#the amount of time i spent in this pub the last couple of days

[babzyz]

[piastrinorris]

Worth the Wait

Pairing: Tom Grant x f!bartender!Reader Genre: smut Tags:Make Up (film), 18+ (minors DNI), alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected piv (pulling out) Summary: Your favourite customer has a confession to make, that he's very eager to. You wish you could believe him - if only he weren't drunk every time he saw you. Word count:7.1k A/N: God, this fic's been a long time in the making! I started writing it months ago, but then @choke-me-eddie wrote the phenomenal Jack Daniels and Coke and I gave myself massive imposter syndrome for ages lol, but one day I was going through my WIPs folder and something told me to start this up again. So, here it is! PS: the amount of time i spent on making that gif look like he's getting himself off for more than like 4 frames before feckin roof gets in the way, as naturally as i could get it, is between me and god. 😂

“Hello again, gorgeous,” your favourite voice slurs from the other side of the bar.

You see big, warm brown eyes greet you along with the biggest grin you’ve seen all day and your heart melts, despite the pang of disappointment. “Hello yourself, sweetheart. Back to drown more of your troubles?”

“Can I not just come over to my favourite pub and chat to my favourite barmaid, with no ulterior motive?” he pouts, leaning an elbow on the bar so he can rest his chin on his fist, a trademark pose for Tom.

“Not when you’re already pretty wavy,” you point out with raised eyebrows, wafting the air in front of him. “I can smell the Fosters on you a mile off. Didn’t take you for a piss drinker.”

He pulls a face, “Weren’t my doing, honest. Some of the blokes at work decided to get together an’ have dinner somewhere, an’ they bought everyone a pint each without asking us. I had to sneak in a couple of shots to take the taste away and then they bought another, so I had to drink even more.”

“Your life is so hard, babe,” you pout patronisingly, and he sticks his tongue out at you in response. You pour him a glass of water and slide it over to him. “Here. On the house, and that’s a deal only my favourite customers get.”

He looks at you disbelievingly. “As if water isn’t free for everybody, good one.” You smile back at him with just as much snark as he’s giving you as he drinks it all down in one go, and you take the excuse to watch his throat bob while he’s distracted.

You’ve always had a soft spot for Tom. Ever since the poor sod ended up at your pub following the break-up between him and his childhood sweetheart. You’d heard it all about Ruth, and her new friend Jade, and all of the accusations Ruth would make against Tom just to turn around and do the very same to him with Jade. The last time he visited became a real turning point, when he’d gotten especially drunk and admitted to you that he’d been questioning his attraction to her, himself.

“I don’t even know what it was that turned me off, you know. Or maybe it was never even there.”

“Well, is she your type? What kind of person are you usually into?”

“Pretty girls. Like you,” he drawled, resting his chin on his fist.

“Nice try, Mr Grant. I’d believe you if you weren’t so wasted,” you smirked.

“Ooh, Mr Grant, so formal. How’d you know that, anyway?”

“Your last name? Let’s see, your ID, your bank card… ’S not that difficult to find out.”

“Yeah, but you remembered it. I think you fancy me, too,” he grinned smugly.

“Too bad you’ll never know,” you shook your head, and he pouted at you.

“Not even gonna tell me? Tease.”

“Even if I did, there’s no way you’d remember in the morning, so there’s no point, is there?” you shrugged.

“Bet I would. I’d never forget something if it were about you,” he simpered.

You tried to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach and managed to keep your composure as you replied, “Alright, then, if you still feel the same way about me, but stone cold sober, I’ll give you my number. But only then.”

Tom had wanted to stay true to his promise so badly. He’d wanted nothing more than to just sit and watch you work and flirt relentlessly with you. No liquid courage needed. But of course it was Barry’s birthday, and Barry wanted all the lads together for dinner. Tom had felt honoured to finally be included as one of the lads, but it came at a price. A price that he felt too tipsy to then go back to his caravan, all alone with his thoughts. Only one person usually made him feel better in this state. And he’d promised you a sober confession. Yet here he was, giving you the exact opposite.

“Can I ’ave another one?” he asks, holding the glass out to you.

You kiss your teeth and shake your head, lightly lilting, “Alright, but soon enough, I am gonna have to start charging you.”

He narrows his eyes. “Water don’t cost nothing, though. We already established that, remember?” Still in his hand, he taps the empty glass against his head as you take out a fresh one for him.

“So, maybe I’ll have to think of other ways to have you pay for my efforts,” you smirk, putting the water down and resting your hands on your edge of the bar, shifting your weight onto your wrists.

“Oh, yeah?” Tom leans forward, intrigued, a coy smile playing on his lips. “What’s that, then?”

You wrinkle your nose, "Depends what you've got to offer."

"Just. This," Tom states as he steps back and gestures at himself with both hands, the slur that’s still present in his voice betraying him.

You sigh. "Remember the rule, Tommy boy," you waggle your eyebrows at him, and he groans.

"Yeah. I know,” he pouts as he grabs the glass with a frustrated force and starts chugging again.

