#uk being totally normal

[trappedbetweenbookcases]

Ok I’m gonna scream this out into the void:

Does anyone have an in universe fic of Captain finally coming out to Alison in private and they just like talk and cry and love each other?

[beneaththebloodylake]

「You're thinking 'people from Kansai are stingy' aren't you. ... Actually it's just me who's personally stingy.」

literally me but with uk/europe/whatever distinction americans decide to assign me

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged disabled Simon part 6

this one ends much more happily, a little over 1k words

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Your house felt packed, once the doctor left again you called Price even though it was past midnight, and so he came over, followed closely by Soap and Gaz. Right now you were rewarming some muffins you had made the previous day for them to snack on, and grabbing them some water. They were all quietly talking, surrounding Simon's bed. Once you got in between all of them, you whispered “here’s some food and water, cause I can tell you two were drinking earlier” the last part directed to Soap and Gaz who had in fact been at a bar just a few hours ago. 

After a few minutes you kicked the other boys out, telling them if they really wanted they could sleep on the couch, and of course they wanted to stay close to their lieutenant. You walked back into Simon’s room, silently sitting yourself right next to him under the covers, “to think you were in so much pain just because I wasn’t sitting next to you, it’s wild Simon” after almost an hour you and the doctor finally figured out why Simon was in so much pain, since you had been staying in his room the past few nights, you kept it to a temperature you liked which was colder than normal, and apparently Simon had also been experiencing excessive sweating which to him seemed normal, he was a big guy who worked out often of course he sweats a lot, but last night in a already warm room it got to much, intensifying the pain. Every night Simon would also feel an odd stinging sensation in his legs before he fell asleep which he would ignore, because whenever he pulled you onto him, your weight acted as pressure against it relieving the pain he wasn't even fully aware of yet. 

Now, do to these new symptoms changes had to be made, the doctor was prescribing medicine, specifically Nortriptyline, most over the counter pain relief dont work when it comes to nerve damage, along with that the doctor recommended Simon wears a leg wrap when he goes to sleep or on days that are particularly tough. He also recommended you apply for a blue badge (UK equivalent of a handicap placard for your car) which can take up to 3 months. Although you would still consider it very early to be regularly sleeping next to your partner, it made Simon so much more comfortable, and you could monitor him every night, because a small part of you was worried to leave Simon alone at night, not wanting him to experience that kind of pain again.

Simon woke up right at five, and based on all the noise from your living room, which is what truly woke you up, the other guys were also up. So you helped Simon up and into the dining room even though he grumbled about not needing help the whole time, although he made no moves to remove your hands from his biceps and chest. There you were tiredly cooking breakfast for the 4 giant men in your house, just utterly confused how they could be so energetic and talkative after just waking up. Breakfast went smoothly, the other guys started packing up talking about how they needed to get back on base, Simon had been fine both physically and emotionally even while they talked about work, but it was one passing comment Gaz made right before he left that Simon silently reacted to “ya know lieutenant, we always joked about starting and leaving the military after ya, never would I ever ‘ave thought you'd be first to leave the job” he was silent, none of them knew the comment had affected him, but you saw the way he shifted, the way he was a little more quiet after that. 

Once they all made their way out, you went and sat next to Simon on the sofa “Simon, you okay?” he just brushed you off looking the other muttering something about being totally fine, now of course you weren't going to take the answer, so you moved to his other side where he was already looking, but that didn't work he just looked away again, so you did the next best thing. You sat straight on Simon's lap, staring right into his eyes as they grew wide. “Now Simon, are you okay not being on duty any more?” Simon let out a deep sigh knowing he couldn't keep ignoring you  “Gaz is right, I never planned to leave, I've got nothing to do with my life, and if you weren't m’nurse i'd be completely lost” you cupped Simon’s face forcing him to look you back in the eyes “Simon, i'm not just your nurse, i'm also your girlfriend, well future wife as you put it” that comment brought a smile back to his face “which means you already have one thing to look forward to, I’m sure I can help you find another” Simon just pulled you into him, bearing his face into your neck, just so happy with his choice.

You guys spent the rest of the relaxing and trying to find a hobby Simon would like, it was now almost dinner time, and you guys had nothing. You were worried about this but Simon didn't seem to mind that you guys haven't found anything, just happy he got to spend the whole day talking and laughing with ‘his girl’ when he got a call from Soap, “hey this is gonna sound weird but, ya want a dog” Simon was genuinely so confused, and shocked he didn't have an answer, you walked over putting the phone on speaker before asking Soap to repeat himself “I know it's random, but we got a military dog that needs to retire but doesn't have an owner, so I thought id ask if ya wanted a buddy, y’know” you were just as shocked as Simon, but you saw an opportunity, so you convinced Simon to accept, and tomorrow morning a new dog would be dropped of right into Simon's lap. 

part 7

tags- @piconico17 @just-lilita @madsdawson @silversfavfics @enfppuff @solazoro @sirbonesly @roastyyytoastyyy @the-disaster-in-waiting @lonjitas @squishytap @gays6968 @sunndust @dreamland08 @sweetpeakarolinaaa @marcysbear @alfiestreacle @bxm-2121@goldyghoul  @itsanemu0101 @wolverineswaifu @crempuffie @ohdrey89 @cucurucho-amargo @avalkyrieofparis @castellomargot @cmbghost @strawberrygato @blueladys-world @goodsoup19 @pinkylouise @creepzeyecandy @tessakate @identity2212 @callmytherapistplease-blog @witchblossoms @carolb111  @iiriam  @berryjuicyy @bmtillerbabe @stoned-anime-babe @junitries @harrysthiccthighss @lucienofthelakes @urmomsgirlfriend1 @rexythebitch @milanriol @cryingpages

[octaneink]

Food Market Dates

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : A totally cute, innocent date at the market where they try out new foods Warnings: Implied sexual themes towards the end and a discussion about pineapple being on pizza Notes: I am sorry gang idk what happened to me when I was writing this. It was like I was possessed, mostly for that part at the end.

The train rattled along the tracks, the dreary UK weather outside the window a mix of grey skies and the occasional drizzle. Will sat next to you, his long legs stretched out into the aisle, his hand resting comfortably in yours. His thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter. He was scrolling through his phone with his free hand, the faint sound of whatever video he was watching barely audible over the hum of the train.

You, on the other hand, were engrossed in a book—paperback you’d picked up at the station earlier. It was one of those novels you loved, the kind that end up with a dog-eared cover and pages that smelt faintly of coffee. You were halfway through a particularly juicy scene when Will suddenly squeezed your hand, pulling your attention away from the page.

"You know what I’m most excited about today?" he asked, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the train.

You looked up, marking your page with a finger. "What? Finally admitting that I have impeccable taste in food?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Impeccable taste? That’s a stretch. Remember the time you tried to convince me that pineapple belongs on pizza?"

"Because it does!"

"Because you’re wrong," he shot back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. So what are you most excited about, then?"

He leaned back in his seat, his hand still warm in yours. "The food, obviously. But also… just this. You, me, no plans, no stress. Just a normal, chill day. No arguments about pizza toppings, no you stealing the last bite of dessert—"

"Hey, that was one time!"

"—and no me having to remind you that pineapple is a crime against pizza," he finished, his grin widening.

You nudged him with your shoulder, laughing softly. "Well, for the record, I’m excited too. Even if you do have terrible opinions about food."

"Oi, my opinions are flawless," he said, though the twinkle in his eyes suggested he knew exactly how flawed they were.

You shook your head, leaning into him slightly. The train swayed gently, and you let your eyes drift back to the window, watching the grey landscape blur past. Will’s hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance that pulled your attention back to him.

"So," he said, his tone light and teasing, "what’s the first thing we’re getting at the market? And don’t say something weird like… I don’t know, candied eels."

You laughed, the sound soft and warm in the quiet carriage. "I was thinking skewers. Or maybe that tea place we saw last time. You know, the one with the really colourful drinks?"

"Ah, the one you made me try even though I said I didn’t like boba?"

"You loved it!"

"I tolerated it," he corrected, though the smile on his face betrayed him.

"Sure you did," you said, rolling your eyes. "And I’m sure you’ll tolerate it again today."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you felt his thumb brush over your knuckles again. "Fine. But only because you’re cute when you’re smug."

You shook your head, laughing softly, and let your gaze drift back to the window, the train rattled on, the rhythm of the tracks steady and comforting.

The market was a riot of colours and sounds—stalls draped in vibrant fabrics, the sharp hiss of oil hitting a hot griddle, and vendors’ voices rising above the hum of the crowd. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, sweet sauces, and the occasional waft of fresh herbs. Will walked beside you, his hand brushing yours every so often, his touch light but deliberate, as if he couldn’t quite resist the pull to be closer. The two of you wandered through the bustling aisles, the smell of freshly steamed dough and savoury fillings drawing you toward a stall selling bao buns.

You stopped in front of the stall, the golden, fluffy buns piled high on the griddle, their tops glistening under the soft glow of the stall’s lights. You pointed at the pork-filled ones, turning to Will with a grin. "Can we get these?"

He nodded, already pulling out his wallet. "Anything for you," he said, handing over the cash to the vendor with a quick smile. His voice was soft, almost tender, and it sent a little shiver down your spine. Turning to you, he added, “But don’t let it go to your head.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way his lips quirked into a smile made it hard to stay annoyed. There was something about the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the entire market—that made your heart skip a beat.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with two fluffy bao, the steam rising in delicate curls. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the buns. "Alright, let’s see if these are as good as they look," you said, picking one up and blowing on it gently before taking the first bite.

The rich, savoury filling hit your tongue, the flavours of tender pork, sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger mingling perfectly. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a small, contented hum escaping you. When you opened your eyes, Will was watching you, his gaze soft and intent, as if he were memorising the way your face lit up.

"That good, huh?" He asked, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning.

You nodded, carefully breaking off a piece of the bao, making sure to get a bit of the tender pork, the sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger in one perfect bite. Holding it out to him, you grinned. "Your turn."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your fingers as he took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Alright, that’s incredible. Another one."

You laughed, breaking off another piece and holding it out to him. He took it from your fingers, his lips grazing your skin again, and this time, you felt the warmth of his breath against your hand. The simple act felt strangely intimate, and you couldn’t help the way your pulse quickened.

The two of you went back and forth, sharing the bao bun between you—breaking off pieces, you feeding Will, and laughing as you tried to avoid getting sauce on your hands. The warmth of the buns contrasted with the crisp autumn air, but it was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through your chest every time Will’s fingers brushed yours or his eyes met yours with that soft, knowing look.

By the time the bao was almost gone, you held up the last bite, raising an eyebrow at Will. "Final piece. Who gets it?"

He grinned, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in. His lips grazed your fingers again, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary as he took the bite. "Cheers, love," he said, his voice low and teasing, the endearment slipping out so naturally it made your breath catch.

Your fingers froze midair, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. You quickly looked away, pretending to fuss with the napkin, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. Will caught your reaction—the way your eyes flickered, the slight smile you tried to hide, the way your fingers lingered in the air for a second too long. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a knowing smirk.

Before you could recover, he leaned in again, this time pressing a quick, soft peck to your lips. You blinked, startled, but before you could say anything, he pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his own lower lip. "Sorry," he said, his voice teasing, "you had a bit of sauce there."

You stared at him, your face burning. "There was no sauce," you protested, licking your lips.

He shrugged, his smirk widening as he followed your lips. "Could’ve sworn there was. Ah well, there's none now. You're welcome, by the way."

You shook your head, laughing softly to cover your fluster. Will glanced around the stall, taking in the steam rising from the griddle and the vibrant colours of the surrounding market. "Alright," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "What’s next?"

You and Will wandered through the aisles, the vibrant colours of the stalls and the chatter of vendors creating a lively backdrop. You had just left the bao stand, the taste of the fluffy buns still lingering on your tongue. Will walked beside you, his arm brushing against yours as you navigated the busy aisles. His hand occasionally grazed yours, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate, like he was testing the waters, seeing how close he could get without fully taking your hand. Each touch sent a little spark through you, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

"So," he said, glancing down at you with a grin, "what’s next? You’re the food expert here."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m not an expert. I just like eating."

"Same thing," he replied, his tone teasing. "You’ve got that… vibe. Like you know what’s good."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. "Alright, Mr. Compliments. Let’s see…"

You scanned the stalls as you walked, the two of you weaving through the crowd. The market was a maze of options—sizzling skewers, steaming dumplings, colourful desserts, and more. Will kept pace beside you, his hands in his pockets, but sometimes, he’d bump your shoulder or let his fingers brush against yours, sending little jolts of warmth through you. It was like he couldn’t help himself, and honestly, neither could you.

"Remember that time we tried to make bao buns at home?" he asked suddenly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Don’t remind me. That was a disaster."

"Disaster?" he repeated, laughing. "Mate, we set off the smoke alarm. Twice."

"Yeah, because someone thought it was a good idea to crank the oven up to max," you shot back, grinning.

"Hey, I was following your instructions!"

"You were not!"

The two of you laughed, the memory of flour-covered counters and charred buns still fresh in your minds. Will nudged you with his elbow, his grin widening. "We should try it again sometime. Third time’s the charm, yeah?"

"Only if you promise not to touch the oven," you said, raising an eyebrow.

"Deal," he replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His fingers brushed against yours as he lowered them, and you felt the warmth of his touch linger even after he pulled away. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the market seemed to fade into the background. There was something in his gaze—something soft and unguarded—that made your heart skip a beat.

