#rugby fits her so well

[chiquilines]

Miryumi uni au!! Its been ages since ive drawn them and uni aus are so dear to my heart

[artificial-transmutations]

Boyfriend Material

Against all odds, Troy didn't hate Luka when they were assigned the same college dorm room. They were quite different, really: While Troy was the almost stereotypical nerd, from his glasses down to his checkered shirt, Luka was quite the opposite. He had a fit body and was majoring in history of sports.

Where Troy was the quiet, bookish type, Luka was outgoing and active. Troy read books, tinkered with electronics or programmed an app in his free time, while Luka went out for the gym or played rugby on the field. And, of course, even though Luka wasn't stereotypically jock-dumb, Troy was much more intelligent than him.

All those differences had a lot of potential for a relationship of hatred from day one, but, surprisingly, the two of them got along fine. They had separate bedrooms and respected each other’s boundaries so much that they barely talked to each other for the first few weeks. For Troy, it was almost as if he had the dorm for himself. Luka cleaned up after himself and in the few instances when he listened to his bass heavy music too loudly, he immediately turned it down as soon as Troy asked him to, thanking him for the notification even.

So, at first Troy and Luka had a distant but respectful relationship that even made Troy question his prejudices regarding the stereotypical dumb jock.

It was only half a year after moving in together that Troy and Luka discovered one thing they had in common: Bad luck in dating.

Troy was, of course, way too introvert and shy to meet a girl. It was a frustrating experience for him. Every time he matched someone on one of the various dating apps he used, he pondered for hours on how to start a conversation with the girl who was surely way out of his league. More often than not he decided not to text her at all and just deleted the contact frustratedly. At other times, he started a conversation but quickly found himself getting bored from the meaningless small talk. It was as if every girl he met virtually was way too shallow and way below his intellect: He couldn't find a common ground to talk about that didn't seem pointless to him.

Luka on the other hand had a quite different problem. Luka was gay, a fact that took Troy a few weeks to notice. He actually had guys over quite often and was, judging from the noises, sexually active with them as well. Here, too, Luka was very considerate not to disturb Troy too much, so Troy didn't mind at all. However, in time, Troy noticed that the guys visiting Luka were rarely the same twice in a row.

Troy suspected that Luka was enjoying his single life and thought nothing of it, but after a while even the socially awkward Troy picked up on the bad mood that seemed to befall his roommate every time one of his partners left. So, just as Luka said goodbye to a muscular Black man one evening, Troy actually asked him:

"Is everything alright, Luka?"

Luka closed the door behind his date and looked at his roommate. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

Troy fiddled a bit with his glasses. He was not very good at talking to other people, especially not when it came to delicate matters.

"I just noticed that you do seem to be... going through boyfriends rather quickly."

"Boyfriends? Oh, none of them was my boyfriend."

Troy didn't know what to answer to that. He had thought the men coming and going were Luka's dates, but apparently not.

Luka sighed and sat down on the couch.

"I didn't get to the 'boyfriends' stage with any of them, you know?" Luka sounded genuinely disappointed or sad.

Troy looked for a way to escape the awkward situation, and probably Luka wouldn't even have minded being left alone. But since he brought up the topic, Troy felt compelled to offer some comfort.

So, he, too sat down on the couch and hesitated a bit before asking: "You didn't? I thought that you, you know, slept with some of them."

"Yeah, I did. With all of them, actually." Luka confirmed. He didn't sound too happy or proud though as he continued: "Getting into a guy's pants isn't very difficult. Getting into their hearts however..." his voice trailed off.

"What's the problem?" Troy asked, genuinely interested. He didn't know the differences between gay and straight people were so significant. Casual sex with a woman seemed impossible to achieve, at least to Troy. Yet Luka described it as if that was easy for gay guys.

Luka sighed. "Good question. Apparently, I'm no boyfriend material. Or the number of guys looking for something serious are rarer than I thought. Whatever the reason, I haven't had a relationship in almost three years now. It's kind of frustrating."

Troy nodded. "Yes, I know the feeling. Dating isn't easy for me either. I guess I'm just too shy. Fact is: I've never had a girlfriend."

"No way! Really?" Now Luka was the one to be surprised. "But you are a nice guy. I bet the girls are lining up for you."

"Not that I noticed, they aren't."

There was a moment of silence between the two roommates before Troy laughed. "Seems like we are not that different after all."

After that, it was like the ice between the two of them was broken. Even though they were very different, Troy and Luka got along even better and talked more. For some reason, Troy even found Luka's situation worse than his own. Sure, Troy couldn't talk to girls, let alone date any, but Luka had his heart broken again and again.

So, Troy tried to help out Luka as best as he could. They even went to a gay club together, with Troy as Luka's wingman, but that plan didn't turn out very well. Even though Troy had a drink or two, he just couldn't muster up the courage to talk to the guys and Luka did the same thing. Eventually, both were just sitting together and observed the club and the people inside and everyone just assumed they were together.

Once they got back to their dorm room, neither of them was very happy.

"Sorry, that was probably a bad idea." Troy apologized. "I really thought you would meet someone interesting today."

"Don't worry about it. It was a good idea" Luka smiled. "I still had some fun today."

"No, it's really unfair!" Troy claimed. Perhaps it was the alcohol speaking but he was really unhappy with how Luka was being treated "You're such a great catch, and I just wish you would finally find a boyfriend! If you ask me, you're totally boyfriend material! If I was gay, I'd date you in an instant!"

Luka had to laugh. "That's sweet, but don't be silly. If you were gay, I'm sure you would have a partner. And even if you wouldn't, you're a great guy, but I'm not sure you were my type."

"What's your type then?" Troy asked curiously. They had actually never spoken about that before.

"Well, perhaps it's part of why it's so difficult for me to find a man. I've got these very specific wishes about a guy I would like to date..." Luka began.

"Come on, tell me more." Troy pressed. "If I'm going to be a great wingman, I need to know."

Luka hesitated, but eventually, he began: "It's hard to explain, you know. But for me, there's nothing sexier than a man who is strong, muscular, confident and, well, a bit on the easy side."

"Easy as in stupid or easy as in easy to have?" Troy asked.

"Both, actually. I would love a boyfriend who is a lot dumber than I am - and pretty slutty, too. A real himbo if you catch my drift."

"Haha, yes, you're right. That's exactly me." Troy said. Actually, he wanted to say "That's *not* exactly me", but for some reason, it came out wrong entirely.

Before he could correct himself, though, he felt a strange tingling sensation all over his body. What the hell?

"I'm telling you, that's what I like." Luka explained further, completely oblivious to what was happening to Troy.

"Oh, really? That's good, I guess." Troy's voice sounded different, and it was getting harder and harder for him to concentrate. His body was changing, and so was his brain, but he couldn't understand what was going on.

"You know, you really helped me out a lot the last few months." Luka said. "I feel much better and happier after talking to you and..."

Luka's voice faded away as he looked at Troy. The man's face was changing, and he grew larger.

"Are... are you okay?"

Troy opened his eyes. "I don't know. I feel weird. Is it hot in here or is it just me?"

Luka took a step back. His roommate was growing, his arms and legs were getting thicker and bigger, and his chest was expanding. He was already filling out his clothes and the fabric was ripping. His shoulders became broader and the arms wider, and soon, Troy's glasses fell down as his face widened and his jaw became more prominent.

All the while his mind became foggier, and his knowledge and smarts quickly drained away. Why was he wearing a shirt that was clearly too small for him? Why was he wearing a shirt at all? Shirts were for wimps, and Troy was a man's man!

So, Troy wiggled out of his shirt before it became to constricting. Exposing his upper body was way better anyway - that way everyone could have a good look at his guns and his sculpted shaved chest.

While the now half naked man kept on transforming, his roommate was almost paralyzed.

"What... what is happening here?" Luka asked.

Troy laughed, his voice sounding deeper and rumbling. "I don't know, but this feels amazing. And it looks like you are enjoying the show, too!"

Luka looked down and noticed he was sporting a massive erection. He was completely transfixed by the display of masculinity his roommate was performing for him.

He didn't notice the pants Troy was wearing were ripped at the seams and quickly fell apart as his thighs were becoming bigger and bigger. However, when he looked back up again, he was looking eye level at a filled to the brim blue underwear. The dick hidden behind it must have been massive - and it was not even hard!

Luka gulped as he saw that the last part was slowly changing, and the strained blue fabric tented visibly, with a wet patch forming on it. He could only barely bring himself to stop staring at the hypnotizing bulge and up the masculine body of his roommate up to his face.

There was really nothing left of the old Troy. Here stood a confident and strong men - with a dumb smile on his face and eyes that didn't show too many signs of intelligence. A total himbo.

Troy grabbed his underwear and ripped it apart with a swift move. The now exposed and hardening cock was obscene, and Luka gasped when he saw it. He couldn't believe how big and thick the member was, and his own penis was throbbing in his pants.

"Here is what we're going to do, stud." Troy said seductively. "We're gonna fuck. All through the night. And then, I'm taking you out for breakfast, 'cause we're dating."

Also check out this blog!

[somekindofpoet]

Missed Connection

Summary: A flight delay causes a chance meeting between R and Jenna Ortega

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Quick little one shot for @irish-piece-of-trash request! Sorry this took me so long!

Part 2 Part 3

You absolutely loathe airports. The chaotic shuffle of strangers inconsiderate of one another, the price gouging, the garbled screeching over the speakers telling travelers their gates are closing. It’s enough to make even the most zen person go postal. You figure that’s why they open the bars at the break of dawn. 

You’re seated at your gate, praying no one sits next to you as you wait for your connecting flight home. Your headphones block out all the surrounding noise, allowing you to check out for a while as your playlist shuffles through. You absently watch people pass you by, imagining them waltzing through the terminal to the beat of the music in your ears. 

Several people around you begin to stand, which was confusing because your flight wasn’t scheduled to board for another 45 minutes. You peer around a column, past the angry faces of your fellow flight mates, to find the news on the screen above the gate.

DELAYED - 6 HOURS 

You lean back in your chair, tilt your head back, and sigh in exasperation. You hate airports, and now you’re stuck in one. You dislike crowds just as much as airports themselves, so when people begin to rush to the desk for rescheduling, you stay in your seat. You’d rather endure the terminal for hours before you go through the stress and anxiety of trying to find another flight. Plus, the only thing you’re going home to is your cat, who basically leads a life of his own in parallel to yours. 

When the group around the desk begins to grow, extending to a mass in front of your seat, you decide to retreat. You pick up your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, shuffling through the throng of unhappy strangers to make your escape. The airport is massive, so you figure you can find an empty gate somewhere to hide out for a few hours. You trudge along, searching for areas that are less populated. You’re kicking yourself now for not paying to get into a lounge club, where peace and quiet were usually a guarantee. 

You veer around a group of teenage boys wearing football jerseys and pick up your pace, desperately searching for an unoccupied corner. The food court is chaos, you’re reminded of the scene in Mean Girls where the teens turned into animals at the mall, and it makes you shiver. A conveyor walkway is blessedly empty, so you shuffle onto it, continuing your pace and letting it whisk you away to another terminal. 

As you’re nearing the end of the conveyor, you stretch your neck up, searching for an empty gate. Your eyes lock onto one in a far corner, not a single person sitting remotely near it. You pick up your pace, ready to leap off the moving sidewalk and secure an outlet and a few chairs. 

It must have been your eagerness to hide that caused you not to see the girl in your path. Generally, you were painfully aware of everyone around you, but in your haste, you looked right over her head. You bound off the conveyor and slam right into her, sending everything in her arms flying and your bodies crashing to the tile floor. 

A muffled “oof” escapes your lungs, your chest crushing into her shoulder. You scramble to untangle yourself from her, pushing your hands into the ground to lift your weight off her small frame. 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry are you okay?” You clamber backward, trying to give her space. 

She sits up, rubbing her shoulder, her expression bewildered. You feel terrible, you’re at least half a foot taller than her, and you’ve certainly got forty pounds on her, your backpack not included. You sit back, trying to gather yourself as she does the same. 

“Have you considered rugby?” Her voice is light, pleasantly high-pitched, and you think it fits her quite well.

You furrow your brow, confused, “Rugby?”

She winces, still rubbing her shoulder, “Or maybe football?”

Your face shifts from confused to shocked when you realize she’s giving you a hard time for tackling her. You shake your head no, pushing yourself to your feet and offering your hand out to her. She takes it, and you pull her up easily. You’re still so worried about helping her you begin to scurry around, collecting all the things she’d dropped. A book, a pair of black headphones, a notebook with a pen in its spine, a script, and her phone. You stack them all neatly as she dusts herself off. 

When you hand them back to her, you finally get a good look at her. She’s gorgeous, and it makes you feel even worse about the situation. You were never a very social person, but being in the presence of a pretty girl truly showed your inability to be normal. 

“I’m really sorry again,” you say, dusting some dirt from her shoulder. 

She squints at you like she’s trying to figure out what planet you’d come from, “It’s okay, really. I’ll take note to stay far away from these moving walkways for the next ten to fifteen years, though.”

You grimace, then smile through the grimace. You must look like an idiot because she laughs at your expression. 

“I was just…in a hurry. I must have looked right over your head.”

She raises a brow at you, “Are you saying I’m short?”

You frown, your eyes wide and confused. Was she serious? She couldn’t be more than five feet tall. 

“Uh, I just, I-“

She laughs again, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, “I’m joking, don’t have a heart attack.”

You can’t do anything but blink at her, which makes her narrow her eyes at you again. At least this time, there’s still a smile on her face. 

“Are you going to be late?” She asks, glancing side to side.

You tilt your head, “For what?”

Narrowed eyes again. She must think you’re an absolute idiot. 

“Your flight? That’s why you were in a hurry, right?”

“Oh!” You exclaim, “No, I don’t leave for another six hours.”

The confused smile she gives you clues you in to the fact that your answer makes no sense, so you rush to clarify, “I was in a hurry to find an escape from…that,” you gesture to the bustling food court behind you. 

Her expression shifts, her narrowed eyes widen, and she looks intrigued. The corners of her lips pull up just slightly. You wonder if you’d said something stupid, or if you really were just an idiot. She’s intimidating you without trying, and it’s slightly embarrassing. You’re not sure why you’re shaking in your Vans at someone so tiny, but she’s just so beautiful. And for some reason, a tiny part of your brain thinks she looks incredibly familiar, but you can’t put your finger on why. 

She glances over to the empty gate you were headed for and looks back up at you, “It looks like we’re doing the same thing then. Do you mind if I sit there too?”

You shake your head no, unable to form words. She raises an eyebrow at you and smirks. You stand there and stare at her, waiting for your brain to return to functioning capacity. After a moment, she turns on her heel and heads for the empty row of chairs; you follow automatically, like a puppy on a leash. When she drops her bag in one chair and sits in another, you sit across from her and slide your backpack from your shoulders. In an effort to regain your composure, you dig through your bag, looking for your charger, giving yourself time to think more clearly. You plug your phone into the outlet and leave it on the chair next to you. When you look up, she’s sitting cross-legged, her headphones around her neck, and watches you with plain curiosity on her face.

You shoot her an awkward smile and duck your head, “Uh, is there something on my face?”

She laughs and shakes her head no, “I’m Jenna. What’s your name?”

You flinch, chastizing yourself internally for not having better manners, “I’m y/n. Sorry, I think maybe the airport is scrambling my brain, I’m usually not…” you stop yourself, realizing what you’re about to say is a lie.

“Usually not, what?”

“Well I was going to say I’m usually not this awkward, but that would be a lie.”

She chuckles and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, “I think, given the way we met, it’s okay to be a little bit awkward.” 

You wince, “Sorry about that again.”

She shrugs, a playful look in her eyes, “It’s okay, I’m sure the air is thinner up there, I don’t know if brains function properly with altitude.”

Your jaw drops open, and you lean forward, “Was that a height joke?!”

She smirks at you, sending your stomach into cartwheels, “I guess at least you don’t miss sarcasm, right? So maybe you’re less scrambled than you think.”

You can’t believe what's happening to you right now. This girl is either flirting with you, or she’s got so much rizz it comes out unconsciously. You’re practically swooning in your chair. You blink at her dumbly, unsure of how to respond.

“Where are you headed?” is the best line you can come up with.

“Back to LA, you?”

“Same, actually. Are you from there?”

She frowns at you again, like she really can’t figure out what planet you’re from, “Sort of, like two hours away. But I live there now.”

You glance over at the pile of belongings you had collected for her when you crashed into her, and the piece of information you’d missed in your panic finally dawns on you. The script.

“You’re an actress?”

She nods, her expression telling you maybe you’re on to something.

“I don’t watch tv much,” you clarify, “I’m a nature photographer. Kind of get lost in my work and forget to be a human sometimes.”

Why you’re telling her this much is lost on you. You try not to second guess it.

She jerks her head back, surprised, “That’s so cool! Is that what you’re doing in New York?”

You feel like you’d rather ask her questions about her job, but indulge her for the moment, “No, this is just a layover. I was working in Europe all winter. How about you, though? Any big projects I should look out for?”

She chews on the inside of her lip, considering the question like it’s loaded, “Nothing much, I was on SNL this week, though, so that was cool.”

You blanch and gulp. SNL is not just “cool.” The realization that she’s more famous than she lets on slams into you. 

