#“Ey up mate. Tha looks like tha could do wi’ a lie down.”

[dizstermania]

biggest mistake is picking a random place in britain and not doing any research on it. these yorkshire slangs and phrases are so bad I CANT

[thomasstalsworth]

A Birthday Evening Surprise

“Naw -- naw, naw … like, blue. You know, not like th’blue y’got right there -- blue-blue. Blue.”

It was difficult to see the gnomish tailor beneath the many, many -- many -- swatches of color he was holding. Indeed, the passing observer could be forgiven for wondering just how many hands the gnome had. Four .. seven? There were swatches of cloth of all color, texture, and pattern. They were all varying states of ‘blue’, or at least some variation of ‘aquatic’. None, however, appeared to satisfy the suntanned man on the other end of the counter.

“Naw … see -- it’s gotta be blue. Like, blue.”

“... I could not more clearly be holding ‘blue’, sir.”

With the faintest hint of irritation fighting through the slake of customer service, the gnome shook his arms. The motion made it look like he had wings made of tailoring-swatches, attempting to achieve lift-off in a hundred shades of ‘blue’.

“Y-yeah, naw I see that. But I mean really blue, you know?”

Above the curl of his pink moustache, the gnome’s left eye twitched. It was not an overt expression. Perhaps the vague concept of the man someday purchasing something was enough to stifle the otherwise overwhelming inner irritation inside the tailor. Again, he waggled the many, many swatches of colorful, textured cloth.

“... I am capable of dying any sensibility of ‘blue’ you desire. However you must tell me what exact coloration you have a desire for, sir. Aquamarine -- ?” The gnome waggled his left forefinger, indicating a swatch of the color at question. “-- Ultramarine?” Again, he thrust a digit to and fro to make marker of the one -- of many -- swatches.

“Periwinkle?”

“Midnight?”

“Navy?”

“Sapphire?”

“Teal?”

“Fluorescent?”

“Suramarian?”

“Baby?”

“Powder?”

“Icy?”

“Arctic?”

“Lordaeronian?”

“Alteraci?”

“.. Light Alteraci?”

“Neon?”

And on, and on -- and on it went.

Time became a bare, vacant concept in the mind of the poor tailor. His sense of self began to dissolve as the expansive of chronological nothingness continued unabated. All that remained to ground him to the gentle sensation of reality was the burning of his arms as the swatches remained held in his hands. That and the ‘blue’ -- the ever present, unyielding and uncompromising ‘blue’ which took hold of his mind. There was nothing but blue. It invaded his thoughts, his senses -- everything color-shifted, and even the inane babble of the man was reduced to various shades and tints of the aquatic color.

Then, right about when the tailor’s ego was experiencing its final death knell -- salvation came.

“... Wait, what abou’ that one?”

The inescapable spiral of mental desolation suddenly had a rope ladder. With far more speed than was necessary, the gnome desperately attempted to look for the swatch which the man referred to. He may have snapped his own neck were it not for the bundle of swatches which he was having to hold up with his chin.

“-- Which? Which one!?”

“That one, right there.” The man extended a fat finger to tap a simple, well-dyed swatch.

“... Navy?”

“Yeah! That one’ll do. Navy. Appropriate, figure’n. Good, rich color. Can we have it made wi’ that color n’ cloth?”

The anger -- and disbelief --  which simmered beneath the gnome was immense. Were it a meal, it could have fed a hundred -- no, a thousand of Gnomeregan’s hungriest. Yet the promise of a sale kept the white-hot rage caged with the peppy veneer of customer service.

“... Of course. Of course we can. I can have it ready by this afternoon.” Anything to get you out of here and away -- far away.

“Tha’ sounds great! Here … “ The man produced the appropriate purse of coin, paying for the services. Albeit perhaps not for the exact time expended. All the same, he exited with a polite smile of broad teeth, and a wave of his fat-fingered hand.

“Great Maker … “ The gnome groaned in protest, eyes rolling as he dropped all the swatches, bundles, and fabrics into a heap on the counter.

---

Thomas had never been a huge fan of Boralus.

Sure, it was the market-hub and port capital of Kul’Tiras. There were stalls, markets, storehouses and shop fronts for everything under the stars. Rare was the oddity unfound amidst the merchants, tradesman, and seaside hawkers. There was a kind of beauty, indeed, to the Tradewinds in full afternoon swing. Shoulder-to-shoulder, screaming sellers all out-bidding each other on the most peculiar objects. How much was the fair, going price for lizard gizzard? South Sea Barnacle juice? Imported Vrykul ‘whiskey’ from the Howling Fjord? How much a pint -- a gallon?

The roar of the mercantile crowds gave a boon to Thomas’ already blooming smile.

Still, he was a Crestfall born man, and proud of it. Despite the short length of his life on that particular island, he had always found a deep kinship to it. A rememberance which followed him all through his days. Perhaps it was the idyllic recollection of youth -- but everytime he had gone back to visit, for various and sometimes unscrupulous reasons, he had found every hill to be the mountain he remembered; each stream a roaring river. Good thoughts.