As you continued walking, the smell of grilled meat caught your attention. You glanced toward a stall selling skewers—yakitori, grilled prawns, and lamb kebabs. The skewers were glistening with a sticky glaze, the aroma irresistible.

"Skewers?" you asked, nodding toward the stall.

Will followed your gaze, his eyes lighting up. "Skewers it is."

You approached the stall, the vendor busy flipping skewers on a hot grill. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the options. "Can we try one of each?" you asked, turning to Will.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Greedy today, aren’t we?" He teased, but he was already pulling out his wallet and handing over the cash. His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the tray, and you felt a little shiver run down your spine.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with the skewers, the smell of charred meat and sweet marinade making your mouth water. Will watched as you picked up the lamb skewer, taking the first bite.

The rich, slightly gamey flavour of the lamb skewer hit your tongue, and you wrinkled your nose, clearly not a fan. You glanced at Will, who was already watching you with that amused glint in his eyes, like he’d been waiting for your reaction.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. "Not your thing, huh?"

You shook your head, handing the skewer to him. "Here, you can have it."

He took it without hesitation, biting into it as he kept his gaze on your face. "What’s wrong with it?" he asked, mouth full, his voice muffled but still teasing.

You shrugged, already reaching for the yakitori. "Just not my thing. Too… gamey."

Will chuckled, still chewing. "You’re just using me as a human bin, aren’t you?"

You grinned, taking a bite of the yakitori. The tender chicken, glazed with a sweet soy sauce, was perfect—juicy, flavourful, and exactly what you’d been craving. "Pretty much," you said, your mouth half-full. "But hey, you don’t seem to mind."

He finished the lamb skewer in a few quick bites, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb in a way that was unfairly distracting. "I don’t," he said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you a beat too long. "But don’t think I won’t remember this next time you’re eyeing my fries."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Noted."

He reached for the grilled prawn next, holding it out to you. "Your turn."

You took a bite, the smoky flavour of the prawn hitting your tongue. It wasn’t bad—grilled to perfection with a hint of chilli and garlic—but it wasn’t your favourite either. You gently pushed the skewer back toward him. "Here, you can have this one too," you said, laughing.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. "Are you sure? These look banging."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m sure," you said, though a small part of you wondered if he’d noticed how your pulse quickened when his fingers brushed yours. You took another bite of the yakitori, the savoury flavour grounding you. "I’m sticking with this."

He shrugged, taking a bite of the prawn. His eyes lit up as he chewed. "Alright, you’re missing out. This is delicious."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’ll take your word for it."

Will reached for the yakitori, taking a small bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Okay, you’re right," he said, his voice warm and a little teasing. "This is superb."

You grinned, holding out the skewer to him. "I know, right? Want more?"

He shook his head, pushing it back toward you with a soft smile. "Nah, that one’s yours. I’ve got the prawns."

You smiled, taking another bite of the yakitori as Will glanced around the skewer stall, taking in the sizzling grill and the vibrant display of meats. His eyes lingered on the vendor flipping skewers with practiced ease, the flames from the grill casting a warm glow on his face. For a moment, you just watched him—the way his lips curved into a small smile, the way his shoulders relaxed as he leaned casually against the stall. He looked… happy. Content. And it made your chest feel impossibly warm.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Drinks?"

You nodded, finishing the last bite of yakitori and tossing the skewer into a nearby bin. "Drinks sound perfect. But only if you’re paying."

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you felt his hand brush against yours again as he stepped closer. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. "C’mon, then," he said, tugging you gently toward the next stall. "Let’s find something sweet to wash all this down."

As you wandered further into the market, you spotted a stand selling bubble tea. Visual samples of colourful drinks were lined up in tall plastic cups, the boba pearls glistening like little jewels at the bottom. You pulled Will over, studying the menu, your fingers still loosely intertwined with his. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter.

After a moment, you pointed at the Thai iced tea and the classic milk tea with boba.

Will raised an eyebrow, his smirk playful. "Two drinks? Greedy, aren’t we?"

You smirked back, already reaching for your wallet, but he beat you to it, pulling out his own with a wink. "My treat," he said, handing over the cash before you could protest.

The vendor handed you the drinks, and you immediately took a sip of the Thai iced tea. It was sweet and creamy, the perfect balance of flavours. The rich, spiced tea blended perfectly with the condensed milk, and you couldn’t help but hum in approval, your eyes meeting his, Will was watching you his expression soft and amused.

"That good, huh?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, holding out the drink to him. "Your turn."

He took a sip, his eyes widening as the flavours hit his tongue. "Wow," he said, his tone genuinely surprised. "That’s… incredible. Not too sweet."

You laughed, taking the drink back. "Told you."

Next, he reached for the milk tea, taking a cautious sip. The chewy boba pearls rolled into his mouth as he chewed, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Okay, this is amazing too. How do you always know what’s good?"

You grinned, taking a sip of the milk tea yourself. The chewy boba was a pleasant surprise, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It’s a gift," you said, your tone teasing.

Will noticed your reaction, holding out his hand for the milk tea. "Let me try that again."

You handed it to him, and he took another sip, his eyes lighting up as he savoured it. "Yeah, no, this is definitely a winner. You’ve got impeccable taste."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I know."

Then he reached for the Thai iced tea again, taking a longer sip this time. His face lit up even more, a look of pure delight crossing his features. "Okay, wait, this one might be even better. How is that possible?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Of course you like the one I wanted. Typical."

Will grinned, holding the Thai iced tea out of your reach. "Finders keepers."

"Oi!" you protested, trying to grab it back.

He held it high above his head, laughing as you jumped to reach it. "You’re such a child," you said, though you couldn’t stop smiling.

Will finally relented, handing the drink back to you with a smirk. "Alright, alright. You can have it. But only because you’re cute when you pout."

You rolled your eyes, taking the Thai iced tea and taking another sip. Will glanced around the drink stall, taking in the colourful display of drinks, but his hand never left yours. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but notice how warm and solid his grip felt.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Dessert?"

You nodded, "Dessert sounds perfect."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he tugged you gently toward the next stall. The market lights flickered on as the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. The air was cooler now, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his hand in yours and the way his shoulder brushed against yours as you walked.

The dessert stall was a colourful explosion of sweets—mochi, taiyaki, and towering soft serve cones in flavours like matcha, black sesame, and hojicha. You pointed at the matcha soft serve, the vibrant green ice cream swirling into a perfect peak, its colour so vivid it almost glowed under the soft lights of the stall. The earthy aroma of matcha wafted toward you, mingling with the sweet scent of condensed milk. "Can we get one of those?" you asked, turning to Will with a hopeful smile.

Will glanced at the cone, then back at you, his expression softening as he took in the way your eyes lit up. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for his wallet, his fingers brushing against yours as he pulled it out. You couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curved into a small, private smile.

"If it makes you smile like that, of course," he said, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning. He handed over the cash to the vendor, his movements unhurried, as if he were savouring the moment as much as you were.

You and Will moved away from the stall, weaving through the bustling crowd until you found a quieter spot near the edge of the market. It wasn’t much—just a small alcove between two stalls, sheltered from the main flow of foot traffic—but it felt like your own little haven.

Will leaned casually against the wall, his shoulder brushing yours as you stood side by side. The hum of the market was still there, but it felt distant now, like background noise to the quiet moment you were sharing. You held the cone between you, the coolness of the ice cream a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body so close to yours.

"Alright, let’s see if this lives up to the hype," you said, leaning in and gently wrapping your lips around the creamy peak, sucking lightly to pull a bite of the cold, velvety ice cream into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the soft serve like a whisper of spring—earthy, sweet, and impossibly smooth. The bitterness of the matcha balanced perfectly with the creamy sweetness, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, contented hum.

When you opened your eyes, you caught Will staring at you, his gaze lingering on your lips for a second too long. There was something in his expression—something soft and unguarded—that made your stomach flip.

"Your turn," you said, holding the cone out to him, pretending not to notice the faint flush creeping up your neck.

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had momentarily distracted him, and took the cone from you. But instead of taking a bite, he held it carefully in one hand, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft serve was starting to melt slightly, a tiny drip sliding down the side of the cone, but Will didn’t seem to care.

Before you could say anything, he stepped closer, his free hand sliding around your waist to pull you in. "I think I’d rather taste it this way," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

And then he kissed you.

His lips were warm and insistent, capturing yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. You could feel the cool sweetness of the matcha still lingering on your lips, and Will seemed determined to savour every bit of it. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he tilted your head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

At first, his tongue brushed against yours tentatively, a slow, teasing exploration that sent shivers down your spine. But then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, the kiss grew more insistent, more passionate. His tongue swept against yours, warm and searching, as if he were trying to memorise the taste of you mixed with the earthy sweetness of the matcha. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, the fabric of his jumper soft under your fingertips. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, quickening just like yours.

The world around you seemed to fade away—the low chatter of the market, the sizzle of food on grills, the faint hum of music from a nearby stall. All that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his body pressed close, solid and reassuring.

When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His blue eyes were dark, his pupils wide and blown with want, his gaze heavy with something that made your stomach flip. It wasn’t just unspoken—it was hunger, pure and undeniable. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment, sent a shiver down your spine.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough and a little unsteady, as if he were struggling to keep himself in check. "Definitely starting to see the appeal."

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, where a faint trace of matcha still lingered, and you could feel the slight tremor in his hand. It was as if he were holding himself back, but just barely. The air between you felt charged, electric, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the way he wanted to kiss you again, to pull you closer, to lose himself in you completely.

"Will," you started, your voice soft, but he shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low. "If you say my name like that, I’m not going to be able to stop."

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared up at him. There was no mistaking the desire in his eyes, the way his gaze dropped to your lips again, like he was already imagining kissing you a second time. He wanted you—wanted you in a way that was almost overwhelming, and it was written all over his face.

But instead of giving in, he stepped back slightly, his hand sliding from your waist. He glanced down at the cone, as if grounding himself, and let out a soft laugh. "Guess I got a little distracted," he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still burnt with that same intensity.

"Just a little," you said, teasing, though your voice was a little breathless. You couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed around the cone, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you again. Before he could say anything, you reached out and gently took the cone from his hand, your fingers brushing against his in the process. The contact sent a little spark through you, and you saw his eyes darken as he watched you.

"Careful," you said, your tone light but your gaze holding his. "You’re going to drop it if you keep getting distracted."

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little strained, and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly helping," he said. His eyes dropped to your lips again, and you could see the way he was struggling to keep himself in check.

You took a small bite of the ice cream, the cool sweetness a sharp contrast to the heat building between you. Will watched you, his gaze intense, and you couldn’t help but tease him a little. "Want a taste?" you asked, holding the cone out to him, your tone innocent but your eyes playful.

He shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I already had my taste," he said, his voice dropping lower. "And it’s going to be a problem if I have another."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. Will stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the cone. "But since you’re offering…" he said, his tone teasing as he took a small peice, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in the way he looked at you, something raw and unguarded, that made your pulse quicken and your cheeks burn.

He handed the cone back to you with a smirk, his arm still wrapped around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. "Next time, though," he said, his tone playful but his eyes soft with something deeper, "I’m picking the flavour."

"Deal," you said, leaning into him, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the cool evening air. You took another bite of the ice cream, the earthy sweetness of the matcha mingling with the lingering taste of him on your lips. The market buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like the two of you were in your own little world.

Will’s thumb brushed lightly over your hip, his touch sending a shiver through you even through the layers of your clothes. "You know," he said, his voice low and warm, "I think this might be the best date we’ve ever had."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. "Yeah," you agreed softly. "It’s pretty perfect."

He chuckled, the sound rich and full, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "Glad you think so," he said, his tone light but his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Because I’m not done yet."

"Oh?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, though your voice was a little breathless.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Nope. Not even close."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. "You’re horrible." you said, though the way your heart raced betrayed how much his words affected you.

Will grinned, pulling you closer as you continued walking through the market. The lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the stalls, and the scent of spices and sweets filled the air. His hand never left yours, his fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As you strolled, the sounds of the market fading into the background, you couldn’t help but think that moments like this—simple, sweet, and shared with him—were your favourite kind. Will’s hand in yours, his laughter in your ears, and the promise of more ahead made everything feel just a little bit magical.

😮‍💨 damn. I got carried away with this one… Was that kiss realistic? I've never kissed anyone that wasn't a peck, so I just guessed at what it would be like. Was that okay? Do people have any pointers for writing reasonable make out sessions? 🤭But anyways… I hope people enjoy!

[covetyou]

stars and stripes

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: nipple play, novelty underwear, balls, anxiety, democracy, the pledge of allegiance, friendly brotherly contest, alcohol, prelude to oral sex (m! receiving) word count: 5k summary: Roles are reversed this Fourth of July when you surprise Joel with a little festive treat of your own.

A/N: happy 4th of July to folks in the US and happy general election day to my fellow UK pals! If you haven't exercised your right to vote yet, and you're registered, you have until 10pm BST tonight to get to your polling station - as long as you're in line by 10pm, you'll be able to vote. do dress up Joel proud, and go do a democracy.

I make absolutely no apologies for anything in this fic. not a single thing. especially not that thing. tis the season. happy ballidays, pals!

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As it turned out, Joel knew a guy who knew a guy who could fix your AC, and within two days your house was a safe haven from the burgeoning Texas summer.