“So, uh, you’re like a big deal then huh?”

The way she cringes makes you second guess your statement, “I hate that you just said that, honestly. I’m just me.”

She steers the conversation back to your work, and you leave the questions about her career behind. You can take a hint, and she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Before you know it, she’s moved from her seat across from you into the one next to you, and the interaction is so easy it’s almost appalling. Time slips away from you and hours pass. 

The speaker over your head mumbles something and she sighs, stretches and stands. She gathers her things and smiles down at you.

“That’s me. This was actually really refreshing. I never do this, I’m actually specifically told not to do this, but here’s my number,” she hands you a gum wrapper with her phone number written on it, “Let me know if you have free time when you’re in LA, I’d like to do this again.”

You take the wrapper and smile up at her, wondering when she’d written it down without you seeing it. You bid your farewell and watch her go, in a daze.

—-

When you land in LA that night, you’re still riding the high from your time with her. Your Uber picks you up, and you gaze out the window, excited to return home after months overseas. 

You’re on the freeway when you see it. A giant billboard, illuminated by lights at the bottom. Youre forehead smacks into the glass window and your eyes widen, your jaw dropping.

It’s Jenna, dressed like Wednesday fucking Addams, holding a sign that reads “Congrats, you looked up from your soul-sucking electronic device.” In red under her sign is the Netflix logo.

“No big deal, my ass!” You exclaim.

Your driver turns in her seat, “Sorry?”

“Oh no, no, not you. I just got that girl’s number a few hours ago,” you point at the sign.

She glances out the window at the billboard and gasps, “You met Jenna Ortega?!”

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝘃𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲 | tom (make up) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | you and tom have been two peas in a pod for your entire lives: tommy and birdie, partners in crime. you only fell in love with him a few years ago, though. maybe he'll notice sometime before you die of old age... but probably not.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 15.8k (oops)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only, dry humping, handjob, unprotected sex/loss of virginity, fingering, oral f receiving), alcohol consumption and tobacco use, best friends to lovers, angst, pining, fluff, tom and reader lacking braincells, extreme cornish, protectiveness/jealousy, There Was Only One Bed, I can't stress enough how fucking stupid these two are, truly no braincells detected in this entire fic

(title's after the song by the greeting committee <3 will always be the song that makes me think of tom the most)

YOU DON'T NEED TO SEE THE MOVIE TO READ THIS! plot of the film is totally discarded lmaooo

author's note part 2: there's a moment where the reader mentions that sometimes people think her and tom are siblings, she does not necessarily mean that they look alike! she means that they ACT like siblings and could be related through adoption or marriage-- her appearance isn't described and it's left open-ended for anyone to insert themselves ❤️

before we get started, I'm including a convenient cornish dictionary for you all to use if you're not already familiar with the dialect! other terms might pop up but they'll be explained in the text

teazy - acting grumpy or throwing a tantrum; something you might say to a kid having a fit or an adult who is being childishly negative

tuss - insult referencing male genitals; similar to 'knob' or 'dick' in UK and US english

my 'ansum - common, platonic greeting for men ("my handsome")

my bird - common, platonic greeting for women

rich - lovely, endearing, or beautiful

diddy? - a phrase used to mean 'is that true?' or 'really?'; diddah? and issuh? mean the same thing

wasson? - a greeting; short for "what's going on?"

jumping - very angry

hanging - terrible, gross

scat - (NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING lol) to push or fight someone

geek - a quick look; you can 'take a geek' at something

“Leave off, m'fine." Tom crinkled up his nose as he tried to brush your hands away, but you fought to keep dabbing the cuts on his face with the washcloth.

"Fine?  You look like you lost a fight," you frowned.

"Well, we won the match, so," he smiled, but winced when you went back to the cut just above his eyebrow.  “Fuck off, that hurts!”

“Couldn’t hurt as much as it did when you got it,” you insisted.  “C’mon, it’ll scar if you don’t let me clean it up right.”

“So?  I thought the lasses liked scars,” he grinned.  “Makes me look tough.”

“Makes you look like you got your arse handed to you.”

Tom really wasn’t built for rugby.  Though he certainly wasn’t in bad shape, he was the slimmest of all the guys he played with; he was fast, he had that going for him, but the poor kid got pummelled every time he played.

“Wish you wouldn’t go out there,” you mumbled, one of those rare times that you admitted how much you hated seeing him get hurt.

“Wish you wouldn’t worry about me when I can take care’a meself,” he replied.

And that was how it had always been— Tom was just reckless like that, and you had to try to reign him in as best you could.  You could remember so many nights spent this way, you trying to scold him enough that he might be a little more careful; but considering you’d been doing this since you were just little kids, you eventually gave up on trying to stop him and just decided to be there when he needed a little comfort.

You might’ve always been Tom’s greatest comfort.  So many things in life are uncertain, temporary, fleeting.  Not you; you’d always been there, as long as he could remember— even longer, really.  And not just because he had a shit memory from all those rugby concussions.  

“Aren’t you worried you’ll look beat up in all our holiday photos?” you asked him, speaking quietly since you were so close to his face to treat his injuries.

“Why’d that bother me?” he shrugged.  “You think I’m gonna be lookin’ at me own stupid mug in photos?”

“Don’t say that,” you shoved him on the shoulders as he laughed, leaning back into the couch.  “You’ve got a nice mug, if you didn’t get it all mucked up.”

“You think m’pretty then?” he cooed sarcastically, putting his hand under his chin and batting his eyelashes; you giggled and shoved him harder, this time knocking you both back until he was laying on the couch and you were on top of him.

“Yeah, pretty daft,” you replied, and he snorted.

“Fuck off,” he rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around your back.

“Lemme go, need to get a bandage for your face,” you explained as you squirmed.

“Nuh uh,” he denied your request, “not letting you up— sorry, birdie.”

“Tommy!” you whined through a laugh, struggling harder against him, but he just held you tighter and grinned down at you.  Giving up, you made a pouty face and rested your chin on his chest.  He mimicked your expression, mocking you until you frowned for real and gave up, turning your face again to lay your cheek down on his shirt.

He gave you a kiss on top of your head, and you let your eyes fall shut.

“Maybe just a little rest,” you decided, your voice already slurring— you were more tired than you thought.

“Mhm,” he agreed, brushing his fingers over your hair.  “Just a little, huh?”

You nodded groggily.  

“Alright— sleep tight, birdie…”

You were only tired because you’d been up way too late, packing for your trip to St. Ives with your and Tom’s families.  Joint vacations were nothing new to the two of you— actually, his parents and yours had been taking trips together since before the two of you were born.  There were pictures of you and Tommy, chubby little babies in your mums’ arms, riding on the London Eye; you’d watched a home video a few times where you were playing in the sand together at a beach in Valencia.  You weren’t sure why they felt the need to fly all the way to Spain for beaches when there were plenty here in Cornwall… but, case in point, this trip was going to be a much more relaxed (and budget-conscious) one: a roadtrip across the county, a couple rooms at a beach-side inn, and some much needed time in the sun for the next week.  Tom promised to teach you how to surf, though you weren’t sure you’d be able to figure it out anyways— but you looked forward to trying.  Really, you looked forward to Tom’s hands on your waist as he tried to help you find your balance.

Truth be told, despite being secretly in love with him since you were fourteen, you never really expected anything to happen with Tommy.  You were like brother and sister— even his parents treated you like a daughter, and vice versa— and you’d always been so close.  There’s always that fear of confessing to someone you’re close with and ruining the friendship, but this was even worse than that.  If you lost Tom, you’d lose everything.

So, it wasn’t sad— there wasn’t a lot of pining anymore, not many nights spent gushing into your diary about it and then crying yourself to sleep because he got a new girlfriend or something.  It was peaceful now, the one-sidedness of it.  You loved him, he didn’t notice, everything went on as usual and that was it.  You kept dating other guys, though Tom never liked any of them, and he dated other girls that you pretended to get along with until they split after a couple weeks.

In fact, dating was the topic of the hour as you and Tom sat in the back of his dad’s suburban, trying to entertain yourselves on the long drive to the beach resort you’d be staying at.

“That girl Dani,” you remembered, focusing most of your attention on a sudoku from the book you’d brought for the trip.  “She was fit— why’d you break up again?”

“Too clingy,” Tommy shrugged, not looking back at you; he was toying with the friendship bracelet around his wrist, the one you’d made for him at summer camp when you were eleven with blue and yellow and black chevrons.  Since you gave it to him, you’d never seen him without it, which is why the colours were all faded and dirty now, and why you were glad you made it adjustable all those years ago… he certainly outgrew the original size by now.

“I thought that was Claire,” you recalled.

“Oh, her too,” he nodded.

“This seems to be a problem for you,” you noticed, “clingy girls.  What does that even mean?”

“Means they get, like, possessive,” he clarified, holding his hands up almost like a motion of choking someone.  “Wanna know what you’re doing all the time, want a text every half hour— it’s too much.”

“That just means they like you, Tommy,” you rolled your eyes.  “You shouldn’t dump girls over that.”

“They usually dump me,” he corrected.

“What?!” you squeaked, before you cleared your throat when you noticed what your utter disbelief might imply.

“Guess they just get, I dunno, jealous?” he explained, crinkling his nose as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Jealous?” you repeated, looking away from the page in front of you for the first time.  The way he was looking at you— head tilted to the side, one eyebrow raised and mouth in a small frown— you realised what he meant.  “Of me?”

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, “I mean, we spend so much time together.”

“But we’re just friends,” you noticed.

“That’s what I try to tell them!” he insisted.  “I mean, I say that you’re my best mate and all but I don’t even think of you like that— c’mon, I’d never…”

You looked back at the half-solved sudoku, letting out a sigh that you hoped you could pull off as frustration with the number grid before you.

“Guess they don’t believe me,” he concluded, “or they don’t care.”

“They must think it’s bound to happen one day,” you posited.  “That we’ll get together, I mean.”

“Yeah— but don’t you think if it was gonna happen, it would’ve happened already?” he pointed out.

You bit your lip.  “Yeah,” you agreed curtly.

"Hey— whatever happened to that lad with the crooked teeth you liked so much?" Tommy asked.

"You'll have to be more specific," you huffed, keeping your eyes trained on your puzzle.

"He had specs and a freckle right on the end of his nose," Tommy continued.

"Oh yeah!  Frank," you reminded him of the boy's name.  "What, did you actually approve of him or something?"

"Course not," Tommy scoffed.  "Jus' wondering, 'cause you used to go on about him all the time— 'bout how he was so wonderful and all." Tommy rolled his eyes, just to make sure it was perfectly clear that he didn't approve.

"Erm, well," you stalled, "yeah, haven't talked to him in a while."

Tommy wouldn't buy an excuse like that from you, he knew you far too well.  Leaning in, he titled his head to try to get a view of your face.  "Did something happen with him?" he pressed, and you swallowed.

"Yeah, I mean— nothing really," you shrugged, "he just got upset that I didn't wanna take things too fast, I guess.  Called me a slag and threw my phone— didn't crack, though, got lucky there—"

"Diddy?" Tommy spat, his anger obvious on his face.  He sat back up when you nodded, taking in a deep breath through his nose.  "Shoulda told me, would've scat 'im down and beat his face in.  Can't be talking to my birdie like that."

Your heart skipped a beat.  His birdie.  

"And throwin' your phone, too?  Bleddy tuss," Tommy sneered, shaking his head as he looked out the window, like he was trying to calm himself down.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you get especially Cornish when you're angry?" you giggled.

"Only twice a day, birdie," Tom laughed.  

Did anyone ever tell you that it turns me on?

“We’re here!” your mum announced, and you looked up to see that the car was turning in to a roundabout driveway.  Tom excitedly leaned against his window, looking up at the hotel.  “Wow,” he breathed.  “Look!”

He guided you to lean in right up against him, pressing your cheek to the glass so you could see the tall building.  It wasn’t a skyscraper or anything— this wasn’t that kind of place— but it was at least ten stories, with white bricks on the outside and seafoam-green shutters on each window.

With the car parked, Tom and the dads were going through the boot while his mom ran to use the loo and you and your mom checked in.

You weren’t really paying attention, honestly, while your mom gave the woman at the front desk a credit card for incidentals and all that.  The interaction only piqued your interest when you heard her confirm— “three rooms, then?”

“Yep,” your mum agreed.

“Three?” you repeated, looking up at her.

“Yeah— your dad and I, Gary and Marie, and then another room for you and Tom.”

You cleared your room.  “Tom and I get our own room?”

“You think us old geezers wanna be kept up all night by your giggling?” she snorted.  “Figured you two could entertain yourselves just fine, give the grown-ups some space.”

Before you could decide how to react to that, the opening of the front doors got everyone’s attention.  Tom looked ridiculous trying to carry as many bags as he could— all of yours, plus his and his mom’s— and you snorted as you watched him waddle into the lobby with all of them.

“What floor are we on?” he asked, the strain in his voice apparent and hilarious.

“Ten,” you informed him, and he groaned.

“Kidding!  Three,” you chuckled, “and there’s a lift.”

“Aw, Jesus,” Tom grumbled as he walked past you, struggling under the weight of the bags.  “You’re tryin’ to kill me, birdie.”

“I didn’t tell you to carry all those,” you rolled your eyes, looking at the concierge again as Tom turned the corner to find the lift.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked, continuing before you could answer.  “You two are adorable.”

“O-oh, er— no, actually,” you stammered, “just a friend.”

“Oh!” she mumbled.  “I see, my apologies.”

You looked down at your phone for just a second, only to hear your mom make a strange noise— a little giggle, and you saw her and the woman at the desk looking at each other.  “What?” you asked your mum.

“Nothing, dear,” she dismissed.

“What?!” you hissed, groaning when she hid a cheeky smile but said nothing.  “You’re so weird sometimes, mum…”

“Anyhoo,” the concierge mumbled, “you’re all ready to go!  Three king bed rooms, third floor, ocean view—”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, “all the rooms have a king bed?”  She nodded.  “Just a king bed?”

“Well… there’s a couch,” she offered.

You deflated slightly.  “That might be a little strange.”

“Oh,” she hummed, “well, I could change your room if you’d like.  But they won’t be connected anymore…”

“That’s fine,” you shook your head.

“Okay, there’s a room with two twins across the hall,” she explained, reading from her computer screen.

Ugh, a twin was gonna be uncomfortable, but so would just one bed.  “That’s fine, thank you.”

She clicked around on her keyboard for a bit, and right as she looked up at you again, Tom appeared from around the corner again.  “All done,” she announced, “I’ve changed your room for you!”

“You what?” Tom choked.

“She’s just changed our room for us,” you explained to him.

“Ah god,” he panted, laying his head against the wall while he caught his breath.  “Birdie, I just put all the bags away…”

You sighed, and the woman piped up again.  “I could still change it back for you, if the bags are too much trouble.”

“Please,” Tom breathed, and she nodded and started up with the keyboard again.  Rolling your eyes, you brushed past Tom flippantly.

“I’m gonna change,” you announced.

“Goin’ up to the room?” he asked.

“No, I was going to strip in the hallway and hope nobody walked through,” you replied snarkily.

“I was just gonna give you the key, birdie,” he smirked, pulling the plastic card out of his pocket.  You chewed your lip, regretting being so rude.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking it from him and moving along to the lift.

~

You’d only brought one swimsuit, the new one you’d bought just for this.  Maybe you’d had this crazy idea somewhere in the back of your mind that if you wore a tight little bikini, you’d finally get Tom’s attention and he’d stop seeing you just as the little girl he’d grown up with.  If you’d been a little less emotional and a touch more logical, you would’ve checked the weather first.

Yes, it was a beach, but it was still an English beach… the sky was grey and cloudy, and without sunlight, the ocean breeze was less refreshing and more chilly.  Very chilly, in fact, when you had hardly anything on like this.  You were trying so hard to act natural, to lay there on that chair on the beach and look as gorgeous as possible for whenever Tom came out, but it was so cold… every few seconds you were tensing up your jaw to try to fight off a shiver.

He came down a couple minutes later, wearing his swim trunks, but since he was apparently smarter than you, he was also wearing a half-zip jumper and a t-shirt underneath.  You pretended not to see him coming and laid still, only reacting to his presence with a polite wave when he was too close to ignore.

“Not gonna get much of a tan in this weather,” he noticed with a laugh as he sat next to you.

“I’m not tanning, I’m… relaxing,” you explained.

“Want me jumper, birdie?” he offered.  “You look freezing.”

“I-I’m fine,” you insisted, but your teeth chattered.  Next thing you knew, he was peeling it off over his head anyways— his shirt stuck to it and started to lift, too, exposing his stomach.  He managed to get the jumper off, though, and pulled it down over your face as you laughed and resigned yourself to your fate.  “Tommy, stop it,” you whined, batting his arms away so you could put the garment on yourself— he’d been trying to force it on you and accidentally trapped your face in one of the sleeves.

When you finally navigated your limbs through the borrowed sweater, popping your face out and breathing in a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck inside the cotton for a moment, you saw him looking at you… different.  Just a little different, but different nonetheless.  You wrinkled your eyebrows together at him, and he shook his head with a little laugh, and it was all back to normal again.  “Should keep you warm,” he mumbled, turning back to the view of the ocean and bringing his feet up onto the chair.

“Thanks,” you nodded, watching him lift his hands up behind his head and sigh.