The trek from the gnome’s tailoring shop was a short one. He was almost home as it was -- Boralus was suddenly rather a close destination, relatively speaking, to where he laid his head.

Stormholme.

A duchy, as it were -- and he its Duke.

That thought still made his southernly orifices clench up. It gave him the same sensation to consider as a windy day in the crow’s nest. That odd combination of excitement, fear, and abject confusion.

Through the crowds of the Tradewinds, Thomas made his way. He heft his posterior up the seastone stairs which brought man, beast, and cargo from the outer wall dockyards to the interior of the city. Passing memory gave him idle consideration of a time wherein the idea of foreigners rubbing knuckles with the inner city guard was unheard of. With a pouching of his lower lip, he tried to remember seeing a single foreigner in his youth …

An elf? Maybe? -- Oh, no, yes, there was one.

One of the auburn caterpillars which made their home on his face wiggled. It curled, turning on itself to arch in silent contemplation. He did remember an elf. She was a … ‘Quel’dorei’? What did the elves call High Elves? High was right -- she was tall. Legs which went on from sunrise to sunset, and a rear end like a ripe --

“HEY!”

Thomas took the sudden force to his shoulder in stride, instinctually aligning himself to stand proper. Sea legs did good on land as well, it turned out. The man whom he had accidentally rammed into whirled about like he was ready to whallop Thomas -- but halt at recognition.

“You barnacle-cock son of a -- … Tom? TOM! Well shit in m’pants and call me a baby! Ain’t that the Big Iron, as I live an’ steal breath? Fuck on and piss, come here!”

A sandy-haired man of wide shoulders and thick man-carpet, the perpetrator of recognition rolled forward to grasp at Thomas, hugging him. It took a moment, enough for Tom to slowly put his arms around the man before --

“OH! Piss’n ma’ boots, how’n the fel are ya’? Been more’n a minute since I caught sight of the ruddy salt-stained hog call’t ‘Owen McManus’!”

Owen released him, smiling with a shit-grin to match Thomas’ best.

“Been more’n, aye. You still runnin’ your slag-heap cock up an’ down the Eee Kay?”

“Naw, naw -- long story, ain’t done none a’ that in some time. Been a maelstrom a’ life fer’ me lately, ma’ boy.”

“That a damn fact? Well shit -- you gon’ have to split a keg with me an’ regale. I’ve been runnin’ rope with these absolute bastards up’n from Freeman’s Bones. A real salty stack a’ bitches, I promise. Proper drinkers, may even make you see double -- ha!”

The ache of old memories -- and a life now gone -- began to creep up Thomas’ spine. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Like the nibbling of liquor when you thought you’d been drinking ‘virgin’ cocktails at a party too high-heel for you.

“Shit, piss n’ damnation … I ain’t been down to Freeman’s in a long time. They ever fix th’fucking stilts on that pub? Or is it a half a ball-bag from th’salty brine by now?”

“Oh, fuck’n no! You know Halloway is too cheap fer’ that. She’s gonna let the patrons wade in at the knee before she actually pays a carpenter.”

The smile which ate up both men’s faces was as genuine as could be. Old friends splitting old words. It felt good.

“-- Well shit, McManus. Light’s honest truth be tol’, I gotta be on a gryphon by …“

Thomas checked his bare wrist, as if there were something to tell him his time.

“... an hour ago. Believe it or not -- an’ I know this’ll keep yer’ curiosity enticed until I can fuck a keg open with ya’ -- I’m damn’t married now. A real proper lady, as it were. Chil’ren too, two girls.”

There was the sudden hooting, horning, and general catterwalling of laughter. A thick, hearty laughter which only found itself a home in the throats of the working class. Eventually though, Owen quit chuckling and simply stared.

“-- Yer’ serious?”

“Aye, am.”

“Well .. fuck. How’n the fel-fuck am I abou’ to get a gal spread-eagle now? You got a wife, where’n the fuck’s m’first mate gonna be when we hit th’pub?”

A fat finger rose from Thomas’ fist, waggling at the sandy-haired man.

“First of all -- y’were always my first mate. We both know I’m prettier, an’ end a’ day -- ladies prefer t’saw a hardwood log. Second a’all -- gonna have t’rain check the pub. I’m serious, gotta be on m’way. Got a wife’s birthday t’surprise.”

Owen threw his hands up -- nearly clocking a passing merchantman in the jaw -- and sighed.

“Fine! Fine … but you come’n by Hops Line n’ Sinker by end a’ week, ask fer’ me -- or I’ll be weepin’ like a maid in her milk-shirt. Good t’see ya, Tom.”

“Good t’see you too, McManus.”

And with that, they parted ways. In good timing too, as the winged beast which was to ferry Thomas was indeed, soon to depart. Not an hour hence, that was a lie. But there were few ways to escape the hookings of a McManus ‘evening out’. So after another walk around the Tradewinds, soaking in the sights -- and some of the liquor -- Thomas returned to retrieve the item of his earlier purchase.

