#Arse mate tea and trousers

[pseudowho]

how have i just learnt that you and mr haitch are british???? wtf

Dunno mate. It's honestly really clear. Plus, people see an English speaker on Beyonce's internet, and the default assumption is that they're American.

I'm Southern, accent is a switch between Eggsy from Kingsman, and basic flat English (like Harry in Harry Potter). Mr Haitch is a softer and less pronounced Northern (like Ned Stark from Game of Thrones, Thorin Oakenshield from The Hobbit).

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[captainlondonman]

Workie Big Jim

WORKIE  BIG JIM to J-BOI

What the hell is going on outside the front door? James looked through the window and saw 2 young guys setting up bollards in a square on the pavement outside

‘I’ve not had any notifcation for works to be done.’

As he looked out there were two guys both in their 20.s in full Hi Viz gear wearing white helmets and orange kit. One had a really good bod and knew it wearing tight trousers so he showed off a tight arse. He had a tight fitting T shirt on showing the full 6 pack and protruding nipples, making sure his waistcoat was open for all to see. He was unshaven, a good dark stubble and tanned. One arm was full of tats and he had gold earrings in both ears and a ciggie droping down from his lips. As he turned so James could see his cock pushing out from the tight confines.  His head was shaved and gleaming.

Sex on legs but a mouthy son of a bitch by the look of things

The other guy was shorter and a good rugby build with hairy arms and shaved head. He was wearing dirty camos and high rigger boots. He kept wiping his nose on his cuffs. A dirty little bugger James thought

Even if James was annoyed at seeing them outside his house, he found his cock twitching at the sight of the lads.

Nothing to beat a dirty workie  he thought. Christ I don’t why but the sight of these dirty young guys in Hi Viz always gets me horny . I can’t stop dreaming of being a mucky workie and having a good fuck with these guys. As he stared at them so his hand went down to his dick and started rubbing . Shit I love Hi Viz gear he said as his cock started tenting big time in his trousers. Christ I have to have a wank and they wont be able to see me getting my rocks off.

With that he took his good 6 incher out with its thick head and started to rub himself. That cocky one really gets me so horny he said watching the young lad bend over showing the tight arse. What I would do with that he said but knowing full well he never would which made his excitement even more. His hand groped his dick and he slid his sweaty hand up and down his shaft faster and faster working his thick head wet with precum. Oh God I’m coming as he shoved his head back and his cum spurted all over the wall under the window.

James showered and washed off all the excess spunk that had run down his legs Time to get to work. As he walked out the cocky lad looked over at him and winked.

‘What are you guys doing right in front of my house.’

‘What the fuck does it look like. Digging a hole mate, electrical problems. Can you not see what it says on the back of my coat.’

‘I only asked’ James said

‘And I only told you’ was the reply.

‘Have you not any foreman’ asked James

‘Nope, he buggered off, its just Jake and I, ain’t it Jake?’

‘Sure thing, Wayne but we reckon we know what were doin’

‘I certainly hope so’ James said somewhat arrogantly

‘Christ man can you not take a joke. A bit strung up ain’t you?’

‘How long is this going to take?’

‘As long as we feel like. Looks a good job for us with no one in charge so a good few cups of tea and breaks plus of course our ciggies, a good week I’d say. Wayne gave James another wink as as he did so he let his hand run down the shaft of his cock making sure that James saw the full length of his dick.

James realized that Wayne was a bloody  troublemaker just baiting so decided to go off to the office without any more to say.

‘You know mate you’d be better off as one of us workies. A fucking better life than stuck in an office.’

Sitting on the bus James kept thinking what Wayne had said about being a workie and the idea of being one working along side Jake and Wayne in full Hi Viz gear made his cock rigid under his briefcase. Christ I’d be so horny working with them I’d never get any work done he joked to himself.

When he got home the two blokes had left. During the night he could not take his mind of Wayne’s arse in those Hi Viz trousers and those tats and dirt and the shaved head. He kept waking up with a raging knob on but decided not to wank as he was waiting to see the two of them the next day.

He remembered waking up early because the doorbell rang. He went to open and on the doorstep was a bag, no one there. What the hell is this?

Might as well open he thought and as he unzipped he caught sight of bright orange HI Viz clothing.

Someone must have left this but I didn’t see yesterday evening.

As he put his hand in the bag he stroked the gear and felt his cock harden.

I’ve got to look at this. He took out everything and laid it out on the table. There were a pair of thick rigger boots well used and filthy with the leather on the toe caps worn so he could see the metal. A pair of yellow socks with holes in the toes. a pissed stained worn jockstrap, A pair of mucky Hi Viz trousers with a thick belt, a ripped T shirt stained with dirt and snot, a waistcoat and helmet.

They are all much too big for me he thought sadly but he leant over the table and started smelling everything. Christ the socks are stinking with a real cheesy feet smell. It’s as though they’ve never been washed. The T shirt smelt of BO and dirt and as for the jockstrap it really smelt of piss and fresh piss at that full of yellow stains. As he stroked the jockstrap there were hard sections which he could see were of dried cum. The smell of it all as he rubbed his hands over the clothing had him so worked up he thought he might cum, his cock was already oozing precum.

‘Just looking at all this is making me so horny I’ve got to try it on even if it is too big, I just want to feel all this dirt and piss against me.’

He picked up the jockstrap and started rubbing it over his face. He wanted to cover himself with the smell of stale piss. He rubbed it over his nose and over his eyes then started stuffing it into his mouth until he was almost gagging with the smell but the more he stuffed in the more the precum appeared on the tip of his cock. With the jockstrap now moist from his spit he put on the jockstrap knowing it was far too big. As he pulled it up his legs so he suddenly felt dizzy and different. His legs started growing not just in height but width, they were bloody chunky legs with big muscles and his soft downy leg hair changed, thick dark hair started sprouting all over his legs even across the top of his feet. He pressed his stiff cock into the jockstrap and the outline changed. What was just a normal erect dick strained so much as the cotton he thought is would burst. It was a monster tool and thick as his arm scarcely able to be contained. Black curly pubic hair suddenly was growing all around sideways, upwards like a bloody gorilla,. His waist had expanded and the elastic was straining around his waist. The colour of his skin had changed from pinky white to a dark tan which with so much hair he could hardly see.

James could not understand but he knew he had to continue getting into the gear. He next put on the socks, dirty stinkin and his toes were popping through the end he must be a size 12 at least what had happened to his size 8.He lifted the Hi viz trousers and thought they were much too big for him but as he dragged them up his leg they started to feel tight. He could hardly get them over his pouch so hard was his big cock. He pushed them over and they felt so tight across his arse but as he looked down so his stomach started to change and push out. Not just a little but one hell of a lot. He had a bloody great beer belly and the hair from his pubes was rapidly speading up over the top of his trousers. As he tied his belt so his belly spread out over. He lifted the T shirt and smelt the armpits. God they stank of sweat, and there was a rip down part of the front. As he put it over his head he felt his arms ache and his chest tense. Looking more carefully his arms had expanded to reveal hard muscle he knew he never had and not just muscle but Tattoos all the way down both arms and yet more thick black hair. Christ it looked so bloody macho. The hair moved over his shoulders and he could feel it moving down both back and front. He seems like a bloody gorilla His chest seemed to blow out, the belly more pronounced and a big pair of hairy tits. The rip in the T shirt meant that one of his tits was poking through showing a big juicy nipple with a thick steel ring. As he went to put on the Hiviz waistcoat his arm brushed his face. Where was all that smooth skin of his, instead he took his thick nicotined fingers over a big bushy beard and up to a shaved head.. Only one thing left, his helmet. It looked miles too big but as he brought it down it was the perfect size , he head had expanded so much.

However the biggest change was when the helmet was fully on. James suddenly felt a strong rush of blood running round his entire body. His brain felt fried. He put his hands up to his face and shouted not in his well spoken soft voice  but in a strongly accented deep tone.

‘I’m fucking Big Jim and where are those fucking skivers. Time someone fucking told them who’s Boss and its me. Time they make it up as I’m needing a fucking shag.’

With that he opened the door and Wayne and Jake were sitting with ciggie in hand  and no sign of any tools.

‘What the fuck do you two think your doing. I hate fucking skivers. Get the hell in here now.’

Wayne could not believe what he saw but both were so surprised they stood up speechless and went inside.

‘So you’s think that jus because I’m no with yos you can do whit you like. Well I’ll tell you I’m the one who gives the orders not fucking you. And its lucky for you that I’m feeling fucking horny so no docking of wages but time to keep me happy and shoot a load.’ Big Jim shouted and belched rubbing his hand down the length of his cock

‘That’s a fucking monster you’ve got there Jim and I can see its already rock hard the way its tenting.’

‘Too fucking right and see that arse of your’s boy well that’s where its going. And don’t tell me you don’t like big cock. ‘

‘No way Big Boy’

With that Big Jim grabbed Wayne from the back and yanked him back bringing his bushy bearded face against Wayne. I told you what I’m doing and you do nothing but agree. Right got that?

Jim sent a big gob of spit into Wayne’s face.

‘OK mate sure thing’

Still holding Wayne by the collar with one hand  Big Jim yanked open Waynes flies and pulled down his HI Viz . As he did so, Wayne’s erect cock sprang up.

‘No way you say? That stiff dick of yours is telling me something else. A good size boy and any dick as stiff as this wants a fuck. So bend over now.

And as for you Jake stop staring and rubbing your crotch. I can see that knob on from here, getting you going is it?

‘Sure bloody is Big Jim’

‘So fuckin unzip yourself and lets see what you’re made off.’

Jake stuck his hand into his Hi Viz and pulled out a long thin hard cock.

‘You can have a good wank when I say so but first your goin’ to suck yer mates dick and when I say suck I wanna see his tool all the way down your throat.

Right Wayne I said bend over .

As he pushed the lad down he took his other arm and slapped hard across his arse

‘Fuckin hell man that hurts’

‘I want to get your bum nice and hot for my cock, so quit the moaning and with that he struck again as the arse showed red.

‘Time to give you  a sackful of cum boy. He dropped a gob of spit onto his throbbing cock and worked it, then taking hold of each cheek he spread them apart to get a look at Wayne’s hole.

‘Big hole boy for someone like you. Don’t tell me you’ve not had a dick my size up that crack of yours’

 ‘Now inch that arse back so I can spear you and don’t worry I’ll take my time.’ Slowly he inched his cock into the hole his spit giving as much lube as necessary

‘That’s it boy you now start moving back onto my prick’

‘Fuck I feel I’m going to explode’

‘Oh stop the crap and take it like a man.. That’s it you’ve got the hang of it now. Keep moving your arse further and further in. You’re tight but fucking fantastic ‘Keep going you’re almost at the hilt.’

‘I fucking hope so cant take much more length.’

With one push Big Jim was fully in.

Right Jake just fuckin looking and rubbing your dick, its time for you to give some action and give our mate here some head. I can see you can’t wait to get his knob down your throat.

Jake bent down while Wayne pushed himself further and further into Big Jim’s pubes.

‘Christ I can feel you right up’

‘I fuckin well hope so’

Jake  started licking Wayne’s head dripping his spit and feeling it mix with Wayne’s precum.

‘Load of pre there man. You’d have to with a dick this size up you

Jake slowly let his mouth move up the shaft, making sure his saliva made the cock easy to get down his throat. He loved cock especially Wayne’s as the further down he got the thicker the cock was making him open his mouth fully. Once fully in he starting sliding his mouth up and down the shaft getting faster and faster

‘Fuck man, you always give the best head. Come on Jim get that prick of yours moving in and out. I wanna come with you spurting inside me.’

‘You asked for it boy and with that Jim started lunging in and out making sure his groin was right into Wayne’s arse, pounding him. He could hear the noise of the precum and spit getting louder and louder the more he fucked.

Jake had his hand wrapped around his dick wanking hard ready to swallow all Wayne’s juice

Jesus man I’m going to come, your big dick is making me so fucking horny I can’t wait any longer. Jake get ready to swallow, I’ve got bags of cum going down yer throat.’

Big Jim slowly took his cock back ready for the final push.

‘Ready boy I’m cumin all the way up you. So fucking much it’ll be coming out yer mouth.’

‘Fuck man I’m cumming

‘So am I, take it Jake, shit what a fiuck’

‘Yes  boi here is comes yea, Fucking hell.’

And with that Big Jim threw his head back and all went dark

James woke up. It had all been a dream but not only had Big Jim spunked but James’s dream was so real he had come all over his chest, spunk all the way to his neck.

‘God what a dream that was amazing. I’ll need to go and shower.’

And with that the doorbell went not just once but several times.

‘Christ I’ll have to answer that. He quickly put on his tracksuit and hoping no one would notice his dripping cock making a stain, he opened the front door.

Wayne was standing leaning against the door frame with mug in hand, his eyes glinting at James, dressed in full HiViz with a thick jacket and trousers.

‘So mate, I need some water for my tea. Thought I’d get some from you. You going to ask me in?’

‘I’m busy but if you just want some water come into the kitchen.. Where’s your mate?’

‘Buggered off so just me today, at least for the moment.’

‘Let me have your mug and I’ll fill up.’

‘Don’t think I’m wrong mate but you smell of spunk. Am I right? Looks as though there some left overs staining your trackies. Been wanking thinking of me, eh’

James was speechless

‘I saw you looking at me rubbing me crotch the first day and when I saw you looking out the window I bent down knowing you were getting off seeing my tight bum. Right eh? I fucking knew you were wanking at the window. So you get off on Hi Viz workies do you? I tell you we get hit on all the times by blokes who love the gear like you. So you wanna try some on, what about mine. Bet that would really turn you. You’d feel my body part of you eh?’

Wayne gave his cock an ru knowing full well James was staring at him, and all this talk was getting not just him but James also really horny

‘Well em, if you want.’

‘Right then get your trackies off and I can first see that bod of yours and all the spunk that’s drying off.’

James did as he was told took his trackies off

‘Shit man that’s a hell of a lot of spunk I can see. Good balls eh? And not a bad sized dick either which I can see is looking for some hot action. Got a wee surprise for you mate, hope you are ready. I knew I would have you today.’

Wayne undid his jacket and opened up to take off. Underneath James saw a white T shirt with the word SKIN in large red letters on the front and red braces. His tats showed strong all the way down his arms

Wayne let down his trousers and under he had a pair of bleachers and 19hole Doc Martins with yellow laces.

‘Eyes out on stalks boi? Like what you see. This is me when not a workie but I still luv being a fucking workie.’

Wayne stood there in front of James with his head fully shaved and glistening and all the tattoos showing down his muscled arms, he was the perfect skin.

‘So get the gear on.’ Wayne barked at James.

All James wanted was to put on the Hi Viz gear and he could smell Wayne  he hadn’t washed for several days but that made it all the better.  James just wanted to please Wayne

God it felt great and knowing it was Wayne’s made him start to feel so horny.

Wayne put his arm around James’s neck and pulled him in to him so their faces were touching.

‘Now open yer mouth.’

As James opened his mouth so Wayne kissed him and stuck his tongue down the throat releasing a huge gob of spit into James mouth.

‘Swallow that’ he barked.

As James let the gob slide down his throat so he suddenly had a burning sensation like an electric jolt through his body but it felt bloody great.

‘Feeling good boi eh?’

‘Yea feel different.’

‘Bloody right what’s yer name?’

‘J-boi’

‘Yeh and what are you?’

‘Your bitch’

And what does my bitch do

Lick your boots

‘So fucking get down and do it in my hi viz gear. You love my fuckin gear don’t you bitch’

J-boi did as told and knelt on the floor covering Wayne’s boots with spit and licking. Wayne put one booted foot on J-boi’s head and pressed it down.

‘I said fucking lick, so get on with it. You love it boy licking my boots and being my bitch.’

J-boi licked as though his life depended on it and the more he licked he more his cock hardened making him feel so horny. He loved his cock rubbing against Wayne’s trousers making him feel part of Wayne, a skin workie.

‘Now work your way up my bleachers’

Slowly still tonguing J-boi made his way up until he came to the hard long outline of Waynes cock. Shit what a cock. His full length was straining down his bleacher leg wanting to be released but not before he made J-boi work for it.

‘Now get your mouth round my head and feel the length. Good aint it, it’s what you want you fuckin little bitch.

J-boi said nothing,  he was too busy loving feeling the cock through the bleachers. He sat back looking up at Wayne like a pup.

‘You want my dick down that throat of yours don’t you boi’

‘Fucking right I do Master. You do with me what you want.’

With difficulty Wayne pulled down his zip and forced outhis thick juicy dick. It bounced up in boi’s face.

‘Look mate you’ve got be fucking hard, that what bitches do. So open that fucking mouth wide and take what’s coming to you’ as he smeared his pre cum cock against J-boi’s face

Wayne grabbed boi by the hair.

‘Once you’ve had my spunk I’m getting rid of all that  fuckin hair of yours. I wan my bitch a true skinhead. As you’r goin to be a fucking dirty workie you’ve gotta look a real man

He rammed hic dick into Boi’s mouth. At first he gagged with the size and ferocity that Wayne rammed it in but he wanted every inch Wayne could give him and let his mouth and throat take the full length. He felt the pubes rubbing against his face.

‘Jesus you love my sweaty dick. I haven’t washed for a couple of days knowing I was coming here. Nice a cheesy with some hardened cum on it. Thinking of you in my Hi Viz gear sucking me off had me wanking big time but better knowing that now you’re no longer a fucking pansy but one of us Skins. A bit of work but I’ll have you tattooed, hair shaved and smoking packets of ciggies in no time

His hands still grabbing Boi, he pulled him in and out, Boi’s spit dripping down his face

‘Christ you know how to give head boi. I picked the right one to be my bitch. I’m going cum and you’re gonna take all. There’s a sackful going down.

Boi in Wayne’s Hi Viz could only think of all that cum and sucked quicker and quicker.

‘Christ I’m coming ,take it all boy’ and he exploded into Boi’s mouth. Too much for him to swallow and it oozed down his chin and on to the Hi Viz jacket. ‘Christ what a fucking blow job. Jesus boi you’re the best.’

He hauled Boi up and stuffed his mouth down bois throat licking his own cum and feeling Boi’s spit.

Master, my cocks so fucking hard in your gear, I need to cum.’

‘Ok Boi but rub yerself off in my gear, I want all that cum to run down and harden inside. Let me see you wank now Boi.

Boi had his hand around his dick rubbing up an down on the trousersfeeling Wayn’s hardened cum inside and knowing he was going to cum and mix it with Wayne’s

That’s it Boi, shoot yer fucking load inside.

Christ, I’m cumming, shit I’ve still a fucking great load in me balls Yeeees fuck man , shitttt! And Boi gushed a wad of cum inside Wayne’s Hi viz and Boi could feel it running all the way down his leg, loads of good white cum.

He sat back exhausted still oozing Wayne’s cum from his mouth

Zipping himself up Wayne said

‘Right Boi its time you got your hands dirty and came out to do an afternoon’s work in your Hi Viz. I’ll watch you with me mug of tea. Then it’s off to the barbers for you and a full razor job. I want that head of yours gleaming. After that the Tat shop to get your fist tattoo and I’ll choose what it is. Like the idea of a swastika on yer neck. Have you looking like a real skin. We’ll pick up a few can of beers with your money and then home to get you into some good skin gear of mine before we hit the pubs. Seeing you get into my skin gear will make me so fucking horny that you can expect a right good fucking before we go out. It what you wanna be mate, a fucking Hi Viz Skin. My bitch. If yer lucky I may share you around with some of the blokes

‘Sounds fucking great, master’

‘That’s my J-boi’

To be continued?

[novashelby]

Don't Touch My Fuckin' Daughter

Paring: Father!TommyxDaughter!ReaderxAnnoying!Alfie

Warnings: Swearing, age gap flirting (but not dirty...banter like)

Summary: Alfie and Tommy Shelby's daughter roast him for a good five minutes.

Word Count: 2,425

A/N: This is my first time writing Alfie, so I am a little nervous. This one shot is all in good fun. :)

Please comment and reblog. Let me know how I did!

She was supposed to be studying. That’s what she had told Tommy. “Daddy, I want to go to university.” Uni-fuckin’-versity! She barely passed her secondary education. But he was willing to allow her to go under the condition…well, under three. “One,” he had started, pacing around her chair. “No fuckin’ partying! If I’m sending your modern woman’s arse to fuckin’ London to study, that’s exactly what you’re going to do!” He stopped pacing around the chair and knelt, getting real close to her face. His finger wiggling with purpose, he continued, “two, you pass your courses. You study, you do your work, your exams. And three! No fuckin’ boys.” Loud and clear, those were Tommy Shelby’s conditions for allowing his eighteen year old daughter to go to London for university. Well, not exactly university, but a women’s college. He was kind and all about it; getting her set up in a flat. It was a nice one, too, with a balcony. One room and a kitchen! Though, she couldn’t fry a bloody fuckin’ egg. 

Everyone thought it silly, but Tommy wanted to test the waters. You know? Give the girl some breathing room to flourish and grow. Despite not exactly being confident in her success. Two months. No home visits, to and from. Only phone calls and short letters. Until one day, he decided that he wanted to join his little girl for afternoon tea. Early one Friday morning, he hopped in his car with some flowers and a small gift in hopes to make it for twelve.

When her flat appeared in the distance, he couldn’t wait to see how she was doing. She sounded so enthusiastic in her letters. “Oh, daddy! I am making so many friends in my courses! And my professors really like me. Life is good here in London.” He anticipated her flat to be decorated as Polly had decorated her bedroom back in Birmingham; pink aesthetic with white trim. He jiggled with the door, flowers under his arm and gift handle between his teeth. 

“C’mon,” he grumbled in a muffle trying to shimmy the door open with the spare key. When the door finally opened the smile faded into a look of disgust. There was no pink aesthetic. No fucking white trimming. No paintings of Paris and Rome! Instead it was nothing short of the interior of an American mid-western tornado. And there was a stench of something rotten. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he whispered under his breath, attempting to walk in when he nearly tripped over a pastry box before getting his feet tangled in a pair of ladies trousers. “Shite!” he yelled out, gripping onto the sofa. He shouted for his daughter. But there was no answer. Only something of the mix of a snore and snort. He tossed the bouquet on the sofa when someone grunted. He turned his eyes and saw a boy slowly waking up, glaring up at him. On the rocking chair, there was another bloke. 

“Mate,” the one on the sofa hissed, squinting as he sat up. Rubbing is eyes, he asked, “what the fuck?” He reached over to the half empty beer bottle to swish his mouth. Tommy arched a brow, clearly appalled. 

He didn’t want to but he kept moving on, navigating the trash. He peeked in the loo and of course there was another bloke sleeping in the tub. Tommy grumbled and turned on the tap, watching the boy shoot up, cursing. “Get the fuck out!” he cursed, turning it off. The boy gave him a wild look trying to catch his breath. Before he could say anything, Tommy thumbed to the door. “Don’t you have a job to get to?” The boy blinked before replying no. “You’re fuckin’ kidding?! Get out…go on! And grab the two baboons on the fuckin’ couch while you’re at it, eh?” The boy nodded and walked past him, dripping wet and shivering. 

Tommy prayed, which he never did, before entering her bedroom. “I swear to god,” he grumbled, hand on the door handle. “Better not be what I…fuckin’ ‘ell!” He hollered, opening her bedroom door. Hanging over her bed was another bloke and laying with her on the bed were three other girls. He screamed her name and she shot up, blinking for a moment before realizing who it was.

“Daddy!” she squealed, grabbing her blanket and covering herself. Her friends were waking up, and he yelled at them to ‘fuckin’ leave’. Which they were happy to when noticing Mr. Shelby was no man to mess around with.  “Daddy! You didn’t say you were coming…why are you here? I mean, daddy, I am happy to see you…but why?”