For a while, you two laid there in silence, the sound of the ocean waves and seabirds like a quiet, slow song.  If you weren't thinking constantly about whether or not Tom was looking at you, you might've been able to relax enough to fall asleep.  Apparently Tom wasn't all in his head because he dozed off within a couple minutes, and after that, you decided to get up and explore the beach a bit.  There were little shops dotted here and there, a gelato stand, a cosy open-air pub playing music over their speakers.

You stopped to watch some boys playing volleyball on the beach, and one of them seemed to notice you staring— and he smiled at you, just before he served; you had to be careful not to make yourself look stupid by suddenly smiling down at the sand and toying with your hair, but you desperately wanted to.  He was cute, and tall and, you know, shirtless.  They all were, but he probably looked the best that way of any of them.

He ended the round with a spike right beside the net, and his side of the court cheered while the others groaned and complained to each other.  You clapped for them, and the boy looked at you again; he said something to his friends, and with the ball still under his arm, he jogged over toward you.

"Hey," he greeted with a sideways, pearly-white smile.

"Hi," you returned.  

"Did you like watching us play?" he asked, glancing back at the net for a second.

"Yeah, you're really good," you nodded.  "Are you a real team or somethin'?"

"No, god no," he laughed, "we just play for fun.  Not many sandy beaches to play at in London."

"Oh, you're visiting from London?  What part?"

"Southeast," he replied.

You nodded.  "Oh…"

There wasn't much you could say to that because you didn't know anything about London; he chuckled, apparently realising just that.  "I guess you're from around here?"

"Sort of— an hour down the way but, yes, I'm from Cornwall," you agreed.

“You’ve got an interesting accent,” he noticed with a smirk.  “It’s cute, actually.”

“Oh, y’think?” you smiled shyly.  “Always heard growing up that a Cornish accent made me sound like a dumb farmer or somethin’.”

“It works on you, though,” he decided.

"Oi!  Come back and serve!" one of the boys by the net called, and your new friend turned his head around.

"Go on without me," he told them, tossing the ball over.  "I'm talking to, er…"

He looked back at you, and you stammered out your name; he repeated it back to you with a smile.

"I'm Devon," he told you.

"Well, hi, Devon," you smiled.

Aaaaand, just in time, you heard Tom’s voice calling after you: “Birdie!” he shouted from down the beach, and you turned and sighed as you waved back.  

In a moment, Tom was beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.

"Where'd you run off to, my lover?" Tommy asked with a tilted smile, but he didn't give you a chance to answer before he looked over at the other young man and back at you.  "Who's the emmet?"

"My name's Devon, not Emmett," the Londoner corrected, and you hoped your polite laugh would break the tension.

"No, Devon, 'emmet' is Cornish," you explained.  "It's what we call tourists."

Except, ‘incomer’ is what you call tourists.  Emmet is what you call annoying tourists.  And you knew Tom was annoyed by him because he was hitting on you.

"This your girl, then?" Devon asked Tom… a little straightforward, but that's just how Londoners are, maybe?

"What's it to you?" Tom wondered.

"Er—" you interjected immediately, "no, actually, Tom's just a friend," you coughed, knowing that even though it was a way to greet a good friend around here, Tom surely intended for it to be misinterpreted.

"Bloody hell.  Can't tell what you people are saying," Devon grumbled, and you spoke up before Tom surely asked what 'you people' was supposed to mean.

"Anyways, point is— Tom and I are good friends, known each other since we were kids," you continued.

"Really?" Devon pressed.

“Yep," Tom replied with a beaming smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him, "she’s been me best mate since we were wee babes,” he beamed.  

“A bird’s your best mate?” Devon scoffed.  “Sure you’re not bent?”

“I’m bent?  You’re the one spendin’ all your time with a bunch of blokes with no shirts on, mate,” Tom defended.

Devon stepped forward and you had to jut yourself in between them to keep it from getting too heated.  “Okay, lads, let’s settle down, then—”

“Be careful,” Tom warned Devon, and you jabbed him with your elbow as punishment.

“I said to stop it, alright?” you hissed at Tom.  “Doesn’t matter, Tommy.”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Devon snickered, and you literally had to lean all your weight onto Tommy to keep him from trying to dive right over you to pummell the bellend.

"Let's go," you informed Tommy as you scoffed at Devon.  Wrapping a hand around Tom's waist, you guided him to walk with you back down the beach, away from the possibility of a fight.

Tommy could find a fight anywhere— even on the beach on holiday.  It was a real talent of his.

"You're horrible!" you whined as you punched Tom on his side.

"What did I do now?" he groaned.

"You scared that boy off, he was cute and he was flirting with me."

"Exactly!" Tommy emphasised, and you rolled your eyes.  "He turned out to be a wanker, anyhow, you heard him making fun of our accent, didn't you?"

"I think he was just making fun of your accent," you frowned.

"We've got the same one," Tom noticed.

"Well— just stop doing that!  You always do that."

"Sorry, birdie,” he shrugged, not seeming especially sorry.

You sighed and decided to let it go, because it wasn’t worth the argument.  “What’s next, then?  Think I’ve had enough of the beach.”

“Pub?” he suggested, and you laughed.

“Hardly late enough for that, don’t you think?” you snorted.

“Okay, dinner first, then pub,” he offered instead.

“That’s better.”

~

There were a few pubs along your walk back from dinner, but only one that had the rugby match on; so, of course, that was the one Tom picked.  It was almost entirely empty when you came inside, and since the match had gone to commercial break, Tom decided now was the best time to run to the loo.

“Order me something?” he requested.  “Whatever you’re getting.”

You nodded and he dashed off down a hallway.  Sitting at the bar, currently unattended with no other patrons but yourself, you looked up at the telly on the wall and caught a couple seconds of a car commercial.

“Can I get you anything?” 

The voice made you turn your head away from the telly, and you were surprised to find a boy your age on the other side of the bar.

“Oh, erm,” you choked, “just something on tap?  M’not picky.”

“There’s a stout we brew right here in the neighbourhood,” he suggested, “you might like it.”

“Sure,” you shrugged, “and one for my friend.”

“Great,” he smiled, bending down below the bar and reappearing with two pint glasses in hand.  You watched him as he tilted the glasses and filled them from the tape, admiring his tan skin and longer hair— he had that surfer look about him, in a Cornwall sort of way.

“Aren’t you a little young to be tending bar?” you noticed.

He laughed, revealing some dimples in the process.  “And you’re one to talk?” he shot back.

“I’m old enough to be served, aren’t I?” you challenged.

“Well actually, I was gonna ask for your ID,” he admitted, “but, you’re cute, so I decided to let it slide.”

You looked down as he set your drink on the bar for you.  “Thanks,” you hummed.  You tried it, giving him a nod of approval when the taste hit your tongue— it was pretty mild, and sort of grapefruit-y somehow.

“In town for holiday?” he assumed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and he clicked his tongue.

“Too bad,” he shook his head.  “When are you going back home?”

“Thursday.”

“And where’s home?” he asked.  “You sound local.”

“Yeah, I am,” you agreed, “about an hour north.”

“Liskeard?” he guessed, and you shook your head.  “Launceston?”

“Closer,” you smiled.

“Bradworthy?”

“Oh, too far…”

“Holsworthy,” he grinned.

“Got it,” you nodded.

“Seems like it’d be easier to just drive up to Westward Ho! wouldn’t it?” he tilted his head.

“I try not to go anywhere that has an exclamation mark in the name,” you explained, and he chuckled a little.  

“I guess that’s fair,” he shrugged, “and it’s a good thing you came here anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I get to look at you,” he cooed.

You took a sip of the beer to hide your warming face.  When you brought the glass back down, he laughed at you softly.

“Got some foam on your nose, my bird,” he warned you, reaching forward to wipe it off with his thumb.

“Oh, th-thanks,” you stammered, watching him put his thumb to his mouth and suck that bit of foam off while he kept looking at you.  What a flirt!  Do it again.

Tom came back from the washroom and sat on the stool next to yours, thanking you for ordering his beer for him before he took a large drink of it.

"O-oh," the bartender choked, and you knew that look— the ‘shit, you've got a boyfriend’ look.  

You sighed.  "Hey, um— this is my friend, Tom," you explained.

"Wasson?" Tom greeted him, nodding his head quickly in acknowledgement.

"Not much, mate," he replied, "Cade.”

“Tom,” he answered back as if he didn’t already know that, not going so far as to shake hands since Tom was holding his glass and Cade was holding a rag to wipe down the bar.

“She was just telling me you're only here for a spell,” Cade recalled, “which is a proper shame.”  

You smiled shyly.  “Oh, yeah, well, I wish our holiday could be longer, too.”

“Always the prettiest maids just here on holiday,” Cade nodded, looking at Tom.  “You know how it is, don’t you?  You’re from a holiday town, too, I heard.”

Not quite as popular as your current location, but yes, vacationers would occasionally appear in town.  You’d never noticed this ‘girls visiting from up-country are prettier’ principle, but your eyes turned to Tom expectantly.  “Uh, yeah,” Tommy nodded.  “Yeah, I know how it is.  And half of them have boyfriends back home.”

It made your heart sink a bit— what you would give to have one of those.  Or to have Tommy say no, the prettiest bird’s right here with me now.  Or both.

“But that doesn’t stop all of them,” he added with a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re awful, Tommy,” you shoved him lightly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, licking his bottom lip.

Cade gestured at Tom’s rugby union shirt— “You play?” he asked.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Tom nodded, “you?”

“I just watch,” he shrugged, pointing at the telly in the corner.  “Cooped up in this pub all the time, anyway.”

“That’s no excuse,” Tom chided, “gotta get out there and get roughed up!”

“That’s what surfing’s for,” Cade smirked.

“Okay, now I’m definitely not going,” you shook your head.  “I don’t wanna get roughed up by the ocean!”

“I said I would teach her,” Tom informed Cade, “now look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry,” Cade laughed, “you’ll be fine, and you’ve come at just the right time of year for it.”

“That’s what I said!” Tom agreed.

Oh god, were they actually getting on alright?  Would Tom give his approval, finally?  

You sipped your stout and let them go on about rugby and football teams for a while, letting yourself get your hopes up that Tom would actually like a guy who liked you— and sure, he was a barkeep in your holiday spot, not exactly the foundation for a serious relationship, but it would be nice to have a little fling without worrying that Tom would end up beating him up.

Tom was the one who made fun of you sometimes for being a virgin, anyway.  He never meant it— actually, when he occasionally took the time to be serious, he assured you better than anyone else that it was perfectly normal and fine to still be one.  But still, you weren’t exactly trying to hang onto it much longer.  Tom told you to wait for the right person; but you’d been waiting for him for way too long.

Watching the match together, you and Tom put down a few pints and laughed at some stupid old inside jokes— Cade tended to stick around, chatting with you both, when there weren’t other customers to serve.  You caught him glancing at you a few times, and you liked how you felt when he looked at you like that— desirable, maybe even grown up.  You and Tom had been friends since you were little, after all, and since he treated you the exact same way he always had, sometimes you still felt little around him.  But you weren’t.  It was good to remember that.

The match ended— Cornwall won, thank god, or you’d be babying Tom all night after he drowned his sorrows in something stronger than the local stout.  He still drank a little too much to celebrate, but less too much.

Enough that he had to go to the loo again, though, at which point Cade was suddenly right by you again.  “Your friend’s funny,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “he’s not always that loud, but, yeah, he’s never been very subtle.”

“And he’s just a friend?” 

You rolled your eyes.  “Yes,” you insisted, and you focused your tone on your annoyance and not your disappointment.

“Just checking!” Cade returned defensively.  “How long have you known him?” 

“My whole life,” you sighed.  “Can’t remember a time without him.  He’s just… always been there.”

Cade nodded.  “That’s nice, wish I had a friend like that.  People come and go a lot in a place like this.”

“I bet,” you offered sympathetically.  “And your girlfriend?  Does she come and go, or stick around?”

“What?  I don’t have a girlfriend,” he frowned.

“Just checking,” you winked.

“Why, you think I should get one?” he raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged.  “If you can find one…”

His eyes dragged over you, his smile fading slightly; you pretended not to be totally overwhelmed by it all.

“Cade!” a voice shouted from the back, and an older woman poked her head out of the kitchen as Cade turned his head.  “Come back here an’ clean up!”

“I will, mum!” he called back, before returning his attention to you.  “Listen, I’d better get back to work— but you could come by tomorrow?  If you wanted.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I think I’ll find the time.”

“Tom can come too, of course,” he added, leaning closer to you on the bar, “but… I’d rather have some time alone with you, if that’s alright.”

Reaching up to scratch your shoulder, you bit your lip to hide a smile.  “Okay, yeah—” you set your hands back down on the bar when you saw the way he was looking at you, “yeah, I’d like that, too.  I’m sure Tommy can find some way to entertain himself for an hour.”

Cade’s hand landed on yours suddenly, giving it a quick squeeze while he winked at you.  And then he threw the rag over his shoulder and disappeared into the back.  You pursed your lips and exhaled through them; it had been a while since you had butterflies like that.  

Tom came back around the corner, leaning beside you on the wooden bar, and you giggled when you saw how red his nose had gotten from the booze.  “Tommy, you look like you’ve stuck your face in blusher,” you noticed.

“Aw, really?” he scrunched up his nose, wiping it with his hand.

“You can’t wipe it off!” you laughed harder.  “Cade’s gone to the back to work— wanna go on a walk, take a geek at the rest of the neighbourhood?”

“Sure,” he agreed, letting you take his hand and pull him along with you out the door and around the pavement.  You walked in silence for a few moments, glancing at him once, before you just had to bring it up.

“So, Cade was nice…” you trailed off.  You looked at Tom expectantly, wearing a hopeful smile, but you hadn't even said anything yet before he expressed his dissent.

“No, no way,” he shook his head, ignoring your protests, “not good enough for you.”

“What?  Tommy, what’s wrong with him?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Tom repeated.  “Birdie, what’s right with him?”

“I thought you liked him!” you whined.  “He was so nice to you, and you talked rugby for ages!”

“Was looking at you funny,” he shuddered.

“Well, I’d hope so,” you rolled your eyes, “doesn’t that mean he’s interested?”

“That’s what you want, creepy guys drooling all over you?” Tom snorted.  “Come on, let’s go— I don’t want you seeing that sod again.”

You groaned, but let him drape his arm over your shoulders and guide you away.  “You shouldn’t be so protective, Tom… this is why everyone thinks you’re either my brother or my boyfriend.”

“If it keeps the boys away from you, I don’t care what they think,” he decided.  You rolled your eyes as he pulled your head down with his arm, enough that he could plant a kiss on top of your head.  “There, now they’ll think I’m your boyfriend, how about that?”

“You kiss me all the time,” you laughed.

“Eh?”

“On the head,” you clarified.  “You give me kisses on the head, doesn’t make you my boyfriend.”

“Guess not,” he agreed.  

Halfway along your walk, you passed a park which Tom decided would be the perfect place to share a cigarette— actually, he was just going to smoke it himself, but you made him share.

“Remember your sixth birthday party?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere, after a drag.  “You tripped and sprained your ankle running in the backyard that day, but you stopped crying when we gave you your presents.”

You laughed at the memory.  “God, I barely remember— but yeah.”

He handed the cigarette to you and you rested it between your lips.  “Do you remember what I got you?” he continued.

“A Barbie,” you recalled, “wasn’t it?  She was some little princess or something, can’t remember now.”

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “Well, I want you to know that before I gave her to you, I took her out of the box and took her clothes off.”

“What?!” you snorted, making a cloud of smoke 

“I had to know!” he laughed.  “I put them back on and put her back in the box and everything first before I gave her to you.”

“Yeah, I think I would remember getting a naked Barbie, Tom,” you scoffed, and he carefully plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took it back.

“Right, well—” he stopped to inhale, and then let it out as he continued— “she had plastic panties on anyway.  Wasn’t worth it,” he shook his head.

You dropped your forehead into your palm.  “The fuck are you talking about?” you giggled. 

“Just that time of night where you feel like confessing things, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?” you pressed.  “Any other childhood toys of mine that you violated?”

“Took a geek up the skirt of a Cabbage Patch Kid or two,” he added, “but that’s about it.”

“Well, we all did that,” you rolled your eyes, and he grinned at you.

“Oh, I knew it,” he purred, “I think you were just as much of a pervert as I was.”

“Yeah?  But you’re still a pervert,” you accused.

“Maybe,” he relented, “but at least I’m not a prude.”

You looked away quickly.  “M’not a prude, Tommy…”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, handing you the last quarter of the cigarette, “you’re just picky.  And you should be.”

He suddenly laid his head down on your lap, making you tense up a little bit and wonder where you were supposed to put your hands.

“Nobody deserves you anyway,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he adjusted himself to get comfortable on the bench.

“Well, that doesn’t really solve my problem, does it?” you said, speaking a little quieter.

“What’s the problem?” he wondered sleepily.

You sighed, holding the cigarette in your mouth as you reached down and carded your fingers through his hair.  He hummed and smiled a little.  “Nothing,” you dismissed, and he started to breathe slower and slower.  

You finished the cigarette over the course of the next however-long-it-had-been, absent-mindedly touching his head and playing with his hair, and only noticed that Tom had dozed off when you felt a wet patch under his mouth on your legs.