Happily, the gnome handed it over, all done up in a silvered gift box. Wrapped together with a neat, blue bow, the package was easily passed long to Thomas. With a tippance of another golden coin for the fine -- and speedy -- work, he left. Much to the happiness of the proprietor.

It was only hours -- albeit some in succession -- before Thomas was home. He did his usual post-gryphon-ride ritual of almost vomiting, clenching his cheeks, and checking to make sure he had not, in fact, soiled himself at some point during the journey.

He did not -- this time.

With all of his sanitary interior squared away, he crept into the manorhouse of the estate. Not the easiest feat, seeing as he was sort-of known there. Being the Duke was a bit of a burden in the stealth department, certainly. But -- he was used to avoiding detection. It was not as easy as it used to be. Back in the old days, he could simply wrap his hair up in a bun, tie it with a bandana, and stand with one hip cocked out -- the Stormwind Guard often mistook him for a poor-off lady-of-the-night. Atleast, when the lanterns were dim.

Thomas crept into he and Anna’s shared room. He looked around, eyeing the dark chambers. She was not in for bed -- not yet. With a flick of his gaze, and the gift box under one arm, he checked the time on their clock. Massive, ornate thing that it was -- five to tenth bell. Perfect!

Coming forward toward the bed, he carefully lit a pair of candles on the nightstand. A flick of a match did the job -- a fire he kept far from the gift box under his arm. Then --

With a shimmy, Thomas began the swift process of undressing.

First his boots came off, unlaced awkwardly with one arm and toed aside. He kicked the stout leathers beneath a desk, hidden for now. Similarly he tossed his coat, hurling it through the opening to their off-suite bathing chambers. Hopefully it did not land in the tub. After that, the rest of his clothes were summarily dumped within an open drawer and stuffed shut for later recollection. Now that was not important. Now? It was game-time. If his recollection of his wife’s schedule was correct, she should be coming in for bed any minute.

With himself now fully nude -- at least aside from the auburn carpet which gave him a wool tank-top and shorts -- he climbed aboard their four-poster. He fussed a few minutes, arranging and rearranging the bedding to best support his grand posture. One leg cocked up, knee raised up, other leg splayed outward, holding himself up in a pose to show off his chest. One hand was balled to a fist, aligned at his jaw -- jaw pressed out in handsome fashion, of course -- while the other clutched …

An anchor.

Well, a pillow, really. It had been within the nearly arranged gift-box. A masterful work of tailoring. The ‘pillow’ was gargantuan, more of a faux-body than anything. It was large enough to be quite the cuddle-buddy within a cloak of blankets, were need to arise. Slightly fuzzy, effortlessly soft, and wreathed in the most noble of Navy-blue dye. At the very bottom corner, on the rightmost arch of the anchor, was enscribed a tiny, golden ‘f a h’.

He held it over his groin.

And now … now all he had to do was wait.

@elaianna

[albionscastle]

Never Been Kissed

Just a little imagine based on a couple of different conversations that have been going on the past few days.

In particular for @disneydirectioner

The last part was specifically for you @deathbylowden @wardley10 and @outofworkactress

Fic Masterlist

What happens when, the night before a big romantic scene, Jack discovers that his co star has never actually been kissed before.

NEVER BEEN KISSED

“Cut!” The director called it and you were able to finally let out the laugh you’d been holding in.

“Bloody hell, Jack, what was that?” you were as doubled over as you could be in your corset.

“Tha was me impression of a coo. Why, did ye no like it?” he looked overly offended, holding a fist over his heart as though you had wounded him.

“Jack you sounded like a constipated sumo wrestler.”

“Now tha hurts lass.”

You shook your head, moving away from the cameras to your set chair and trying in vain to sit comfortably with half a mile of metal caging squishing your insides.

“Need some ‘elp?”

“The jaws of life maybe. Why do you get to be comfortable?”

“Cause lasses didna wear trousers in 1743.”

“Neither did the lads.” you retorted with a pointed look at the long kilt he had draped around him.

“But ye look far better than we do, so ther’s tha’.”

You conceded his point, but only because talking took air away from breathing, and you needed to breathe. Still, you couldn’t help but mutter ‘bastard’ under your breath as he swung his kilt while sauntering away.

It really was a hell of a view.

It was hours later when you stood in the wardrobe trailer, your assistant and pal popping you out of the corset one hook at a time.

“Oh. My. God. That feels so good.” You moaned as you shed all the layers, gulping down huge lungfuls of air. “Now I’m hungry.”

“Call room service at the hotel, you need to prep for tomorrow.”

“Sliding back into your jeans and jumper you looked at her confusion.

“I’ve already got all my lines down for tomorrow’s scenes.”

“They added a few things.” “What things?”

“I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel.”

“Now. Show me now.”

Reluctantly, she pulled some papers from her bag, the highlighted parts indicating the new additions to the script.

“Oh. Shit.” you breathed.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But why?”

