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razrbladekiss · 2 months

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HITS DIFFERENT | Chapter One - Summer Bummer

A/N: i’ve never written for mr. miller before, so i’m super nervous for how this’ll be received by everyone…but i enjoyed conjuring this up, and i hope you guys find it not-all bad! any feedback is welcome. i looove getting asks and anons. <3

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

PAIRING: no outbreak, single dad!joel x afab!reader (age gap relationship, joel is in his late forties, reader is mid-twenties.) strictly no use of y/n.

SUMMARY: your neighborly duties begin to stretch farther than simply offering a greeting whenever you and joel cross paths. after he recently becomes a single parent, you take it upon yourself to assist mr. miller in this new, completely terrifying endeavour.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ WORK BELOW THE CUT. angst. tiny bit of fucking on the first date (that isn’t anything reminiscent of a date LOL), fingering, finger sucking, joel being a dirty old man, unprotected piv sex. it’s kinda cute kinda cunty. i’ll leave you guys to decide what you think.

MASTERLIST

He’s the very last person that you’d be asking for help today, and he knows that. Joel knows that you’d rather claw your own eyes out, or rip your flesh away from bone and heave it in the fucking dumpster at the end of the street, than knock at his door and request his assistance.

He’s the cranky guy that lives across the way. The guy that, really, you know very little about aside from the fact that he has an attitude problem, a daughter, and his partner doesn’t seem to show her face all that often anymore.

You’d heard—from your busybody neighbor, Clare in No.13–that Joel’s wife had left for a younger, more attractive man from Tennessee. And though you hate to pry, and aren’t very nosy, you can’t help thinking about it the more you see Joel leave the house without the woman that was once fastened to his hip.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so miserable lately.

Ugh. You hate to call on him. But you’re desperate. It’s hot—like, the flaming crevices of hell are fighting to burst open the sidewalk outside of your house hot—and you’re dying. You’re sweating from places that you didn’t even know could sweat, and it’s disgusting.

You step onto his front porch—donning a knee-length sundress and a pair of chunky sandals—and wipe moisture away from your forehead as it beads against your skin, using the back of your arm to do so.

Joel’s house is significantly more drab than your own. It boasts the same stoney exterior as yours, and ivy flows over the eavestrough above the front door, only it's a little unkempt. And while your humble abode has so much curb appeal, the entire HOA board is actually envious, Joel’s man cave…doesn’t. It has a porch swing, a trough planter full of random succulents, a couple of Texas flags, and a door mat that simply reads “Fuck off.” Which is against the rules, you often remind him.

But Joel doesn’t care. About anything. And that’s why you can’t find it in yourself to even try to get along with him. Not because of the doormat—you don’t care about that—but because he’s always so mean. To your neighbors, to the mailman, to anyone that sets foot on his property.

To you.

It isn’t all the time, but you catch it every so often. The way Joel looks you up and down when you’re chatting with Mrs. Kavanagh over the fence on a Sunday afternoon about your week. How he always makes snide comments about the way you drive like a mad woman, or when you offer a friendly ‘hey’ to him each morning when you cross one another’s paths before work.

You don’t recall a time where you pissed Joel off to the point of blatant ignorance, but you did. And though Tommy believes that the reason for his brother’s more rash behavior is the fact that he might have a crush on you, you feel otherwise. Because Joel is so rude—so crass, on occasion—and nothing about that screams “I want to fuck you.”

Or maybe it does and you’re just oblivious. But regardless, Joel is renowned—street-wide—for being a miserable old grouch.

You can’t figure him out. And you’re not entirely sure that you want to, either.

However, he’s the only man on this street handy enough to fix your A/C unit.

So you press the buzzer—minding you don’t tread on a pair of worn-out work boots that are lazily placed beside the front door—and wait for your miserable neighbor to grumble and groan, when he catches sight of you through the glass.

You smile when you see some of his daughter’s toys scattered across the wood beneath the swing. You don’t even know her name, that’s how little knowledge you have of the man that’s lived across the street from you for the past year and a half.

Joel swings open the door, a cigarette pinched between his lips, and a rag over his shoulder. His sweat-slick torso glistens beneath the Austin sun, pecks slightly muddied with oil and whatever other substances that he’s working with, while his shirt is wrapped around his waist.

He exhales smoke around the stick, swiftly taking it into his left hand. His right comes up—with the rag—to rub at his face.

“What?” He rasps out.

It kills you to admit that you think that Joel is attractive—in an unconventional, dirty old-man kinda way—but, fuck. He’s rugged, and rough, and his body looks so inviting. You hate yourself for staring at him like this.

But you’re only human. Right? And the way he speaks to you, most certainly cancels out any physical attraction that you may have. Right? Right?

“Good Morning to you too, Miller.” Bitchy, you retort. “I just came over to ask if you’re willing to help me fix my A/C unit, but I see that you’re busy being a cunt—“

He laughs, flicking cigarette ash to the ground. Joel leans against his doorframe, watching you, watching him.

“Your language is vile, little lady.”

You hate when he calls you that. It’s so patronizing. It’s also one of the only times that Joel addresses you with actual words and not just a glare, or a groan.

“I don’t care.” Trying your hand at being just as blunt as him, you say. “I just need cool air in my house because the three fans, several wet towels, and kiddie pool in my backyard just aren’t cutting it anymore, and I think I’ll die if I have to put up with the heat any longer—“

He holds a hand up, begging you to shut your mouth.

“Fine.” He capitulates and you just blink at him, not being able to believe that he’s agreeing to help you with minimal begging and not even needing a bribe.

Because the last time you trudged over to his house in the downpour—soaked all the way through to your bra—and asked if he could do anything about the water leaking through your bedroom window, Joel billed you for your time.

And when Clare needed her lawn mowed because her husband was out of town and she’d dislocated her shoulder, Joel sent an invoice through the door for his forty-seven minutes work.

But you try to forget all of that. Because he’s helping you from the ‘goodness’ of his own heart.

“Thanks.” You reply, watching him shirk the cotton from his shoulder. “I know you don’t really want to help, but I’m grateful—“

He waves you off when he shrugs the tank over his head, the material immediately sticking to his damp chest. Your eyes linger over his form for a few seconds while you fiddle with the keys between your fingers, not being able to tell if Joel is being charitable, or just trying to get you to stop complaining about the fucking weather.

But you don’t mind. Because when he works his magic, you’ll be able to able to relax in your own living space, and sleep peacefully without worrying about waking in a ravine of your own sweat.

“I don’t have cash, but I’ve got beer in the fridge—“

“I don’t want your booze.” He says while closing the front door. Joel traipses past you on the steps, padding toward the open garage.

You watch him grab a box of tools, wondering how that one man acquired every single skill beneath the sun—well, all but the art of being able to properly communicate with his fucking neighbors—and offer a hand because the thing looks heavy. He waves you off—again—and you nod.

“Well, then what do you want?”

“Nothin’.” He says honestly. “Gotta start showin’ all you people that I’m not just some haggard old man, and can actually help every once in a while.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, you feel bad. Awful, actually.

Had he recently become privy to the fact that everybody knew of his business? Because—try as you might to avoid the buzz—it was difficult, living on such a tight street. And the trials and tribulations of each individual living on Bluebell Drive are always public knowledge, at some point.

It only took five days for the neighbors to find out when your last relationship fizzled out, and only seven for them to know how and why it ended.

“We don’t all think you’re haggard.” You say, trying to lighten the mood. You see Joel’s back muscles contract as he pulls the garage door closed, and then turns back to face you with a look that resembles an emotion that you aren’t familiar with.

“Just old?”

He starts to chuckle after a few seconds, and so do you—once you realize that he’s joking. You’re a bit more comfortable, now. Your attempt to diffuse the sudden thorny tension has worked, and Joel is starting to see that you’re not that bad.

“I don’t think you look old.” Honestly, you tell him. You begin to walk onto the street, holding tightly the hem of your dress as a gust of wind threatens to blow it up to your waist. “How old are you, Joel? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all.” He follows you onto the path, watching the white linen lift as another gust flits over—showing just the slightest bit of pink lace against pert skin—and smiles. “I’m forty-nine. Never really cared about gettin’ older, but it’s harder with a little one.”

“How old is your little girl?”

“She’s about to turn one.” Joel says—almost gushing with pride. He pads along the pavement and toward the pathway, watching his footing because there’s so many plants and flowers that scatter the sidewalk outside of your house, and he knows that he won’t hear the end of it if he crushes one of them this morning. “She’s a handful, but she’s worth it.”

The way he speaks about his baby is enough to make you see that there is a heart beneath such a tough exterior. There’s something so vulnerable—so candid—about the way he speaks about her. It’s refreshing.

“Does she spend much time with anyone else?”

“My brother.” He tells you. “Yeah, Tommy and his girlfriend have taken her out this mornin’ actually. To some petting zoo, I think.”

“That’s so sweet.” Truthfully, you say. You’ve never seen Joel so at peace, and you wonder why you ever hated him in the first place.

He’s a tough nut to crack—that’s always been a given—but perhaps he’s not as hard-faced and complicated as you once thought that he might’ve been.

“It is.” He replies. Joel follows you through the front of your very well-to-do home—wondering why he can’t seem to keep such a tidy place—and admires how much pride you take in your living space.

Everything—from the crown molding, to the baseboards—is in a more than pristine condition, and your floor is so clean Joel swears he could eat his dinner off of it.

“I bet it’s hard to keep up with chores when you’ve got a little one.” You say almost reading his mind. “I find it hard sometimes, and it’s just me living here.”

It sounds almost sad. He catches the way you not-so-fondly declare your living situation, as if you owe him any sort of explanation or insight into your life. You don’t.

“It ain’t that bad. Tommy helps out a lot.” Joel tells you and you lead him up the stairs—but not before asking him if he’d mind taking off his dusty work boots. “Just neither of us are very good at cookin’. I mean, I can do the basic shit, but Tommy is fuckin’ awful. Sienna—Tommy’s girl—is an amazing cook, but she works long hours, and she’s got a kid of her own to worry about, so—“

“So you guys are just stuck living on pasta and fries?”

Joel snickers, though he does nod. He likes that you can be direct sometimes.

“I can teach you how to cook. I mean—“ you show him to your bedroom quickly. “You’re doing me a favor by fixing my aircon, the least I can do is show you how to make a pie, or some kind of casserole that you can stick in the freezer and use in emergencies.”

“Thanks.” He’s taken aback. Not for the fact that you’re showing him your boudoir—despite that being where your faulty machine is located—but because you’re offering pleasantries where they’re not usually seen. Joel isn’t one to complain, though.

He is, however, the type of man to somehow offend somebody on a whim, and so he shuts his mouth when you open the top of the unit.

“It’s kinda old—ignore that, it came with the house.”

He nods, taking out one of his torches from the tool bag.

“So…” you watch over his shoulder—irritating him a bit—as he putters and fiddles with the internal mechanisms. “Can I get you anything?”

Some fuckin’ space.

“No thanks.”

Tight-lipped, you smile.

Joel’s fingers work the fan to ensure that it’s still able to spin, and you marvel at his uncharacteristic gentleness. With fingers as calloused as his own, you’d be sensible in thinking that he has a tendency to be heavy handed. But apparently not.

And that just adds to the fact—as blatant as anything—that you really don’t know the man that you share a zip code with.

“It needs refrigerant.”

“Oh—“

“It’s a quick fix. I can run to the hardware store and pick some up—but you’re gonna have to wait ‘cus Tommy’s taken my truck.”

“We can take my car?” You offer, leaving him to mull it over for a few seconds. “But I’ve just gotten it valeted—“

“I’ll wait for my brother to get back. Should only be another few hours.”

You blink at him. Your stare is blank, completely fucking empty. How does he expect you to sit—to simmer and literally marinate—in your own sweat?

But before you can whine and make Joel’s day ten times worse, he proposes an idea.

“You can uphold your end of the bargain, in the meantime.” Smug, he says. “My A/C works—and I got fans in my kitchen. If you come ‘n help me out with making some cookies and a pot roast, then I can go get you what you need when Tommy gets back.”

You don’t even need to consider the offer before you’re running downstairs and grabbing vegetables and spices, and whatever else you’ll need that you know Joel won’t have in his pantry.

He gets you to take a few beers across the street, too. And you do because you’re kind, and want Joel to feel comfortable when doing something that he’s not all too familiar with.

