 

You shake your head to clear your doubts before chugging the rest of the ice water in your glass. The last question would have to wait. You know you won't be able to sleep tonight without confronting Minho about the other questions racing through your mind. You steel your resolve and cross the living room. 

The bathroom door is now open, and Jina's has closed again. Knowing her, she's probably already sound asleep. You round the corner of the hall and quietly approach Minho's room. 

For a moment you debate whether you should softly knock, or just open the door to let yourself in. Not wanting to risk waking anyone else, you finally decide on the latter. Your hand reaches for the smooth brass knob, but it turns and unlatches before you even reach it. The door swings open and a stunned Minho faces you from the other side of the doorway. 

Eyes wide, he leans forward to look down the hall briefly before pulling you into his chest as he spins you through the doorway, closing the door behind him as he does. 

Your ear pressed to his chest reveals the same quickened heartbeat you have been afflicted with all day. His familiar scent washes over you, and you inhale the sweet muskiness before stepping back to stare up at him.

"Aren't you going to ask why I came to your door?" you question, finally breaking the silent tension.

"I think I know," he says, taking the smallest step towards you.

"Where were you going just now?" you muster, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I think you know," he says lowly, taking another step forward to meet you with hungry eyes. He raises one hand to caress your cheek as he lowers his other hand to your waist, pulling you in to close the gap between your bodies.

His lips finally meet yours, barely pressing together in chaste restraint. It's all you can do to refrain from devouring this man whole. Your lips part slightly and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongue traces his bottom lip as you shudder slightly and moan against his mouth. Something in Minho snaps and he presses you to the door as his tongue begins to explore deeper into your kiss. You slide a hand up his back. With the other you comb your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. With that, a moan escapes Minho's lips and he drops his head back into your hand, brows knit together in ecstasy. You watch his Adam's apple bob under the milky skin of his throat as he catches his breath. The throb you feel in your soaked panties causes you to clench your legs together as your own head drops back against the door.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," he spits out, grabbing your hands and leading you to sit on the edge of his bed.

"I need to know. Do you have feelings for me?" he asks with pleading eyes, a tinge of worry in his voice. "Because I can't do this without knowing."

"Feelings?" you scoff, incredulously. "I've liked you since we were in high school, Minho! I have a lot of feelings for you. All of them, in fact."

You smile sheepishly at your blurted confession. A wave of relief washes over his face before he pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

"I've liked you for a long time, too, Kitten," Minho mumbles against your skin. "Do you want to stay here with me tonight and talk?"

"What are we going to tell Jina?" you ask, quietly fiddling with the tag in the back of his shirt as he holds you.

"We'll figure something out," he says, a soft crinkle lacing the corner of his eyes as he smiles at you tenderly, "Together."

___

The metallic click of the door latch stirs you awake. On autopilot, you roll over to try to figure out what woke you. Your stirring causes Minho's arm to tighten instinctively around your waist while he slumbers contentedly. You blush as your drowsy brain suddenly remembers where you are. Putting two and two together, you realize Minho wasn't the one leaving the room. You gasp, sitting up straight, and quickly turn to shake him awake.

"I think Jina just saw us in your room! What are we going to do, Min?!" You half whisper, half shout in his ear.

He sleepily shushes you and nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck wanting nothing more than to snuggle you back to sleep.

"I'm being serious, Minho!" you say, smacking his arm lightly. "She's going to kill us!"

You hear another noise coming from the hall. You spin around to listen and clap a hand over Minho's mouth to keep him quiet as he confusedly rubs his arm, still half asleep.

Through the silence you hear the ruffle of paper sliding under the door. Turning to Minho with panic written all over your face, he rolls his eyes at your dramatics and pulls your hand from his mouth. 

Minho rises to cross the room, and bends down to retrieve the folded sheet of paper. Standing, he opens it and scans the note quickly before a lopsided grin creeps up his right cheek. 

Returning to flop down on the bed, he hands it to you with a smug expression. 

"I see my plan finally worked.

Come to the kitchen for pancakes.

But for the love of god, please put some clothes on first."