You look at him with hopeful eyes. “There’s always next time, eh.”

~~~

“So, let me get this straight,” your best friend stops you, looking up in disbelief at the location you’d chosen. “You decided to get us all to meet up for drinks, for your birthday, and we could have gone anywhere. And you choose your work?!”

“Well, yeah, I’m not allowed to use my staff discount while I’m on shift, obviously, so why not take advantage of it on my big day, eh?!” You grin. 

She rolls her eyes, “You’re a menace.”

“Yeah, but you put up with me,” you rest your chin on her shoulder, still beaming from ear to ear as you both stumble into the pub together.

“Ooh, Tommy the Tank Engine at 2 o’clock,” your best friend giggles, pointing over at a group of men that, sure enough, includes Tom himself.

“Don’t point, dickhead!” You hush, grabbing her hand and shoving it back to her side. “Oh, bless him, look at him. Now, listen, you cannot let me get so drunk that I make a tit of myself in front of him, okay? I’ve got a - you know, a -” You wave your hand around in front of you, trying to think of a word. “Not quite reputation, but you know what I mean. A thing we’ve got.”

“I don’t think that I do,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Unless you mean, like… Because you’ve told him you’ll only believe him if he’s sober, you don’t wanna flirt with him while you’re drunk.”

“You get me,” you smile wistfully as you lean against her, cuddling up to her.

Giggling again, she shoves you away. “Gerroff, unless you really wanna give him the wrong impression! Besides, I say go for it, anyway. Ride that train,” she mimics pulling a steam train whistle and you scold her as you shove her towards the bar.

You meet up with the rest of your friends and have a shot with them. One of your regulars wishes you a happy birthday and buys you another. One of your coworkers gives you another one on the house.

You’ve totally forgotten who else was even here, until after your best friend insists on buying you your favourite cocktail, and as you shuffle between other people waiting at the bar to let others get out, you feel your back collide with the solid weight of someone else’s chest, followed by an all-too-familiar, “Easy, tiger!”

You take a deep breath in and look at your best friend in bewilderment before steeling yourself and pivoting to look at Tom, “Oh my god, hi! I’m so sorry!”

“’S alright. Someone’s having a good night, aren’t they?” He smiles down at you.

“It’s her birthday, you know!” Your best friend shouts over at him, and he gives a thoughtful frown back, raising his eyebrows at her.

“I did not know that, as a matter of fact! S’pose I better do my rightful duty and get the birthday girl a drink, too, shouldn’t I?”

“Trying to get me drunk, now, are ya? I see your game, Mr Grant,” you tease, earning a sly grin from him and a side-eye from your best friend.

“Fair’s fair, you’ve seen me plastered enough times,” he waggles his eyebrows at you. “What’s your poison, ladies?”

Tom buys both yours and your best friend’s drinks for you, and orders something for himself while your friend sneaks away to leave you both to it, though you don’t realise it. You frown when you see Tom pick up a full pint glass of Coke and point at it. “Big glass for a mixed drink.”

“Yeah. Almost as though it isn’t,” he smirks, moving his glass to chime it against yours. “Happy birthday, love.”

Though your heart sinks at the idea that he really did try to keep to his word tonight, you decide to keep up the playful rapport the two of you know so well. Punctuating your first three words each with a poke to the middle of his chest, you grin slyly, “I think you are just looking for an excuse to see me drunk, for once.”

Running two of his fingers alternately up your shoulder at his first three words, he mimics your tone, “I think you are just looking for an excuse to touch me.” He rests his wrist on your shoulder, and the fingertips that ghost the skin on your back send shivers all through you.

“Says the man who’s keeping his arm there,” you reply with a smug lipped smile, and he shrugs, that fake frown making another appearance on his face.

“Alright, I guess if you don’t want it,” he slides his arm away from you tantalisingly slowly, his eyes locked onto yours the whole time. You whimper involuntarily, your voice betraying you, when his fingertips are the only thing dragging against you. With a proud chuckle, he rests the heel of his hand back on your shoulder again, his fingertips leaving goosebumps where they ghost against the skin left exposed from the strap of your dress. “You should really get back to your friends now.”

“Not without you,” you pull a face at him, “not after all this! You bought the two of us a drink, remember, you can’t just leave us now!”

He smiles in quiet pride. “What would I tell all my mates, eh? That I’m abandoning them?”

“They can come over, too!” you counter. “My friends won’t mind, they’d love extra company.”

“Why, do you plan on being distracted all night?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you again.

“Where’s this Tom been hiding then, anyway, eh?” you buffer his question with your own. “How come I don’t see this version of you when I’m sober? Am I that intimidating?”

“Ooh, yeah, dead scary,” Tom answers sarcastically, shaking his head and furrowing his brow, but he laughs when you waggle your fingers in a jokingly haunting manner.

“Will you at least drink with me, so I’m not the only one making an arse of myself?” you pout, trying to give him your best doe eyes.

“But then who will be here to document all your arse-ry?” Tom starts, but you interrupt.

“That’s not a word!”

“Piss off, drunky, how do you know?” he teases, laughing at your offended gasp. “No, if you’re gonna make a scene, I wanna make sure my head is crystal clear so I can lord it over you for the rest of time. As it is, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of material to embarrass me with tonight,” he flashes his eyes at you as you approach his friend group, waving your own over.

You all eventually commandeer your own corner of the pub, you and Tom sat on one of the old leather sofas as the other is crammed with a mix of both his friends and yours, as well as others being peppered around on regular dining chairs. After asking around, and others insisting that they’re fine where they are, thereby refusing your invitation to join you and Tom on the sofa, your legs start to ache. Not being able to find enough floor space to stretch them out adequately, you simply decide to drape them across Tom’s lap, which he takes to naturally. 

He doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that they’re there at first, which has your mind turning over and over, until he starts gently, absent-mindedly stroking his fingertips up and down your leg. The tingles that shot through you at his touch earlier return again. He notices your longing stare in his direction and, without moving his head, glances over at you, winks, then looks back at the person he's talking to. The sensation that causes goes straight to your core.

“Whose round is it then?” one of your friends asks, standing just next to the sofa you’re sat on. 

Leaning back, you wave her over so that she bends down to you, pulling her head down as close as it’ll get to your face before whispering in her ear, “Could you actually just get me a Coke? Nothing in it?” She nods and you grin at her as she stands tall again. “Oh!” You fish your staff ID out of your bag and hand it over to her. “Don’t forget to use that, don’t go paying full price here if you can help it!”

“Not exactly a great advertisement for this place, are you?” One of Tom’s friends asks amusedly before declaring he’ll buy the drinks in, and you watch as him and your friend go to the bar with the intent to order them - though even once they’re out of your earshot, you still notice that they seem to be distracting themselves.

Tom finally finishes his other conversation and nudges you to ask in an intrigued voice, “What were you two whispering about earlier, then?” 

“And why’s that any of your business?” You ask back with a sly smile.

He shrugs, “Dunno, might have been about me.”

"If I was gonna talk about you, I'd say it to you," you grin, leaning to rest your head on the back cushion of the sofa.

"Yeah?" he asks with raised eyebrows. “In front of everyone?”

You shrug, “Depends. You got anything you want to tell me in front of everyone?”

He beckons you close with two fingers - a gesture you try desperately not to fixate on - and leans in close to your ear, cups his hand around it and whispers, "I proper fancy you."

"Yeah, and water's wet," you lean around to raise your eyebrows back at him, giggling as he frowns at you. “Glad to hear it from this version of you, though.”

He can't keep his frowning up for long, though, his own eyebrows soon waggling with anticipation. "Alright, so, c’mon, then. You got anything to say to me?”

You lean in with the intention to whisper back in his ear, but you get distracted by your friend handing you your drink, along with a very knowing look. “You two need a room?” They ask with a smirk.

“Like you two weren’t locking lips over at the bar?” You tease back, flashing your eyes over to Tom’s friend briefly. Laughing it off with you, your friend joins her new companion for the night as you settle yourself in next to Tom.

“Big glass for a mixed drink,” he repeats what you’d said to him earlier with a smug look on his face.

Knowing what he’s doing, you grin back, “Almost as if it isn’t.” Leaning across to grab his own glass again from the table, he clinks it against yours for the second time this evening and takes a big swig, his eyes never leaving yours.

When the pub finally closes, you, Tom, and those of your friends that haven’t already dispersed for the night, decide to make for the first fast-food place you see. One of Tom’s friends even takes advantage of Tom insisting on buying you a burger by holding his lighter on top of it while everyone sings Happy Birthday to you. You spend the last few minutes of your birthday surrounded by friends, old and new, singing and laughing and falling against Tom’s arm while he feeds you fries. Sure, you could have gotten even more drunk, found some other club that was open and danced the night away - but something about this just feels nicer.

Everyone’s figuring out their taxi situations when Tom turns to you. “What about you, which cab are you taking?”

“Neither,” you shake your head, scrunching your face up. He looks at you quizzically, and you hold your hand out in front of you to gesture down the road, moving it around a couple of times to gesture your route home. “Walking distance.”

Just as Tom's about to reply, he's interrupted by his friends yelling at him to get in their cab. He looks over at them and turns his nose up. "Nah, think I'm gonna stick with this one, not sure how much I trust these streets. I'll get my own later, it's fine." You don't hear exactly what his mates say, but the general tone of their collective jeering and grabbing Tom's arm as he bats them away and tells them, “Alright, gerroff!” tells you everything.

They chorus one more happy birthday! to you before Tom shuts the car door on them. You shout back that you'll treat them to a round next time they come into the pub and you can hear their cheers even when the door is shut, which makes you laugh. The pair of you wave both taxis off as they drive away, and you and Tom naturally link arms as you start walking back to your place.

"How you feeling?" he asks.

"Pretty damn good. You keep some decent company," you smile at him.

"What, that gaggle of idiots? Yeah, they're not so bad," he laughs softly. "Good birthday, d'you reckon?" 

"Best so far," your smile widens as you hug his arm, leaning your head against it. He rests his head on top of yours, reaching over with his free hand to rub where your two meet around his bicep.

The pair of you make little pockets of small talk in the short walk to your house until you stop in front of it. Tom whistles as he looks it up and down. "What's your pay like at that pub? I'll have to start working there."

You laugh, "Calm down, I just rent out the top floor." You sigh happily. "Come see it, if you like."

"Ooh, inviting me in, eh? So late at night? Whatever will the neighbours say?" Tom teases, making you laugh.

"Oh, shut it," you smirk, shaking your head.

"Well, you are sending me mixed signals, here," Tom widens his face and crosses his arms. "See, I've wore my heart on my sleeve. I've told you what I think of you, many a time, in fact. And yet here you go, stringing a poor boy on, leaving him without a clue how you feel," he rocks himself from side to side, his movements and tone getting more and more extravagant as he keeps talking.

You swat at him playfully, "Shut up, or else you really will wake up the neighbours!" You step closer to him and beckon him closer. As he leans in, you move round to cup your hands over his ear and whisper, "I proper fancy you, too."

“Oh, yeah?” He murmurs seductively, reaching over to stroke his hands up and down your arms. “An’ how can I be so sure of that, drunky?”

“Piss off, I’m sober now,” you make the weakest attempt at shoving his chest, your palms flat against it, but it does nothing to his gait, only making him laugh under his breath. Instead, your hands grab the shirt beneath them as you grin, “C’mere,” and pull him in for a kiss. It’s filled with all the passionate relief of finally getting to do something you’ve both wanted for so long, and it only ramps up the longer you kiss for. 

You hum in questioning, breaking away for a second to jerk your head towards your door, and he chuckles between even more kisses as he cradles your face, constantly pulling you back in for more. “Trying to get me inside, are you?”

With a sly smile, you pull back. “Well, if you don’t want to -” You swivel to face the door itself, digging your keys out of your bag, but Tom’s back on you in a flash. His body presses into your form as his hands slide back around your body, down to squeeze your hips, back up to wrap around your breasts, all while he kisses your neck.

You melt into his touch, leaning back to press yourself against him. You allow your hips to sway back and forth, grinding your ass against what is almost certainly a bulge straining against the denim. He hums against your neck, “Don’t even wanna wait ’til we get in? Dirty girl,” he accompanies his last remark by leaning back just enough to reach down and lightly spank your ass cheek, making you gasp audibly. Stepping forward to close the gap again, he nuzzles your ear as he purrs, “Oh, she likes that, doesn’t she?”

You whine in agreement and he continues nuzzling his nose down past your jaw, ghosting his lips against the sensitive flesh of your neck once again. You hum out a soft moan as you finally wrestle your key into the lock. The pair of you practically fall over each other to get through the door, but you're quick to pin him against it as soon as it shuts, kissing him desperately.

He moans into your mouth, "Oh, fuck, someone's eager, aren't you? Wanna just take me right here and now, huh?" You laugh against his lips as you keep kissing him. He hums back, "Let's see how much you want me, yeah?" as his hand ghosts beneath the skirt of your dress, sliding up your inner thigh to press against your core through your panties. 

You whimper into the kiss and he drawls, "Fuck me, you're so wet, already. Thinking about this on the walk here, were you?" He slides a finger up and down the fabric of your underwear as he mutters into the inch of space between your lips. "Or while we were at the pub?" He asks as he presses against your covered clit. You grab at his shirt, where you'd already made a mess of it, and he whispers smugly, "Or have you secretly spent your whole birthday hoping it'd end with this?' 

You cry out again, finally finding your voice, "God, please, Tom… Want more.” You look at him with pleading eyes and he chuckles back.

"Mmm, now there's a face that I've been dreaming about. But you were the one to pin me to the door here, so I think I should get to enjoy kissing you a little bit longer, at least," he mutters as he leans back in to resume his embrace.

"Tease," you accuse against him, and he laughs again.

"'M not teasing at all, sweetness, just been waiting so long for this, I wanna take my time an– Yeah, I'm totally teasing you," he grins as he cranes his head to kiss your neck again. You whine in protest, and he deftly moves your panties aside to slide one long middle finger inside of you. “Go on, then, just one, for now. Seeing as it is your birthday, an’ all,” he grins wickedly, but he soon melts against you as you squirm and moan around him. As his posture relaxes, you move your hands onto his shoulders and start pushing, which he points out with an amused, “You try’na tell me something there?”

“I mean, seeing as it is my birthday…” You counter, lilting with an obviously fake nonchalance.

Tom grins as he sinks himself lower. “Yeah, I’ll get on my knees for you, love.” Once he’s knelt at your feet, he feels his way up your thighs, past your dress until his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He looks up at you pleadingly with a soft noise of questioning, soon beaming once you nod in affirmation as he pulls them down to your ankles. He sighs dreamily as he looks up at you. “Fuck, babe, look at you,” he breathes out. “Could just stare at you for hours.” You pout at him, and he responds with a cheeky, “Yeah, maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just -” He sits back on his heels with a small, smug smile, “sit right back here and watch as - oh, someone’s twitchy, aren’t they?” He asks with soft intrigue, cocking his head to the side as he leans in closer between your legs.

“Tom, please…” You plead. “Enough teasing, now.”

“Yeah? Alright, then,” he sits up to bury his face into you, his tongue lapping away at the edges of your folds. “Mmm, y’taste so good, babe. So much better’n I imagined. C’mere,” he wraps his arms around your thighs as he carries on eating you out. He starts off so carefully, sweet little kitten licks to your clit and long, slow, drawn out ministrations through your core, but he takes the hint when you whine out in frustration, grab his hair and push his head further in.

He starts fucking you with his tongue, making you cry out in ecstasy, especially when he reaches up to rub at your clit in quick circles. You keel over and perch yourself on the door when he switches up to suck on your clit while sinking two fingers into you and curving them. He keeps mumbling into your skin, words you wish you could hear were it not for the blood pumping in your ears, but it seems as though Tom only intends for his compliments to be heard only between him and your cunt.

He finally pulls away, breathing heavily, and pushes himself up to stand, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss. He moans as he presses his body against yours, as though the thought of making you taste yourself is turning him on all the more. “Wanna fuck you,” he pants as he presses his forehead to yours. “Please, I wan- need to be inside you, like, now.”

“Not so cocky, now, are you, babe?” you smirk, and he laughs.

“No, miss, just one taste and I’m already wrapped ’round your finger,” he jokes.

You jerk your head behind you, “Think you can wait ’til we get up them stairs?”

Tom steps aside and gestures towards them with an, “After you.”

You laugh as you first kick away the underwear still sitting on your ankles before taking your shoes off, prompting Tom to do the same. He stays behind you as you run up the flight of stairs leading into your living area, though not without another soft smack to your ass as he follows it.

Once you’re back on flat ground, you hold your hand out for him to take, walking backwards as you pull him towards your bedroom, even while the pair of you lock lips once again. You scramble to get his shirt off before you’ve even reached your bedroom door, though every attempt to lean back and admire him is scuppered by him leaning in to keep kissing you, until you practically fall through the doorway.

You guide him over to your bed and push him down onto it. His hands explore your body as you stand between his legs, before sliding up your thighs and pushing your dress up over your ass. His hands grip your cheeks roughly as he pulls you closer, craning his neck around to look at it as he plays with it, gently slapping each one alternately as it jiggles and loving the sights and sounds of it. "Fuck, angel, want you so bad," he groans before looking up at you pleadingly. "D'you want me, too?"