“They said that Susan was so impressed with the chemistry you and Jack have, that she wanted to ramp it up a notch.”

“So I have to kiss him them.”

“Looks like it.”

“Well that's just fucking great, what am I going to do?”

You both looked down the hotel corridor as you walked, your anxiety mounting. It wasn’t that you had a problem kissing Jack, per se. You’d have to be daft to not want to. This was your first role, Susan having literally plucked you off the street, plonking you in the middle of the ensemble. You were a writer, not an actress, but the experience so far had been fun. Jack was an amazing man to play make believe with and he was incredibly kind and supportive.

The fact that he was quite possibly the most gorgeous man on the planet was something that you studiously tried to ignore.

“Why don’t you just talk to Jack. Seems like he’d probably understand, maybe even give you a few pointers.”

“Riiiiight.” you scoffed as you fiddled with your key card. “I’ll just walk up to my suave, gorgeous, man-of-the-world co-star and say ‘Hey Lowden, I know I’m 25, but hey, I’ve never been kissed so…’ I’m sure once he’s done laughing, the whole situation will be magically salvaged.”

“Well hon, it’s either that or your first kiss is going to be on camera, in front of the whole crew and then EVERYONE is going to know. At least Jack might be able to tell you how to hide it better.”

“Shut up. I hate it when you’re right.”

“Let me know ok, I’m going to get myself some dinner.”

You closed your door as she walked off, neither of you noticing Jack’s partially open door across from you.

There was a third option, you thought with glee a little while later. Slithering into your favorite dress, the one that really showed off your figure you left your room with a grim determination. All you had to do was go down to the bar and snag a guy, any guy would do. A few drinks and some light making out and your problem would be solved. Ok, so maybe more than a few drinks, you thought, looking around at the selection of dudebros and riff raff you were faced with. There were some admittedly handsome lads, but none you could see yourself kissing. Jack’s face swam behind your eyelids, another couple of drinks should fix that problem.

Four whiskeys in and you had a pleasant buzz going on and an attractive blonde bro had caught your eye. Floppy hair and a rugby jersey accompanied a confident smirk and you figured you may as well take the plunge. Emptying your glass you pointedly smiled at him before turning back to the bar. Waiting. You weren’t disappointed.

“Can I buy you a drink sweetcheeks?”

Blondie stood next to you, elbow on the bar, eyes looking you up and down. You felt out of your element and smiled, quickly trying to squash the feeling. You opened your mouth to accept but instead heard a voice from the other side of you that made your heart drop into your feet.

“No’ tonight, mate. Sorry.”

Blondie took one look at the glowering Scotsman and raised his hands, backing away from the bar. And with him went option 3. Son of a bitch

“Wha’ exactly are ye abou’ lass?”

“Having a few drinks, you scared my friend away.”

“He wasnae yer friend, lass.”

“Could’ve been.” you muttered, irrationally angry at him.

“Oh he was aimin fer a lot more than ye had planned darlin.”

“How would you know?”

“Cause I heard him, when I came in. This wasna smart move y/n.”

“I can take care of myself, you know. I’m a grown-ass woman.”

“Aye.” his mouth was against your ear suddenly. “But yer no an experienced one are ye?”

The blood drained from your face, shocked by his words.

“I’ll admit, this was an inspired plan, but no without it’s flaws. What were ye goin tae do when he wasna willin tae stop wi’ a kiss?”

This was humiliating. You had never been so embarrassed in all your life.

“How are you even here, Jack?”

“I heard ye in the hall earlier. Then I saw ye leave in tha’ dress, wasna hard to put tha’ together.” he shrugged.

“No exactly, I didna close close my door properly and I was fair tae fixin it when I heard ye. I didna mean to listen, but I’m glad I did.”

“Why? So you can witness my humiliation in all its technicolor glory?”

“Nae, so I can stop summan far worse than a bad first kiss from happening.”

“What can be worse than this?” you whispered miserably.

“C’mon lassie, les go upstairs and talk abou it.”

That was honestly the last thing you wanted to do. You would prefer to go hide in your room, under the blankets. Forever. Which wouldn’t help you at all tomorrow. And it wasn’t as though Jack was going to let it go, one look at his face told you that much. He was scowling at Blondie while he took your arm, making sure you didn’t sway while you walked.

An awkward silence in the lift followed as you leaned against opposite walls. You watched him, head down, fingers drumming on the rail behind him, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. Feeling like an idiot and like a teenager being picked up from an illicit party by a disapproving parental figure, you just hunched your shoulders miserably.

Wordlessly he ushered you through the door of his room, switching on the light to reveal a bit of a mess.

“Oh, shit sorry, I didna have time tae clean up today.” You could have sworn he blushed as he scooped clothing off the couch and kicked shoes to the side. The bed was unmade and looked as though a wrestling match had taken place. He was either a very restless sleeper or he wasn’t sleeping alone. He followed your gaze, quickly smoothing out the blankets and pillows.

“I don sleep so well in new places.” he shrugged, looking embarrassed.