Tommy froze, mouth open for a second before he finally said, “I didn’t think I needed permission to stop by considering I pay for the fucking flat!” She swallowed, and there was a pause. He was staring her down, shaking his head. “On Thursday night? Where do all these people live? Do these people work? It’s fuckin’ noon! Don’t you have a course at eight on Fridays?”

She winced. “Attendance…is…optional-but, daddy! As long as I do my work, and I do! I really, really do!” Tommy shook his head. “Are you disappointed?” She tried to give him the cute pout that he could never resist. Though, it was easy when the flat he paid for was absolutely trashed and his lovely daughter wasn’t attending her classes. 

“You broke our conditions!” He pointed at her. “Now, c’mon. Get dressed. I’m taking you back to Birmingham until I am sure I can trust you.” He left her bedroom and she followed, getting dressed as she walked. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he grumbled, kicking shit out of the way before turning to her. “You need a map for this place! Look at it! Navigating the fuckin’ Amazon! I’m surprised Tarzan isn’t swinging by your bloomers hanging on the ceiling!”

“Daddy, alright,” she grumbled. “Let me just find my bag-”

“You can find Noah’s lost fucking ark better than finding anything in this dump.” He turned to her. “Love! I could wiggled myself through the fucking tunnels in Paris better than I’m walking through this.”  He would not stop. “Stevie the fucking sewer rat doesn’t even want to eat whatever is growing that pan…it has fuzz! Why does the fucking pan in the sink have fuzz?!” He walked over to the kitchen shaking his head. “Tell me! Are you allergic to dish soap?! In fact, are you allergic to anything that needs responsibility! Seriously, who raised you? Because apparently it wasn’t me. No one in our family lives like this! In fact, no one lives like this.” The girl, used to her father’s antics, simply grabbed her coin purse and coat. “C’mon…what the fuck is this!?” He looked down and there was a pile of women’s panties hanging on his foot. “Whose are these?” He picked them up.

“Daddy! They’re mine!”

He started to get angry for a whole other reason. “What business do you have wearing underwear like this?” He threw them in a pile.

“Daddy!” she whined again, picking them up. “That’s the clean pile…that is the dirty pile.”

“Clean pile? Oh, so you're telling me there is something clean in this flat?”

They made their way down the stairs and to his car parked on the curb. The whole way down he complained. I bought you flowers…already wilted from the stench in there. I swear, I saw the fucking trashman in there picking through. Fuckin’ ‘ell, ten percent stuff…ninety percent garbage. The bloody fucking trenches were more organized! And on and on and on until they were finally in the car. He turned to her, giving her one last look of disappointment before saying, “I have a stop in London. You have to come with me and then we are going home…home! And when we get home, I want your keys to the car and the flat.”

“Wait, daddy, I am going to a business meeting with you? You never-”

“It’s not a meeting,” he said. “It’s just a check in, if you will.” A check in? She scoffed. Her father must do that often, she had thought. He drove for some time, every so often telling her about the new rules for when she moves back home. “Hand in your keys. No more allowance! You’ll get a job, work part time and go to school in Birmingham. Finn will be taking you to and from. And I’ll tell you another thing…no more fucking partying.” He parked the car at what looked like a distillery. She climbed out after him and followed at his tail. 

“Who are we meeting?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder, and replied sarcastically, “the Jewish spokesman…don’t speak. Just stand there and we’ll leave. The less he has to comment on, the better.” She stopped for a minute, knitting her brows before shrugging. They walked inside and down a stairwell before tucking themselves in a room. There was a man turned, mumbling to himself. Even inside, he wore a top hat and held onto a walking stick. 

“Mornin’, Alfie,” Tommy said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He looked up at his girl and nodded to the chair next to him. 

The man turned, and snorted. “It’s fuckin’ noon, Tommy.”

Tommy sighed, and nodded. “Noon, Alfie.” 

Alfie turned and raised his brow at the girl who simply smiled at him. “What the fuck is this!?  Picking up strays along the fuckin’ way?” She laughed and told her father that he was funny. 

“Yeah,” he responded, dryly, rolling his eyes. “He gets funnier as the time moves on. At least he thinks so.” He motioned to his daughter. “Alfie, this is my girl. Just picking her up from school. Thought since I was in the area, I’d pay a visit.” 

Alfie was still looking at the girl, mouth gaped a bit. “Tommy! Tommy fuckin’ Shelby, you know you don’t have to go that fuckin young? She looks like she’s still attached to her mother’s-”

“No, no! Sir,” she laughed, shaking her head. “No! He’s my daddy.”

That only made it worse. “Didn’t fucking know you were into that, but at least your money is being spent on something more than whiskey and whatever else you fucking Gypsies spend yer money on.” Tommy let out a long annoyed sigh, instantly rubbing his temple. “Well, don’t fuckin’ look at me like that! It’s your prerogative, aint it, yeah?” 

“She’s my daughter, Alfie,” he said. “Thank you for just making this short visit more uncomfortable than it had to be. On point and key, eh?”

Alfie looked at the girl to Tommy and back to the girl. He walked over, leaning into her face before facing Tommy. “She fucking looks nothing like ya’!” He went back to examining her face, smiling slightly. “That fuckin’ God…I’ll tell you that much! She must take after-”

“Adopted,” Tommy interrupted. “She’s adopted. That’s why.”

“Good fuckin’ luck that is,” he said. “Cause if I had a father that looked like you, I’d pray every fucking day I didn’t look like ya’!”

“Thank you, Mr.-er?” She winced, wanting to be polite. “What should I call you? My daddy taught me to never address an elder by their first name.” The air in the room shifted, and Alfie straightened. When his smile dropped, Tommy’s widened. “Oh! I offended you. I’m sorry. But thank you…I am also happy that I don’t share DNA with him…he’s got,” she paused, and stood, leaning into the mysterious man’s ear. “Issues.”

The smiles switched again and Alfie pulled away, gently putting a hand on her arm. “That is what I’ve been fuckin’ saying, mate! You got problems.” He looked back down at the girl, and took off his hat. “Sorry, love, I don’t mean to swear so much.” 

Tommy looked taken aback and said, “Alfie, I’m surprised. You have social awareness. Since when?” 

“Well, unlike you, I like her!” Alfie said. “She’s pleasant to be around. You, on the other hand, not so fuckin’ much.” 

“Pleasant? Keep her hair overnight,” Tommy said. “Then call me in the morning and let me know how much hair you've lost up top…not that there is much to lose. Noticed you're getting quite thin up there.”

“Daddy!” she whined, her bottom lip pouting out. She affectionately rubbed Alfie’s arm and looked up at him. “I’m so sorry. He’s always like this-”

“I know!” Alfie agreed, taking a seat and pulling her down with him. “Pass my cigar case, love.” Tommy’s jaw stiffened when her delicate hand reached for his metal cigar case. Tommy swatted her hand away. “What?!”

“Get off his lap-”

“Daddy, you’re being ridiculous,” she accused, grabbing the case and taking one out for him, lighting it. “There you go, Mr. Solomons.” 

“Call me, Alfie, love,” he said, puffing it. “You know, he comes in here while I’m minding my own business-”

“He does that to me, too!” she agreed, shaking her head. To keep her steady, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and smiled. “Shows absolutely no respect. Just barges right in. Did that to me today, Alfie. And guess what? I’m the bad one because my flat is messy! How am I to clean it for him if I don’t even know he’s coming?” Tommy rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath unreal. 

“Un-fuckin-real,” Alfie agreed, looking at Tommy. “You could learn a thing or two from this girl, Tommy. Sweet, pleasant, and personable. She has a personality! Say, what do you have, Tommy?”

His daughter frowned. “Generational trauma…stems from his father. No doubt about it.” She turned to her father, and reached out her hand. “Daddy, it’s okay. You will be okay.” With that, Tommy stood, and fixed his coat. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “Enough of this. Come on, we are gonna head out. Alfie, good-bye. Just wanted to stop and say hello-”

“And you already did,” Alfie said. “So why did you stay so long?” He smiled back at the girl, and rubbed her arm kindly. She giggled lightly and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “You come back here anytime. Makes dealing with him easier.” 

“I will, Alfie,” she said, sliding off his lap and walking to the door. She waved goodbye and left. 

“And you’re still here. The Shelby I like left, leaving the one that gives me nothing, but-”

“Alfie,” he interrupted, pointing his gloved finger at the man. “Touch my daughter like that again and I’ll fuckin’ shoot you, yeah?”

[martsonmars]

Hello friends! I'm having a super busy week (which is really unusual in this period of my life), so I had no time for new words. Which means, different kind of post.

I need to keep working on my COBB because I really want to have a regular posting schedule, but I have to avoid feeling stuck with it. I'm a WIP hopper, I need to follow inspiration and start new projects all the time, so feeling like I have to work on ONE fic and nothing else kills my creativity. So, I want to continue one of my other WIPs. But I have too many shorter projects that are equally close to being finished (which means... 25 to 50% drafted), so I'm asking for help to choose one to continue.

It's possible I'll ignore your suggestions in the end, but help me choose anyway! (Usually receiving suggestions when I can't decide between some options makes me realise that deep down I had already chosen, and I just needed someone to suggest another option to feel disappointed and be like ok but actually I wanted to do that other thing—)

Anyway. WIPs and tags under the cut!

1. pirate blouse

I started this fic to reply to an ask after one of those prompt things I reblog sometimes. It's half written, I think.

Plot: Simon is a stressed TA and Baz shows up to his class in a... provoking outfit. Simon loses it.

Quote: Nobody's paying attention to their insane TA going off on one of their mates. Good. I don't need a complaint for assault to drive my doctorate even farther away from my grasp.

I just need Grimm-Pitch to leave my classroom and come back wearing proper trousers before my overworked brain cells decide to go on permanent strike. (I'm not sure they haven't deserted me already.)

2. holiday

I haven't written much of this one, but I have the whole thing in mind. Just need to find a way to turn my ideas into words.

Plot: Friends to lovers. Simon goes on holiday with the Grimms. He and Baz have to share a bed in the same room as Malcolm and Daphne.

Quote I've already shared: When I wake up with my erection pressed against Baz's arse and his father snoring five feet away from us, I remember why I didn't want to come.

3. pine baz

I wrote half of this fic in a couple of hours and then didn't touch it for almost 2 months. Now that I've reread it I really want to continue it.

Plot: Baz is a dryad. Simon's a woodcutter. Imagine the rest.

Quote I've probably already shared: “Who are you?” the man asked, blue eyes squinting up at Basil's shadow.