Caressing his face gently, you beam, "Get the rest of those clothes off and shuffle back on the bed, and I'll show you." Tom scrambles backwards, wriggling himself free of his jeans and boxers as he does, until he's laying back on your pillows, clothes discarded on your bedroom floor. You slowly strip yourself of your own clothes, too, opting to shimmy your dress down past your hips, really putting on a show for him as you push it over your bare ass, before unclipping your bra, holding it high and dropping it down onto the floor.

You stop for a moment to just enjoy the sight of him, your favourite customer, laying on your bed, biting his lip as he jerks off to the sight of you right in front of you. You whimper as you fall to rest one knee on your mattress, rubbing at your own clit as you watch him, the tip of his cock peeking out through his foreskin with every tug, tantalising you. He looks just a little bigger and just a little wider than you're used to, and you feel your pussy drench beneath you at the thought of him filling you up. "You gonna keep that gorgeous body of yours that far away from me for long, sweetness?" Tom pouts, and you hurriedly climb him like a tree. You go to kiss him once you've straddled him, but he jokingly turns his head aside. “No, no, if you’d rather stay away from me, don’t let me stop you,” he jokes, and you consider playing him at his own game, but you realise the quickest way to get what you want.

Pouting, you lean yourself down onto him, especially making sure you squeeze your breasts against his chest, and croon, “Oh, please, Tom, I need you so bad. ’M sorry I got so distracted by what a pretty cock you’ve got, please let me ride it, I swear, I’ll be so good for you.”

Tom slowly turns his head back to look at you, a proud smirk on his face as he lifts his head to place a hand behind it. “Go on, keep begging, that’s my girl,” he drawls, lightly tracing your back with the fingertips of his free hand.

Feeling your heart soar and cunt throb at the sentiment, you whine, grinding your hips against his, "God, Tom… Want you to fuck me so bad, been dreaming about it f'too long, need to feel it now, please? Just for tonight?"

Tom wrinkles his nose. "Dunno about that…" And for a fleeting second, you're filled with a disappointed doubt that he's changed his mind, until he grabs at you and, with a mischievous grin, throws you off to the side, wrestling your giggling self until you're the one laying beneath him. He perches himself on his elbows to hover above you, and playfully and tenderly strokes all around your face before purring happily between kisses, "'M definitely gonna fuck you tonight… But I'm also gonna fuck you in the morning… And again, a little bit after that… And again, after that… Sound good so far?"

You hum happily, "Sounds perfect. But, please can I have your cock inside of me, now? Have I earned it yet?"

"Aww, gonna milk it, pretty girl?" He coos,  reaching down to guide his tip between your folds. "Gonna take it all in that tight little pussy of yours, yeah? Gonna be good f'me?" You nod, whining desperately as you feel him starting to push into you. "Oh my god," he whimpers as he enters you, kissing you passionately as he fills you. Your hips start to buck down instinctively as he moves, and he tuts, "Fussy girl can't wait?"

You pout your lower lip out, "'M not fussy."

He does the same expression back to you sarcastically. "You're not?" He asks mockingly as he slowly starts pulling out. You grab his shoulders in protest, and that wicked smile of his comes back. "Fuck me, you are dirty, aren't you?" You nod in defeat, and he presses another kiss to your lips. "Good," he beams before sinking himself back into you, filling you up.

Your fingers dig into the supple flesh just above his shoulder blades as your legs wrap around his hips. "Oh, fuck, Tom… So much… Better…"

"Better, eh? So you'd think about me, too? While I spent - mmm - my nights getting off to the - fuck - thought of you, you were - shit - doing the same?" You nod, whining in agreement, and he moans as his thrusts get more frantic. "Fuck, I've wanted you - needed you - for so long, now… Never letting you go, never gonna stop - ah, shit, yes," he groans.

You pout at him, "Not even at least long enough for me to get on all fours?"

He looks at you as though all of his Christmases have come at once. "You want that?"

You nod, biting your lip. "And, since you love it so much, you can pull out and cum on my ass, if you want."

Add all his birthdays at once as well, based on his reaction. "Always knew you were the perfect woman, holy shit," he mutters in awe as he pulls out of you. You turn yourself around to get on your hands and knees, arching your back to present yourself to him, and he grabs at your ass to admire the sight in front of him, and he growls under his breath. A guttural, feral sound that has you clenching around nothing. “Been thinking about this much, then?”

“Oh, only pretty much every time I’m closing up the bar,” you chirp in reply. “Why’d you think I’ve been asking for you to stay sober for a night?”

“Fuck, if this is what one night gets me, I’m going teetotal,” he sighs wistfully, making you giggle.

“What was that line you gave me earlier about keeping that body away from me?” You tease, biting your lip as you anticipate the inevitable spank to your ass cheek with glee.

“Cheeky,” he smirks back as he admires how your skin ripples under his touch, "not so fun when it's the other way around, is it?"

"Does that mean you're gonna beg for me now, then?" You ask hopefully.

Tom pushes your back down enough for him to lean over you entirely to be within whisper distance of your ear. You feel his cock pressing into the crack of your ass as he whimpers, "Oh, please, miss, let me fuck you into oblivion. 'M such a good boy f'you, been waiting all this time to show you, been thinking about this all along. Please give me what I want."

"Yeah?" You moan against your pillow. "Tell me as you're filling me up again."

You feel him start to line his cock up with your pussy from behind as he admits, "Think about the day you'd finally tell me to hang back. I'd sit you on the pool table and eat that sweet little pussy of yours 'til it stains it. Bend you over that bar - that you've been spending months teasing me behind - an' just -" He lets out a long, shaky breath as he pushes his tip inside of you, revelling in the feeling of your cunt immediately pulling him in for more.

"Please, Tom…" you whine. "'S all I think about when I'm closing, too. Can't look anywhere without thinking of how you'd fuck me," you admit half-sheepishly as you rock back onto him.

Tom's hips buck to meet yours as he groans. "God, I've been a fucking idiot, then, haven't I?" He half-laughs.

"'S fine, just - fuck me now, please? Just how you’ve always wanted to?" You beg, crying out in delight as he grabs your hips and starts thrusting frantically into you. 

You've always thought it was cliche as all hell when people say that with the right person, it feels as though they're made for you - but Tom barely needs any direction from you to bring you to your apex. He feels right inside of you, he's hitting just the right spots at just the right pace, without you even needing to ask him. And the sounds he makes as he's fucking you, just the knowledge that you're clearly making him feel the same way, turns you on even more.

His moans become more strained, and his grip tightens. "Fuck, babe, need - need to feel you cum so I can - fuck, are you close?"

You whine out an, "Almost. I can get there quicker, though," you start shuffling to reach down between your legs, but Tom bats your hand away.

"Please, allow me," he smirks as he strokes your clit up and down.

"Such a gentleman," you tease, and he chuckles.

"Not much gentle about me, love," he purrs before rubbing your clit in deliberate, tight, fast circles, slapping your ass once more for good measure and practically losing himself inside of you when he feels how you clench around him at that.

When you climax, it's more intense than you've felt for a long time, if at all. You paint his cock in your juices, and he only just about manages to pull it out of you in time to spread warm spurts of thick cum against your ass. 

You flop down onto the bed, still stomach first, in exhaustion, smiling wistfully at the feeling of Tom lightly dragging the tip of his cock through the strings of cum he's left on your ass cheeks. "Having fun back there?"

"Just sort of sinking in that it's really happened," he replies in a state of dazed happiness. "How you feeling?"

"Good," you smile back in the same tone, "so very good."

"Yeah?" he smirks proudly.

"Should probably clean up," you mutter into your pillow, "but I don't wanna move right now."

Tom laughs, "C'mon, let's see if we can share a shower without you trying to go for round two, eh?"

You sit up on your knees, pivoting to face him, and gasp in shocked offence, making him laugh even more. “Oh, if I can, eh? And what about you?!”

He leans in with a grin, holding you by the throat as he kisses you deeply, longingly. “I already know I can’t.”

Once you’re both stood up, the rest of the night catches up with you and you both spend a moment blinking at each other heavily and laughing in exhaustion. You do share a shower, but it’s tender, soft, intimate. Lots of gentle caressing and slow kisses as you bathe Tom in your signature scent, the two of you becoming as one. 

When you’re all clean, dry, and snuggled in Tom’s arms in your bed, you sigh. He turns his head to rest his face against the top of your head, pressing a soft kiss to it as he asks, “What’s wrong, sweetness?”

“Don’t want to fall asleep, now. Means it’s over,” you mumble into his bare chest.

“What, d’you really think I’m gonna ghost you after this?!” Tom asks with amusement. “You’re stuck with me now, babe.”

“Oh, no(!) How terrible(!)” You joke, and Tom gasps.

“Cheeky!”

“Ah, can’t reach down to spank me now, can you?” You tease.

Tom hums sleepily, “Hmm, I’m keeping track in my head of what I owe you, don’t you worry,” and you giggle. “Y’know, this wasn’t really how I wanted to do things with you.”

“How’d you mean?”

Tom shuffles a little, “Well, y’know. The deal was only ever to get your number, at first. Then, I was gonna wow you with my excellent flirting skil- why’re you laughing?” He pokes the soft part of your side, tickling you and making you laugh even more. “Anyway, wanted to do it all… Y’know, proper. Wine and dine you, so you knew it was for real.”

You frown, tracing the freckles on his chest absent-mindedly. “Yeah, but you did do all that. You bought me a drink at the start… Bought me my burger… And I think I know how you feel about me well enough by this point,” you grin. “Just thought you’d earned a night of teasing me, for once. Don’t get too used to it, though.”

“Oh? Sounds like a challenge,” Tom smirks, and you laugh. He sighs happily, “I really do like you, by the way. Not just drunky Tom, an’ I wasn’t just trying to get you in bed, neither. Not that I’m complaining,” he squeezes you closer to him, smiling into your hair.

“I like you too, Mr Grant,” you tease back, looking up at him to kiss him. One kiss gets followed by another, and another. “Things just feel right with you, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do,” he replies wistfully. “Like… Not to bring up my ex, but being Ruth was just like… Doing it to get it over with, d’you know what I mean? Like we did because it’s a thing people do. But that was just fun, like we were having a laugh but it was so fucking good at the same time. ’M just sorry I only made you come the once, especially on your birthday. How inconsiderate, eh?!” he jokes, and you laugh so loudly that your hand flies up to your mouth, but Tom gently guides it back away, watching you with adoration.

“Trust me, that was plenty! If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t get to play with you more,” you go back to playing with his freckles.

“Right, so, plan is, we get up nice an’ early in the morning, you suck me off and then ride my face until you’ve had at least three orgasms, yeah?” Tom jokes.

Laughing, you offer, “Deal. If you’re still asleep when I wake up, I'll just get started and wait for you to catch up, shall I?"

"God, it's like you're in my brain," Tom shakes his head as you both fill the room with laughter.

“S’pose we should get some sleep then, shouldn’t we?” You suggest, shuffling around until you’re comfortable. He matches your posture easily, spooning you and wrapping you up in his embrace as he settles down next to you.

“G’night, love. Hope you enjoyed your birthday,” he muses in your ear.

“Definitely the best one yet.” You smile sleepily as you feel him lean over to kiss your cheek, and turn your head around to sneak in a few more kisses before finally falling asleep.

tagging a few people who might especially want to read, feel free to tell me if you don't want to be tagged <3: @keerysquinn @pedgito @babybluebex @reysorigins @keeponquinning

[ranchracoon]

Ch. 1 Disappearing Act

A new dawn begins with the rising of the sun as you startle awake back in the uncomfortable familiarity of your bed. With one heavy heave, you shove the covers off yourself and step onto the cold wooden flooring. Ania and your mother are awake as well to prepare the morning in peace before your father wakes. Mother works on breakfast, you tend to the stock, and Ania helps with morning chores. You don't mind the commute from your home to the farm, it's only a short walk downhill on the edge of the woods. The morning dew soaks your thin clothing but the shivers remind you that you're alive, and you can just be alone in existence. The first chore is emptying the food scraps from last nights dinner into the pig pen, mixed with their regular diet of rotten vegetables and grains. You open the pen for the chickens, they all come clucking out to greet the morning dew and peck at the pests in the field. All while you collect their portion of the rent. The few cows and goats chatter impatiently awaiting for you to relieve them of their milk which used to take you hours to finish. 

You could realistically get it done within an hour, but you take your time with each and every one to prolong the time spent alone. When all is done, you heave the containers of milk over your shoulder and carry the eggs in one hand. By the time breakfast is laid out and ready, your father awakens from his drunken stupor only to scarf his meal down like a ravenous dog, then get himself functional enough to tend to his job. He watches you the entire time, as he sloppily shoves food into his mouth. Every suitor he's tried to find you has mysteriously disappeared, he knows you have something to do with it; these disappearances have been happening for months since your grandmother's death. He just doesn't have the proof.

The moment he leaves everyone can breath a little easier. When you were younger, you would beg your mother to leave him, run away to the city where they can be safe but she was always too scared. You've squirreled away some money every time you get some, and you're so close to having enough. Today at the markets will make or break that; you just need a little more to get you and your sister out of this town. Your mother has made her bed. 

At the markets you sell the excess produce and animal products from your farm to surrounding towns and even some city folk who drive in just to get 'farm fresh' vegetables. Today was an especially good day, making record profits and sending you well over your monetary goals. As you're about to close up shop, a close personal friend of yours named Amber comes running up to you, hugging you from behind. You chuckle softly and turn around once she releases you, her beaming smile and radiant aura are always infectious. 

"Hey Morgan! Are you doing anything tonight?"

"Just the usual. Why?"

"Well, I heard that a couple people from the next town over are having a bonfire tonight and we're invited."

"Are you sure that's a safe decision? With all the people disappearing-"

"It'll be fine! We're going as a pretty large group, and I hear there's going to be some city girls there too."

Amber bounces excitedly, she's the only person in this whole town, other than your grandmother, who truly knows how you feel. You could care less about having a husband, or any man near you for that matter. You grind your teeth nervously, you could easily sneak out and go to this, but the vast amount of people who have gone missing makes you nervous. Then again, the last time she snuck out for a party was in high school, when she got drunk for the very first time. 

"Just think about it. We're meeting by Danny's Pub around 9, and Jason is going to drive us."

When you return home you do the same routine as you have done since you could walk; drop the money made onto the table for your father to waste on alcohol, go to the field and bring in the goats, cows, and pigs for the night, then heard the chickens in. Mother makes dinner, and Ania finishes cleaning up the house before your father stomps in with his dirty boots, dragging mud, dirt, and who knows what else into the house. He comes home an hour late, slumping into his chair and taking a bite of his food. No one can eat until he does.

"This is cold!" He slams his fork down.

"I'll heat it up for you" your mother gets up from her seat and grabs the plate.

"I work my ass off all day, the least you can fucking do is have a hot meal and a cold beer ready for me. God fucking damn."

She returns the plate and he takes another bite, after a few more bites the rest of your family begins to eat. When he finishes he sits back and looks around the table, taking a long drink from his bottle before sighing loudly. He takes the stack of money you left and counts it before shoving it into the pocket of his overalls, then he smacks his lips. 

"I'll be leaving for a few days" he proclaims. 

"Going where?" Your mother asks carefully. 

"Me and a few boys are going to travel to the city. Apparently there's a few other nearby towns that are also experiencing some disappearances. Dan said he tried to contact the county sheriff and was left on hold, so we'll be going in person. Otherwise, we're gonna set up our own search party."

You look at your father from the corner of your eye, taking a slow, deep breath to contain your excitement. This is exactly the opportunity you've been looking for! You've make up your mind; tonight you'll go to the party for one last hoorah, then when your father leaves you take Ania and bail. Mother won't do anything to stop you, and with your father gone that gives you at least a day or two head start. Everything is coming together. 

That night you sneak out the window as you've done thousands of times, landing softly on the ground below. You zip up your hoodie to keep the chill air at bay as you scamper across town to the pub. Amber spots you first and waves to you, squealing with excitement that you decided to come. Including you and Amber, there's ten people total; five in Jason's car and five in Rossela's. The car ride is filled with laughter, music, and a little pregaming for those not currently driving. You arrive to the party, seeing strangers from 'rival' towns all gathered to have fun, and for once in a very long time you let yourself relax. 

As the night goes on, the alcohol runs faster, you've managed to only nurse a singular drink  but you pretend to keep refilling it. Amber finds you eventually and drags you all over the party, trying to find you someone to dance with but not having much luck. Instead she dances with you, trying to get you to loosen up which works. How can you say no to her? She refills your cup, brings it to your lips and tips it up for you until your previous anxieties are melted away. Once your head is nice and fuzzy, you follow her blindly considering she's the only person you really know here. 

She takes your hand and guides you off, away from the party. Your heart starts to hammer in your chest, you won't deny you've always had a secret admiration of your best friend. How could you not? She has gorgeous red hair that flows down her back, cute little freckles that show up when she's been in the sun too long, and the most hypnotizing green eyes. Maybe all your sick fantasies are coming true, as she drags you deeper toward the woods. The whispers of warning on the wind fall on deaf ears. 

She turns around, holding both of your hands in hers as she smiles up at you, but her genuine smile turns into that of sadness as you're ripped from her grasp. You tug and fight with all your might, managing to toss one of the people holding you, and forcing another to take their place. The two people fight and struggle with you, until you are brought up and tossed into a literal dog cage with the lock clamped shut with a padlock. 

"Amber? Amber what the fuck! Get me out of here."

Amber approaches, her brows furrowed in sorrow as tears run down her face, "I'm sorry Morgan. They have my sister! This is the only way I can get her back."