Easy as that, apparently. Your desperate attempts to call around HVAC companies the week your AC busted seemed stupid now that it was all a matter of simply knowing a guy.

Not that it was all easy. Letting someone else into your house after everything that had gone on suddenly felt scary, and it took Joel promising you he'd dip from his own job for the afternoon to keep an eye on things for you to feel okay with any of it.

But, even that left an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You'd told him to let himself in, though this time you'd given him a key, and that felt like something. For as many times as he'd broken in, and for as long as you'd left your house open and vulnerable - and, by extension, yourself - handing over your spare keys to Joel for the day felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt with him wandering your house at unknown hours of the day and night.

It felt like something all over again when you handed them over to him the next week too - there was a jammed drawer he wanted to fix, and he said he could get in to see to it before work one day.

Even when you opened the door to him on the nights he didn't have Sarah - his daughter, you'd learned - it felt like something. Especially knowing that that spare key now sat attached to his own, jingling in his pocket each time he walked into your home, invited.

And the more somethings it felt like, the less you felt like figuring it out.

It continued the same way for weeks. Him moving back and forth the short distance between his home and yours, while you stayed safely cocooned in your own, cool, four walls.

Then, barely one month into this officially unofficial something that you were, it was finally time for you to make that short journey down the street to Joel's.

Being honest, the thought of it had terrified you, and you'd almost backed out multiple times.

Not because it was Joel, or Joel's house - at least, that's what you told yourself - but because a "the whole neighborhood is invited, bring snacks or beer" type of Fourth of July party wasn't the kind of way you'd envisioned your first time in Joel's home. You figured maybe it'd be dinner, or a movie, or a quick fuck against the stairs with Joel's balls trussed up in something. Normal things.

Not loud peopley things.

Still, you readjust your top once more, take the briefest of glances in the mirror, and head out the door anyway, nerves be damned. You can totally handle a Fourth of July BBQ at Joel's house.

You think you can all the way up to Joel's driveway, when the nerves come back with a vengeance and you stand there, feeling sick, listening to the sounds of people and music coming from the backyard.

You try to tell yourself it all makes sense. It's a new place, a place that should mean so much because it's his, but try as you might you can't fight back the panic rising as you think of the very many faces that are going to be in this new place too. Familiar faces, faces you'd seen most days as you went about your life down this street you called home, people you'd shared small talk with and said good morning to almost every day as you left for work.

Then there's this stupid outfit you're wearing. The you from weeks ago chose it the very same day you said yes to Joel's invitation, and the you of today didn't have the energy or inclination to think of anything else. Wear whatever, Joel had said, it's just a casual thing. So, you'd gone for casual.

Braless is casual, right?

Not that that was a specific choice, more a necessity. You'd chucked the third bra on the floor in a huff, cursing your shitty outfit choice and lack of bra to fit it, and instead decided to stick on some nipple pasties and be done with it.

All that's done now, and now here you are, still standing like an idiot in the driveway, closer to Joel's home than you have ever been, psyching yourself up to go inside.

With a deep breath of the dry Texas heat, you head for the open back gate, the soft sound of your shoes on the paving stones so loud in your ears as everything wooshes and fizzes in your head.

It's somehow both better and worse than your expectations.

You're immediately greeted by a sea of recognizable faces, the bottle of wine you forgot you were even holding whisked out of your hand and taken inside before you can even get your first round of hello's in. You don't have much of a chance to be nervous, or self conscious, or any of the things you'd worried about being in the days leading up to being here, because there's just so much of everything around you. Noises, smells, people.

Everything, except for Joel. You've not caught a single look at him since you got here - minutes ago - and you wonder if he's even here and not relaxing back at your place on the couch.

Then you see him. At least, you think it's him. His back is to you, locked into conversation so fierce he hasn't noticed the commotion about your entrance.

You think it's him, but you're also certain you don't know of anyone else who would dress head to toe in red, white, and blue candy stripes. The sight of it makes you forget your own outfit worries as a grin forms on your face, and that familiar rumbling of something in the pit of your stomach comes back all over again.

"Not eyein' the very slightly younger model, are you?" comes a gruff voice that has you twisting rapidly on the spot, the smile barely given chance to fall from your face when you spot the actual, real life Joel standing right there next to you, cold beer in hand.

In your own defence, real life Joel isn't dressed much better than the other Joel stood over the other side of the yard. He's probably dressed worse, actually. He's head to toe in stars, all the way from the novelty headband on his head to the flashing star lights clipped to his shoes. It's gaudy, and camp, and so perfectly Joel that the smile that dipped from your face for all of half a second is back, and you're grinning up at him, that feeling in your belly violently boiling away now that he's right there.

"Oh, him?" you say with a wave of your hand. "Nah. He's like a dollar store version of you."

"Really? I'll be sure to tell Tommy he's Dollar Store Joel from now on. He'll love that. Hey, Tommy!" he calls over the yard, before slipping his free hand behind your back. "C'mon. Let me introduce y'all."

He guides you over, hand never leaving the small of your back, touching you out here in front of all these people as if you are actually officially the kind of something that everyone should know about. And maybe you are.

But then, you're looking into familiar friendly eyes, so similar to the ones you've been staring into and dreaming of since Christmas, and watching this familiar strangers face light up so brightly you briefly wonder if his joy is misplaced until he's wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

"Shit, he weren't lying," says Tommy as he rocks on his feet with you in his arms before releasing and looking down at you. "You are real."

Before Joel can land a firm whack to Tommy's shoulder, Tommy's pulling you in for another hug, telling you how nice it is to finally meet you, because he's heard all about you, dropping in a few choice words about his asshole brother here and there as he chatters to you, and Joel, and even himself.

At some point, whether it's during the fourth hug or the eighteenth, you're not sure, Joel slips off to grab you a drink, leaving you with his bizarrely dressed brother.

"Ain't never seen him smile so much without Sarah around," he says, the moment Joel's out of earshot, giving you a nudge and another fond smile. "Y'know, I think he might like you."

"Mm, I think I might like him too."

Small talk with Tommy is easy - the man's a talker, if you ever met one. He's a charmer too, and if you met him in a bar you might think he'd be coming on to you with the way he so attentively talks to you, only directing his attention elsewhere for the briefest of moments.

"What's with the outfits?" you eventually ask, with a flick to his striped top hat. "Joel never said it was a dress up party."

"Oh it ain't, this is just a family tradition. Dad always used to dress up in dumb shit for the holidays, make us laugh, and it just sorta stuck. 'Course, added in some friendly competition over the years too, and then this," he says with a dramatic sweep down his body, "was born."

"Competition?"

"Mhm. Joel'll tell you, won't you brother?" Tommy says with a wink over your head before ducking sideways to raid the snack table.

"What am I s'posed to tell you?" he says, handing you your drink, letting his fingers linger near yours and stroke a trail of burning heat gently up your arm before falling back to his pocket.

"The competition."

"S'easy. Stars or stripes," Joel points to himself, decked out in stars and then to his brother where he stands loudly chatting to yet more guests in his candy stripes. "You gotta pick. Most votes, wins."

"I've got to pick?"

"'s the rules, darlin'."

"So you want me to pick between you, or some costumed guy I don't know - a practical stranger?" you say, with a glint in your eye, watching Joel's face drop in faux offence.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't underestimate me, Joel. I think you know exactly what I'm capable of."

Your eyes meet in a silent stalemate, the glint in your eye never leaving as Joel bites at his cheek to hold back a laugh. Tommy was right - you do like Joel, some days too much, and moments like right now, you think maybe it's reciprocated, and you like him just the right amount.

Poking him in the chest, finger pressed to the middle of one of the sea of stars decorating his body, you let yourself break first. "Stars, Joel. I pick stars."

With a roll of his eyes, and a kiss pressed lightning quick to the side of your head, Joel's hand winds back around your back.

"Thank fuck for that. Let's get you a votin' card so you can make that official."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

As the evening draws on, you think you've talked to just about everyone in your street several times over, and then some. It also turns out that Joel and Tommy take their little competition very seriously, and always have, if your neighbors are to be believed.

By the time the votes have been counted and Joel in his star spangled outfit is declared the winner, Tommy has sunk to his knees, his hat toppled off in his despair as he hangs his head in shame.

You're still listening to them bicker as you sneak off to use the bathroom, their voices only disappearing when you've slid the patio door shut and taken your first official step into Joel's house.

"The headband swung it."

"The headband is Sarah's, and your massive skull is breakin' it..."

Even through the mess of the party, you can see that this place is distinctly Joel, with hints of a 10 year old girl dotted around the place. From the pictures on the wall to the cushions on the sofa - mostly a rich navy, but one soft pink nestled in with the blue - through to small ornamental carvings on a side table and the drawings stuck on the refrigerator.

You're looking at one - not a masterpiece by any means, but very decent attempt at a bluebonnet - when the pressure inside the house changes again with the slide of the door.

It's Joel, arms laden with bottles, and the headband flopping forward pathetically on his head. "You snuck off quick," he says, dumping the bottles onto the counter. "Get lost findin' the bathroom?"

"Distracted. Never had chance to sneak around your house looking at your shit before," you quip with a smile, trying to get comfortable with the very uncomfortable thing that brought you two together in the first place.

"Then shoes off. Lemme take you upstairs, give you a little tour, and you can use the bathroom up there. Probably in a better state than the one down here now anyway."

He holds your hand in his all the way up the stairs. That something rears its head again, igniting your palm where it meets his, your brain not registering a single word he says as he points to various doors before dragging you through one, into his bedroom.

His lips are on yours immediately - or yours are on his. You can't quite work out who started it, you just know that you're a tangle as your hands roam each other, biting and licking kisses into each others mouths. His hand finds your ass, and you're moaning as he presses you forward, into him, and the soft lump in his pants. You want to grind yourself against him, but the angle isn't right, and a nagging forgotten thing is worming through your brain when Joel pushes your bodies together once more.

Oh. Right. You remember now.

"Joel - mmph - Joel," you say with urgency through his kisses. He pulls back, searching your face with panic and a pinched brow. "I really gotta pee."

With a kiss to your forehead he lets you go, pushing you toward his ensuite. When you exit a few minutes later, he's exactly where you left him, stood with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish as he possibly ever could.

"I'm glad you came," he says, looking at you and setting that something off roaring through your body again.

"Me too. I... I've had a nice time."

"Just wanted you to know I didn't invite you here just for, y'know," he says, with a gesture to his bed. "Didn't bring you in here for it either. Just, sorta missed you. Not used to not bein' alone with you. It's weird sharin' you."

You don't want to remind him you've barely left each others sides all night. You don't want to draw too much attention to the something, just in case you scare it away.

"Damn. Got nothing for me? Nothing at all?" you joke instead.

"Got nothin'. Nothin' planned anyway," he says with a look around the room, his eyes focussing briefly on a drawer before flicking back to you.

Really, you should be leaving space between you and Joel. Space for the something to flourish, space that is just enough to not magnetize your body to his, smashing yourselves together and turning the nothing into something. What you should do doesn't have the power to stop your feet from slowly pulling you toward him again though. And it doesn't stop you from putting both your hands on his chest when you finally reach him.

"No? Got no magic tricks up your sleeve? I was hoping for a wand or a rabbit or somethin', you do look like you ran away from the circus."

"I'll have you know this shirt is the finest polyester you can find at Party City."

"Mm, sounds sweaty."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"So you're sweaty and gross, and you have nothing to wow me with? I'm starting to wonder why you invited me." Which is a lie. You know why, and so does he, and you're glad for it, even if it still frightens you to think about it too much. You suspect he knows an awful lot more about you than you've told him. He's perceptive like that.

"Maybe I'm retractin' your invite."

"You wouldn't."

"No?"

"What if I've got a little something for you instead, am I still invited now?"

Joel's eyes light up and soften all at once, turning so bright and sparkling you think he might cry. It's not exactly that you've never done anything for him in the ways he has for you. When he mentioned his favorite snack, you got some in the house for nights you spend watching a movie before devolving into fucking on the floor. You bought new lingerie, which only ever stayed on if it was too difficult to get out of, and once or twice he'd caught you wearing the heart shaped butt plug before leaping on you and pounding you into whatever surface was nearest, thumb pressing down on the base and making you see stars.

Still, for all you had done, you never swapped positions in the little game you'd been playing with each other for over seven months. Each time, he was the one who came to you with some silly thing or trick or toy to tease you with, and each time you loved it. You hoped he would love this too.

"You do?"

"Mhm," you say as you put some distance between the two of you again. Space to breath, space to move, space to let the something calm back down into the pit of your stomach and curl in on itself like a cat settling down to sleep.

Your let your fingers glide up your body, gently pulling your skirt for a moment before they coast up your belly and reach your shirt, flirting with the hem before curling around it and tugging, letting your tits jiggle behind the fabric.

With a final soft tug, you peel the fabric up your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out the bottom of your top.

"Holy shit, baby," he says, a whisper of a moan on his lips. His eyes have been glued to you, wide and curious, ever since you suggested you may have something for him. And now, they're darting from your chest to your face then back down, taking in the sight of your covered nipples.

You had made some choices earlier today, in your nervous state. Going braless was only one of them. The pasties too, were another. And then, there was the shape. You has flowers, hearts, circles, straight tape and, finally, stars. It was a no brainer when you'd rifled through the packet for two that matched that white stars were the perfect choice for today. It'd only really occured to you when Joel had worn his own stars, that you were perhaps better matched today than you thought, that maybe you could have your own little game with him for once.