“I am the pine.”

~~~

Simon didn't know many things, but he was pretty sure that pines weren't pretty men with long dark hair and pouty lips.

4. mosquito fic

This one is me channeling my hate for mosquito and mosquito-sponsored sleepless nights into a fic where the Mosquito Tragedy that ends better for Simon than it ever does for me.

Plot: Simon's haunted by a mosquito. Who might this mosquito be???

Quote: It looks like it's trying to connect his moles in constellations with its bites.

For fuck's sake.

See what this whole thing is doing to him? It's making him poetic. Making him describe his morbid relationship with a fucking bug like a fanfiction writer would.

I thought I had more WIPs to share but I realised I'm not in the mood for any of the others (mainly because they're all fics I barely started writing, so they're nowhere close to being done, unlike the others). I'll just leave the working titles, happy to say more about them in the comments if you ask:

- cooking show

- cat door

- simpard baby

- pasta trauma

- cheeseburger smut

@wellbelesbian @urban-sith @tea-brigade @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @facewithoutheart @palimpsessed @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @johnwgrey @fatalfangirl @prettylightsbigcity @whatevertheweather @jbrrring @confused-bi-queer @moodandmist @bookish-bogwitch @letraspal @dragoneggo @captain-aralias @takitalks @theotherhufflepuff @otherworldsivelivedin @excalisbury @shemakesmeforget @starwarned @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @gekkoinapeartree @bazzybelle @bloodiedpixie @stardustasincocaine @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @angelsfalling16 @basiltonbutliketheherb @messofthejess @ivelovedhimthroughworse @nightimedreamersworld @artsyunderstudy @foolofabookwyrm-activated @ionlydrinkhotwater @yellobb @orange-peony

[mischiefmnged]

𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃    !     /    sentence starters pulled from the 2015  movie ‘legend’ starring tom hardy .  some lines may have been edited for  better use,   change whatever you want to suit your character  interactions . trigger warning for general gangster activity . part four of four .

❛ she’s wearing black, that fucking bitch. ❜

❛ i see myself, i see what i could be... ❜

❛ are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this ? ❜

❛ i know love is not an answer to anything, but love is a witness -  ❜  

❛ fucking sing. ❜

❛ the pantheon has stood for 2,400 years. his promise to me ? it lasted two weeks. ❜

❛ you were drunk as a skunk waving around a shotgun.  ❜

❛ i spiced the evening up for everyone. ❜  

❛ you can’t even make a decent cup of tea -  ❜  

❛ you look like a budgie in that dress. ❜  

❛ the rag and bone man wouldn’t pick you up if you were laying in the gutter.  ❜  

❛ i left without saying goodbye ... it was a small, sad victory. ❜  

❛ sleeping pills help sometimes, other pills helped other times. ❜  

❛ they’re like a friend who holds no judgement and only want to be loved in return. ❜  

❛ mothers little helpers... very well named. ❜  

❛ i’ll fucking serve you up, you fucking cunt ! ❜  

❛ you fucking pain in the fucking arse and fuck your fucking brief case ! ❜  

❛ you can kill me and i can kill you, that way, we’re both fucking dead ! that’s a genius idea.  ❜  

❛ listen to yourself, you’re fucking nuts. ❜  

❛ people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. ❜    

❛ in our line of work, it’s not good to be famous. being anonymous is the goal. ❜  

❛ what exactly are you asking me to do ? ❜    

❛ there’s nothing i can do.  ❜  

❛ you say that one more time, i’m going to hit you. ❜    

❛ don’t say anything. it’s alright. ❜  

❛ can’t you handle it for yourself ?  ❜    

❛ you come in here with your fucking nose and your tea - your fucking exotic tea and you say that. ❜  

❛ this matter, i’ll deal with it for ya.  ❜    

❛ i didn’t say anything about killing anyone.  ❜

❛ there’s death in your eyes and you’re fucking threatening me ? ❜

❛ you’re not laughing now, are ya ? ❜

❛ are you mad ?  ❜

❛ don’t moan about it. it’s done now.  ❜

❛ you are fucking unbelievable.  ❜

❛ will you be useful for once and when you take off his shirt and trousers tonight, take ‘em out back and burn them.  ❜

❛ you got plenty of trouble if what they’re saying is true. ❜

❛ what about your loyalty to me is that not a measure ? ❜

❛ no wonder you’re not making any sense, you’re popping pills everywhere.  ❜

❛ what you’re saying is that in order for us to be free... we all have to be on our own ?  ❜

❛ fuck your mum ! ❜

❛ i wish i could make you go away. ❜

❛ it surprises me that some people still manage to survive these days. ❜

❛ it looks a bit fucking fucked to me, mate. ❜

❛ speaking of, you look like shit n’ all. ❜

❛ sometimes to achieve greatness, you have to cut off little pieces of yourself no matter how much it hurts, in order to grow, in order to move on. ❜

❛ to be honest, i think you’re getting out just in time. ❜

❛ sooner or later, someones going to talk and it’s going to all be over.  ❜

❛ i think god ought to cut us some slack, don’t you think ?  ❜

❛ that is bang out of order.  ❜

❛ we shall just have to see what happens when we get to heaven.  ❜

❛ you have the ability to see in to the future, the same as me.  ❜

❛ i haven’t seen you like this in a long time, i forgot how delicate you were.  ❜

❛ go inside and put the kettle on.  ❜

❛ i want you to remember that i existed - always, that i once walked beside you. ❜

❛ it’s something you say out of loyalty - to something that didn’t exist in the first place. ❜

❛ please let me make amends. please, please. ❜

❛ ibiza... let’s go there i like the way the word sounds. ❜

❛ god doesn’t ask if we accept this life. there is no choice, life is forced upon you. the only choice is how you live it... or not, that’s a choice as well. ❜

❛ a cup of tea can solve everything. a bit under the weather ? tea. you left your husband ? tea is the answer.  ❜

❛ god had finally cut me some slack.  ❜

❛ what do you do when the only person who could ever get to you is gone. cup of tea ? i don’t think so. ❜

❛ don’t stand around here like some sort of lamppost. ❜

❛ go on put it in your fucking pocket, we all know you ain’t got any money. don’t be daft. ❜

❛ you killed her and your hundred pound a week on flowers wont bring her back ! ❜

❛ before i talk, i want my safety guaranteed.  ❜

❛ oh, fuck off, soppy bollocks.  ❜

❛ cheer up, twinkle toes, its nearly christmas. ❜

❛ encase you haven't realized, i don’t fucking answer to you, sweetheart. ❜

❛ what the fuck were you thinking ?  ❜

❛ you got a tin of worms in your head, mate.  ❜

❛ you’ve got to be joking, are you fucking joking ? ❜

❛ go on, say her name again, say it - ❜

❛ why would you do that ?  ❜

❛ i can’t kill you. no matter how much i fucking want to. ❜

❛ what the fucks wrong with you ? you kill a geezer in a room full of people, are you fucking mad ? ❜

❛ the world is quite like london... it’s not good, it’s not bad - it just is. ❜

❛ it’s just your own lonely code, until your race is run. until the end. ❜

[phoebe-delia]

Powerpoint Night: HP Edition

Here's what the characters would do for Powerpoint night!

Hermione--starts things off with Top 50 20 Facts from Hogwarts: A History

Ron--Top 10 Reasons Why the Cannons are Going to Take the Cup This Year

Neville--Best Magical Plants of the Decade

Pansy--Why the World Needs a Lesbian Dictator (and Who's the Perfect Candidate for the Job)

Lavender--Top 10 Celebrity DILFs

Parvati--Top 10 Celebrity MILFs

Blaise--Ranking My Mother's Ex-Husbands

Draco--Which is the Best Picture of My Arse in Leather Trousers?

Luna--Common Places to Find Wrackspurts

Ginny--Top 15 Reasons Why the Cannons are Going to Lose the Cup This Year

Then, it's Harry's turn. He's waited all night, silently watching his friends go one after the other, biding his time until everyone has had their turn.

Then, he looks at Hermione, who nods.

"So, who's left--oh! Harry! You haven't gone yet. Are you ready to present?"

Harry almost sniggers at her lack of subtlety. "Sure, 'Mione."

"C'mon, Potter, you can't possibly top mine," Draco smirks.

Harry raises an eyebrow as he sets up the presentation. "Really? You seem to like it when I do..."

Draco blushes profusely as the others chuckle. Ron takes a long sip of his beer.

"Well, I'm just saying, that one of us had an interesting and aesthetically pleasing presentation that clearly superior--"

"Oh, please, you just wanted us all to compliment ten different pictures of your arse!"

"My arse is a work of art, Weasley, it deserves recognition! It deserves statues! Monuments! Shrines! Tell him, Potter!"

Harry nodded solemnly. "He does have a great arse, Ron."

"If you love it so much why don't you marry it?"

Harry smirked, clicked the button. "One step ahead of you, mate."

"Top Ten Reasons Why Draco Malfoy Should Marry Harry Potter"

Shocked and excited gasps, excited clapping and wide smiles erupted around the room, but Harry only had eyes for Draco's slack-jawed expression.

Reason 10: You love planning weddings. You've dreamed of it since you were a child, love, and it would be beautiful.

Reason 9: You'd get to make fun of my hair forever, which is your second favorite thing to do

Reason 8: I promise to make you that pasta dish you love once a week if you promise we can watch a Muggle movie after (which you love anyway so stop pretending it's a sacrifice, you git)

Reason 7: It will make your mother ecstatic and your Father's vein in his forehead pop out, which is always amusing for us.

Reason 6: You can change your name to Potter, or Malfoy-Potter, or leave it the same I don't care whatsoever (though adding 'Potter' might make the vein actually burst and I'm curious about that so maybe we tell him you're doing it anyway).

Reason 5: We live together--at this point, it makes common sense for us to take the next step.

Reason 4: You're the only other person who makes my tea correctly.

Reason 3: We'd get to do our first favorite thing forever.

Reason 2: We're in love. (And I already bought a ring and it was bloody expensive so you'd better say yes or else)

Reason 1: Scared, Malfoy?

Harry was kneeling down a few feet from where Draco sat on the couch. He held up a small black box that was opened to reveal a ring with a gold band, studded with alternating emeralds and rubies. Draco sat still, tears welling in his eyes. He finally wiped them from his cheeks and gave Harry a slow, shaky smile.

"You wish," he said, voice trembling but elated.

He jumped from the couch and tackled Harry into a kiss.

[penguintransporter]

Walker (John Stones imagine) Part III

Okay, this is definitely turning into a story, rather than imagine, but I am so enjoying writing this, but I think since the chapters are much shorter, it’ll need two more chapters to complete it. This one is dedicated to everyone who has read and liked the previous chapters, but especially @rosie7703 hope you enjoy this one as well. Read, enjoy, like, comment, reblog, whatever you feel like doing. Love you all!

Part I | Part II

Rosie’s phone vibrated in the back pocket of her dark, denim jeans, and when she reached out for it to check it, she couldn’t help but smile like a fool at the name that was written on the screen. 

Have a safe trip, Rosie.

Sheepishly, she sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling her heartbeat accelerate - fingers hovering over the reply button. When she gave him the phone number the night before, and told him to text her, she never thought he would actually do it, but he did - the very same night, giving her the reason to stay awake more than she had planned too.

Rosie kept smiling to herself as she thought about her answer, but as she was about to type it, the doors of her brother’s room opened with a small squeak, making her lock the phone and put it away. 

“What drugs did you take this morning?” her brother asked, walking through the narrow doorway and into the kitchen, wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms and a wrinkled t-shirt with the emblem of his favourite football club, embroidered on the left side of his chest. Both items that he was wearing were way too small for him and his lanky figure - trousers barely reaching his ankles. “Having you smile like that so early in the morning is unsettling.”

Rosie grinned, looking over her shoulder at her younger sibling as she filled the old kettle with tap water, suddenly feeling sad for him. He was slumped over in a single barstool, and with his messy hair and tired face-expression, he looked as if a boulder ran him over. Twice.

“Obviously, not the same as you,” she answered, knowing perfectly that she was about to hit the right nerve. 

“You’re annoying, you know that?” he muttered, lifting his head for a second from where it rested on the kitchen counter, “and I think, your happiness makes me sick to my stomach. Can you go back to being your boring self?”

Rosie only rolled her eyes at her brother’s childish behaviour before placing the kettle on the already warm hob - droplets of water sliding down and onto the stove and turning into the steam instantly. 

“It’s hardly my happiness that makes you sick to your stomach,” she spoke calmly, “it’s the amount of alcohol and God knows what that you’ve consumed in the past week,” Rosie added with a grin, opening the cupboard to pick a mug from the empty shelf. How her brother survived with three mugs and two plates was beyond the mystery to her. “Cuppa?”

Her brother didn’t look up, but managed to raise his hand a little before flipping her off, and Rosie couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What I need is something that will fix my head?” he muttered quietly, shaking his head before wincing - a small profanity leaving his mouth. 

“I’ve got Ibuprofen,” Rosie offered. 

“Nah,” he responded, sliding down from the stool before walking to the refrigerator - the white front of it covered in way too many red stickers, matching to the emblem on his t-shirt. 

Rosie shrugged as she proceeded to pour the boiling water over her teabag, watching her brother from the corner of her eye as he took out a bag with, what looked like, frozen dumplings before putting it on top of his head - wincing a little as he did so. She tried to contain her laughter inside her throat as she looked back at her tea, pressing her lips together. 

“Hey,” she started, trying to subtly change the topic, “I need to ask you something.” Her brother ignored her as he made his way towards the sitting room, and Rosie sighed, unsure how to formulate her question without sounding too eager. “Do you know any lads named John?”

Her brother looked at her from where he was half-sitting, half-laying on the sofa with Walker sitting next to him - the dog’s head resting in her brother’s lap. 

“Here? In Barnsley?” he asked as Rosie made her way towards him, stepping over her weekender bag that rested on the floor, along with her trainers and a tote-bag with some snacks for her trip home to Manchester. Rosie nodded, humming softly, while trying to contain her giddiness. “I know a few, why?”

“Any of them have tattoos?” she asked, sitting down before setting her cup of tea on a random brochure from the local sushi place. 

“John Sutcliffe has a panda bear on his arse, but you know him. Why?”

Rosie made a small grimace, remembering who exactly John Sutcliffe was and why she remembered him in the first place. Their first encounter ended up with him stealing a pair of knickers from Rosie’s bedroom and taking it to the school with him to brag about sleeping with his mate’s older sister.

“Ah,” she murmured, trying to pretend that she wasn’t bothered by the information that her brother gave her. “I just met a lad the other day in the park,” she started again, “his face was oddly familiar and I was wondering if I’ve met him before. I thought it was maybe one of your mates.”

Her brother gave her a small, disinterested shrug, and Rosie sighed, reaching out to stroke Walker’s furry back as she took a small sip of her tea.

“It’s none that I know. The Johns that I know, two of them live in London, and the other two visit the park only at night, to drink with the bums.”

“I assume Sutcliffe is one of them,” Rosie murmured, making her brother throttle as he turned on TV. 

Rosie leaned back into the sofa, taking her phone out of her pocket and looking at the screen - the stream of messages they exchanged last night greeting her. With a slide of her finger, she scrolled through them - a small smile appearing on her lips as she stopped at the particular text that made her heart skip a beat. 

I really want to see you again.

“Speaking of lads named John,” her brother’s voice caught her attention, stopping her train of thoughts, and she curiously looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “There’s John Stones, and he’s originally from around here, a bit older than me. But, he might as well not be from around here,” he said as he placed his feet on the coffee table in front of them. “Don’t like him.”

“And he lives in Barnsley now?” she asked, eager to hear the answer - anticipation eating her on the inside. Her brother grinned at her, adjusting the bag of frozen dumplings that he still held on top of his head. “What?” Rosie inquired, almost defensively. 

Her younger sibling kept his smirk on as he pointed at the TV screen with the hand in which he still held the TV remote. “You are so useless,” he muttered, “how do you even live in Manchester? It’s just bloody amazing…” he trailed off, and Rosie huffed slightly in annoyance, causing her brother to chuckle. “No, he doesn’t live in Barnsley, Rosie,” her brother drawled out, “because he’s a bloody Citizen. Liked him much better when he was at Everton.”

With a confusion etched across her face, Rosie slowly moved her gaze from her brother’s amused face and at the TV - the phone she held in her hands instantly dropping into her lap as her eyes met with the familiar blue ones.

He looked tired, but content as he stood in front of a Sky Sports backdrop, wearing a light blue jacket - his hair as sweaty as on the day when she first met him. With a small smile, John was nodding at the journalist who was asking him something, but despite the volume being high, she couldn’t hear a word because her heartbeat was drumming loudly inside her ears. 

She kept her eyes focused on the man on the screen, and when he laughed at whatever they were talking about, Rosie’s heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach.

*

Hope  you like it. Tagging quickly @avenirdelight because she asked me to do so. If you want to be tagged as well, let me know.

[muffindaddystyles]

𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊.

Summary: Where you got a panic attack while attending a lecture at University and Harry's out of reach.

Warning: Angst, ah! yes no worries you'll get fluff in the end.

P.S: 𝐖𝐞'𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲'𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲.

Snuggled into cosy sheets, sweater paws wrapped around a cuppa, the strands of your dark hair tickling the nape of your neck and a sheepish smile of yours crawled against the rim happy while you scrolled through your Instagram feed seeing a short video of Harry singing Landslide on karaoke with his best pal at their get-together.

You and Harry were bestfriends, you met him at a vintage shop in basement where they sell old vintage tees. Despite of knowing who he was you fought with him cheekily over a same 'Pink Floyd's.' T-shirt at that time you guys decided to share it, he'd come to take it from you after every three days a week.

Two years of bestfriendship from you taking him to local south asian and chinese restaurants, to dragging him to yearly fair demanding him to win a bunny for you, to going on a competition for free pizzas only ending up loosing because you were litreally about to go sick, dancing like a maniac at the low price arcade at your university's backstreet, to him dragging you to his friends get-togethers which are quite fun they are super chill but your anxiousness is a little bitch she pops out of nowhere but Harry doesn't mind at all.

Now you're here. Being his lover for an year. He confessed his love for you when he was high on shrooms and you laughed it off tucking him to sleep at his place because he always used to say he 'loves you.' but that was in friends typa way until at the Christmas time while you were having fun for real at Jeff's house with Harry crowded by his mates that one of the Jeff's friends approached you and Oh dear lord' from even so far Harry's sight was dagger to a prey and was hot on his heels, if he would have been a cartoon character red smoke could have seen through his ears.

"Pet?" His brows kinked together as he squeezed you to a corner and he pulled at his bottom lip when your attention was on that guy waving you good-bye, "what Harry?" You asked him nonchalantly peering him through your down gaze.

It was enough to pinch his nerves and Amy one of his girl friend smirked watching the scenario when he was taking both of you to rooftop. With folded forearms you smiled with a certain mischief at the clear jealousy of him ripping through his every action, "jus' wanna protect ye', kiddo." He paced back to you sighing with a painful clench in his chest. He wanted to spill out but why the hell it was so difficult.

"Huh?" Your eyes widened like a deer under the moonlight at his obvious incoherence and he hissed pulling at his roots so you retorted calmly, "relax he was just a guy graduated in the same degree as me." You wanted him to confess his feeling out to you, at many occasions you guys joked about marrying eachother if you both fail to find your perfect partner. Like when you got all sentimental seeing Jeff's first baby at the hospital, getting a baby fever wanting one bubba right that time and Harry joked if any consequences he would help you put a baby in you and trust me nobody in the room laughed, they had deadpaned faces, they all know you guys have crossed the borderline but are playing blind.

His friends have inner jokes for you and Harry, their famous four bets on when Harry will ask you out, his first love confession to you, him proposing you and what your first born would be. Half of them lost more money than they could have imagined in a group of seven, Amy was smirking with full heart because she was praying maybe this time she'll win the bet.

"He looked like he drank 'is arse off." You rolled your eyes at his anxious quip wrapping your cardigan closer to your chest muttering under your breath and Harry's head snapped from your feet to your face, he knew it was ending point of his act "Harry he was completely sober."

He still remained firm at his ground pouting as his curled fingers brushed your elbows to bring you closer, "...but he's still a guy, ye' know.." You wanted to laugh at his face at his silly comment but instead arched your brow sternly.

"So. You aren't?" His heart-shaped lips bubbled around his words but you cut him off, "because if I remember last time you had a dick in between your legs." At this he strewned his lip inside not to chuckle how cute dirty words sounds coming out of your lips.

You frowned feeling cold when he pulled back from you turning his back to you to take a deep breath and his eyes were darker than before from frustration when he turned to face you.

"'Kay fuck. I love you, that's it. happy? I love you and don't wanna loose ye' to anyone!" You knew it coming but not like a bullet so it hit you like one freezing your breath into cold dense air, "you do?" You were at loss of words padding towards him for reassurance as if you're his little girl.

When you were inches away from him He noded without any hesitation saturating even that distance, "yes. I do. Since we've met, since you've invaded all of mind and heart." He wrapped you in his warm conforting arms humming when he snoggled his cheek against your hair.

You playfully scowled at him, "well didn't do that on purpose." Your naughtiness of that moment vanished into air when he asked you sincerely breath tasting you, "can I kiss ye' sweet girl?" Your single nod and his lips were on yours into a deep open mouthed passionate kiss, like how lovers kiss.

His cold finger-tips brushed the under shell of your earlobes earning a shuddering moan and you slipped your hands into the front pockets of his trousers.

Your own icy hands causing him to buck his hips into yours and the sensual touch made you both a whimpering mess. Tongues caressing, lips swiping, teeth nibbling and noses brushing as you kissed until your lips froze to mist.

"Cold?" You admired his after tenderness, lips magenta from heavy makeout session and he twirled a loose errand of your hair around his shiny jewl clad finger kissing your forehead and taking your hands in his bringing them closer to his lips to blow out his warmth to them.

But, there was another pair of eyes watching you astonished and somewhat gasping in awement. Amy, she came to call you guys. Then she rushed back downstairs doing a little prance and all of the people watched her in confusion.

"Ten, ten bucks each. C'mon bitches Harry said I love you to y/n!" Everyone squealed happily at her enthusiastic announcement only groaning at the end when she made a grabby hand, "I won. Now gimme my money."

Even though they all knew they acted like nothing happened respecting your guys descion of whenever you'd like to share your relationship to them, both you and Harry couldn't hold longer.

Your affection it's not new you've been affectionate to eachother since the very start, but this one have meaning and feelings, deep sensations. Hand grazes, knee touches, teasing glances, innocent bantering as if you could rip each others clothes right infront of them, closeness and quite fuck visits in their washrooms were getting obvious day by day and you ended up telling them getting showered in blessings in return.

Right now, with a shake of your head you went past through your boyfriend's antics going through Instagram stories. Your brows furrowed together in curiosity when you came through a post that had a large 'sensite content.' written on it.

This's what happens when curiously takes best of you. You end up doing things you regret time after and this's what happened to you.

"My god!" You clamped your palm over your mouth, eyes widening in horror and nerves crippling in fear. The gor video full of cruelness and blood infront of you making your body shudder.

𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡! 𝐷𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑡 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡! 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑦/𝑛!!!!

Your mind screamed at you to just move past it but your eyes remained numbed to same video and your heart's weeping for the poor women in the video but you're rigid in your sheets with the cup of tea shaking with the shudder of your fear.

Then the consciousness hit you like a train and you snapped out of it quickly shutting your phone throwing it carelessly on the sheets, putting the porcelain cup with a shivering hand onto nightstand.

You shrinked into your sheets trying to calm your breaths. Bolting shut your eyes you shrugged and shook your head many times to get rid of the same image circling in your mind like a demon trying to haunt you.

You stopped breathing without realizing arm over your forehead as you stared the ceiling, lip sucked into your mouth and talking to yourself you tried to concentrate on something else.

You're feeling it coming. It's collecting in the form of bile in your throat and when you were talking with yourself. Your stupid obnoxious brain played your voice ten times faster and it echoed inside your own fleshy bones like a broken record in the barren house of devil.

You're hating it. You inhaled an audible gasp of loud horrific breath shoting up from your sleeping position throwing your duvet to ground ready to run away, you're trying to run away from yourself from your bloody damn thoughts.

You want Harry. He knows about your anxiety and panic attacks. You had your fair amount of panic attacks in his presence, but he always managed to bring you back to him. He used to make you practice breathing patterns and techniques on how to escape from your own subspace.

The first time you got it infront of him was when everyone protested that you should stay for sometime more but it was already two in the morning and you had an exam in the next morning it was just for him that you went along, but you were kinda angry on your own self for taking risks for just a friendship. Then it came into a black pitch waves of suffocation in his car while he was driving you back home, he was unaware of your condition and practically cried when he couldn't bring you back to him.

That night he slept in your bed for the first time. He wanted to stay closer to you in any case, you were sad that you made him worried for no-reason but he shushed you with infinite forehead kisses, he whisper yelled at you full of concern if he might be suffocating you but you giggled a "no." kissing his cheeks getting cosy in his embrace eyes drooping to sleep. He used to sing lullaby to you when you were having it bad particular nights.

Now, he wasn't here and you thought of calling him many times but decided against it only being your own helper. Taking a deep breath, you sang his lullaby to yourself, not letting tears to fall and reminisced all of the lovely memories of you together. Your kisses. Your laughs. Your cuddles. Your lovemaking. Your cooking failures together.

With all of these memories you were back in your bed closing your eyes only hearing Harry's soft affectionate rasps in your ears.

.

In the morning you have long forgotten that even the video existed. You were surprisingly fresh walking to your university's building in long strides, greeting everyone and anyone.

Harry just woke up from his lazy slumber. Making an orange juice for himself, his head heavy and he's in no mood to look at his phone. Grabbing his journal and putting on his rings, a special copper one that you gifted him on his ring finger smiling at it like a foolish fucker and pecking it shyly remembering you.