You sit there hopelessly as your once best friend turns away from you, and you look around seeing numerous others from the party also locked in different sized cages. A man dressed in all black approaches Amber, motioning toward a pickup where Amber's sister, Lara, comes running out. They embrace each other tightly, Amber sobbing quietly as she clutches her little sister. You sit back on the hard steel frame, sighing heavily as you bring your legs to your chest and rest your forehead on your knees. Could you truly say you wouldn't have done the same for Ania?

Chapter 2

[esmaxdemirci]

[cisfemale, she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [ESMA DEMIRCI]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [PINAR DENIZ]. You must be the [TWENTY NINE] year old [WAITSTAFF AT FOUR LEAF IRISH PUB]. Word is you’re [INDEPENDENT] but can also be a bit [MANIPULATIVE] and your favorite song is [SWEETEST PIE BY MEGAN THEE STALLION & DUA LIPA]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [FISHERS COVE]. I’m sure you’ll love it!

@aurorabayaesthetic

pinterest & spotify

tw: abuse mention, miscarriage, car accident, cheating, drugs

stats

name: esma demirci

nicknames: n/a

age: twenty nine

faceclaim: pinar deniz

occupation: waitress @ four leaf irish pub

gender: cis female

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: pansexual

birthday: november 4th 1994

sign: scorpio sun, sagittarius moon, virgo rising

ethnicity: arab

hometown: aurora bay

eye color: green

hair color: dark brown

height: 5'6"

tattoos: coming soon

piercings: coming soon

likes - dislikes- headcanons-

biography:

Chaos didn't always follow around Esma and her twin sister Isra. It all started when the girls were five. Their mother had always been slightly erratic, but when their father caught her having an affair with one of his best friends? He couldn't stand it anymore. Knowing Esma was the strongest of the pair, he left her and took Isra with him. This ended up with Esma taking on her mother's verbal abuse, and her mom turning to alcohol. Eventually, she remarried and her stepfather was just as bad.

As she grew into her teen years, Esma began attention seeking, drinking, drugs, and hanging out with people she shouldn’t. Her mother began to get fed up with her, kicking her out when she was 16. This caused her to drop out of high school, couch surfing at her best friend's place; his laid-back parents kindly let her. But it was trouble, she was slowly falling for his girlfriend, and she was falling for her too. It wasn’t very long before they were sneaking around together and she was stuck in some very messy affair that carried on for nearly two years. Funnily enough, it had been the only bit of stability that Esma had ever had.  

Tragedy struck when he got into a car accident and passed away on the scene. The girls had been together that night so when they heard the news they both felt an immense amount of guilt. Esma was unable to contain it; hitching a ride to San Fransisco and never looking back.  She had no money, no nothing, but being somewhat street smart, Esma broke into an empty apartment to live in while she tried to build up some cash. It wasn’t long until she was caught and kicked out so she had to find a new plan. 

Esma still spent most of her time drinking and doing drugs, anything to escape the grief she’d endured over the last couple of years. Finding different bodies to fill the void, until she came across a chef who worked at one of San Fran’s most prestigious restaurants. He was older than her, he had money, and he seemed nice enough so she went home with him, charming her way into his life.  It was only six weeks later she was staring at a positive pregnancy test in the bathroom of his restaurant. It was positive and he was thrilled. Esma couldn’t really picture herself as a mother but her life had been flipped upside down, maybe now she was finally going to feel some sort of happiness. He flew her to Vegas and they got married. 

Only a short time went by before it all started crumbling. Esma experienced a late-term miscarriage shortly after their wedding day. Things turning more sour than they ever could have with her new husband blaming everything on her. Esma had always been strong but not anymore, not after this. She began to believe the words he fed her. It wasn’t long before he was laying hands on her either. She was miserable. When Esma had enough instead of leaving she began to retaliate. This carried on for years until she couldn’t take it anymore, when she found out he got his mistress pregnant, it was over. Esma cooked her husband a nice dinner and laced it with rat poison, then once he was knocked out, she went to the nearest ATM, to withdraw all the money in their joint account, winding back up in Aurora Bay. 

The first thing she did was find a house in Fishers Cove and the next thing she did was find a job at the Four Leaf Irish pub, hoping to forget about everything she had endured. With too much evidence against him, she knew he wouldn't come looking for her. She finally felt strong again.

current & wanted connections:

will update this shortly!

[dsandrvk]

Friday, August 18 - St John's, Newfoundland (also Wednesday and Thursday sea days)

Our sea day on Wednesday was mostly cool and cloudy, which was fine since we had several great lectures, as well as other activities. The highlight was a talk by Chad, one of the Ventures team, who are responsible for the Zodiacs, kayaking, and other expedition activities. He was in charge of sea ice landings for the recent exploration expedition searching for Shackleton's ship, the Endurance, in the Weddell Sea in Antarctica, and told the story of that search. Even though most of us knew the result, there was still a surprising amount of suspense, since they didn't find the Endurance until almost the last day of their allotted time. The photos Chad had of the ship sitting intact on the sea bed were amazing. Afterwards the team stopped by Shackleton's grave on South Georgia Island to pay their respects, and by an eerie coincidence realized that they found the Endurance exactly 100 years to the day after Shackleton's death.

We also had a great lecture on toothed whales and dolphins, which we hoped would be helpful as we traveled from Greenland, but although we had a nice day on Thursday with almost flat seas and several of us spent the afternoon on deck, there was nothing to be seen but seabirds, and not too many of them. At least our team won another trivia game, and we may be in the running for the overall title (or not).

Today we finally arrived back in North America, about as far east as we could be on land. Just to the south (and a wee bit east) is Cape Spear, which is the easternmost point in North America. St John's first appeared on maps as early as 1517, and is one of the oldest European settlements in North America. Today the "metro area" is well over 200,000 people, and ranks as the 20th largest city in Canada. Newfoundland only joined Canada in 1949 - before that it was independent until 1934, when it became a dependent territory of Great Britain. We saw many examples of the PWG flag, an unofficial tricolor flag with green, white and pink bands representing Ireland, Scotland, and England, where many of the settlers came from. The Celtic influence is still quite strong, as there are quite a few Irish pubs

There was a 1400 passenger Holland America ship at the main dock downtown, so we were a few kilometers away at what was once the US Navy shipyard. It was actually a better location as it was close to Signal Hill, and they provided a shuttle bus downtown for us. We were greeted at the dock by enthusiastic volunteers and a wonderful Newfoundland dog, who almost immediately rolled over for belly rubs.

One of the first things one notices about St John's is all the colorful buildings. I had heard about the candy colored buildings of "Jelly Bean Row", but had not expected the rest of the city to be painted all sorts of colors, including public chairs and tables. Unfortunately, many of the intersections were a jumble of overhead wires, which slightly detracted from the overall effect. The streets that run perpendicular to the harbor are quite steep, gaining a story or more in a block. I don't think they would be much fun in the winter!

This morning Russ had an eyelet on his boots break, and one of the first shops we saw was a shoe repair called "Modern Shoe Hospital". Ten minutes later, the boot was fixed and we were on our way, wandering up and down streets. Eventually we found our way out to Quidi Vidi Lake, which is an urban park with a lovely lakeside path. We followed this to the outlet of the lake, which after tumbling over a couple of waterfalls, reached the small fishing village of Quidi Vidi, now more an artist colony and tourist town. The small harbor is an inlet from the sea with a very narrow neck. We had heard about a brewery here and that was one of our planned destinations, but at mid-day on a beautiful Friday it was crowded and the line for a seat stretched down the stairs from the second floor dining area. Instead, we decided to head to our next destination - up Signal Hill.

The hill towers over both Quidi Vidi and St John's, and has been a signal tower, defensive position and lookout for several hundred years. We took the Ladies Lookout Trail, named for the women who watched for the returning ships, and it was a steady, but reasonable climb. When we reached the top there was a parking lot, lots of people, and great views in all directions. There was also Cabot Tower, the last in a line of signalling stations, and now a museum for Parks Canada. It was quite crowded, so we took some quick pictures and headed down the North Head trail, which wraps around the sea side of the hill back towards St John's. It was considerably steeper than our trail up, and there were lots and lots of stairs on the upper half. Also lots of people, which made the narrow stairs a bit challenging.

Eventually we came almost down to sea level, where the trail ended and the streets of town began, and went back up out of the harbor. We were right by our ship but had to walk a bit further to approach the secure area from the downtown (and uphill) side. The detour did take us by some more very colorful houses.

By our dock was the Terry Fox Mile 0 memorial - a tribute to a very courageous young man. At age 22 Terry was diagnosed with cancer and lost his right leg. He decided to do a coast to coast run to raise awareness and money for cancer research, and dipped his artificial leg into the Atlantic Ocean at this point, hoping to dip it again into the Pacific. He made it as far as Thunder Bay, Ontario, covering almost a marathon a day, when the cancer reemerged and he eventually succumbed to the disease. But he inspired a foundation that continues on, and is considered a Canadian hero. One of the locals I talked to called him "our Terry" and lots of young kids wanted their picture taken with his statue. Quite inspiring.

As we headed out of the harbor it had clouded over a bit, and the weather for tomorrow is not supposed to be very good. We are headed to "Europe" (the small part of France called St Pierre et Miquelon) and we have to set our clocks forward a half hour to undo the half hour back we did last night for Newfoundland. For some reason, Newfoundland is the only place in the world to be off of the standard times by 30 minutes. Just another fun fact.

[should-be-sleeping]

This was a hard one. I went to spend time with our neighbor at 3:30pm and wouldn't make it home again until 2:00am. She was in a lot of pain and the only thing offering her any reprieve was company. So, I stayed. Well into the night and early morning.

When I first arrived, we were mostly doing alright. I was helping her sort through the clothes hospice workers had haphazardly shoved into bags and my partner was cleaning up her kitchen for her and doing her dishes.

She was a bit back and forth with lucidity and her stuttering was more pronounced, but I was patient and accommodating as she worked through it over and over again. The state of her house has really negatively impacted her mental well being and both my partner and I are determined to see it set right so she can know some peace.

After a couple of hours my partner has to step out to retrieve our child, but I stay behind to keep her company because it's clear she is in no state to be left alone. She tells me about being a caretaker for her mom during her last months of life with dementia and so forth and I assure her this is not "like that." Though it'd be okay, even if it was.

She is, after all, mostly lucid still. Though she struggles to care for herself physically, mentally she is still herself almost all of the time. There are periods where this is less-so, of course, but it's almost always associated with something which has triggered her ptsd in some way.

She tells me about alcohol inks, and shows me some tiles she made a while ago, before cancer sapped her ability to do Things. She tells me about her and her friend sitting at her dining table like pyros, setting paint on fire to create art. I tell her I'd love to set things on fire with her, to make art. I promise we'll get her dining area cleaned up so that she can use it again. For anything.

Currently it is covered in STUFF that hospice workers pulled out of cabinets and drawers and just... laid out. It's kind of a hazard actually, in that, if she tried to reach out to steady herself on any of the chairs or even the table itself, the amount of STUFF just stacked everywhere would slip, and she'd fall for sure.

It's not just the dining area. STUFF covers her furniture in every room. Either in bags as they'd left it or in piles as she'd pulled things out trying to find something. It's an accident waiting to happen.

"Make the space more accessible" my ass. They bagged up her things to make it convenient to empty out after she goes. Fuck that. I'm dedicated to returning it all back to how she had it beforehand.

Her pain is bad today, so, after a while I remind her that knowing when to take a pain pill is a strength, too. That taking them as needed isn't a weakness. She's experiencing total organ failure, after all. In real time. Everyday. The pain is unimaginable. It's okay to need a break from it.

But she hates pain meds, and I know, so I try to make it more okay by reminding her it's late in the day -- when pain is at it's worst. If there is any time to take them, it's now.

She takes her pills.

Hospice has not been able to get her to take her pills in months. Maybe they should treat her more like a person and less like a job. They balk at her wanting to take a shot of vodka for the pain and then suggest narcotics. She's terminal. Like. Pain relief should be whatever she's comfortable with. What's she going to do? Ruin her liver?

Her organs are failing already. She has a DNR. A literal miracle would not solve all of the cancer wrong with her. If narcotic pain relief spikes her anxiety, let her have a drink. You don't need to promote a healthy lifestyle to a terminal patient with a DNR, what the fuck? wtf.

I tell her about the time I spent growing up hanging out with my grandpa in pubs. They'd let me sit at the bar and serve me 7-up with Maraschino cherries on little plastic swords. I had a lot of friends who were 50 or older, which probably explains a lot about me. I tell her about making screwdrivers for my grandpa during Tales From The Crypt marathons over the weekends at his house, and the song we'd sing as I made them. I can make a great screwdriver.

She asks me to make her a drink. She doesn't have juice but she does have fruit flavored sparkling waters, so I improvise. It's not half bad, and she likes it. I tell her I'll have to make her a proper screwdriver sometime. She loves this idea.

After a long while I take her to sit outside because she wants to watch the moonrise. I should head home soon, but I have time for this. For her. Unfortunately her neighbors have put out Halloween lights that blink and flash at such rapid pace it's probably a sincere risk to anyone with epilepsy. It's freaking her out and killing the peaceful way she enjoys her evenings under the moon.

I offer to sneak over and unplug them, but she's worried they'll tie it back to her. So instead I just sneak over and investigate the situation, maybe there's just a blinker bulb I can pull. No such luck. These people seem aware their decor is a nuisance. They've plugged it in, under the door, inside their house. Bypassing the set of outdoor plugs right. there. Ugh.

Just as I'm offering to help her speak to them tomorrow the whistling starts. Perfect, flawless whistling. Keen and clear, cutting through the darkness like a horror film. No one is that good at whistling without like, wearing other people's skin as a hobby. I stg. I'm trying not to be creeped out but our neighbor's already there for me.

Worse, the guy whistling realizes he's creeping out two women in the dark of night and crosses the street to stand and look right at us like a Stephen King villain. Our neighbor takes me back inside and is near panicking. I don't blame her. What an asshole! The only way to get her to calm down, I realize, is to text my partner and bring him over. Surely the guy will fuck off if a man shows up and I'm not wrong.

My partner comes asap and the guy is GONE. I'm still assuring out neighbor he was real and I saw him too, as we open the door so she can see my partner is outside and the creeper is gone. The idea is for my partner to have walked me home, but I realize as worked up as she is, I cannot possibly go. So we have him linger a bit longer as an assurance, and then I remain.

She is in so much pain now and needs an anxiety pill. I help her find them and try to get her mind off of it. We chat about a panoramic photo she has near her fireplace of a crater in Hawaii. She took it in the 70's. It had fallen off the other day as she was reading about the wildfires in Maui. I climb over several hospice-provided obstacles (you cannot move 3 feet in any direction without having to overcome another btw) and return it to where it goes.

She says she's worried about what happens to her stuff when she's gone. She worries it'll be sold, somewhere. She wants it all donated. Every last thing. I promise to make sure this happens for her. She gets her keychain out and gives me the extra key to her house. "Promise," she says, "No one will profit off me." I promise. I make several other promises, most involving her DNR -- which had been violated back before she was hospitalized for a month. I promise so sincerely.

She asks if I read. I say I try to read a book before bed every night. Not like, all at once obviously, over over time each night. She says she'd love to loan me a book. I say I'd love that. She takes me into her bedroom and I have to help clear a space on her bed for her to climb into and access her bookshelves. Thanks hospice!

A few hours and eleven books later I have my recommendations. Most are about science or the occult (or both), a true unification of both Mulder and Scully, and I'm excited to get into them. She also loaned me an original copy of Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus because she thought it was funny.

Eventually I help her back over the bed and out of the bedroom to the livingroom, where she prefers to sleep. There, she insists on walking me home. Due to the creepy whistling man from earlier. I explain this doesn't work because then who walks her home? And instead I text my partner to come escort me.

This is the second time my partner has come to escort me home, hours apart, but he's an amazing sport about it. He assures her the whistling man is gone and I give her a long hug. She thanks me for making her pain go away. For staying with her and keeping it at bay. I tuck her in and promise to lock the door after I go so she doesn't have to get up. She'll get a good night's sleep tonight.

My partner walks me home and reheats the food he'd made for dinner earlier, which I missed. I eat it slowly despite the time because I love his cooking and it's one of my favorite dishes. He gets me a beer. I sleep like I don't have to be up in 2.5 hours.

Tough day today... and friendly reminder that being human is easier when we help each other.

I saw one of our neighbors, an older woman we sometimes talk to in passing, sitting outside of her house. I don't know what exactly made me look twice, but on second glance as we drove by I realized her walker was in the grass. She was otherwise just sitting there, like she had a thousand times before, so it would have been easy to assume she was fine and go on with my life as normal but something told me to go check in on her anyway.