"Told you I was all in on the stars."

"Damn right you are," he says as he approaches, his hands finding their place on your waist, itching to move upward. "They don't hurt?"

"They're just pasties, Joel. They're soft. Feel."

And fuck, does he feel. His hands cup you, gently squeezing the softest part of your breast before letting his thumbs dance across where the pucker of your nipple should be. The sensation is muted, infuriatingly muffled by the feel of the pasties covering you.

"S'good?"

"Imagine I stroked your dick over your pants. It's good but it's not the same."

"Damn," he curses, thumbs still gently rubbing over your nipples, watching them slowly come to life and prickling beneath the coverings. "They come off easy?"

"Like a bandaid."

"Shit."

And you just know what he's thinking, because you're thinking it too. There's no real way you can take them off right now and let Joel have his way with your nipples like you're both desperate for, even if time and the swathe of people downstairs wasn't an issue. You have nothing else to cover up with and the soft breeze combined with the cold drinks and the age of some of the guests here means it's probably not a good idea to go without them.

That doesn't stop Joel from kissing you again though, more restrained than he has any right to be with your tits in his hands. You know from his frustrated groan when you bite at his bottom lip that he's two seconds away from telling everyone the parties over, only to come back up here and continue with a party for just two.

To your surprises, he pulls your top back down. Not before kissing one breast, then the other, then back to the first. You know he wants to sink his face into them, but he doesn't let himself, and he rises from his crouch with a groan and pulls you out of the room.

"Don't show Tommy," Joel whispers to you as you make your way back down the stairs. "He'll say the contest was rigged."

"Damn, I was so hoping to show your brother my nipples."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Joel's eyes keep flicking to your chest for the rest of the night. More than once he drags you away inside, either upstairs or into the garage, just to ask you to show him one more time. If you weren't covered, your nipples would have been rubbed and pinched raw by his eager fingers by now, just as your lips were swollen by his eager mouth.

By the time it's all over, you're positively exhausted, propping yourself up on the arm of a chair and talking to Tommy as Joel waves off the last of the guests and closes the back gate.

You had barely left his side all night, and if anyone had anything to say about it, you hadn't heard it. Neither had Joel. And Tommy, a clever man when he wanted to be, hadn't made a single joke about it either. All in all, it was as much of a successful day than you could hope for, initial nerves aside.

Tommy, continuing to be a clever man, doesn't put up much of a fight when you offer to be the one to stay behind and help clear up. Of course, he's already gone around and collected most of the trash, and put the leftover food inside, but he relents at your insistence he head home - you do only live down the street after all.

Neither you or Joel get much further with the cleaning. Once trash bags are dumped in the garage and you've both washed up, his hands are back under your top, damp fingers cupping your breasts and pulling you back into him.

"Stay?" he asks, as if there was any other ending to this night, as if Tommy hadn't left precisely for this reason.

You barely agree by the time his mouth is latched onto your neck, drawing unrestrained moans out of you right there in the kitchen now that you're finally alone.

His hands, of course, find their way back up to your top, stroking over the edge of the pasties once more.

"You really like 'em, huh?" you ask as his thumb brushes the edge of one, starting to curl and pull the point of one of the stars.

"Like that we match. Feel like you picked 'em for me," he mumbles into your neck, releasing one breast and tucking his hand into the waistband of your skirt. "Like that I've had somethin' to think about, somethin' to play with, even with all these people here."

Fuck, if you haven't liked that too. Letting him play had been one of the highlights of your night so far. Being manhandled into the garage, giggling and pushing Joel as he clasped his hands together in a plea to please see your tits. The souvenir love bite you'd let him suck into your left breast after dragging you back upstairs for a second time. You'd spent half the night flipping between Joels hands and mouth on your tits, to being dragged back out to socialize. Your pussy had given up trying to regulate itself after the third session of Joel's teasing, and you'd spent the rest of the evening wet and waiting.

This is a fact he finds out now, as he slides his hand down over your mound to cup you over your panties. You both let out the same curse as he presses and wiggles his fingers back and forth over you, rubbing your clit over your underwear. You had hoped to peel the pasties off before you fucked him, giving him full access to your nipples for the first time tonight, but you don't think you're going to make it that far, not now his hand is pulling your panties aside, feeling for the slick wetness between your lips and dragging it up, up, up to swirl around your clit.

Not a second later you're scaling the stairs for what you know will be the final time that day, this time you dragging Joel as you both kick of your shoes and stumble up the steps. You already ache from all the standing, and if you have it your way, your legs are going to be shaking and trembling too much for the rest of the night to possibly be of use to you.

With his door pushed open, left wide now the house is empty, you pull yourself back into him, only for him to slip his still wet finger between your lips, letting you taste yourself before he captures your mouth, licking your taste from your own tongue.

Then, your hands find his chest, that ridiculous shirt, and pull at it, tugging the fabric taught to his body, eager to get it off and tumble into his sheets with him.

You were right about how sweaty he'd be under the shirt when you finally get your fingers on the buttons, working your way down until you can pull it off. He's shining underneath it, the dark hair of his body slicked down as you drag your hands up over his chest, to his shoulders and then down to his belt.

He suddenly stops you, pulling your hands away, pressing kiss after kiss to your mouth as he fumbles with the buckle. In a huff, after a few failed, distracted, attempts, he pushes you away and pulls off his belt before unzipping his pants.

Joel has barely tugged them down his legs when you're staring wide eyed, howling with laughter, staring directly at his cock. Only, this time, it stares back.

At least, the bald eagle on the front of his boxers does.

"What are those?"

"Nothin'," Joel says, covering himself and trying to tug his boxers over his erection with one hand still trying to pull off his pants. Grabbing his hands, you stop him, pleading as you tug them away from his crotch.

"Show me."

"Look, s'nothin. Just another stupid thing Tommy got me and I thought it'd be funny but..."

"Sure looks like you got somethin' there for me. All this time you were sayin nothin'. Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now. C'mon. Please."

You pout, trying desperately to get him to give in when you have an idea and you're tugging your top off over your head and throwing it to the side, brandishing your star covered nipples to him once more.

"Pretty please," you say with a small shimmy, and Joel's hand immediately falls away, coming up instead to cover his eyes with a sigh.

It's a sight to behold. Really, it is. The eagle is staring back at you once again, still bolstered by Joel's solid length and the heft of his balls behind it. What you hadn't noticed before is it's sitting on a canvas of United States flag, stars and stripes covering his thighs, his hips, his ass.

"Oh wow. Joel those are -" you cough out a laugh "- those are amazing."

He's rolling his eyes. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his posture. "Yeah, real funny, I know."

"No, I like them. Very festive. And y'know what," you say, cupping his cock right over the eagle print of his boxers as you clear your throat. "I pledge allegiance -"

"No, don't you d-"

"- to these balls -"

"Stop."

"- and the cock they sit under -"

"Oh my god," he says, fighting through a laugh, your fingers squeezing and massaging as you pledge yourself, whole heartedly, to the appendage in your hand.

" - one - uh, cock and balls? Is there even a collective word for cock and balls? - under Joel -"

"It's just gettin' worse."

"- definitely indivisible, no divisible balls here - "

"You're killin' me."

"- say it with me now - with liberty and justice for balls."

You try to keep a straight face as you finish. Really you do. But as Joel's whole body shakes and ripples, his balls jiggling in your hand as laughter wracks through him, you can't help but fall into him, letting yourself be propped up by him as you crumple in on yourself in delight.

"You callin' my balls Liberty and Justice now?" Joel finally says through a laugh.

You slide a finger up the leg of his boxers, pulling gently on them as you stare down at the flag adorning his ass and balls.

"Yep. You're Star Spangled Joel with your side kicks, Liberty and Justice."

You give his balls a little squeeze again as you name them.

"Now that you pledged your allegiance, you gonna keep yappin' or you gonna prove it?"

But it's too late, because you're already sinking to your knees, right there in his bedroom, a place you both know you're going to wake up in the morning, wrapped in each other as the sunlight peeks through the curtains.

"Just try to stop me."

next part

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[bethanydelleman]

idk if you are familiar with little women but your most recent post about the treatment of women throughout history reminded me of the beef I have with 2019 little women.

by that point we're in the victorian era and things are slowly getting better for women.

in the book jo manages to become a very successful writer and amy considers becoming an art teacher *if* she doesn't reach fame as an artist.

also by the very end of the entire saga (set around the very end of the 19th century) there are two female characters who want to become a doctor and an actress, and they are fully supported by everyone! there's also a conversation between a bunch of young characters where the male characters are totally pro women's rights and defend the girls'rights.

meanwhile the 2019 movie has jo not being taken seriously as a writer because of her gender while the whole conflict was about money and fame in the novel.

same for amy who has a whole speech about marriage being an economic proposition and women essentially not being able to do anything else to support themselves (when she had a back up job plan in the book.)

like that wouldn't be true anymore, the fact that two of the main characters can write & make art is proof of that.

all this to say how anachronistic this kind of view is, and how making such blank statements about a topic as broad and various as this one is never going to end up well.

like yes women did struggle! we already made that point, but how can you analyze that specific struggle if you don't understand the context behind it? because a woman in the victorian era would not have the same struggle as a regency woman, and let alone a 17/15th century woman.

also people always forget that class plays a huge role in this, because the gentry wasn't expected to work regardless of gender, and working class women had all the disadvantages of being a woman without the luxuries that nobility offered.

I used lw as an example because I know the saga by heart and those scenes always left a sour taste in my mouth, but I'm sure there are other examples, and I just wanted to add my own opinion and back you by explaining why you're right.

This question is in response to this post.

I am not super familiar with Little Women personally (I've read it but a long time ago) and I haven't watched any adaptations, so I'm not sure about these scenes. I know @thatscarletflycatcher has a beef with this movie so maybe she shares your frustrations. I agree with the frustrations as you have presented them here.

Things were looking up in the Victorian era, and women in the lower classes had less of an imperative to marry, but the Brontë sisters still published under male pseudonyms (though that was in the UK), so I'm not sure it was entirely normal or accepted for women to write. Just looked it up, even Louisa May Alcott herself used a pen name for her "sensational" works.

If anyone is more familiar with the novel series and 2019 adaptation, please chime in!

[gurugirl]

The Honeymoon | a preview

This is a completed Patreon only 4 part one-shot. Total word count: 22,122

Summary: When your fiance doesn't show up on your wedding day, you're left devastated and humiliated. But you plan to go on your honeymoon trip anyway, a monthlong guided tour through the UK. Your handsome and charming tour guide, Harry, helps you see the beauty around yourself as you discover how scenic life is and find the courage to embrace a new beginning.

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“What do you mean he’s not at the altar? Like… he’s not here? At all?” You’d been waiting for the signal to come out for nearly thirty minutes in the dressing room. Your mother had left to find out what the holdup was, and you figured Adan was just being his normal self. Often taking way too long to do things or losing track of time. It was irritating that on your wedding day, of all days, he’d cause such a delay, but you were determined to keep positive and not sweat the small stuff.

“Honey, he never showed up. I guess Arthur said he got a text from Adan. He said he’s not coming.”

You’d never in your life felt such a sense of panic. It was supposed to be the best day of your life. Or at least a wonderfully monumental day that you’d always remember with happy fondness.

“Is—he okay? What happened?” You rushed to fish your phone from your bag and dialed your fiancé right away, your 1-carat engagement ring glinting flawlessly in the light that poured in from the window. It was a gorgeous sunny day—too pretty to have something like this go wrong. 

Your mom gently put her hand on your arm. Her expression was pity, sorrow.

“He’s not answering! Oh my god. Is he hurt? Do we know what happened?”

Shaking her head, your mom kept her eyes on you, and there was a knock at the door before it was being pushed open. Your maid of honor, Dora, pushed her way into the dressing room and wrapped her arms around you, sniffling. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m gonna kill him.”

You pushed her off, holding her by the shoulders, and shook your head. “What do you mean? What’s happened? What did he do?”

You had almost no information. Your mother only knew he wasn’t coming based on a text he sent his best man, Arthur.

“He’s gone to Vegas. With Mindy.”

“Mindy?!” You looked from your mom to your best friend, and your eyes widened as it all suddenly dawned on you.

Mindy. She was one of your closest and dearest friends. In fact, she was meant to be in the wedding party, and you hadn’t seen her all day either, but figured she was elsewhere or running late, as she tended to do. A lot like Adan, now that you were thinking about it.

Mindy was Adan’s friend before yours. He and Mindy went to college together, and from the moment he introduced you two, you were connected at the hip, and you adopted her into your tight-knit group of friends. She’d be at your and Adan’s apartment almost every day after you got off work. Already there with a beer in hand and figuring out what to make for dinner with your fiancé. Sometimes, it was like she was a roommate. Sometimes, you wondered if Mindy might have a crush on Adan. But you never imagined in a million years…

“Vegas? Like… to get…” You hadn’t stopped shaking your head as you searched Dora’s face, your mother clinging to you closely in support.

Dora nodded, “Eloped,” she scoffed. “I’m gonna kill the fucking bitch and then I’m gonna cut his dick off with a dull butter knife and make him eat it!”

Your mom let out a shocked laugh of approval, and you broke down. It had been the most dramatic and ridiculous display since you were five, and your brother had cut off your favorite doll's hair and dipped its head in blue acrylic paint.

But this time, it was called for. Your mother and your best friend held you on each side as your legs gave way, and you went limp slowly to the floor. Black streaks of mascara down your face and splotched on the bust of your ivory dress, you ugly cried until you couldn’t breathe and then did it again.