"Heyyy. H!" When he entered studio everyone greeted him joyfully and he hugged them all handing breakfast to each one of them he bought after standing in a queue for half an hour, "how's y/n?" Sarah asked chewing her bagel sitting behind the drums and the seed of distress sprouted in his stomach that he hasn't asked his bubby if she slept good lastnight? What she had in breakfast? If her day's going well.

There's this certain instinction that's making him restless but he can't quite put a finger on it.

"She's good. Gets a lill cranky if I win form 'er at the '10 phase' uno game." He chuckled with a hint of love under his tone his previous thoughts of checking onto you again slipping from his mind.

Plugging his phone to charger he rushed back to his favourite spot quickly taking his journal and pencil to scribble something.

It's your English lecture. The day went well. But now it's not. You're zoning out knowing how boring the lecture sounds.

You stared the way you drew your pencil into unstopping circles at the corner of page and your head was a dark vacant space when the way you acted last night flashed in your mind then the reason behind it, that damn video.

The video displaying like a reel in your mind again as if you're there experiencing it with your body. You twitched, and closing your eyes you snapped your head to side several times when the cold sweat broke at the back of your neck and shudder ran down your spine.

When you snapped for the tenth time in row a hand came squeezing yours, "you okay?" You slowly looked up at the guy sitting beside you as the professor's voice billowed further from you.

You just stared him numbly, tears making your sight blurry. Your breath hitching in your lungs and you can feel it clawing at you like a demon. To avoid getting made fun of yourself you stood up leaving your things and rushed for the door, when a hand came wrapping around your wrist in a tight grip.

"Where are you going miss? This's not acceptable." Your karen professor's voice sliced through your ears and your lungs are tightening with each passing second, everything spinning around you and all you're thinking's if you'd make it alive through this dark box of suffocation.

"S-sorry...I-I have to go—" You tried to stutter in between your broken breaths and she scowled burning her grip into your wrist. Your cheeks numb as you didn't feel tears slipping down to the valley of your breasts, "tell me the reason and I'll let you." Your head fell back at that and you bolted your eyes shut as tight as possible. Then when you tried to inhale you couldn't and everyone around hooed loudly watching you in shock as you tried to escape her with weak crying attempts.

"Let me go!" You shrieked. With wide eyes she let you and you fell to ground painfully hard. It was coming. You sobbed out harshly but it went silent at the end and you bunched your shirt atop your heart when your vision went pitch black, whole body shaking and you forgot even if the oxygen existed.

It's consuming you. Everything around you moving in slow motion. Their shouts for you like a sleepy mumble and it's just Harry's lullaby melodic in the pocket of your heart but it's cold and deserted with nothing but claustrophobia shoving you brutally into darkness where nobody could hear you crying.

You act like a lioness ready to kill anybody while you're having a panic attack and when some hand came to help you. You screamed and growled swatting them away "Don't fuckin' touch me!—" even though your ears are buzzing and you gasped loudly to get some air but it's not helping. God help me, please. You prayed.

Your classmate went through your emergency phone numbers finding Harry's at the top and it ringed sitting in the other room from him.

Then he dialed another one. It was studio's landline, Harry has filled that number without your knowledge and well it helped.

"Harry?" The drums came to halt, the guitar was stopped mid shrivel and Harry's high note fell to ground when the receptionist came with a cordless phone.

"A phone for you from y/n university—" It was enough to smack his breath away and he scurried to his feet taking the phone hastily from her hold, controlling his voice to not yell at the person in his own anxiousness.

He tucked it beneath his ear taking the car keys and his phone out of instinct because when it's you he's always on alarm. What he heard from other side made his knees jello and ribs to knock in two, "fuck. Yeh. 'M comin' jus' yeah, make her breath gently....." He tried to instruct your classmate.

He cursed himself. Not giving two fucks if he broke every speed limit. His knuckles going white and he repeated a mantra of "breath baby. m' sweet sweet girl jus' breath." but he was just saying this to himself because you wasn't in his arms and he wasn't calming you, he's blaming all this on himself.

He didn't even parked his car. Striding inside the lobby and asking for you. After fifteen minutes of no breathing as you were about to hit the deep end you inhaled loudly filling your lungs with proper oxygen causing your eyes to go bloodshot and everyone sighed in relief.

Your classmate took you to University's healthcare room so someone guided Harry there. You had your knees tucked close to your chest, head resting on them to block any light as you whimpered with innocent small hiccups.

Your heart beat racing. Head hurting and chest aching from the after effect.

Harry had to get support of door's frame when his eyes fell over you. Over his Angel that was shrinked pitifully like she's scared of world crying on her own.

The sheets of stretcher rustled under his weight as he slowly and gently wrapped his arms around her, "baby..." He cooed on the verge of tears and she didn't had to look up to know he's here, his scent was enough to relax her mind.

Her parted lips moist over the crook of his neck as she sobbed into him. He tenderly rocked her, running his hand soothingly at her back, kissing her head and her nose wiping her tears "'m so sorry, my baby. my life. 'M so sorry."

You fisted his shirt, face smashed into his chest to avoid the world while embracing your own world, your Harry as he walked both of you to his car carrying your stuff too with him. He helped you sit inside the car rounding to the driver seat and he leaned to kiss your forehead, glossy eyelids and a peck to your lips never letting his concern divert from you as he drove home.

He made you comfortable into your bed, wrapping his forearms around your tummy and soothing your arms down to tranquil your heartbeats.

He knows it's hard for you to talk so he didn't tried to get words out of you. He just wants to be there for you, physically, spiritually, mentally. He's all yours.

After long hour you spoke voice barely above a whisper, "t-they all are gonna think 'm weird." Harry felt something jabbing his sides at her statement and he cradled her chin intensely looking her in eyes.

"No angel. I promise you they wouldn't. See how your classmate called me the very moment you weren't responding? They all genuinely cared for yer', y/n" He stroked the apple of her cheeks and she sighed waveringly new tears glistening at her eyelids.

"Thought I wasn't gonna see you ever again." Her words hit him like death and at that moment he realized they're more than just best friends, just lovers, they are soulmates and Harry would be devastated without her.

His music. His fashion. His cheekiness. His softness. His humbleness will all be gone because he's so dependent on her for everything.

She frowned lightly when Harry hugged her close to his heart, his cheek stuffed into the crook of her neck and when his wet lips rumbled with a sob she pulled him back from shoulders cupping his cheeks.

"Harry? Hey, bambi eyed. Baby look at me." You sniffled wiping your every tear and he refused to look at you sobbing hoarsely, squeezing you to feel you for his dear life.

"Don't say somethin' like that. I wouldn't be able to live without ye'." He muttered silent tears soaking her neck collecting at the dip of her collarbones. She played with his curls smooching his cheeks cooing at him, "'m here baby. in your arms. 'm fine, we're fine." She gave him an eskimo kiss when he finally pulled back. Eyes fluttering as she took a deep breath feeling her lungs nutritioning after so long.

"Did you forgot your promise of making me your babies momma or I've to make you remember?" She tried to light up the mood and he just chuckled kissing her lips, when he stood up she pouted making grabby hands at him.

"Hold me?" She asked innocently. Harry ducked down brushing her hair and kissing her head, "gonna run a bath for us sweet angel."

Interlacing your fingers he guided you to your bathroom. Rose candle's flame flickered a shadow onto mauve tiles as the water had pink waves, the scent is so him and it calmed your nerves down.

He undressed you with soft movements, planting a kiss to your shoulder when you were complete naked infront of him. Settling inside the porcelain tub he took your hand helping you inside, making you sit in between his legs.

Your back to his chest. Head resting on his shoulder and his breath fanning your cheeks. It's nothing sexual. Just you two relaxing your nerves.

He coiled his hands over your tummy, running his thumb in careless patterns near your belly button as the water droplets dropped from his curl atop your breasts.

Exhaustion taking over you. Your eyes drooping and you've no idea when he took you out changing you into his clothes and into bed slipping under covers with you.

"'M always gonna be there for ye', whatever it will take my soul to." His whispers caused your lips to curl in a smile and you hummed snuggling your face into his arm scooping you to him.

.

A/N: I know it's very excruciating for people going through this difficulty, we don't have Harry physically in our lives but he has helped us alot. I feel you and I believe you. It's okay after every hardship there's a moment of happiness personally created for you. All the love!

[norman891]

It was late afternoon and the crew had been served their dinner. Victor had worked miracles with his clam chowder recipe according to the hungry, cold men. Snow had started falling around midday, as Mr. Smee had predicted, and was getting heavier by the hour. Edward had added some woollen knee socks to his outfit, but had yet to give in to long trousers.

“Mate,” he asked Victor. “Would there be a problem if I were tae take a bowl down to Haigh?”

Victor rubbed his stubble chin thoughtfully for a few moments. “I see no reason why not. The captain ordered him flogged and thrown in the brig for a week, but I know nothing of withholding his rations.”

“Right,” Edward said. “Then I should fix him a bowl. He’s had naught tae eat all day.”

Victor raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You are good man, Butcher. Not many in your shoes would be so kind to someone who’s been so rude and disrespectful to them.”

“Nae,” Edward agreed. “And I’ll no count him among my friends, but no man should go hungry, brig or not.”

Victor filled a tin soup bowl with a healthy ladle of the warm, creamy chowder and gave Edward a spoon and roll to take down to Haigh. “Ye best watch him and bring back that spoon if nothing else, or that ingrate will fashion it into a knife.”

“Aye, tis true,” Edward nodded, bowl and spoon in one hand, a hot cup of tea in the other, and tucked the roll in his coat pocket. “Thank ye, mate,” he said, starting out of the galley. I’ll no be too long.”

Edward made his way across the slippery deck and headed below to the brig. Cecco was guarding its occupant, and questioned Edward on whether Hook would allow the man food.

“I’ve never heard him say otherwise,” Edward answered. “But I’ll go and ask if ye want.”

Cecco studied Haigh, laying face down on the crude bunk, face turned to wall. “Alright,” he said finally. “But if any trouble comes of this….”

“I’ll tell Captain Hook it were all my idea and ye had naught to do with it. “ Edward interrupted.

Cecco nodded and unlocked the heavy iron door. “Hey, Froggy,” he said loudly and Haigh turned his head to glare at the big, muscular Italian. “Someone’s brung ye some dinner. I’d make the most of it if I were you.” He stepped aside revealing Edward with the steaming bowl of soup and the tea.

Haigh mumbled something in French and Edward snorted. “ That’s nae way tae talk about Victor’s cooking. Dog food indeed.” He was amused at the stunned expression on Joe’s face. “That’s right, I’m nae as stupid as ye think I am.” He walked into the small cage.

“Do ye need help the sit up or can ye do it on your own?”

“Not hungry,” Haigh murmured.

“Och! Bullshit!” Edward replied. “Get your arse up or I’ll have Mr. Cecco help ye.”

At that thought Haigh glared up at Edward but slowly got himself into a sitting position, all the wounds on his back protesting loudly. He poked at the bowl's contents with the spoon. "That’s chowder made from the clams ye brought back.” Edward pointed out. “Eat. It’ll help ye heal quicker.”

“And why do you care?!” Haigh snarled

“ Because I’ve been in your shoes before, whether you believe me or no.” Edward said. “On the Flora, I was flogged over forty times in two years, and almost always for minor infractions or lack of knowledge . I told ye, I was a pressed man. I was a butcher’s apprentice by trade, but they flogged me anyway .”

Haigh finally tried a spoonful of the warm chowder, which obviously suited him, for he wolfed down the entire bowl full and sopped all of the creamy liquid out of the bowl with the roll. He drank the hot tea quickly, as it helped stave off the cold.

Edward leaned against the door watching the man eat. Haigh handed him back the bowl and mug. “And the spoon,” Ed insisted.

Haigh reluctantly handed the crude metal spoon over also, feeling Cecco's eyes upon him.

“Don’t get clever with me, dog,” Cecco huffed. “And here’s the man you despise what’s done fed you out of the goodness of his heart. No one else on this ship would care. Ye can starve and they’d not miss you one second.”

“Now, now,” Edward admonished. “He’s had one lashing today. He does nae need another.” He looked at Haigh. “Better?” he asked”

“Oui,” the man said flatly.

“You’re welcome, “ Edward grinned a toothy smile. “Lock him back up, mate" he said to Cecco. “And thank ye.”

“ It is no problem,” Cecco answered, rattling the door to make sure it was locked.. “The little Scott, he look after us and feed us well. We have your back, mate.”

“Thank ye kindly, “ Edward gave him a half salute and headed back to the galley.

“So, my friend,” Cecco said to Haigh as he was settling back into as comfortable a position as possible. “ Maybe ye should work on a proper apology to our cook's help, eh?” Again he received a hot glare from the injured Haigh. “Then again, maybe you still have much to learn.”

Haigh watched Cecco walk back to his comfortable pile of tarps and sail cloth and settle back down to watch his prisoner as Edward closed the door at the top of the stairs.

[ladyhallen]

Growing Flowers for the Sunrise

Content Warnings: chronic pain, talks of death, terminal illness

Harry woke to pain.

He didn’t scream, but took a deep stabilizing breath. He was used to the lightning slivers that seemed to live in his veins. But whenever he was doing nothing, it seemed to intensify until sleeping was the last thing in his mind. Muggle medicine was a good friend to him these days.

Another breath and Harry finally placed his feet on the floor, moving through the shivery cold that intensified with every step.

Moping would get nothing done and he was absolutely tired of lying in bed - in pain - all day.

“Winky,” he called. “Breakfast.”

The house-elf popped in, took one look at his face, and popped back out. Breakfast involved a lot of healthy food, along with Willow Bark Tea that he was starting to taste in his dreams.

“Agenda for today?” he asked his frustrated healer.

Daphne Greengrass huffed irritably, hands moving gently along his shoulders and testing his muscles with wandless magic. “Nothing too strenuous. You’re too tired from the last treatment, but Granger’s theory is actually bearing fruit.”

That was very concerning. Harry would have cried if he wasn’t so tired of being in pain.

“That I have too much magic?” he asked. “It needs to get out?”

Daphne nodded, prodding at his collarbone and his ribs with gentle fingers. “I have no idea what magic was going on while you were dueling with You-Know-Who, Potter. But you are practically bursting from it. You need to let it out.”

.

.

Hermione’s theory was the Theory of Conquest. No one had actually fulfilled a prophecy in a few decades, but each and every one of those who fulfilled it died in a couple of days. Her theory was that something was given to each person at the end of those prophecies.

It said something about Harry’s pain threshold given that he had survived for two months in constant pain.

Magic being the obvious choice was hindsight.

How to expend magic faster than it replenished was the problem.

Annoyingly enough, that was a problem unique to him.

.

.

The Department of Mysteries had a love-hate relationship with Harry.

Oh, they loved him for the challenge he presented, of helping an international hero stay alive and all the troubles that came with it.

They also hated him every time a suggested solution was rejected.

It would be hilarious if he wasn’t dying slowly with too much magic. Harry’s humor had developed a sort of morbid cast to it that made Hermione uncomfortable and Ron smirk unwillingly.

The solutions presented were weird though, ranging from a magic siphoning lotion, to a generator-like machine that needed magic to run.

The latter was the closest thing to a solution Harry had ever had and he actually spent the whole day lounging on the machine, having his magic sucked off and feeling more relaxed in months. (It didn’t last, the machine overloaded with too much magic. The inventor didn’t account for what would happen to all the magic after it got sucked off.)

They still used the MagGen when he had a particularly bad day, with Hermione on the team that modified it and made it better each time, it went from only one day use to a three day use.

Harry hoped Hermione would find a portable solution soon, because being attached to the hip to the MagGen was great, but he wanted to be able to go to Diagon Alley without feeling a thousand needles lodging in his feet every step he took.

.

.

Harry woke to the scent of flowers.

“Neville? What time is it?” he mumbled blearily.

Neville helped Harry sit up, the scent of damp earth and various green things clinging to him intensified for a moment.

“Just past lunch,” Neville answered. He patted Harry on the shoulder gently and presented his potted flower, along with a floating tray of food.

“I thought belladonna’s were poisonous?” he asked. The berries on the potted plant were the distinctive ones of atropa belladonna. The color was memorable.

Neville tucked the edges of the blanket around him better. “If you use too much, then it’s poisonous. It’s actually medicinal.”

Harry tried to wriggle free and gave up under a minute. “Neville, I need to eat. I need my hands to eat.”

The herbologist ignored him, grabbing the floating tray and looking, for all intents and purposes, like he was going to spoon-feed Harry.

“Neville, no!” Harry said, renewing his struggle against his blankets and succeeding in getting an arm free. “I’ll eat, I’ll eat.”

Harry ignored Neville’s self-satisfied smirk to at least retain a semblance of dignity. The herbologist was very good at wrestling misbehaving plants and it seemed to apply to ill wizards too.

.

The answer came to everyone when Harry woke up to his bedside covered in a riot of flowers, having slept a full eight hours without pain.

The only thing different was the belladonna that Neville had left on his table and it had gone through an accelerated growth overnight.

.

“Of course!” Hermione exclaimed, examining the plant. Whatever feedback she was getting was making her so excited that her hair was forming a cloud around her.

“Plants absorb magic from wizards and emit clean magic. They’re part of the reason why the greenhouse effect hasn’t actually killed off everyone, you know?” Hermione said, expression rapt as she stared at the belladonna. “Magical plants work, but I think it would work better with non-magical plants as well.”

Plants were his answer.

Harry called his lawyers and Neville Longbottom immediately.

.

Harry bought an entire mountain and commissioned Neville to help him.

They took long walks around the mountain as Harry’s strength started to return and he got more and more optimistic. He got very good at making hammocks as he spontaneously slept and did not feel any pain.

It was amazing and Neville’s smiles were golden as he did his best to harvest plants so that Harry could have space to do his crazy magical plant growth.

Herbology was a very specific trade and soon, they had enough profit to sell the magical plants to the wizarding world and the mundane plants to the muggle world. Neville had teams and shifts to work the mountain overnight.

Harry’s magic expanded but at the same time, the plants absorbed enough of the replenished magic that Harry felt safe holding his own Holly wand. It didn’t felt like a single spell would tear it apart and Harry actually cried holding the familiar wood.

“Of course,” Hermione said after two weeks of careful observation. “This isn’t a permanent solution. You are not stuck in your mountain, Harry. I’m working with Saint Mungo’s for a temporary pill suppressant? It would allow you to leave your mountain for three days.”

“I don’t actually find it bad?” Harry volunteered. Daphne huffed as he moved his shoulders. With an apologetic shrug, he went still as she poked him with her wand again. “I mean, I might need to build a house here eventually. I can’t sleep on hammocks forever.”

“You’ve been sleeping outdoors in hammocks!!!” Hermione shrieked. “You’re going to catch a cold and die! I’ve not been working my arse off just for you to die of a cold!”

Harry cringed but listened to the lecture with a smile. Hermione hadn’t felt comfortable saying the d-word near him. That she could meant that she must have felt better.

Before both witches could leave, Harry caught her hand and said, “Hermione. Thank you.”

Thank you seemed too small of a word to encompass everything she’d done for him. But Hermione understood.

Hermione teared up. “Oh, Harry. You’re welcome.”

.

.

Ron visited whenever he could spare time from the jokeshop.

Harry, who knew how insanely busy the jokeshop could get, was just grateful that Ron could spare him two hours.

“It’s still crazy that you own a mountain now, mate,” Ron said. The stress lines in his face had faded away when he saw Harry stand up and walk to him without a cane. “I mean, wasn’t it crazy expensive?”

“Well,” Harry mused. Fame was no longer a sore point for Ron, being a sort of war hero himself. But money… ”Remember during the war when we found those horcruxes in the items from the founders? Well, turns out, most of them were goblin made and the goblins were grateful to have them back.”

Ron looked concerned. “Harry. Didn’t we destroy Gringotts and let loose their guardian dragon? And weren’t those items destroyed beyond repair?”

Harry smiled. “Well. It turns out; it’s not the item that’s important, but the metal. Goblin metal is incredibly valuable and I just gave them three pieces full of it.”

“Hence, the mountain,” Ron said, nodding.

“Hence, the mountain,” Harry agreed. “And that I and all my descendants would stay as far away as possible from Gringotts.”

They walked a couple more feet and Ron looked up at the crazy height that the trees were reaching.

“Where are you living, mate? Mum did ask me and I don’t see a house,” Ron asked. “Not outdoors? Camping is all well and good, but I’d have thought you’d be done with it after what happened.”

Harry remembered Hermione’s shriek of outrage and shuddered involuntarily. “Nah. I’m talking to the architects and the herbologists about making a tree house.”

Ron smiled. “That sounds crazy. On these trees?” he gestured to the absolutely humongous trees that had sprung up after Harry settled in the mountain. “Wouldn’t they keep growing?”

“Ah, no,” Harry rummaged through his trousers for a piece of parchment and a quill. He flattened them on a flat rock and sketched out the idea. “What I was thinking was this. I’d take five trees, hollow out the insides some, the central one would have a hidden staircase and then I’d just have a bunch of houses up there in the five different trees, but they’re actually different parts of the house.”

Ron laughed a little. “That’s crazy. It sounds like you. That house sounds big, Harry.”

Harry’s smile didn’t die, but only because he pasted it on through sheer force of will. “Well, you’re gonna visit, aren’t you? You and Hermione?”

“Of course I will!” Ron exclaimed. His watch chimed an alarm. “Ah, shit. I have to go back to London. Your place is great, and you look better, Harry. I’ll tell mum so she can stop worrying about you.”

They embraced, Ron left and Harry sat on his rock and cried.

.

.

Neville had become a sort of therapist to Harry, which probably wasn’t healthy because Neville wasn’t a licensed therapist and Harry’s issues needed an entire team of them to deal.

Still, the herbologist, who had accidentally found the solution to saving Harry’s life, didn’t complain and visited every time he could spare.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Harry confessed to his friend. “And I’m just here on borrowed time.”

“Harry,” Neville said quietly. “Is the pain back?”

Harry munched at the muffins and swallowed, feeling like he was eating concrete. “No. But, I can feel it at the back of my mind. It’s there. It’s waiting for me to slip up. To make a mistake. And it’s going to be back, harder, stronger and more painful than ever. That…this relief is temporary.”

Neville looked pained. “You’re not getting better, are you?” he whispered.

Harry set down the muffin and clasped his hands, wishing, idly, for tea or something stronger. “It’s been months, Nev. How much magic did Voldemort have? How much magic do I have? It’s not good for one body to hold two people’s magic. It’s just…not possible.”

“You will stabilize,” Neville whispered. He got up, rounded the little table, and engulfed Harry in a hug. “I’ll not stop. Me and Hermione, we’re working on it.”

Harry clung to his dearest friend and swallowed his sobs. He wouldn’t cry. If he did, he would never stop.

.

.

Luna, who had fled the country as soon as the war was over, hadn’t seen Harry since that fateful day in Hogwarts. She returned after a furious letter exchange with her father and visited Harry immediately afterwards.

Her protuberant eyes grew even wider when she saw him.

“Oh, Harry,” Luna whispered. “You’re…”

She hugged him.

Harry felt the tears stuck in his throat struggle to get out. He swallowed them down and hugged her back.

“You look great, Luna,” he told her sincerely.

Her dirty blonde hair had darkened to burnished gold under intense sunlight in the African desert and her skin was smattered with freckles and cheeks were sunburned. She looked alive.

“You look tired,” Luna said. “But you are standing upright. Tell me everything.”

Harry absolutely didn’t want to, but Luna, like Neville, was one of those people used to wrangling difficult things. Magical plants for Neville and magical animals for Luna. This translated well for Harry.

“Ah, it’s been a difficult few months, Luna,” he told her with a smile. “It’s nice to be able to see you.”

Her pale fingers tightened around his. “And it is nice to see you. Would you like some tea? I found some really nice herbal blends in Africa.”

Helplessly, Harry allowed her to feed him truly terrible herbal tea, until he cracked and told her everything just to stop the tea.

“You have too much magic,” Luna mutters. “It’s not that simple. You have incompatible surplus of magic.”

That’s the first time Harry had ever heard that about his condition. It was also the first time he had felt that much hope.

“Do you want to talk to Hermione?” he asked her.

Luna made a face. “Ah. For you, I will.”

Harry remembered belatedly that Luna and Hermione didn’t get along very well regarding magical theory even if both of them would kill for the other.

“I cannot ask for better friends,” Harry said, kissing her forehead gently.

Luna beamed.

.

.

Even with four people working on it, Harry didn’t get better. But he didn’t get worst either.

“We’ve stabilized it,” Neville told Harry. “You’re alright, Harry. You’re alright.”

It didn’t seem to sink in, until a year later, when Harry was cooking for a small group of his friends, who had their own guestrooms in his treehouse and he didn’t feel that bone deep pain hiding. That he hadn’t been feeling that pain for a while.

Harry dropped the spatula and had to grab the kitchen counter in a hurry.

“Harry!” Ron cried out, getting out of his chair and running to him. “What hurts?” he asked.

Hermione and George rushed in a beat later, wands out and alert. Neville looked terrible. Ginny’s hands were over her mouth.

“I’m alright. I’m fine,” he gasped. “I just realized. I’m happy.”

They all crowded around him and gave hugs and pats. Harry choked on tears.

“It’s alright,” he hiccupped.

“You are,” Hermione soothed. “You are.”

“I’m alive,” he said, almost a question.

“You are,” Ron said, hands on Harry’s shoulders. “You’re alive.”

It took a while but finally, Harry believed that he was.

.

.

Please tell me if I’ve written anything offensive for people who have chronic pain and I will do better.

[panda-noosh]

against the odds {Finn Shelby x Reader}

  Words: 11.2k

 Summary: Your worlds could not be more different, but that doesn’t stop them colliding. 

 Genre: angst!

 Warnings: strong language (stronger than usual because it’s the Peaky Blinders), violence, graphic depictions of injury.

  Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - okay we’re trying something new. let me know what y’all think :)

----

  The sound of guns shots has become something normal.

    Your mother would be absolutely mortified to hear such a thing. When you moved from London to Birmingham, she thought for sure you would be safe, hidden away in a little shack with no one to bother you. You would get on with your studies before moving on to bigger and better things, and in the beginning, that was the plan. You kissed your mother goodbye, hopped on the train and departed for a life you had all planned out.