She was not fine. She was the polar opposite of fine. Just diagnosed with terminal cancer not fine. No next of kin not fine. A veteran facing eviction from her house for missing rent while in the hospital not fine. In constant debilitating pain not fine. Only semi-lucid not fine. She was extremely alone not fine.

I thought, at most, she might be bored while unable to pick up her walker not fine. A five minute detour from my day not fine. A help her back into her house and say "see you later!" not fine. Instead I spent the last three hours with her because she was so scared and alone and no one should be alone.

We talked a lot while I was there. She's actually two years younger than my mom (who also has cancer but slightly better luck, I guess). I helped her into her house and got her a drink and we talked about what all is going on with her. None of it was good. I was as reassuring as I could be, but there's only so much of this I can actually help her with.

"Why did you come?" she asked through tears.

"Because you looked like you might need some help."

She called me an angel. I told her I was just doing my best. I told her that kindness should never be rare. That we should all try to make the world just a little bit better than it was.

She offered to pay me but I told her I was just there as a friend. Before today we were basically strangers. No need to repay me with anything other than her company, I assured her. She cried, a lot. I managed not to somehow. Something tells me she had needed to cry long before this but in being Strong she never had the chance to.

She needed to get her mail, which is a long walk when you're disabled because it is not at all handicap accessible (across a parking lot, over a bridge, across a small field). So I helped her get her mail. We stopped every three feet because her pain was so bad, but she was determined to be able to go do this with me and not just send me on an errand. I patiently stayed with her and reminded her, through her apologies, it was fine to take our time: there was a nice breeze and birds were singing. She appreciated this. She loves nature.

Halfway back she said she wanted to go to the pool. To put her feet in the water. She loves water, and has not been able to even see the pool in a month. Neither of us were dressed for swimming, but I took her to the pool anyway. There is a stair leading down to it, meaning she couldn't bring her walker, so I offered her my arm.

We went to the pool. She put her feet in the water and then, with more energy and enthusiasm than I'd seen the whole time, she jumped in. In her fancy dress! She was instantly ten years younger at least, clear and happy, floating in the sun. Dress and all. She grew up with a pool and had been on a swim team.

I sat by the edge of the pool while she swam, keeping her company and also making sure she was okay. When she got tired I took her back home and then had to help her get undressed and redressed. I made sure she felt no shame. Getting out of wet clothes is hard for anyone, let alone someone with like twenty pounds of tumors racking them with constant pain.

She was so fucking happy to have gone swimming.

She is trying to "make everything right" before she goes. Trying to repay her debt to society and her debts in general. She couldn't understand why the corporation that owns our houses wouldn't take her money. She was genuinely distressed -- not to be homeless on her deathbed but to not leave this world with a clean slate. I told her intent matters. She can only do her best.

This company not letting her repay her debt was their fault, not hers.

When I finally needed to go, I told her to let me know any time she needed a hand or just wanted company. She told me she was going to die tonight. I told her I hoped not, so I could see her tomorrow. I offered her a hug, we hugged and she sobbed for a solid ten minutes into my shoulder. I told her she was okay. That it was okay.

When I got home I cried myself, because I could not believe she was going through all of that alone. I cannot even imagine how isolated she must have felt. Once I pulled myself back together I sent her a text reminding her to reach out any time and I'd do my best to come over. Like, any time at all.

I hope she is here tomorrow.

[kymbersmith90ff]

Read All About It: Chapter 3

Summary: Using Twitter to ask an actual princess on a date may not have been Killian’s best idea - until it was.

The credit for the wonderful banners for this story goes to @hollyethecurious​ and @itsfabianadocarmo​. Thank you both so much!

Killian spent the rest of his day traipsing around London with his parents and his brother, feigning interest in anything they deemed noteworthy while trying his hardest to covertly check his phone. So far, there had been no word from Princess Emma, but Killian wasn’t too worried. She probably had lots of stuff to do, what with her being an actual princess. Okay, maybe he was a little freaked out that his flirting was becoming too much for her and he would never hear from her again, but he tried not to let those insecurities ruin his day.

When his parents finally settled on a quaint little pub for lunch, and Killian was happily nursing a pint of Guinness, he told himself he would check his phone one last time. He should have been focusing on the limited amount of time he had left to spend with his family before he’d have to fly back out to Vancouver, but he simply couldn’t shake off thoughts of those Twitter exchanges with the princess.

This time, when he opened up the app, his heart leapt at the sight of two notifications from Princess Emma (along with one from Robin, congratulating him on being so forward!). Killian ignored Robin for the time being and instead focused on the princess’s tweets.  

@KillianJones1 As much as I would love to take you up on that (and trust me, I would. You’re very firm!), I have to work today. Rain check?

@KillianJones1 Is there any direction to your wandering, or are you just lost in the city? I know it can be daunting for you country folk.

Killian did his best to smother his smile, well aware that his brother’s eyes kept darting back his way, and instead tapped out a quick response.  

@PrincessEmma I shall hold you to that! Not lost, thank you, just touring with my family. You do know we have cities in Ireland, right?

He quickly closed out of the app and pocketed his phone. He’d reply to Robin’s message a little later. Instead, Killian focused his attention back on his parents and the steaming plates of food that had just been placed in front of them all.

It was as he was finishing his final bite that his mother got down to the issue she’d been bugging him about for the last five years.  

“So, tell me, dear, are you seeing anyone special at the moment?”  

Killian almost choked on his food. He should have known it was coming, and yet, somehow, his mother always managed to lull him into that false sense of security she was well known for.  

“No, mother,” he replied, deliberately using the term he knew she hated most.  

“Hmm…” She fell silent for a few seconds, allowing Killian to take another, larger-than-necessary gulp of his Guinness before she continued. “You know, Maeve’s daughter is single now too. She had a nasty split with her husband. I’m sure I could arrange for the two of you to meet up before you go back to Canada.”

Killian’s mind was too busy casting around for information on ‘Maeve’s Daughter’ to form a coherent reply. Thankfully, he was saved from the embarrassment of his mother taking his silence as some kind of acceptance by the approach of a teenage girl at their table.  

The young girl looked over at him somewhat shyly before she asked, “Killian Jones?”

“Aye, that’s me,” Killian told her, easily falling into his public persona.  

The young girl blushed a deep shade of scarlet before she asked, “Can I get a picture with you, please?”

Killian nodded his agreement, standing up to wrap his arm around the young girl’s shoulders. Her friend took a couple of pictures of the two of them together on her iPhone before Killian gently removed his arm.  

“Thank you so much,” the brave young woman told him. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your lunch.”  

Killian waved away her concerns with a “No worries” and was about to slide back into his chair when she threw him for a loop.  

“I really hope you get that rain check.”  

This time, it was Killian’s turn to flush bright red as his hand came up to scratch behind his right ear.  

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his face firmly fixed on the floor and definitely not anywhere near his brother.  

“You’d make a cute couple,” was the young girl’s parting gift to him, before she practically skipped back to the table her friend had already returned to.  

Killian tried so damned hard not to think about just how cute of a couple he and the princess would make as he willed the colour in his cheeks to fade away.  

He was so lost in his thoughts that it wasn’t until his father cleared his throat loudly that Killian found his eyes rising to meet his brother’s.

“Who are you hoping for a rain check from, Killy?” Liam asked, his chin propped on his hand and nonchalance oozing out of him in waves.  

“None of your damned business!” Killian snapped.  “And don’t call me Killy!”  

Killian’s eyes darted between his brother and his parents before he excused himself and fled to the bathroom. He knew it wouldn’t stop their curiosity from burning, but he hoped it would at least help to reduce it to something of a simmer.  

It was only when he was safely locked inside a cubicle that he risked checking his phone once more.  

@KillianJones1 Oh, I know. But I wouldn’t exactly call Drogheda a city now, would you? More like a small town. And please do :-D

Killian sighed, letting his head fall back against the locked door.  

There was a chance he was getting in way over his head. He was thirty-four years old - not a teenager - and yet, one simple message from Princess Emma had his stomach fluttering in a way that it hadn’t for years.

There was absolutely no way he’d be able to explain all of this to his family, so instead, he fired off a quick reply to the princess before washing his hands and heading back to the table.  

“Tower of London?” he asked, with a fake smile firmly fixed in place as he took his seat once again.

[the-real-bruce-banner]

I’d really really love to know your pregnant!bunty headcanons!

Oooo Pregnant!Bunty would be a thrill. First, I would like to mention that I have no clue whatsoever about the magic that witches use during their pregnancy. For example, the potions they have for illness and so forth. However bare with me and I’ll try not to screw it up 😂

Buntyforth Pregnant HCs:

Aberforth and Bunty weren’t actively trying for a baby. Sometimes they happen to get caught up in the moment and Abe forgets to cast a protection spell.

When Bunty realizes that she is pregnant, she freaks out (in a good way). She doesn’t know yet how she’s going to tell Aberforth because they hadn’t had many convos about their future including children. The topic has been brought up a hand full of times but never in detail.

After a week of knowing, Bunty worked up the courage to tell Aberforth the news. It was early, before Abe went to work, and he was in the mirror tidying his vest when she blurted it out. Aberforth turned around and nearly fainted. Abe told the whole pub that a round of drinks were on him that day.

Bunty’s morning sickness starts to kick in and her senses heighten, she can’t stand the smell of the pub. The thought of it makes her nauseous. So for a limited time only, Aberforth put a spell on the pub and made it smell like peppermint. The regulars surprisingly had no complaints.

Aberforth cooked every meal for her and did his best to make sure she stayed off her feet, even early in the pregnancy when she was barely showing.

Aberforth was proud to share the news with Albus, only after Bunty convinced him it was better to tell him now before he was the last one to know.

Aurelius, Newt and Tina were first, followed by Jacob and Queenie (because of Newtina), and then Theseus and Lally (through Newt and Jacob). It was only a matter of time before the whole village found out. Bunty would hate if Albus felt negativity in any way because of that so she invited him over personally. Albus immediately pulled Aberforth into a hug and told him how excited he was for him. It was sadly one if the only times you saw the brothers happy together.

After Bunty told him that she was expecting he ended up making his way to some old childhood boxes. They had a layer of dust covering them, but they were filled with a lot of objects he had consistently pushed down. One of his old baby socks, a couple photographs, a few children’s stories, and some baby toys. Aberforth figured that maybe it was time to put some of the items back into use.

Aberforth talking to Bunty’s stomach when she’s asleep, because he feels like the convos are more personal.

Neither of the parents had a preference over what gender the baby was, they just wanted them to be healthy (to they’re later surprise they had two daughters).

Aberforth dragging Bunty away from work because she was due in a couple months. He argued she shouldn’t be on her feet in the first place, nevertheless trying to mess with beasts. Bunty laughed at his protectiveness and let him drag her out after she played with the nifflers and mooncalves.

The two of them spent an excessive amount of time trying to find a good room for the baby.

Aberforth’s personal room was the only room that had constant repairs and constant upkeep. The rest of the rooms either had a water leak, smelled like they had a leak, or always had a constant slight breeze. Aberforth joked that he never liked his customers to feel too cozy, where they would feel inclined to overstay. They settled on a room with a few small leaks and several stains and vowed to repair it quickly together with the help of some magic.

Aberforth asking Aurelius to come help decorate the babies room and add his own flare. Aurelius ends up adding a flock of cute birds, gold trimming and painted clouds that move.

[slytherinnbitch]

Bonus: Birthday (Because it's my boy's birthday, oh and I can)

Warnings: Rated M because altho not explicitly mentioned there is a hint of smut in this

"Good morning, love." Draco murmurs as he places soft kisses on his neck. Harry smiles sleepily and snuggles closer.

"mmm... don't you have work today?"

"Not today," Draco replies, placing yet more kisses on his jaw and that spot behind his ear. Harry can feel himself getting hard slowly.

"then it indeed is a good morning," he says as he turns around and faces his husband.

Draco kisses him then, properly kisses him. It's languid and so very thorough that it makes his toes curl. They snog for a couple of more minutes, tongues meeting, and tangling with one another as they reacquaint themselves yet again.

"Happy 41st, Scarhead." Draco says at last when he pulls away. His expression must give him away because Draco continues, "Don't tell me you actually forgot."

"I did actually, I mean I knew it was soon but I guess I didn't see the date recently." He smiles shyly at Draco and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Well good thing, because we have a surprise for you." Draco says and pulls him closer.

"Oh do you now?"

"Yes, I think James and Reg must be banging the door any moment now." He hasn't even finished the sentence when there's a knock and Reg's voice comes through.

"Papa, Is Daddy up yet?"

"There's your sons." Draco laughs and kisses him again before getting up and stretches.

He is naked except for his pants which hang very very low. Harry takes a moment to appreciate the view as he readies himself for the day. Draco shrugs on his house robe and opens the door, shooting Harry a private smile.

James and Reg hop inside with as much excitement as you can expect from a four and eight year old.

"Papa come downstairs, we made you a surprise! We woke up early to make it. Even Reggie helped."

"He did?" Harry asks as he looks at his youngest who nods his head enthusiastically.

"Aren't you forgetting something, James?" Draco asks gently as he comes to sit down beside Harry.

"Oh, Happy Birthday Papa!" James says after moments of deep thinking and Reggie follows his lead. Harry thanks them both as he kisses both their foreheads.

Together the four of them decend the stairs and reach the kitchen where Harry's eyes go comically wide as he takes in the dinner table. It's filled with all his favourite foods and moreover there's a huge three tier chocolate cake in the middle with frosting all over and on the top, he can just make out the words Papa written with white chocolate and chocolate sprinkles.

It's not that in all the twenty years he has been with Draco, this is the first time he is getting a birthday breakfast. It is not even the first time it's a chocolate cake (although it is the first time it's a three tier one), no the thing which breaks Harry's heart in the best possible way is that there's kheer.

Kheer which is something from his heritage. He had told Draco in the passing, how he had finally found out his ancestors and they were Indians. But... but he didn't tell him about the kheer and how it was considered somewhat auspicious to have kheer on one's birthday.

He turned around to look at Draco immediately, only to find him smiling shyly at him, with that private smile of his that no one else got to see. Just family, Draco had said when he had asked about it all those years back.

He couldn't help himself when he crossed the short distance between them and kissed him on the lips. He had just murmured a thank you against Draco's lips when James and Reg said gross in unison.

He laughed softly before he was led towards his grand breakfast. He cut the cake, whilst the three of them sung the happy birthday song for him. After he had fed the cake to everyone, Draco took the kheer bowl and expectantly stood infront of him.

"Open up you. I don't know if it's properly made or not but I tried." He says as if Harry doesn't know the amount of effort and time he must have given behind this one recipe just to get it right. Seriously, it's like potions but Harry gets a sweet dish out of it.

The kheer practically melts in his mouth and he moans at its subtle yet creamy sweetness. This has to be the best kheer in the world, given this is the first time but he is sure. The kheer is exactly how he had imagined it would be and so much more.

They finish off the rest of the breakfast together sans for the bowl of kheer which is all Harry's. James and Regulus gets their own bowls but somehow Harry's is more special.

His bestfriends would be here any moment now and take away the children so that the both of them get some alone time before the party. Honestly, it's the same thing every year. Breakfast with Draco and the kids then lunch and consequent dinner at the Weasley's which ended at the pub with most of them getting stupid drunk while Molly and Arthur looked after the kids.

It hadn't been this way, of course. The first few years after the war he used to spent his mornings alone, wallowing before going to the Weasley's. After Draco got knowledge of this, he made it a point to make his birthday mornings the best thing ever. And he has kept it so far. First, it was them and birthday blowjobs before breakfast in bed- made by the Manor elves before Draco took it in his own hands. Then James had been there, and now it was the three of them making his birthday special.

Harry really couldn't have asked for better days. Mornings with his family then the whole day around his found family and to think he has more than a hundred years left of this!

Happy Birthday to him, indeed.

Day 3: Movie Theatre || Day 4: Kids

Requests open

[wizkiddx]

a father and daughter

I don't normally hop on the whole dad!tom thing, but this idea kinda popped up and wouldn't leave me alone. Hope everyone is having a lovely festive period and wish you all well in the new year x x x

Summary: Tom really struggles to get into the parenting thing, and finds it tricky balancing work and his relationship with baby daughter

Tom loved being a Dad. It had only been a couple of months, meaning your baby girl was still very much a baby - yet still he had no doubt, this was the best job one could ever ever do. To be honest he was quite regretting agree to the few work commitments he had started to ease back into too. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to go these months without work, which not many had the luxury of saying - but in this industry work agreements were lined up years before and he was never one to disappoint. 