“Eww, Tommy!” you whined, shoving him off of you as he tried to wake up.  “When I said I wanted guys to drool over me, this is not what I meant.”

“Sorry, love,” he laughed, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Think that’s our cue to go back to the room and go to bed, eh?”

~

He didn’t say anything before he got in the shower, so you didn’t know what to expect when he got out: was he going to suddenly realise there was only one bed?  Had he already and just didn’t care?  Were you supposed to protest, or act like it was no big deal, or what?

When he emerged from the steamy bathroom in his pyjamas— aka, just his fuzzy plaid trousers, the ever-present friendship bracelet, and the chain on his neck— he found you standing in the middle of the room, staring at the singular bed, and gave you a confused look.

“I guess you saw when you brought our bags up,” you mumbled nervously.  

“Eh?”

“The bed.”  You motioned towards it, and he wrinkled his eyebrows together.

“What about it?” he shrugged.

“There’s only one of it!”

“Oh,” he nodded, “yeah, guess so.”

“So, we’ll have to share,” you helped him reach the obvious conclusion.

“Oh,” he said again, “you think it’ll be weird?”

“I mean, I figure,” you shrugged.

“I’ll take the couch,” he insisted.

“No, Tommy, let me,” you pleaded.

“You jokin’?  I’m supposed to let a maid sleep on the couch?”

“Didn’t realise you were such a gentleman,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

“Aren’t I?” he smirked.

You felt bad about it, but he was already putting a spare sheet down on the sofa while you were getting through your nighttime routine.  Leaning out of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of your mouth, you caught a glimpse of him laying there on the couch with one arm up behind his head and the other holding the book he’d been reading as of late— one of those fantasy novels that were much too violent for you.  He looked past the top of it to smile at you, and you popped back in to wrap up.

You were just wearing a baggy old t-shirt that was just long enough on you to cover your red panties, which you felt mostly not-weird about wearing around Tom, though walking past him to get to bed made you shiver a little bit.

“G’night,” he offered.

“You too,” you replied quietly, and he reached up above his head to switch off the lamp.

Sure, it was you who had worried about the whole bed-sharing thing in the first place, but that was only because you were pre-emptively worrying that he would worry about it.  It was sort of a lose-lose: if he was against it, then you’d feel dejected, but if he was fine with it, it was another way for him to rub it in that you could hold him but never have him.

Still, now that you were alone in this big old bed, you couldn’t help but think that at least it was nice you could hold him… but he was all the way over there.

You chewed your lip, trying to stay quiet.  You made it about thirty seconds.  “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Think you’ll fall asleep alright on that?” you wondered.

“Should be asleep in a couple minutes, once you’re quiet,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled.  You made it a whole minute before you spoke again.  “Tommyyyyy,” you whined.

“What!” he snapped.

“I can’t sleep, I feel too bad!” you pouted.  “Just get in the bed?  We fall asleep together all the time!  What’s the difference?”

“Difference is it’s all night,” he explained, “haven’t done that since we were eight— and you kicked me in your sleep!”

“Are you seriously going to sleep on that musty old sofa, and leave me alone here in the king bed, just because you’re still mad at me for kicking you?”

“Not just that,” he mumbled, “you snore, too.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, “just come over, won’t you?  I’m cold anyways…”

He paused as he considered it.  “There’s room for me?”

“Tons,” you promised.

You heard him throw the blanket off of himself, and you smiled instantly.  In a moment, he was diving into the bed, and you laughed as the mattress creaked; he laid next to you on his back, and you reached an arm around his torso while setting your head on his shoulder.

He smelled so good after his shower, clean and woodsy from his deodorant, and his curls held their shape despite being wet still.

“Should’ve known you’d be like a barnacle soon as I got in here,” he chuckled.

“I said I was cold,” you reminded him, hugging his waist tighter.

“Night, birdie,” he whispered after he kissed the top of your head.  With him holding you, you were asleep in an instant.

It was one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly, like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes.  You would’ve thought it was still the middle of the night when you woke up, if it weren’t for the sun coming in through the open window.

Specifically, you woke up because of a long sigh right by your ear, making you blink your eyes open quickly and start to stretch your legs out under the sheet and blanket.  You were on your side, and Tommy was pressed right up on your back, his arm draped around your torso.

He sighed again, and you felt him shift around against you.  Most importantly, you felt something hard and hot on your lower back.   Eyes going wide, you jolted as you felt him rock his hips against you again.

"Tommy," you whispered, hoping to wake him up.

"Mm," he hummed, smiling against your neck, and you shuddered.

"Tommy!" you hissed, and he snorted as he woke up suddenly.

He pulled back and all but jumped away from you.  “Shit, I—” he mumbled, sitting up as the bed creaked; god, his face was so red, he looked adorably flustered and a bit terrified.  “I’m sorry, birdie, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” you insisted, sitting up with him, “it’s not a big deal.”

“What’d you say?  It’s not big?” he choked.

“No!  Tommy, it’s—” you stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say then.  “I know that happens to guys in the mornings…”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously, “happens when we’re in bed with pretty girls, too…”

Before you could wonder if there was something to read into there, he spoke again.

“I’m fucked,” he groaned, running his hand down over his face, “what’s the time?”

“Ten ‘til 9,” you informed him following a glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“We’ve got that breakfast soon, we’re supposed to meet downstairs in five minutes,” he recalled.  “And I can’t get dressed ‘til he’s gone away.”

“How do you normally get rid of it?” you wondered, watching him look at you for a second before looking away again.

“Well…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.

“Well?” you pressed.

“Y-y’know,” he stammered, “it’s— er— fuckin’ hell, birdie, can’t say it with you lookin’ at me like that…”

“C’mon, Tommy, I know you wank off,” you rolled your eyes, “you and every other bloke on the planet.”

“But I can’t do it with you here!” he yelped, and a pang of self-consciousness hit your chest.  Were you that horrible of a sight that he wouldn’t be able to finish with you nearby?

“I-I’ll leave then, give you some space,” you offered.

“Birdie, I’ll know you’re just outside the door, that’s not gonna help,” he frowned.

“Well shit, Tommy, where’dya want me to go?  Fuckin’ Launceston?”

“No, shit, that’s not what I meant,” he groaned, reaching up and covering his face as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.  “You’ve just got me all messed up— s’not your fault, I mean!  I just don’t know what m’gonna do now…”

You bit your lip, glancing over at the flowery wallpaper on the opposite side of the room, then to the window and its view out over the beach.  “I mean, maybe… maybe if it would help, I could…”

“Jesus, birdie, don’t say you’re gonna wank me off or somethin’,” he pleaded with a concerned tilt of his head, and you stammered as you tried to remember what you were going to say.

“No, I— I was gonna say you could…” you began again, “er— I mean, before, while you were asleep, you were… it was…”

“What?” he pressed, leaning a little closer to you, and you chickened out.

“Nevermind, sorry,” you shook your head, “you should just get dressed— nobody’ll notice it.”

That was a lie: if it looked as big as it felt, a family of four could go camping under the tent in his shorts at this point.  “No, c’mon,” he pleaded, scooting a little closer to you, “won’t make fun of you or nothin’, just wanna know what you were gonna say.  You know I can’t run down to breakfast with my willy tryin’ to jump out, yeah?  Like, ‘hey mum an’ dads, pass me the eggs, then— don’t mind my fuckin’ blood sausage under the table—’”

You laughed, pushing him on the chest— but he just moved closer, again, looking right at your face.  You felt oddly exposed to him, even though he should’ve been the one feeling like that considering the circumstances.  “Fine,” you relented, “I was just… thought maybe you could— well, it could help you if you, um… just… pressed up against me, again?  Like you were before?  And you could, er…”

Dropping your voice to a mumble just above a whisper, you watched your hands clutch the spotted quilt in lieu of meeting his invasive stare.

“You could… grind on me, a bit,” you finally completed, so quiet that you barely heard yourself.  But he was a few inches away— he must’ve heard you.  Literally, he must have, because you couldn’t say it again.

“Eh?” he grunted, and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon, Tommy, you’re not deaf, are you?”

“No, m’just… you wan’ me to rub me stiffy on you?” he realised, tilting his chin down and raising an eyebrow.  Leave it to Tommy to throw all the subtlety to the wind and just say it outright like that, ignorant to the way it made your cheeks burn and your throat catch.

“I-I mean, I don’t want you to,” you denied quickly, “I just thought it might go away if you did.  Means to an end, right?”

“Yeah, means to an end,” he agreed, clearing his throat.  “Just feel a little weird about it, birdie, I mean… it’s you.  You know I love ya— don’t wanna be rude to you or, er, disrespectful—”

“It’s not,” you promised, “I’m offering— and it’ll be quick, right?”

“Er, yeah,” he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, “should be…”

“Okay, then, should we?” you asked, sheepishly raising your eyebrows as you looked at him.

“I mean, fuck, birdie,” he laughed nervously, “I think you know we shouldn’t.”

But you both already knew that you were going to, and the thrill of something so forbidden titillated you further.

“Lay down then, yeah?” he instructed you softly, and you turned back onto your side as you felt him press up to your back.  His arm slipped around your front, the one with your bracelet on his wrist, and you could feel him breathing by the back of your neck as he brushed your hair out of the way.  “This alright?” 

You nodded, and he held you a little tighter; you felt it then, brushing up against your lower back.  You were getting sweaty from how warm it was with him pressed up on you under the thick covers, yet you still shivered.

He hummed quietly, his hand moving down your hips so he could hold you steady.  And he rocked into you again, more confidently, a shaky breath falling from his lips.  

When his forehead rested against the back of your shoulder, you felt your back arch slightly; and then you could feel the ridge under the head of his cock, you could feel it when he moved in one, long stroke and you bit your lip, arching your back deeper.

“Shit,” he grunted quietly, and he started to move a little faster right after he said that.

After just a minute or less of that, you were beyond desperate to have him inside you, you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like— about how he would stretch you open, how he would moan for you as he filled you to the brim.  If he wanted to, right now, he could just lift up your shirt a bit and pull your panties down without saying anything, slip inside you in one go; you were soaking wet, he’d slide in so easily…

“Fuck, birdie,” he breathed, “roll over.”

His verbal command was a bit moot, since his hand was already on your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your back.  He hovered above you for a moment, and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered; you’d only been waiting years for him to say that to you.  You did it unquestioningly, and he slotted himself between them with a low groan.  When he pressed his cock up against your aching cunt— through so many frustrating layers of pyjamas— he shut his eyes and tossed his head back for a second.  It was so perfect, his face in bliss like that, the morning sun peeking in through the curtains and making his curls shine golden-blonde.  He looked fucking beautiful.

A little gasp jumped in your mouth as he started to thrust against you again, each stroke of his hips rubbing right over your clit and making his chain dangle over your face.  You almost felt guilty, for a second, with the little engraving of Saint Thomas right there, like he was watching you do this.  “Sh-shit, Tommy…” you hissed, catching yourself before you moaned aloud when he rocked his hip harder against you and your whole pussy clenched.  If only he could feel that now— if only he could feel around his cock how desperately you needed him.

He descended down upon you, burying his face in your neck.  His hair tickled your cheek, and you fisted at the sheets to stop yourself from reaching up and holding onto him— that would be too much, too needy, right?  It was just supposed to be a means to an end, after all.  “Can I kiss you here?” he asked under his breath.

“Er, why would you do that?” you wondered.

“Just— thought it might make it go faster,” he justified.

“Y-yeah, Tommy, s’fine,” you nodded.  Do whatever you want to me.

He latched on right away, a mess of lips and tongue and teeth all over your neck; everything in you fought to keep your moans down, because you didn’t want him to know how much you loved this, how close you were to coming without even doing anything… without even taking your clothes off!

“Are you close?” you asked him softly, feeling him nod.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and his heavy breathing cooled your skin where it was still wet with his spit.  “Just a little longer?”

“You’re not gonna give me a hickey, are you?” you whispered.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied.  

“Just— make it quick, Tommy, we’ve gotta be downstairs soon,” you reminded him.

“Right, yeah, m’gonna come,” he promised, sending another chill over your body.  One of his hands moved down, holding your thigh as he thrusted faster and faster— fuck, the headboard was about to hit the wall.  Just as you looked up to see it slam once, you saw his free hand reach up and grab onto it tightly, blocking the impact with his knuckles.

“Tommy,” you breathed, an involuntary reaction to how deliberately sexy that was.

“Say it again,” he requested quietly.

“Tommy,” you repeated, and he grunted right against your ear— he didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed down quite a bit as he rutted on you.  

“Fuck,” he sighed, panting.  You swallowed, feeling wonderfully strange knowing that must be it, that he just came— because of you.  His weight sank down onto you, making you let out a little squeal from the air rushing out of your lungs, and he laughed quietly.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting himself up and hovering above you again, “didn’t mean to crush you…”

“S’all fine, Tom,” you promised, closing your legs as soon as you had the chance— before he could see that you’d soaked through your panties.

“Oh, ‘Tom’, eh?  Gettin’ formal, are we?” he grinned.  “Now that you’ve got me to bust in me trousers, we’re not so friendly anymore?”

“Shut up,” you laughed as you pushed him aside, swinging your legs off the bed so you could get up.  “Gonna use the loo and then I’ll get dressed.”

“What?!” he croaked.  “You kidding?  Of course I get to use the loo first!”

“Not if I get there before you,” you challenged, jumping up and trying to race him across the hotel room.  He beat you, but only by playing dirty— he ran up behind you and grabbed you, spinning you around as you kicked and laughed and squirmed in his grasp.

two weeks later

Moonshine on the bay had become a tradition on nights like this, when the warmth of summer was creeping around the corner, ever since you were both fifteen and in desperate need of some rebellion.  Now, without the illegality and all, it had lost some of that titillating appeal, but you still loved going out so late and meeting him at your secret spot.  It had the perfect view of the water at night, not that it was a particularly scenic section of the sea since it was mostly cargo ships and docks and all that, but under the flickering old street lamp and the tall field elms, it was almost romantic.

Tommy was currently still standing while you leaned back on your hands, brandishing the liquor he’d secured for the evening.  “For you,” he offered you the opened bottle with a smile, and you took it, but waited for him to take a sip of his first.  He did, and you saw his lips curling as he drank.

“How is it?” you asked, and he stopped drinking to cough a bit.

“It’s hangin’!” he grimaced.  “But it’ll do the job.”

You took a sip while he sat down next to you, and made a face of your own.  “Ah fuck!  That’s terrible!  Where the fuck’d you get this?”

But you knew what he meant when he said it would do the job— one sip was already warming your chest, and the next, though just as disgusting as the last, made you feel tingly at the tips of your fingers.

With your bottles halfway finished, you two sat up in the grass and watched the lights of ships go by slowly in the night.  “Had a date last night,” you blurted out suddenly, just to make conversation.

“Really?  With who?”

“You remember Jack Meyer?”

“God, I wish I didn’t,” he sneered, “what a knob.”

“Could you stop insulting all the guys I go out with?” you frowned.

“Stop going out with knobs and I will,” he bargained.

“Anyways, he was nice,” you announced firmly.  “Took me to the cinema and bought me a popcorn.”

“What size?” he asked.

“Medium.”

“Cheap bastard,” Tom grumbled.

“Shut up!  I’m trying to tell you that it was a nice date!” you yelped, pushing him on the shoulder.  “We actually, um… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

“What?” he wondered.

“I mean, I tell you everything— you tell me everything.  You told me when Sharon Caldwell let you feel her tits in eighth grade, and you told me when you lost it to Annie— what was her name again?”

“Annie Shaw,” he finished for you.

“Right… so, point is, I figured I should tell you what happened with me and Jack, right?” you wondered.  When you found the courage to look over at Tommy, his expression was… intense.  Almost angry, a little terrified.

“Don’t tell me you gave it up to him,” he pleaded, leaning in a little closer.

“God no!  I just wanked him a bit.”

"You did what to 'im?!" Tommy yelped.

"W-well, I dunno!" you backpedalled quickly. 

“Aw, birdie, you can do so much better than him,” he groaned.

“Okay, maybe so, but he’s the one I wanted to go out with.  And he was nice and he made me feel— I dunno, pretty?” you mumbled, afraid to sound too girlish.

“Come on, you can’t go rubbing off any guy who calls you pretty,” Tom scolded.

“This isn’t just any guy!”

“Yeah, it’s Jack Meyer.  In fourth year he swallowed a penny and it never came out!”

“Believe it or not, Tommy, it's not fourth year anymore,” you frowned.  “Things are different.  We’re older.  I’m not a little kid— and I’m tired of being treated like one!”

He sighed slowly, taking another swig of the booze.  “I guess that’s fair,” he relented.  “Still… can’t stand thinking about you doing that to some guy.”

"Why?"

He seemed confused by your question, and gave you a look.

"Why can't you stand thinking about it?" you interrogated.

"I… I don't know…"  He coughed a bit, clearly wanting to change the subject, but you kept staring at him as you waited for an answer.  “I guess it’s just that,” he began again, “I worry because it’s Jack, you know?  He’s a little aggressive with girls— or, he was back when I knew him.  He didn’t… pressure you into it, right?”

You thought back to the night before, and how it all happened.  “Erm, no,” you decided, “not really.”

“Not really?  What’s that mean?”