#lee know x reader #skz fanfic #lee know fanfic #best friends brother #lee know #lee know scenarios #skz x reader #stray kids imagine

[starrystevie]

steve loves the warmer months. he loves the tail end of spring that bleeds into summer, the feeling of sun on his skin and sleeping with a window open. he's the person who puts all of his warm winter clothes away the second the weather starts turning and refuses to get them back out again even if it's chilly because he doesn't want to jinx the weather back into being cold.

their false spring came early with a day reaching up to 81 degrees in march that had steve sitting in a lounge chair in the backyard, his shirt sleeves rolled up and head tilted to the sun like a cat in a warm spot. he went back inside later that evening with his cheeks tinged baby pink and feeling warmed to the core only to shove his coats back into storage and get out his summer clothes.

but the warmth seeped away as soon as it came and they were back in a cold snap full of defrosting cars and sleeping with the windows fully shut.

steve's pouty, his arms halfway covered by an old baseball tee as he shivers against the brisk air outside of eddie's house to pick him up for their date. he rubs his hands over his arms trying to get some warmth back into them, bouncing on his toes slightly. the second eddie opens the door, steve pushes past him into the warmth with his arms wrapped around his center to keep whatever body heat he could in.

"cold?" eddie asks with a smug grin, nice and warm under his leather jacket as steve sends him back a playful sneer. see, eddie loves the cold weather, despises when he starts to sweat under all his layers and hides away in the shade to outrun the sun's heat.

"not cold, just a little chilly, that's all."

eddie rolls his eyes and grabs a sweatshirt off the counter like he knew to be prepared. it's folded and smells like him, woody and earthy, and when he hands it to steve, he gives him a little kiss to help warm him up before wrapping him into a hug.

"i swear, you come over here looking like a popsicle just so you can steal my clothes. i know your secrets, harrington."

steve leans back in eddie's grasp to pull the sweatshirt on quickly, smooths over his hair where he knows it must have puffed up, and brings his sweater-covered hands up to his mouth to blow hot air into the fabric to warm up his nose. he melts at the eddie smell that radiates off the sweatshirt and curls his hands around eddie's neck to drag him in for another kiss.

steve might hate the cold weather, but being wrapped up in everything eddie was an unexpected plus that makes the chill worth it.

#this is brought to you by me having to wear my winter coat and scrape ice off my windshield this morning! #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie fluff

[mymegumi]

⠀ — MOTH TO A FLAME ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

cw — age gap, boy next door trope, older!reader, afab!reader, masturbation, cream pie, infidelity, morally grey, shower sex, virgin!eren, spitting, degradation, sloppy/rushed ending

eren helps his best friend’s mom with some chores while she’s home alone. she helps him with things he hadn’t known he needed help with—but is more than willing to learn

eren’s not really sure where this all started.

he’d always thought that the stolen looks and the raised eyebrows were indicative of you just wanting to share mirth over your son’s idiocy—his best friend’s idiocy. jean was an idiot and it was often that you’d lock eyes with eren just to roll them again after some stupid pun jean had made or a dirty reference that nobody but him understood.

when your husband had gone overseas for a business trip, eren had assumed you kept inviting him over because you were lonely since jean had also decided to spend the summer abroad that year with his girlfriend.

you’d ask him to do some manual labor around the house, catch you staring when he was fixing up some old furniture for you, and even invited him to have a glass of wine when you’d ordered dinner for the both of you one night. your cheeks had been flushed red, hands running along his shoulders as you laughed at a joke he’d made and eren was fighting every cell in his body to not get absolutely rock hard. the way the strap of your satin camisole had dipped off of your shoulder, drawing his attention to the smooth curve of your shoulder, the swell of your breasts—he doesn’t think he formed a coherent thought that wasn’t sexually related, truthfully.

he doesn’t think he’s ever had to try so hard to not be, y’know, hard.

somehow, by the absolute skin of his teeth, he’d managed to leave your house without you finding out that he wanted to fuck you into your couch so hard it left you aching for weeks afterwards. as soon as he’d escaped into his room, his hand was wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off to the mere image of the straps of your top slipping off your shoulder, skin tinged pink from being wine drunk as your nipples peaked through your shirt.