Of course, as soon as you both had found out you were expecting, he’d withdrawn from the big filming project across the world but that didn’t mean he avoided the odd week of press, or a couple days flying abroad for fittings and meetings. By absolutely no means would you ever class him as a slightly ‘absent’ dad, you completely understood and when he was home did way more than his fair share with Amelie.

But Tom felt guilty and he felt like he was inferior to you in parenting ability. And you knew that was for one reason and one reason only. He did not have boobs. 

You were well aware that as much as you loved Amelie needing you so much and so often - sometimes being the only person able to soother her - was because all she wanted was to drain you of milk. She was clearly going to be a Daddy’s girl, and who could blame her when her Dad was Tom. But for right now, a mere 5 months old - she loved you because she loved your tit. 

The first time you had noticed Tom’s growing frustration was right after his first evening work commitment since her arrivel, he’d been on a UK chat show earlier in the evening and as encouraged by you, had taken the opportunity to have a few drinks after with his brothers and friends. By no means did he return late, barely midnight, but he did return just a little tipsy. You were still up choosing to have a little movie night to yourself, whilst Amelie slept in the Moses basket next to the couch. Just before Tom got back though, she had woken up and for no reason was the smiliest little girl. So when Tom let himself into the front door, he was greeted with the sound of Amelie’s little bubbles of laughter, while you spoke in baby language - pulling ridiculous faces and laughing with her. 

“Someones smiley” Tom laughed as he plopped down on the sofa next to you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and wrapping his arm round your shoulder as he smiled at Amelie. 

“Aren’t you Meelie? How was the show love?” You asked, as you held Amelie in a sitting position on your thighs so she was staring at you both. 

“Hmm it was nice, couldn’t make myself stay for too long though… just missed my girls.” His voice was a little rough, something that happens after talk show and then almost shouting over the obnoxiously loud music in the pub after. Amelie, laughed again at his words, almost taunting her Dad’s attachment to her, making both of you burst out laughing. She already had you both wrapped round her very little finger. 

Shaking your head, you passed her over to Tom muttering needing a wee and made a quick escape. Ever since you had her, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave her unattended - meaning you had almost made your kidneys explode holding in a wee waiting for Tom to get back. Yet as soon as you made it out the door, the bubbling innocent laughter turned into screams - but at that point you’d already made it out the doorframe - marking that as Tom’s issue to handle. Unfortunately the wails continued, very very loud and proud, and when you returned Tom was pacing slowly around the lounge with a grimace on his face as Amelie screamed into his shoulder. 

“I’ll stay up with her if you want.” You offered, knowing Tom without sleep and having to listen to her racket all night would have an impressively worse hangover tomorrow. 

“No I got it, think she needs a change.” Tom countered, even though you were pretty sure she wanted a feed, since it had been a good couple of hours from the last. He noticed your hesitance and shooed you out the room “I got it love, you’ve had her all evening.” 

“You know where I’ll be” You smiled lightly, leaving them downstairs as you got ready for bed.

It was after about 10 minutes of thrashing about guiltily in your otherwise empty bed, you gave in to the still continuous screaming. Amelie clearly was just hungry, even if Tom refused to admit it and bring her to you. So with a deep sigh you gave in, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and trudged downstairs. Tom was still stood up, taking gentle bouncing steps as Amelie apparently tried to deafen him. Once he saw you, with a defeated look, Tom offered her to you. Instantly, as if you just had the ability to turn the crying switch on her off- Amelie stopped crying and blinked away the tears in her eyes, whilst waiting patiently for you to offer her your nipple. While you were busy trying to get her to latch on, you just caught Tom muttering something as he trudged up to bed without so much as a good night. 

Then a couple months later a similar thing occurred. Tom had been away in New York for 5 days, a little press stint that he had under no circumstances been able to get off. At first all had been well but two days since he returned, Tom insisted you finally had an evening out with the girls - to be honest, after spending the best part of a week alone with Meelie you graciously took it. Oh, and also of importance for context, Amelie spoke her first word while he was away… Mama. 

You’d left that morning, your best friend taking you on a spa day before - so by the time Tom called you at 11 in the evening, he’d spent a good portion of the day with Amelie vehemently denying to do anything at all apart from yell- yelling “NO MAMA.” So fair to say he was pissed. You answered the phone with a soft smile, honestly finding spending this much time apart from Amelie really hard and guilt-inducing. 

“Hey Tom everything okay?”

“Um when do you think you’ll be back?” He spoke straight and to the point, clearly not in the mood for small talk. 

“I don’t think too long, is everything alright?” His tone made you so much more concerned,  now worrying that something had happened. 

“No no everything’s fine. Just… just been a long day.”

“Okay well I’ll be back soon I promise. I love you.”

“Yeh yeh um you too” He didn’t mean to be short. Nor to make you worried. He didn’t hate you - far the opposite, he hated how much Amelie loved you. 

If he was being honest, he just felt like a bit of a failure of a father. As a child himself, Tom had always been incredibly close to his mum and thought the typical rule was mummy’s boys and daddy’s girls stood. So why then, did his child appear to absolutely detest him with every look. Especially because, given the nature of his job, once Tom went back to actually shooting films again he’d be around much less - and that the relationship between him and Amelie would at least be geographically strained. Unrequited love is always the worst and ultimately most painful, especially when it involves your own child. 

This underlying and unspoken tension fizzled away for a decent amount of months and Tom went on his first job. At this point you were no longer breastfeeding, but still you knew that purely instinctively if Amelie was ever scared, upset or unhappy she would seek you first. It was bloody obvious to you that she did love Tom, she chuckled away like no tommorrow when he played with her and spun her round the room. And yet, you could still tell Tom wasn’t completely convinced and still seemed , just a bit aware and hesitant. 

In there ever needed to be any proof though, it must’ve been how stroppy Amelie got once Tom left. In short, for you, it was hell. You ended up constantly wearing Tom’s t-shirts, not for you but because the mild but lingering scent of him seemed to soothe Amelie when she was fussing. She would never giggle like she did when her silly Daddy was here to be her personal comedian. She had, however, finally learnt how to say Dada - which now she was shouting impressively at every point apart from when you tried to film it. She was a little devil, its like she knew exactly what to do to make you life as hard as possible - keeping you dealing with an unhappy Tom. You tried to tell him, when you were on FaceTime each evening - but no matter how many times you promised, it seemed that Tom had a hard time believing you. 

He was filming in Germany, which meant it wasn’t actually ‘that’ far from your London home and after two weeks he flew back for a weekend. You were incredibly excited- not just to seeing Tom, which of course you where; but also ,hopefully, for him to feel some sort of assurance in his ability as a parent. He needed to see her, Amelie needed her Daddy and you… you needed a rest. 

That evening, you had had her balanced on your hip as you rushed to make the house look somewhat presentable (because single parenting was not easy) but Amelie had thrown a fit so with a slightly immature passive aggressive comment to your 11 month old daughter you put her on her play mat and carried on. It was a bit of a risk if you were quite honest, she was more than just a crawler - she perfected the art of bum shuffling and was starting to on occasion try to stand up. But you were in the same room so surely little harm could come to her in the ‘over-the-top-ly’ baby proofed living room - Tom’s doing of course. 

So keeping one eye on Amelie and the other on the almost terrifyingly big stack of discarded toys you set about tidying up. It was all going swimmingly until your thoughts about how on earth you were going to hide all the crap were abruptly interrupted with a garbled screech of “DADA!”

You instantly whipped your head round to watch Amelie stumble and basically throw herself the couple of steps to the doorway where Tom stood. You had absolutely no clue how long he’d been standing there but that was all insignificant watching him sweep you little girl into his arms, before she could career to the floor (headfirst of course). His eyes were bugging out of his head, as she giggled and laughed in his strong grasp before astutely throwing her head into the crook of his neck, demanding to be cuddled by him. 

It was almost hilarious, how utterly shocked Tom looked at the real life proof that his baby girl had missed him. Once he met your eyes he used the hand supporting Amelies back to point at her in a questioning manner, making you roll your eyes at just how oblivious and stubborn he is. 

“She’s missed her Dad!” You smiled, as you walked toward him and pecked his lips. “You got this down here if I finally get some peace upstairs?” 

Because yes, you’d missed your husband and wanted to spend all night wrapped in his arms. But really? There was a more important way the evening should pass, finally Tom getting his moment with Amelie. So without so much as even a ‘how was your flight’ you left the two in the living room - you making a beeline to the bath, for just a moment to yourself. 

It was perhaps even a little shocking to yourself that you were so confident you could leave them alone for the evening. Because really, if Amelie started acting up suddenly again, this could be where Tom’s confidence as a dad goes from ‘ropey at best’ to ‘non-existent’. Except you were so certain in the fact that just wouldn’t happen. If she was hungry she’d take the bottle from Tom (which she never did from you without arguement ). 

And so you had possible the most relaxing time in the bath - actually alone for the first time in two weeks. 

It wasn’t until you quietly walked down the stairs two hours later that you got a bit suspicious of the silence downstairs. Cautiously you peered your head round the doorframe and you didn’t even try to stifle the beaming smile spread across your face. Because there was your husband, lying semi-reclined on the arm of the sofa, his arms wrapped protectively round Amelie who looked incredibly content snuggled up to her dad at last. They were both fast asleep and the sight was just so sweet it actually hurt your  heart, meaning only naturally you had sneak a picture of them both. It was infuriating how you knew you had to wake him up - it is a little irresponsible to leave her lying on top of him on the couch and you kinda wanted to cuddle up to Tom this evening too. 

So with a gentle touch rubbing and down his right arm it only took a moment or two till he suddenly blinked his eyes open, eyes looking quickly between your eyes and Amelie - his grasp on her had instinctively tightened a little.

“Hey” You whispered softly, watching him notice how calm Amelie looked on his chest.

“Mhmm hey.” His voice was slightly croaky, probably from the exhaustion of two weeks of hard work. 

“You guys friends then?” You whispered while combing your ginger nails though Amelies little curls at the base of her neck - she was most deifnetly a Holland. 

“She did really miss me?” Tom asked, still half not believing as he shuffled up on the sofa so he was sitting more upright. 

“To the point she had me wrapping the pillows in your unwashed t-shirts.” You giggled as his bottom lip pouted into a visible ‘awh’. 

“Come on lets get you both to bed.” 

Without much complaint, but keeping her in his arms, Tom nodded and followed you up to bed. But that night instead of getting your way and having Tom cuddling you, he pouted until you let him lie Amelie down in the middle of the bed between you two . 

But seeing the way he grinned at her in the dark, almost fighting to stay awake as he looked at her, the prospect seemed a lot more attractive. 

And that was more than fine by you.  

[blu-joons]

You’re A Part Of An Agust D Music Video ~ Min Yoongi

The last day on any music video shoot was always filled with adrenaline, you’d done enough to know how much excitement was on the set. But you’d never done a music video quite as extravagant as the one that you were currently working on.

When you were asked if you’d work on the set for the music video of one of the members of BTS, you were slightly taken aback. You’d seen a few of their videos before, and the amount of production that went into them took your breath away.

To begin with, you worked primarily in the background as a dancer, but after a few days, you were switched to a more central position. No one gave you a reason as to why, but you didn’t need to be asked twice to move into the centre of the shot where you could be seen a little better.

“Positions please!” The director yelled, “this is the last scene we need, so give it your best!”

Your smile grew as Yoongi walked onto the set in his outfit, standing still as the last finishing touches were placed to his makeup before walking into the middle of the set. Your body was frozen as the track began to play, waiting for your cue before starting to dance. You’d spent all of the evening before going over the last few steps of choreography to make sure you had them perfect, especially when you knew you’d be standing close to Yoongi for the shot.

It took a couple of attempts to get things right, but after a little over an hour, the shoot was finally called to an end. The lights came back up as the cameras were dismantled, all of the extras fell to the floor. You spun around to look for Yoongi, but he had already gone from the set.

Half an hour later, the studio was finally cleared as everyone began to head out of the door for the last time. You’d handed back your outfit, taken your hair out of the intricate style it was in, and wiped off as much of the excess makeup you wore as possible before heading out of the door.

Just as you did, a voice called out your name, you spun back to see Yoongi running down the corridor to catch up to your side. “I’m surprised you know my name,” you smiled as he appeared beside you.

“I just wanted to come over and personally thank you for all your hard work,” he informed you, taking a moment to catch his breath. “You were easily one of the stars on the set.”

“You’re the star,” you reminded him, poking gently against his chest. “It was an honour to work on your video, I’ve never worked on something quite as grand as this. And you’re so talented too, the song is amazing, I know your fans will love it.”

His smile grew a little wider as he felt his heart flutter at your kindness. You both fell silent for a few moments, neither of you knowing what to say. “What are your plans now?” He nervously asked you as you took a step away from him.

“I’ll probably just head home, I’ve got another shoot in a couple of days that I need to prepare for, so I’ll just spend the evening looking over that,” you informed him. His head nodded, scratching nervously against his arm.

“Are you not joining the others for drinks?” He questioned.

“It’s not really my scene,” you responded, “I’d much rather spend my evening getting sorted, I don’t think many of them liked me really either. Did you see the looks they gave me when the director asked me to change positions?”

His head shook, but Yoongi had most definitely seen the looks you got. Everyone in the room was clueless as to why you’d really switched, the only person who knew was the director, who had done so under Yoongi’s orders.

“If it’s not your scene, what is?” He questioned, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up, “just so I know for the future what you like.”

You glanced across at him in confusion, “why would you want to know what I like for the future? The shoot does end today, doesn’t it?”

“The shoot ends, but that doesn’t mean we have to,” he smiled.

The penny soon dropped for you as the several anxious habits of his you’d picked up on made sense. “I see. Well, if you’re interested, I’m much more of a fan of a quiet drink at the pub.”

Yoongi smirked, thinking for a few moments of the pubs he knew, and which he thought you’d like the most before replying.

“How about I take you out for some pub drinks? It can be a thank you for all your hard work on the set, but also a chance for me to get to know you better. I don’t want to interrupt you from your work though if that’s more important.”

“It’s nothing that can’t wait for tomorrow,” you chuckled, relaxing slowly, “there’s always another day tomorrow to get things done, the script will be waiting.”

“So, is that a yes to heading out to the pub with me?”

He was desperate to hear you say it aloud, pushing you until you smiled. “I will go to the pub with you, just so long as the first round is on you.”

He tried to play it calm in front of you, but on the inside, he was more than excited. Since the moment you walked onto the set, he’d tried to find the courage to approach you, but now that you were leaving, there was no way that he could let you go.

He thought he’d missed his chance when he came back from a call to see the set had cleared. He’d frantically run around the whole set before hearing rumour that you were still around and heading towards the car park.

“That’s the least you deserve,” he smiled, “but there’s probably something you should know before we go out together?”

Your eyes widened as you began to wonder if maybe it all was a joke after all. Yoongi could tell you were beginning to panic, resting his hand on your arm quickly try to ease your mind before you worried too much.

“You weren’t asked to move by the director, you were asked by me, because I wanted to have you closer to me,” he informed you.

“Really?” You doubted. “But how did you ever even see me? There were so many people on the set, I was just lost in the background.”

His head shook instantly, “that’s where you’re wrong. You had my attention from the very start, I just wasn’t very good at showing it.”

“I’m guessing you liked my dancing then?”

“Of course. But I liked having you around more. Someone like you shouldn’t be pushed to the back, you should be centre stage.”

You struggled to keep it together as Yoongi continued to fill you with compliments. “Shouldn’t you save things like this to say on a date?”

“I have plenty more things to say on our date,” he assured you, “I’ve only just started telling you how great I think you are. I’ve been waiting for days on set to tell you.”

“It’s a good job you don’t have to wait anymore.”

---

Masterlist

[mish-tique]

this one is long? omg. i've been waiting for this because the ask for this was so 😳🥵 and the person that requested this was fucking brilliant, and knowing you, you'd make it a masterpiece

so SPOILERS below the rose line for "nothing feels this good beside of heaven"

im fucking blushing at the summary alone. we love a supportive friend group but damn that's next level

the characters listed and the ships listed, it just makes me think of that qutething that says that gays really do flock together (i mean, me and my friends did haha)

the characters in this friend group is so !!!!!

galex are the (not really) responsible ones in the group, they're the parents, carlando might be the fairytale couple (not sure yet, but that scene in the pub where carlos found a stool for lando, protective hands on thighs), and lestappen are the horny bastards always making out somewhere. tho i think, by the end of this, we'll learn that they're all horny bastards

lando is so sensible thinking of how george "borrowed the car," we all know you won't be thinking of that later

"George says as if he’s somehow above the law" <- this took me back to austin lap 1 and i'm shutting up now

"The casual physical touch of this group is honestly on another level, and Lando has no idea when or how it started. He won’t be the one to stop it though." <- if you're not touchy or is suspected together with your friends, you're not doing friends right (tho i don't think normal friend groups would be doing what they'll be doing)