You give him time to clean up when you get back to his house, and find all the appropriate utensils to start cooking. Joel spends at least fifteen minutes in the shower, and you take time to indulge yourself with the icy flurry in his kitchen.

It’s a feeling almost orgasmic in nature. The bitterness against your skin—cold and lurid, almost—and breeze that catches the hem of your dress, hiking it to the middle of your thigh, is wonderful. You find yourself leaning into it like an embrace, letting the skin of your chest catch the cool.

And in your moment of pure superfluity, you somehow drown out the background noise of footsteps approaching the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

Joel clears his throat. “Nice?”

You spin around—the neckline of your dress slightly garbled—and bleed crimson into your cheeks. “Yes. It’s lovely.” You stutter, completely embarrassed. “Sorry—“

“Don’t be. You’ve been meltin’ all day, sugar. You need this.”

Sugar. Your heart skips a beat at the pet name.

Joel walks to the refrigerator—like he hasn’t just rocked your entire fucking world after doing a brilliant job of convincing you that he hates you over the last god-knows however many months—and puts his hands on his hips.

“Can we use Chuck Roast?”

You nod, not being able to formulate a verbal response.

You’re still trying to cross the sugar bridge.

“Fantastic.” He says. Joel reaches down into the cupboard beside the range and takes out a roasting tray that you’re sure has never been used before. “This?”

“Yes.” Finally, you manage. And though the cool against your flesh is lovely, you can still feel heat stippling across the apples of your cheeks.

You wonder if he heeds it.

Joel turns back to you with a shit-eating grin. He does.

“I can’t wait to make this. Sarah’ll love it.”

You lift a brow.

“My little girl. That’s her name.”

“Oh.” Your eyes soften. “That’s beautiful, Joel. She’s a cute kid.”

He nods, padding over to stand beside you at the counter. “She is. And she loves her food, so this’ll go down a damn treat…And if you’re lucky, then you can stay ‘n eat with us.”

“Joel, I couldn’t—“

He raises a hand as you pull oil, salt and some more herbs from your bag. “I insist. We don’t really know one another, and I can’t help feelin’ like we’ve got off on the wrong foot. It’s the least I can do, especially ‘cus of how nice you’ve always been to my brother.”

It’s true. Tommy has always been somebody that you’ve regarded highly, because he’s such a delight. He might’ve accidentally stumbled into your life—and your back—at the supermarket last year, but he’s been a lovely permanent fixture in your life. And you can’t seem to think of having it any other way.

He’s a good friend. And even better confidant, with a brother whose chocolatey hues are scrutinizing your form—top to bottom—while you oil your pan, and throw in a handful of onions and carrots.

Joel’s head grows fuzzy, the more he watches and listens to you. He can’t seem to wrangle any rational thoughts, now. Because you’re actually down-to-earth—when it’s just the two of you—and he wonders why it’s taken this long for him to invite you into his home.

The angsty nature of your relationship has always put a downer on things. Whenever he’d catch sight of you talking to his brother, Joel’s green-eyed monster would consume him and any sense of reason would become distorted. And he always knew that he was the sole reason for the bitter tension—because you’re never this way with anybody else—but can never bring himself to admit just why he feels this way.

Tommy’s inconceivable idea about him having a crush on you—that, really, isn’t so odd now—might be ringing true.

You explain to Joel each step that must be taken in order to achieve the perfect pot roast. From browning the vegetables, to adding the beef and stock and all of the herbs that contribute to the meaty flavor, Joel listens intently to your every word.

He’s completely lost in you, now. The way you speak. How you explain things with metaphors, and examples that Joel will understand. How you use the back of your arm to wipe away perspiration as you stand over the broiling pot, never taking your eyes off of the meal that you’re helping your neighbor to prepare.

Joel is infatuated.

“Now we let it sit for a few hours.” You say while walking over to the sink to wash your hands clean of any food. “Did you still want to make some cookies?”

“Maybe later. I’m kinda fed up of being in this kitchen now.” He lets out a laugh and puts down the big spoon that you’d given to him to stir the pot. Because that’s his job, now. “You want a drink?”

“What’ve you got?”

“Wine, beer, lemonade, orange juice.” He recites from memory. “Not sure what else is in the refrigerator.”

You glance at the clock. It’s barely pushing one in the afternoon, but you’re gasping for a cool glass of white. Or red. Or whatever the fuck Joel has cold.

“Wine, please.”

He pulls out a bottle of Merlot—not something you’d associate with Joel—and you reach for two glasses from the open cabinet above the stove.

“I didn’t put you down as a wine drinker, Miller.”

“Well, I guess that I’m full of surprises.” He says teasingly, sliding over your almost-completely-full beverage.

You hum when you pull the glass up to your lips, indulging in the heavy-handed pour from the man who can’t take his fucking eyes off of you as you stand at his kitchen island, helping him make dinner.

Joel is transfixed by the way that your chest—shiny and glistening—raises as you take each breath. How the strap on your dress falls to the middle of your arm when you lift the stem of the glass, or lower it back to the island.

He’s kicking himself. But he’s enjoying the sight too much to look away.

“See something you like?” You ask and lick your lips, almost pandering to the internal quandary that he has suddenly found himself entwined with. And you’re never usually this forward, so the ventricles of your heart begin to seize as the organ batters against the cage of your ribs, pulsating vividly beneath your sundress.

Joel is surprised by the tone of your voice, almost pinching himself to ensure that this isn’t some kind of convoluted alternate reality.

But he soon realizes that this—you in his home—is not a figment of his imagination, but something very real.

“I guess.” Joel says, and rounds the island until he’s standing beside you. He looks you up and down, setting his glass against the wood grain. “What about you?”

You nod, letting your gaze flit between Joel’s face and the protruding bulge in the taught denim decorating the lower half of his body. He feels his heat begin to temper, getting strangled by his jeans the more he eyes you.

Joel urges you to sit on the counter—his hands affix to the meat of your ass as you lift yourself up—and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist in a bid to pull him impossibly close to your body.

“Is this a good idea?”

“Probably not.” Joel all but growls before he’s fastening his lips to your own, and you’re moaning into his mouth while he’s starting to unbuckle the belt on his pants.

It’s needy. God. It’s so fucking needy that you’re at risk of unraveling right here, but you manage to contain your arousal, and allow yourself to add more intensity to the embrace.

Joel’s tongue is blanketed by the taste of wine, cigarettes, and a hint of the broth that the two of you made before he was trying to get into your panties, and you’re basking in it. You’re basking in the way that his nose pushes into your own as he adds more force—more desire—to the kiss, and how much he craves you after so many months spent despising your presence.

“Joel—“ You whimper out when he comes up for air, putting your hands against his as he palms his cock through the material of his underwear. “Joel, this isn’t right—“

“‘Course it is, baby.” He croons in your ear, seeing the goosebumps stipple down your neck and across your shoulders. Your head falls backwards. “See how much you like it? This is just fine.”

You take a deep breath when his prick—still endowed in his Calvin’s—dances along your clothed heat. “But—But what if Tommy gets back.”

“Then we’ll have to make it quick.” Joel states, letting his member spring free of the confines of his boxers, and your eyes widen. It’s bigger than you thought—not that you had thought much of it until this moment—and the girth is commendable. You’re not sure whether you’ll be able to take him in one fluid motion, but you don’t doubt that Joel will try.

He lifts the hem of your dress until it’s sitting just above your panty line, and rubs his thumb over your clit that suddenly feels trapped beneath pink lace. Joel massages the bud for a few measly seconds before remembering that this was meant to be a quickie, and pushes your underwear to the side.

“Wow.” His jaw drops. He lets his forefinger run up and down your seam, gathering the pooling wetness on the tip of it. Joel brings it to his lips and sucks it clean, before he’s going back in with another.

Joel’s fingers pump slowly—seductively—in and out of your pussy, knuckle fucking deep until he’s pushing at the spongiest part of your cunt. He feels resistance, and you begin to tighten around him, but he continues.

He paws at his cock in time with the hilt deep finger-fucking he’s giving you, moaning your name. You claw your nails against the counter, hardly able to hold yourself up while you begin to leak liquid arousal around Joel’s calloused fingertips that’re working you to your finish.

“If you—Joel—don’t fuck me, I’ll cum all over your hand—“

“Is that a threat?” He digs, hastening his pace. He curls and contracts his fingers within the chasms of your core, unravelling you very quickly. You whine and write beneath his hold, striving to keep onto your dignity for a little bit longer than this. “‘Cus, darlin’, I can live with that—“

You cut him off with a moan as he pulls his fingers out and—like the dirty old man that he is—makes you suck them clean. He shoves them down the back of your throat until you’re gagging with tears in your eyes, lining his cock up at your slit while he’s choking you like a fucking masochistic psychopath.

But it’s hot.

Joel is so hot, and you can’t believe that you’re fucking him—in his kitchen—when, really, you should be spending your afternoon trying to get your A/C unit fixed. Because that’s the only reason you left your house, today.

He pushes into you—filling your cunt nicely—and you can’t help hastening your movements at the first ounce of touch. Because you’re growing impatient now. He worked you to an—almost—premature release, and now he has to let you have it.

Joel grips firmly onto the flesh of your thighs, pushing and pulling you into him as his cock spears you open—rutting into you like a mad man that hasn’t felt the warmth of a pussy since the dawn of time. But it’s been three months since Joel Miller got to dive into a woman—fingers first—and he’s determined to get every last ounce of pleasure out of you.

“How does it feel, pretty girl? How does my cock feel, pounding into you?” He asks, knowing that you won’t be able to formulate a verbal response. Joel writhes above you when your walls start to clamp down around him, giving him the answer that he craves.

He hums his approval—hammering into your cunt—letting his knees hit against the island as he doesn’t miss a beat. Joel pulls down the neckline of your dress and exposes the supple flesh of your breasts, immediately taking your right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He massages pebbled skin, eliciting a string of broken moans from the deepest fissures of your chest.

“So beautiful.” He praises, urging you to moan louder. Joel’s cock stutters at the sound. He can feel his release looming and, though he hates the thought of finishing after not even a whole five minutes of driving into you, he knows that prolonging is no longer an option.

“Joel—I’m—gonna—“

“I know, darlin’.” He reassures, still relentlessly fucking into you. Still hitting you hilt-deep, and fighting against the fluttering walls around him. “You just let it go when you’re ready.”

And just from that—the way that his velvety tone oozes consolation—you find yourself unwillingly unraveling beneath your sexy older neighbor, giving your entire self to him on a random Saturday afternoon.

“That’s it, baby girl. Cum for me.” Joel coaxes you through your orgasm, praising your movements and the way you shamelessly coat his cock with your sweetness that he can’t help but taste. He moans around his finger, letting his movements hinder slightly as he works toward his own release.

But watching you—how the sensitivity is consuming you and making even the slightest touch the most overstimulating thing in the entire fucking world—is enough to drive him to the edge.

“Give it to me, Joel. Fill me up right here.” You brandish the man whose prick is threatening to spill inside of your cunt.

He ruts into you for a few moments more, before his spend is exploding into you like the most erotic of fireworks, and threads of cum paint your walls, thighs, and clit as he pulls out and rubs his head along your warmth one last time.

Joel collapses into your chest, sticky and dripping lust.

“That was amazing.” You say through bated breaths, panting like a fucking dog.

“Bet you didn’t think an old guy could fuck that good, huh?”

Your head shakes and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Think we’ll have to make a thing of this, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, you’re nodding at him. Your arms lazily drape over Joel’s shoulders, and he pecks kisses along your neck and chest. “Absolutely. I’ll never be able to fuck a man my own age, now…”

For the first time since forcing his way onto this street, Joel Miller feels like he didn’t make a mistake moving back to Austin.

#hits different `♡´#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fic #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #joel miller smut #tlou x reader #tlou x you #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x afab!reader

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lovifie · 5 months

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Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

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Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

Warnings: Poly relationship, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), panic attack, mentions of guns and war (this is COD so), mentions of cheating but it just three idiots not knowing what poly is ❤️

Soap gets thrown into action ridiculously quick, barely passing the psychological evaluation and he is ready to go back to war. It had costed you multiple fights with Price, even with Laswell, to try and keep him from going back.

It didn't matter how many times you debated it, or how solid your arguments were. If the psychiatrist decided that Johnny was ready.... He was.

Even if she contradicted herself, even if you said Johnny had forgotten half of his experience, even if you said he was still in physical rehab.

All of that didn't matter.

And no matter how hard you fought it, barely a couple of months after you returned to base, Johnny was putting on his uniform to leave.