the things he’d do to run his mouth along your breasts, to tug at your nipples with his teeth and bury his face in your tits. the thought torrents him to the edge, shirt clenched between his teeth as he leans his head back against the door—he hadn’t even made it to his bed before his pants were sagging to his knees and his cock was out, that was how badly he needed to touch himself.

eren had managed to avoid you for about three days after he’d jerked off to the thought of you. to the thought of how your hands would feel along his sides, what you’d sound like when he final—

three days was about all it took for him to end up back at your door. he was all but groveling at your feet, apologies spilling from his tongue that he’d just disappeared so suddenly, especially after promising to help clean your pool the night of what he’s calling ‘the incident’.

you’d laughed, head tilted to the side as you eyed eren’s slumped shoulders and what he assumed looked pathetic eyes. your eyes were twinkling with a look of mischief he’d seen so often before on his best friend and you opened your door wider to allow him into your home.

somewhere between that moment and now, eren had ended up shirtless and in his swim trunks, using the large catching net to pull leaves and any straggler bugs from the pool you owned in the backyard. he’d spent a lot of summers in this pool—dunking jean into it, bellyflopping so hard his stomach was red for days—and yet this was this was the first time he had ever seen you in a swimsuit before.

you were laid back in a sleek white lounge chair, body exposed as all you were wearing was a tight black bikini. a pair of sunglasses hid your view from him, and yet he could feel your gaze prickling along his skin no matter where he wandered around the pool. it was electrifying.

eren felt like a gazelle being stalked by a lioness.

“eren, darling,” you called, hand swirling a glass of amber liquid, “i think it’s time we take a break. want to come inside for a shower?”

his head jerked up, blinking quickly as he processed your request in his head. it felt like a trick question, but maybe he was just overthinking things now. your relationship with him had been friendly before, why was he so worried now that things would be different?

“yea, sure, thanks,” all of his responses since cleaning your pool had been stuttering, anxiously tripping over his words in an effort not to offend, “i ‘ppreciate it a lot.”

your nose scrunched a bit as your lips curled into a smile. your eyes were hidden and eren couldn’t tell what the smile meant, of if he thought it was sexy as all hell or not.

“oh, ‘course, ‘ren.” you leaned forward, hands hitting your ankles as you tilted your head up to look at him. he was trying really hard not to let his gaze slide from the curve of your lips to the way your tits looked in the bikini top you were wearing. the black top was dangerously close to revealing more skin than was sociably acceptable and heavens, eren wanted to slide his hands under the band to just grope you. “you can even use my shower if you want. got all sorts of fancy products in there you can use.”

his mouth was dry. he had to lick his lips a few times while he nodded before he could really respond. by that time you were already up and sliding the glass door that led inside open. he couldn’t tell if your hips were swaying more than normal just because he was horny. all he could do was follow after you as you went upstairs, like a moth to a flame.

your bedroom had a large king-sized bed in the middle of it. pressed up against a wall and bracketed by two small wooden nightstands, there were four posts of a dark oak that held up a large canopy that overlooked the bed. you were walking past it, a hand running across a dark red comforter as you led him into the bathroom.

“turn the knob all the way left for hot water,” the water hitting tiles was all he could heard beside the sound of your voice, “towels are in the bedroom so i’ll grab you one. just hop in whenever, okay?”

you had left the door open when you left, and eren awkwardly walked over to shut it so only a sliver of the bedroom was visible from where be stood. he didn’t want to mistake the signs that he was getting, since he was almost entirely sure the raised eyebrow you had sent his way was not an invitation to fuck you. he assumed it was just a part of your character, and he didn’t want to step over any boundaries you might lay down.

and yet, as he slid his swim trunks off of his hips and felt his semi-hard, and continually hardening, cock spring free, he just couldnt help but imagine what could be.

what could be if you would just let him touch you. he’s beyond positive that he could touch you in a way that your husband hadn’t in years. he could make you feel so much better than your husband has ever dreamed of making you feel. he was old and losing steam, but eren? eren was in his prime. he could fuck you for hours without stopping, eren could be the one to worship you as the goddess he thought you were. to him, you deserved to be cherished and touched and fucked in a way that he knows you haven’t ever been before.