“S’ok, my room usually looks like a bomb’s gone off.”

It was a lie. Yours was spotless and Jack was obviously a messy shite. To be honest you found that flaw in him adorable, and less intimidating. Perhaps he was a mere human after all.

He motioned for you to sit on the couch, taking the bed across from you and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Why did ye think ye couldna tell me?”

“You kept your head down, fiddling nervously with your nails.

“It’s humiliating.”

“Why is tha’ so?”

“Come on Jack, I’m 25 years old.”

“So. I donnae see what yer age had tae do wi’ it.”

“Had you been kissed at 25?” you snapped.

“Aye lass, I’d done me fair share o kissin afore I was 25.”

“Then you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. Look Y/N, I ken ye dinnae know me tha’ well, but ye can trust me.”

You took a deep breath, chancing to look up at him. He leaned towards you earnestly, blue eyes full of concern, but completely devoid of scorn, pity or laughter.

“What was your first kiss like?”

“Awful. I was 16 and thought I was the shite. Gemma was the prettiest girl in school and she invited me tae kiss her behind the shed. I didnae know what I was doin and she laughed at me. Said if she’d wanted a spit bath she’d ave snogged a coo. It was humiliatin.”

“I’m having trouble picturing that to be honest.” “The verra next day I took me savins and went tae visit Krista. It were rumored she would teach ye fer the right price.”

“Did she?”

“She did and by the next Monday I was an expert, well as much as a teenage boy can be.”

“Did you ever kiss Gemma again?”

“Naye, but I did kiss all her friends.”

“Slut.” you muttered, snickering at the ridiculousness of the story he’d just told.

“Tha’s me, lass.” he laughed. “So what’s yer story? Ye cannae tell me a girl like you hasna had offers.”

“You’d be surprised.” you murmured. “I was a really, really shy teenager, and it's not like I’m frigid or anything. I had crushes. But none of them were ever interested.”

“Idiots.” he whispered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothin luv, go on.”

“I don’t know, I guess I always imagined it to be a certain way. A magical moment, like in Princess Diaries.”

“The foot poppin kiss?’ he grinned.

“Yeah, I know it's stupid but I always wanted it to be romantic and special and I guess I just waited too long for something that doesn’t exist.”

“It's no stupid, not even close.” he leaned forward further, resting his hands over yours. “What was stupid was tha stunt ye tried tae pull tonight. There was nothin fuckin magical ‘bou tha.”

“It was pretty dumb wasn’t it?” you sighed.

“Yer lucky I was there tae rescue ye from lettin tha’ knob slobber all over ye.”

“Ew.” you shuddered, the thought making you feel a little ill.

“What’s yer favorite song?” he asked suddenly, hopping up from the bed.

“Ummmm,” confused about the sudden topic change you furrowed your brow.

“I could guess, but it would be quicker if ye told me.” his phone was in his hand, fingers playing across the screen.

You huffed out the name of it, a cliched overly romantic piece of musical fluff if ever there was one.

He chuckled, pressing a button.

“I didnae even haf tae download tha’ one. C’mon over here would ye?”

You stood up on shaky legs, following him when he opened the door to the small balcony, reaching back to switch off the light in his room.

The song started to play softly and he put his phone down, holding out a hand to you. You took it, gasping when he tugged you closer, placing your hand on his shoulder, his arm sliding around your waist.

“Close yer eyes.”

You did, the darkness amplifying the music, the warmth of the man holding you, the sound of waves crashing against cliffs nearby. Your heart pounding in your ears.

“Keep em closed, ok lass.”

“Ok.”

For several bars of the song he swayed with you, moving your other hand to his shoulder. He moved a half-step closer, palm sliding down your arm to rest on the back of your neck.

Your breath escaped in a whoosh a split second before you felt his mouth brush over yours like a feather, beard tickling your skin.

“Oh.”

He smiled against your lips, adding pressure as his mouth covered yours, hot and damp. Lips moved against yours, gentle and slow as though there was all the time in the world. With his fingers on your neck he tilted your head to the side, nose sliding along your cheek, the new angle giving him more access. Pure instinct had you moving your lips against his, his little grunt of encouragement giving you confidence.

Heat began to pool in your belly, your body leaning closer to his heat. The tip of his tongue darted to the corner of your mouth and sparks seemed to shoot through you.

“Open fer me lass.” he murmured against you, prompting your lips to part on a sigh. “Tha’s better.” His voice was ragged, breath hot and heavy your your mouth as his lips moved against yours. You couldn’t help but groan into his mouth when his tongue slid across your bottom lip, sneaking in against your teeth before retracting and leaving you electrified. Your body was flush against him now, he was so damn big compared to you, but so gentle. Standing up on your toes you pressed closer, your lips chasing his.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip and he moved your head again, kissing you harder now, his mouth open over yours, catching your lips between his, beard rasping, rough against your skin.

You weren’t ready when his tongue snaked out, past your teeth, tracing a path along the side of yours.