“Well, he didn’t make me do it,” you explained, “but he was… showing me how, ‘cause I didn’t know.”

“Sh-showing you?” Tom repeated.

“He, erm, he took my hand,” you remembered, feeling your heart start to race as you looked at Tom closely.  “And he put it… he put it right here.”

It was the liquor that made you do it; you pressed your hand up to the front of his trousers, feeling him getting firmer under your touch already.  He jumped a little but didn’t stop you.

"He told me to take it out for him…" you continued, voice wavering as your whole body was suddenly shivering from nervousness, and started to open his trousers yourself.

“Birdie,” Tom gasped, and you looked up to his face again.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked him point blank.  He didn’t say anything.  “Can I keep going?”

His mouth was open slightly, and he was breathing heavily through it; he nodded.  You unzipped his fly and reached in, navigating the opening of his boxers to get his cock out.  

Of course, you’d felt it before, but you’d never seen it.  It was as beautiful as a cock could be, you thought: tanner than the rest of him for some reason, flushed at the tip, still just starting to poke out from his foreskin with a teal vein running up under your palm.  Biting your lip, you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around it.  “H-he told me to stroke it, like this,” you stammered, moving your hand gently and slowly from the base to the tip and back— then again, and again.

Daring to glance up at Tom’s face again, you saw him watching your hand with a dumbstruck expression.  You twisted your hand slightly as you reached the tip and he groaned.  "Birdie…" he sighed— his voice wore some impossible mixture of arousal, confusion, scolding, disappointment, and desperation.  It made your knees weak.  Good thing you were still kneeling on the ground, so it didn’t make much difference.  You were so sloshed that standing up would’ve been a bit of an effort, anyway.

“When I was doing it right,” you continued, “he’d tell me I was bein’ good for him… it made me feel weird when he said that, but good.  You know?”

“Y-yeah…” he choked, hissing through his teeth.  

It went on that way for a little while, just his panting and the crickets chirping; though there was clear fluid leaking from the tip of his cock, you thought it might not be enough, so you pursed your lips and let your spit dribble down onto him so you could spread it out with your hand.

“Christ,” he groaned, “Jack taught you that, too?”

You nodded, and he growled a little— the sound made your chest tighten up (as well as a few other places).  His cock was starting to bob against your grip, and his breathing was faster and heavier with each stroke.  "You're close?" you noticed, and he nodded, chest heaving as he stared down at what you were doing to him.  "You can come, Tom.  I want you to."

"Shit," he hissed.  "Shit, jus' don't stop then."

And you didn't, in fact you moved your hand even faster, until it was just a blur and he was bucking up into your palm desperately.

"Ah, fuck!" he gasped, and come started to spurt from his pulsing cock, landing on his shirt and your hand.  "Fuck…"

You watched his face as it tilted back, his eyebrows knitted together, his mouth parted in a little moan.  Your hand was still moving, and his jumped up to grab your wrist and stop you.  Then it was still, and silent, except for him breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

After a moment, he tilted his head down again and came back to reality; he instantly looked mortified.  "God, birdie," he choked, "I made a mess on you— m'so sorry, let me get it…"

He tried to wipe the come away with his shirt, frantically cleaning your hand up as best he could.  "It's fine, Tommy," you giggled.

"No it isn't, I've got your pretty hand all dirty now…"

Examining his focused expression as he wiped up the smears of come, you bit your lip slightly.  You did feel guilty for making up that whole story about a date with Jack Meyer that never did— and never would— happen, but it worked.  You’d never lied to Tommy like that before, but you decided to blame it on the liquor and not your desperation.  

In the two weeks since your holiday, nothing untoward whatsoever had happened between you and it was driving you crazy.  You didn’t even talk about it!  You, of course, thought about it every day— well, really every night, when you touched yourself and tried to remember exactly how his voice sounded in your ear.  That was what drove you to this, to getting drunk and making shit up for a chance to touch him.

"Kiss me," you said suddenly.  He looked up at your face, and you just stared at each other for a second.  

His hand dropped yours— it was clean now, or clean enough at least— and moved up to hold your face.  You sighed slightly; his thumb stroked your cheek and he smiled at you.

He gently tilted your head down and met you halfway, pressing his lips to your forehead.  Your chest deflated and your eyes fell shut.  So this is what heartbreak feels like.  It's not as bad as I thought.

"That better?" he asked as he pulled back, moving his own face down so he could look up at you with a tender smile.  You nodded, willing yourself not to cry in front of him now.  

You were throwing yourself at him and he was throwing you away.  "We'll always be friends, won't we?" you asked quietly.

"Aw, birdie— of course," he cooed, pulling you into a hug.  You clutched at his shoulders, digging your nails into handfuls of his ratty old Nirvana t-shirt.

He rolled back onto the grass and pulled you down with him, making you laugh and try to get away— but he wouldn't let you go.

"We'll always be friends," he promised again, "'cause otherwise who'd keep all those awful boys away from you?"

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes.

"I will," he sighed, relaxing his grip on you slightly.  "I'm gonna ease up on you, I think.  Let you date somebody if you want— even if he's a tosser.  'Cause you're right, you're not a little kid anymore.  And it's not fair to you."

You swallowed, laying your head on his chest.  You'd never actually wanted him to let you date someone else… you just wanted him to finally love you back.  But maybe this was the best you were going to get.

~

“Go, Tommy!” you cheered from the side of the pitch, though he surely couldn’t hear you through all that.. rugby-ing.  Rugbing?

Whatever— point is, you clapped and hollered anyways as you watched him run all over the place, narrowly dodging being tackled a few times.  You winced when he got taken down from the side by one of the biggest guys out there.  Tommy had a high pain tolerance, but you’d rather not see him lose a tooth or something.  What a waste of a perfect smile that would be.

For all their efforts, Tommy’s team lost by just a few points; it was just a scrimmage, hence why there was basically no one else here but you and the actual team members, so you hoped he wouldn’t be pouty the rest of the day after losing.  He didn’t seem to be, from what you could tell this far away— he was shaking hands and bumping fists, sweaty and streaked with dirt and grass as he chugged from his water bottle.  It really should not have been as attractive as it was…

Before you got caught ogling, someone caught your attention: “Hey,” one of the players jogged up to you, and you blinked up at him blankly, not sure who he was.  You’d definitely seen him before, you remembered his dreads and… overall massiveness.  But you weren’t sure what he was talking to you for.  “You’re here with Tom, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” you smiled.

“He said you’re an old mate of his,” the player went on.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Sweet of you to come cheer him on,” he laughed, “even though it didn’t seem to do him much good today.”

You shrugged.  “He loses a lot, but he always gets back up.”

“I’m Rhys, by the way,” he offered.  “I’d shake your hand or somethin’, but I’m pretty filthy at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laughed.  “Surprised you haven’t gone to the showers already, that’d be the first thing I’d be doing after getting that sweaty.”

“Well, I was gonna,” he explained, “but, well, I was afraid you’d be gone before I got back.”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, and he continued on.

“Listen, I asked Tom, but I figured I should ask you… er…” he stalled as he smiled nervously.  “Have you got a boyfriend or anythin’?”

“Er, no,” you answered.

“Issuh?” he laughed.

“Yes!” you insisted.  “You think I’m lying or something?”

“I think it’s a little too good to be true, that’s all,” he explained.  “Girl like you shouldn’t stay single too long.”

You kept waiting for Tommy to come ruin it— to come rescue you.  You glanced over, and you saw him look back at you, but he just smiled and kept working on the laces of his cleats.

“So, I guess I should ask for your number before it’s too late, yeah?” Rhys continued.  You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up at him and dropping your mouth open as you hoped for some words to come out.

“Oh!  Erm,” you began, “well—”

“It’s okay if not,” he promised, “but, you know… I’d like it.  So I can call you sometime or something— maybe I’ll have worked up the nerve to ask you out by then.”

Your cheeks were warm, but so were the backs of your eyes.  You never thought you would miss it, Tom running up and putting his arm around you, shooting whatever guy you were talking to a glare that made everyone feel uncomfortable; you glanced over at him again, watching him chat and laugh with some of the other guys.  He was just going to let this happen, wasn’t he?  And so were you.  “Yeah,” you finally blurted out, “sure— got your phone now?  I’ll put it in for you.”

“Great,” he smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you.  “Wow, that went surprisingly well.”

“Are you that surprised?” you laughed as you added yourself as a contact.

“These things don’t normally go right for me,” he explained.

“For you?” you glanced up at him incredulously.

“Now, don’t give me an ego,” he chuckled, and you laughed with him.

You quickly held his phone up to take a selfie with your tongue sticking out, adding it as your contact photo.  “There you go,” you handed it back to him, and he looked at it with a wide smile on his face.

“Aw, that’s rich,” he said, and you bit your lip.  “I really should hit the showers now, but, I’ll call you?”

“Okay,” you smiled, “I’ll answer.  Probably.”

He waved at you as he left, looking down at your contact in his phone one more time with a shake of his head, before disappearing into the little tunnel through the stands.

You told Tom you would wait for him until he was all done, but god, he was taking forever getting cleaned up.  In fact, everyone else had left when he finally came out in his change of clothes and found you leaning against the cement wall outside the practice facility.  “Fuck took you so long?” you groaned as he appeared.

“You know how long it takes to wash off after a match like that?” he laughed.  “You wouldn’t have walked home with me in the state I was in.”

“Okay, fair enough,” you sighed, “can we go now?” 

“Well, um— actually, I have to get my bag from the locker room…”

“Oh my god,” you whined.

“Don’t get teazy, I just have to pack up all my gear,” he scolded.

“I’m coming with you,” you insisted, “and helping you carry it so we can get fuckin’ home already.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, starting back as you followed along with him.  “Lucky for you, it’s empty.”

“Aw,” you faked a pout, “no sexy rugby boys to look at?”

“Just me,” he smiled— and fuck, he was joking, but it scared you for a second.

There was a little awkward pause while he guided you around the bend into the locker area, left surprisingly clean after the boys were finished; it was only Tom’s locker open, with his things all strewn about, and you sighed.  “Look at the mess you made…” you breathed, starting to help him clean it up and get his things together.

“Rhys finally asked you out, then?” Tommy grinned, elbowing you lightly.

“O-oh, yeah,” you breathed, “erm, well— he just got my number, no date yet or anything.”

“Well, it’s a start.  I didn’t want to give him your number for you, but he asked me for it— actually, he’s asked about you a couple times now.”

“You think he’s good enough for me?” you asked.

“I mean, I dunno,” Tommy shrugged, “I don’t know him that well.  But he seems nice enough— figure you can decide the rest.”

You sighed, nodding a little.

“If he tries anything, though, you let me know and I’ll set him straight, alright?” he added, and you laughed.

“Alright, I will,” you agreed, kneeling down to get some of his clothes from off the floor and stuff them into the duffel.  “Not sure how you’re gonna do that when he’s got a metre on you and maybe twenty pounds of muscle—”

“Shut up,” Tom scoffed.  “You know I can take any guy down if it’s got to do with you.”

Your throat caught, and you stood up again.  "Tommy, listen, I actually— I wanted to… talk to you."

He cleared his throat, looking nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck.  "Yeah?  You're all good, right?  Everythin's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nodded, leaning back against the lockers, "I just… I was thinking about you."

He stepped up closer to you, close enough that your heart started to race.  "Oh… what about me?"

"Well, about us," you clarified, "you and me— I want… erm…"

"Hm?"

"I just— you know how we sometimes…?"

He leaned his head in a little closer, waiting with raised eyebrows for you to get to your point.

"That thing we do, sometimes?" you started again.  "I wanna… do it again."

He nodded, like he understood, but then paused and moved his mouth over to the side.  "You wanna go to the cinema?"

You laughed, more out of frustration than amusement, and tilted your head forward to rest on his chest.  "God, Tommy…"

"What?" he laughed.

"I— I want—"  

You couldn't look up at him as you said it.  You took a deep breath and tried to compose your bravery.

"I want us to touch each other again," you finally rushed out.  You waited for him to say something, or do something, but he didn't.  “Like when we were on holiday,” you recalled, toying with the hem of his shirt.  “And that night on the bay…”

“God, birdie, I— I dunno if I can do that again,” he breathed, and you felt your eyes start to burn a bit.

“Really, Tommy?” you sighed.  “I’m that… repulsive?  Or is it Rhys?  ‘Cause all he’s done is get my number—”

“N-no,” he groaned, “shit, m’not makin’ any sense.  I can’t do that again with you because it’s too hard, okay?”

You looked up at him, knitting your eyebrows together.  “What’s too hard?”

“Touchin’ you like that,” he whispered— even now, the way he said made your spine tingle— glancing down from your eyes to your lips and back, “and havin’ to act normal again.  Not bein’ your boyfriend.”

Of everything you thought he might say then, you never expected that.  You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, even when you bit your bottom lip.  A laugh broke out through your grin, and you had to cover your mouth to try to hide it.

“Jesus, you’re laughin’ at me now!” he lamented.  “I finally tell you and you laugh at me!  You’re heartless, you know that?”

“No, Tommy, v’got a heart— and it’s all yours,” you promised, standing up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.  He gave you a confused look, and you laughed again.  “You don’t get it do you, still?  I’ve fancied you for ages— proper in love with you, really.  Kept askin’ you to do all that stuff ‘cause, well, you’re all I think about anyways.  Thought you were just doing me favours.”

After a pause, he finally laughed with you.  “Am I a fuckin’ idiot, then?  You’ve had it goin’ for me all this time and I didn’t notice?”

“You’re a little stupid,” you mitigated.  “I think I was being pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, and what about me?” he noticed.  “I’ve been all over you forever— kissin’ and huggin’ you, cuddling all the time— you didn’t notice that I think you’re fit?”

You shrugged.  "You've always been like that."

"Yeah!" he emphasised.

"Ohhhh," you nodded, "hm.  Okay, we're both a little stupid."

“Birdie,” he smiled, and your heart melted, because he’d never said it quite like that before.  He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“You can really kiss me, you know,” you told him, and he pulled away just enough to look at you with an impossible-to-read expression.  “I-if you want,” you mitigated suddenly, and he smiled at you, then laughed.

“Aw, fuck, Tommy,” you turned your head to the side, “you’re awful…”

He put his hand on the side of your face, gently turning you to look at him.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  And then he moved in closer and kissed you— properly, finally.  You shut your eyes, your chest emptying with a sigh; his other hand held your face then, too, and you reached up to hold his wrists.  Your right hand felt the worn-out old bracelet that he still wore, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit against him.  He smiled, too.

“Tommy,” you sighed, reaching out and grabbing him by his belt to pull him closer.  He pressed his forehead on yours, looking down at your hands working on the buckle shakily. 

“Birdie, c’mon,” he gasped, “not here—”

You pouted a little, and he laughed.

“We waited all this time and you can’t wait until we get home?”

“Yes!” you whined.  “I need you…”

“Shit,” he groaned, kissing you again— but just for a few very passionate seconds before he pulled back once more.  “We’ll go home and I’ll do this right, I swear.”

“Why can’t we just do it here?” you wondered.

“Because if you told me some guy had taken your virginity in a rugby practice field locker room, I would kill him,” Tom frowned.  

You laughed.  “Fine, fine… let’s go home.”

~ 

Thank god his parents weren’t home.  You didn’t want to try to be quiet.

He had you in his bed the second the door was shut, kissing you voraciously as he helped you undress and tore his own shirt and trousers off.  For a guy who was just preaching patience, he was pretty hasty all of a sudden.

When all you had on were your panties, he set his arms straight to hover over you and stare down at you, looking a little dumbstruck.  You almost felt self-conscious enough to try to cover your chest, but he smiled at you and you felt a little better.  “You’re so… fuck, birdie, you’re pretty.”

It was a simple compliment, but it felt incredibly powerful when he said it like that.  He was in his boxers, and it wasn’t too much more skin than you’d already seen while swimming with him and such, but it was different with his massive hard-on making a visible imprint in the patterned cotton.  

Gently, he spread your legs, and tightened his jaw at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear.  “Oh, fuck,” he sighed.

“I always get like that,” you admitted quietly.  “Should be easy for you to fuck me, right?”

“Yes, yeah,” he agreed, “but m’not gonna fuck you yet.”

You frowned a little, and he laughed as he kissed you again.

“I told you I’m doing this the right way,” he insisted, “it’s your first time.  It’ll hurt if I just go for it.”

He leaned back and sat up, bringing his hands down to the waistband of your panties and gently dragging them down your legs; you felt gooseflesh spread all over your body.

“Oh, darling,” he whispered as he opened your legs again, looking right at you now.  You squirmed a little, but his grip on your thighs was tight.  “I need you to tell me now if you’ve changed your mind about this… ‘cause I can already tell I’m gonna have a hard time stopping once I start.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you were sure, you were so sure.  “I haven’t changed my mind,” you promised.

“I won’t get mad at you or anything,” he assured.

“I know— I’m sure,” you breathed.  Wondering if you should return the sentiment, you asked, "You're sure you wanna do this?  With me?"

"Birdie, I've wanted to do this with you since I knew what this was," he smiled.

"And you don't mind that I've never…"

"No, birdie, I don't mind," he laughed.  "Think it's perfect actually.  Couldn't let any other lad be your first.  Couldn't let any other lad touch you like this."