"Especially not when he sees how George’s hand travels to Alex’s thigh when he doesn’t have to shift gears" <- this line really took me out. i need a fucking breather and nothings really happening yet, but mabe it is heaven sent that the government hasn't fixed the roads yet, but damn really CARLANDO LESTAPPEN GALEX all at once?! a girl is dying

"because the next thing Lando feels are two hands teasing his thigh" <- fucking hell hands on thighs HANDS ON THIGHS i'm such a sucker for that really. fic!lando is living the dream

“Do not,” Carlos’ voice is so, so low, “Stop yourself from making those beautiful noises. They alone could make me come alone.” <- i- qlhboerygoieuwhdnkmokwqlodjiehuh

“Fuck,” Alex curses from the front of the car, “Who allowed you guys to be this hot.” <- my thoughts exactly. really miss missha, WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. the amount of times i had to stop reading. ahh so much fucking good writing. the thoughts thought, i've been staring at my screen for minutes now since i typed that last sentence. you broke my brain. this is so going up the list.

aside from the usual roses, i'm also giving you these exclamatiion marks. you decide what they mean

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

-Rose 🥺🌹

yes it truly was long!!! i was so proud seeing the word count. I kind of wanted to make it longer for Paranoid but aaa my brainjuices ran out so i had to work with what my brain was giving (which, yknow, was limited).

wondering whether i should wish for my friendgroup to be the same or be happy it's not

yo thank you for telling me their shipname is galex, i spent an entire day trying to figure out what it was

DO NOT REMIND ME OF AUSTIN I WILL GET ANGRYYY

they are Not the definition of a normal friendgroup oops

"CARLANDO LESTAPPEN GALEX all at once?! a girl is dying" <- girl me too when i tried to figure out what limps were going where

PLEASE LOWKEY COMMANDING CARLOS IS SOOOOO HOT

please. this thing was so hot to write, I'm glad you found it hot too!!

i'm filling in the exclamation marks as a mental image of you yelling!

hope you have a good day and that academia is kind on you <333

[lost-in-fanfic]

The Woman - Thomas Shelby x reader (Part 4)

A/N: Here is Part 4, I hope you enjoy. I just want to say thank you for the kind messages, comments and the likes i have received for the series so far. They mean so much. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Not my Gif and please don’t post my work on other websites. 

Warnings: Strong Violence and swearing

A brief summary: Y/N is heading home to London and is doing her best to put Birmingham and Tommy out of her mind. Tommy on the other hand is determined to track her down.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 

Word Count:  1939

Tommy leaned against the wall of the warehouse, casually smoking, staring coldly at the two Ricci brothers sat in front of him.  The Ricci’s were small time criminals compared to the notoriety of the Peaky Blinder’s and when they had realised that Tommy would be out for revenge for trying have him killed, they had been quick to try and flee. Not quick enough though, a couple of Peaky boys had brought them to an empty warehouse where the Shelby brothers had been waiting. The two men were already bloody from the punches they had taken on the way here, but they both did their best to hold their nerve under the three pairs of dangerous eyes looking at them.

“You cowardly fuckers put out a hit on my brother.” Arthur said, his voice dripping with menace. He slowly circled the Ricci’s, like a lion evaluating its pray, waiting for Tommy to give him the order to pounce. “Don’t even have the balls to try and take us on yourselves.” John spat in the face of the younger of the two, although both men were considerably older than he was. “Maybe we should take off what balls they have got? Clearly don’t know how to use them.” Arthur moved in front of the older brother, holding his cap in his hand, bending the peak of it back to show of the razor blades sewn inside. “Bastardo!” the man shouted. In less time than it takes to blink Arthurs fist smashed into the side of his head knocking him off the chair on to the floor. He covered his head as Arthur kicked him repeatedly. “Who. Said. You. Could. Fucking. Speak!” He shouted between kicks. John had started punching the younger brother, who had tried to make a move when Arthur had thrown the first punch. Tommy dropped his cigarette, stepping on it to put it out, he slowly walked over to his brothers who were mercilessly beating the men in front of them. “That’s enough.” Tommy’s voice was deep and calm, despite the scene in front of him, instantly halting his brother’s onslaught.

The older of the men simply laid on the floor moaning quietly, his brother pushed himself up and spat out a mouthful of blood which landed straight on John’s shoes. Tommy’s hand grabbed John’s arm as he moved forward, questions needed to be answered, meaning one of the Ricci’s had to still be able to speak. “Now, tell me” Tommy began, taking one of the chairs and sitting in front of the man knelt before him. “how did you contact the person you hired to kill me?” Tommy was leaning into the mans face. “Why should I tell you anything?” Ricci asked, “will you just let us go if I tell you?” Arthur let out a cold laugh, John smiled while chewing on a toothpick and Tommy leaned even closer. “You tried to have me killed Mr Ricci, if I let you go what sort of example would that set?” Tommy’s voice was so steady and relaxed he could easily have been discussing a small business deal, not the fates of the two men in front of him. “But I’ll tell you what, you tell me what I want to know, and Arthur and John here won’t go to pay your family a visit.” Leaning back in his chair Tommy took out his pocket watch and examined it, before letting his eyes lift to meet the wide eyed, panicked man before him. “They will be about halfway to the house you sent them to now wont they. You see Mr Ricci, the taxi driver is on our payroll, so I know the exact address they will be staying at.” Tommy couldn’t help but relish in the look of realisation dawning over Ricci’s face, it was the look of a man who knew he had been cornered and had no way out.

“Fine. There is an address in London, you tie a red ribbon around the metal railings there. You must write your name on it, with the address of where you are staying, then you will be contacted.” Mr Ricci’s eyes were down to the floor in defeat, his brother was still whimpering on the floor next to him, but he could feel the icy daggers of Tommy Shelby’s eyes piercing his flesh. Tommy held out a piece of paper and a pen, “Write it down.” He ordered, watching as the address was noted and the paper handed back to him. “Good.” Tommy said simply, standing up and putting the paper carefully in his pocket, he waved his hand and in a flash Arthur and John brought down their caps and took the eyes of both Ricci brothers. Turning and walking out he barely registered the dying cry’s behind him, to wrapped up in the excitement of being one step closer to Y/N.

Tommy inhaled on his cigarette, a victorious smile played across his lips, it was remarkably bright compared to the dingy warehouse.  He stood their basking in the afternoon sun and in his triumph as Arthur and John came out to join him. “Get rid of ‘em.” Arthur said to the two Blinders who had been waiting on orders. “What next Tom?” John asked, his blood pumping with adrenaline and excitement. Tommy looked at his brothers, seeing the love they had for this life dancing in their wild eyes. “I’m going to London. Alone.” He added quickly as Arthur went to speak. “I’ll drive down from here and stay with Ada and Freddie tonight, they aren’t far from this address.” Tommy patted the pocket where he had safely stored the paper. “Ring Ada for me John, let her know I’m coming, and ask her to go out and buy me a bit of red ribbon.” Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette and began to walk away. “What about me Tom?” Arthur called after him. “Do whatever you want Arthur.” Tommy called back over his shoulder, he was too excited to stop, he hadn’t felt this exhilarated in what felt to him like a lifetime.

Y/N looked out of the train window at the passing countryside, she was now far from the dirt and smoke of Birmingham and was enjoying the bright colours and clear skies before the inevitable return to dirt and smoke that awaited her in London. She knew that each mile being put between her and Tommy should make her feel calmer, but instead she had an overwhelming desire to get off this train at the next station and go straight back to Birmingham. Being near to Tommy had been like standing at the very edge of a cliff looking out at the most beautiful view she had ever seen and even though she knew the ground could fall from beneath her feet at any second, there was still a voice in her head telling her to jump over and into the sea below. Y/N spent the rest of the journey having a fierce internal battle, half of her was committed to forgetting Thomas Shelby even existed and thinking it ridiculous that he had any effect on her at all in such a short amount of time. The other half of her was able to offer no coherent argument or firm reasoning but instead longed desperately to be back under the gaze of his eyes.

When she got off the train in London it was already nearing dinner time and hunger had overtaken all other emotions. Y/N moved quickly through the busy London streets, listening to the calls of the stallholders who were trying to sell at least one last thing before packing up for the night, and after stopping briefly to grab some bits for dinner she was finally home. She lived on the middle floor of a shared tenement house, it wasn’t much and with her savings she could certainly afford more, but this was the world she felt comfortable in. The back door was just for her use, it meant she could come and go without drawing attention and the neighbours were less likely to notice if she were away for days at a time. Y/N tried not to get to attached to people or places, but this was the house she had lived in the longest, and despite her best efforts she had grown to care for some, if not all, of her neighbours. The family upstairs consisted of a father, who was either at work or drinking his wages at the pub, a mother who gambled away what little money made it home and their four children. Most of the food on their table was thanks to the money the older children earned running errands for Y/N. She never asked anything dangerous of them, but she paid them good money to keep a look out for red ribbons tied to a gate three streets away. Downstairs, there was a nice couple with a young baby who mostly kept to themselves, Y/N wasn’t even sure of their names, but still the wife was pleasant enough speak to when their paths crossed.

After unpacking and having a quick dinner Y/N was ready for bed, it wasn’t particularly late, but the events of the past few days had taken their toll, she was just about to change for bed when someone knocked at her door. Y/N grabbed a knife and made her way downstairs, she didn’t get visitors and it was to late to be one of the children from upstairs. Slowly she opened the door revealing the face of the woman from downstairs. “Oh, good evening, everything alright?” Y/N asked, carefully keeping the knife hidden behind the door as she held it open. “Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just I was wondering if you had a bit of ribbon going spare?” The woman was young and had thick Birmingham accent that Y/N had never taken much notice of before. “Ribbon.” It was the only word Y/N could manage, it was more of a statement then a question and she was trying hard not to panic. “Yeah,” her neighbour continued “red if you’ve got it. My bloody brother has invited himself down and wants me to get him some ribbon. God knows why he wants it and why it has to be red, but I left it to late to get the shop. Karl hasn’t been very well today, so I had to wait for my Freddie to get home and watch him. You don’t look to well yourself.” Y/N had been frozen as she listened, a cold sweat beginning to form on her brow. “No. I haven’t.” again she had to fight with herself to get words to come out “Night.” She muttered as she pushed the door shut. Y/N felt her legs begin to wobble beneath her, so she sunk to the floor, listening to the footsteps moving away on the other side of the door.

“Fuck.” Y/N whispered, holding her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid? Why had she never bothered to remember what her neighbours name was? She had done her research in Birmingham and knew that the Shelby brothers had a sister named Ada who had moved to London, but when she learned that the sister was nowhere near, she hadn’t looked any further into her. Y/N had thought her irrelevant to her job. If she had dug a bit deeper in Birmingham, if she had gotten to know her neighbour better, she would have realised sooner than this, that Ada Shelby lived downstairs from her. “Fuck!”

@comebackjessica​ @nemesis729​ @spacenijntje​ @hinagiku0​ @fruitloopzzz​ 

[jamesbuchananbarnesslut]

Monster Hunter Ch. 1

Pairing: Will Ransome x Female Reader

Words: 1,516

Summary: The year was 1893 in Aldwinter Essex and William Ransome, vicar, has been battling with his towns people and the myth of monsters. Especially, after strange things keep happening in town, most recently an earthquake and even children and locals reporting the sighting of a blackwater beast. Although Will, himself doesn't believe in monsters he's been struggling to convince the town people otherwise. The problem further escalates when men of the town all begin having similar dreams and describe the same woman appearing in them. After each person has these dreams, they seem to be weaker either physically or mentally and, in most cases, have been found dead. The dreams also only started occurring after a new spinster named Y/N moved in on the outskirts of town. With all the increasing rumors, Will is forced to step in and begin to decipher what's happening especially whether he believes these things are real.  

Warnings: yes there is smut in the first piece, but it’s just with Will’s wife. Fingering and P in the V

Tiny Tag List: @venusofthehardsells @spooky1980

Notes: This story first of all wouldn’t be happening without @venusofthehardsells she was the on who first introduced me to these Tom Hiddleston photos. Which in thus created a thirst and need for a fic. But the fic is now a series! I also have not actually read The Essex Serpent and have no idea how the show is going to go, so this is my OWN interpretation and telling of his character. Please enjoy, like, reblog, and leave lots of comments!

Master List

Series Master List

--------------------------------------------------------------

Will's P.O.V

I had spent another long grueling day arguing with the members of my communion about whether the myths and monsters circulating our small town were real. The rumors began last summer and only thus worsened. I'm at my wits end with it all, and just need a way to qualm what the town is currently feeling. As I worked my way back into my office, I couldn't help but think that the new spinster, Y/N, on the outskirts of town had to have something to do with this all. Considering she had moved in around last summer when the blackwater beast stories first presented themselves. But now that she, herself, was appearing in men's dreams, and then a lot of those men found dead. It was suspicious and she surely has something to do with it all, maybe if not monsters and myths than some type of black magic or witchery.  

By the time I made it back to my office I couldn't help but pull out my hidden bottle of gin and pour myself a drink before I sat down. I manage to swallow the drink all in one swig and end up pouring myself another. Sitting down at my desk with the bottle, I press my fingers to my temples and hunch over the desk. Pondering what's been happening to my small town and why everything's suddenly topsy-turvy. I also can't help but think about how this is going to further affect the towns faith in God, especially thier view him. While my thoughts are still swirling, I throw back my second drink and decide to pour another.  

As if I have a chance to relax though, there's an overflowing pile of paperwork on my desk I still need to sort out. As well as a stack of mail that's been neglected for far too long. That's when I decide it's time to down my third drink and start sorting through the paperwork and at least categorizing it. By the time I finish organizing I have a stack of marriage certificates, christenings, new memberships, and even a decent amount of death certificates. The mail will have to wait until the morning I haven't been home all week; I keep falling asleep in my office or waking up somewhere in the pews. But I know my wife is beginning to worry and I should probably make my way home before I get stuck here.  

I pour myself one final drink for the road, throw it back and begin to push myself to my feet. I tuck the gin back in its hiding place within the bookshelf and begin to shut down the building while heading out. Specifically, blowing out all the candles, turning off oil lamps and locking the doors. Even in a buzzed stupor those are things I never forget.  

I stumble down the steps of the church and make it to the cobblestone street heading towards home. Even though there aren't many streetlamps providing light, there's a clear sky and a full moon making everything gleam and glisten in the dark. As I continue my march home, I pass one of the local pubs and see none other than Y/N, herself outside it. Conversing with John Smith, one of the older blacksmiths. It seems to be a deep intimate moment, that I interrupt by holding my gaze towards them too long. Catching their attention and weird glares back. I tip my head to them and continue walking, hoping I haven't soured their mood.  

By the time I make it home, I can see all the oil lamps are off and two candles going, one in my bedroom meaning the Mrs.'s is up reading or waiting for me. And one in the kitchen, she must have put leftovers out for me. How many times has that this happened this week? I don't want to disturb anybody, so I enter the house through the rear door that leads directly into the kitchen. There's a plate of cold food on the table for me, that I scarf down ravenously. With how little I've been home; I really haven't been eating either. Once I'm done, I rinse off the dishes, setting them aside to be washed in the morning and blow out the candle.  

I slowly make my way upstairs and begin to plot ways to get myself out of this argument with my wife. Maybe because the kids were still sleeping, she'd put off the spat and wait till she sent them off too school or her parents. Either way I wasn't prepared to walk in and find her sitting naked in the candlelight. It's almost like she knew I'd finally make my way home tonight. That or she's been truly waiting each night like this for my return home. Either way I didn't deserve a woman as good as her.  

Her sultry voice broke my shocked stupor, "I was beginning to wonder when I'd ever see you again."

I run my hands through my hair, a nervous habit, and work up a response, "you know, I can't rest easy until I convince everyone that this blackwater serpent isn't real. And now I have reports of Y/N appearing in men's dreams and a lot of those men begin found dead within a couple days or weeks shortly thereafter."

I must have been running my mouth because by the time I look to my wife again she is already up from the bed and stripping me of my clothing.  

"I understand that this is a huge deal honey, but you can't keep burning the candle at both ends and pushing yourself like this," she states while finishing pulling the reaming clothes from my body. "Come, join me in bed maybe if I provide my wifely duties, I can help break you out of this stump." Which is followed by her hands caressing my chest and moving up towards my neck, face and into my hair. Where she pulls my gaze to hers to get a clear look in my eyes. I know she can see how tired and stressed out I am.  

I let her pull me into bed, she makes it so I land on top of her, and I can't help but agree that now would be a good time to have sex. It also means she isn't mad or at least she's trying to amend things this way instead. I begin to kiss her and settle myself in between her legs where my member begins to harden against her. Our kissing becomes passionate, and I feel her entrance slicken. I slide my fingers along her slit and begin to spread her wetness around causing mewls to spill from her mouth into mine. Once she's decently wet, I slip a finger and then two into her, working them at a steady pace. While I move my lips to her chest and tell her she must quiet herself or else she'll wake the children in a hushed mummer.  