    Small Heath isn’t the place to make dreams come true, but it’s where you ended up.

    The job at The Garrison was only meant to be part-time, but again, Small Heath is full of unexpected little mishaps. After the old barkeep, Grace, was brutally murdered at a party she herself had organised, you had been offered the job full time - and you took it.

    You took it, even though you knew with everything in you it was a bad idea. The world was falling apart around you, and it was as if the main source of this destruction came directly from inside The Garrison itself, like this tiny little pub in Birmingham was the hub for all the worlds travesties.

    Despite the little voice in your head telling you to step away, find a life elsewhere, it’s Finn Shelby that keeps you rooted behind the counter. It’s always been Finn Shelby.

    Tall, broad shouldered, built like a watered down version of his older brother, John. By name, Finn is scary, but he’s only scary because he’s a Shelby. For the first few weeks of you settling into The Garrison, you had walked on egg-shells around him, lest he suddenly draw a pistol out of his trousers like you’d seen his brothers do on multiple occasions.

    However, time went on, and things became clearer, and soon, Finn was seated in front of you when the rest of the pub was emptying, and the two of you spoke.

    About nothing. About everything. About a life outside of this mess. He’d laughed at that, and you remember the noise being so pleasant, like music to your ears, and you remember shutting those thoughts down with the harsh reminder that the man in front of you was a Shelby, meaning there would be no room whatsoever for anything like that.

     You saw more of Finn each and every day. He hardly ever speaks to you when his older brothers are waltzing about, but with the recent business with the Russians, the older Shelby’s visits are getting few and far between, meaning you see more of Finn throughout your always-busy shifts at The Garrison.

    The door slamming closed signals his arrival this evening. Having already spent a good six hours on your feet, serving the drunk and disorderly, it is a relief of the grandest kind when you look up and see Finn and Isaiah pushing through the crowd towards the bar; Finn is smiling, nudging Isaiah’s arm to which Isaiah ruffles the boys sandy blonde hair.

     “Evening, Y/N,” Isaiah says once he and Finn have finally arrived in front of you.

   “Evening,” you reply. “What are you two drinking today?”

   “I’ll have a whiskey,” Isaiah replies. “My boy here will have-”

    “Just a water,” Finn cuts in.

   Your eyes sparkle, darting up to meet his own; he’s staring right back at you, a shy smile on his face. “Just a water, Mr Shelby? You do know what time of day it is, right?”

     Isaiah has one eyebrow raised, glancing at Finn through the corner of his eye. “Have you gone fucking mental, mate?”

     Finn shrugs. “I’m not feeling good. Just a water will do fine.”

    “Alright. A whiskey and a water, coming right up.” You turn to the shelves, trying desperately to suppress the tiny smile threatening to weave its way onto your face. 

    Behind you, Isaiah’s voice is hushed but still audible when he says, “You think staying sober is gonna impress the new barkeep?”

    “I’m not impressing anyone,” Finn bites back. “I don’t need to impress anyone.”

   Isaiah scoffs. “Right. You’ve just lodged a stick up your arse for the fun of it, have you?”

    The unmistakable sound of Isaiah’s forehead smacking off the counter sounds behind you.

    “Fuck! Alright, I get it. I get it. I’ll keep my fucking mouth shut next time, yeah?”

    “Good. Next time it won’t be my hand smashing into the back of your head.”

   “Ooh, I’m shitting myself.” Isaiah is laughing when you turn back around, their selected drinks in your hand. You slide them across the counter, following close behind when you lean forward with your arms crossed. Isaiah smiles, taking a swig of his drink before he pats Finn’s shoulder and says, “I’ll be off now, anyway. That table over there is playing cards.”

    You crane your neck. “Are they really? I told them not to do that - half of them gamble their money off before they pay for their drinks. Robbing bastards.”

    “I’ll tell them to keep a few shillings spare, shall I?” Isaiah grins again, grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles before he turns on his heel and heads towards the table in question. You watch him go, shaking your head slowly.

    It’s just you and Finn now.

    Finn hollows out his cheeks, swirling his water around and around and around. His hazel eyes burn into the top of the glass, as if he can somehow turn the water to wine if he stares at it long enough; his hands are scarred and bruised - old and new, mixing together against pale skin that really shouldn’t be so blemished, but is anyway. 

    You resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand, trace your fingers along the scars left behind by years of being a Shelby. There’s so much you can say to him, so many opinions you can throw at him in one go, but you don’t think he’ll listen. Maybe you don’t really want him to listen. Maybe he shouldn’t listen, because at the end of the day, he’s a Shelby brother, and you’re a barmaid. 

     Finn looks up. “You know what I’ve noticed recently?”

    You raise a brow, silently urging him to continue.

    “You don’t drink a lot. At all.” 

   “Is that a problem?”

   “No. It’s weird, though. You’re a barmaid. You’re surrounded by all this booze and you don’t touch it.”

   “Arthur will have my hands if I even think about taking from his stash.”

   Finn purses his lips, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t think Arthur will notice. He’s a bit busy right now.”

     You shrug, straightening up. Your shoulders crack with the slow movement, hours on your feet finally taking a physical tole on you. “I don’t have to worry about that, anyway. I’m not a big drinker in the first place. I’m more of a tea fan.”

    Finn scoffs. “Tea?”

   Your arms fall to your sides. “What’s wrong with drinking tea?”

    Finn raises his hands in a mock pose of surrender, a shining grin forming on his face. You find yourself smiling right back, completely unable to stop yourself. “I’m not saying anything is wrong with tea. I like a cuppa myself sometimes, actually.”

   “Aye, so wipe that fucking smile off your face, Finn Shelby, before I do it for you.”

   Finn laughs, his hands clapping back against the counter. “You and what experience?”

    You roll your eyes, slapping his hand away from your arm before he can curl his fingers around your wrist in that way he always does when your conversations take a turn for the amused. “You have no right to judge my drinking habits when you have a glass of water sitting in front of you.”

    “If you want me drunk, Y/N, all you have to do is say.” With that, he takes a swig of his water, staring at you over the lip of the glass; his gaze has a warning to it, but that isn’t uncommon for the Shelby boys. Dark eyes an accessory to a personality of pure gold, you find your knees going weak beneath their scrutiny. 

    You look away, grabbing a dirty glass as way of distraction. “It’s not my job to tell you what to drink, I’m afraid. I pour the beverage, collect the money, tell the drunk twats to fuck off when I need to - and that’s it.”

    Finn hums into his glass. “Sounds fun.”

    “It pays.”

   “And that’s all you care about?”

    You look at him. “That’s all anyone in this shit hole cares about, Finn. Including you.”

   Slowly, Finn sets his glass down on the counter. You find it strange how he can down an entire glass of whiskey in two seconds flat, but struggles to make a dent in a glass of water. 

    “Money isn’t all I care about, you know,” he says. “I have. . . other things.”

    “Do I even want to know?”

    “You can ask if you want.”

    You pause, towel still stuck in the dirty glass, mind still reeling, knees still slightly unstable. “I don’t want to know. I’m too involved with you Shelby boys as it is.”

    Finn chuckles. “Is that a bad thing?”

    “Oh, it’s the worst sin of them all.”

    “May God have mercy on your-”

    Finn’s words are cut off by the gunfire.

    As earlier stated, gunfire has become something you’re not unfamiliar with. Before arriving in Small Heath, even the sound of a car back firing would have sent you scrambling for cover, unfamiliar with the sounds of violence, but now, you simply crane your neck to get a better view of what is going on.

    Thomas, John and Arthur Shelby stampede through the doors of The Garrison, John laughing his head off, Arthur yelling, Thomas strolling alongside them. John still has his gun raised towards the door, but judging by the sudden silence, none of his enemies have been left standing.

    Finally, John twirls around and laughs. “That’ll show the bastards, eh?”

    “What did you do?” Finn asks, turning to face his brothers. John immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders, pressing Finn’s face into the crook of his neck. Finn fights against the grip, pushing John away with a scowl.

    “None of your concern, Finny-boy,” says Arthur. The older man doesn’t look at you when he says, “Whiskey. Now.”

    You grab him a whiskey. 

    “Who are you sending out to clean up the bodies?” Finn asks.

    “Some of the Lee’s will take care of it,” Tommy replies. “Casualties were light this evening.”

  “I think that’s a cause for some fucking celebration!” John hollers, slapping his hand against the counter. “You’re a bit slow on it today, love. Where’s my fucking drink?”

    “Give them a bloody chance,” Finn hisses.

    You grit your teeth, handing Arthur his drink before you nod your head at John. “Sorry Mr Shelby.”

    “Whatever. Just get me a whiskey. And don’t be stingy with it, alright? I’m in a good mood tonight.”

    You do as asked, pouring a glass half full of whiskey and sliding it over the counter. You make one for Tommy, as well, even though the boss didn’t ask; he’s got his head down, staring at some pages he has now scattered across the bar, taking little to no care about the other inhabitants spread out across it. You give Mr O’Neil a pleasant, apologetic smile, and he nods because he understands perfectly well why you can’t move them; they’re the Shelby boys. They’ll sooner take their fingers off one by one before taking orders from a simple barmaid.

    “What’s that you’ve got there, Finn?” John asks.

    “Water. Don’t touch it.”

    You turn. John is glaring at Finn’s glass of water like it has just offended his ancestors, one eyebrow raised, his lips quirked in an amused smile that tells you he is seconds away from taking the piss out of his youngest brother. You hang back, watching the scene unfold in the way you’ve mastered over the past few months - looking, but not making it obvious you’re listening. 

     “Water,” John repeats, jostling Arthur’s arm. Arthur is laughing, has the decency to cover it with his own whiskey glass. “You’re on the water, are you? When’s the baby due, then?”

    “Fuck off, John.”

   John slaps the back of Finn’s head. “I’d sooner drink my own piss than touch that stuff.”

    “Don’t let me stop you.”

    John laughs. “Oooh, he’s got a mouth on him tonight, hasn’t he?”

    “The water makes him loosen up,” Arthur replies, before his eyes shoot to your own. “Or maybe it’s the barmaid. Tell me, Finn - is their mouth any good?”

    Your eyes pop open, heat rising to your cheeks. You’ve always known the Shelby brothers to have absolutely no filter, but it’s very rare you’re behind the comments they fire. You fold your arms over your chest, resisting the urge to tell Arthur to go to hell; you’ll leave that to Finn, who now shakes his head and says, “For fuck sake, can you two just mind your own business for once?”

    John wraps an arm around Finn’s shoulder and purrs in his ear. “You are our business, little brother. I’m proud you’re getting your balls drained.”

    Finn’s cheeks are coloured red by now. He keeps his eyes on the countertop, fingers moulding together to the point where there is a red mark beaming from where he rubs his thumb back and forth. “It’s not like that. Neither of you have a clue what you’re on about.”

    John’s eyes snap up. You look away, running your fingers along the glass cabinet in any attempt to keep up the facade of not caring. “Aah. They’re hard-to-get, are they? Do you forget you’re a Shelby? You can have anyone you want.”

     “I don’t want anyone.”

    You bite your lip, turning your back on them. 

    John laughs. “Right. Well, when the hormones finally hit and you start getting blue-balls, just keep in mind that we run this place. We’ll get you sorted.”

     Finn doesn’t reply. Part of you is glad he hasn’t, because his response would only lead to further discussion into something you certainly do not want discussed; John and Arthur continue their celebrations throughout the night, requesting more and more drinks, making more and more crude jokes. Tommy laughs along with them sometimes, but he can handle his drink much better than they can. Every now and then you will look over to the Shelby table, note Finn’s uncomfortable demeanour, before catching Tommy’s eye. It startles you every time, and you never keep the eye contact long enough to figure out what he wants - just long enough to acknowledge that it’s not an accident. He’s analysing you.

    When it comes to Tommy Shelby, that can’t be good.

    ----

     The light is dim in your flat.

     The bulb is on it’s way out, and you know that. If you hold off buying another one for any longer, you will be left shrouded in darkness for the evenings - and you’re not home during the day any more. Nonetheless, you pretend it’s fine when you get home. Another day spent dealing with drunken idiots, though Finn didn’t show up tonight, which made the night a little bit worse. 

     You turn on the record player, put it on it’s softest volume before you tug your robe from your shoulders and step into the bath. There is a cup of tea sitting on the desk beside you. The curtains are closed, your bed awaiting your arrival. You are determined to relax tonight. You think you deserve it.

     You don’t wash yourself. Instead, you spend the time just staring up at the ceiling, a cigarette between your fingers. You trace the patterns indented in the roof, notice the damp spots that will soon make you cough if you don’t take care of them - yet another maintenance issue to add to the ever-growing list. You don’t even know where to start; the idea of going out after work to buy light bulbs, or ventilation, or a new set of curtains - it’s daunting when you’ve seen what these streets can be like. In the day time, perhaps it’s not so bad. People walk around Small Heath in the day light all the time, but you’re always working when the sun is out; the only time you can go out is at night, and you’re not stupid enough to risk that.

    You close your eyes, sliding lower beneath the warm water. Your feet pop up over the edge of the basin, and you wiggle your toes against the cool air that attacks them, a direct contrast to the bubble-less water you’re currently soaking in. You want to stay there until your fingers are wrinkled, until the water is cold and there is no pleasure to be taken from it any longer. 

    You want to disappear beneath the water forever, never resurface. Not dead, but not present, either. 

     These thoughts get to you sometimes. Ever since leaving London, they appear at the most random of moments; you wouldn’t describe yourself as a very sad person. You’ve struggled, and you are struggling, but life is good. For the first time ever, you have a steady wage, and you can afford things. For the first time ever, you have friends you can genuinely joke around with, regulars at The Garrison who have already sworn to protect you with their life purely because you know just the amount of tonic water to top their whiskey with.

    But anyone will agree - disappearing forever is much easier than dealing with life. It doesn’t matter how happy you are. 

     These thoughts are cut off by a knock at your door. You immediately bolt upright, water sloshing over the side of the bath. Your eyes dart to the door, mouth opening, words of welcome on the tip of your tongue, but they are blocked by the anxiety coursing through you right now.

    And then, “Y/N? Open up.”

    Your throat closes over, the familiar voice of Thomas Shelby startling you into action. You don’t waste time pondering on why the fuck he’s decided to visit you. You just hop out of the bath, snatch your robe and tug it over your shoulders before opening the door. You grip the front of your robe with one hand, your other hand curled protectively against your chest.

    Because there he is. The most feared man in Small Heath. The most feared man in Birmingham. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was the most feared man in the United Kingdom.

    He’s not a tall man, but his personality gives him a good foot in height, in your eyes. With his shoulders drawn back and his daunting, ice-cold stare, the fact that most men are taller than him does not factor in on the fear he emits from people. He’s wearing a nice suit - as per usual - and there is very little expression on his face. His eyes roam your form for a second before he sighs and says, “Bad time?”

    “Yes.”

   He pushes into the house, nudging you out of the way with nothing more than a clip of his shoulder against your own. “That’s a shame. Have you got whiskey?”

    You swallow, slowly closing the door behind him. The music still plays softly in the background. Tommy rummages through the tea set-up you have laid out, frowning when he realises you don’t have any alcohol for him to consume.

    “I have tea,” you reply, hovering by the door in case you need to make a run for it. He’s trying not to be threatening, but the outline of a pistol is so prominent against his waistcoat. 

    Tommy glances at you. “I’ll have tea then.”

   You gesture towards the tray. “It’s all there.”

   “I pay you to pour my drinks.”

   You tap your empty wrist. “Off the clock, Mr Shelby. Pour your own drink, or dehydrate for all I care.” You fold your arms. “What are you doing here?”

    Tommy sighs, pouring himself a cup of tea - no milk, no sugar. “I’m here on behalf of my brother - young Finn.”

    Your heart stops for a brief moment. “Finn sent you?”

   “No.” He takes a long, loud sip of his drink. “Finn seems to have become quite. . . mute when it comes to matters concerning you.”

     “You shouldn’t tease him, you know. He’s a nice boy.”

   “He’s a Shelby. None of us are nice.” Tommy sits down, runs his fingers along the broken curtains behind him. “He’s just nice to you, which is why I’m here.”

    You raise a brow. 

    Tommy looks over at you, shakes his head when he sees your confused expression. “You’re aware of the work Finn is involved in, yes?”

    You don’t reply. It’s response enough.

    “Good,” says Tommy. “Then you’ll know the risk you’re taking by getting involved with him.”

  Your eyes widen. “Mr Shelby-”

   “Call me Tommy.”

   “Mr Shelby, Finn and I aren’t involved. We talk when he comes to The Garrison, but it’s nothing more than that. I talk to everyone that comes to The Garrison.”

  Tommy takes another long, loud sip of his tea. You want to slam the entire tea kettle into his fucking skull. 

    He sighs, content, when he finally sets the cup down. “I have a question, Y/N.” He flicks his eyes up. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

    You freeze. “What?”

    “Finn doesn’t just talk to people. He knows his own business just as well as anyone else - he knows it can never just be talking when it comes to people outside the Peaky Blinders. Our enemies will find his weak spots, and they will use that against him. I’m afraid, Y/N, you are definitely one of his weak spots.”

    Your heart is beating so loud, a symphony in your chest. Your palms are sweating, and suddenly the heat from the steam is overwhelming. You swipe a hand over your forehead, biting your lower lip when you say, “No one has come to hurt me if that’s what you’re worried about. Nobody will come to hurt me, because I’m the fucking barmaid. I’m not your little brothers play thing.”

    Tommy smiles. Smiles, like he’s amused. “I never said you were. In fact, I think Finn sees you as everything but a play-thing. He’s always been the naive one of us - I think he believes in true love.”

    “And do you not, Thomas Shelby? You had a wife once, no?”

   Tommys smile fades, replaced by that familiar deadly look that - somehow - you’re much more comfortable looking at. When Thomas Shelby is smiling, he’s unpredictable. At least you’re used to his scowl.  

     He bites the inside of his lip and looks into his tea cup. “I came here to tell you that - for your own safety - you need to stay away from him. Break his heart. Do whatever it takes, because the business we’re involved in right now is no place for you. And you will get involved if this little thing with Finn continues.”

    “How many times do I have to tell you? There’s nothing between me and Finn. You’re wasting your time.”

    Tommy slowly stands up, setting his cup on the side. He glances at the bath water, the dim lamp turned on in the corner, the broken curtains. He purses his lips, points to the ceiling and says, “I’ll send someone over in the morning to fix some things in here.”

    “I don’t need your charity.”

   “No.” He starts towards the door. You move out of his way, keeping your eyes trained on the floor when he leans in and says, softly, “But this place needs to look decent if I want it taken over when the Russians get rid of you.”

    ----

     Every person walking through the door is an enemy.

    That’s the power Thomas Shelby has. He twists your brain. He puts you on edge. He makes every person a threat.

    Your hands tremble when you pass the glass across the counter. Your voice shakes when you laugh at the inappropriate joke told by the man you’ve seen everyday for the past three months - he’s an alcoholic, you’re pretty sure, and you sometimes feel bad for being the person serving him his addiction, but right now, you look into his eyes and you see nothing but motive, motive, motive.

    He wants to kill you. The person over at that table wants to kill you. 

    Thomas Shelby probably sent them. A warning. A way for you to understand he isn’t messing around. Whatever you and Finn have - it needs to stop before things get out of hand.

    You inhale deeply, leaning your head against the glasses case. Behind you, the pub is thick with people, the evening crowd bustling through the doors at speeds you can’t keep up with. It’s strange, really; you’ve been doing this job for months now, and never before have you lacked. You’re always on your toes, skilled in talking to people, providing drinks right on time. But today, things are different. You can’t concentrate. You have to ask people to repeat their orders.

     Nothing is right. Everyone is an enemy. 

    “And what the fuck has got into you this evening?”

    You close your eyes, Isaiah’s voice making you tense. “Is Finn with you?” 

    “No. Little Boy Shelby had a family meeting to go to. Left us both for dead.” Isaiah racks his knuckles against the counter. “You didn’t answer my question.”

    You turn. Isaiah sits at the bar, that jovial smile on his face. As soon as your eyes meet his, however, it morphs, shaping into something close to concern. He’s a Peaky Blinder, though, so you aren’t really sure what way to take it.

    You hollow out your cheeks, closing the gap between you and him. You lean against the counter, ducking your head down. “Thomas fucking Shelby.”

    Isaiah sighs, placing a hand on the back of your neck. “What’s he done now?”

    “Nothing. He’s done. . . Well, he’s done what he always bloody does.” You look up, around, shrink back down against the counter. Lowering your voice, you say, “You didn’t exactly go into detail about how bad this whole Russian deal is.”

    Isaiah pulls back. “Tommy was talking about the Russians?”

   “Tommy was talking about me and Finn.”

    “Right. . . And that has to do with the Russians, how?”

    You raise a brow. Isaiah examines your face for a second before the realisation dawns on him; he pulls back, that cheeky smile forming on his face again. You roll your eyes, grabbing his wrist to yank him forward.

    “He’s talking shit, Isaiah. You and me both know that Finn and I are just mates.”

    Isaiah scoffs low in his throat. You wack him round the ear.

   “We are!”

    “Maybe you think that,” Isaiah argues. “But Finn has a special place in his cold dead heart for you.”

    You shake your head; you’ve heard it all before, and it still doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem real. Finn is a Shelby boy through-and-through. Shelby boys don’t fall in love with barmaids. Shelby boys don’t fall in love at all.

    But then you remember Grace. Sweet, kind, understanding Grace who managed to sweep Thomas Shelby off his feet with nothing more than a purring accent and an attitude. She was close to the complete opposite of Thomas Shelby, and yet she had his heart in her grasp.

    But you’re not like that. You’re not another Grace. Whatever she had, you don’t have it.

    “Yeah, well,” you mutter, pulling away from Isaiah. “You’re no fucking help, are you?”

    “I’m telling you the truth. What did Tommy say to you?”

   “Is that any of your business?”

    Isaiah rolls his eyes. “Don’t get bitchy with me now. You’re the one looking like the fucking mafia have their guns to the back of your head.”

     “Keep your voice down!”

  “Or what?” Isaiah swivels round in his chair, doing a dramatic overview of the crowded pub. You squeeze your eyes closed, raking hands through hair matted from long hours trapped in a room full of smoking alcoholics. 

    Isaiah turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “Y/N, what has Tommy got you so afraid of?”

    Opening your eyes, you regard him with what you hope is a brave look; you don’t want to make your fear obvious, but it is, because it’s there and you can’t push it away. Thomas Shelby’s voice is playing on a continuous loop in your brain, the warning that once meant nothing to you only just now reaching its full potential in your head.

     “He’s just being Thomas Shelby,” you mumble. “You know how he is.”

    Isaiah opens his mouth to say something more, but is cut off when Charlie pokes his head round the door. “Oi, Y/N. We need some more rum from the back room.”

    You scowl. “I’m a bit busy out front, Charlie-”

    “I’ll take over. I hate the smell of that fucking stuff.”

   You roll your eyes, nod a quick goodbye to Isaiah before pushing away from the counter and heading into the back room of the pub. It’s only small, filled to the brim with multiple wooden containers that hold all types of beer and alcohol. The stench of bleach fills your nostrils, and you succumb to pulling your shirt over your nose to block it out.

       Pushing crates of alcohol out of the road, you make your way to the back of the room where you know the rum is stored. You quietly curse Charlie under your breath, curse Thomas Shelby, and the Russians and everyone who is currently making your life a complete misery, because there’s just something about finally being alone that gives room to all the thoughts you’ve been trying to avoid.

     Clink.

    You freeze.

    The echo sends goosebumps up your arms. Your hands still against the wood of a single crate, fingers curling. The air grows still, and suddenly you are made well aware of the gaze burning into the back of your neck.

   It is replaced by the cold kiss of metal.

    You inhale sharply, bolting up straight but you don’t dare move. You stay rooted there, trying desperately to gather some coherent thoughts that will help you out of this situation, but nothing besides white noise comes to the surface. You’re going to die. Tommy was right. The Russians have pinpointed you, and there’s no going back now.

     “You didn’t even scream,” a cold Russian accent purrs. It’s low, so close to your ear. You nearly jump with the unexpected proximity, but it’s as if the gun has pinned you down. “I don’t know why I expected any different - the Shelby boys like the brave ones, yes?”

     “I’m just the barmaid.” Your voice shakes. At this point, you don’t even care.

    Your captor laughs. “Oh sweetie, I know. And I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

   “It doesn’t. You’re wasting your time. I don’t have any information-”

    “Who told you I’m looking for information?”

   You clench your teeth, squeezing your eyes closed. “What else could you possibly want from me?”

    It’s quiet for a split second. The air is suffocating. The walls are drawing impossibly closer, and you’re certain you’re going to faint with the sudden onslaught of unexplainable heat rushing to your face. 

    The Russian leans in. His lips are inches from your ear, barely brushing the lobe when he says, “Loved ones make fine bait, don’t you agree?”

    His question goes unanswered when he slams the gun into the back of your head, and the darkness pours in.

    ----

     The ropes have already done more damage than you’re comfortable with.

    Indents in your wrist. A bloody indent in the back of your head. Throat hoarse from yelling, crying out for a mercy you know you will not get; there is only one way this can end. Finn will come barrelling through that door with his band of merry men, and you will be dragged from these pits through gunfire and death.

    Or you’ll get killed.

    Neither of the options are appealing. You don’t want Finn throwing himself into danger, but in the same breath, you don’t want to never see him again. You have things you want to say to him. You have things you need to say to him, because if you’re about to die, you don’t want to die with this weight on your shoulders.

     Blood drips from the cut above your eyebrow. You blink it away, throwing your head back to let out another strangled cry for attention; so far, the only people who have entered your cell are the people assigned to injure you - only little cuts; a slit above the eyebrow, bending your finger back just a little bit, tugging on a tooth just enough to make you fear them ripping it from your skull entirely.