Your knees buckled as heat shot through you, moaning against his mouth. His tongue slid across yours again, your hands finding his head, fingers sliding into his hair. At his gentle urging you mimicked his movements, tongue darting out, tasting whisky and cream, his turn to groan as your tongue scraped across the roof of his mouth.

Gentle went out the window, Jack grunting into your mouth as you met him stroke for stroke. His tongue filling your mouth sent a jolt of pure lust down your spine, between thighs that were rubbing together of their own volition. He wasn’t unaffected, you managed to comprehend the hard ridge of him pressing against your stomach through all the layers of clothing.

“Jesus.” he pulled away, forehead resting against yours, your chests rising and falling as you both panted to get your breath back. “Yer foot didna pop, I cannae haf done a verra good job.”

“I think I’m ok with skipping that part. You’re a very good teacher.”

“And yer a verra talented and enthusiastic student.” he chuckled.

You reddened, you had definitely gotten carried away, thinking it was more than what it was.

“I like tae see ye blush, luv. Do ye go red everywhere?” his eyes glanced down to where your chest heaved. “I canna tell in the dark. Can I tell ye a secret?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

His mouth came to your ear, his breath on your neck making your hair stand on end.

“A’ve wanted tae kiss ye from the moment I first met ye.”

Your heart stopped.

“Really?”

“Really lass, I’ve no stopped thinkin abou it and now tha I know I’m the only man tae have ever kissed ye, I still canna stop thinkin abou it.”

You shivered at his words, at the promise behind them, the need you had for him.

“I think I’m going to need more help, one lesson isn’t going to be enough for me to really get the hang of it.”

“Ye think? How many lessons do ye think yer goin tae need?”

Suddenly confident in the light of his declaration, you licked your lips, slowly, enjoying his sharp intake of breath.

“How many different types of kisses are there?”

“Uuuungggh, yer killin me darlin.”

“Then you should probably get started, Jack. Can’t have you expiring before you’re done with my lessons.”

“Righ then ye wicked wee minx.” he laughed, bending down and leaning you over his shoulder before carrying you into his room. “I’ll be testing ye, ye ken.”

THE NEXT MORNING

“Mornin Y/N, how was yer evenin?”

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep, but it was otherwise productive. How was yours Jack?” you smirked into your coffee as he stood next to you within sight of half the crew.

“Aye I didna sleep much meself, a wee beastie kept wakin me up.” He winked at you over the rim of his cup.

You felt your cheeks flush, well aware of just exactly he was alluding to.

“Hmmmm, might want to do something about that.”

“I haf a few thoughts.” he smirked, voice gruff, his eyes raking over you hotly.

“I just bet you do. See you on the other side Mr Lowden.” you patted his shoulder before joining your assistant so you could go to wardrobe.

“You talked to him, didn’t you?” she whispered excitedly, dragging you into the trailer. “Tell me everything.”

“You gave her some basics as you stripped to your underwear, mentally preparing for the torture of the corset.

“Don’ forget tae tell her abou yer darin plan, luv!” Jack shouted from the other side of the door.

“Go away Jack!”

“So I assume he kissed you then.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Sweetie you’ve got beard burn. Makeup is going to have a fit.” she laughed when you started blushing furiously. “So what else happened? Did you manage to have him help you with that other pesky problem?”

“Shhhhh, keep your voice down!”

“Omg! Did you?”

“No. we just kissed.” You caught her sly look. “Alot.” you giggled as she slapped your arm.

“All night alot?”

“Yeeeeaaaahhhh.” you sighed happily.

“Lucky bitch.” she muttered, bending down to help with your stockings.

You snickered, her appreciation for Jack was a running joke between you and a hilarious bone of contention with her husband.

“Oh my god!”

“What?”

She had her hand on your raised leg for the stocking and was gaping in shock.

“Honey, you have beard burn on your fucking thighs!”

Red, crimson, rouge, there weren’t enough words to describe the colors you were turning. Looking down, you gasped at the sight of the angry red marks on the inside of your thighs. “Ohhhhhhh. Shit.” you looked at her, guilt all over your face. True to the conversation you’d done nothing more than kiss, but Jack had certainly taken that thought and run with it, all over your body. Several times over.

It had been amazing. He was amazing.

“What the hell happened last night?”

“Jus kissin!!!!!” Jack shouted from behind the door again, howling with laughter when the book you threw hit it with a thud.

He was going to pay for that.

[harry-ruinsme-blog]

Flower Child

Thank you to a reader for submitting this idea.

oh gosh Harry with a son is so cute maybe one in which his son has a crush in a little girl from his preschool and he goes to backyard to got flowers and he hide them in his little backpack to give her and he does everyday until one day Harry finds flowers in his backpack and ask him about it ❤️

What started as a blurb has spiraled into over 2k of fluff and daddy Harry, so I hope you all enjoy! -xoxo S

Harry’s car idled by the curb as he patiently waited for the dashboard clock in his Range Rover to hit noon. It was rare that he was able to pick up his son from school, but the days his schedule allowed for it were some of his favorites. With the new baby at home, he had to make more time for pick ups and drop offs, which he didn’t mind one bit. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the faint beat pulsing through the car and checked his phone for a message update from you on whether the new member of your family had willingly gone down for a nap.