Price wasn't the only one you argued with, the frustration of feeling like you were sending Johnny to the slaughterhouse caused you to be irascible and, even if you didn't mean to, to lash out at anyone who would disagree with you.

Even if Johnny was the one who was opposing you.

"Lass, I don't want to go away being in a fight with you." He began to say as he strapped on his vest.

"Then don't leave." You replied from the door frame and your arms crossed.

"Baby... We've been over this, please.... I have to..." She said, hands raised and voice soft as if speaking to a frightened animal.

And that's how you felt, like a dog being promised by his owner that he's not going to abandon him as he walks out the door with a target on his forehead.

Just like Johnny, you had also had sessions with the base psychiatrist; but unlike him, you had not been given a pass. You were more than ready to be discharged, but if they clared you, then you would have the power to say that Johnny was not ready to return.

So the amnesiac who two months ago could not walk was prepared to return to the battlefield. And you, whose only psychological damage was to see him dead, were bound hand and foot as you watched him go to almost certain death.

"No! You don't have to, Johnny! Don't you realize what they're doing!!!?" You burst out, once again, uncrossing your arms to express your displeasure with the situation.

"Of course I realize! I have amnesia, I'm not an idiot!" He responded in the same tone as you, causing guilt to build up in your opinion. "I'm still capable of making my own decisions so you don't need to make them for me anymore! Don't you realize I need to feel useful!"

Johnny didn't want to yell at you, or lose control and say something he didn't mean; but he was still human and frustration had gotten the better of him too.

Ever since he saw how Ghost had left you in your room, the fact that you had been together obvious; Johnny hadn't been able to help but compare himself to the blond.

At first it was physical, the time immobilized had left him thinner. When Gaz showed him a picture from before the accident he doubted that he could ever be as wide as he was before... Almost the same as Ghost.

But not now.

Now he was shorter, weaker, more inexperienced... He had nothing to beat him with, to compete for you. And Johnny knew it.

Besides, he was sure that you must have felt him as a burden. A big baby you had to take care of so he wouldn't choke if you didn't cut his food.

So when he was asked if he wanted to come back, he didn't think twice. Later, when he told you about it and saw how your expression changed to one of absolute panic, he regretted not asking you before agreeing. But his pride was hurt when he saw you arguing with everyone you could to keep him from going.

This was not your first discussion on the subject, and every time it ended you both felt like idiots; for hurting the other indirectly and for knowing that you were not able to convey your own feelings to each other.

And Simon has been the scavenger vulture that has taken advantage of each and every one of those discussions.

As soon as he realized that you had argued, Simon would go from one to the other.

"I'm worried about him too, love. But Johnny's still Johnny, nothing's going to happen to him, you'll see." He would say to you.

"I understand you, Johnny.... It's normal that you want to go back to the battlefield.... It's where you always shine the most..." I said to him.

And so on and so forth.

Simon wasn't looking to fuel any enmity between the two of them, it didn't make sense when he was the one who wanted to join the pair. But when he saw the small chasm that the argument created, he only strove to shape it into his own form; to pull the two of them into him once inside.

It was a turning point on his relationship with Johnny. In no way enough for the blue eyed man to like him, but now he answered when he talked to him.

He had managed to catch Johnny with his guard down a couple of nights ago, after what seemed like the biggest argument between the two of you. You didn't even let Simon in your room. But Johnny did.

They spend the greater part of the night talking, it was obvious that Johnny has been wanting to rant and would rather have somebody to do it that simply talking to the void. He had to do his greater effort to not take more than Johnny was giving him, to not get closer as he spoke; even if he mumble and could barely hear him. Not to hug him when he saw his eye shine with unspilled tears when he talked about making you sad. Not to lay him over his lap and beat his ass black and blue when he confessed some of the things he had said to you.

He pulled back, he stayed on a safe distance. And the next day he got his reward when Johnny finally spoke to him first.

“Morning, Lt.”

Like a ghost of his life before the accident.

It was your turn now.

The night before the flight to his new mission.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult mission, and even though he new there was always some risk, he wouldn't have allowed Johnny to tag along if he knew there was an actual threat.

He also knew that you couldn't see that, and he understood perfectly why. He just neded to think about how much time you were alone with an unconscious Johnny, everyone would have gone crazy in your situation.

Stranded, injured, taking care of an unresponsive person, that person being a loved one… he knows he wouldn't have been rescued. But you turned off that part of you brain, focusing on keeping Johnny alive and yourself by correlation.

Fear and despair are human emotions, and you can't have those if you turn yourself in a machine. And Simon knew that well.

He agreed with the psychiatrist up to a certain point, you had developed a link to Johnny during your stay that needed to be broken. Focusing on keeping Johnny alive kept you sane, when losing your mind or asking for help meant your death or Johnny's.

But that risk was no longer there, therefore you should have let go of it; but the rope is already under your skin to do so and now you panic even at the thought of it. The suppressed feelings too mixed and too tight inside of your mind to make sense.

That's how you found yourself now, curling on Simon's lap, hyperventilating as you cry your eyes out. The rope keeping you hanging over your feeling finally snapped, and you fell right onto his arms.

And if it weren't for the heartbroken way you were crying, Simon would have been happy to be the one you had looked to for relief.

Simon didn't try to talk to you, knowing you wouldn't even hear him over the sound of your cries, he simply hugged you and stroked your head; while you cried on his shoulder, his shirt getting wet with your tears, drool and snot. Completely crumbling after finally facingyour long neglected feelings.

The fear of dying in the tunnel, the pain of injury, the anxiety of a possible ambush at any moment, the constant tension that Johnny will suddenly get worse. All out, back into the world.

It's when you're choking on your own saliva, coughing and breathing tightly together causing you to gag, that Simon moves his hands to your arms, gently pushing you to see you better.

But his heart shrinks when he notices your hands gripping his shirt tightly as a whimper escapes your lips. Still, and with as much willpower as he can, he pulls your trembling hands away from the clothes, with them quickly grabbing his hand instead.

You are still hyperventilating, your head is lowered and Simon can only see the tears falling as your whole body trembles.

"What’s that sound?" Simon suddenly asks, and your too-curious-for-your-own-good nature betrays you by making you fall for his trick.

Because your cries gradually diminish in volume, to try and hear whatever Simon is talking about. But the short moment when you're just hiccuping, trying to breathe normally to hear better, is all Simon needs.

He grabs the tissue from the bedside table, bringing it up to your nose to blow your snot. A confused expression comes over your face, would he really blow your nose?

You take the tissue from his hand and do it yourself, asking him for a couple more before finally feeling your face dry from tears and so on.

"I'm sorry" You whisper, with Simon quickly quipping to you before you can finish.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It was about time you got it out, love." He tells you, helping you to lean against him again.

You snuggle into him, your head resting on his dry shoulder and your hands pressed to your chest, making it easy for Simon to wrap his arms around you.

He knows you still have a lot more to release inside you, but he also knows it's not the pain you can vent in a single crying session. But the first step has been taken.

And more importantly, the next morning when you say goodbye to the two of them before they leave for their mission, you talk to Johnny again.

"You be careful, okay? And no more head banging, Johnny." You mutter, moving Johnny's head so his forehead rests on yours.

"Of course, bonnie. We'll be back before you miss me." Johnny replies, giving you a kiss on the cheek, right next to the nose wetting his lips with the single tear that escapes you.

In addition, once on the plane, Jonny watches him for a while before speaking again.

"You talked to her, didn't you?"

"Yes, last night."

"Thanks.”

Once on the battlefield, Johnny's attention is once again focused on Ghost. On the intimidating, terrifying lieutenant who at every turn turns around to make sure Johnny is still behind him, without a scratch.

Johnny is aware of the void in his memory of the last few years of his life. But he remembers perfectly the years of his adolescence when he doubted so much about his sexuality. How his eyes would run after every pretty girl he passed in the halls of high school. And at night, when he can't sleep; he still remembers the awkward erection when the captain of his rugby team tackled him during practice, leaving Johnny pressed against the ground.

It has been many years since Johnny came to terms with the fact that he preferred not to put labels on something he didn't fully understand.

So when in the middle of a surprise exchange of gunfire Simon grabbed his arm hiding Johnny behind him to make sure he didn't get hit and his eyes were fixed on the small space of exposed skin between the glove and the sleeve, and Johnny watched him for longer than would be considered normal.... He was not really surprised.

Johnny can see what you see in Simon. Especially because of the way he treats him, even if Johnny doesn't know. Simon cannot help himself.

In his Johnny the one at stake.

With anyone else, Simon wouldn't hesitate to let his nasty nature called Ghost, which he has cultivated to keep people away, shine through. But not with Johnny. Nor with you.

At least not when his goal is to find his niche between the two of you.

So Johnny sees for the first time, what if he were able to remember, he saw between the cracks of Ghost's mask after years.

And just as it happened to him before the accident.... Johnny can't help but feel the butterflies when Simon looks into his eyes.

"You alright, Johnny?”

Against all odds, but still not surprising to either of them, the mission ends up lasting much longer than they both thought it would.

This ends up working to Simon's advantage, as it continues to push Johnny towards him.

Their relationship continues to mutate by leaps and bounds, as the day before they boarded the plane Johnny could barely look him in the eye without hatred in his pupils.

This is why, when they finally start to mobilize to return to base and the two of them are assigned to return in a single car with no one else; that Johnny deviates from the road and parks on the side of the road.

"Can I ask you something, Lieutenant?"

And Simon questions for a moment if there really is anything Johnny could ask him that he wouldn't be willing to answer.

"Go ahead."

"Before the accident... What was the situation?"

"Elaborate."

"Between us... and with her."

And Simon knows perfectly well what Johnny is referring to, the scotsman is neither stupid nor blind.

"What would it affect how things were before the accident?"

"Everything!"

"Give me an example, Johnny."

"Whatever." Johnny backs off, jerking his hand to restart the car.

Except Simon is quicker and takes the key out of the ignition and out of Johnny's hand.

"Explain yourself, Johnny."

"No, whatever, we're late."

"Until I get there no one leaves, we can be as late as we want to be. Explain yourself."

Johnny puffs, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more if possible.

"I feel at a disadvantage, okay?" Johnny admits, glancing at Simon for a second before looking ahead again. "I feel like everyone is aware of what's going on and everything that happened before the accident. And that everyone's talking over my shoulder as if instead of amnesia I was stupid. And I have feelings that don't make sense for me to have in such a short time, and the only thing that makes sense in my mind is that they were already there before the accident!"

The two remain in awkward silence for more minutes than is desirable.

"Do you have feelings for me, Johnny?"

"No!"

One more awkward silence.

"For her?"

"...I don't know."

"You don't know or you don't want to admit it?"

"I don't know!"

Simon is frustrated with myself, and is aware that Johnny must be equally frustrated. Two grown men too stubborn to admit their feelings.

Simon huffs, pondering his next move for just a few seconds before removing his mask. The move catches Johnny's attention and he turns to look at him, just in time to see Simon grab his face to crash his lips against his.

It's a peck. Nothing more.

But it's enough to make Johnny look at him like he's just grown horns on his head. Simon can practically see the smoke coming out of Johnny's ears, but he also sees his eyes stare for a millisecond at his lips again. And that's all he needs.

"Do you want to talk about feelings or do you want to show them to me, Mactavish?"

Johnny only needs a second to unbuckle his belt and grab Simon's vest to pull him closer to him.

Johnny knows this isn't the way, that they should talk, clear out everything, lay the groundwork for the strange triangle they're excluding you from for now by doing it this way.

But after the time spent together on the mission, every glance, every brush, every word exchanged. Johnny knows this isn't the right way to do it, but he knows it's the easiest. And for now, that's enough for him.

Johnny moves over the console to reach Simon; it's an awkward position with the gearshift lever digging into his thigh. But when Simon's hands travel to the back of his thighs and he sits him on his lap it all fits together like puzzle pieces.

It's an aggressive kiss, with both wanting to take the lead; teeth clashing, drool sliding down the corner of their lips and one's breath colliding with the other's.

It's Simon who gives in, letting Johnny enter his mouth, savoring the taste of the cigarette he smoked just before starting the car. A horrible taste that tastes like glory coming from the blond's mouth.

Despite the multiple layers of clothing, Johnny can perfectly feel Simon's cock harden under his weight. Johnny lowers his hand to Simon's belt, unbuckling it carelessly; parting the kiss to look down at what he's doing.