his hand was sliding along his cock. the hot water of the shower was cascading down his neck and past his abs as he let it fasten his pace on his cock. his breathing was ragged as he closed his eyes and imagined your breasts with water falling down them, rivulets and streams of water curving along the swell of your tits and into your cleavage. the softest of moans fell from his lips as he rubbed his thumb over his tip, opposite hand unoccupied with his dick pressing against the white tiled wall.

he was jerked from his fantasy quickly when he felt a hand curl around his forearm.

somehow, without his notice, you’d managed to slip into the shower with him. your bikini was abandoned, body on full display as he gaped at you. your gaze was focused on his cock, both hands sliding along the hard ridges of his upper torso.

his mouth hung open, about to spill with apology after apology about how he was so sorry he was masturbating in your shower, how sorry he was that you’d caught him mid-fantasy of fucking you when your gaze slid to his eyes.

then down to his mouth.

eren wasn’t a straight-a student, but he knew what that meant.

dipping his head a bit, both of his hands found the curve of your waist. pushing forward, eren tipped his head low enough that he pressed his lips against yours. your hands flew to his shoulders as he caught a soft moan of yours with an open-mouthed kiss, tongues meeting in the middle and teeth clinking against each other awkwardly.

not letting that stop him, he curled an arm around the small of your back, his free hand sliding down go cup your ass. taking a handful of your ass, he moaned into your mouth as he squeezed as hard he could—his fingers were having trouble finding grip what with the continuing downpour of shower water, but nevertheless he made it work somehow. taking this as a sign, you hoisted a leg up, resting the crook of your knee at eren’s hip.

he was kissing you, open-mouthed and sloppy, lips touching any skin he was even remotely near. he was panting now, so overwhelmed with the idea that he was touching the woman he’d practically been in love with his entire youth, let alone kissing her and feeling her tits pressed against his chest.

“you’re sure?” he gasped, mouth not leaving the silky smooth of your skin. by this point, your head was tilted against the wall and he was teething gently at your neck as your hands tugged on his hair and left little crescent indents in his shoulders. “‘cause i don’t wanna- we can- we can stop, if you’re uncomf—”

“eren,” your voice was raspy, hands clenched in the flesh of his shoulders as your moans ricocheted off of the walls, “please, please don’t stop.”

he felt his dick harden and he bit your neck, sucking a red mark into the skin as he pushed you against the wall. he dipped his knees, hand curling under your standing leg and he applied pressure, taking your feet out from under you. using the wall as leverage, he tilted his hips back from where his cock was slotting and rubbing against your cunt. with the water and the arousal pooling from your pussy, the slide had felt so good that he almost didn’t want to pull it away.

almost.

pressing his tip to your cunt, he slid his hips forward, mouth hung open as felt a low groan pull from his throat. as badly as he wanted to savor the feeling of inching into your pussy and relish the feeling of losing his virginity, the water was making things so slick and before he knew it, his hips were snapping to meet flush with yours.

your nails were pressing so hard into his skin, he was sure that he was bleeding, but the soft whimpers and moans leaving your mouth as you squirmed against the shower tiles were making it worth it. “oh, fuck, eren, god, you’re so big—”

“s’cause you’re so—” his pulled back, words stuttering as he pushed his cock back into what he was considering heaven on earth, “you’re so fucking hot.”

your hand was snaking into his hair, tugging his head back as he focused all his energy into fucking your pussy as hard and as consistently as he could. every thrust into you was nirvana, and slowly before him a new religion was being created. every glance towards his cock meeting the wet hole of a cunt he was fucking, he could feel his moans spilling from his lips, could feel the soft praise he was spitting to you.

everywhere he could reach with his mouth—neck, lips, ears, collarbone—he was nipping with his teeth, sucking wet bruises and marks into your skin. your were barely comprehensible, but eren could just barely understand the words ‘please, please, spit in my mouth’ and who was he to deny?

the water at his back was cold compared to the wet warmth of your cunt, and with each snap of his hips he could feel himself rocketing towards the edge. it was with all his self control and then some that prevented him from coming.