After I feel her cum around my finger, I work that same hand over my member, making sure to get it nice and wet. Then I line myself up with her entrance and push in slowly, while putting my hand over her mouth.  

"You just can't help yourself tonight my dear," I mumble into her ear while giving her a chance to adjust to my member in her. She bites my hand, a clear sign I need to get a move on, and I begin to push myself in and out of her tight channel. The pace isn't slow for long though and I begin pounding into her. Her whines spilling out but muffled behind my hand.  

"I know your close again, cum with me yeah?" She nods and with that I drop my hips lower changing the angle. Which immediately triggers her orgasm, causing her tight channel to milk me and pushing me into my orgasm. I pump my seed into her and then roll of to the side. Pulling her tightly into my arms I drift off into sleep thinking about Y/N, John Smith, and the rumors circulating our small town.  

[theotherhufflepuff]

Till I Belong To You

Carry On Countdown day 6 - Reunion/Reconnect

~2K

All my stories for this year's Countdown take place in the same universe/timeline. You can find my other fics under the tag Casey writes.

This one takes place a year after my day 2 fic, On Love's Light Wings, which you can read here. You don't need to have read it for this one to make sense but it will fill in a couple of details.

I can't really give you a synopsis without spoilers, so here's the first line to tempt you instead:

Two whole weeks Baz has been gone and I’ve been completely pathetic about it the whole time.

Title is lyrics from the song mentioned in the fic.

Content warnings: no big ones this time. A fair amount of swearing and it gets mildly ~spicy~ (really though, very mild. Not even as spicy as AWTWB).

Enjoy!

Till I Belong To You

Simon

Two whole weeks Baz has been gone and I’ve been completely pathetic about it the whole time. That’s what Baz would call me, if he could see me: pathetic.

I pick up my phone and open Spotify. It’s Baz’s account; I hardly ever use it. I press play on Baz’s top songs of the year. I don’t really care much for the music; I just miss the background noise of him being in the flat.

The place feels too big and too quiet with him gone. I’ve started avoiding being here on my own. I’ve stayed late at work to help Kevin lock up. I’ve been to Penny and Shep’s for dinner and to Lady Ruth’s twice. I’ve been to the pub with Jamie and had Shepard over to play Fifa – how is a bloke who calls it soccer and doesn’t know the rules so good at Fifa? – but now it’s Friday night and everyone else has plans. So I ordered pizza and ate it on the sofa watching repeats of Brooklyn 99.

A new song starts; The Beatles’ It Won’t Be Long. I know I shouldn’t, I know it’s extra pathetic, but I don’t care; he knows how pathetic I am already. I click "share" and send the song to Baz.

He starts typing almost immediately.

“Pathetic, Snow.”

“I know” I’m not even ashamed.

“I’ve missed you, too”

I send him a heart emoji. I was so proud when he got this promotion but I didn’t realise then that he’d have to travel to America twice a year. This is his first trip and I hate it.

It’s not like we’ve never spent time apart – he stays in Oxford sometimes without me – but two weeks feels like a long time; and Chicago is not Oxford. And I’m worried about him; the last time he was in America he didn’t exactly have a good time. At least he’s in a city this time so he’ll be able to keep himself fed. And it’s December, so not much chance of sunburn. My phone buzzes again.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s almost midnight there. Don’t you have to work in the morning?”

I actually don’t have to work tomorrow; I swapped my weekend off with Kevin because I wanted to be here when Baz got home. I want to keep that a surprise, though, so I ignore it.

“I am in bed. Wanna see ;P”

Am I going to send nudes to my boyfriend while he’s on a work trip? Maybe, if he wants them. Maybe that will give him a good reason to come home.

“You know I would love to see that, Snow, but I’m meeting the others for dinner in a minute.”

I decide to send him a preview anyway, for my own amusement. Nothing too revealing, in case someone sees it; just something for him to think about over dinner. I’m not wearing a shirt so I turn on the bedside lamp and take a selfie. Just me from the waist up, lying in bed. My hair’s a mess, he’ll enjoy that.

I watch the ticks appear and then turn blue. Baz starts typing. And then stops. And then starts again.

“Snow, you gorgeous fucker, I do not have time to sext with you, much as I desperately want to. I’m going to have dinner with the team. I hope the view is still as good tomorrow.”

Did Baz just use the word "sext"? How does Baz even know the word "sext"?

“You’re definitely coming back then?” I’m mostly joking.

“I will be there when you get home from work. Go to sleep. Don’t send me any more filthy photos.” And then: “Yet.”

I laugh to myself and put my phone down next to my pillow.

I lie awake for a long time thinking about Baz in America. He could be so much more free there than he could ever be here. I’ve tried to talk to him about it before but he just gets angry at me. He could really live a life out there, though. I feel like I’m holding him back from that.

That’s not a productive line of thought, so I interrupt it.

He said he was coming back, and he keeps coming back; over and over. When we argue, when he goes home to his family, when I’m depressed and hard to live with – he always comes back. He always wants to come back. I don't know why he keeps coming back, I don’t think I give him enough reason to. But I want to. I want him to know that I will always be here for him to come back to. I want him to know that I’m sorry I left when he was in Oxford that time. I want him to know that won’t ever happen again.

How do I show him I mean it?

***

I wake up late because I didn’t get to sleep until after 2am, but I did decide how I’m going to show Baz that I want to be as reliable for him as he is for me.

I shower and make coffee and I do a bit of googling while I eat breakfast; trying to find exactly what I need.

And then I get on the next train.

Baz

I shouldn’t have driven myself to the airport when I left for Chicago. I’m jetlagged and now I have to deal with pre-Christmas traffic outside Heathrow. Mind you, being stuck in a taxi with a driver full of blood wouldn’t be much fun, either.

Chicago was bloody freezing and covered in snow. It makes England in December feel temperate in comparison. I went for a walk in a park before we left for the airport, so I could find something to drink before I had to spend nine hours on a plane. I was sat in the row behind the two colleagues I was travelling with, which at least gave me enough of an excuse not to talk to them. They’re perfectly nice people but we’ve spent the last two weeks doing everything together and I am ready to not have to see anyone for a long, long time.

Well, anyone but Simon. I worried about how he would cope while I was away; December is always hard for him. Christmas is in a few days and he gets very melancholy about it. Bunce has been texting me to keep me updated on his mental state. She said that, apart from finding as many excuses as possible to not be at home on his own, he seemed fine.

He certainly seemed fine when he sent me a half-naked photo last night.

I’m going to fuck that idiot silly when he gets home. If he’ll let me.

He asked me last night if I was definitely coming back. He was mostly joking, I think, but I know he still worries, too. As if I’ve ever abandoned him, as if I could ever abandon him. I think he’s still waiting for me to get bored of him; he’s been convinced that Bunce and I would lose interest ever since he lost his magic. It was never about the magic. I keep telling him that I’m not going to leave, but he hasn’t decided to believe it yet, not fully. I don’t know how I’m going to convince him that I’m always going to come back to him.

***

I park the car outside the flat and sit in the drivers’ seat for a minute; the fatigue and the thirst and the relief of finally being home settling on me. I decide that I will shower and take a nap first; I’ll hunt later.

I carry my suitcase up the stairs and put my key in the door, but it isn’t locked. Immediately suspicious, I push the door open quietly and peer round the frame. I can hear someone moving around in the kitchen. I can smell cinnamon and bacon and fresh bread. Why is Simon here?

I leave my suitcase by the door and go into the kitchen, “Simon?”

His face lights up when he sees me. “Baz!” he hugs me so hard he lifts me off the floor slightly. He’s actually cooking bacon and I have to concentrate on keeping my fangs retracted.

“I thought you were at work?” I say as Simon hands me a hot cup of tea.

“I swapped my weekends; I wanted to be here when you got back. I’m making bacon sarnies, do you want one?” Of course I want one; he already knows that.

I sit down at the kitchen table and spoon sugar into my tea while my jetlagged brain tries to catch up. Something isn’t right here. I drink my tea and mentally shake myself. What is happening here, Basil?

Simon is making me a bacon sandwich. He was here waiting for me when I got home. He’s being sort of odd; too busy and too bright, like a children’s TV presenter. He’s wearing a shirt. An actual button-up shirt. It’s tucked into his jeans and he’s rolled the sleeves up. (What is it about rolled shirt sleeves that instantly makes men 100 times hotter?) I think about Simon’s biceps and shoulders, hidden under that shirt; I think about his bare shoulders moving under my hands…

I clear my throat as Simon puts a bacon sandwich in front of me. “Ok babe?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just tired.” Why is he making so much effort? Was he really that worried I wouldn’t come home?

I eat my sandwich slowly. Snow doesn’t say much; he keeps fidgeting like he’s nervous. He hasn’t made himself a sandwich. Does he think I’ve come home only to announce I’m leaving him? This is getting silly.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “I missed you while you were gone, Baz.” He says quietly.

“I know, love; I missed you, too.” I smile at him in what I hope is a reassuring way. Maybe later, when he’s calmed down a bit, I’ll sit him down and have a proper talk about this. He can’t freak out every time I go away.

I finish my tea and get up, taking my dishes to the sink. I can hear Simon fidgeting behind me. I’m washing bacon grease off of my hands when Simon says “Will you promise to always come back to me, Basil?” Basil? He never calls me that; it sounds strange coming from his lips, like he doesn't know how to pronounce it properly.

“Simon,” I sigh, I don’t have the patience for this just now. I turn towards the table to tell him he’s being stupid, but he isn’t at the table.

He’s on the floor. On one knee.

“Simon, what -” my brain knows what’s happening, but it’s refusing to believe it.

He looks really nervous now; a frankly stunning flush is creeping up his face from his neck. “Baz,” he swallows deliberately; it’s a whole show, my favourite. He takes a deep breath and looks me in the eyes; it seems to take some effort. “Will you marry me?” he’s holding a small square box made of polished wood. He opens it and inside is a gold band. In the middle of the band is a square cut sapphire, three small diamonds span the width of the band on either side of the blue stone. It’s perfect.

My mouth is dry but Snow is still on his knee on the kitchen floor, looking earnestly at me. I swallow hard. “Yes. Yes, Simon, I promise to always come back to you.”

Simon looks so relieved I think he might pass out. He gets off the floor and kisses me, fiercely. I can feel his wide smile against my own.

He steps back, still grinning like the Cheshire cat, and takes the ring out of the box. I offer my hand and he slides the ring onto my finger. Miraculously, it fits. Simon kisses me again. “I love you,” he whispers between kisses.

“I love you, too,” I whisper back.

He’s pinned me against the kitchen sink with his body, his hips against mine. He's got one arm wrapped around my waist, hand firm on the small of my back holding me against him. The other hand is on the worktop, holding him up. He's kissing along my jaw and under my ear. He’s starting to nip at me now. “Always come back, Baz,” he’s still whispering.

I’m not. “Simon,” I growl into his ear, “we are going to bed. Right now.”

He raises his eyebrows at me, grinning. “Now.” I order, pushing him backwards towards the bedroom.

Simon’s laughing. He’s so gorgeous. He takes my hand, pulls me through the bedroom doorway and down, onto the bed. I land on top of him; he’s still laughing. “God, I’ve missed you, Baz.”

[dreamy625]

loml - Chapter 4

Words: 1385

Content: Modern-day Steve Clark x OC standalone fic in seven parts. Basically fluffy fangirl wish-fulfilment! If 'what if Steve didn't die' fics are not your thing, you might want to skip this one. 

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By now I think the idea of this all being casual and accidental is getting unconvincing, so when, on my next visit to Chelsea, I don’t find him in the regular pub (and discover Pete hasn’t seen him for a couple of days) or either of the others near the house, I decide I may as well just abandon the pretence and go ring the doorbell. I’m not really expecting him to answer, I’m assuming he’s away somewhere. But just as I’m turning to leave, the door opens behind me and the reason for his absence from the pub is immediately apparent - his right foot is encased in a blue plastic brace. 

He looks surprised to see me, but then he smiles and says “Brilliant! Can you help me with something?”

Not waiting for an answer, he opens the door wider and starts to hobble off down the hall. I follow, closing the door behind me. He’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m going away and I’ve packed, but I can’t work out how to carry stuff down the stairs with this thing.” He waggles the leg and then winces. “Could you possibly fetch it for me? I don’t think it’s heavy, just hard to manoeuvre.”

“Sure, no problem. First floor?” I point upwards.

“Yep, in my bedroom. Up the stairs, turn the corner, and it’s the door straight in front of you.”

“Okey dokey.”

As I walk up the steps he calls “Sorry about the mess.” and then just as I’m rounding the corner, “Actually, there’s a duffel bag too, in the room on the left.”

The room on the left seems to be some kind of storeroom for his band stuff. There’s guitars and flight cases, and a rack of stage clothes going back to bits I recognise from the eighties, and piles of what look like programmes and itineraries, and the stack of gold discs he mentioned last time. As a fan, this is like finding the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre, and the Ark of the Covenant and… Lord Lucan… all in one go! I realise that I’ve been standing and staring for a suspicious amount of time, so I quickly pick up the bag that’s in the middle of the floor and move onto the bedroom. There I find a medium-sized suitcase and actually not a lot of mess, just a bunch of clothes strewn about. It’s probably tidier than mine to be honest. Mindful of the amount of time I spent gawping at the other room and not wanting to look like a total nosy parker, I don’t stop to look around, much as I would like to. The case is, as promised, not heavy, so me and it arrive safely at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Amazing, thank you. I was totally stuck on how I was going to do that.” Then his brain seems to do a gear change and he blinks at me, “Sorry. I guess you didn’t come here to lug suitcases around, did you?”

“No worries, happy to help. No, I went to the pub but they said they hadn’t seen you for a while, so I just… thought I’d knock… on the off-chance… as I was passing.” I must sound like a total weirdo, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice. Trying to change the subject I ask what he’s done to his foot.

“Sprained ankle. Nothing broken apparently, just everything stretched.” He does a mime and grimaces. “Really fucking hurts though.”

“I bet. How did you do it?”

“Just slipped down some steps. I’m always breaking something.” With a wry smile he adds, “I used to bounce, but I guess not at my age.”

“Are you going to be okay to do…” I gesture at the suitcase, “whatever that’s for?”

“Oh, yeah. Just a record company meeting. In Germany. Why they can’t just phone me I don’t know.”

He looks at his watch, which I initially interpret as a cue to leave, but then he says “I’m not going for an hour. Would you like a cup of tea or something?”

“Sure, tea would be nice.” I notice his eyes flick to the stairs, so I offer “Shall I make it? Save you the stairs?” and he agrees with a grateful expression. 

The kitchen is tidy and well-stocked (and again, much better than mine, which never has anything in it except mayonnaise and coffee, most of the latter seemingly spilt on all the counters) so I quickly find mugs and teabags and put the kettle on to boil. There are scribbled drawings stuck on the fridge, addressed to ‘uncl STeev’, and photos of him holding tiny children who I assume must be great-nieces and -nephews. In one he sits with an expression of infinite patience while a little girl draws on his face with lipstick, and I have to do some rapid blinking to stop sentimental tears from forming. Tea brewed, I carry the two mugs and the sugar jar back upstairs and find Steve sitting in the living room with his foot up on the coffee table.  

“Thanks, love.”

“I didn’t know if you take sugar? And then I wondered how many million times you’d been asked that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just don’t sing it at me. And no, I don’t. My Grum* said I was sweet enough already.”

He smiles down at his cup and I have another internal ‘aww’ moment. Jesus, what is wrong with me, I am not normally this soppy!

Realising I’m just sitting there looking dippy, I cast around for something to talk about. The best I can come up with is “Nice room… good… fireplaces.”

He looks around as if he’s never seen it before, “I guess it is, yeah.”

“Doesn’t look like you actually live in it.” comes out before I can activate my politeness filter.

But luckily he doesn’t take offence, “No. I play the piano in there sometimes,” he waves at the darker area half-hidden by a folding divider screen that goes across the width of the room “but otherwise I don’t really come in here.”

I can’t think of anything to say to that that doesn’t sound excessively nosy, but he answers my question without me asking it.

“I suppose it was Janie’s domain, back in the day. She didn’t like all my junk left around. So I spent a lot of time downstairs and I guess I never got out of the habit.” He laughs, “Ridiculous isn’t it? That’s over twenty years ago!”

“And later girlfriends didn’t entice you back up here?” I am just giving in and being openly nosy now!

“There haven’t been any. No one that’s lived here I mean.” He smiles but it looks like a sad smile. “Who would put up with me?”

Loads of people, I think. But maybe not the right people. This is a new Steve I’m seeing today, softer and more… relaxed isn’t quite the word… real, maybe? I don’t know exactly what I’d expected when I started all this - I knew from the interviews and the band biographies, and particularly from the affectionate way that Phil talks about him, that there was much more to Steve Clark than the strutting guitar god. But even given that, he has surprised me with hidden depths of intelligence, creativity, and humour. From what I’ve seen on YouTube, that musical skill and talent for performing is still all there, and he’s still a good-looking guy in the lanky, loose-limbed way he always was. But maybe if you came looking for the 100% rockstar from the Def Leppard days you’d be disappointed?

Just then there’s a beep from outside where a black cab has pulled up at the curb. 

“Duty calls.” says Steve and awkwardly heaves himself off the sofa. 

Following him out, I offer to carry the suitcase, closing the door behind me and handing the bag over to the driver to be stowed in the luggage compartment as Steve works out how to fold himself and his leg-brace into the back. 

As he leans forward to pull the door shut he looks up at me and says “Come back, alright? Friday. I’m back Friday.”

Then with a click of the lock and a quick hoot of the horn, he’s gone.

—--------------------------------

*Grum is what Steve called his grandmother