That moment Simon takes the opportunity to speak. "You're not going to let me fuck you, are you?"

Johnny laughs softly, shaking his head at the same time. "Didn't you ask me to show you my feelings, blondie? I'm going to show them to you, just as good as I showed her."

"Can't fucking wait." Simon declares pulling Johnny's hair to kiss him again once he manages to unbuckle his belt.

Johnny slips his hand into Simon's boxers, wrapping his hand around his member and pulling it out of the confines of the garment. Simon moans at the not very gentle maneuver, Johnny's calloused hand moving up and down against the dry skin making him groan.

Johnny notices the lack of lubrication and spits a heavy blob of saliva onto his tip, Simon sighing in relief at the much desired wetness.

"Now imagine if instead of my drool it was her pussy juices, Simon." Johnny murmurs, licking Simon's neck making Simon groan letting his head fall back against the headrest.

"That's a fucking dream, Johnny." Is all he manages to reply.

Johnny laughs, unbuckling his own belt with one hand as he continues to massage Simon's length with the other. When he manages to get his own member out he also positions himself as close as he can to Simon, cock against cock. Needing to use both hands to encircle both members as he moves them up and down, bringing them both fully to life; noticing how they harden between his fingers.

It is impossible for him not to move his hips against his hands, both moaning in unison at the friction between their cocks. The little droplets of cum that are born from their members helping to increase the mess of fluids.

It's only when Johnny decides that enough is enough that they change positions. Simon takes off his pants, limiting himself to removing one boot so he can stick one leg out; and Johnny tells him how he wants him to lie on the back seats.

The man is too big for the car seats, with his head resting on the hand rest by the door and his knees bent to fit. Johnny kneels on his chest, trying not to drop his weight on it so as not to suffocate Simon. With the hand he has on the base of his member, he moves it so that he slaps Simon on the mouth.

"Careful, Johnny" Simon warns him, trying to let Johnny know that he is in control for as long as Simon wants.

Johnny smiles, winking at him. Perfectly aware of the danger but unafraid of the consequences. "We don't have any other lube, Lieutenant. Ye better blow me good."

Simon grunts, parting his lips so Johnny can enter his mouth. Johnny begins to move his hips, slowly so the Brit can get used to the width of his member. Johnny moans as he feels the warmth of his mouth around his member, the muscle of his tongue caressing the underside of it causing a shiver to run up his back.

Johnny looks over his shoulder, dropping his eyes to Simon's member, taking a moment to admire it in all its splendor. It's long, easily over 7 inches, uncut, lying flat on the part of his abdomen exposed by his wrinkled T-shirt, slightly tilted to one side by his own weight and with a healthy amount of mouthwatering veins that make Johnny's mouth water.

But today, Johnny has a different mission. He slips two of his fingers into his own mouth licking them as he makes eye contact with Simon while continuing to move his hips; driving deeper and deeper into his mouth.

The hand that was at the base of his member moves to Simon's head, grabbing his hair and holding it still. The other, once satisfied with how wet his fingers are, moves it to between Simon's legs, brushing his member with his forearm as he does so and begins to press into Simon's tight entrance with his index finger.

Johnny notices him tense up for half a second at the sudden pressure before letting his body relax under Johnny's caresses and he pushes in to the first phalanx of his first finger. Moving his hand and hips in tandem.

Simon's jaw soon starts to ache, especially when Johnny begins to thrust forward; Simon's nose brushing against Johnny's pubes.

And yet, Simon moans when Johnny slips a second finger into his ring of muscle. They are both aware that Johnny's fingers are not enough to accommodate Johnny's girth, but in their perverted minds it only adds to the kinkiness.

Johnny finally pulls away from Simon's mouth, a trickle of drool connecting his lips to Johnny's member still. Mouth empty, Simon is free to moan as Johnny opens and closes his fingers inside Simon.

"I didn't know you were a singer, Lieutenant."

"Johnny... Shut the fuck up..." Is all Simon can reply.

Johnny pulls his fingers out, making Simon sigh, and moves to stand between Simon's legs, as comfortable as he can inside the cramped vehicle.

He thinks about it for a second before moving his hands under his officer's knees and moving them towards his head, easily folding him in half; the sergeant's strength taking him by surprise.

But what really surprises him is feeling the sergeant's wet tongue at his entrance, making him moan pathetically at the contact. It's a couple of mere licks, nothing more, before Johnny breaks away licking his lips; then spits a fat glob of saliva at the entrance.

The sergeant lowers his legs, sitting back up and Simon slightly blushing at the ease with which he has moved him to his surprise.

"I'll take it slow, okay?" Johnny suddenly says, a touch of gentleness amidst the strange scuffle that lets his true feelings show.

Johnny pushes forward slightly, both of them hissing at the tight feeling. Johnny's hand find their place on Simon's hips, with Simon's hand finding support on his wrists.

“Fuckin' hell, Johnny…” Simon moans whe Johnny has barely gotten past the puffy tip.

“You are going to choke my dick off, Simon” he moans, throwing his head back.

Slowly but steadily Johnny bottoms out inside of Simon, feeling his insides pulse around his length in a vice-like grip. Simon has never felt this full, feeling the weight of Johnny's shaft all the way back on his column.

Johnny slowly starts to move, painfully slow lo let the other finally adjust to the invasion. The moans and whispers growing in volume as Johnny starts to pick up the pace of his thrust.

And is not long before Johnny as a steady rhythm, hip slapping against his, Simon's cock slapping slightly against his abdomen with each thrust. Is when Johnny starts to snap his hips harder that Simon needs to move one his hands from Johnny's wrist to the door of the car to avoid getting a concussion with the hits of his head against it.

Simultaneously, and completely unaware of it, their minds travel to you. How would you fit in between them; would you ride Simon while Johnny rides him? Would you sit on Simon's face while Johnny rides Simon? Would they both fuck you senseless?

Johnny's free hand moves to Simon's shaft, grabbing it hard and tugging, forcing a whine out of Simon. “Shit! Johnny, that's- that's too much! Fuck!” Simon moans loudly, the double stimulation enough to make him throw his head back; hitting the door with the lack of strength left on his body.

“That's too much for you, Lt?” Johnny asks between grunts and moans. “And how will you handle her riding you while I fuck you?” The mental image making both moan.

“Once we are back… I'm destroying your ass, Johnny.” Simon manages to say through gritted teeth to avoid a moan from scaping his mouth.

Johnny chuckles at his threat. “Are you asking me on a second date, blondie?” He says, he bends down to kiss Simon again, and right before crashing his lips together he whispers “I can't fucking wait, Si.”

The new angle Johnny hits when bending down has Simon seeing white dots on his vision, and when Johnny tugs at his shaft again, thick ropes of cum spur on his abdomen pooling in his navel. He clenches down around Johnny's lengths, making him moan loudly and he barely manages to pull out before combusting over Simon stomach as well, the seed of both mixing together over his skin.

The car windows are fogged up as Johnny sits in the seat opposite Simon. Grabbing bandages from the first aid kit in his backpack so Simon can clean himself. Johnny readjusts, putting away his dick and buckling his belt; watching as Simon does the same once he manages to pull his pants back up and buckles his boot.

“About… about how we felt before the accident…” Simon breaks the silent, looking ahead. “We were never together… and I can't talk on behalf of her or you, but for me… I knew I felt things for…” Simon sighs, struggling to choose the right words. “I knew I used to feel things for the two of you… I still do.”

Johnny doesn't say anything, being able to tell that Simon still has more to say but needs a moment to regroup his feelings.

"Especially with you. The tunnel accident... It wasn't your first brush with death, Johnny. A couple of years ago, on a mission in Mexico, well, in Las Almas.... Things happened, and you and I got separated, we got... Uncommunicated... From each other and from everyone..." Simon narrates, recounting a mission that doesn't tug at Johnny's memory strings in the least. "On that mission I thought... I thought I'd lost you, Johnny. And it was in that moment that I thought I'd lost you that I realized they weren't just friends' feelings..."

Simon laughs dryly, rubbing his face with his hand before continuing. "I almost declared myself back then.... And several times after that but.... But then the tunnel thing happened and..."

The sentence is half-spoken, but neither Simon needs to say more nor Johnny needs to hear it.

"And... And you think I loved you back, Simon?"

"I'd like to think you did, Johnny.”

Taglist: @waiting-so-long @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @cod-z @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadowbat @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @mothymunson @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr @yuki2129 @mikaronn

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icyminghao · 1 year

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(pretty) hungry

pairing: minghao x gn!reader genre: fluff, drabble, established relationship word count: 0.6k warning(s): mentions of food

summary: minghao attempts to flirt with you in chinese, but ends up getting extremely shy when you confront him to translate whatever he said for you.

from the universe of i don’t understand (but i love you), you nailed it! and a little sweet, but can be read as a standalone.

inspired by jem carstairs from the infernal devices by cassandra clare!

“Baobei*, ni hao piao liang**,” Minghao randomly pipes up, breaking the silence that loomed over the both of you in your weekly reading session.

You look up from your book, ears perking up at the sound of Minghao speaking in his native tongue. “What does that mean?”

There’s a pause. Minghao seems taken aback. You quirk a curious brow at him.

“It means I’m hungry. Let’s go get some food,” Minghao places the book he was reading down on the coffee table before getting up and walking towards you.

You would have believed his translation, if not for the fact that his ears were tinged with the deepest shade of red you’ve ever seen.

Minghao extends his hands for you to grab onto to get up, and you withhold a giggle at how hard he’s trying to hide the blush slowly creeping up his cheeks. You willingly grab onto his hands and lift yourself up, a teasing smile appearing on your endeared expression.

“It means ‘I’m hungry’? I could use it on Junhui the next time we meet, show him how good of a teacher you are,” you smile, eyes focused on his reaction. “Baobei, ni hao piao liang.”

“You can’t tell Junhui that.” Minghao replies immediately. You don’t know how it’s possible, but Minghao only gets redder as he practically squirms under your gaze, looking down at his feet to avoid your eyes. You simply grin wider at how cute he’s being, all because of a few simple words from his native language that he’s refusing to translate for you.

“Why not?” you feign innocence, lowering yourself a little so you could make eye contact with his lowered head. “It’s a pretty useful phrase, isn’t it?”

Minghao sighs, lifting his head up. His face is completely red now. “Well, yes, but it can only be used in specific contexts.”

“Specific contexts?” you raise a brow at Minghao, leaning closer to him. “Do enlighten me, Hao.”

“You can just Google it, y/n,” Minghao presses his lips into a thin line, obviously trying to avoid the topic, “what do you feel like eating?”

Unfortunately for him, you do not give in easily.

“But Hao,” you whine, removing your hands from his to shake his shoulders for dramatic effect, “why would I need to ask Google when I’ve got you?”

You stop shaking his shoulders after a while, moving to cup his face in your hands instead. “What does it really mean? I promise I won’t laugh.”

Minghao’s eyes widen. “How did you know it doesn’t mean ‘I’m hungry’?”

“That’s because you taught me that phrase before, silly. Your excuse sucked from the beginning,” you giggle, booping his nose with your finger before going back to rest your hand on his cheek.

Minghao sighs, reaching up to rest one hand over yours, resigning himself to his fate. “It means you’re really pretty, love.”

Now it was your turn to be flustered. Your hands on his cheek stiffened just a little bit, clearly not expecting the words that came out of Minghao’s mouth so easily. Your gaze fell on everything else but Minghao, and he chuckles in amusement.

“What’s wrong, Baobei?” Minghao teases, leaning closer towards you.

You lightly punch his chest in mock frustration. “You can’t just say stuff like that out of the blue!”

“Well, you were the one who pushed for me to tell you what it meant,” Minghao retorts playfully, smile growing impossibly wider. You huff, and Minghao reaches to take your hand in his.

“Okay, let’s finally go eat, hm?” Minghao smiles softly, turning to lead you towards the front door.

“Wait!” you call after Minghao, and he stops in his tracks before turning to you with a confused expression.

“Ni hao piao liang.”

Oh, if only you took a picture of his stunned, absolutely flustered expression to keep forever (and maybe use as blackmail). You guess you’d just have to keep the image in your memory.

*: Baobei (宝贝) — Chinese term of endearment for “baby” or “love”.

**: Ni hao piao liang (你好漂亮) — “you’re really beautiful/pretty”.

a/n: i love hao sm can u tell (also i may or may not have written this bc of that weibo live earlier omg minghao needs to stop like rn.)