he shifted, forearm coming under your ass to snake his free arm between the two of you. his hand curled under your jaw, tilting your head backwards against the tile again and using his thumb to open your jaw. he pressed his nose against yours, all the while keeping up a steady pace with his hips, as he whispered softly, “be a good girl and swallow it.”

your hands, that had been bracketed to his shoulders to keep from losing your balance, were wrapped around his wrist. your mouth was open still, eyes locked with as you nodded fervently. watching you, so obedient to him and so willing to listen to anything he did, god, he thought he got harder.

spitting into your mouth was easy, watching you swallow and grind your hips against his was hard.

growling softly, eren curled his hand around the back of your neck, taking all of your weight off the side of the shower and stepping out. there was something animalistic in the way he was feeling, primal in a way that he wanted to fuck you with better leverage. you gasped, arms wrapping around his neck and mouth attaching to his neck as he placed you down on the counter.

“god,” he gripped your hips tightly, turning you so the bend of your hips was into the edge of the counter top, “look at you.”

one hand slid up the curve of your spine, curling until he could get a firm grip at the underside of your head, pulling until you could see your own reflection in the mirror. his hand was firm on your waist, fucking into you from behind.

the sight of him fucking you—hips flush with yours every few seconds, watching the way your eyes fluttered every time he fucked you—was enough to press him deeper over the edge.

“oh fuck,” your moans were loud, unbothered by how much noise you were making, “oh god, fuck, let me come, please, oh, please!”

“fuck yea,” he grunted, hands coming to both hips as he furrowed his brow and concentrated harder on the pleasure he was feeling and the near burning sensation of himself nearing the edge—and quite possibly the aching sensation of his abs, “need you to come, just come, baby.”

the next few minutes were filled with the sounds of the shower running, hips smacking against hips, and soft moans leaving the both of your lips. eren wanted to pretend to be above it, but he was practically whining in your ear for how badly he wanted to come in you. it was like torture, being so close to coming and he was sure he was leaving bruises on your hips.

“‘m coming—!” less of a statement and more of an exclamation, your fingers gripped at the counter as your legs all but caved in on themselves.

fucking you through your orgasm, eren was only a few seconds behind you. he didn’t want to pull his cock out of your pussy, instead continuing to thrust shallowly as he finished coming. each thrust was accentuated with a grunt, hips stuttering and legs shaking slightly as he leaned his weight on your body, almost completely spent from fucking you.

breathing heavy, he pressed a kiss to your temple as he felt you heaving. the side of your face was pressed into the cool stone of the counter, but he could see the smile peaking out from the cover of your hair.

the perks of being younger and having a bit more stamina than anyone else that had ever fucked you, he knew that he could probably keep going all night. watching the way you were squirming, hips rubbing side to side slowly, he had a feeling you could, too. sliding his hands down your back and sides, he felt the slickness of the water against your skin. biting his lip, he pursed his lips, eyebrow raised as he whispered softly in your ear.

“ready to go again?”

#eren jeager x you #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager x y/n #eren x you #eren x reader #eren x y/n #eren jeager smut #eren smut #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyojin smut #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #txt!writing #txt!eighteen #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x y/n #eren jeager #eren yeager

[delulu-with-wandanat]

International Affair (Part 2) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Last

Reader Description: Masculine style, They/He, AFAB, International Student, 20 Years Old. Sometimes will be describe using masculine terms (man, boy, handsome, etc)

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x InternationalStudent!Reader

Warnings: Specified age gap (Wanda is 34), NSFW content (??)

Summary: Y/n finally got a job as a Barista, however they were only offering part-time. Wanda wants to keep them around as much as she can in the name of "extra work." Who is Y/n to say no?

They had always wanted to work as a Barista, thankfully Harkness Coffee was willing to hire someone without prior experience. Their first day was spent mostly on training with a senior barista, Kate Bishop. He learned that Kate was also studying at NYU. However, Kate was 2 years above him.

Kate was very nice and welcoming, she has a rather bubbly personality to her. Once they finished their training, Y/n headed to Wanda's immediately. Knowing the promise of an extra job in exchange for money, he was taking all the offer he could get. He knows that he should probably take it one at a time, but ay you gotta do what you gotta do to make ends meet.