    It’s a weird form of torture, but it’s certainly working. You feel the pain tenfold when it bombards you few and far between. The cut on your forehead throbs. Your fingers ache with strain. Your gums have already started swelling from the prodding they’ve been given these past few hours.

    Few hours. Time isn’t real any more. You’re locked in a windowless room with only a metal table and a single chair placed within it. The world could be burning outside, and you would be none the wiser.

    The door opens again. A tall, grey-haired man in a lab coat walks in, smiling  with a set of teeth too perfect for the head they’re moulded in. His steps are sure and professional - he’s done this before. He probably thrives off it.

     “How are you?” is the first thing he asks.

    You spit blood on the concrete.

    He nods, kneeling down beside your chair to double check the bindings. His fingers are warm against your cold wrists, and you silently curse the sudden desire for him to just wrap them around your own and never leave - the cold is eating you alive. This tiny taste of warmth makes you crazy.

     “Another hour has passed,” he explains. “It seems we might be forced to take things into high gear.”

    Your eyes snap up. You say nothing, but the question glows in your eyes nonetheless.

    The man nods like you’ve replied. “We’re going to start sending the letters out. Details. And we’re not known for being liars, so we’re going to have to rough you up a little bit more to really make the Shelby boys quake, yes?”

    You stare at him. You hate him. You hate him, and he’s smiling, and you would do anything for the opportunity to reach over and claw those glowing eyes from his fucking skull.

    He smiles again. “Don’t worry. The sooner your boy comes through that door, the sooner this can all stop.” He slowly stands up straight. “Let’s just hope he gets here before the blood loss gets too much, yes?”

     “Why don’t you just kill me?”

   You hadn’t even realised that was a thought you were having; it seems so desperate, so close to the edge of giving up that it feels wrong to even think. But your head is throbbing. Your mind is numb. For the first time in your life, death doesn’t seem like a bad thing.

    The Russian’s smile slips. He tilts his head to the side, regarding you with beady eyes the colour of cracked pottery. “Don’t get it twisted, little one. We don’t enjoy doing this - but we have business.”

    “Oh, fuck you! That’s your excuse?”

    “That’s the truth.” He tugs on your bindings, forcing them deeper into your cold flesh. You squeeze your eyes closed, a trickle of blood tracing its way down your hand. “We don’t enjoy doing this, Y/N, but if you keep this up, you’ll definitely make it easier.”

     You shake your head. “I told your man back at The Garrison that this is a waste of time, and it is. The Peaky Blinders don’t give a fuck about me - they never have. They’ll see I’ve disappeared and put up a vacancy for a new barmaid. That’s all the attention they’ll give me.”

    “Oh, but we both know that’s a lie. Young Finn Shelby has already taken an interest in you. He’s already given you much more attention than what you describe.”

     “Finn likes a chat. So does any drunkard on a Saturday night.”

    And then the first blow hits.

    Unexpected, uncalled for. You don’t have time to beg for mercy before his wrinkled fist is smashing into your nose, your head crashing against the wall behind you, blood immediately clogging your nostrils. The noise that escapes your mouth is guttural, gargled from the blood that rises in the back of your throat; he caught your lip, too. 

    “I don’t like liars.” He steps back, rolls up his white sleeves. That smile is gone from his face, replaced by an angered scowl. “Lying will get you nowhere here, little one. It’s only going to make you look like a fool.”

    You try saying something, but blood pools over your lips and the words are caught within the platelets, drowned beneath a pained grunt.

     “Sometimes it’s just easier to know you’re place,” he continues. “Feel free to scream if you so wish, but that was the last lie I want to hear from you today, do you understand?”

    You spit blood onto the concrete again. “Fuck you.”

    He drags the knife from his sleeve.

    ----

    “The letter has been sent. They should receive it within the next half hour.”

    The man - Igor, you’ve learned - nods. Still, his sleeves are rolled to the elbows. Your blood mats the dark hairs running along his arms. His smile has returned.

    He’s got what he wanted.

    You can’t lift your head. Blood dribbles from your swollen lips. Two fingers on your left hand have been snapped for no reason other than they are bone, and Igor is merciless. Cuts and bruises dot your face, your body. Your shirt is ripped, sliced from the blade currently sitting idle in Igor’s hand. He’s taken a break, the letter has been written, and the Peaky Blinders will soon hear word of your stupidity.

    Tommy will read the letter and laugh. You know he will. He’ll look at the details, and he’ll imagine your bruised and battered body, and he’s going to say what Thomas Shelby always finds pleasure in saying: “I was right.”

    And he was. The little bastard was right the entire time.

    “It takes an army, you know,” says Igor, waving his little helper off. The door slamming closed behind him makes you jump. “To do this, to really rile us up to this point. It takes an army.”

    He approaches you slowly. His heels click off the concrete, silenced only when he kneels beside you. The stench of his breath fills your senses, a mix of smoke and alcohol - something you’re all too familiar with.

    “You must realise how far Thomas Shelby and his men have pushed us,” Igor continues. “We protect our own. You understand that, don’t you?”

    You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

    Igor runs his thumb along your swollen bottom lip, examines the blood before wiping it on his unstained handkerchief, pulled from the inside pocket of his blood stained lab coat. “I wish to be friends with you when this all ends.”

    You squeeze your eyes closed.

    “You lied to me a few times, but I can get past that. As I said before, Y/N, it takes an army to rile us up - not a few tales told in the moment. So I hope when this is all through, you can look past the corpse of your lover and see our side of things.”

    Your head snaps up. Pain bounces through your skull, but you push past it to say, “Corpse?”

    Igor smiles, slow and thin. “Finn is a Peaky Blinder.” Not a question, because Igor has done his research. “They must all go, Y/N. All of them. No matter how innocent they seem.”

    “Please don’t.”

    “I will not argue this point with you.” He stands up, brushing imaginary lint off his coat, as if it’s not covered in blood. “I’ll leave you to rest until we get some kind of response.”

    “If you get a response,” you spit. “I told you-”

    “We’re not wasting our time,” Igor says. “Having you in our company will never be a waste of time.” 

    He offers you one final grin, one final chance to tell him you understand, before he turns on his heel and walks out the door.

---

    In the moments before death, you may take a moment to look back upon the life cut short.

    Regrets, pleasures, happiness - all of it will come rushing back to you in a single, fatal blow. Faces of loved ones will flash through your mind, all smiles and scowls and inside jokes. Their voices will echo. The feel of their hands against your skin will tingle against the flesh now rotting away as death takes its patient, steady strides towards you.

     This moment can be seen as a blessing or a curse. A good farewell, or a waste of time. 

     You sit with your head hung, blood matted hair falling against your blood stained cheeks. Your head thuds, but not enough to push the image of his face away.

     Finn Shelby was never meant to be the last person you ever thought about, but you’re almost certain that is how it’s going to end up.

     His smile, always timid because he’s a Shelby and Shelby boys aren’t meant to smile. You remember sitting behind that bar, trying desperately to find something that amused him, some inside joke the two of you could share together - just to see him smile. Just to see him break the hard mould his brothers have always set him in.

     You recall him walking through the doors of The Garrison almost every evening. Sometimes he would be alone. Sometimes he would have Isaiah with him, or some other threatening member of his brothers motley crew; it didn’t matter who accompanied him, though. His eyes always found yours, his stride always led to you, his final goodbye for the night was always pressed into your hand for you to take to bed. 

    And you always claimed you didn’t love him. It was easier that way. You have an idea that most people who find themselves feeling things for any of the Shelby boys will much rather live in denial than admit their feelings. That was the mindset you took; it’s safer to ignore them. It’s safer to pretend you just care for Finn as a friend might care for a friend.

     But you’re dying. There’s no reason to deny anything any more. 

    Your head rolls back, cheek pressed against your shoulder. In the distance, you can hear the Russians talking. They stand outside the door, discussing things in a language you do not know, making decisions about a life slipping away. One of them bites into an apple, and they make it so loud and so obvious, and your stomach starts growling in response.

    You won’t be able to eat anyway. Not when everything will taste like your own blood.

    You settle your mind on the sound of Finn’s voice. It blocks out everything else, giving you a nice distraction to latch onto until things end. Your wrists ache, and your body is going numb, but in the back of your mind, Finn is telling you it’s all going to be alright, promising a life beyond this moment. You close your eyes, let your head fall to your chest-

    And then the gunshots sound.

    A noise once familiar now jolts you upright. Your heart spirals, thumping against your rib cage in a manner close to dangerous. People are yelling. In two seconds flat, the calm and quiet of wherever the fuck you are is shattered.

    “Shit,” you whisper through swollen lips and blood. “Shit, shit, shit.”

    Something has happened. The Peaky Blinders, maybe, but your brain goes directly for the worst case scenario - it’s not them. They don’t care about you. This is the Russians. Maybe they’ve got impatient. They might be wiping each other out. You don’t know. You’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before.

    You stir in your seat, ignoring the burning pain flaring in your wounded wrists. The ropes are slippery, the blood curling around the fibres, and you can feel them shifting, but you’re too weak to slip them off. You thrash back and forth, biting back the scream of frustration just seconds before the chair tips to the side, dragging you with it.

    You cry out, bruises and scrapes being knocked against the cold concrete. Black dots burst behind your eyes, and you’re certain this is it. These black dots are going to overwhelm you, take over everything until that pretty bright light appears in the distance, an angel coming to take you home.

     But you don’t want to die. No part of you wants to die. The pain isn’t bad enough. The circumstances aren’t scary enough for you to crave death; not when the memories you were pondering on before are so strong, so bright, everything you want and aren’t willing to give up.

     You curl your knees into your chest, squeezing your eyes closed to block out the sound of the gun shots. You remember all those evenings in The Garrison, simply rolling your eyes when John or Arthur or Tommy would come skidding through the front doors, gunshots following close behind. Back then, in that setting, it was so normal. It was an everyday occurrence. In Small Heath, people are meant to die. Wars are meant to be fought. Enemies are meant to be-

     “Y/N?”

    Your eyes pop open. A sob falls from your lips. You’re trembling.

   “Finn!” you cry out. “Finn!” 

    The door is thrown open, locks wasted, security obliterated. In the hallway, people yell and scream, and gunshots are fired left, right and centre, but suddenly, all of it is just background noise. 

   Finn is here. He slides to his knees, dropping the gun that is far too big for him. He pulls the strap away from his shoulder, throws it to the side before he grabs his knife and cuts into the ropes binding your wrist to the chair. You gasp as soon as you’re free, crawling to your knees only to fall directly into his already-open arms.

     You sob into his shoulder. Your body aches. The world is tilting, and blood is pouring from a slit in your eyebrow, right down the side of your face. Finn holds you close, whispers in your ear words that you cannot hear. You just focus on his voice, the lull of it, how each syllable shakes as it passes his lips.

    He pulls away, holds you at arms length. His eyes scan your face, thumbs tracing a line down the side of it. His fingers pull away bloody, and at the sight of it, his own skin pales.

    “You have to get out of here,” he says. “You have to get out of here now.”

    He scrambles up, dragging you with him. You wince, but you know you have no other choice; you need to move fast or risk getting shot, wasting this second chance you’ve so mercifully been given. 

    He drags you towards the door, where the gunshots are loud and the smell of death is pungent. You wince, letting Finn drag you into the blood smeared hallways-

    Where he passes you right to Isaiah.

    You flinch away, neck twisting round just in time to catch the moment Finn starts walking in the other direction. It’s confusion at first, followed by anger, followed by panic that sees you reaching out and grabbing his wrist before he can get very far.

    He ducks his head down, gun dangling around his neck. “Let me go, Y/N.”

   “No. You’re coming with me. You’re getting out of here, too.”

    “They nearly killed you.” He turns, running his eyes over your injured form. You’re slouched against Isaiah, one eye swollen, but not enough to shield your obvious hesitance at letting Finn go in there on his own. “I’m the one who’s pulling the trigger this time. I told Tommy that when we walked in.”

    “You don’t have to - Finn, you don’t have to do any of that. Leave it to Tommy.”

  “I told him this,” Isaiah says. “The shithead didn’t listen.”

  Finn whirls round, pointing a finger right in Isaiah’s face. “And you can shut the fuck up, alright? These men came for me. They came for my loved ones - I’ll be the one to sort them out, and that’s the end of it.” He pushes Isaiah. You stumble to the side, scrambling for his wrist, but Finn pulls away before you can get a hold on him again. “Get them out of here. I’ll meet you back at The Garrison.”

   “Yes boss,” Isaiah grunts. He starts pulling you away. You start yelling, thrashing around in his grip as much as your injured limbs will allow, but there’s no point to it. Finn turns on his heel and starts down the hallway, marching towards the area where the gunfire is still going off, where blood is still being spilled, where there is every risk he might be added to the long list of corpses found later on.

    You let Isaiah drag you from the building, because it’s all you really can do right now. Your body is giving in, the pain coming back in full force when he drags you out of the building and into the sunlight. You fall to the side as soon as Isaiah lets go of your arm, stumbling in the grass with a gasp. You grip your arm, curling fingers along the slitted knife wounds running the length of your flesh.

    Isaiah drops to his knees beside you. “What did they do to you?”

    “You’re an idiot,” you choke out through a wince. “A fucking idiot! You let him go back in there on his own!”

    Isaiah pulls back, eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re blaming me? He’s a Shelby, Y/N! A stubborn bastard.”

    You groan, shaking your head. “We need to go back. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how dangerous they are-” You stumble to your feet. Isaiah catches you just seconds before you crumble to the floor all over again.

    Tears leak from your swollen eyes, the world spinning. There’s a bed of water just a few feet away, and the sight of it reminds you of your dry mouth. A boat bobs within it, Charlie ready to take you home. You meet his eyes and he waves, but there is none of his usual enthusiasm; he just looks startled, eyes wide as he takes in your battered form.

    Isaiah tugs on your arm, drawing your attention back to him. “Finn will kill me if I don’t get you back home in one piece, love. So do me a solid, yeah? Just this once.”

    You close your eyes. “I don’t think - I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

  “What are you - ay, no. Open your eyes, Y/N. Stay with me!”

    But it’s too late. The world is spinning. The gunshots echo inside a head that suddenly feels much too heavy for your shoulders. It falls against Isaiah’s shoulders, and then he starts yelling, hands scooping you up. He barrels across the grass towards the boat, Charlie yelling out questions you cannot even begin to comprehend. Isaiah is yelling something back, voice hectic, but again, it slips through one ear and out the other.

     It’s a relief when the darkness finally settles in.

    ----

    Your body aches. 

   Bones out of place, blood pooling in the back of your mouth, the taste of ash and death licked from your teeth. Memories cling to the surface, perched on the shock of still being alive.

    The hospital room is lit only by a tiny lantern set upon the table beside your bed. In the air, there is a single cloud of grey, swirling from the soft lips of Thomas Shelby to the roof high above your head. 

     The mob boss sits beside you, legs folded at the knee, eyes trained on a magazine. Between his lips is a cigarette that he now takes a heavy puff from, draining the life from it in the way you’re certain he has drained the life from so many human beings.

    You should be intimidated, demanding answers to a situation you don’t even really want to ponder right now. But instead, you glance over, swiping a lazy hand across your eyes. Thomas flicks his own eyes up, acknowledges your rousing state and goes back to his reading.

     “You’re not the right Shelby.”

    “I’m afraid you have to go through me before I can put you through to Finn.”

   “What are you doing here, Tommy?”

    He looks at you then. Ice blue eyes carved into a face of pure steel; it’s a lie. His entire expression is a lie, something to throw you off balance. He smiles, and he tilts his head, and he hardly ever raises his voice, but behind that casual demeanour is a demon - a demon you’re growing to respect.

    “They told Finn you might not make it,” he says. 

    Your heart stutters. “Good.”

    “But you’re alive.”

   “Also good.”

    “You should have listened to me, Y/N. You’ve dug yourself too deep into this to crawl out now.”

    You shrug. It’s a lazy gesture, one that certainly does not encompass the real emotions clawing to the surface right now. The world is coming back into view. Recollections of what happened are prying, trying to get you to give them an attention you really cannot afford to give them at this moment.

     Tommy sighs, setting the magazine aside. He even has the decency to quash his cigarette in the ashtray before he leans forward, elbows pressed into his knee. “Finn wants to see you.”

     “He made it out alive then?”

  “Did you think otherwise?”

  You tap your temple. “I was a little too out of it to be focusing on Finn Shelby.” A lie, but you don’t need to tell Tommy that.

    Because he probably already knows.

    “I want to see him, too,” you reply, voice quiet. “I just - I want to make sure he’s okay.”

   Tommy tilts his head. “He’s not in this hospital beside you.”

   “Where is he then? Bleeding out back at the Shelby headquarters? Left to die because he didn’t listen to his all-mighty older brother?”

    Tommy doesn’t even flinch at your tone of voice. He simply plucks a second cigarette from the tin case in his pocket and hands it to you; you take it, do not place it to your lips. “I didn’t make a mistake in telling you to stay away from Finn. Clearly, my warning was made with sense. None of this would have happened if you listened to me.”

    “No, Tommy,” you say. “None of this would have happened if you didn’t get involved with the Russians in the first place.”

  And for the first time, Tommy looks genuinely shocked. His eyebrows shoot up for only a single second, his lips parting before he snaps them closed and turns away, glancing at the door of the hospital. His jaw clenches, Adams apple bobbing as he swallows down whatever words of hostility he had set out for you.

    And then, his voice low, “I don’t know what power you have over Finn, but he won’t listen to me. Nothing I say - nothing I do - will make him see sense. He wants to see you.”

    “And I want to see him. Where is he?”

    “Back home. He doesn’t know I’m here.” Tommy looks up. “He thinks you’re dying, Y/N. We’ve made an effort to keep him away.”

     “I appreciate the sentiment, Thomas, but it isn’t needed. I’m alive. I’m - I’m okay.” You place your hands on your ribs, bruised and battered, halfway to broken. “Let me see him.”

      “When you’re healed,” Tommy replies. He starts to slowly stand, all long legs and expensive suits. He brushes a hand through his hair before placing his flat cap back on his head, and all you can do is watch his gracious movements when he plucks your unlit cigarette from your fingers, places it in his own mouth and heads towards the door.

    “Tommy,” you bark, stopping him in his tracks. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t reply, but the acknowledgement is enough for you to continue. “You were right. It’s my relationship with Finn that threw us in the shit. But just ‘cause you’re right, doesn’t make my relationship with Finn wrong.”

     His fingers curl around the cigarette tin in his hand. For a second you think he might humour you, respect you enough to turn and give you some kind of response, but he does no such thing. He simply starts walking again, slamming the door closed behind him.

    ----

    Being out in Small Heath at night is dangerous. It was once an action you never would have even considered.

   Now, however, with your battle scars throbbing and your mind a blur of painkillers and hostile memories, you don’t care. You pull your knees into your chest, leaning on the wall of the small building you call home. The children no longer roam the streets; the carriages have been parked up for the night. Above you, the moon blinks, asking you what on earth you think you’re doing sitting in the open like this, when the rapists and murderers are at their optimum.

    You take a sip of your tea. Well, Mr Moon. I don’t care.

    Tommy kept his word, of course; stumbling into your house for the first time in two days, the first thing brought to your notice was the new bulb in your lamp and the new curtains set up against the window. The roof was painted a fresh white over the course of your absence; Tommy had left a single note on the mantelpiece: “Sleep well.”

    What it means, you don’t know, because it obviously isn’t just a casual, light hearted message to welcome you back. Thomas Shelby isn’t like that.

   Through the silence, it is easy to hear the footsteps sidling up beside you.

   In the darkness, you stiffen, hands curling round your mug. You don’t look up to see the persons face, but a single glance to the left reveals all; you would recognise those polished boots anywhere. Boots that should be stained by dirt and blood and gore remain clean, because Finn is a Shelby, and that’s what Shelby’s do.

     “You should be inside,” he says.

    You press the cup to your chest, the warmth scorching your collar bone in a most delicious way. “I couldn’t sleep.” You look up, breath leaving you as soon as you see him. Even the shadows do little to mask the face you’ve fallen in love with - and god, you’ve fallen in love. Months of trying to deny it, of telling people you and Finn are friends and only friends has come crashing down with the experiences of the past few days. He stands above you now, hands tucked in his pockets, his hair a little bit messier than usual. He’s staring down at you, eyes glittering under the lanterns lining the street above your head.

    You tap the concrete beside you. “Sit?”

    He lowers himself to a squat, not quite sitting but he’s close enough to you now that you can smell the mint leaves on his breath. 

    “How have you been, Finn?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

    He glances at you, chews his bottom lip. “I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead.”

   “Who?”

  “Everyone.” He rubs his knuckles along his upper lip, a rare demonstration of nerves. “It fucked me up. Fucked my brain up.”

    “I could have died.”

   “But you didn’t.”

    You close your eyes, tilting your head back just a little bit. When you speak, it’s like you’re addressing the moon. “No. I didn’t. Because you stupid fuckers came and helped me.”

    Finn scoffs. You look at him, one eyebrow raised. You can feel the stitches in your forehead pulling with the movement before Finn reaches over and runs his thumb along the seam, as if flattening the scowl. 

     “I’m offended you thought I’d just lounge about on my arse all day whilst you were in danger.”

    You swat his hand away, tea nearly spilling over the lip of your mug with the action. “You could have been killed, Finn. Killed. Do you know how long Thomas would have let me live if you got yourself murdered whilst trying to save me?”

   Finn rolls his eyes. “Don’t even talk about Tommy. He-”

   “A whole zero seconds,” you cut in. “He would have shot me on the fucking spot.”

    Finn lowers himself to the curb completely, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “He wouldn’t waste bullets like that.”

    You slap his arm.

   Finn throws his head back, laughing. His smile is so bright, momentarily letting you forget about the darkness you are both encompassed in, the world of danger you stand upon. For him, it is willingly. He was born into it and has seen no reason to leave. For you, the choice was made not by your head, but by the stupid thing beating in your chest. You’ve fallen in love, and can’t bring yourself to walk away.

    It’s as you’re having these thoughts - these scary, scary thoughts - that Finn reaches over and brushes his thumb against your lower lip. You tense, eyes darting to his own. He’s staring at your mouth, tongue peaking out from appealing lips of his own. 

    You slowly reach up, curling your fingers around his wrist. 

     “I killed them.” His breath fans your face, all mint leaves and truth. “Shot them with my own fucking gun.”

    “Finn…”

    “And it still wasn’t enough.”

    You close your eyes, tilting your head to rest in the palm of his hand. He wraps his other arm around your shoulders, tugs you into his side without explanation or awkwardness; you fall into his grip, resting your head against his shoulder as the darkness comes back, and the reality follows suit.

    “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

    His grip tightens. “Don’t.”

    “I don’t want to give you the burden of having to protect me all the time.”

    “It’s not a burden-”

   “Tommy warned me about what it would mean for me to fall in love with you, the danger of it. He told me to stay away.”

    Glancing to the side, you catch sight of Finn’s clenched jaw, fingers on his free hand curling and uncurling. 

    You reach over and touch his wrist. “He wasn’t wrong, Finn.”

    The Shelby boy closes his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

    “I don’t want to hurt you-”

    He stands up, sudden and swift, with the grace only a Shelby boy could truly have. You catch yourself before you tilt, head following his movements. He runs his hands through his hair, jaw clenched and teeth gritted. “You know, Y/N, there’s a reason I didn’t let Tommy handle the Russians on his own.”

   “Finn, keep your voice-”

   “A very good fucking reason.” His eyes burn into your own. “You’re the one person who listens to what I have to say. I felt like you were the only person in the world who saw me as Finn, not just an extension of the fucking family business.” 

    Your heart thunders. “Finn-”

   “You were the one thing I thought I could enjoy on my own, because you can look Tommy in the eye and tell him no. You’ve always been able to do that. You don’t want to hurt me? Then don’t let that fucker get in your head. You can walk away from here now, never talk to me again, but for the love of god, don’t be like everyone else - don’t let Thomas Shelby run your fucking life.”

     You’re standing in two seconds flat, arms thrown around Finn’s shoulders, back and stomach screaming in agony but you don’t care. You kiss him with a ferocity you’ve never known before, drown in the feel of his hands resting on your jaw, his breath mingling with your own, the years of pent up need finally rushing from your system in a single clean swoop.

    Finn kisses you back just as desperately, his fingers resting on your jaw line but not controlling your movements; you’ve taken control. You’ve got your arms slung round his neck and this man wrapped around your little finger, and you sink into him, deeper, deeper, deeper if that’s even possible after the months of denial you forced yourself into.

       You pull away first, shaking your head. “This is so stupid.”

    Finn runs his hands through your hair, voice a whisper. “I love you.”

    You melt against him. He catches you, hands slipping from your hair to your waist where he tugs, pulling you closer against him. “I know this is a bad idea,” you mumble into his neck, “but I can’t leave.”

      “You don’t have to leave. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

    “You can’t promise that.”

   “And I won’t.” He pulls away, holding you at arms length. “But my life is a fucking mess, and you’re the only thing that makes sense, so I’m going to try my fucking hardest.”