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua @xomingyu @pepperonidk @belladaises @tastymintchocolate @dahliatopia

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agaypanic · 9 months

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The Fella Part 10 (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

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Summary: A family occasion takes a turn for a worse when Mary tells her aunt Bridie to drop dead, which she takes seriously. At her wake, Michelle has the bright idea to bring laced scones, which are taken and distributed among the guests.

A/N: credits to @crumpets-are-better-with-jam for writing out the script of the episode for me :)) btw just a warning, it gets a bit heated a little towards the end, but not too much i think. Also talks of drugs bc duh

***

It was becoming a bit difficult to keep up with who knew about Y/n and James’ relationship and who didn’t. Y/n’s sister Erin knew that she fancied James, but wasn’t updated on the fact that they had been dating for over three months now. Clare knew that the pair were going out after catching them kissing at the Take That concert a few weeks ago. But the rest of the group and the teens’ families were none the wiser.

Except for Y/n’s father, Gerry.

One night, everyone was hanging around the Quinn household. There were movies, loads of chatting, and some dinner. But with so many people in the house, it was hard to have even a moment alone with James. So, while everyone argued over what to put on next, Y/n snuck out to the front room, boyfriend close behind.

“I thought we weren’t gonna try to keep things a secret,” James said as he leaned against the wall, Y/n tucked into his side and holding his hand.

“I know Jamie. But with situations like this, I think it’s better to sneak away. I mean, imagine the shock that would come to Mammy, Granda, or Michelle if any of ’em found out.”

“Yeah…” James sighed, realizing Y/n was right.

“Now imagine if all three of them found out at the same time.” Y/n laughed at the idea while James’ eyes widened in horror. “Besides, wanting a moment to ourselves isn’t all bad, right?” She asked, looking up at the boy.

“Right.” He mirrored her soft smile before leaning down to catch her lips in a kiss that was eagerly returned.

So eager that the two didn’t hear the door open.

“You’re lucky it’s me catching you two instead of your mother,” Gerry spoke, startling Y/n and James, who jumped apart. He felt a bit awkward catching his daughter kissing her boyfriend, but he didn’t look too surprised that she had a boyfriend in the first place.

“Da, I can explain.” Y/n tried to go on, but Gerry held up a hand, signaling her to stop.

“I already know.” He said with a smile, hands clasping behind his back. “About you two. Never would’ve if they didn’t decide to film that concert you girls went to.” That new information mortified Y/n and James. But they didn’t have time to fully react, because Gerry continued. “I think the three of us should have a little chat.”

***

The conversation wasn’t as bad as Y/n thought it would’ve been. Gerry was clearly happy and okay with the relationship, just wanting to make sure that they weren’t doing anything too serious. That topic might’ve been the most embarrassing part of the interaction for Y/n.

James, on the other hand, seemed scared shitless the entire time. But Y/n suspected that her father wasn’t so hard on him because of how he was treated by his father-in-law. He probably didn’t want to create some kind of a cycle. Plus, Gerry was pretty fond of James, even before he learned about him and his daughter being an item.

The entire talk played on a loop in Y/n’s head as she sat in church with the rest of her family, waiting for their relative’s wedding to start. Soon enough, the familiar tune of ‘Here Comes The Bride’ started to play, and everyone in the room stood.

“Where do you reckon Aunt Sarah is?” Y/n asked her sister Erin, noticing that a family member was missing from their pew. But her question was soon answered when Sarah entered the room and started walking down the aisle, dressed in white. “Good God.”

Gasps and murmurs filled the room as Sarah went to stand with her family in the pew, revealing a horrified bride and her father behind her.

“Jesus, but that taxi took forever, so it did.” Sarah sighed. The bride-to-be looked at Sarah, absolutely appalled as she passed by. “Ach, isn’t she gorgeous?”

Mary rolled her eyes and looked up towards the sky as she took a deep breath.

“Give me strength…” She muttered.

***

Y/n was a bit surprised that the Quinn family, mainly her aunt Sarah, was still invited to the reception. But that didn’t stop her from trying to have a good time. She, her sister, and her cousin drank and danced around as they waited for their friends to arrive.

Soon enough, Erin spotted their friends, nudging her sister and cousin to gain their attention. They quickly ran to the venue entrance to meet with the other girls and James.

“Muthafuckas!” Michelle yelled in greetings, arms spread out and grin wide.

“How’s it been?” Clare asked with a smile.

The sisters and Orla all had different responses, but had the same reaction when Mary snuck up behind the three of them.

“Girls!” The shout startled them, and everyone whipped around to look at her.

“Jesus, Mammy,” Y/n muttered.

“I said you could invite one friend to the reception. One!”

“Mammy, they don’t come separately,” Erin said, rolling her eyes. She thought her mother would’ve learned this after years of friendship.

“We’re like one big set,” Y/n said, gesturing to the group of teenagers.

“Aye, we’re pack animals, Mary,” Michelle said. Mary was about to say something, possibly tell them to leave or further reprimand them, when James spoke.

“I love your hat, Mrs. Quinn.” He said with a smile, eyeing the accessory. Mary smiled, and the girls were surprised to see that her slightly sour mood had seemed to disappear.

“Thanks, son.” She said, giving him a nod before looking at the whole group, a bit more serious. “No wild carry-on. Do you hear me? We’re in enough bother as it is. Best behavior.”

“Completely.” Clare nodded, taking the commands to heart.

“You’ll have no trouble from us, Mary,” Michelle said with an innocent smile, which should be worrying. Mary walked off, and Michelle turned back to the group once she was out of earshot. “Okay, girls, who wants to do drugs?” Y/n snorted at the complete 180, but Michelle was completely serious.

The girls, mainly Michelle and Erin, like always, had a back and forth about the drugs and someone named Macca and so on. Y/n used this moment to turn to James, almost glued to his side at the back of the group as they all walked around the reception party.

“Trying to butter up Mammy, are you?” She asked teasingly, thinking about how James’ little comment completely changed her mother’s sour demeanor.

James laughed a little, throwing his head back, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile stupidly at the boy. He shrugged.

“Well, I figured I might as well start now to try to get on her good side. It’s only a matter of time, I think.” Y/n nodded in agreement.

“We could tell them.” She suggested after a small moment of silence. James perked up, both surprised and delighted by the notion. “I mean, like you said, it’s only a matter of time. And they’d probably prefer hearing it from us over walking in on us doing something.”

James’ cheeks reddened at the sentence. He blinked a few times, his mind clearly drifting off to some kind of thought.

“And by something… you mean like-” Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and music started blasting through the speakers. Y/n lit up in excitement along with the rest of the room, while James looked a bit confused at the commotion that started to happen.

“‘Rock the Boat’! It’s ‘Rock the Boat!” Clare squealed as she recognized the song.

“Happy fuckin’ days!” Michelle said, and the girls ran to the dance floor. Y/n was dragging James behind her, who seemed slightly alarmed by everyone’s intense enthusiasm.

Everyone sat on the floor in long, giant rows, fighting for space. The girls were able to push their way to the front, synchronously dancing with the rest of the party people. There, the girls continued their drug conversation, with Y/n and James now joining in.

“Look, Michelle,” Clare said to the girl behind her. “Drugs are illegal, drugs are addictive, and perhaps most importantly, in this country, you can lose your kneecaps if you’re caught doing them. And I like my kneecaps, Michelle; they suit my knees.”

“You do have crackin’ kneecaps, Clare.” Orla smiled at the girl, having to leave to the side and turn her head to look at the blonde.

“Is that true?” James asked, lips close to Y/n’s ear.

“What?” Y/n turned around, almost startled by how James was to her face. “Clare’s kneecaps?”

“No. I mean losing your kneecaps.”

“Oh. Clare’s a bit dramatic, Jamie.” The girl turned back around to face ahead. “But she’s a bit right, I think.”

“What?!”

Before any conversations could continue, a dull but loud thud was heard from a corner of the room. Everyone looked to see Aunt Bridie lying on the floor, with the Quinn family looking at Mary in shock.

***

The next few days felt tense at the Quinn household. It was mainly the teenagers being fearful of Mary, because they believed that she was the reason for her Aunt Bridie’s sudden death and didn’t want to be her next victim. The house had never been so clean and tidy.

“I just cannot believe it.” Mary’s tone was almost flat as she stared off into space, clutching her teacup and rarely ever sipping it.

“Listen, Mary,” Sarah said, sitting in the chair beside her. “No matter what you’ve done, you’re still my sister. I’ll stand by you.”

“I haven’t done anything, Sarah.”

“Exactly, love. Everybody knows you didn’t mean to kill the old boot.” Grandpa Joe paused to take a sip of his coffee. “God rest her soul.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Mary responded, immediately tired of the assumption.

“You know what I mean, not kill.” Joe looked around as if he would find the word he was looking for on the wall. “Hex.”

“I didn’t hex her either, Da.” She said defensively. “It was just a very tragic-”

“My mother, she had the gift too, y’know.” Joe interrupted. “By God, that woman could make her enemies drop like flies.”

“Look, I don’t have any gift,” Mary said, letting go of her teacup to lay her hands flat on the table to show finality and seriousness. “There’s no dark forces at play here. I just said somethin’... unfortunate that happened to-”

“Cause her death?” Sarah asked.

“Coincide with her death.” Mary corrected.

Ah, yes. Mary telling her aunt Bridie to drop dead and then her actually doing it was just an unfortunate coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less.

Meanwhile, at the sink, Y/n dried the last dish that Erin washed and handed it to Orla to put away. The three girls had been working as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Mary. Erin was the first to speak, turning around slowly with a nervous tone.

“Right. Well, that’s the dishes done. Would you like another cup of tea, Mammy?”

As if remembering she even had a cup of tea, Mary looked down at the cup and took a quick sip.

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ll just grab the Hoover n’give the stairs a bit of a going over.”

“Aye, and I can sweep the hall and such,” Y/n added, trying to remember the last place she had seen the broom.

“And I’ll maybe do a bit of dusting,” Orla said.

Mary raised an eyebrow, suspicion of the girls pulling her out of her dazed and solemn mood.

“What’s gotten into you all?” She asked. “What’re you up to? What’s going on?”

“Nothin’!” Erin answered, still seeming a bit scared. “We just thought that we should pull our weight a bit more, Mammy.”

“You do so much for us, Aunt Mary.”

“Aye, Mammy, you deserve a bit of a break.”

“I can’t hex people, girls,” Mary said frustratedly. “It was an accident.”

As if on cue, Gerry waltzed into the kitchen and smiled at his wife. He placed a hand on her shoulder as part of a greeting.

“So, how’s the Wicked Witch of the North West?” The question seemed so loving and innocent. Y/n would’ve laughed if Mary hadn’t seemed like she was actually about to murder someone.

“Who put fifty p in the eedgit?” Joe asked, glaring at Gerry. Gerry looked at him confused, wondering what he had done this time.

Mary groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

“God, how am I going to go to this wake?”

“It’ll be grand, love,” Joe said. “But listen, say if things do get heated, try not to rise to it. The last thing we want is another dead body on our hands here.”

Mary stared up at Joe with a blank expression.

“I’ll do my best, Da.”

***

Later that evening, the Quinns and McCools arrived at the wake. Everyone seemed a bit surprised and startled to see Mary, clearly believing the rumors that she had been her Aunt Bridie’s undoing. After a slightly awkward encounter with Eamon, Bridie’s son, the girls escaped everyone by going upstairs to the room that held Bridie herself.

“She really suits bein’ dead, doesn’t she?” Orla said after a good moment of solemn silence, staring down at the woman.

“What?” Erin seemed disturbed by what her cousin had said, but Y/n nodded.

“No, yeah, I agree. I like her better like this.”

“Y/n, she’s dead.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you liked her better living?”

Before Erin could answer, the door to the room opened. The girls turned to see Clare peeking her head through.

“Can we come in?” She asked in a whisper.

“Why are you whispering, Clare?” Y/n asked, tilting her head in confusion. Clare paused, thinking it over.

“I don’t know.”

The rest of the group crowded around Bridie’s casket. Michelle and Clare walked to the end by her feet, and James decided to stand behind Y/n. He rested a hand gently on her shoulder, as if to comfort her, and she raised a hand of her own to lay on his, as if to thank him.

“Thanks for comin’, guys.” Erin sighed, seeming slightly distressed now. “It’s nice to have a bit of support in this very difficult time.” Everyone seemed very confused by the statement.

“You thought she was a dick,” Michelle said.