Not only were you devasted. You were humiliated. Your fiancé, the man you were due to marry at that moment, had run off with one of your best friends. To marry her and not you.

Mother fucker.

·⁀ ༄.°✈ ₊⭒˚｡⋆

Join my patreon here! For only $5 USD per month, you will gain access to over 200 early access and exclusive works.

xoxo

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Boyfriend Era is a Go

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

NOV 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - I have to say it, the heist stuff is stupid and all the sidekicks are idiots to the point of annoyance. But Yin and War are truly stellar at these parts. And in general in these roles. Can’t knock 'em. It’s been a year of some very good kisses and this has to have been the best. So this show is top of the standings this week for that kiss alone. Like srs boys? I mean to say, BOYS! How dare. Breaking the internet like that.

Honestly, let's be clear, these two have had killer chemistry since the En of Love and we all expected great things. And now, here we sit, suffering great things from these kings. Thank you, Sirs, may we have another?

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 8 of 15 - I'm chronicling my experience with 2024 as compared to 2014 here. The Per Win story arc never interested me in 2014 and I’m not enjoying it now either. But Mick and Ohm are better in 2024. Nong Mick is a standout character, and a brilliant glow up in this version and he’s a confident little shit (affectionate). The mains are good too, but Phun and Noh always were great characters, and these actors are quite good. Possibly better than the original. 

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - More bf era delightful diabetes. They are the best boyfriends and the cutest family in the entire world. No exceptions. Next week is definitely doom tho. 

Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - Talk about making consent and communication sexy! *fans self* Whoah! That was unexpectedly great. The blatancy of the lust in this one was fun too. And the general casual switch nature of the relationship = delightful.

I like the little acting course we're getting from these tw. They are both quite good. I’m not sure I really enjoy the stories that they’re telling, but I do like how they are telling them.

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 6 of 16 - Hill is the premier torch carrier of this year. My goodness. He sure nursed that crush. While I really like this main couple, I’m happy to have some of the others start to creep into the narrative at this juncture. Alone HillTer are a bit intentionally miscommunicative and saccharine. But the screen-time distribution amongst couples seems a little strange. That said, couple 2? No thank you. I really don't like North as a character at all. I find him incredibly unappealing. Ordinarily I'd be on his side because....... blackmail trope renders Johan automatically a complete arse. But at least this is 2 unlikable characters being jerks to each other?

Perfect 10 Liners (Thai Sun YouTube?) ep 2 of 24 - Say it with me Thailand: negging is NOT romantic. Frankly, Arc is just an asshole and a bully with anger issues. But…… Yay cute sides! PondSand they funny. (Book, to me = never very funny. I don’t think comedy is his bailiwick. Look, comedy is HARD ya’ll and usually not in that way.) 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Our Youth AKA Miseinen: Mijukuna Oretachi wa Bukiyo ni Shinkochu (Japan Tues Gaga) ep 1 of 11 - They’re doing some interesting stuff with the framing (both filming style and narrative) that makes this extremely old-fashioned feeling (like Takumi-kun level). I keep saying that this year, but it feels like BL is doing a lot of rediscovering its roots right now. This one even had a goldfish. And abuse. (The two, oddly, often go hand-in-hand in JBL ) And overall...... it’s a bit weird. Which I don’t mind from Japan. Japanese BL can get weird in a good way. Oh I like it. Bully meats smart loaner, total opposites attract, both are lonely and broken and NEED each other, and all that.

See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga) ep 4 of 13 - Oh dear, our poor little rich boy is very broken indeed. The sides are utterly ridiculous.

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) eps 6 of 7 - I don’t normally like a love triangle, but I kind of like this one since it gave our uke a bit more depth and agency. And charm, quite frankly. So far he’s been a very dower character.

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 9-10 of 12 - Okay boyfriend era is a go. Goodness but they sure are adorable. 

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 7 of ? - The slow burn is really very slow. To the point of frustration. But I'm still enjoying the show, just not as much as I was.

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 8 of 10 eps - Even Japan is going through a bf era rn I see. How unusual.

Love in the Air: Koi no Yokan (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - I’m slightly less annoyed by this one than the original (but I was VERY annoyed by that). I think mame is being tempered by a few things:

There’s so much less time spent on the back-and-forth, because this is a much shorter show, so I have less time to be frustrated by it and the utter uselessness of 75% of these characters.

Also, there's that innate Japanese awkwardness of portrayal & social interaction, which makes the unpleasantness of the characters' behavior and touch more understandable.

This, in turn, is married to the natural kink factor of JBL.

There’s a clearer Dom sub from the get go with this version, makes the blackmailing a little bit more tolerable because it's clearly Play. (negotiated or not) Simply put, daddy wants his brat to beg. And honestly? So say we all.

On a completely different note, the wardrobe for this show is terrible. Like truly bad BAD.

Blue Canvas of Youthful Days (China Sun iQIYI) eps 3-4 - Well I guess that’s that disability dealt with. Meanwhile, competitive bullying art students? I am very amused. Zoo date was cute. This is unquestionably a BL (I’m even more scared now). Still, the gay boys dealing with the straight dude’s crush was truly hilarious. So much "our gay drama doesn’t have time for your het bullshit." Classy move, I smell some Taiwan in this show.

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Korea Thurs Gaga) eps 4-8 end - I was reliably informed this has an HFN end so I decided to watch. Noble and self sacrificing with both of them taking the blame.

My thoughts are...... mixed.

High school student Do Hoe lives with his brutal father who runs a Taekwondo gym. When cheerful Ju Young arrives to train, they fall in love. An unexpected incident forces them apart, they reunite over a decade years later. Essentially this is a brilliant narrative about finding love at the worst possible time, surviving chronic abuse, and the way we process mental, emotional, and physical trauma overtime. Yes it’s also a romance, but that’s not primarily what this story is actually about. I can recognize its genius, but this type of narrative is not for me. I’m reminded of bittersweet painful shows like To My Star 2, or The On1y One, or even Not Me. Is this BL tangential or is it some other genre entirely? Am I questioning my own taste because I did not like its content, or because I do not like its genre? And if it’s not BL should I even render judgment? I think I have to lean into the way I approached some of those other shows, which is to say: it is not for me but I recognize that it is of an extremely high-quality that is certainly for someone else.

Recommended, but only if you like masochistic cinema. Under those circumstances 9/10

(but know that if i were rating for my personal taste? 7/10 I’m never re-watching this, and there is a small part of me that wishes I never had) 

It's airing but......

Love for Loves Sake got some kind of special supposed to air 11/9. Not sure what, why, or where. Only the rumor that it...... is. I'll believe it when I see it...... literally.

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) 10 eps - I've been reliably told not to bother, so I won't.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - I DNF'd at ep 7, I couldn't make it. I am weak. Life is hard enough right now, this show is making it harder. It’s not what I want from my entertainment.

Bad to Bed (Taiwan Sat YouTube) 10 eps - This is a little too low production value even for me. And just very very odd. DNF

In case you missed it

Uncle Unknown finished its run on YT. Censored Chinese BL with paralytically bad production levels. But certainly BL. Boys reunite after a break up only to discover one of them is the step-Uncle of the other. Much to my own shock and surprise I watched all 12 episodes of this. Fortunately, each episode is about 5 minutes long. Under those circumstances is it worth it? Maybe. It’s bad. But not offensive. So that's a win. And you know me, I love a weird take on the stepbrother’s trope and incest taboos. 5/20 watch it only if you have nothing better to do

Next Week Looks Like This:

Gosh there's a lot on right now.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

November BL:

11/15 Caged Again (Thai Fri Gaga) 10 eps - Penguin escapes zoo by turning into a human. Gets trapped again and a panther falls in love with him.

11/17 Your Sky (Thai Sun iQIYI) 12 eps - A naive freshman and the campus’s popular senior agree to pretend to be a couple - but their fake deal begins to generate real feelings.

11/20 Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai Weds YT) ?? eps - Criminals who meet in prison fall in love

11/20 The Heart Killers (Thai Weds YT iQIYI) 12 eps - Jojo directs FirstKhao & JoongDunk in an action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) who meet a tattoo artist ex-booster (First) and a mechanic (Dunk). I'm highly amused that Joong plays the older brother to Khao and that we have a take on the Taming of the ShrewBL. I like that everyone is morally gray. This has all GMMTV's best chemistry in one BL and some fresh concepts that I've only seen tackled in m/m romance novels (check out Amy Lane's Racing for the Sun, thank me later). I'm excited. My only quibble is Jojo, I like his style but his characters can get unreliably messy so…... this gonna be interesting.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

The insane level of his babygirl heart eyes.

Just, have mercy.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[ghoulishhx]

Heeeyyy I'm back with more Frank Castlr requests cause I can't be normal about him! It's a hurt comfort for past self harm if your not ok writing it I totally understand.

Basically reader was recovering long before she met Frank but celebrates being clean with cake and something nice for herself. Maybe Frank learns about it from an external source or reader explains to him why she's making a cake on a random Tuesday but just all around Frank learning she went through some stuff yet is super proud of her for her progress.

the feeling is absolutely mutual, i also cannot be normal about him so any/all requests with him are wanted!! i also love this prompt, he's such a big ol' softie and i know he would be so understanding with stuff like this!! i hope you enjoy, it's a little on the shorter side so for that i do apologise

i turned 2 years sober myself literally last week, so it was really nice to write this. thank you for the request <3

also heres a lil link for my baddies in the uk who struggle with this and need help, another link for mind. obviously if you're not from the uk, help is easily found online. additionally, if you ever need someone to talk to, my dms are alwaysss open mwah.

18+ MDNI !!

My Masterlist!

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: hurt/comfort, soft frank to the maxxx, fluff upon fluff, praise

TW: mentions and depictions of self harm

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3..2..1..

You take a deep breath, as you watch the clock down to midnight, as if it were New Years Eve. This holiday for you, however, has no fireworks or bells ringing.

It's a random day in the middle of October, a random day that marks 5 years you've been clean. 5 whole years. You wryly smile to you as you watch the clock on your phone turn to 00:00, humming softly in your boyfriend's arms.

"What ya smirkin' at, doll?" he looks down at you as you're tucked up into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing circles with his thumb along your skin, watching you stare at the lockscreen of your phone.

"It's silly Frankie, don't worry about it." you shake your head, biting your lower lip.

You hadn't explicitly told him about what this day means to you, you had an inkling he knew, having seen every inch of your body naked he must've seen your faded scars littered across your thighs and wrists. He never bought it up however, and you're grateful for this. You've had these conversations with exes before, and it always ends with them kissing your skin and saying some dumb shit like "Please stop.. for me.." the thought of hearing Frank say these words makes your skin crawl from cringe, so you decided it best to just never bring it up.

"Nah c'mon baby, ya gotta tell me now, can't leave me in suspense." he pushes, chuckling and pulling you upwards to look at him.

"Okay, just don't be weird, promise?" you hold your pinky out to him to make him swear.

He takes your digit with his and interlocks them together.

"I promise sweetheart."

"Okay.. well.. today's kinda like an anniversary, for me.." you utter, taking a deep breath. Here it goes, "Before we met I used to uhm, self harm. A-and today it's been 5 years since I did it last." you duck your head, embarrassed to be talking about something like this with him, you kept this secret close to your chest, wanting to avoid him finding out about your dark past as much as you could control.

"Well I'll be, good fuckin' job babydoll. 'M prouda ya." he pulls you into tight embrace, kissing the top of your head, squeezing the life out of you. You deeply exhale into his chest, so grateful he wasn't put off or weirded out by you. You should've known he would be supportive, knowing he's been through shit in his life too, arguably worse than yours but this isn't the oppression Olympics. "So proud of ya sweetheart, do ya usually celebrate this typa thing?"

"It's stupid Frank, but I'll bake a cake for myself or something when I come home from work, maybe get take-out." you laugh into his chest. shaking your head in disbelief at your admission.

"'s not stupid baby, it's adorable. Now c'mon, lets get ya to bed." you yelp has he lifts and throws you over his shoulder, giggling all the way to your shared bedroom. Your heart can't help but beat out of your chest, grateful for him and his acceptance.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You sigh as you come home from work, placing your fingers to your temples and trying your best to rub away the stress and tension of the day, closing your eyes trying to stabilize your breathing. You take a deep breath, and when you inhale through your nose you can't help but get your senses invaded by a smell.

Chocolate cake? Who the fuck is baking chocolate cake in my house?

You turn the corner, eyebrows raises and your heart swells in your chest at the sight before you

Frank fucking Castle in your apron, wooden spoon in hand, whipping up frosting.

"Hey pretty girl." he softly speaks, you feel you may be hallucinating, not once in the years you have been together have you seen him bake.

"Frankie.. What's going on?" you smile, placing your bag and coat down on your dining table.

"Well when ya told me last night about you bakin' a cake for your anniversary, I thought ya should have a year off. Pizza's on the way, and desserts almost ready. Go get comfy, 'm almost done." he winks, patting your ass as you walk up to him and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a bruising kiss.

Your eyes fill with tears at the sentiment, not once did you think you would find anyone like Frank. Someone who understood, was willing to do anything to put a smile on your face, someone who didn't judge you for anything in the past.

"I love you Frankie.. I dunno what to say.. Just thank you.. Thank you so fucking much." you can't help the tears from streaming now, happy tears. He takes his flour covered thumbs and wipes them away, kissing your cheeks where the tears poured.