     Here he is. Finn Shelby, a member of one of the most feared gangs in England, someone who is meant to grow up to be just as scary, just as intimidating, just as savage as the rest of his family - and yet he holds you like you’re made of glass, nimble fingers cupping your elbows, eyes soft, trained on your mouth as you purse your lips and shake your head.

     You can imagine the destruction this will cause; Polly will have something to say, some insult to throw in your direction because god forbid someone put her boys in any type of danger. Arthur will let you away with nothing. John will curse and kick things and throw a hissy fit. Thomas will just be a danger, a risk you’ll have to look out for.

    You wrap your arms around Finn yet again, hugging him close. He nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, sways back and forth just a little bit, like the night breeze has finally taken him hostage. You bury your own head against the side of his, the feel of his skin making it so, so easy to forget about what it is you are really doing.

     “I love you,” you whisper, directly into his ear because you feel like you need to. Right now, with the stars and the moon as witness, you need to tell the truth.

    Finn shudders against you, tightening his hold on your waist. Afraid to let go. Afraid to dive headfirst into a life he once signed up for, but one he has never been prepared for.

[veryveryverytemporarily]

Christmas Midnight Memories...

‘I can’t believe you’ve done this to me! Who puts a coin in a Christmas pudding? I’m sure there are health and safety rules about it!’

‘Well, who fucking swallows it?’

Aaron was fuming and Robert was visibly agitated, his face sweating as he stood next to the hospital bed with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

‘You’re supposed to notice it and pull it out and make a wish for God’s sake. But no,’ Robert rolled his eyes skywards ‘… you have to throw food in your mouth and swallow it without chewing, as if you’ve been starved for the past century!’

‘Yeah, blame it on me why don’t you? It’s not a safe thing to do! And I’m the proof!’

‘It’s a tradition, Aaron. People have been doing this for five hundred years! You put silver in the Christmas pudding and it’s supposed to bring good luck and happiness, not misery and four hours in an emergency department.’

The nurse, wearing flashing Rudolf antlers, came up to them again.

‘This is the last time I’m going to say this. I will have to insist that you leave if you continue to argue, it’s disturbing to the other patients, some of whom are actually ill.’

Aaron was lying on the hospital bed waiting for an X-ray, feeling like a fraud. They’d told him on the phone that it would probably pass through his system, but when Robert had taken the phone forcibly from his hand and shared a stream of extraordinary potential things that could happen to him, from choking to appendicitis, they’d given in and agreed that probably they should come into the emergency department for an X-ray after all.

‘I don’t even like Christmas pudding. I only ate it cos you’d actually gone to the trouble of making it for us,’ he’d muttered.

They were disturbed by a sudden commotion as a Father Christmas, smelling of beer and with rather soggy beard, appeared and wandered down the ward, calling out, ‘Ho Ho Ho!’ as he came.

‘Fuck off Santa, can’t you see now’s not a good time?’ Robert raged, and Aaron closed his eyes.

‘And Merry Christmas to you, mate,’ he murmured.

It was their first Christmas ever together as a couple since they’d officially announced to the world that they were dating nine months ago. Robert, of course, had hoped to make it a romantic time and Aaron sort of understood why he was so mad, since everything had turned out so different from how he’d wanted. If there was one thing that Robert hated it was things going out of control. His control, that is.

Christmas Eve had been drinks at Diane and Doug’s with Andy, Vic, and Adam, but then Bernice had turned up with Lawrence, and they’d ended up winding each other up. Robert reckoned Lawrence was jealous that he was finally in an out relationship with a man (something he couldn’t have for himself).

Today, Christmas day, had been just as bad with the horror of a Dingle family dinner. After pulling crackers with Cain, Robert had been more than ready to leave.

Vic and Adam had booked a three-day Christmas break in the Lake District, leaving after Diane’s gathering so they had the house to themselves. Then Robert had served the literally flaming Christmas pudding, and disaster had struck.

When Aaron came back from the X-ray, Robert had calmed down. He’d got himself a coffee and Aaron a cup of watery tea from the vending machine as a peace offering.

‘Sorry, I think it might have gone a bit cold. Do you want me to get you another one?’ He put the drinks down on the bedside table and then reached over and took Aaron’s hands in both of his own, raising them to his lips.

‘Nah, you’re alright,’ Aaron said and squeezed Robert’s fingers back.

Eventually the doctor appeared holding the X-ray.

‘Well, this is interesting…,’ he started. Suddenly Robert stood up, grabbing him by the elbow and steering him further away.

Aaron watched Robert as he talked to the doctor with a furrowed brow, looking very serious. God, was there something really wrong with him that he didn’t know about? What was Robert saying, what was the doctor saying?

The doctor put the X-ray down on the counter and came to talk to Aaron,

‘So,' he said, ‘it looks like the object is leaving the stomach and entering the small intestine. It should pass through the system over the next 24 to 46 hours at the most. If you don’t find it after that, then you will need to come back for another X-ray.’

‘Find it?’ Aaron asked, looking pretty horrified.

‘Erm, yes, ‘the doctor replied. ‘I recommend prunes and a lot of water to get it through more quickly.’

‘I’ll help you look,’ Robert offered gently.

‘You’ll do no such thing, mate!’ Aaron snapped back at him.

‘Come on, I love you. It’s no big deal. It’s not as if I …’

Aaron stopped him, holding a finger up to his lips.

‘Enough. Just take me home!’ he sighed weakly.

 When they finally got back, Robert suggested a film to chill out.

‘What do you fancy then? The Avengers? The Man from U.N.C.L.E? Or we could just re-watch Torchwood?’ Robert loved Torchwood and of course secretly had a crush on Gareth David Lloyd who he thought looked very slightly like Aaron. Aaron also liked the romance scenes, but it wasn’t really his thing.

‘Why don’t we watch something Christmasy, eh?’

 ‘The Hobbit?’ Robert suggested. Aaron laughed and pulled him down onto the sofa for a kiss.

In the end, they watched a bit of the Muppets Christmas Carol, but when Aaron suggested they went to bed, instead, Robert grinned and allowed himself to be led up the stairs.

Once in the bedroom they undressed quickly and started to kiss.

‘This was more of the Christmas I’d had in mind,’ Robert said in a low voice and, pushing Aaron backwards, he kissed a path slowly down from his chest to his stomach before moving completely down and shuffling between Aaron’s thighs, where he started to lick around his hole in the way that he knew brought Aaron close to the edge.

But instead of the blissed out reaction he was accustomed to, all at once, Aaron pulled him up forcibly, grabbing a fist full of the blond hair that Robert had left to grow long for the winter.

Robert looked at him, still panting lustfully, and pushed his fingers down between Aaron’s arse cheeks instead, but Aaron grabbed his hand and slapped him away too, so that Robert lay back on the bed and started laughing, putting his hands behind his head.

‘Aaron, I’m just trying to make love to you!’ he protested.

‘I know. But it’s ruined now. All I can think about is where that flaming silver coin might be.’

‘Wh… what?’ Robert looked sideways at him.

‘It’s just messed with my head, that’s all.’

‘OK. Then let’s make this simple.’ Robert lowered his eye lids and put his head slightly on one side ‘Let me give you a Christmas blow job.’

Aaron rolled onto his side propped up on an elbow and looked down at Robert’s wet red lips. ‘Or I’ll give you one.’ He smiled.

‘Sixty-nine?’ Robert raised his eyebrows.

‘No, cos you’ll just start fingering me.’

Aaron ran a finger over the soft curve of Robert’s exposed arm pit, pinching some of the short blond hair there with the intention of causing pain.

‘Ouch!’ Robert grabbed his hand and went on, ‘Just trust me, Aaron, won’t you?’

Robert swiveled round on the bed so he was upside down and Aaron grabbed his thighs and slapped his firm white arse.

‘I’ll trust you, Sugden, when you stop talking and start sucking!’ Aaron ventured.

So, Robert grinned and did as he was told.

It was early hours on Boxing Day when Robert was woken by Aaron, clutching at his stomach, bent double and sweating. He was obviously in trouble.

‘Oh my God! What have I done?’ Robert asked, hastily pulling on trousers and a sweater. He very gently steered Aaron to the edge of the bed and dressed him, listening to him whimper with pain. ‘It’s OK Aaron, you’re going to be OK!’ He muttered tenderly.

Robert got caught by the speed cameras on the way to the hospital but he didn’t care.

After another X-ray, the doctor explained that the object had got caught in a small pocket of intestine. There would be no alternative but surgery, but fortunately it would be keyhole so recovery would be fast and it would leave hardly any scarring. Aaron and Robert raised their eyes at each other at the mention of scarring and Robert took Aaron’s hand and squeezed it gently. He knew how sensitive Aaron was about the scars on his body, he didn’t need any more to remind him of those painful memories.

Before Aaron went into surgery, Robert kissed him.

‘This is my fault. I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I love you, Aaron!’ he called after him as he was wheeled away down the corridor and out of sight.

***

Aaron blinked his eyes and registered the flashing lights he could see were coming from the fairy lights on a Christmas tree at the corner of the ward.

He felt Robert’s lips on his forehead.

‘Heh. There you are, then! You look so sexy in a gown! We should ask to take it home as a souvenir, for role play!’ He heard him say.

‘Is that all you ever think about?’ he grumbled in reply. His voice sounded hoarse from the effects of the anesthetic.

‘Mostly. Where you’re concerned.’

Aaron finally looked at Robert as his face came fully into focus. When he saw Robert’s genuine smile, he couldn’t help but smile back.

‘Your Mum’s here, and Paddy,’ Robert said. ‘Please don’t tell them this was my fault, if you ever want to see me alive again.’

Robert left them to it. While he was waiting, the nurse approached him with a small plastic container.

‘I believe this belongs to Mr. Dingle? But you probably want to give it to him yourself.’ He smiled at Robert. ‘We washed it with alcohol, so it’s quite clean now,’ he went on. ‘Do you know what he’s going to say?’

‘Absolutely no idea.’ Robert smiled back at the nurse, running a hand through his hair.

Eventually Chas and Paddy left. Robert resumed his position at Aaron’s bedside table. Aaron could hear him breathing heavily.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, always tuned into Robert’s state of mind.

Robert was nervous, but why?

‘So, here it is.’ Robert pulled a plastic box out of his pocket and rattled it, then offered it forward to Aaron, who scoffed and looked away.

‘Well, aren’t you going to look at it, then?’

‘Why would I? It’s just a coin that caused me a lot of grief, mate.’

‘Well,’ Robert lost his patience. ‘Go on; look at it anyway.’

Aaron looked closely at Robert’s face and took the box, then opened it. As his eyes adjusted, he shook his head in confusion.

‘It’s, it’s not a coin…,’ he mumbled.

Robert nodded in agreement, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his heart raced.

‘It’s…, it’s a ring.’

‘It’s a ring.’ Robert repeated.

‘Why’s it black? Is that cos it was…,’ Aaron gestured to his stomach.

‘No, it’s black silver.’

Aaron looked closer at the circular band; it was encrusted with small diamonds all the way round. It was masculine and plain, but stunningly beautiful.

‘Are they … diamonds?’

‘Yes, because, you know what diamond rings are for?’ Robert answered swallowing.

Aaron looked straight into his eyes.

‘Tell me,’ he said softly, biting his bottom lip.

Robert went down on one knee by the bed, and took Aaron’s hand.

‘From the day we first kissed I knew that you were the one, the only one. Aaron, you are my soulmate, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me? Aaron, will you marry me?’

Aaron eyes were welling with tears that spilled down his cheeks.

‘You know my answer. And you know you can’t buy me. I don’t want your poxy diamond ring!’

Robert sighed.

‘You’re right.’

He took the ring and threw it in the trash in the corner of the cubicle. Fishing in his pocket he pulled out a plastic ring and looked at it.

‘This came out of the cracker I shared with Cain yesterday. This do you?’

Aaron grinned through his tears and took it, wrapping his fist around it.

‘Yes.’ His blue eyes shone as he looked at Robert. ‘My answer, you Muppet, is yes.’

‘Really?’

Robert kissed Aaron so long and so hard that the nurse approached them.

‘I will have to insist that you leave if you continue this, it’s over stimulating to the other patients, some of whom are, actually, quite ill.’

The next day Robert came to take Aaron home. Aaron was dressed and waiting. He showed Robert the contents of the sports bag: There was the hospital gown folded neatly, ready to take home for role play time.

‘Yes! Well done, Aaron!’ Robert winked. Then all at once he noticed something. He picked up Aaron’s left hand and looked at his second finger. It was adorned with a beautiful black silver band encrusted with diamonds.

‘Yeah, well.’ Aaron winked. ‘I figured it would last longer than the other one.’

‘All our lives.’ Robert answered with a smug grin and kissed him softly. He picked up the sports bag and took Aaron’s hand as they left the ward together to go home.

Santa was on his rounds again, looking rather pale and exhausted.

‘Merry Christmas!’ Robert nodded as they passed on their way out.

***

‘I’ll be the doctor and you be the patient.’

‘No, I’ll be the doctor and you’ll be the patient, mate. I was the patient last time, if you remember?’

Adam banged on the wall.

‘You’ll both be bloody patients in a minute, if you don’t shut it. The sooner you get married and out of this house the better!’

Robert and Aaron looked at each other and stretched their eyes, grinning guiltily.

‘Okay, you be the doctor.’ They both whispered together. ‘No, you….’

[captainlondonman]

Workie Big Jim to J-Boi

WORKIE BIG JIM to J-BOI

 What the hell is going on outside the front door? James looked through the window and saw 2 young guys setting up bollards in a square on the pavement outside

 ‘I’ve not had any notifcation for works to be done.’

 As he looked out there were two guys both in their 20.s in full Hi Viz gear wearing white helmets and orange kit. One had a really good bod and knew it wearing tight trousers so he showed off a tight arse. He had a tight fitting T shirt on showing the full 6 pack and protruding nipples, making sure his waistcoat was open for all to see. He was unshaven, a good dark stubble and tanned. One arm was full of tats and he had gold earrings in both ears and a ciggie droping down from his lips. As he turned so James could see his cock pushing out from the tight confines.  His head was shaved and gleaming.

Sex on legs but a mouthy son of a bitch by the look of things

The other guy was shorter and a good rugby build with hairy arms and shaved head. He was wearing dirty camos and high rigger boots. He kept wiping his nose on his cuffs. A dirty little bugger James thought

Even if James was annoyed at seeing them outside his house, he found his cock twitching at the sight of the lads.

Nothing to beat a dirty workie  he thought. Christ I don’t why but the sight of these dirty young guys in Hi Viz always gets me horny . I can’t stop dreaming of being a mucky workie and having a good fuck with these guys. As he stared at them so his hand went down to his dick and started rubbing . Shit I love Hi Viz gear he said as his cock started tenting big time in his trousers. Christ I have to have a wank and they wont be able to see me getting my rocks off.

With that he took his good 6 incher out with its thick head and started to rub himself. That cocky one really gets me so horny he said watching the young lad bend over showing the tight arse. What I would do with that he said but knowing full well he never would which made his excitement even more. His hand groped his dick and he slid his sweaty hand up and down his shaft faster and faster working his thick head wet with precum. Oh God I’m coming as he shoved his head back and his cum spurted all over the wall under the window.

 James showered and washed off all the excess spunk that had run down his legs Time to get to work. As he walked out the cocky lad looked over at him and winked.

‘What are you guys doing right in front of my house.’

‘What the fuck does it look like. Digging a hole mate, electrical problems. Can you not see what it says on the back of my coat.’

‘I only asked’ James said

‘And I only told you’ was the reply.

 ‘Have you not any foreman’ asked James

‘Nope, he buggered off, its just Jake and I, ain’t it Jake?’

‘Sure thing, Wayne but we reckon we know what were doin’

‘I certainly hope so’ James said somewhat arrogantly

‘Christ man can you not take a joke. A bit strung up ain’t you?’

‘How long is this going to take?’

‘As long as we feel like. Looks a good job for us with no one in charge so a good few cups of tea and breaks plus of course our ciggies, a good week I’d say. Wayne gave James another wink as as he did so he let his hand run down the shaft of his cock making sure that James saw the full length of his dick.

James realized that Wayne was a bloody  troublemaker just baiting so decided to go off to the office without any more to say.

‘You know mate you’d be better off as one of us workies. A fucking better life than stuck in an office.’

 Sitting on the bus James kept thinking what Wayne had said about being a workie and the idea of being one working along side Jake and Wayne in full Hi Viz gear made his cock rigid under his briefcase. Christ I’d be so horny working with them I’d never get any work done he joked to himself.

 When he got home the two blokes had left. During the night he could not take his mind of Wayne’s arse in those Hi Viz trousers and those tats and dirt and the shaved head. He kept waking up with a raging knob on but decided not to wank as he was waiting to see the two of them the next day.

He remembered waking up early because the doorbell rang. He went to open and on the doorstep was a bag, no one there. What the hell is this?

Might as well open he thought and as he unzipped he caught sight of bright orange HI Viz clothing.

Someone must have left this but I didn’t see yesterday evening.

As he put his hand in the bag he stroked the gear and felt his cock harden.

I’ve got to look at this. He took out everything and laid it out on the table. There were a pair of thick rigger boots well used and filthy with the leather on the toe caps worn so he could see the metal. A pair of yellow socks with holes in the toes. a pissed stained worn jockstrap, A pair of mucky Hi Viz trousers with a thick belt, a ripped T shirt stained with dirt and snot, a waistcoat and helmet.

 They are all much too big for me he thought sadly but he leant over the table and started smelling everything. Christ the socks are stinking with a real cheesy feet smell. It’s as though they’ve never been washed. The T shirt smelt of BO and dirt and as for the jockstrap it really smelt of piss and fresh piss at that full of yellow stains. As he stroked the jockstrap there were hard sections which he could see were of dried cum. The smell of it all as he rubbed his hands over the clothing had him so worked up he thought he might cum, his cock was already oozing precum.

‘Just looking at all this is making me so horny I’ve got to try it on even if it is too big, I just want to feel all this dirt and piss against me.’

He picked up the jockstrap and started rubbing it over his face. He wanted to cover himself with the smell of stale piss. He rubbed it over his nose and over his eyes then started stuffing it into his mouth until he was almost gagging with the smell but the more he stuffed in the more the precum appeared on the tip of his cock. With the jockstrap now moist from his spit he put on the jockstrap knowing it was far too big. As he pulled it up his legs so he suddenly felt dizzy and different. His legs started growing not just in height but width, they were bloody chunky legs with big muscles and his soft downy leg hair changed, thick dark hair started sprouting all over his legs even across the top of his feet. He pressed his stiff cock into the jockstrap and the outline changed. What was just a normal erect dick strained so much as the cotton he thought is would burst. It was a monster tool and thick as his arm scarcely able to be contained. Black curly pubic hair suddenly was growing all around sideways, upwards like a bloody gorilla,. His waist had expanded and the elastic was straining around his waist. The colour of his skin had changed from pinky white to a dark tan which with so much hair he could hardly see.

James could not understand but he knew he had to continue getting into the gear. He next put on the socks, dirty stinkin and his toes were popping through the end he must be a size 12 at least what had happened to his size 8.He lifted the Hi viz trousers and thought they were much too big for him but as he dragged them up his leg they started to feel tight. He could hardly get them over his pouch so hard was his big cock. He pushed them over and they felt so tight across his arse but as he looked down so his stomach started to change and push out. Not just a little but one hell of a lot. He had a bloody great beer belly and the hair from his pubes was rapidly speading up over the top of his trousers. As he tied his belt so his belly spread out over. He lifted the T shirt and smelt the armpits. God they stank of sweat, and there was a rip down part of the front. As he put it over his head he felt his arms ache and his chest tense. Looking more carefully his arms had expanded to reveal hard muscle he knew he never had and not just muscle but Tattoos all the way down both arms and yet more thick black hair. Christ it looked so bloody macho. The hair moved over his shoulders and he could feel it moving down both back and front. He seems like a bloody gorilla His chest seemed to blow out, the belly more pronounced and a big pair of hairy tits. The rip in the T shirt meant that one of his tits was poking through showing a big juicy nipple with a thick steel ring. As he went to put on the Hiviz waistcoat his arm brushed his face. Where was all that smooth skin of his, instead he took his thick nicotined fingers over a big bushy beard and up to a shaved head.. Only one thing left, his helmet. It looked miles too big but as he brought it down it was the perfect size , he head had expanded so much.

However the biggest change was when the helmet was fully on. James suddenly felt a strong rush of blood running round his entire body. His brain felt fried. He put his hands up to his face and shouted not in his well spoken soft voice but in a strongly accented deep tone.

 ‘I’m fucking Big Jim and where are those fucking skivers. Time someone fucking told them who’s Boss and its me. Time they make it up as I’m needing a fucking shag.’

With that he opened the door and Wayne and Jake were sitting with ciggie in hand and no sign of any tools.

‘What the fuck do you two think your doing. I hate fucking skivers. Get the hell in here now.’

Wayne could not believe what he saw but both were so surprised they stood up speechless and went inside.

‘So you’s think that jus because I’m no with yos you can do whit you like. Well I’ll tell you I’m the one who gives the orders not fucking you. And its lucky for you that I’m feeling fucking horny so no docking of wages but time to keep me happy and shoot a load.’ Big Jim shouted and belched rubbing his hand down the length of his cock

‘That’s a fucking monster you’ve got there Jim and I can see its already rock hard the way its tenting.’

‘Too fucking right and see that arse of your’s boy well that’s where its going. And don’t tell me you don’t like big cock. ‘

‘No way Big Boy’

With that Big Jim grabbed Wayne from the back and yanked him back bringing his bushy bearded face against Wayne. I told you what I’m doing and you do nothing but agree. Right got that?

Jim sent a big gob of spit into Wayne’s face.

‘OK mate sure thing’

Still holding Wayne by the collar with one hand  Big Jim yanked open Waynes flies and pulled down his HI Viz . As he did so, Wayne’s erect cock sprang up.

‘No way you say? That stiff dick of yours is telling me something else. A good size boy and any dick as stiff as this wants a fuck. So bend over now.

And as for you Jake stop staring and rubbing your crotch. I can see that knob on from here, getting you going is it?

‘Sure bloody is Big Jim’

‘So fuckin unzip yourself and lets see what you’re made off.’

Jake stuck his hand into his Hi Viz and pulled out a long thin hard cock.

‘You can have a good wank when I say so but first your goin’ to suck yer mates dick and when I say suck I wanna see his tool all the way down your throat.

Right Wayne I said bend over .

As he pushed the lad down he took his other arm and slapped hard across his arse

 ‘Fuckin hell man that hurts’

‘I want to get your bum nice and hot for my cock, so quit the moaning and with that he struck again as the arse showed red.

‘Time to give you  a sackful of cum boy. He dropped a gob of spit onto his throbbing cock and worked it, then taking hold of each cheek he spread them apart to get a look at Wayne’s hole.

‘Big hole boy for someone like you. Don’t tell me you’ve not had a dick my size up that crack of yours’

‘Now inch that arse back so I can spear you and don’t worry I’ll take my time.’ Slowly he inched his cock into the hole his spit giving as much lube as necessary

‘That’s it boy you now start moving back onto my prick’

‘Fuck I feel I’m going to explode’

‘Oh stop the crap and take it like a man.. That’s it you’ve got the hang of it now. Keep moving your arse further and further in. You’re tight but fucking fantastic ‘Keep going you’re almost at the hilt.’

‘I fucking hope so cant take much more length.’

With one push Big Jim was fully in.

Right Jake just fuckin looking and rubbing your dick, its time for you to give some action and give our mate here some head. I can see you can’t wait to get his knob down your throat.

Jake bent down while Wayne pushed himself further and further into Big Jim’s pubes.

‘Christ I can feel you right up’

‘I fuckin well hope so’

Jake started licking Wayne’s head dripping his spit and feeling it mix with Wayne’s precum.

‘Load of pre there man. You’d have to with a dick this size up you

Jake slowly let his mouth move up the shaft, making sure his saliva made the cock easy to get down his throat. He loved cock especially Wayne’s as the further down he got the thicker the cock was making him open his mouth fully. Once fully in he starting sliding his mouth up and down the shaft getting faster and faster

‘Fuck man, you always give the best head. Come on Jim get that prick of yours moving in and out. I wanna come with you spurting inside me.’

‘You asked for it boy and with that Jim started lunging in and out making sure his groin was right into Wayne’s arse, pounding him. He could hear the noise of the precum and spit getting louder and louder the more he fucked.

Jake had his hand wrapped around his dick wanking hard ready to swallow all Wayne’s juice

Jesus man I’m going to come, your big dick is making me so fucking horny I can’t wait any longer. Jake get ready to swallow, I’ve got bags of cum going down yer throat.’

Big Jim slowly took his cock back ready for the final push.

‘Ready boy I’m cumin all the way up you. So fucking much it’ll be coming out yer mouth.’

‘Fuck man I’m cumming

‘So am I, take it Jake, shit what a fiuck’

‘Yes boi here is comes yea, Fucking hell.’

And with that Big Jim threw his head back and all went dark

 James woke up. It had all been a dream but not only had Big Jim spunked but James’s dream was so real he had come all over his chest, spunk all the way to his neck.

‘God what a dream that was amazing. I’ll need to go and shower.’

 And with that the doorbell went not just once but several times.

‘Christ I’ll have to answer that. He quickly put on his tracksuit and hoping no one would notice his dripping cock making a stain, he opened the front door.

 Wayne was standing leaning against the door frame with mug in hand, his eyes glinting at James, dressed in full HiViz with a thick jacket and trousers.

‘So mate, I need some water for my tea. Thought I’d get some from you. You going to ask me in?’

 ‘I’m busy but if you just want some water come into the kitchen.. Where’s your mate?’

‘Buggered off so just me today, at least for the moment.’

‘Let me have your mug and I’ll fill up.’

‘Don’t think I’m wrong mate but you smell of spunk. Am I right? Looks as though there some left overs staining your trackies. Been wanking thinking of me, eh’

 James was speechless

 ‘I saw you looking at me rubbing me crotch the first day and when I saw you looking out the window I bent down knowing you were getting off seeing my tight bum. Right eh? I fucking knew you were wanking at the window. So you get off on Hi Viz workies do you? I tell you we get hit on all the times by blokes who love the gear like you. So you wanna try some on, what about mine. Bet that would really turn you. You’d feel my body part of you eh?’

Wayne gave his cock an ru knowing full well James was staring at him, and all this talk was getting not just him but James also really horny

‘Well em, if you want.’

‘Right then get your trackies off and I can first see that bod of yours and all the spunk that’s drying off.’

James did as he was told took his trackies off