“I never said that.”

“You did, Erin,” Orla said.

“I’m pretty sure we all thought she was a dick, but you were the vocal one about it,” Y/n added.

“Aye, I’ve definitely heard you say it,” Clare said.

“Okay, can I just check something?” James asked, clearly focused on something else. The girls looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “Everybody else can see the dead body, right?”

Everyone took a glance at the body in question, trying to figure out what the problem was.

“It’s just Bridie, Jamie,” Y/n said.

“It’s Bridie’s corpse.” The boy corrected. “It’s Bridie’s dead corpse.”

“It’s her wake. What were you expectin’?” Michelle asked, rolling her eyes.

“Haven’t you ever seen a dead body before?” Erin asked.

“Of course not!” James nearly yelled, shocked that Erin would even ask such a question. Michelle scoffed.

“Christ, but the English are weird.”

Orla leaned down close to Bridie, taking her face in her hands and looking up at James. She had that childlike but absentminded wonder in her eyes and smile that she always had.

“You can touch her if you want.”

James flinched, moving his hands to Y/n’s hips as he took a slight step back. As he moved back, he maneuvered Y/n to act as a shield between him and the dead body and Orla. James looked at Orla in disgusted shock.

“Why the hell would I want to touch her?” Y/n snorted at James’ suddenly high-pitched voice.

“It’s nice.” Orla smiled brightly.

“Stop it.”

“It’s just a dead body, James,” Clare said in a comforting tone, trying to get him to calm down. “We’re all gonna be one someday.”

“Oh, thanks for that, Clare!” Horrified, James brought Y/n closer until her back was pressed against his front. It was as if everyone else was some sort of strange or bad energy that could only be warded off by Y/n, and she was happy to go along with it. “Yeah, that’s helped!”

“It’s okay, Jamie,” Y/n said, patting one of the hands gripping her hips. James relaxed just a bit, but was still weary because of how weird this whole situation was to him. “Calm yourself.”

“It really makes you think, doesn’t it?” Michelle said solemnly, staring at Bridie for a second before looking at the girls. “Death.” She sighed dramatically, and everyone immediately wondered what she was up to this time. “It just… just makes you wanna… do everythin’ and just… try everythin’.”

“What’s going on, Michelle?” Clare asked, looking at her suspiciously.

“Yeah, what are you on about?” Y/n eyed the girl with a raised brow. Michelle suddenly seemed excited, a stark contrast to her fake grimness.

“Do you wanna see something’ class?” Michelle then threw her purse, which was, for some reason, big and bulky, onto Bridie’s feet. Someone would’ve reprimanded her for disrespecting the deceased by using Bridie as a table, but they were too busy watching her pull a big Tupperware out of her purse. “Prepare yourself, girls.” She then popped the lid off to show what was inside. She looked at her friends excitedly.

“Scones?” Erin asked, clearly unimpressed.

“That’s right.”

“What’s so class about scones?”

“Scones are lovely.” Orla countered, seeming a bit offended by Erin’s uninterest.

“Aye, I like scones.” Clare nodded.

“No, these aren’t any old scones, girls.” Michelle insisted, shaking her head. “These are funny scones.”

“Funny’s the right word, alright,” Y/n said, reaching for one of the scones in the bin to look at it. As she dropped it back in with the rest, she looked at Michelle with a tilt of her head. “What’s so special about ’em?”

“They’re drug scones!” Clare squeaked, pointing urgently at the food. “She’s put the drugs in the scones!”

“Too fuckin’ right, I have,” Michelle said with a grin. “I wanted to do brownies, but this was the only recipe my ma had, so…”

“I don’t think it’s that hard to find a brownie recipe, Michelle,” Y/n said.

“I’m not goin’ out of my way to find a brownie recipe, Y/n.”

“We talked about this, Michelle. We agreed.” Clare said, bringing the conversation back to the drugs.

“No, we didn’t,” Michelle argued. “Anyway, drugs aren’t illegal when you put them into food. Everybody knows that.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Michelle,” Y/n said.

“Is that right?” James asked sarcastically, almost glaring with bewilderment at his cousin. “I’m not sure that’s right.”

Just then, the door opened, and everybody froze. An old woman walked in, and the girls quickly recognized her as one of the caterers for the wake.

“Any cups up here?” She asked, walking towards them while looking around. She spotted the tub, and before anyone could stop her, she reached out and grabbed it. “I’ll take that.” The woman said simply before leaving the room.

Everyone stared at where the scones had once been, panic running through them all.

“What the fuck just happened?” Michelle asked the room. Y/n looked at the girl with wide eyes.

“I believe a caterer just took your funny fuckin’ scones to give out at our great Aunt Bridie’s wake, Michelle.”

After another moment of feeling frozen, everyone went downstairs as fast as possible without drawing attention. Defeated and not knowing what to do, the girls sat down on the steps. As they settled, they watched Joe pass by with one of the scones in hand.

“What are we gonna do?” Clare asked frantically.

“It’s fine,” Michelle said shortly. But everyone could tell she was just as panicked as the rest.

“It’s definitely not fine!” Clare hissed. “There’s drug scones down there. People’ll eat the drug scones, then we’ve drugged those people, Michelle.”

“Our granda included.” Y/n butted in, resting her chin on the top of James’ head, who was sitting on one of the steps just below her. “Lord knows what’ll happen to him.”

“So?” Michelle said, clearly worried but trying to seem aloof. “Drugging people isn’t a crime.”

“You’ve a very loose grasp of the law, Michelle,” James said, rubbing at his eyes in disbelief and exhaustion.

“What kind of person brings hash scones to a wake?” Erin asked with a scowl. Michelle scoffed.

“Typical.” She said. “I try to do a nice thing, and this is the thanks I get.”

“A nice thing?” Y/n repeated in disbelief, turning back to look at Michelle. “Oh yeah, how nice. Let’s all get hopped up illegally at a wake. Oh, wait. We can’t, because someone took your stupid scones!”

“It’s terrible,” Clare added, sounding as panicked and scared as usual. “There’s old people down there; what if an old person takes one?”

“Why does everyone get so sentimental about old people?” Michelle asked. “Old people are arseholes.”

“We’ve got to get ’em back, girls,” Erin said, starting to get scared of the thought of any of her family having a funny scone.

“Look, I’m not disagreeing with you. I bought that stuff so I could get high, not your great Uncle Colm.”

“Oh Christ, I didn’t even think about that,” Y/n muttered. Colm was already a character to begin with; him being high as balls would probably turn him either more boring or unmanageable. Y/n stood up and faced the girls. “Here’s the plan. I’ll head to the kitchen to grab whatever’s left. The rest of you go and find the ones that people have taken and pray that they haven’t taken a bite yet.”

“And remember, girls,” Erin said, standing up with her sister. “Be subtle.” Everyone nodded and split up to do their tasks.

Y/n went to the kitchen and quietly crept to the swinging door. She took a quick look, saw that the few people inside were occupied with different things, and carefully walked in. She was surprised to see her father ranting about cross-contamination and using different bowls. Y/n wondered if he had been roped into helping in the kitchen, but whether he was forced or had volunteered, she smiled at the sight of his sudden passion.

Y/n spotted the scones, about half the amount from the last time she saw them, now plated on a serving platter. While reaching for the plate, the door opened behind her.

“Now listen here, you.” Y/n flinched and turned around quickly, recognizing the voice to be her granda Joe. But he wasn’t looking at her. As usual, he directed his pointed look to Gerry, who looked at his father-in-law, both confused and annoyed.

“Yes, Joe?”

“I just wanna say…” Joe trailed off, getting closer to Gerry and putting a hand on his shoulder. Gerry and Y/n looked at the old man in bewilderment when he laughed. “I think you’re doing a fine job.” Then he patted Gerry’s cheek before turning around and walking out of the kitchen. “Keep up the good work.”

Gerry and Y/n turned their shocked stares to each other once Joe was out of the room. The only thing that broke their eye contact was a timer going off, which somehow snapped Gerry back into his working mode. Using the opportunity of her dad’s distractedness, Y/n swiped the platter and walked out.

The girl soon realized that she and her friends never agreed on a place to meet after retrieving the scones. But not wanting anyone to see her wander around with a platter of scones, she snuck back upstairs, where she was surprised to see James slowly wandering the hallway.

“Hey,” Y/n said with relief, glad it was him instead of a stranger. Or worse, her mother.

“Hey.” He smiled at her, holding up a scone as he walked closer to her. “Found your uncle Colm with this.” He sat the scone on top of the others.

“Thank God you got it before he took a bite.” Y/n laughed lightly, James joining in. “Were you just waiting for someone to come up?”

“Yeah, I thought being up here would be better than wandering around where everyone else was.”

“Smart.” Y/n nodded once, looking around the empty hall. “What do you suppose we do about all of these?”

The two thought for a moment, racking their brains for an idea. James suddenly snapped his fingers.

“Remember when you snuck over to mine that one night, and we watched Goodfellas?”

“Aye, Ray Liotta was a dream, wasn’t he?”

“Sure.” James rolled his eyes at the comment. “But do you remember how Karen got rid of the drugs?”

Y/n took a quick second to think about whether or not she did, in fact, remember. The most memorable things of the night she snuck over to James’ were Ray Liotta, the snacks James had snuck up to his room, and kissing each other to keep loud talking or laughs from gaining the attention of the rest of the household.

“You think it’ll work?” Y/n asked once she remembered what James was talking about. “I mean, these are scones.”

“What other options do we have?” James asked. And to be honest, Y/n couldn’t think of any.

The sound of a knob turning startled the two teens. They scrambled to hide the stolen platter of scones behind them just before the bathroom door a bit down the hall opened up. A middle-aged woman that Y/n barely recognized walked out, and Y/n and James smiled politely at her as she passed.

Once she was down the stairs, James and Y/n ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind them.

“Let’s just wait for the others here,” Y/n said, balancing the platter on the sink so she wouldn’t have to hold it any longer. “So… what d’ya wanna do?”

It took a few seconds of silence before Y/n and James rushed at each other, quickly becoming a mess of tangled limbs and clashing lips. The couple rarely had time alone for things like this, the heat of the moment always being ignored because of the fear of being caught. But with a locked door, a few minutes of making out couldn’t do much harm.

Y/n’s hands buried themselves into James’ curls, tugging at them as he backed her into the wall next to the door. A hand cupped the back of her neck while the other stayed gripped on her waist, keeping her in place. Not that she’d want to leave.

James’ lips strayed away from Y/n’s, leaving featherlight kisses across her cheek and jaw before settling on her neck. The hand on Y/n’s neck pulled back her hair, giving James the access he needed to nip and suck lightly at the sensitive skin just below Y/n’s ear.

“Are you marking me?” She asked, breath hitching. She wasn’t opposing the matter, far from it, really. But she was a bit surprised to have this kind of behavior coming from James.

“Just a bit.” He replied breathlessly, kissing the slightly sore spot before returning to Y/n’s lips. “For a bit of fun, y’know?” Y/n giggled. She was lucky that she could probably hide the soon-to-be mark by keeping her hair down.

“Sure, just a bit of fun.” She replied, pecking James’ lips a few times.

The two were able to get themselves straightened out just before the rest of the girls found them. They closed the door behind them, and James caught them all up on the plan.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Michelle sighed as she and the rest of the group broke apart the scones and dropped the crumbled bits into the toilet. “It’s fuckin’ heartbreaking.”

“Believe me, Michelle, it’s better this way,” Y/n said, grabbing another laced scone. “Granda’s had one, and now he’s acting, like, really fuckin’ weird.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“He was nice to Daddy.” The group made noises of shock and disbelief. “Exactly. And if Mammy starts asking questions…”

“You’re Ma won’t trace it back to us.”

“Are you serious?” Erin asked Michelle. “She traces everything back to us. She traces things we haven’t even done back to us!”

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Clare asked James.

“This is how you get rid of drugs, Clare.” He said confidently, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s had to do this. “I’ve seen Goodfellas, like, twenty times.”

“Aye, good movie,” Y/n commented as she brushed her hands on her jeans to get rid of the crumbs that stuck to her nervously sweaty palms.

“That’s not the only way.” Orla countered. “I watched this film once about this girl who was tryin’ to hide drugs, and what she did was she shoved them right up her—”

“I’m not sticking a scone up my hole, Orla.” Michelle hissed. Orla shrugged, raising her hands in defense.

Once everyone was done breaking down the scones, Clare sighed, seeming as nervous and panicked as always.