You bit your lip.  “You were gonna let me go out with Rhys,” you reminded him.

“I let you give him your number.  We hadn’t even gotten to you going out with him,” Tom corrected.  “And I was acting fine as best I could but I was really jumpin’, birdie, thinking about if something might happen with you two— something like this…”

You whined as you tugged on his shirt, hoping to hide your face in his neck, but he pulled his face back so he could look down at you with a smile.  "Tommy, please," you whimpered.  

"Please, what?" he encouraged.

"Jus' need you…"

He kissed your neck again, making your back arch and your hands grab onto his shoulders, and pressed his hips down against you.  You whined at the feeling of his erection through clothes, but opened your eyes in confusion when he pulled back again just a moment later, hovering over you.  "Say my name when I make you come, yeah?" he instructed, and you nodded.  "Try it on for size just once, why don'tya," he encouraged with a smile.

"Tommy," you smiled back, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

"That's m'girl," he praised, before crawling back down, kissing a trail over your stomach, moving his hand up your thigh.

He just kept his face right up close to you, watching his finger swipe through your folds, then watching it gently circle your clit.  You whimpered, and felt your insides flex on nothing.  Apparently, that made him want to give you something to clench on— he gently slipped his pointer finger past your opening, and you let out a long sigh.

“So warm inside,” he observed.  He pulled the finger back out a second later, putting it in his mouth and humming happily.  He put his mouth on you at the same time that he put the finger back in, along with a second; that was a lot to take in, and your back arched up off the bed instantly.  He mouthed at your clit, swirling his tongue around while his lips created this wonderful pressure; you had to grab onto his hair, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually, he did have to break away for a second.  "Wondered how you'd taste," he admitted with a sigh.  

"Well?" you prompted.

"Taste like 'eaven, birdie," he purred.  "Sweet little pussy— an' it's all for me?"

"All yours," you nodded, and he growled a little as he dove back in.

The tip of his tongue slid right up from your opening to where your clit was swollen and throbbing— he pushed his tongue flat against it and you whimpered loudly.  He started to really fuck you with his fingers then, rather than just letting the natural movement of your hips force you to ride them; they curled inside you, hitting a spot that made your own fingers curl into fists in his hair.  You didn’t want to hurt him, but he didn’t mind getting his hair pulled, apparently, and just moaned lowly against you.

The pressure started weighing on your gut after a while, your pussy tensing up on him faster and faster until it was just bearing down on him unendingly.  “Fuck, Tommy,” you gasped.

“C’mon, birdie,” he mumbled against you, “wan’ you to come.  Go ahead and come for me, yeah?”

You called out his name one more time, and it all spilled over at once; he shut his eyes tight, letting you pull his face right up against you by his curls as your hips bucked and grinded on him.  You sobbed weakly, and when it was suddenly too much, he broke away and pinned you down for a messy kiss.

It left you even more breathless than you already were.  When he pulled back, his eyes were a little glazed over and his lips and chin were a lot glazed over; he gave you a crooked smile.  “Taste how sweet you are?” he purred.  You wouldn’t call it sweet, really, but it still turned you on like crazy to hear him say it.

“Please, Tom,” you gasped, grabbing his shoulders, “you’ll fuck me now, right?”

He nodded, and you let out a sigh of relief.  “Sure you’re ready?” he asked, laughing when you groaned and punched him on the arm.

“Course I’m fuckin’ ready!” you snapped.  “God, Tommy, you always give ‘em all this rigamarole first?”

He shook his head.  “Just you, birdie… it was always just you.”

Kissing you again, his breath changed as he reached down to push his boxers out of the way and kick them off to the floor.  The way it felt to have his bare skin against yours as he lowered himself down was… euphoric.  Warm and soft and smooth, and when he wrapped you in his arms, it felt like he could just absorb you entirely.  You wouldn’t mind it if he did.

He'd prepared you so well that there was only one quick sting of pain when he pushed inside you— though just that was still enough to make one tiny tear roll down your temple, which he kissed away softly.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.  You nodded.  "I need you to tell me, birdie."

"I'm okay," you promised through a sigh.  "It hurts a little, b-but please don't stop."

"You're sure?"

"Please!"

He pushed his hips flush with yours and you gritted your teeth, though everything in you relaxed just a moment later; and all that was left was the fullness, the warmth of him, the way his eyes sparkled as he looked down at you.  "You're so beautiful," he whispered to you, and you bit your lip.

"I love you, Tommy," you mumbled weakly, and he planted one soft kiss on your mouth.

"I love you too, darling."

He carefully began to move, needing to reach down with one hand to keep your hips steady.  Your moans were shaky at first, but got louder and more even with each movement.  

"You're… so deep," you breathed.  "Tommy, I— I didn't know anything could be so deep in me."

"Well, I am," he grinned.  "I'm right… here."

He pressed down on your stomach, right on the spot where the tip of his cock reached— and your eyes rolled back.  "Ohh, god," you whined.

"You feel it, love?" he cooed.

"Yes, yes," you groaned.  "Fuck, Tommy, why didn't you tell me you had a perfect cock?"

He laughed a little, leaning down to kiss you on the jaw.  "Guess it never came up."

"Does it always… is it always like this?" you wondered.  "It's so good, does it always feel this good?"

He shook his head, kissing your forehead and then trailing down your nose and cheek.  "No, it's not always like this," he answered quietly.  "Not for me, anyway.  It's never been like this."

His lips met yours again, and you reached up to weave your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.  He groaned a little, moving his hips faster, and you smiled.  "Do you wanna fuck me harder?" you asked.

"Fuck," he mumbled, "I— I could.  Do you want me to?"

"I can take it," you promised.

Picking up the pace slightly, he held you tighter; and you felt each impact a little harder, the sound of his skin on yours echoing around the room.  “Like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered— you meant it more neutral than it came out, it sounded proper pornographic the way you said it, and he smiled.  “More, Tommy, please?  Jus’ want more…”

He hissed but did as he was told, latching onto your neck with his lips as he let something a little more animalistic take over, making you cry out and hold onto him tighter.  “Beautiful,” he grunted, “you’re so beautiful, birdie— you sound beautiful.”

“It’s just ‘cause you’re making me sound like this,” you sighed, clutching at his back, too overwhelmed by pleasure to worry about scratching him up.

“I’m giving you a hickey this time,” he informed you.  “You want my mark on you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “always, Tommy— fuck, always wanted it.”

“‘Cause you’re mine, yeah?”

“Always,” you whimpered.

“A-ah, shit— when it’s time, I'll pull out, okay?" he offered.

"No," you whined, wrapping your legs around his hips.  "Tommy, please, want it inside…"

"Birdie," he breathed roughly, "if you say things like that, I-I'll come too fast."

“Don’t care,” you whimpered.  “Promise you’re gonna come inside me.”

“F-fuck,” he groaned, “erm— yeah, m’gonna come in ya, okay?”

You choked out the shortest sob of joy.  “Please, please— fuck, I’ll come again…”

“Yeah, fuck, c’mon then,” he praised, “just say my name, birdie— I wanna hear my name.”

“Tommy,” you cried, feeling him gasp against your neck as another wave of heat spread over your body; feeling him flex inside you right as you hit your own peak was so perfect.  You could’ve never described your emotions in that moment with words, but they found their way out anyways: you started crying, instantly.

“Don’t cry, birdie, shh,” he soothed quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.  “C’mon, darling, don’t cry—”

“N-no, Tommy,” you sniffled, “I’m just happy— I’m so happy, I swear…”

So he let you cry, and held you close to him; he didn’t leave until you fell asleep, even though he said he was just going to get you a washcloth and a cup of water and come right back.  He played with your hair and kissed your face, and just talked about all the normal things you usually talked about— as in, everything.  But this time, it was actually everything, no more hidden feelings.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but after one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly— like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes— you woke up tangled with him and his sheets.  Turning on your side as best you could, you looked at his sleeping face and smiled to yourself.  He woke up just a bit later, cutting your staring short, and smiled back at you.

“Top of the morning, my ‘ansum,” you greeted as you pinched his cheek.  He laughed and batted your hand away, hiding his face from the sun under his arm.  

“You kicked me in your sleep,” he grumbled.

“So it’s all over, then?  Final straw, you’re finally getting rid of me?” you joked.

“Mm, I thought about it,” he snorted, making you laugh.  He popped his face up again and started to kiss your face all over.

“Tommy, stop,” you whined.

“You can’t make me stop now,” he pointed out, “it’s one thing to get your best friend to stop kissing you, but your boyfriend?  Nah, m’not stopping.”

You laughed, his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him only making you feel more ticklish and squirm more.  You only stilled when he grabbed your face and gave you a real kiss, and everything seemed to slow down quite a bit.  You kissed him back, properly, reaching up to weave your fingers in his hair.  “So, you’re my boyfriend, then?” you noticed when you broke away.

“No, I think we’re still just friends,” he nodded, and you laughed and shoved him on the chest.  

“Might as well be, everything we did before sayin’ we were only friends,” you admitted.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, birdie,” he promised.

[doctorwhocreations]

Human Nature

This is a long one but proud of it! Written by both me and my lovely bestie @whodoyoudo Enjoy!

When I agreed to travel with the Doctor, I expected adventures through space, to distant planets and to time periods that I never could have imagined. Yet here I was scrubbing floors in a Victorian school with my fellow companion, Martha Jones. Now the once, wonderful Doctor I had known, has now gone into hiding as a human, he calls himself Dr John Smith in this reality. For some reason the TARDIS crash landed us in a small english village in 1913, it was as if the Doctor never existed. 

In the 9 months that I have been travelling with the Doctor and Martha, it never once occurred to me that I would ever develop feelings for him. I kept my feelings to myself, since it seemed that Martha liked him too. Occasionally she would say how he fitted well in his suit, or casually comment on how the Doctor’s hair looked nice enough to run her fingers through. I never agreed with her… but I never NOT disagreed with her.

The bell had just rung and students had all finished for the day, while me and Martha were left to scrub the floor with brushes. I heard the door creak open and John Smith carried his books with him, as he dodged our soapy area on the floor. John Smith seemed to carry a different demeanour, he was strict and not the happy go lucky Doctor we once had known. I had to shake the thought away, this was a different man, it was as if I was grieving for the person I once knew.

I looked up as John Smith walked by, “Good morning Sir!” I said in a bright upbeat tone, whilst smiling. 

For a brief moment, he turned his head towards me in slight confusion as if to say, “why is this maid addressing me?” With the same expression he responded in an emotionless tone, “Good morning.” 

The Headmaster quickly walked through, looking down at me and Martha. He frowned at how dirty the floor was that we were scrubbing, thanks to the rugby teams not cleaning their muddy shoes before coming in. 

“Better get a move on you two! I want this floor spotless.” The Headmaster yelled.

Mr Smith waited behind for the headmaster to leave then continued to walk by.

I lowered my head, Martha looked over to me, “Hey, just ignore him.” “I don’t care about him.” I sighed, as I scrubbed the floor even harder, “How much longer do we have to stay here for? Did the Doctor even say anything about that?” Martha sighed, she was getting fed up with me asking, “Until those aliens that are tracking us back off. The Doctor has a plan, we have to trust it and keep an eye on him.” “How can we do that if he doesn’t even acknowledge my- Our existence!” Martha raised an eyebrow, “Right… Well he didn’t exactly say how long he would be in hiding for…” I felt a lump in my throat, “What if we are stuck here forever? It’s been nearly 3 months, Martha!” 

Martha put her hand on the brush I’m holding, “Y/N! Calm down, it’s not going to help any, is it? Let me finish this, you go make yourself a cuppa.”

I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take. I pondered at the memories of the Doctor, whenever the Doctor did notice me it wasn’t very often.. we be so caught up in running away from aliens or the Doctor searching for clues, seeking information from a computer or robot or local on a abandoned spaceship. But sometimes we’d have intimate moments, sometimes he’d look at me with a slight sparkle to his eyes, in a different way from usual.

For example, there was a time before we went to the Lazarus Laboratories launch party, as I left my room, I noticed the Doctor stare at me a little longer than usual, since it was the first time he saw me in a formal dress.

I loved how his hand felt in mine. Whenever we were running away from danger, I was too busy feeling scared to savour the moment.

And now all I had of the Doctor was his empty TARDIS and his jacket that was left behind on his seat. Now and then I managed to get away from the school, I would sit in the TARDIS alone and cling onto his jacket and cry into it, as if it was the last remains of my Doctor.

“Are you sure you don't want to give Mr Smith his breakfast? I don’t mind, I’ve been doing it every morning so far.” Martha asked as she was about to head out.

I tied my apron over my uniform and looked in the mirror, acting as if I was fine. I had to remember this is what the Doctor had to do, he had no choice. He would want me to be strong, but my patience was wearing thin.

I sighed, “No you do it, Martha. I give up trying to get to know this Mr Smith.” Martha shrugged as she left, “If you insist. See you later.”

My forced smile dropped as the door closed. As I combed my hair, the thought of seeing the Doctor, aka John Smith in his pyjamas, did appeal. But the aching in my chest outweighed any other emotion, the feeling of being in the same room as someone I once loved.

Martha knocked on the door, then proceeded to walk in carrying Mr Smith’s breakfast. Her eyes widened as she noticed him wrapping his dressing gown over himself. “Sorry Sir! I can come back when you are properly dressed.” Martha said as she looked away trying her best not to stare. 

“No no it’s quite alright.” Mr Smith said in an upbeat sort of manner.

 “Very well sir.” Martha then continued to walk in, placing his breakfast down and beginning to brew the tea. “You know I had the funniest dream last night. I had this dream that I was some kind of adventurer, this daredevil, a madman! The Doctor I’m called and last night I dreamt that you were there.” He said in such an excited, curious voice. “Your friend, colleague was there too…Sorry what is her name?” 

“Y/N Sir, that’s her name.” 

A bright smile appeared on his face, lost in thought as he continued with the story of his dream.

“Well you were both there as my companions.” He continued. 

“The teacher and the housemaids, sir?” Martha shook her head as she smiled, “That’s impossible.” 

“I’m a man from another world.” John Smith counteracts. 

“Well then it can’t be true because there’s no such thing.” Martha finished as she continued to make Mr Smith’s tea.

“Well it was a fascinating dream, we traveled together and saw the most exotic of places.” Mr Smith continued, Martha handed him a newspaper, he read it as he sipped his tea. “Dreams are called dreams for a reason, sir.” Martha smiled.“I guess so.” His eyes looked sad for a moment.  He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, “Oh before you go, Miss Jones.”

Martha raised an eyebrow, “Yes?” “Is that friend of yours avoiding me? She hasn’t served me tea once!” “What? No, of course not, sir.” She lied.

Mr Smith nodded, “Sure..” He seemed unconvinced. 

Later on, Martha had told me what happened as we tidied up the other rooms, I cringed slightly. I didn’t even realize how it must have seemed, I’ve been working here for over a month. I assumed Mr Smith was too busy, keeping his students in order, marking papers, to even take any notice that one maid hadn’t interacted with him much.

The following day, I was dusting the top shelves of Professor Piers' room (He was an old man who very much enjoyed putting a woman in their place, but then he would be quick to comment on my uniform being nicely tight fitting.. creep). 

I heard a voice from the doorway, “It’s very unprofessional you know.” I wobbled slightly from the stool I was standing on, “Excuse me?!” At that moment I realised it was Mr Smith, I cleared my throat and approached him. “Sorry i didn’t mean to- You almost fell I-” He stammered, this Mr Smith was not as good with his words, compared to the Doctor.

“Yes, Mr Smith?” I asked a bit too abruptly.

“I mean, it’s unprofessional that.. It seems.. That you don’t like to be around me.” He attempted to explain, “Have I done something to upset you?”

“Sir, I must really carry on with my duties or I will be told off by Pervy- I mean Professor Piers.”

My cheeks turned red, he chuckled, “Is that your nickname for him? Pervy Piers?” I looked away, “He is inappropriate at times, yes. Now I must go-” He blocked the doorway, “You didn't answer my question.”

“Sir! Please, I don’t want to be yelled at-” He took the feather duster off me and entered the room, “I know, I will help you dust and we can chat.”

I stood unable to react, he smiled back at me, “Come on then, maid!”

I hesitated for a split second, then thought for a moment it was as if the Doctor was saying those words, not Mr. John Smith. 

John Smith stood on the stool, I was once on, reaching for the farthest corners I was unable to reach. I realised I was staring for too long, I abruptly took my eyes off of him and proceeded to pick up a few books that had been left lywaing about on the side.

 I broke the silence and said, “You haven't done anything wrong by the way, I didn’t mean to avoid you.. It’s just that you look like someone I used to know.” “Oh.” He squeaked, he stepped off the stool and handed back the feather duster, “Is that a bad thing?” “In some ways yes…” I said with my head hung low, as I held books close to my chest. 

“What do you mean? If you don’t mind me asking of course?” Mr Smith turned to face me, carrying a book in hand. 

“It’s just.. I had a friend, we used to travel together but now… he’s um.. He’s gone.” I said. I passed along the books and Mr Smith slotted them into the shelf, “I’m sorry about that.” Mr Smith continued, “But it’s best not to judge a book by its cover.” He said in a serious yet reassuring manner. 

“Well that’s about as clean as Pervy Piers’ room is going to get.” Mr Smith said with a smirk.