‘Shit man that’s a hell of a lot of spunk I can see. Good balls eh? And not a bad sized dick either which I can see is looking for some hot action. Got a wee surprise for you mate, hope you are ready. I knew I would have you today.’

 Wayne undid his jacket and opened up to take off. Underneath James saw a white T shirt with the word SKIN in large red letters on the front and red braces. His tats showed strong all the way down his arms

Wayne let down his trousers and under he had a pair of bleachers and 19hole Doc Martins with yellow laces.

‘Eyes out on stalks boi? Like what you see. This is me when not a workie but I still luv being a fucking workie.’

 Wayne stood there in front of James with his head fully shaved and glistening and all the tattoos showing down his muscled arms, he was the perfect skin.

‘So get the gear on.’ Wayne barked at James.

 All James wanted was to put on the Hi Viz gear and he could smell Wayne  he hadn’t washed for several days but that made it all the better.  James just wanted to please Wayne

God it felt great and knowing it was Wayne’s made him start to feel so horny.

Wayne put his arm around James’s neck and pulled him in to him so their faces were touching.

‘Now open yer mouth.’

As James opened his mouth so Wayne kissed him and stuck his tongue down the throat releasing a huge gob of spit into James mouth.

‘Swallow that’ he barked.

As James let the gob slide down his throat so he suddenly had a burning sensation like an electric jolt through his body but it felt bloody great.

‘Feeling good boi eh?’

‘Yea feel different.’

‘Bloody right what’s yer name?’

‘J-boi’

‘Yeh and what are you?’

‘Your bitch’

And what does my bitch do

Lick your boots

‘So fucking get down and do it in my hi viz gear. You love my fuckin gear don’t you bitch’

J-boi did as told and knelt on the floor covering Wayne’s boots with spit and licking. Wayne put one booted foot on J-boi’s head and pressed it down.

‘I said fucking lick, so get on with it. You love it boy licking my boots and being my bitch.’

J-boi licked as though his life depended on it and the more he licked he more his cock hardened making him feel so horny. He loved his cock rubbing against Wayne’s trousers making him feel part of Wayne, a skin workie.

‘Now work your way up my bleachers’

Slowly still tonguing J-boi made his way up until he came to the hard long outline of Waynes cock. Shit what a cock. His full length was straining down his bleacher leg wanting to be released but not before he made J-boi work for it.

‘Now get your mouth round my head and feel the length. Good aint it, it’s what you want you fuckin little bitch.

J-boi said nothing,  he was too busy loving feeling the cock through the bleachers. He sat back looking up at Wayne like a pup.

‘You want my dick down that throat of yours don’t you boi’

‘Fucking right I do Master. You do with me what you want.’

With difficulty Wayne pulled down his zip and forced outhis thick juicy dick. It bounced up in boi’s face.

‘Look mate you’ve got be fucking hard, that what bitches do. So open that fucking mouth wide and take what’s coming to you’ as he smeared his pre cum cock against J-boi’s face

Wayne grabbed boi by the hair.

‘Once you’ve had my spunk I’m getting rid of all that  fuckin hair of yours. I wan my bitch a true skinhead. As you’r goin to be a fucking dirty workie you’ve gotta look a real man

He rammed hic dick into Boi’s mouth. At first he gagged with the size and ferocity that Wayne rammed it in but he wanted every inch Wayne could give him and let his mouth and throat take the full length. He felt the pubes rubbing against his face.

‘Jesus you love my sweaty dick. I haven’t washed for a couple of days knowing I was coming here. Nice a cheesy with some hardened cum on it. Thinking of you in my Hi Viz gear sucking me off had me wanking big time but better knowing that now you’re no longer a fucking pansy but one of us Skins. A bit of work but I’ll have you tattooed, hair shaved and smoking packets of ciggies in no time

His hands still grabbing Boi, he pulled him in and out, Boi’s spit dripping down his face

‘Christ you know how to give head boi. I picked the right one to be my bitch. I’m going cum and you’re gonna take all. There’s a sackful going down.

Boi in Wayne’s Hi Viz could only think of all that cum and sucked quicker and quicker.

‘Christ I’m coming ,take it all boy’ and he exploded into Boi’s mouth. Too much for him to swallow and it oozed down his chin and on to the Hi Viz jacket. ‘Christ what a fucking blow job. Jesus boi you’re the best.’

He hauled Boi up and stuffed his mouth down bois throat licking his own cum and feeling Boi’s spit.

Master, my cocks so fucking hard in your gear, I need to cum.’

‘Ok Boi but rub yerself off in my gear, I want all that cum to run down and harden inside. Let me see you wank now Boi.

Boi had his hand around his dick rubbing up an down on the trousersfeeling Wayn’s hardened cum inside and knowing he was going to cum and mix it with Wayne’s

That’s it Boi, shoot yer fucking load inside.

Christ, I’m cumming, shit I’ve still a fucking great load in me balls Yeeees fuck man , shitttt! And Boi gushed a wad of cum inside Wayne’s Hi viz and Boi could feel it running all the way down his leg, loads of good white cum.

He sat back exhausted still oozing Wayne’s cum from his mouth

 Zipping himself up Wayne said

‘Right Boi its time you got your hands dirty and came out to do an afternoon’s work in your Hi Viz. I’ll watch you with me mug of tea. Then it’s off to the barbers for you and a full razor job. I want that head of yours gleaming. After that the Tat shop to get your fist tattoo and I’ll choose what it is. Like the idea of a swastika on yer neck. Have you looking like a real skin. We’ll pick up a few can of beers with your money and then home to get you into some good skin gear of mine before we hit the pubs. Seeing you get into my skin gear will make me so fucking horny that you can expect a right good fucking before we go out. It what you wanna be mate, a fucking Hi Viz Skin. My bitch. If yer lucky I may share you around with some of the blokes

‘Sounds fucking great, master’

‘That’s my J-boi’

  To be continued?

[dinglemingle]

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy)

Ao3 link

Robert Sugden was a prick. That was something Aaron was sure. Of course, he hadn't exchanged many words with the upper sixth lad in recent years but that didn't stop him from forming an opinion. If the rumours, Andy's slagging off sessions and his cousin Debbie's tears last summer were anything to go by, then he knew perfectly well what Robert was like. Cocky, arrogant and willing to shag anything with a pulse

That didn't stop Aaron from fancying him though, sure he was an arse, and straight and Vic's brother, which made things awkward when he was checking Robert out instead of listening to her droning on about some pop band when he was up at the farm, but Aaron couldn't help himself when Robert stood there all blue eyes and plump lips

It didn't mean he liked the lad though, Vic had tried to get Aaron to be friends with her brothers, it didn't work. Andy was too boring and Robert was too smug. No this wasn't a crush Aaron had told himself, just him appreciating Roberts messy blonde locks and smooth freckled skin and the way his uniform trousers fitted his thighs so well

Only the lump in his throat every time Robert looked at him and the nerves that brewed in the pit of his stomach when he spoke to him begged to differ.

Aaron ignored it, of course, he had done for the past year when these feelings started to surface, tried to convince himself everything was the same as it always had been. Aaron had known Robert forever, and he'd always liked the older lad. When they were kids he'd liked playing with him and Vic, and kicking about a football every Saturday at the top of the field near butlers. When they'd gotten older the trio would hang around at the cricket pavilion, only 11 and 12 yet gossiping about the most recent drama from school and playing silly pranks on the village pensioners.

Of course, when Robert had turned 13 that all changed, he'd discovered girls and larger and popularity and suddenly decided he was too cool to hang out with his little sister and her best friend.

Yes, Aaron had been bitter, tried to act not bothered, but he spent two months sulking around the pub and biting off his mum and Paddy's head when they tried to ask what was wrong. And maybe, just maybe he'd cried into his pillow one night when Robert had called him a baby and told him to go play with the other kids, after the younger lad had suggested a game they used to always play to Robert, in front of his new,cooler,older friends. Aaron would pretend not to care, still not quite sure why the boy's rejection hurt him so much.

Over time the pain started to sting less and as Robert began to become more infamous around school and his exploits where weekly common room gossip, he began to like Robert less and less.

It was easy to ignore Robert for a few years, Vic didn't mention him that often, somewhat ashamed of her brother's antics, and in school, he blocked out people's tales of Roberts weekend escapades. When he was up at the farm, which was rare, considering Jack and Andy's shiny opinion of the dingle family, Robert usually wasn't there, and when he was a quick nod off the head would suffice, before one of them would scurry off away from the other, usually Robert, off to add another conquest to his ever-growing list.

Aaron hated that. He didn't care much for the drama that floated around the school halls anyway, but something about hearing Katie giggle in the canteen about another girl Robert had been caught snogging in the bathrooms bugged him. He told himself it was just because he didn't like seeing Robert mess about all these girls, and for a while, he believed it, especially when his cousin Debbie had fallen victim to Sugden's charm. However somewhere deep down Aaron knew there was another reason, it's not like he was the most sympathetic person at the best of times and these girls all knew about Roberts reputation

So when at 15 he'd began to find Robert really fit, he supposed it had all made sense. The younger lad knew he'd had an attraction to boys, still not fully comfortable with it and definitely not accepting he was gay, nevertheless, he still knew it was there, he hadn't expected Robert to be the subject of his desire, however.

To Aaron it had come out of nowhere, when he went over to Vic's, promising to watch that new rom-com she got on DVD he hadn't expected these feelings for Robert to emerge. There he was one minute, blissfully living a Robert Sugden free life, and the next Robert had wormed his way into his thoughts.

It was Saturday. It was raining. It was dull. Aaron was positively bored out of his mind. He was sat in the kitchen having a cuppa with Vic, whilst they waited for their pizzas to cook. To be honest, he'd rather be home playing FIFA but he knew him and Vic hadn't spent much time together recently and that the stress of the tensions at home had started to get to her, so he'd begrudgingly pulled on his winter coat and trudged out to the farm

That's how he found himself sipping a milky tea in his mates freezing kitchen whilst she ranted about Andy and Robert

"I just wish they could get on you know, for once, for me" the brunette sipped her tea and sighed, clearly exasperated at her brothers bickering

"I know" Aaron spoke, gently patting the girl's arm. The Sugden brothers feud was common knowledge, and Aaron knew how upset Vic got every time the boys came home with bloody noses and bruised fists after beating seven bells out of each other. He hated seeing this side of his friend, fragile and vulnerable, and he hated her brothers for making her this way.

It was even worse on the rare occasions when she spoke about the rows, she could go on for hours about their physical fights, because she knew that a punch over a silly spat was temporary, however when it came to their slanging matches and tense words over the dinner table it became more difficult. The younger Sugden knew that the words lingered for much longer, that Roberts resentment over Andy being the golden child was always hanging in the air, waiting to strike whenever the lads disagreed over something. Robert always brought it up, how Saint Andy could do no wrong, how he'd stolen his father's affections. Jack never helped, she hated to admit it but Vic knew her father was less than subtle with his disappointment over Robert and always did tend to side with Andy when arguments arose.

Aaron had sat in Vic's room when a fight erupted between the pair one too many times to see how it affected her, she'd curl into herself and go quiet for a moment, the chirpy grin wiped off of her face in an instant, then she'd pick up the remote and turn the volume up on whatever show they'd put on that evening, in a desperate attempt to drown out the shouts of her brothers and dad.

It was one of the main reasons he held such a strong dislike for Andy and Robert, neither of them ever giving up a fight or letting anything go, all at their little sister's expense. He hadn't been shy letting them know how he felt on several occasions when he got fed up of wiping Vic's tears. It was safe to say the Sugden men weren't to keen on Aaron or his friendship with Vic, which is why he was repeatedly checking his phone, hoping the pizzas would be ready soon so he could hurry off to his mate's room without seeing one her relatives.

Luck wasn't on his side today then, as all the three men came booming through the door. Jack was first, the patriarch looming over the table making his presence very much known "Kettles just boiled," Vic said, quickly masking her upset from her family, praying they wouldn't hear the croak in her voice or notice her red eyes from crying.

"Go on Andy, a nice cuppa will warm us all up" Jack called out to his son, who was bumbling his way through the door, the younger Sugden obliged, scurrying for the cups, never one to disobey his dad.

And then in strolled Robert, calm cool, collected, an air of arrogance wafting around him. He threw his farming gloves on the table and pulled out a chair to sit, taking pleasure in the way the screeching against the old wooden floor displeased his dad and brother. Today had been one of the hair occasions where the three were getting on and had somehow managed to work on the farm without killing one another.

Aaron sheepishly looked up from the floor, anticipating some remark from one of the three, but was caught off guard by Roberts stature over the table. Suddenly, Aaron was staring up at the older lad, mouth agape and head spinning, captivated by his beauty. Robert was tall, taller than the last time Aaron had seen him, his broad shoulders standing out as he towered over Andy and levelled with Jack. In the farming overalls, he could see every curve of Roberts body, his rolled-up sleeves exposing toned arms littered with freckles. Aaron continued to stare, only now noticing Robert in all his glory.

"What's the matter Dingle" Roberts jovial toned shook him out of his thoughts, his eyes snapping up to Roberts as he clasped his mouth shut

"You look like you've seen a ghost, or is thought of me doing farm work that shocking?" Rob asked, as charismatic as ever

"Yeah" Aaron muttered, attempting to seem nonchalant, "thought you were allergic to hard graft" Aaron relaxed into the wooden chair, brushing off his true feelings. Robert smirked, before plopping down across from him and thanking Andy as he passed him a steaming cup tea

"Well what can I say, sheep really get me going" Robert quipped, holding Aaron in a strong gaze

Andy made a lame joke about the Welsh that Jack seemed to find vaguely amusing, but just earned a sigh from Vic and in synch eye rolls from the boys, the pair smiled at each other before Rob retorted back at Andy's bad attempt at banter

"Not quite what I meant but sure, although I think that's more your style, the amount of time you spend up on that field" Robert joked, a glint of something mischievous in his eye at seeing his brothers scowl.

Aaron sniggered into his tea, finding the blonde he usually opposed hilarious for some reason, a reason that had nothing to do with how rosy his cheeks were or how attractive he looked when he licked his lips, no nothing to do with that at all.

"Something funny dingle" Andy barked glaring at Aaron, never one to take a joke

Robert rolled his eyes again, muttering something under his breath about Andy being a pratt again, he caught Aaron's eyes and sent him a reassuring smile, something that looked genuine and real, Aaron thought.

"No nothing," Aaron said gulping down his tea, anxiously waiting to leave

Vic seemingly read his mind

"They're ready" she called, holding up two plates of perfectly sliced pizza, Aaron not even noticing she'd left his side, him being too caught up in her brother, which one he cared not to admit.

He stood up from his chair and carried his cup to the sink, before making his way to Vic and taking a plate from her

"Right that's us off then" Vic stated before turning to bound the stairs, Aaron following close behind, but not before giving a tight-lipped smile to the three men and taking one last peek at Roberts toned body, his infatuation with his best mates brother growing in a matter of minutes.

With that he hastily moved out of the room and spent the rest of the afternoon watching films with Vic and snorting at her daft impressions, ignoring all thoughts of her very fit brother.

A year had passed yet Aaron was still unable to shift those feelings awoke in him that day, in fact, they'd grown stronger, and Aaron was struggling to contain his want to jump Roberts bones every time he saw him. He still resented the lad and the pair hardly exchanged friendly words, yet there were a few times when they shared a joke and Robert beamed a smile in his direction, those moments made Aaron's heart flip, admiring how beautiful the other boy was when he was smiling like that. Unfortunately, it was scarce Robert smiling at him and when he did the moment was often fleeting.

None of this helped Aaron's feelings, he tried to push them back and deny them, adamant that it was just lust, nothing more, but it was becoming harder as the months past and with his start at college in a couple of weeks he knew these feelings for Robert Sugden were going to have to go, and soon. He hoped maybe a new school would help with that. What Aaron couldn't have anticipated was that Robert had caught on to his crush, and was determined to have some fun.

It seemed college couldn't come soon enough.

[boundinshallows]

heliotrope - tommy/alfie hustler!au

Summary: For @twobrokenwyngs who prompted me hustler!au + bruise.

Notes: My standard hustler!au warnings apply here. This takes place fairly early on in T and A’s relationship in that ‘verse, prior to them getting together. 

===========================

Tommy’s like an eager pup in his arms—all wriggles and nips and tongue. He gets like this, doesn’t he, when Alfie hasn’t been around for a while. And it’s not as if he doesn’t want to be around, mind, which he explains to Tommy time and again when money forces his hand. Still, Tommy’s face never fails to fall, his trainers kicking at the dirt sullenly as Alfie explains to him just how it’s got to be for now.

But he always comes back, doesn’t he? Half the time he thinks Tommy doesn’t believe him in the first place when he says it’ll only be temporary. Alfie’s not sure how many times he has to prove it to him, to watch the kid’s face light up when he realizes Alfie’s not a liar. And then it’s all a mad scramble, innit? Today they make it back to Alfie’s shitty flat, but that’s not always the case.

“Will you fuck me?” Tommy asks, wrapping one leg around Alfie’s and trying to hitch himself up into Alfie’s arms.

“Nah, mate, just brought you back for tea, didn’t I?”

Tommy sinks his blunt teeth into the meat of Alfie’s shoulder. “Not funny.”

“C’mon now.”

Alfie tries to unwrap Tommy from him in an attempt to start removing clothes, but Tommy whinges something awful. Sighing, Alfie curls his arm gently around Tommy’s waist and lets the kid have at it. When Tommy stands on his tip toes to reach Alfie’s mouth, Alfie meets his excitement with a steady press of his lips. His calmness is a bit infectious as Tommy slows just a little. It’s enough that Alfie can draw back and press his mouth to Tommy’s jaw, planting a trail of kisses on the underside and down his neck.

“Did you miss me?” Tommy asks, breathless.

“Might done.”

“Every day?”

Alfie smiles to himself; this kid—he got some wild, romantic notions, don’t he? He could tell the truth of it; that’s he’s too busy trying to tread fucking water to stop and think about him every day. But, the thing is, he doesthink about Tommy from time to time when Tommy’s not around, right. And he has a bloody heart, yeah, which is why he doesn’t tell Tommy the whole of it.

“Yeahhh, against me better judgment.”  

And he must have triggered something there because Tommy’s clutching him, making needy little huffs. Alfie tries to push him back again, and this time Tommy goes willingly, hands tearing at the edge of his shirt and lifting before Alfie can even think about it. His trousers soon follow suit.

When Tommy turns to toss them on his side of the bed, Alfie’s eyes are drawn to the mottled purple bruise spread wide across his hip and arse.

“Tommy?” Alfie asks, reaching out to examine it.

Tommy looks over his shoulder to see what Alfie’s spotted and says, “Forget it.”

“Who did that?”

“Just some man,” he says, shrugging. “They do it all the time.”

Alfie knows it; he has fucking eyes, don’t he. He sees the bruises, sometimes in the shape of fingers. But the thing is, they’ve not been this big before.

“Tom…”

Tommy rolls his eyes, acting every bit his age, and walks towards the bed. Dropping to his knees, he crawls to the center and glances back at Alfie. His expression is all seduction—or what only a teenager could think passes for it. Instead, it reminds Alfie just how young he is, playing games he has no business playing with men he has no business being alone with.

With a sigh, Alfie strips down to his boxer-briefs and joins Tommy on the mattress. The kid looks victorious and pounces. When Alfie rolls him onto his back, Tommy goes easily. It’s only when Alfie begins to fit himself around Tommy’s side, his arm slipping beneath his neck and the other across his too-skinny belly that Tommy protests.

“What—”

“None of that.”

“But I want—”

“I know, don’t I?” Alfie says, a bit stern before he softens. “And you’ll get it. I always, always take care of you. Just let me have this for a bit, yeah?”

For several long moments, Alfie waits for Tommy to start a bloody mutiny. But then he exhales—a bit dejected—and kisses Alfie’s collarbone.

“Yeah, alright.”

[chut-je-dors]

oh well you’re lucky guys cos while most of the cut scenes are CRAP due to their unedited nature, we deemed these ones good enough. So here you have the FIRST TIME John EVER appeared... where we STARTED, from the beginning of the fic where Paul first comes in... and then a scene from where he’s just left. After that, the scene where Paul saw John sitting in a cafe, then ran into Ringo on the way out... who was there meeting a friend ;)

The Brrrrothel ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), [06.09.17 01:29]

"D'you think there'll be anyone good tonight?" Carol asked lazily from where she was stretched on a red velvet armchair. Her bright green lacy bra contrasted wonderfully with it, and her left breast seemed keen on escaping from its prison.

"In Liverpool? Hah," John snorted and leaned forward, quickly fixing Carol's bra. "You're showing off, love."

"Hands off," Carol grinned. "Or pay up a fiver."

"A fiver?" John raised an eyebrow. "For me, touching is a ten."

He straightened his back and looked around the brothel's downstairs. There were quite a many customers this evening, but none of them had approached John yet. Many of the... prettier birds, so to say, had already left with regular clients, and now there were maybe ten left, hanging around the small bar area. Aside from John, there were maybe four other male whores present that night, but John really didn't think there would be any clients for them tonight. There rarely were, at least less than for the women.

"Ooh," Carol said as the door opened and a young man stepped in. "Fresh meat. Haven't seen 'im around before."

John just watched, noticing the slightly lost look on the man's face. He was dead handsome... Someone that was definitely John's type. He was clutching a small card in his hand that John recognised as the Rusty Pipe's gift card -something that had once made him laugh out loud. He had bestowed those gift cards upon his friends ever since, as birthday and christmas presents, and no one really wanted them anymore.

"I wonder if he knows what he's looking for," Carol snickered and John hushed her, crossing his arms over his (almost) bare chest, taking a small step forward. The man was sinfully good-looking, and John wanted to have a good enough view, for what this sight lasted.

The Brrrrothel ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), [11.09.17 00:57]

John stepped back into the bar five minutes before the next round. Aside from his hair being slightly messier than an hour ago and his face being decorated by a large grin, no one could have said that he had just had his face gloriously fucked by a gorgeous man (who hopefully wasn't having a too big of a crisis going on at the moment).

"Now there's a happy man," Carol commented from her chair; it seemed that she had had no luck fishing clients. Her left boob was showing again.

"Inarguably," John chuckled and sat down at the bar, reaching into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out the results of the previous session.

He unrolled the money and stared at it.

30 pounds for two blowjobs??

"Hey, how much? Did you take a screwdriver up your ass?" Sally exclaimed next to him, leaning closer. John leaned instinctively back, protecting his money.

"Just gave head twice," he said, his voice confused. This was certainly a rare occurrence... Especially with a client like Paul, who would probably never step a foot into the brothel again.

...Then again, John was damn good, so maybe he'd come back?

"That's unfair! And he was so good-looking too," Sally whined. "Why do you get always so lucky?!"

"My natural charms, darling," John smiled and pocketed the money just as the door opened, and a big, bulky man walked in, eyeing the room already, before his eyes landed on John.

"Oh look," John called, "Roland the Arse Destroyer is back. How was the sea?"

"I can give you all the details behind that door," the client, John's less regular regular, nodded towards the wooden door. John grinned and jumped to his feet, stretching and readying himself mentally.

"And I'll tell you how much I've missed your dick," he winked. "A deal?"

The man's face broke into a grin, and John led the way, humming contently. This was definitely a good night!

The Brrrrothel ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), [20.09.17 22:33]

John tapped his foot against the café floor impatiently, glancing at his wrist watch every now and then. Ringo was late - as usual - and John's patience was wearing thin. He had been waiting for grand 15 minutes, and every minute passed here alone made him think about the sad fact that he didn't have a cat, and wanted one, but the landlord wouldn't allow it, and that was sad. John's mind tended to go back to that thought every now and then.

The café he was in had originally been a charming little bookshop, and now it had been turned into a bookshop/café. Basically the idea was that you could buy some tea for yourself, then go browse the books, and read as much as you liked, and you could buy the book as well. John liked the idea, and since he knew the son of the owner quite well (..........from business), it was quite habitual to come here for all kind of meetings.

John had secured a small table for the two from the café part of the shop, and groaned when the hand of the watch moved veeeery slowly to show that Ringo was now twenty minutes late.

He let his head fall on the table with a small thud and closed his eyes. He would make Ringo suffer for this. John was not the most punctual person either, but he at least had the sense of good timing - had to, with his job an' all.

'Next time,' he thought and turned his head so that his cheek was squished against the table, 'I'm gonna come thirty minutes later, and if he's still late, then, I'm gonna throw him off a bridge.'

John looked up from his phone when there was a scrape of a chair against the floor, and was met with Ringo's blue eyes shining down on him.

He grimaced, and Ringo started chuckling.

"Yeah, er, I'm sorry mate," he said and sat down, having the decency to look apologising, at least. "Got caught up, and then there was a friend just there at the door, and-"

"I'm not really interested," John rolled his eyes. "But I've been here for an half an hour - that's enough to come twice, so you're really late."

Ringo laughed and settled comfortably into the chair, placing his phone on the table. John did the same, and let himself grin at the man. He was a bastard, right, but a good one.

"So, how's work been?" Ringo asked, and John knew him well enough to know that the man was honestly curious. John usually had great stories to tell that somehow hit the nerve in young men. (Gee, he wondered why.)

"The same old same o," he said and rubbed at the back of his ear with his little finger, leaning slightly forward. The movement made him wince, and Ringo burst into laughter.

"It seems so," he said between slightly hysteric giggles. John rolled his eyes.

"Roland the Arse Destroyer came back," he said, and Ringo gasped dramatically.

"Not the Roland!"

They laughed together, and John took a sip of his (cold) tea.

"And you?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing much," Ringo grinned. "Then again, we saw each other this Wednesday, so..."

"Yeah," John nodded good-naturely, smiling into his (COLD) tea. "Only my life is interesting enough to talk about."

Ringo laughed and decided to go fetch some tea as well, and John told him to get another one for him. The man kind of owned it to him, anyway.