"I love ya more doll, 'm so proud of ya. I know this shit ain't easy to kick, but you did. My strong fuckin' girl." he kisses your lips, thumbs still on your cheeks. You hum into the kiss, feeling completely at ease, grateful to share this milestone with him.

It all got better in the end.

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my inbox is open!

[severus-snaps]

Thinking again about the parallels between Snape and Harry in their youths

Thinking about how Harry doesn't understand what was so terrible about using Parseltongue, but everyone else is convinced that he must be the heir of Slytherin, that it means he's a Dark or Dark-aligned wizard in the making, that being a Parselmouth is inherently questionable or bad

Thinking about Snape not understanding what was so terrible about the dark arts, when it's a fascinating area of study, you need to understand it to combat it, needing to be smart and flexible in your magic, need to be creative with your solutions - and everyone else just thinking he's a total weirdo

Not to ramble about the dark arts too much (or sound too much like a baby Snape), but there's an entire street (Knockturn Alley) and entire shops (Borgin & Burkes) which cater to the dark arts; there are books (Secrets of the Darkest Art? And on the other end of the scale, the book of jinxes and hexes harry wanted to buy his first time in Diagon), Slughorn says it's basically normal for a wizard of a certain level of talent to be curious, they even teach the dark arts in Durmstrang, who are regarded warily but welcome at the tournament. It can't be all inherently illegal or disturbing, though I'm sure some of it is - it's just... considered a bit weird? But not weird or uncommon enough that there's not an entire street for that sort of thing at the centre of wizarding trade in the UK, not books being written, not teachers to teach it. And as one of the more flexible branches of magic, I'd wager that 1. It's really interesting and 2. The Ministry/wizarding world as a whole doesn't like it in part because it isn't the approved/normal way of using magic and not many people seem to be especially creative thinkers, and 3. because it's dangerous, just because experimenting with magic is dangerous (see: Luna's mum)

And yes I can see how easily these sorts of argument would slide into doing really weird magic and maybe eventually some really fucked up, illegal magic. But it's obviously not all illegal either, just viewed as weird, unpopular, or dangerous

Also can anyone else see Lily and Snape having an argument like this in their youth

Also also does anyone think maybe Legilimency is considered by some to be Dark Magic? I know the websites aren't pure canon, but Snape apparently trained a slight natural talent (?) for Legilimency/Occlumency, and other people viewing it that way (certainly in their youth) might explain why Snape enthusiastically researching an obscure branch of magic designed to invade minds might be a little bit weird

[smehur]

Drarry fic recs #5

oxygen [Fic & Art] by @maesterchill

Draco doesn’t smoke. Except when he needs to breathe.

A wonderfully atmospheric rendering of the moment when the tentative friendship hesitantly built through years of unplanned meetings gently turns into a deeper, romantic intimacy. Featuring a lovely, lonely Draco and an incredibly evocative description of the magic hiding in cigarette smoke. 10/10 would read again.

AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? by @rainstormradish

Alrakis • I [24M] attended a small boarding school in the UK. There was a boy in my year, a couple of months younger than me, and he became my nemesis after we developed an intense rivalry. My friend [25F] told me recently that our dynamic was "weird back then" and that "it’s even weirder" that I still think about him today. She argued that I talk about him all the time, but I believe the amount I talk about him is reasonable. AITA? prongymcprongface • i completely get what you mean. i had a nemesis (like a school one, separate to my other nemesis) and we had a dynamic super similar to what you are describing. having a nemesis is a very cool and normal thing dw about it. NTA In which Draco asks the internet if he's being reasonable. Only one commenter is sympathetic. They start talking.

This was so much fun to read, I don't even. A brilliant concept, flawless execution, and bonus points for Draco's online name. ✨👌

For Lack of Wanting by @fluxweeed

Over the last ten years, I’ve worked hard to become a better person. I hate being reminded of who I used to be. But Harry likes it when I’m mean.

I loved this even though it broke my heart. Perhaps because (like with other fics that successfully broke my heart), I could totally see it: a Harry who grows into his fame, a Harry who doesn't look under the surface of things unless forced, a Harry who never spared a serious thought about Draco after the war. And a Draco desperate enough to throw everything away for him anyway. Beautifully crafted and utterly devastating.

By the Grace by @letteredlettered

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Oh, boy. This fic. It left a mark on me. It's the second most literary fic I've read to date (topmost being Running on Air by eleventy7), and by far the most ambitious one. That summary doesn't begin to do it justice. It's a story about the initiative to reveal the wizarding world to the Muggles; the political struggles of those for and against it, including activism, media manipulation, government corruption, and even terrorism; and Harry and Draco in the midst of it all. I also suspect it's brimming with commentary on real life UK politics, but I'm too distant from those topics myself to say more. It is for this ambition, and for the the meticulous creation of a detailed post-war political landscape and the actors trying to shape it, that I wholeheartedly applaud and recommend this fic. Anyone looking for an adult, thought-provoking, political story perfectly set within the Harry Potter world will have an absolute blast with it.

But I can't say I enjoyed it. I picked it up not for the politics, but for the romance. And the romance, while definitely an omnipresent element, was kept so deep in the background, that the reading was an exercise in frustration almost to the very end. This was done purposely, with incredible consistency and discipline, and to great effect, in order to craft the slowest of slow burns. But I, like a kid bored with the things on the news, skimmed through the lot of political discussions (which are what gives the story such a strong literary vibe), constantly looking for the individual, the personal, the relatable; constantly hoping for the feels. And when they came to the fore at last, it was a bit too little, too late.

As much as I admire its ambition and craftsmanship, this is not a story I would read again. But I will never, ever forget it.

Nice Things by aideomai

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

Possibly the softest, gentlest, most soothing story I've read in this fandom so far. Something to come back to when my spirits need a lift. There's a scene (spoiler: it asks and answers the question, "are you fucking with me?") that I read three or four times in a row, smiling wider and wider on each go, and another (someone returning after holidays) that i had to revisit at least twice. This doesn't happen often in my reading! I confess I wished for a more detailed exploration of the developing intimacy (read: smut), but I respect the author's decisions; they left me with a heart full of warmth and a head full of dreams.

Many thanks to the wonderful authors in this fandom for sharing their stories, and to all the readers who help spread the word. ❤️

[inchidentally]

went truly unhinged and wrote an entire fic summary of mafia!carcar @__@ special thanks to the good ppl over at the carcar discord <3

as usual I worked google's p*ssy tired to put together the details so pls ignore/handwave anything erroneous

Okay, so for regional specifications let’s say that Carlos has worked for years to be vouched for in the mafia. He’s actually a spy and in an extremely dangerous position - he was plucked from law school in Spain to be trained up in the intelligence agency and was assigned to Sicily due to his fluency in Italian. So even though he’s only 26, he’s already highly skilled and has been living and working full-time as a secret agent and translator - as well as liaison for the mafia - in Sicily for years already.

Oscar is fresh off his A-levels and touring Italy with lofty dreams of becoming a race engineer for Ferrari but assuming he’ll end up back in the UK in some bland office where he’ll hope to make enough money to go to F1 races - and maybe one day take his rightful place on that pit wall.

Palermo is at the very end of his trip before he flies back to London and he books a tour of the Norman Palace. He’s enjoying the fusion of cultures in the art and architecture, totally unaware that his name had been noticed by one of the palace’s administration when he’d bought the ticket a week before. An untraceable number of emails and messages had brought his existence to the attention of mafiosi who had until that moment assumed that particular royal line had died out. 

They immediately scour what little exists of Oscar in the public domain and the even less available through government authorities (the boy is barely out of childhood and has done nothing of note except leaving his homeland to attend school in the UK and hasn’t even gotten so much as a speeding ticket). His social media however reveals a hunch that young Oscar is not unaffected by handsome men, possibly with a penchant for Spanish men in particular, and that he is an ardent Ferrari fanboy. A hastily put-together plot to snare the boy into the mafia by establishing him in his rightful royal position has all the promise of strengthening the mafia control of the region. 

Meanwhile, many consiglieri have long been suspicious of Carlos and see this as an opportunity for him to commit his oath for good - or to see him and the Oscar boy easily disposed of if the Spaniard was discovered to be a rat. They will install Carlos as a translator for Ferrari and he will then claim that he is also on holiday in Palermo when he “bumps into” Oscar at the palace. As they are marveling at the Palatine Chapel’s interior and Carlos is using Ferrari and himself to work every charm at his disposal, a royal scholar with ties to the mafia will approach and inform them of his suspicion that Oscar is of royal descent. He will then ask them back to the University of Palermo to confirm his suspicions (which had of course already been confirmed). By that point, Oscar will have been successfully wooed by both Carlos and the promise of taking his rightful place as a prince, so that the mafia can insinuate themselves into his life and eventually his reign.

Only Carlos’ training can prevent his dismay from being revealed to his bosses as the plan is described to him, but he’s horrified at dragging some poor, unwitting kid into all the danger and ruthlessness of organized crime. He decides to defy his bosses back at the intelligence agency and play the long game of making Oscar his husband and strategizing at every turn to keep the boy alive and hopefully at some point extricate him back to his normal life - or at least into a witness protection program. Anything else would certainly risk Oscar’s life and even if Carlos hadn’t become fond of the kid from a distance, he still wouldn’t sacrifice him for a shorter route to cutting off an entire arm of organized crime.

The plan proceeds as expected, with Oscar dazzled and blushing over Carlos’ attentions and the royal scholar having approached them. It all suddenly goes awry when an overzealous nephew of a mafiosi - fresh off a 12-hour drug bender - infiltrates operations, taking Oscar hostage in the chapel and insisting that the government immediately recognize Oscar as royalty and that the church marry them there in the chapel. He then turns the gun to dispatch an unarmed Carlos, only to be knocked unconscious by Oscar wielding an antique censer. 

The royal scholar - Andrea Stella - is a good man who now speaks urgently to Carlos in a peculiar coded language (they both have on wires) informing him that he knows of the mafia’s plans and that he too wants to see Oscar kept safe. Oscar surprises them by not only understanding the code but speaking it back - albeit brokenly - to them. The code is known only within the Ferrari elite and sounds identical to everyday Italian but with a sequenced pattern that carries a second meaning to every other word, something that amateur cryptography genius Oscar picks up on remarkably quickly.

Which is how Oscar learns that his claim to royal status is fully valid, his entanglement with the mafia is very real, but worst of all is that Carlos’ romantic interest in him was all a lie (or so he assumes).

The police and media attention that the hostage situation attracts results in the mafia’s plans proceeding as expected, except for all three men pivotal to their machinations being in cahoots to foil them. Oscar is granted status as a prince but without anointing or coronation by the church due to him taking Carlos for a husband. They are installed in a part of the palace now closed off to the public and begin their work ingratiating Oscar with said public and even winning them over to the idea of him being married to another man (Carlos not being Italian ends up being the biggest hurdle for them to get over). Oscar’s youth, beauty, shyness and sweet giggle work unexpected wonders, as does the promise of a return to all the regal romance of a pre-unified Italy while not actually returning to those times politically. 

Carlos and Oscar have a tense private relationship because Oscar is nursing a wounded heart as well as a stubborn attraction and love for Carlos - while Carlos feels ashamed of having tried to seduce Oscar for duplicitous purposes and is also struggling with an intense attraction and growing affection for him. Andrea is the architect of their whole counter-strategy and is both the heart and the brains: the brains because he has lain in wait for decades for the right opportunity to destroy the mafia’s power, but also the heart because he sees Oscar as a son and can also see the misunderstandings going on between Oscar and Carlos.

Oscar is a complete surprise package in having an iron-clad poker face and an uncanny ability to remain calm even as his life is turned upside down that rivals seasoned operatives. He even manages to dupe his own family when they visit for the wedding. When Carlos asks how he can so easily lie to them about it all, Oscar levels him with “I could do anything just to keep them safe.” To which Carlos replies that he knows what Oscar means and raises Oscar’s hand to kiss over the ring he now wears as prince. Then he kisses Oscar at one of the highest points of the palace with Mount Etna visible in the distance.

They begin an all-consuming sexual affair that they both privately claim is beneficial to confirming their relationship to the mafia while conveniently remaining in denial of their real feelings. Carlos pours all of his into kissing every inch of Oscar’s pale skin until he’s pink all over, and Oscar puts all his aching heart into taking Carlos down his throat just out of view of the public or forcing Carlos to handle meetings while Oscar is crouched between his ankles. A few lowly messengers of the mafiosi bring back stories of hearing the prince’s cries punctuated with the banging of furniture against palace walls. Carlos can’t keep his hands off his pretty husband either in public or private conclave with “officials” who are really mafiosi under different titles. 

Meanwhile, Oscar is still presumed by the mafia to be none the wiser about the criminal element of his reign and does such sleek work with his angelic face and adorably unassuming attitude that any lingering discussion of dispatching him is immediately shut down.

Which makes it all the more shocking four years later when a sudden mass assassination frames half the criminal element for the death of the other half and throws the whole of the syndicate in chaos that dissolves their control entirely. The ensuing months see Oscar, Carlos and Andrea sequestered - along with their court - inside the palace which is shut to the public amid fears of another hostage situation, while arrests and investigations take place. 

Tensions across the city are high in the wake of the ensuing widely publicized trials and Oscar insists that a public appearance from him outside the palace would reassure and distract the public - and that it would solidify his position as more than seemingly ceremonial. The palace officials agree to the plan but as they are deciding on the security detail, Carlos realizes his presence alongside Oscar has not been mentioned. 