As soon as the bell rang he was out of the car to hover by the school gate with the rest of the mums, dads and nannies, eagerly awaiting the dimple inducing smile the sight of his son gave him. Within moments a shock of blond hair carrying a batman backpack was barreling towards him, colliding with his knees.

“Hey mate, how was school?” Harry cooed, quickly lifting his son up into his arms and turning back towards the car. He nodded politely at some of the parents he recognized before strapping his son into the backseat

 “Good,” came his little voice, watching his father tighten the straps of his carseat intently, making sure they were just right. Harry swore he’d gotten his perfectionist streak from you, but you were always quick to argue him otherwise.

“What’d you get up to?” Harry asked as he slid into the driver's seat, carefully checking his mirrors before pulling out. He glanced in the rearview mirror at his son who was more intrigued by watching the world go by outside the window than answering his father’s questions.

“Bud?” Harry asked again, drawing his son’s attention from the window.

 “Jus’ played and stuff, daddy,” came the quick reply. Knowing that was all he was going to get out of him for now, Harry turned up the radio a bit and lead a sing-a-long from the latest Disney movie soundtrack all the way home.

 “Is mumma here?”

 “Mhm, but your sister is sleeping so we have to be quiet, ‘kay?” Harry explained helping him from the car. The boy nodded up at his father and after securing his backpack, reached for his father’s hand for the walk to the front door. Harry let them both in, easing the door shut quietly and holding a finger to his lips as a reminder for his son to be quiet.

“In the kitchen!” Came your voice, disturbing the silence Harry had been trying to preserve. Your son took off at a race, flinging his light up sneakers behind him with his backpack bouncing all the way. Harry trailed behind him to the kitchen where you stood swaying your daughter in her front carrier while you mixed cooking dough.

 “Hi mumma, I missed you,” came your son’s voice as he nuzzled his face into your thighs. You smiled down at him as Harry approached you, reaching for the wide awake bundle snuggled into your chest.

 “‘ello princess,” he whispered, reaching his hands into the carrier to relieve you of the weight, “I see we’re still fightin’ our naps.”

 With his baby girl in his arms his hips automatically began to sway back and forth, lulling the bundle cradled to his chest. Harry hummed quietly, pressing soft kiss to the head of fine baby hair as he watched his son cling to your legs and mumble on about school, all the while hoping to get a lick of the spoon you were using to mix the cookies.

 “Daddy?” his son questioned, breaking away from your leg and moving to stare up at his father.

 “Yeah?” Harry asked, squatting down. His son absentmindedly began to gently pet his sister’s head as he contemplated his question.

 “Can I go play ousside?” Harry laughed and nodded, standing up to unlock the back sliding door.

 “Stay in the garden, yeh? Mum an’ I’ll be righ’ in here,” Harry reminded, opening the screen. He watched as his son bounded out onto the back deck and down the stairs into the grass.

 “You gettin’ sleepy yet, little one?” Harry cooed to his tiny daughter. She looked up at him with eyes that matched her mother’s and blinked, clearly nowhere near sleep.

 “She’s shown no signs of sleep and it’s probably pointless now because she’s due for a feed in a few minutes,” you sighed, sidling up to Harry and wrapping an arm around his slim hips. He bent his neck to press a kiss to your temple and wrapped a free arm around your shoulders.

 “How ya feelin’ mumma?” he asked, lips close to your ear as he pressed another chaste kiss there.

“Tired, sore, happy to have my boys home,” you smiled, leaning into his side more. You felt his shoulders vibrate with a laugh and sighed in contentment. Until the sounds of a hungry baby began to fill the quiet you had found yourselves in.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’ mummas right here. Sorry love, I can fix most things, but that is all mum,” Harry chortled, passing off the now squirmy baby to you. As you moved to the couch, Harry moved closer to the window, watching his son skirt around the flowers planted on the outer perimeter of the yard.

 “Harry?” You called from the couch. His head whipped over from the window to you, quickly moving to lean over the back of the couch.

 “Hm?” He asked, reaching down to stroke his little girls cheek. Even though this was round two for you both, he was still in awe at what your body could do to nurture both of your babies.

 “Can you empty out his backpack? I don’t want the pineapple I packed for his snack to rot in the container.”

“‘Course, love.”

 Harry found the discarded batman backpack near the front door, quickly opening the zipper to rummage through and see what needed to come out other than the abandoned pineapple. His hand brushed over some papers that Harry was sure to put up on the fridge before he felt something odd.

 “What the?” he trailed off, setting the backpack on the kitchen counter so he could have a proper look. He pulled the forgotten fruit and wayward papers out of his way to find a mound of dirt and a crushed flower at the bottom of his son’s backpack.

 “Love?” he intoned, shaking the backpack over the bin in confusion.