They rang the bell and waited, feeling slightly nervous. Wanda opened the door and greeted him with a smile. Shit that damn smile. "Y/n, I almost thought you wouldn't come."

They smiled back at her as she opened the door wider to let them in. "Thank you, Mrs. Maximoff." He observed the house, it was lovely. The living room was decorated with many pictures of her family. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you, dear. Follow me." Wanda then leads them to her backyard and a pool came into view. Man, now would be a really nice time to swim, they thought.

"I merely need someone to clean up the pool, just light maintenance. I have a guy coming in once a week, but he's been sick lately. So I need you to clean up the leaves and debris, also brushing the walls. No need for chemicals." Y/n sighed in relief internally, he didn't know jackshit about pool chemicals.

"Consider it done, Ma'am!" He said while beaming at her, Wanda goes to rest on one of the pool bench to relax and read a book. Y/n got to work immediately.

This was a relatively easy job. Get a net, get those leaves, and then get paid. It was easy money. However, it is summer so the heat of the sun was starting to get to him after a while. They were wearing a jacket as well and felt rather sweaty. They decided to take off their jacket, revealing a white undershirt that was hugging their toned figure just right.

Wanda, who had been secretly observing them, almost choked at the sight. The way his shirt fit him perfectly had her mind going all over the place. She probably shouldn't be thinking about all the dirty things she wanted to do to them, but can you blame her?

20 year old heartthrob, amazing sense of style, respectful, hardworking, lowkey submissive, don't forget the impressive physique. Wanda couldn't help but want to use him for pleasure to get closer to them. Y/n checked all of the boxes of what she looked for in a sexual partner.

Yes, she was married. But in all honesty her husband, Vision, was very neglectful. All he cares about is his job, always on some business trip, and not to mention terrible in bed. He wasn't a bad guy by all means, but Wanda has needs to be met. What's wrong with having a little fun?

Feeling a pair of eyes on them, Y/n glanced at Wanda just in time to see her eyes roaming their figure while subtly biting her lips. Feeling a tinge of nervousness again he gave her a smile and a wave, "I'm almost done, Mrs. Maximoff."

"Take your time, darling. I don't want to rush you." This time they noticed the flirty undertone in her sentence, they decided to just focus on their job.

Once the pool was cleaned, Wanda approached them while carrying an envelope. "Well done, Y/n. Here is your payment."

He smiled sheepishly while rubbing his neck, he took the envelope. "Thank you, Mrs. Maximoff. But it's nothing really."

"I still need a couple of help around the house. Would you mind if I ever give you a call?" She tilted her head slightly with a subtle smirk.

"I-" They cleared their throat. "Yeah sure." He grabbed her phone and put down his number. Wanda was not-so-subtly staring at him up close. Studying their facial features. I bet their very good with their mouth, she thought.

When they look up, Wanda was in their personal space. They were entranced by her captivating green eyes. "Say, Y/n, do you have a girlfriend?"

"N-no I don't."

Wanda gave them her devilish smile once again, "Shame..." She made a move to grab her phone in his hand, brushing their hands slightly. "I wouldn't want this to go to waste."

Damn this woman, she knows what she's doing.

So for the next few days Y/n would go on to do numbers of odd jobs from Wanda. Of course his main work was still as a Barista, but they had to be honest, Wanda's pay was somewhat higher? He didn't understand why she would be so generous with her payments, but he wasn't complaining. He needed this money bad.

And Wanda would also get more and more bold with her flirt each day.

Lightly brushing their hands together when he worked on her garden. Making flirty remarks like; "I wonder what other things those fingers are good at." when she hired them to teach her 7 year old boys guitar. Or guiding his hand while he was chopping vegetables that one time she needed a 'cook assistant'

Unfortunately, Y/n doesn't seem to be responding back. It frustrates her slightly as all she wanted to do was have them absolutely fucking ravish her. Meanwhile, Y/n was just happy that he's making a lot of money. Turns out they were right. A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.

And Y/n was good at a number of things.

That's how they ended with more and more side jobs from other neighbors. Which caused a slight jealousy on Wanda's end. There's no denying that Y/n is a young hotshot that catches many other women's attention. Which is why the next time Y/n comes over, Wanda would have her ways.

Things are getting spicy-

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