Later that night in their bedchamber, Carlos raises his concern and states that he will be accompanying his husband during his appearance. Oscar attempts to shut him down by stating that Carlos would only represent a greater threat by seeming to taunt the mafia and encourage retribution. 

They argue until Oscar calmly pulls rank, to which Carlos responds by kissing him fiercely and forcing him onto the bed. They desperately make love and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

The next morning, Carlos awakens in their room alone and with the sun at a suspicious slant through the windows. He realizes Oscar has stolen Carlos’ phone from its usual place by the bed to ensure that he slept in - clearly hoping Carlos would sleep through Oscar’s public appearance entirely. He realizes the little beast had baited him into fucking him so thoroughly that Carlos was exhausted and woke late.

He pulls on clothes and tears down the stairs to the courtyard with just enough time to compose himself and stand beside one of the guards. Oscar is stood out in front with the selected media in a semi-circle and an enormous crowd at barriers set further out, many of whom were calling out affection and support for their prince. He does not see that Carlos has joined them and proceeds with his speech.

Carlos spots the gun at the same time as the guard next to him, but it is aimed at Oscar and not himself. 

As Etna smokes and rumbles in what will be called a mild yet deadly eruption in the distance, two shots are fired after Carlos and the guard wrap their bodies around Oscar and force him to safety. The remaining guards - and a few members of the public - detain the gunman (none too gently) and Carlos and Oscar are bundled back to their rooms and the guards take up position outside.

Inside their bedchamber, Oscar frantically paws at Carlos, wildly suspecting that he’s been shot and doesn’t realize it. He tugs Carlos’ jacket and shirt off and gives a heartbreaking cry of relief when he doesn’t see a single mark on his husband’s body.

Oscar breaks down at last, releasing four years of stress and anxiety in a gust of tears and collapsing in Carlos’ arms. He pours out how he had contrived the mass assassination plan mere months after his life was altered forever in the Palatine Chapel - how he brought Andrea into it to help him with things like the details and movements of mafia members, members who would be willing to work against the family and the risk to innocents, even down to developing a seemingly arbitrary fascination with volcanology so that he could be made aware of Etna’s activity far enough in advance to take the admittedly wild final gambit of disposing the remaining members by having them conveniently perish in Etna’s next eruption. He realized that while conspiring half the local mafia against the larger organization would result in a certain amount of mutually assured destruction, as well as concealing forever Oscar’s role in it, he would have some stragglers to deal with who could regroup in retribution. A suggestion was therefore sent down via Oscar’s court officials to the police loyal to the palace, and then to remaining criminals-at-large (also those with the bloodiest histories in the mafia) of escaping arrest by scaling the crater during a period of high activity and therefore remaining undetected by officials, guides and the public. Their treacherous expedition was promised to take them to the other side of the volcano and then to the coast where boats and new identities would take them from their troubles. 

Oscar had reasoned that if Etna hadn’t taken them then their desire for escaping arrest would scatter them and effectively extinguish their power hopefully forever. Andrea had marveled at Oscar’s command over strategizing the whole plan mostly by himself and said that Ferrari would mourn missing out on hiring him if they knew what he was capable of.

Carlos cradles Oscar on the carpet, kissing his sweat-cold brow and begging to know why Oscar didn’t include Carlos in the plan? Does he still not trust him after all this time? Because if so then he wishes the bullet had found him and put an end to playing husband to the man he loves but who will never love him in return.

Oscar looks up into his eyes with a face full of wonder and brings a hand up to lovingly stroke Carlos’ cheek. Because he kept Carlos out of it precisely so that he wouldn’t do anything stupid like sacrifice himself and ruin Oscar’s hopes that when his plan was finished, perhaps they could start over and he could make Carlos love him the way he loves Carlos.

For the first time, they kiss knowing their love is mutual. And while they realize their positions will always involve some element of danger and their lives will never be “normal”, they admit that they’d never choose any other life if it meant not being together.

ENDITO!

[catenary-chad]

Non-exhaustive list of my increasingly batshit Caboose theories/interpretations

OLC- he got dumped by his railroad with the great caboose layoff at the time and became an agent of the trucking industry instead. He genuinely sympathizes with Dinah for being similarly abandoned, but ultimately crashes engines out of spite/for money.

Any- is a masochist who just loves crashing and/or wants “big strong engines” to beat him up. I mean, he gets jerked around a lot at the back of the train, he probably loves that. He would not be impressed by small steam switchers that can’t pull as hard and don’t accelerate nearly as quickly and gets pissed at Rusty getting in meaning one less full-sized engine to beat him up in an elaborate final crash

Red Caboose- is a Communist boogeyman who “could be anywhere” (also see Lavender Scare gay/communist link) and has ruined Russia, directly wants to wreck capitalism (Greaseball, strongly aligned with private railroads) and neoliberalism (Rusty, because bootstrapping and “only you”), and will take down what remains of the US’s electrified lines (Electra) too. Public ownership of commuter rail (and rail in general) was decried as “communism” post-WWII and that opposition is a major reason why the US has the train problems it does. Government ownership is often demonized despite being the norm elsewhere in the world.

(Either)- Caboose is a Russian agent up to some wacky spy nonsense to destroy US/UK/German infrastructure and keep them trapped in the past. This is done by directly sabotaging trains and making modernization (sorely needed in rail) look bad. May or may not be secretly colluding with Rusty (who he holds back rather than physically wrecks) to push a romanticized “good ol days” rhetoric to normalize regression. The Soviet Union deliberately neglected East Germany’s rail network (including using steam engines into the 80s) and they seem to be something of a symbol of infrastructure decline there.

Red Caboose- Represents John Hinckley Jr and wants to crash someone important thinking it will impress his celebrity crush, Electra. Almost kills Rusty as a Reagan stand-in (who has a similar comeback arc). He doesn’t really care who and doesn’t have any deeper ideology or motivation, he’s totally irrational because that’s how the actual guy was. He’ll even crash Electra directly.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Do you know much about historical cuisine? Saw yet another anime with friends and they went the whole 'modern food always tastes better' bit. I feel tired of the trope and am wondering how different historical cuisine would taste compared to modern times. So anything you happen to know as a historian would be cool to know!

That varies MASSIVELY based on time and location. Like. Much more than fashion does, even, I'd imagine (in a given sub-region- I can talk about Mainstream European and Euro-American Fashion of the 19th CenturyTM but the food was so different in different countries that were dressing the same, if that makes sense? just as an example).

Food is often more globalized in a lot of places nowadays, so the characters might have more diversity of flavors from the regional norm than they're used to. But this could be a good or a bad thing- a woman from 17th-century Japan might love pizza and much sweeter Western pastries, or she might absolutely hate them. Which is not to say regional cuisines haven't evolved, too- a museum here in Boston used to have tastings of 18th-century-style hot chocolate, and it was very different from the modern sort. But that's the largest blanket difference across the globe that I can think of, food-wise.

Not sure what anime this was, so it could have been Japan-specific, but I feel like this gets applied the most to the 19th-mid 20th century UK and United States. The whole Captain America line about "food's better; we used to boil everything," for example, and the general belief that everything was bland mush in those areas until the 1950s and then it was incomprehensible Jell-O mold horrors until approximately the 1980s. And of course, none of that's true- there were plenty of dishes that used spices and different cooking methods, many of which are still popular today. See also: Jonathan Harker, a Normal 1890s Englishman, getting so rhapsodical about paprikahendl that he simply must have the recipe for his fiancee to make. There also WERE bland mushes and fluorescent nightmares, but there's less than ideal food today, as well.

(Note that I'm much less confident talking about the whole English StodgeTM thing as we get into the 20th century. That is outside my history wheelhouse and there's a lot of different stuff embroiled in it relating to class and such that I don't want to talk out my ass about. All I know is that I've seen plenty of recipes from as late as the end of the 19th century, from England and some from urban Scotland if I recall correctly, that made ample use of spices. Nutmeg, mustard, black pepper, rosemary, caraway, and cayenne pepper were especially popular (not all together obviously). There was a belief among the middle and upper classes that strong flavors of garlic and onion were distasteful to ladies, but the fact that cookbooks and such feel the need to mention it implies that those elements WERE being used in cooking generally, in the UK, at that time. So wherever the idea that All British Food Is Beige And Tasteless came from, it wasn't mainstream late Victorian cooking for adults as far as I can tell)

(They gave kids a fair amount of the beige and tasteless because they believed their digestive systems couldn't handle strongly-flavored- okay now I'm getting off topic. Read Ruth Goodman's "How To Be A Victorian." Anyway!)

tl;dr- The answer to "is modern food better?" is "that's literally impossible to answer as a blanket statement, since it's massively dependent on the character's original time, place, social status, and personal taste- and where they end up in the present, of course."

Now, I do agree that the trope is annoying the same way every single princess being totally shocked and appalled when her marriage is arranged gets annoying- not because it can't be true based on history and human behavior, but because fiction treats it as some kind of universal precept. Mix it up a little sometimes! Have a Regency character who comes to the present, finds out that her favorite local cheese isn't being made anymore, and loses her entire mind!

[allofmytoxicity]

What A Waste of a Lovely Night

a/n: Not a request, just thought I'd do this before I fall of the face of the earth again for months. Also, really sorry if I've got the American school system completely wrong. I'm not from the US, I'm from the UK and the exam system is completely different.

Pairing: Angus 'Mac' MacGyver x specky!fem!reader (I promise there is detail involving glasses, but the only reason I added it is because I'm specky.)

Summary: When you are under threat of being overtired, your secret agent boyfriend comes in to save the day.

Fluff Prompt: [19] = getting the workaholic to bed & [16] = star gazing

Word Count: 1.2k

TW: tooth rotting fluff and a tired reader.

In theory, being a workaholic should be Mac's thing.

Being a government agent for an organisation that most of the government itself didn't know about, let alone the world, wasn't exactly relaxing. And that's excluding the fact about him possibly being involved in gun fights, seeing dead bodies and possibly being kidnapped.

That though, is in theoretical terms. Not real life.

The real workaholic out of the two of you, was yourself.

Even though you were a teacher (where ironically enough, both you and Mac could have to deal with guns during work), you still had tons to do.

Teaching films analysis to teenagers who just wanted to get out of school wasn't exactly the easiest job on earth, and the proof was in the fact that you were still sitting on the couch, long after Mac had gone to bed, working on marking practice exam questions as well as making a model essay structure for your students to follow tomorrow in class.

So, when Mac grumbled awake in your shared bedroom to you still not in bed, even though you had told him you would be there soon, Mac did start to worry slightly.

Only slightly though.

The only just awake Mac, groggily got out of bed and started to wander through to the living room where you'd sat yourself since about seven o'clock that evening.

He wasn't surprised to see you still sat there and was even less surprised to see you with your laptop open, work clothes still on and your glasses halfway off your face (totally not this author writing in bed at 1am like she normally does).

"You can't live off energy drinks at work, y'know?" Mac said, leaning against the corner of the wall, watching you with his arms crossed.

Without turning, you reply. "I know. I'll be in bed soon."

The tone felt lifeless and Mac had heard it all before anyway when you had been like this.

The monotonous voice, not caring how close you were to your glasses slipping off your face and comfy in work clothes you would normally rush in and change from almost as soon as you got in the house.

It wasn't normal but it also wasn't strange to see you like this.

Mac, knowing that even after his reminder, you would still be here until you were done, walked further into the room, sitting directly in front of you and carefully grasped your laptop and slowly pulled it away.

Your head snapped up at the action, unsure of what you were going to do if the work you were doing wasn't finished for tomorrow morning.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, Mac. I- I need to finish that work Mac. I need to finish it for tomorrow morning." You plead, looking at Mac with eyes of the same tone.

Mac raises his eyebrows at you as he saves your work and shuts down your laptop. "You're not going to finish anything if you're half asleep and not able to work tomorrow because of it."

You sigh at his statement, slouching back on the couch, finally realising how uncomfortable and tired you were now that Mac had taken your priority.

"I'm honestly surprised with how long it took you to come and confiscate my laptop," you say with a dozy smile, pushing up your glasses. "I genuinely thought you'd come and drag me to bed when you switched out the lights to the rest of the house."

Mac laughed as you yawned, turning to face you now in your dozy state. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

Both of you get off the couch and Mac takes your hand, partly dragging you and partly guiding you towards your bedroom.

Once you get to your room, Mac passes you your pyjamas and you quickly change into the pyjamas that were made up of one of his t-shirts and a pair of running shorts.

After changing, you make your way over to your bed where Mac was sat and readjust your glasses, pushing them up your nose and open your mouth to speak, but Mac beats you to it, his eyebrows raised.

"No, you're not getting your laptop back. Get it tomorrow morning and if I have to stick a bell on you tonight, I will." Mac says and you laugh, shaking your head. He knew what you were going to ask before you opened your mouth.

Trying to defend yourself, you retort back, a dead serious expression making its way onto your face. "I wasn't even going to ask. I was just going to say..."

You trail off, unsure of what you were supposedly going to say and look around the room quickly, spotting the clear night sky outside. "I was just going to say that doing my work tonight wasted the lovely view of the sky this evening."

Mac laughs back at you, nodding his head in a 'yeah, sure' way. "Well, I did offer to go and look at the stars with you tonight but you said that you were busy."