“Okay, I’m gonna flush.” She did so, and everyone watched as not much happened. “Is it working?”

“‘Course it’s working,” James said, still sure of his plan.

But then the water started to rise, and everyone started to panic.

“Jesus Christ!” Erin yelped in a high-pitched voice. “Why is the water rising, James?”

“I don’t know! The water didn’t rise in Goodfellas!”

“We’ve clogged it.”

“Who has a plunger?” Orla asked, seeming to be the most calm of the group.

“I’m afraid I left the house without me plunger tonight, Orla,” Erin replied, clearly sarcastic.

“Aye, me too,” Orla replied seriously. “Nightmare, so it is.”

The toilet started flooding faster, and the girls scrambled around in a panic. Scone water was beginning to spill onto the floor, and everyone had to stop themselves from gagging as they tried to find a way to clean it up. This situation couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Dear God…” Everyone whipped around to see the adults of the Quinn and McCool families, plus Bridie’s son, Eamon. Erin laughed nervously, deciding to be the one to find an excuse.

“It looks worse than it is.” Was all she said, which really wasn’t much of an excuse.

“My mother was right about you people,” Eamon said, horrified and angry. “Wild animals have more manners.”

“We didn’t have a plunger, Eamon!” Orla shouted.

“Get out!” He yelled. “Get out!”

The teens did so gladly, running out of the bathroom and out of the house. They gathered on the front lawn, and they couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the evening. But they still feared what would happen when Mary walked out.

“The night wasn’t all that bad, I think,” James said quietly, only Y/n being able to hear him. She looked up at him curiously.

“How so?”

Instead of speaking, he raised his hand to cup her neck, gently tapping where he had bruised her. She gasped, pushing his hand away before the two of them fell into laughter, not caring about the confused looks their friends gave them.

“I’ll see you Monday, then?” He asked when they had calmed down a bit. Y/n caught a glimpse of her mother leaving the house before she answered.