 “Did you not find the fruit? He may have left it there again. If so no worries, we can get the tupperware back tomorrow,” you suggested, moving your daughter in your arms to sit up and try and have a burp.

 “No I found the fruit,” he answered, walking into the living room. In his hand he held the broken flower and held it up for your inspection.

 “Where’d that come from?” you asked.

 He shrugged his shoulders, “‘Twas in his pack, but I dunno how or why.”

 Harry twirled the flower around in his hand for a moment absentmindedly before moving towards the back windows that looked out into the garden. He soon spotted his son, enjoying the rare sunny day in London by ripping out a tulip that Harry knew you had only recently planted.

 “Shit,” Harry sighed, flinging the flower down on the table closest to him and heading for the sliding door. He made his way quickly over to his boy, watching as the youngster began surveying the bed of petunias for his next victim.

 “Mate,” Harry half laughed, half sighed, “What’re you doin’ rippin’ all your mum’s flowers out of the garden?” His son turned around with a stricken expression, hands immediately going behind his back to hide the contraband tulip he had already procured.

 “I didn’, daddy,” came the quick reply, wide green eyes looking up at his towering father. Harry bent down, groaning a bit as his knees cracked, and held out his hand.

 “What’s the rule? Hm? We don’ lie to one another.”

 With a trembling lip and tears already welling in his eyes, he quickly pushed the flower into his father’s hand. His little ones move to wipe off the dirt on his clean t-shirt, in distress to remove all evidence of his wrongdoings.

 “Hey, hey, hey,” Harry cooed, reaching with his free hand to pull him closer, “No need to cry, ‘m not cross with you. Jus’ wanna know what you’re doin’ with flowers in your backpack.”

The boy sniffled and rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder to steady himself. One grubby hand coming up to wipe an errant tear away, only resulting in smearing some dirt underneath it and on his cheek.

 “I give ‘em to my friend,” he finally answered, watching his shoe scuff the ground rather than meet Harry’s eyes.

“Well tha’s very nice of ya, what friend?”

 Harry ducked his head until he was in his son’s line of sight and offered him an encouraging smile, “Maddie.”

Harry’s heart stopped for a moment before restarting in double time. His mother had always wished that he would have a son just like him so ‘you’ll know what I went through’. And it seems that her wish had come true; he had a casanova on his hands and he wasn’t even out of preschool yet. Hell, he had just learned how to use the proper toilet not that long ago.

“And how long ‘ve you been stealin’ flowers from your mum’s garden to give to Maddie?” Harry asked, twirling around the tulip between his fingers. His son just shrugged and leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked quietly, watching his father’s fingers spin his prize.

“You need to tell your mum you’ve been takin’ flowers without askin’, but you’re not in trouble. Why didn’t you ask me or mum to help you?” Harry asked, standing up and offering out his hand. His son gladly took it, toddling along beside him as Harry led them back to the house 

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “But Maddie likes ‘em and I like givin’ them to her.”

Harry smiled and ruffled the top of his son’s hair, “I think it’s very nice that you’re givin’ ‘er flowers, mate. Raised you well.”

With an order to wash his hands and then come back into the living room, Harry watched his son take off for the bathroom with a smirk. He put the fresh tulip on the dining table and swung into the living room and your line of sight.

“What do you look so chuffed about?” you laughed, handing him his daughter as he reached for her. She was freshly burped and, you hoped, getting sleepy.

“He’s been stealin’ flowers out the garden to give to a girl named Maddie in his class,” Harry confided, watching as your expression morphed into shock and then disbelief.

“What a little...you!” You exclaimed, rolling your eyes as Harry wiggled his eyebrows at you. There was a time, that now seemed so long ago, that Harry was the one trying to woo a pretty girl with flowers.

“Mumma, I has something to tell you,” came a little voice. He had wet hand prints on his shorts, but at least his hands were clean as he climbed up onto the couch next to you.

“And what would that be, bubs?”

“I took some flowers to give to Maddie and ‘m sorry I didn’t ask before,” he rushed out all in one breath. You sighed and pulled him to cuddle into your side, pressing a kiss to his hair.

“Well, as long as you promise to ask for help in the future, I think we can let it slide,” came your reply. Your son smiled and snuggled into your hold, basking in being held by his mum without his new sister in the way 

“Can I go play legos now?” he asked a moment later, already wiggling off the couch. You both nodded and watched as he flew towards his playroom, shoes lying in his wake.

“I should probably find out who Maddie’s mum is and give her a call, maybe set up a playdate,” you yawned, scooting over closer to Harry on the couch. He hummed and continued to rub soft circles on his daughter’s back who was lying contently on his chest.

“He’s growin’ up fast, first crush ‘n all,” Harry hummed, leaning over to press a swift kiss to your head.

“None of that for you though, little miss,” he instructed to the sleeping newborn in his hold, “You’re gonna stay with us forever.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh and patted his bicep. You’d let him have that little fantasy today; neither of you were in any hurry for both of your babies to grow up anytime soon.