“Thank you for helping me, sir. You really didn’t have to.” “It’s fine, I had a free period anyway. Also call me John, when I’m out of hours.”

I could feel my cheeks beginning to heat up. As he got a tad bit closer to me. 

Suddenly the headmaster cleared his throat, “Mr Smith what are you doing in Mr Piers room.. Talking to a maid?”

“Sorry sir, I was just having a word and I-” “I don’t want to hear it, don’t let it happen again.” He warned, Mr Smith passed by me quickly and disappeared down the hallway. 

The Headmaster looked over to me, “You better know your place, madam.” I lowered my head, “Yes sir.” I said leaving immediately.

That evening, I told Martha what had happened with Mr Smith as we ate our evening meal. “That headmaster is rude to everyone.” Martha reassured me.I folded my arms, “I know but he made it sound like we were having an affair or something! What if he says something to someone, or I lose my job? Where am I meant to go if I lose my job!?”

Martha placed her hand on my sholder, “Y/N, it won't come to that, okay?” 

I could feel the tears beginning to well up in my eyes. Getting up quickly I brushed my apron down. “I-I just need to be alone with my thoughts.” When I made my way to the door, as I opened it, I found Mr Smith standing in the hallway . 

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” Martha looked toward me for my reaction, I was frozen. Martha sighed and quickly stepped in front of me. “Is there something you need, sir?” 

“No, well I just- yes actually. I wanted to apologise for earlier. I shouldn’t have just walked off like that. I do hope you didn’t get into any trouble because of me, Miss Y/N.” Mr Smith said in a worried tone. 

“What’s done is done, Mr Smith. There’s no point worrying.” I said before leaving the room.

Mr Smith gave Martha a look, before going after me.

“Miss L/N!”

I couldn’t believe this was happening, the human version of the Doctor, following me through an empty school at night. I wanted to go to the TARDIS, to my safe space and cry, but I couldn’t, not here. I hated crying in front of the Doctor, so the thought of crying in front of Mr Smith was the last thing I needed. “Leave me alone, please!”

Mr Smith stopped in his tracks, “I’m sorry I was just trying to-”

“I’m fine really. After all, it wouldn't be proper to be seen with a maid after hours.” I replied back harshly.

I continued to walk out in the courtyard to retreat into the TARDIS, as Mr Smith was left behind to ponder with his thoughts. 

I woke up the next day to find Chrysanthemums in a vase near my bedside table. Martha was up and dressed, doing her hair and gave me a smile, “Found them outside the door this morning, it came with an envelope with your name on it.”

“I hope it’s not from Pervy Piers.” I sighed. Martha teased, “Ooo! A admirer”

“Ew! Pretty sure Professor Piers is old enough to be my grandad.. Wait, maybe even my great grandad!” I laughed.

“At least he has good taste.” Martha commented.

It was like any other day in this dull boarding school, the only thing that would make my day would be a cup of tea or falling asleep, to have dreams that I’m back with the Doctor in the TARDIS. Then I wake up to the reality that was now my nightmare, a world without the Doctor. 

As I was cleaning the windows, a ball came hurling my way from a nearby field. I managed to duck in time, but it smashed the window I was cleaning. The shards of glass came raining on me, I laid motionless for a moment. 

I could hear angry voices in the distance, telling the lad off who kicked the ball. I felt a sharp pain on my face, then I noticed blood drip onto my uniform. 

“Are you okay, Miss L/N?” 

I rose to my feet, I smiled trying to leave, “Just a little cut.” Mr Smith grabbed my arm, “You’re bleeding. I will escort you to the First Aid room.” “I will dab it with a cloth, it will be fine.” “Y/N, does it hurt?”

I quietly nodded, he had a serious look on his face, he handed me a clean handkerchief, “Put some pressure on it.”

Mr Smith led me back inside, I placed the cloth on my bleeding face, “But you have students to watch.” “There’s more than one teacher on duty, it’s fine.” He insisted, he broke into a little smile, “I guess I will have to send you more flowers after this.”

“Wait.. those flowers were from you? I thought they were from Professor Piers.”

“PERVY PIERS!? No, I sent them, for getting you into trouble yesterday. I went out my way picking them out for you!” 

I blushed a little, “I’m just a maid, sir.” “You’re not just a-” We reached the first aid office, a nurse gasped at my face and rushed me into the room, I turned back to Mr Smith, “Thank you.” I tried to hand back his handkerchief, he shook his head.

“You can keep it.” He lingered for a while before going back outside.

Maybe this Mr Smith wasn’t so bad after all.

Although it was November, it was a sunny Saturday afternoon, which meant it was my day off! It was a relief to not wear that dull awful maid uniform. I sat on the bench in the park in the village, it was nice to not be seen as someone’s servant or maid. Just a woman who could be of any status. 

I wore a long red coat with a matching hat and a checked scarf. In moments like this, I felt elegant in this time period and became quite accustomed to it (if you ignore the racism, sexism and so forth..).

I read a book I borrowed from the TARDIS library, “Pride and Prejudice?” A voice questioned.I blushed to see Mr Smith, wearing a grey coat with a black hat, he smirked, “Interesting choice.”

“Oh er-” I wish I picked something that had been published after 1913 now, not thinking Mr Smith would even know about. But I guess I didn’t want to cause any disturbance by choosing a book from the future, well my present. 

He sat beside me, "You have bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes widened, “Oh it’s a quote!” “Oh yes, I have not reached that part yet, Mr Smith.” “John, on my days off, remember?” He reminded me, “I could lend you a book if you want?” I nodded, not knowing how to respond, he  was close now, if the Doctor ever say this close to me, I'd probably melt.. which was hard not to, he had the same face. 

There didn't seem to be anyone about, anyone passing by would think we're a couple or even a reserved married couple.

"Y/N I don't know what it is, but I feel very drawn to you."

I smiled, "Really? I'm just a maid."

"You're not just a maid." His voice was low and serious.

He kissed my cheek, he got up smoothly, his face was bright red, “Right, I shall leave you to your reading. Good day, miss L/N.”

He left hastily, I gave an awkward wave, trying to process what just happened.

I noticed in the distance, a girl holding a red balloon staring in my direction, she sniffed, a shiver went up my spine, I closed my book and walked away.

 quickly, as the scarecrows fumbled away as I escaped out of their grasp.

“How could such a sweet little girl look so… menacing at the same time?” 

Shaking my head of my thoughts I carried on walking away, still sensing her presence I began to speed up my walk a bit more. 

Then suddenly out of nowhere some idiot dressed as a scarecrow jumped out at me. I was startled for a moment, then began to feel a sudden anger wash over me.

“Oh very funny!! You think it’s funny to jump out at people and try to scare them? And as for you!” I quickly turned around to face that little girl…But she had gone? So fast? How is that possible? I turned back to the scarecrow, and more of them appeared! 

In a panic I lashed out at one of them, grabbing it by the arm only for it to fall to the ground. “Straw?!  B-But..” Realisation hit me as they got closer ready to grab hold of me. They were aliens! They had to be!   

I managed to duck out of the way

I ran all the way back to the school through the woods, I nearly collided into Martha in the hallway, as she was brushing up. “MARTHA! They’re here, the family of blood, we need the Doctor!!” I shrieked. 

“No! Where?”

“In the village, they are controlling the scarecrows!”

Martha quickly cleared her throat, as a teacher called Mrs Berry walked by.

“Ladies, lower your voices.” She hushed, then a young boy ran past her, “Timothy come on, no running!”I leaned closer to Martha, “We should talk about it in our room.” “Or at the pub?” She smiled. I sighed, “I’m not sitting in the cold again, Martha!”

Martha pointed to her uniform, “Well as you can see, I am still working, so go get that watch off Mr Smith and open it!” I frowned, “What? I can’t just go into his room.” “Why not? He seems to like you.” Martha smirked. I shook my head, “Martha stop it! Why can’t you do it?”

“I think he’d prefer to see you over me… So make something up.” I blushed recalling the kiss on the cheek,I wouldn't repeat that outloud. I thought of another excuse, "He is supposed to be lending me a book…” “There you go!” Martha urged as she gave me a little shove, “I will keep a lookout for anything unusual, now go!”

My heart was fluttering, the thought of having the Doctor back.. MY Doctor! But first I had to face the reality that Martha was maybe right, that this Mr Smith may somehow like me? 

I took a deep breath as I stood outside his door, how do I snatch a watch without him noticing? Well the Doctor did say he had a blocker on, so the human version of himself would take no notice of it.

I entered the room, not expecting Mr Smith to be back yet from his walk, but there he was with a woman draped over him. I froze, it was Miss Berry.

“Aren’t you the maid?” Miss Berry asked in an arrogant tone, “Don’t you know how to knock?”

I forced a smile fighting back the tears, “I.. I am sorry for intruding.”

Mr Smith’s eyes were wide, “Y/N it’s not what it seems.” I ignored his words and closed the door behind me. I felt my chest ache, I was wrong. So wrong. To think the Doctor or even this John Smith was capable of ever returning my feelings. 

“Y/N! People are in danger! You walking in on Mr Smith with some woman doesn’t matter! We need that watch asap!”

Martha started storming towards Mr Smith’s room, I followed her frantically, “Wait! Martha you can’t just-” “Y/N! Snap out of it! People have died, my friend Jenny… She’s not who she was.” Martha yelled. “Jenny?” I recalled, Martha used to go to the pub with her and she was a fellow maid. My heart sank, how could I become so oblivious?

Martha barged into Mr Smith’s room, he looked startled, “Miss Jones what did I say about knocking?!” She pointed to the watch, “We need that watch, and you’re not John Smith, you’re the Doctor!”

I lowered my head, as he approached, “What is she going on about Miss L/N!?”

I sighed, “The dreams you’ve been having.. They are all true.” He shook his head,“Is this a prank? Is this because of what happened earlier, a weird way of getting back to me, to convey your jealousy?” He blushed as he locked as with me, “Nothing even happened, I don’t like her in that way!!” I frowned, “No! Of course not! Ioff Mr Smith and open it!” I frowned, “What? I can’t just go into his room.” “Why not? He seems to like you.” Martha smirked. I shook my head, “Martha stop it! Why can’t you do it?”“I think he’d prefer to see you over me… So make something up.” I blushed recalling the kiss on the cheek,I wouldn't repeat that outloud. I thought of another excuse, "He is supposed to be lending me a book…” “There you go!” Martha urged as she gave me a little shove, “I will keep a lookout for anything unusual, now go!”

 don’t care about that, it doesn't matter anymore!” 

“Whatever do you mean!?” 

I stepped forward closer to him, “Mr.Smith people have died, a great deal more will, if you don’t open that watch!!” 

He laughed in disbelief, “How many of those stories have you been reading Y/N? This is completely barbaric!” 

John Smith stood hands on his hips, the most confused and angry I have ever seen. 

I groaned as John wasn’t taking in what me or Martha have even said. 

I began frantically looking around for the watch. “Martha have you found it!?” 

On the other side of the room Martha goes through a bunch of letters and documents. “NO!! ARGH!!” She lashes out, kicking the papers into the air. “MARTHA!! What on earth are you both doing? No wait- Those are the students' reports! Isn’t the point of maids, that they tidy up, not wreck havoc!” Mr Smith shrieked.

Looking back at John with sorry eyes I tried to get him to see reason. “Please Doctor, you have to understand this is important!” 

“Wait..Did you say people have died!? Who!?”

I looked back at him, getting closer in a comforting manner. 

Martha whipped her head over our way and frantically yelled. “It’s not here!!! We’ve looked everywhere, I’m going to look elsewhere!! Come on you two!!”

“I’m going to stay here for a moment, to calm him down.”

Martha shrugs and leaves the room to carry on her search.

I turn back to John, as I looked in his confused brown eyes,  I’m sorry but this life you have here.. It’s not real! This isn’t you.. This is 1913!” 

He placed his hand on my forehead, “Is there an illness going about amongst the maids? The things you and Miss Jones are going out with! It’s madness!” I snatched his hand away, “No I’m perfectly well!” I freeze as I look out the window, “Remember that blue box you dreamt of?” He nodded, “How did you know about that?!”

“Martha may have mentioned it.. But look, it's out there, it’s real.”

John walked towards the window and saw the TARDIS outside, the Family of Blood surrounding it.

“It can’t be.” He uttered, his skin turned pale, he couldn’t bear to even look at the TARDIS, he turned away, “I have never seen it in my life!” I gripped his arm, “Please, Mr Smith. John. We need the Doctor or things are only going to get worse.” “So this Doctor.. He's an alien.” I nodded, he sighed, “And those people who have been killed.. They were killed by aliens as well?” I nodded, “They are looking for you.” “Oh.” He pulled out a watch from his pocket, “So this.. This will bring back the Doctor.. And I will cease to exist?” I noticed his eyes becoming watery, “So none of this was real, not even..” “Yes of course it was real!” “And does this Doctor have feelings for you, does he care for you like I do?”

My cheeks turned red, “I’m not sure..”

“What kind of man is he then?” He gripped my hand, "I could love you better than him, please.."

He clutched onto me, about to embrace me, I pushed him away .

"NO! Stop it! It doesn't matter!! We need the Doctor!!"

He looked sad, "You really do love him."

My heart throbbed, I hate to see him in so much pain. But I had to put those feelings aside.

Suddenly there's a crash through the window, a laser pings off the walls. 

"Come out Doctor!!" A voice bellowed below, it was one of the students, at least what it used to be.

I looked back to Mr Smith, "I will distract them, now go with Martha!! Please!" 

Martha stood in the doorway, Mr Smith turned back to me, “So this is it, then it’s decided? I have to be executed so this Doctor can replace me?” “I’m sorry.” I told him and kissed his lips quickly before running out, “Please open the watch."

Why did I kiss him on the lips, was it a spare in a moment, just in case it all went wrong and it could be my last chance to kiss the Doctor?  His lips felt lovely.. so soft. No that wasn't cool, I should have asked for his permission. I kissed the doctor without his consent, he probably wouldn't have minded. I didn't know for sure.

Anyway I was willing to put myself in danger, in hope John Smith may come to his senses and do the right thing. What if he ran off in fear and Martha didn't find him in time?

So many thoughts swirled round my head, but I didn't have time to be scared, I had to trust that the Doctor will show up in time. And if he didn't… well you can't say I didn't try.

Martha had a lot going on in her head too, as she tried to persuade Mr Smith to open the watch. She thought back to what the Doctor told her in his step guide video for being human, "And finally, 23.. Please look after Y/N, she won't find this easy and she means a lot to me. Of course you both mean a lot to me, but she.. well.."

Martha hadn't always paused it at that part, she knew what he wasn't going to say without hearing it. She never wanted to admit it, but the Doctor never looked at her the same way, it was painful. 

But these last few weeks, she accepted that her crush was nothing compared to the feelings the Doctor and myself had for each other.

"Where has Y/N gone?" Mr Smith asked Martha, as she waited outside his door.

"She has gone to the family of Blood." 

She looked down to Mr Smith pulling the watch out of the pocket, "If the aliens want this, they can have it!!"

"No!! They can't!!" Martha yelled back, as she tried to snatch the watch from him, Mr Smith fought back and accidentally opened the watch a little, "Martha! Why did you let her do that!?!" The Doctor's furious voice came out of Mr Smith.

He closed the watch again, Mr Smith looked spooked, "That was.. that was the Doctor wasn't it?"

She nodded, "Yes. Please, John. I know it is difficult to understand, but without the Doctor.. more people will die, including Y/N."

Mr Smith collapsed onto the floor, tears poured down his face, "So my life is for nothing, meaningless.. And that Doctor gets to have Y/N, not me."

Martha touched his shoulder and sat beside him, "I'm sorry."

He took a deep breath, "If it means.. Y/N is safe, then I guess I have no choice."

On a green glowing spaceship, I awoke to find myself sat on the floor, hands tied behind my back. There they were… the very people who the Doctor was hiding from, the Family of Blood.

“You have his scent on you, what are you hiding?” An old man asked.

My chest tightened, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, maid! We know you travelled with the Doctor!” The dark haired one bellowed.

I shivered, a once normal student, now taken over by this alien form. That is why the Doctor was in hiding, so that same thing didn’t happen to him. 

“She talks about the Doctor to Martha. I’ve heard.” Jenny said, or at least what used to be Jenny. 

I whipped my head round to see John Smith standing there, “Oh gosh this is a real life spaceship!?” He stumbled a little causing himself to tumble and fall onto a row of buttons, pressing them all down. 

My heart sank, “John what are you doing here!?”

The Family of Blood’s all grin, the farmer beamed, “That means the watch hasn’t been opened!” 

“He’s still human though, we need a time lord!” The shell of Jenny said. 

The young boy was growing impatient and yelled “COME ON OUT DOCTORRR!” 

John Smith looked to the young lad with a glint of fear in his eyes. Frantically searching his pocket for that pocket watch. “Here!!! Take it! I don’t want it and I don’t want him!! You can have it!” 

John took the watch out and the family of blood all gathered quickly the young lad snatched the watch from John. I bolted up, unable to believe my eyes, “NO!!” “Shut it, girl!” The moustached leader shoved me down to the ground.

I glanced up at John, “How could you!? We need the Doctor, I need the Doctor! What have you done!?”