“If I live that long.”

~~~

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florenceafternoon · 5 months

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━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Some more AUs I've been loving. I'm trying to alternate between AU and canon verse rec lists so bear with me. Remember that if you like a fic you should definitely let the author know as such.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

theogony by @clare-with-no-i

The trip that Lily Evans expects to go on is the annual pre-dissertation jaunt to Athens with the rest of her Classical Civilizations PhD program. The trip she does not expect to go on is to 479 BCE, right on the cusp of one of the most important battles in the Greco-Persian war. Now, she has to navigate antiquity as she tries to find her way back to the 21st Century, God—or gods—help her.

James wants to win this war. No, James needs to win this war. He is a man of honor and duty, and even if it means dying a gruesome, bloody death, he will go down in history as one of Athens's great warriors. He will suffer no distractions; not even beautiful ones who speak strangely and refuse to listen to his orders.

-- OR: The Outlander-Meets-Ancient-Greece Jily AU that no one asked for Maya dreams of.

I can't believe it took me this long to read this fic but OH MY GOD!! Clare's writing is phenomenal, I've known this for a while now, but THE DEDICATION TO HISTORICAL ACCURACY, I'm so impressed. If only I could put even half that amount of effort into my major essays for school. EVERYONE GO READ THIS NOW

Sweathearts' Special by @tinyluminaryzombie

What happens when your coffee shop nemesis, asks you to pretend to be a couple?

Or "I’ve been staring at the stupid cupcakes for the past hour, and they look way too good. Anyways, would you be willing to join forces and pretend to be together for the free cupcake and coffee?”

Welcome to Pettyville by @women-inthe-sequel

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

A love square but it's just the same two idiots

Tall Dark and Glasses by @jamesunderwater

Tall Dark and Glasses (or TDG as he is more affectionately known) is the mysterious, painfully good-looking stranger who has been frequenting Lily's favourite coffee shop for months now. But despite having an embarrassing acronym for him, Lily, a burned-out STEM major, is too comfortable being a wallflower to go up to him herself. Thank god for playing cards, I guess.

coffee shops and copious amounts of sugar by @mystinkysocks

James decides to finally start revising, the coffee shop he attends introduces him to someone new!

As someone who spends an ungodly amount of time studying in public (at cafés and libraries), all I dream of is to one day live out my very own coffee shop AU

Unlicenced by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily Evans begrudgingly agrees to get in the car with classmate and sometime-foe James Potter and his not-quite-earned P-plates after a particularly rubbish day.

Drop-Off also by @/ ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter takes Lily Evans home, and wants to make something clear.

Disclaimer that they’re Australian in this AU. You guys don't understand how much Lily Evans means to me. I want to give her a hug.

pretty, pretty boy by rosiemary0 (on ao3)

Pretty face, with golden brown eyes and strong cheekbones (one of which is adorned with a smudge of charcoal). Pretty hands—very, very pretty hands, Lily’s thoughts interject—which hold a jar each, one with water and the other paintbrushes.

Or the one where James is an artist and Lily hates socialising.

I'll Manage by @kaymardsa

James and Lily fall in love during the war.

In which Lily runs a refugee camp and James is an ex-sniper

I can't remember if I've recommended this fic already but again I recently re-read it and wanted to share

'Tis the Fucking Season by @thequibblah

Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans's holiday season.

Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

I have been searching for this fic for two months and nearly gave up. An absolute classic that everyone should read!!

Two's a Crowd also by @/ thequibblah

Regency AU in which "the only thing Lily Evans can share with the Earl of Devon is a healthy dose of mutual dislike."

In Search of Something More by @kay-elle-cee

In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

No, I will not shut up about this fic. Anything that Kelsey writes is bound to be amazing but this one holds a special place in my heart. Note that this is an ongoing fic though. I tend to recommend completed works but this one is too good not to include.

Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis

Dearest Reader, the ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you the news that the Duke of Peverell has returned to London at last! A year after setting off on his tour of Europe, Lady Peverell's son has returned and rumour has it that his mother is preparing for the most joyous of occasions: a late summer wedding that sees her son wed the next Duchess of Peverell. It is my sincere hope that you have stored a bottle of wine for this most delightful of upcoming events for if ever there were a more determined mama, this writer is Icarus and this society paper has been scorched for flying too close to the sun.

A Jily Regency Romance inspired by Shondaland's "Bridgerton".

Again this is an ongoing fic, but it's too good not to include in this rec list! I haven’t caught up with all the chapters yet but I love the story so far!

A Heart of Coal also by @/ wearingaberetinparis

They say fortune favours the bold, yet Lily Evans was given her death sentence at seventeen. As soon as midnight strikes on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her heart will turn to coal. Gryffindor knight James Potter, however, is the last to accept such a fate. For while Lily Evans’ curse foretells her death, his foreshadows a life without his unrequited true love at his side.

Fairytale AU in which the love is requited they're just idiots

Three Lemons and a Dragon by @thelighthousestale

Once upon a time, there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father's Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Dillweed in a Fancy Metal Can by @eastwindmlk

When Lily gets dragged to a Renaissance Faire, she reluctantly agreed to go to the jousting event where she is pulled into the show against her will, or is it?

Lily represents me

Queen Foxtail also by @/ eastwindmlk

Once Upon A Time...

There was an arrogant prince who turned down every suitable match and drove his parents to do something drastic. Marry him off to the next merchant that steps through their gates.

across the universe by rcdwings (on ao3)

“So, you’re saying that in these other worlds, James Potter and Lily Evans exist, too?”

She hadn’t expected to hear that, hadn’t even thought about it that way. She was too busy thinking about if in those other worlds, she and her friends could be seventeen and free instead of the war torn teenagers they were. Now that he’d put it that way, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

“I would assume so,” she swallowed. “Not sure what we would be like, though.”

A beat, then a soft hum. “Anything,” he smiled at her, “There are countless worlds, right? We could be anything.”

only love can hurt like this by @fireblts

Lily doesn’t quite know everything, but it feels pretty close.

The main thing she still doesn’t get is soulmates. Love doesn’t seem like something that should be painful. Or rather, love seems like it’s painful enough on its own without any help.

Soulmate AU - whenever your soulmate is hurt or in pain, you can feel it too.

Soulmate AUs are my comfort genre of fics. I haven't been feeling to well lately and rediscovering this fic was a delight

The Librarian of Hogsmeade Village by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily's work as a librarian in the small village of Hogsmeade has kept her occupied for the past six years, forever keeping the wheels of the town on the track. As the holidays approach, she prepares to settle in with a nice mug of tea and a well-thumbed old book. When a new resident and his son arrive at her weekly story-reading, with cheeky smiles and big hearts, those plans are tossed out the window in favour of chasing love, for once - not escaping it.

Lily living the cozy life of my dreams. I think it's well known by now that I love reading about single parents and well James with his baby boy always puts a smile on my face.

Spitting Image by @charmsandtealeaves

James Potter always knew he wanted to build a family, he just hadn’t found the right person to build it with - yet. Freezing his sperm at Gringotts Sperm Bank was a no-brainer really. He’d have children when he found the right person, and now he had an insurance policy. Then Lily Evans walked into his place of work with her son - the spitting image of him.

linking this art that the talented @constancezin drew inspired by this fic

Every time I see that Ray has updated, reading the new chapter becomes the highlight of my day

The Stag Prince Across The Sea also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

The realm of Hogwarts had lived for decades in a carefully negotiated harmony between the leaders of the four clans. However, when the time came for son to marry daughter, the Slytherin King refused to offer his daughter's hand to any of the other grand houses’ suitors. As the Slytherin King departed the shore, bound for the ship that would allow him to escape across the Green Sea, he cast a curse on the great families.

“Let ye be marked. Marred by tooth, hoof, and claw. May your sons never be fit for any bride!”

Slytherin invoked an ancient magic, which transformed each family's eldest son into creatures under the light of the full moon. The Kings searched far and wide for a cure to no avail while trying to keep secret the wrong that had been done to them. Years passed and with them grew a sense of unrest, a kingdom on the precipice of collapse...

what love is, I think by @potterandevans-blog-blog

It's James Potter's birthday, his nineteenth to be exact. Some people, if they're lucky, find a tattoo on their back on their nineteenth birthday, a tattoo that can help them discover their soulmate. And if the antlers on his back are anything to go by, James might just have a soulmate of his own out there, somewhere.

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

#if you're like me and check the jily fic tag nearly every morning you've probably read most of these already #but I just wanted to share my recent favourites #lily evans #james potter #jily #jple #james x lily #lily x james #jily fic rec list

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arsenal-womens-1 · 5 months

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Marry me

June 10th, 2021.

You're sitting on the bus on your way to CASA Arena Horsens stadium, freaking out. You had only been told today that you are playing, which means this is going to be your debut for Denmark. How you got to this point in life is still a mystery to you. The bus comes to a halt. Getting up, you walk off the bus. There are people taking pictures. Getting in there as fast as you can, you walk over to where your top is. Yours is next to Pernille Harder. Setting your bag down, you all walk out to the pitch. Spinning around, you look at all the seats, feeling like you're about to be sick. You rush over to the closest bin. You feel someone's hand on your back. Looking up after you finish being sick, “I don't think I can do this.” She passes you a water bottle. “You can. It looks scarier than it actually is. You're just going to scare yourself if you think about it too much. You're here for a reason.” You get where she's coming from, but it's still petrifying.

As you're walking in, the Australians are walking out. One catches your eye. She has brown hair, let's say she is about 5'2'' or 5'3''. She looks around your age. Walking into the changing rooms, you see Pernille on the phone, probably to Magda. She has a game tonight, which starts, I think, like 30 or 40 minutes after ours starts. Setting down next to her, you lay your head on the wall that is colder than you think a wall would be. Pernille nudges your shoulder. She points her phone your way. You see Magda on the other end of the phone. “Hey, how you doing, kid? Pernille said you were sick.” Looking at Pernille, she betrayed you. “I'm good, just nerves, that's all.” Magda and Pernille are like your mums at Chelsea. You had got offered a contract last December, you accepted it, and now you're here.

After 30 minutes, you're back out there doing warm-ups. The Australians come out about 5 minutes after you, doing something you've forgotten the name of. You make eye contact with the girl from earlier. You give her a small smile. She returns it, turning away. You finish what you were doing, walking back to get changed into the kit. After about 5 minutes of nothing, you get talked about tactics one last time. Walking to the seats, you wait for them to walk out and do the anthems. 20 minutes later, the whistle is blown. In the 15th minute, Tameka Yallop scores an own goal. Six minutes later, Rikke Sevecke scores for us. Four minutes later, Mackenzie Arnold scores an own goal. The whistle is blown, 3-0.

Walking into the changing room, everyone was happy. We talk about the changes that are going to be made. Simone Boye Sørensen was going off; I was going in, and Stine Larsen was out, and Luna Gevitz was in. Walking back out, the ones going in stand on the right side, and the Australians on the left. I recognize a few faces, but one, her, you still don't know her name. Well, now you know her last name, Cooney-Cross. Your number goes up, 28. You run into position. You hear the person announce your name, then they say, "Number Caitlin Foord out, Kyra Cooney-Cross in." So her name is Kyra. The game starts. Nothing really happens; a few yellow cards are given out. Nothing really happens until in the 87th minute, Mary Fowler scores. In extra time, Clare Polkinghorne scores. The game ends 3-2.

Walking around, you shake hands with a few Australian players. You come up to one player in particular. “Hey, you did good out there.” You both shake hands. “Yeah, you too.” Before you can say anything else, you are called over to do an interview.

————————————————————————————

The next part of this will be out sometime next week

#women’s football #women’s soccer #women’s super league #woso community #woso imagine #barclays wsl #wsl #woso x reader #kyra cooney cross #magdalena eriksson #pernille harder #chelsea women #australia #matildas #denmark

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bxriles · 2 months

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On Rhysand and Eris:

I saw a post that said Rhysand and Eris were the same exact character and it low key implied that it’s hypocritical to like Eris while hating Rhysand (among other things lmao), so I wanted to give my two cents as someone who fucking hates Rhysand with every fiber of my soul but who also likes Eris. No hate to the person who made that original post. I’m just using it as an excuse to ramble and avoid the work I should be doing right now.

More below the cut:

I’ll start off by saying that Eris and Rhysand are DEFINITELY similar characters. I wouldn’t say they’re the same though. I would say they’re foils of each other instead. They both wear masks, but one of them has a support system while the other is completely isolated. But I want to go deeper than that.

I think the key difference between Eris and Rhysand lies in the reason they both wear a mask.

Rhysand. I cannot for the life of me understand why Rhysand wears a mask. Amarantha maybe? But that doesn’t make sense. He’s been wearing that mask for way longer than 50 years if his treatment of the Illyrians and the CON is anything to go by. Is it because he wants to seem powerful? Well, he already is, isn’t he? He’s ThE mOsT pOwErFuL hIgH lOrD eVeR. So it’s not that. Maybe he’s wearing the mask because he wants to keep a tight leash on Illyria and the CON? Fine, but I don’t think he’s wearing a mask at all when he interacts with Illyria or the CON. I think he actively hates them and treats them as such. If he actually gave a shit about the Illyrians, he would enforce the wing clipping ban. If he actually gave a shit about the CON, he would work harder to find the “dreamers” who are trapped down there. What does he do instead? He has Cassian bark orders at the Illyrians and actively torments the CON by torturing Keir and parading Feyre around as his own personal, glorified slut. (And no, I don’t think that’s what Feyre is, but it CERTAINLY is what Rhysand portrays her as when they’re in the Hewn City. Especially in ACOSF where he fetishizes her pregnancy…) So it doesn’t seem like he’s wearing a mask when he interacts with 2/3rds of his court. It reads like he straight up hates them.

Okay, well maybe he wears the mask to protect Velaris from outsiders? No, that doesn’t make sense. Velaris was already hidden from the rest of Prythian. No one was going to discover it. The only reason it got discovered was because Rhysand made a gamble on telling the human queens about it and it backfired.

Fine, maybe he wears the mask around the other High Lords to seem more intimidating. That seems plausible, but I don’t understand why he would do that. Coming off that way means the other HLs will never want to ally with him (as we saw in ACOWAR). And if we’re being honest with ourselves, Rhysand’s actions while wearing his mask do not do him any favors with the other HLs. In all likelihood, he killed those Winter Court children (and no, I’m not taking arguments on this point. If this mysterious other daemati really did exist, why didn’t they out Feyre and Rhysand’s alliance UTM? That daemati may not have been able to get into Rhysand’s mind but they easily could have gotten into Feyre’s or Clare Beddor’s mind instead), he stole an ancestral artifact from the Summer Court when he could have just asked for it, he allowed his wife to burn the Lady of Autumn (I know Beron didn’t gaf about that but if we’re talking alliances, hurting Beron’s wife is a great way to make sure they never work together for the greater good), and he regularly gallivants around the Spring Court when he has NO BUSINESS being there. Sooo wearing the mask around the other HLs may make him more intimidating, but it hasn’t yielded him any positive results. If anything, his behavior should have alienated him more.

So then what’s the reason for Rhysand wearing a mask? Because I haven’t figured it out. He’s just… Wearing one for shits and giggles, I guess? (We all know the real reason he’s wearing that mask is so SJM can justify him sexually assaulting Feyre UTM and twisting her broken bone.)

Eris. Eris’s reason for wearing a mask is a lot less convoluted than Rhysand’s. If Eris doesn’t wear the mask, then Beron will kill him. It really is that simple. In the HL meeting, Feyre notes that when Eris spoke up, he chose his words very carefully, which clearly implied he was trying not to provoke his father. It was even confirmed in ACOSF that Beron tortures Eris. So if Eris doesn’t wear a mask, he gets murdered. The difference is that he doesn’t have the IC sucking him off and telling him what a good guy he is because he’s wearing a mask. Eris has nobody.

I also want to note the other MASSIVE DIFFERENCE between these two characters. Consequences.

Rhysand. This mf does not face any consequences for his actions. Ever. He steals an ancestral artifact from the Summer Court? Yes, he gets the blood rubies, but those are rescinded one book later. He barges into the Spring Court all the time (Specifically ACOTAR, but also ACOFAS and ACOSF) and Tamlin never whoops his ass for it even though he would have every right to. He locks Nesta up in a house with a man she DOES NOT WANT TO BE AROUND after he crucified Tamlin for doing the same thing to Feyre? He’s NEVER challenged on this. He straight up lies to Feyre about her life-threatening pregnancy and then has the entire IC lie to her as well, and that’s that. He’s never held accountable for those lies. He sexually assaults Feyre, defiles her body with paint (the thing she LOVES), and twists her broken bone when she’s likely already septic and what happens? Nothing. It’s never brought up again. He gets away with all of it.

Eris. Eris is a great example of talk shit, get hit. He makes some hateful ass comments to Mor at the HL meeting and what happens? Azriel beats the ever loving fuck out of him. He leaves Mor on the Autumn Court border (he did NOT nail the note to her womb, as a lot of this fandom likes to pretend) and the Night Court holds a grudge bigger than the state of Texas against him for it and they bring it up every single chance they get. Eris goes after Lucien and Feyre in ACOWAR when they (illegally) cut through the Autumn Court? He gets his shit clocked by Azriel and Cassian. If there is one thing about Eris that I like, it’s that while he may dish out a lot of shit, he can also take it.

So is it hypocritical to like Eris while hating Rhysand? I guess you could say that if you still believe they’re the same exact character, but I personally don’t think they are. I also wonder if the people who think it’s hypocritical to like Eris while hating Rhysand also think it’s hypocritical to hate Eris while loving Rhysand. Just some food for thought.

#i’m rambling #I just really don’t feel like working today #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti ic #anti sjm #sjm critical #acotar critical #anti acotar #anti cassian #anti morrigan #pro nesta #court of nightmares #illyria

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blingblong55 · 9 months

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Healing -Vladimir Makarov

A/N: this is not me telling you how reader looks^

Based on a request:

i love love LOVE the great war. i’m foaming at the mouth for a part 2 BUT can you maybe do something with vlad and his love taking a bath while he reads her poetry or something along the lines. again love your work you truly are amazing 🌷

---- F!Reader, fluff/romance, wife!reader, husband!Makarov, poetry read, pregnant!reader ----

It's been a long day, Vladimir and you haven't seen each other since you left bed. And now, as you walk inside your home, he greets you with a warm meal. "Ah, the girl I have been waiting for." He walks to you, wrapping you in his hold. "What's all this about?" you ask curiously. His hand on your belly, "I think my sweet wife deserves a treat, after all, you did some hard work today." He teases. "Shopping is a sport," you kiss his cheek and he guides you to the warm kitchen. For months since he found out he would become a father, he gave you a credit card, 'spend it on you and our little one.' he said and every day, he sends you out with at least two of his men to buy at least ten things.

He wanted this all to be a thank you, for turning his life around and giving him a new purpose and as you both eat a meal he so carefully cooked with love, he finds himself admiring you. You look up, insecure for some reason until he smiles. "Did you know you are the kind of woman men write poems about?" He continues eating and you feel yourself blushing and a rush of happiness. One thing about your husband is that he knows what to say and how to make you feel, especially, now that you carry your first child.

You look at him, "What have you so….happy today?" He shrugs, "I have many reasons to be happy. I have you, my lovely wife, today all went well, we have a son arriving in a few months and did I mention I have a lovely, beautiful, small and incredibly amazing wife?" You smile and look away. "I mean it, love. I seriously thank you for being part of my life so please just accept all my love because trust me, pretty girl, no one else can get this."

After that much-needed meal, he offers a bath. And as he warms the water for you both, he watches mesmerised as you undress in front of him. Your beautiful body is all for his gaze to admire. For some reason, Vladimir couldn't help but feel a gush of emotions, all good ones of course. The way the room lit up, showcasing all your beautiful features and there was him, watching a goddess undress. It was like a schoolboy, the feeling he had, blushing and looking away from how excited you made him. To others, it's nothing to see your beloved undress anymore but to him, this was a privilege.

They always portray men like him as heartless men with no soul behind their evil loving gaze but if you look closely, there it is, the warm fire that still shines through. "Get in the tub, my love," his voice was always so soft with you. It was comedic how it changed when he spoke to those who aren't you. He was always so cold to others but when he turned to you, gave you one glance or one word, his voice was pure and soft. His hand holding yours as you get in. Hold it until you sit down in the tub. The second he let go, as he walked to the counter of the bathroom, his hand flexed. He was anxious in many ways and for good reason since you had changed the man he was before.

In his hands was the old book of poems he collected of his favourite poets or wrote himself. The book was old, but the words inside were worth more than anything in the world. As he sat down, he could feel the warmth of your back to his chest. You laid against him, finding comfort in his embrace and in some romantic way, this was professing love with unspoken words. His free hand playing with your hair as he holds the book of poems. "Let's see my love, what poem shall I read you today?"

You point towards one. "First Love by John Clare," the title wrote. "Very well, my love." he kisses your head and begins. "I ne’er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet, Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale as deadly pale, My legs refused to walk away, And when she looked, what could I ail? My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face And took my eyesight quite away, The trees and bushes round the place Seemed midnight at noonday. I could not see a single thing, Words from my eyes did start— They spoke as chords do from the string, And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter’s choice? Is love’s bed always snow? She seemed to hear my silent voice, Not love's appeals to know. I never saw so sweet a face As that I stood before. My heart has left its dwelling-place And can return no more."

His voice throughout the poem so steady, and clean and expresses the same emotion the poem itself meant to convey. He places the book on the small shelf by the tub, his arms wrapping you in a loving embrace. "Did you like it?" Vladimir's head resting on your shoulder as his hands caress your belly. "Mhm…I loved this one." your voice was soft as you began to relax with him. "Good, my love," he whispers before kissing your shoulder, one of his hands so delicately lifting your hair as the other writes on your back.

"I- L-O-V-E- Y-O-U" his fingertips spell out. You try and figure out what the message was but before you begin to think, you feel his soft and warm lips kiss the back of your neck. To him, this was the most beautiful thing lovers could do that also meant intimacy. Sitting in a tub, looking out a window that brings light to the bathroom, reading poetry and then doing something like this, kissing your neck with nothing but love, rubbing the same belly that carries his child. And then you got it, "I love you too, Vlad," you lean back, your head turning and your lips meeting his.

It was as if no other worry could bother either of you. Being here, that is what counts and in the darkest corner of his heart, he feels all those old wounds and worries heal. This is real, this moment in time, that is what feels so unreal to those who can't have this privilege but to both of you, this is real, it's love to its simplicity.

Tags:

@goldenmclaren @liyanahelena @selarus @kielsegur @mseccentricks @johfaam0 @moonsua1 @rvivienner @frazie99 @viomast @vampsquerade @saoirse06 @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @strangepuppynightmare

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