"I'm not busy now!" You reply, a hopeful smile on your face along with some puppy dog eyes that are enlarged even more with the magnification from your glasses lenses.

Relenting, Mac gets up off the bed and walks out the room and you jump up, grinning and wander along behind him as he goes to unlock the glass doors that led out to the fire pit you had outside.

"You're lucky I love you." Mac says and you say a small 'thank you' as he opens the door, leaving the key in the lock on the indoor side of the door.

Wandering out, you plonk yourself down onto the decking, and placing your hands behind you, you gaze up at the dark sky, making out all the constellations that you normally would never see.

A few seconds after, Mac joins you, sitting up close and wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling you even closer than you already were as you both gazed up.

"Mac?" You ask, gaining his attention.

"Hm?" He responds with, looking down at you as your head turns to face him.

"I love you." You say in a quiet voice, a sleepy smile on your face.

"I love you too y/n/n. Even if you are a complete workaholic that stays awake to god knows what hour." Mac replies in the same tone and you breathe a laugh at the last part.

"Yeah, sorry about that." You murmur looking down and Mac moves you slightly so then he could kiss the top of your head.

Rubbing his hand up and down one of your arms now, Mac replies. "It's fine. Gives me a laugh sometimes."

You both sit out there for a while in a comfortable silence, keeping each other in close company and only go back in when you both start to get cold.

"Thanks for that." You mumble as Mac locks the door for the second time that night and puts the key back in the bowl on the kitchen island.

Walking over to you, Mac hugs you. "No worries. It would be a waste of a lovely night if we didn't do that probably." He says as you both move back to your bedroom once again.

Finally taking your glasses off and getting under the sheets, you snuggle into Mac, your shoulders finally relaxing as sleep starts to overtake you.

"Night." You mumble, your voice being muffled by Mac's chest that you were squashed up against.

"Night, y/n." Mac says as sleep takes over you both, warmth radiating off of both of you.

a/n: and we have another fic out!!!!! I'm so proud of myself for actually getting another fic out while also needing to study. Also, for any F1 fans that follow me or read this, wtf actually happened at the brazil GP? It's madness!

Read this to find out who else I write for, and requests are open!

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Muggle Benefits

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You get news about your benefits. Tags: disabled!reader, fem!reader, use of y/n, financial anxiety, bureaucracy and benefits system, pip vs dla, depictions of chronic stress, reluctant disclosure, established relationship, hurt/comfort, soft marauders, james being practical, sirius being protective, remus being emotionally intuitive, emotionally heavy but hopeful, conversations about money, no magic solution, reader struggling with self-worth, magical world vs muggle world contrast Word count: 2.4k words Notes: This references the UK disability benefits DLA and PIP as those are the benefits I am deeply familiar with. Reader gets the benefits she needs in this fic. Series Masterlist

You’re in your room, sitting in your wheelchair by the window, when an owl swoops in, dropping a letter onto your lap before taking off again. Picking it up, you notice straight away that this isn't a normal Hogwarts missive. It's forwarded from home—from your mum—with the distinctive markings of a muggle stamp on the envelope. Its official look makes your stomach churn: Department for Work and Pensions, it reads, followed by your full name and home address neatly typed out.

An icy tendril of anticipation curls around your heart as your fingers, trembling ever so slightly, tear into the paper. You unfold the crisp sheets within, the crinkle seeming too loud in the silent expanse of your private space. You don't need to read the words to know what this is about—you've been expecting it, dreading it, ever since your sixteenth birthday came and went.

The shift from Disability Living Allowance to Personal Independence Payment was never going to be easy. Even though you were on the highest rate for DLA, the spectre of applying for PIP had loomed over you like the shadow of some unnameable beast. But at least this means they've made a decision—right?

You unfold the letter, your heart pounding as you scan the printed lines. Words and phrases jump out at you: "award," "enhanced rate," "daily living component"—each one a shard of hope piercing through the fog of uncertainty.

A gasp leaves your lips before you can stop it. Enhanced rates for both the daily living and mobility components. You knew what this could mean in theory, but seeing it confirmed in black and white sends a jolt through you that's part relief, part disbelief.

"Your weekly amounts will be..." Your eyes flicker down to the numbers, then widen. For daily living, £108.55. For mobility, £75.75. A total of £184.30 every week—equivalent to £737.20 every four weeks. The figures blur before your eyes, a sudden rush of emotion making them swim.

This is more than you were expecting. More than you dared to hope for. It's significantly higher than the £434.20 you've been receiving on DLA every four weeks. But it's also a lifeline. With this, you might just stay afloat.

Unconsciously, your fingers tighten around the paper, creasing its edges. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, not from joy but from sheer, overwhelming relief. Your shoulders slump as tension seeps out of them, leaving you feeling strangely light.

But there's a knot in your stomach that won't unwind. Not yet. Because now comes the hard part: explaining all of this to James, Sirius, and Remus—your partners who share your heart but live in a world where money works differently, where disability isn't quantified by assessments and payment tiers.

They've seen you in pain, held you through dizzy spells and fatigue so deep it feels like gravity itself pulling at your bones. But they haven't seen the paperwork, the assessments, the endless justifications to faceless bureaucrats who hold your financial stability in their hands.

And why would they? This is a part of your life that exists outside Hogwarts' stone walls, tangled up in muggle laws and systems too complex to explain between classes or over dinner in the Great Hall. You haven't hidden it—not consciously, anyway—but when has there ever been time to sit down and discuss something as mundane as benefits?

But now, with this letter clutched tight in your grasp, you realise how much you've kept from them without meaning to. The PIP application alone took hours filled with medical jargon and questions designed to strip away dignity piece by piece. And then came the assessment—a probing examination that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable in ways you can't begin to articulate.

You sit on your bed, the letter still in your hands. The parchment is smooth beneath your fingers, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. How do you explain this world of assessments and payments, of medical evidence and tribunal appeals? How can you make them understand what it means to be constantly evaluated, your worth determined by a system that sees only limitations?

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes until you see stars. You want to keep this part of your life separate, tucked away where it can't touch the magic of Hogwarts or the warmth of their love for you. But you know it's futile. This isn't just about you anymore; it's about all four of you.

The realisation settles heavily in your chest, its weight threatening to crush you. But there's also relief—a glimmer of hope amidst the fear. They're your partners, after all. They deserve to know, even if the truth is messy and complicated.

Your hand hovers over the envelope, then slowly, resolutely, you fold the letter back along its creases. It fits snugly inside, like a secret waiting to be shared. As you seal it once more, you make a silent promise—to yourself, to them—not to hide any longer.

A knock at the door startles you out of your thoughts. "Y/N?" James calls through the wood, his voice muffled but unmistakable. "Can we come in?"

You clear your throat, tucking the letter behind you as you call back, "Yeah, it's open."

The door swings inward, revealing James first, his glasses slightly askew and a sheepish grin on his face. Sirius follows, his hair tousled from the wind outside, carrying a plate stacked high with sandwiches. Behind them, Remus slips into the room, balancing several cups precariously in his arms.

"Hope you're hungry," Sirius says, setting the food down on your bedside table. "We may have liberated some things from the Great Hall."

Despite everything, you can't help but laugh. "Liberated, huh? I think there's another word for that."

James flops onto the bed beside you, his arm brushing against yours. The contact sends a jolt through you—comforting, familiar. Safe. He nudges you gently, a playful glint in his eye. "Well, if you don't want any..."

"Hey, I didn't say that." You reach for a sandwich, taking a bite and savouring the taste of something other than worry. For a moment, everything feels almost normal again.

Almost.

Remus sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching you with soft concern. "You okay, Y/N? You seem a bit... off."

"Yeah," Sirius adds, frowning slightly. "Is everything alright? Did something happen while we were gone?"

There it is—the question you've been dreading and longing for all at once. You set your sandwich aside, suddenly aware of the letter still hidden behind you. Could you brush it off, tell them it's nothing? Maybe. But that would only delay the inevitable. And you owe them more than half-truths and deflections.

"No, nothing happened," you begin, reaching behind you for the envelope. Your fingers close around it, the edges sharp against your skin. "I just... got some news today. News I should probably share with you."

James leans closer, curiosity sparking in his hazel eyes. "News? What kind of—"

His words cut off as you bring the letter into view, its official seal catching the light. "News about my DLA and PIP."

The boys' expressions shift at your words—curiosity giving way to confusion—as they exchange a glance.

"D...L...A?" James repeats slowly, as if testing the unfamiliar acronym on his tongue. "What's that?"

"Disability Living Allowance," you explain, tracing the edge of the envelope with your thumb. "It's money I've been receiving from the government for years because of my disabilities."

You look up to find them watching you intently, the earlier levity gone from their faces. Even Sirius has stopped eating, his sandwich half-forgotten on the plate before him.

"And PIP... it's Personal Independence Payment." Your voice is steady, betraying none of the anxiety coiling in your stomach. "When you turn sixteen, you have to apply for it instead of DLA."

"So this..." James gestures towards the letter, brow furrowed in thought, "this is about whether or not you'll get that payment?"

"Exactly." You nod, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The room feels suddenly smaller, the walls closing in as you peel back layers of a reality you'd hoped never to expose them to.

"But why didn't you tell us?" Sirius asks, his grey eyes searching yours. "We could've helped somehow, couldn't we?"

"That's just it, Sirius," you sigh softly, folding your hands in your lap. "There's no magic solution here. Just paperwork and waiting and hoping they see me as disabled enough."

You can see the questions forming in their minds, the gears turning as they try to make sense of something so alien to their world. But there's also understanding dawning in their eyes—a shared acknowledgement of the unseen battles you fight every day.

“They've awarded me the enhanced rate for both daily living and mobility components," you explain, your voice barely more than a whisper. "It's... it's higher than what I was getting on DLA."

The relief that floods you is palpable, but so too is the guilt—for every pound they give you, there are countless others who need it just as much, if not more. You swallow hard, trying to stave off the lump forming in your throat.

"That money helps with all the extra costs that come with being disabled," you continue, willing your hands to stop shaking. "Medical supplies, mobility aids, adaptations to my home..."

"And let me guess," James interjects, his tone edged with frustration, "the magical world doesn't have anything like this? We're expected to just pay for everything ourselves?"

Your laugh is hollow, void of any real humour. "Got it in one. No help for potions, tests, nothing."

Sirius' brow furrows deeper at your words, his gaze shifting between you and the letter still clutched tightly in your hand. "But that's... that's not right. It's not fair."

“That's just it, isn't it?" you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Fair doesn't really come into play."

Remus, who has been silent until now, leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes never leave the letter as he absorbs each word, each implication with a quiet intensity that speaks volumes.

Sirius shifts closer to you, his arm settling around your shoulders—a protective barrier against the tide of injustice threatening to pull you under. You lean into the embrace, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

"But what does this mean for you now?" James asks, ever practical amidst the emotional storm. "You said the PIP is higher than the DLA—how much more are we talking?"

"You don't have to—" Remus begins, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

"It's okay," you assure them, pulling the envelope open once more. A sense of finality settles over you as you unfold the crisp paper inside. "I want you to understand."

"DLA was £108.55 per week," you begin, tracing your finger along the printed lines of text. "PIP... the daily living component is £108.55 per week, so the same as DLA, but the mobility component is £75.75 per week."

"So that's an extra seventy five quid every week," James murmurs, mostly to himself. "Every four weeks, that'll be..."

"Around seven hundred and forty pounds, or three hundred pound more than I got before," you finish for him, tucking the letter back into its envelope. The room falls silent again, save for the distant hum of life outside the castle walls. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine a future not so constrained by financial burdens—a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty.

"Well, then," James says at last, breaking the silence with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Guess we won't be running out of chocolate frogs any time soon."

"More than that," says Remus, his voice carrying a note of gravity. "It means Y/N can afford the care they need without constantly worrying about money."

"Yes," you agree, though your mind still races with what-ifs and how-tos.

The conversation continues, branching out from the benefits themselves to broader implications—what this means for day-to-day living, for future plans, for the fear that has been a constant companion since your diagnosis. Their questions are not limited to the financial aspect, but also extend to what you need, how they can help, and what this means for you going forward.

"You'll have more freedom now, won't you?" Sirius asks, his arm tightening around you ever so slightly—a silent promise of support that warms you despite the chill seeping in through the stone walls.

"I suppose so." A half-smile tugs at your lips as you consider the possibilities. More independence, less reliance on others—it's a daunting prospect, but one tinged with hope.

For a moment, silence settles over the room once again, broken only by the crackling fire and distant sounds of life beyond these ancient walls.

"How do you feel about it all, really?" James finally asks, leaning back in his chair with an air of cautious curiosity.

You pause, considering the question. How do you feel? Relief, certainly. Hope, perhaps. But there's something else too—a sense of unease that lingers just beneath the surface, gnawing at the edges of your newfound optimism.

"It's... complicated," you admit, tracing invisible patterns on the worn upholstery beneath your fingers.

"But we're here for you, Y/N," Remus assures you, reaching across the space between you to place a comforting hand on your arm. "Whatever you need, however we can help—we're in this together."

His words hang heavy in the air, each syllable underscored by the sincerity etched into his features. You glance at each of them in turn—James with his earnest concern, Sirius' protective gaze never wavering, and Remus, steady and unwavering like the moon itself—and something inside you shifts.

It's not pity you see in their eyes, nor discomfort at the reality of your situation. Instead, it's understanding—or, at least, the desire to understand—that shines back at you.