John remained quiet as he glanced over to me, there was a different more determined look in his eyes, one I hadn’t seen for a long time.

Whilst the family of blood all pondered at the pocket watch and made a fuss over it, the Doctor quickly rushed over to me untying the knots of rope binding me to the ship. 

I look into his eyes with confusion as he untied me, the Doctor gave me a wink with a slight smirk which made my heart flutter and skip a beat. He’s back, my Doctor is back! I thought to myself. 

The family all intake a quick breath. “The watch is empty!!” The little girl cried out, they all  looked toward me and the Doctor. The Doctor tried to keep up the act, and  looked confused, “W-What do you mean?” 

“You tell me!!” The young lad threw the watch over to what he thought was still John Smith.

The Doctor caught it with ease, “Oohhhh I think the explanation is you’ve just been fooled by a simple old factory misdirection, a little bit like ventriloquism of the nose, but it has got to be said I don’t like the look of your hydrocolometer.” 

The Doctor stood with usual confident style, he whipped his glasses on, “Oh yes not looking good at all… Also you really shouldn’t have let me hit all those buttons.”

A red light illuminated the ship, “I think you should really run!”

Next thing I knew the family were in a panic, the Doctor swiftly gripped my hand as we dashed out before the ship exploded into flames. The family of blood were knocked to the ground nearby us.

The Doctor held me in his arms as we fell due to the impact, my eyes met his, “You’re really back.”

He grinned, “Oh yes!”

As the Doctor sorted out the suitable punishments for the family of blood, I began to readjust to my life back in the TARDIS. It was surreal to be back, a part of me began to ponder, did the Doctor know about anything that John had said to me? We’re they the Doctor’s true feelings coming through or just solely Johns’? Was he really a separate person altogether from the Doctor? The answer of course was yes, in the sense of his personality… but in the end, John was brave, terrified but brave.

 I grew to like him very much. Then my eyes widened, the KISS would the Doctor even remember that? 

I was lost in thought that I hadn’t even heard the Doctor and Martha come into the TARDIS, as I sat at the end of my bed.

“You in here, Y/N?” The Doctor called.

I poked my head out of my room and walked towards the console room, Martha smiled, “See I told you she was here!”

The Doctor gave me a gentle smile, she looked at the both of us, “Right I am going to have my first hot shower in months!” 

Martha gave me a little wink, wait was she rooting for me? No she liked him too, why would she?

My brain had been a mess, I just needed normality and that involved not telling the Doctor I kissed him.. but then a part of me feels he didn’t consent to it, so I should tell him right? 

“Doctor I-“

The Doctor stared up from the console screen, “It’s okay, Martha filled me in… on what happened with John.”

I blushed, “She.. She did? W-What exactly did she say? I mean, well…” I scrambled to find the right words to say. The Doctor meanwhile had a completely blank expression on his face, which made me feel even more anxious at the thought of him being cross with me. 

“Well.. She told me that you and I.. technically John Smith that is, shared a kiss.” The Doctor answered robotically. 

My heart raced, “I’m so sorry! It just happened and I know you couldn’t have consented-”

The Doctor started to smirk which turned into a smile. “It’s okay, I mean…well..” A blush forms on his face, “I’m quite jealous actually.”

I raised my eyebrow unable to connect the dots, “Jealous.. Of John Smith?”

“Clearly you preferred him over me.”

My face brightened, what the hell had Martha said to him!? My palms grew sweaty, as I stepped back, “No NO! That’s not true at all! Whatever Martha said isn’t true and the kiss didn’t mean anything. I mean it did, but it was a spur in the moment because I was worried I was not going to survive or not.” “Y/N.” The Doctor interrupted, “I get it, it’s fine.” He looked at the console screen, a sad look in his eyes for a moment. Did I respond in the wrong way? What did he expect me to say? “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, it’s just I knew John liked me and-” “I’ve heard enough.” The Doctor snapped. I froze, wait did the Doctor believe I don’t want to kiss him and preferred John? I walked off back to my room in a huff.

Martha had her arms folded as she emerged back in the console room, she raised her eyebrow, “Realy? You’re jealous.. of yourself?!”

“Well technically it wasn’t-“

“Your body, your lips! The whole time I spent with Y/N she missed you, she wanted you to come back! She didn’t want John Smith, John Smith was like a loved up puppy for Y/N!”

He blushed, “No I’m not-“

He froze realising he slipped up on his words, Martha nudged him, “I said John Smith…”

“Now go kiss and make up! Literally or not, that came out wrong.”

The Doctor hugged Martha, “Thank you for keeping Y/N safe and looking out for me while I was gone.”

Martha shrugged and smiled sadly as the Doctor walked away to find me. “No problem..”  

The Doctor walked to my room and gave the door a gentle knock. Changing back into my own clothes, I was trying to process all what had happened and been said. “Just a minute” I said whilst putting on my socks. Opening  the door I look up to see the Doctor with a serious yet saddened look upon his face. 

“Y/N I’m sorry for how I may have reacted back there. May I come in?” He gestured to the little sofa I have in my room. (everything seems little in this Tardis!) 

I let out a subtle sigh “Okay, you can come in.” 

He stepped inside my room, the Doctor seemed timid, awkward. Well he isn’t really the best at social situations.

 “I really am sorry, I just thought that you liked the John Smith version of me, over the real me.” The Doctor looked to me for an answer. I slowly walked closer to him. 

“Why would I like him more?? He’s not you.. No offence to your chameleon machine thingy..” I pointed out my bedroom to the console room in the distance where the chameleon mechanism hung above. “But John Smith was a little boring, especially in comparison to you, Doctor.”

 A large grin slowly formed on his face. “Well…” He said as he ran his fingers through his lovely brown hair. Then came to a sudden stop when he paused to study my blushed expression. “But seriously Doctor.. Do you know how hard it was to see the man you love walk around acting like you don’t exist?” His eyes widened, realisation spread across my face. 

“I-I mean-“

The Doctor was now closer than ever, his brown eyes gazed into mine, “I missed you.”

His lips melted into mine, this is what I always wanted, no needed. Although they felt the same as John Smiths, my heart fluttered even more knowing this time, they truly belonged to the Doctor! It grew deeper and felt like time had frozen, the passion the Doctor held back for so long became unravelled before me. He wrapped his hands around my waist, nothing felt so right in my life.

Then a voice clearing brought us back to reality, it was Martha, how long had she been standing there?

“See you two have both… erm.. sorted things out.”

The Doctor cleared his throat, “Martha maybe knock next time.”

His cheeks were red and hair slightly ruffled, oops I must have done that.

Martha huffed, “Just drop me off home and I will give you both some alone time!”

Me and the Doctor locked eyes, then we bursted into laughter. 

He held my hand as we walked out into the console room together. It was good to have my Doctor back. 

Thank you for reading!!!!

[newtonsheffield]

Is Princess Kate a bit spoilt? She kinda has to be, right? Do she and Anthony clash over that, even after they are properly together?

I think she is, yeah. She’s grown up with the best of everything and it’s not really a secret that she has her Appa (you know, the king of the entire country) wrapped firmly around her pinky. She’s pretty well used to getting whatever she wants whenever she wants it. And I think sometimes that frustrates Anthony.

Because there are rarely any consequences to the things she does, not really. Not the way there are for normal people. Anthony’s family is fairly well off, they weren’t poor growing up but he definitely couldn’t afford to walk into a store and buy whatever he wanted. Unless that store was a Primark.

So it’s a little uncomfortable for him when they’re first officially together and he says he needs to get a new suit for an event they’re attending. He wants to look his best, because the public’s still very much getting used to the idea of them together and this is their first big event. A dinner for a charity Kate’s the chair of. He already feels self conscious about the fact that the nerves in his Left arm will never properly heal to give him any great motor function and now here he is, being greeted at the door of Tom Ford like he’s an old friend.

“Your Royal Highness.” The sales associate greets Kate with an awkward bow before turning to him, “Mr Bridgerton.”

It’s still odd to him, that he can stand beside Kate now, rather than three steps behind. That he can feel her fingers knotted with his as she takes off her sunglasses, her eyes flicking down to read the associate’s name tag with a smile.

“Carrie, it’s lovely to meet you. I wonder if you can help Anthony and me. We’re looking for a suit.”

“Of-of course.” Carrie said quickly ushering in my them over to the section, asking an under questions none of which Anthony is really listening too because he’s so busy wondering if he can afford this. And even if he could it dawns on him that it won’t be just this suit. It’ll never be just this suit. There’ll be hundreds more just like it that he’s expected to wear. When already felt uncomfortably out of place here with the sleeves rolled up on his rugby jersey and his slightly muddy sneakers squeaking against the floor.

“Anthony?” Kate caught his attention, her face frowning and he realised he had no idea what she was asking. “Are you alright, babe?”

Anthony nodded, swallowing. “Sorry, I- what was that?”

“I said I like the Royal blue, or the grey and white tweed sort of pattern. Though tweed’s not very traditional for this sort of thing.”

He wouldn’t have even known that. He glanced around, “Ah, I like the blue.”

They were ushered away into the kind of changing room that Anthony had spent the last few years waiting outside for Kate. One that’s not just a curtain and a partition. There’s champagne and a bonafide snack table, while a person flits around you, checking the fit of everything.

It’s a nice suit. Anthony even likes the way he feels in it, he likes the fact that the man in this suit looks like he belongs beside the woman sipping champagne on the sofa beside him, in the way the man wearing a Harlequins jersey his baby sister had bought him didn’t. But he still feels awkward and out of place as Carrie hums,

“Do you prefer a waistcoat?”

Anthony blinked at her, “I… didn’t when I was… when I usually wore a suit.” He stopped short of saying it wasn’t his uniform. Something everyone in the room must have known. And swallowed thickly, “I don’t know if I need one.”

He hated that he had to look to Kate who shook her head, “It’s not very formal. No waistcoat, no tie if you don’t want.”

He suddenly just wanted everyone else gone. He wanted to be alone to figure out how the hell he was supposed to get out of buying a £5500 suit. He swallowed, “I think the blue shirt’s too much. Could I try another few colours, please?”

Carrie nodded and left the room and Anthony stared at his reflection panic building in his chest.

Kate wrapped her arm around his waist and kissed his cheek, sighing, “Handsome.”

That wasn’t helping. That made him want to buy this and spend the next few months of his life living on tinned beans and cereal. Just to make her happy.

Anthony tried to smile, but it looked like a grimace when he caught sight of it in the mirror. “Thanks.”

Kate’s brow furrowed, “You don’t like it?”

“I… it’s a nice suit.”

“Do you want to try something else? Do you want to go somewhere else? We could try Dolce?”

Anthony nearly laughed, “Kate, honey, I can’t…” he bit it off, “I don’t want to trouble anyone.”

Kate chuckled, “It’s not any trouble.”

He sighed, leaning away from her touch, “Kate, I don’t want to go there because I can’t afford it. I can’t even really afford this suit.”

He’d thought her face would form the sort of uncomfortable expression people’s normally did when they discussed money but it didn’t. She raised her eyebrows in amusement and let out a chuckle, and somehow that was worse.

“You don’t have to pay for it. I am, well, Appa is.”

Anthony’s heart sank, and he didn’t want it to but something in him snapped. “No! He’s not!”

Kate frowned at him, “I… it’s really fine. He won’t… care. He won’t even notice.”

He knew Kate lived in a different world. Well, maybe that wasn’t fair, she was much less out of touch than some people much less wealthy when it came to so many things. But this seemed like something she hadn’t grasped yet. And maybe she never would. Money. When you had so much of it it seemed inconsequential. She hadn’t quite understood why Anthony had laughed when she said she’d bought herself a little treat and a goddamned Ferrari had been delivered the next day. She was used to getting what she wanted. To someone giving her what she wanted, and he would never be able to do that. And he hated it.

“Kate for God’s sake! Do you think this is what your father wants for you?! Do you think he wants you to be with someone like me who can’t even fucking tie their shoes properly anymore?!”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Do you think he wants to clothe me as well?!” He hated how bitter it sounded, how sad. “You’re just so…”

“Spoilt.” She finished for him, her chin tilted in defiance, “That’s what you wanted to say right?”

Anthony clenched his jaw, “I… didn’t.”

She still hadn’t let go of his waist, and she pulled him closer. “I know this is uncomfortable for you. I know you… struggle with this but I love you. And I promise, Appa only wants me to be happy. I know I’m used to getting what I want, and I’m difficult but just… this doesn’t need to be difficult. If you don’t let me buy this for you it’ll show up at your house tomorrow anyway.”

Anthony sighed, leaning against her touch, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just… I don’t know how to be this person. I like my stupid old sneakers and my rugby jersey and my jeans that cost £20. I don’t even know how to own a £6000 suit. It’ll get wrecked in my closet.”

Kate chuckled, “It comes with a suit bag, babe. And besides,you’re doing fine with that coat I gave you a few weeks ago.”

Anthony squawked, “You said it was on sale.”

Kate blinked at him innocently, “It was on sale.”

“I… what am I supposed to do with you?”

“I can think of quite a few things.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, “First you need to decide if this is the suit for you though.”

Anthony sighed looking at himself in the mirror, “I like it. The sleeves are a bit long though.”

She kissed his cheek again before she moved away and ducked her head out the door, “Carrie, we’d like to make a few adjustments to the tailoring if that’s alright.”

[princessanneftw]

Zara Tindall’s best friend to be appointed as lady in waiting to the Princess Royal

NHS midwife Dolly Maude, who delivered Tindall child on bathroom floor, previously wore joky ‘lady in waiting’ badge on day at the races

By Camilla Tominey for the Daily Telegraph

She once turned up to the races with her best friend Zara Tindall wearing a playful badge bearing the words ‘Lady in Waiting’.

A spokesman for the royal was later forced to clarify: “It was a joke. Zara doesn’t have any sort of lady in waiting.”

But now Dolly Maude, an NHS nurse who helped to deliver Mrs Tindall’s third child, Lucas, on the bathroom floor at her Gatcombe Park home in 2021, has been well and truly welcomed into the royal fold.

Despite the high jinks at Cheltenham last January, the 51-year-old mother of four has been appointed as a lady in waiting to Mrs Tindall’s mother, the Princess Royal.

The Telegraph understands that Buckingham Palace will announce the appointment in the Court Circular on Feb 1, when Mrs Maude will be revealed as one of four newly appointed ladies in waiting to the King’s sister, to replace others who have retired.

A lady in waiting is an attendant to a female member of the Royal family who acts as a companion on royal engagements as well as helping with their day-to-day duties.

Mrs Maude was maid of honour when the Princess Royal’s daughter married Mike Tindall, in 2011, and helped to deliver Lucas when his birth did not quite go to plan.

Mr Tindall described the birth on his The Good, The Bad & The Rugby podcast, saying: “Fortunately Zara’s friend Dolly is, she’s actually more important than I am at making sure she’s been at all three of my children’s births. She was there and recognised that we wouldn’t have got to the hospital in time, so it was run into the gym, get a mat, get into the bathroom, towels down, brace brace brace!”

One of Mrs Maude’s friends said: “She’s such a great girl. For the Princess Royal, it’s a perfect fit because of their shared love of dogs and horses.

“She’s not only extremely close to Zara, she also gets on brilliantly with the Princess. She’s fiercely loyal and discreet. It’s a great match.”

Mrs Maude and her husband Chris have four children. Billy, 26, attended Swansea University; Nell, 24, studied at the Central School of Ballet; Ted, 17, is, like his mother, a keen skier. He was a page boy at the Tindall wedding and Mrs Tindall is his godmother. Their youngest daughter, Mary, 15, is studying for her GCSEs.

Mrs Maude is occasionally spotted looking after Mrs Tindall’s children Mia, who turns 10 this month, five-year-old Lena and Lucas, at equestrian events.

Three years ago it was revealed that the Princess Royal, who carries out the second highest number of royal engagements a year after the monarch, had 11 ladies in waiting, two of whom had worked for Her Royal Highness for more than 50 years, three for more than 40 years, and five for more than 30 years.

Traditionally, ladies in waiting would be the wives or daughters of peers but they can also be a cousin or close friend.

When Queen Elizabeth II died, it was announced that Queen Camilla would not have ladies in waiting but instead be attended by Queen’s “companions”, and that their role would be much more informal.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Hey there! Just wanted to let you know that I love your writing. I love the universe you've created for ava and beatrice. I could have said Avatrice but the thing is you write them so beautifully as individuals, all their triumphs and losses, that it doesn't feel right not to acknowledge them as they are on their own as much as they are as a couple. Anyway! I pretty much have bookmarked all your work and I keep suggesting your fics on Twitter, I'm pretty much your unofficial publicist at this point, proudly so 😆

I just finished the multitude of loving and once again you made me laugh and smile and cry and you made my heart warm and for a while, my depression didn't feel as debilitating. So thank you. I don't know what you're gonna write next whenever inspiration strikes, but if you ever do another outside pov, would you mind writing one from Diego's? I guess I'm biased because aside from your fics, I've been obsessed with do a flip by sunsafe and it warms my heart to see Diego in fics because well, I think it's safe to say that he was the one who loved ava first, he was there by her bedside and all and so it would be lovely, to know how he feels and thinks about ava and beatrice, after all the years of living his own life, after all the years wishing to see his sister, his best friend, his... Ava, because there's no traditional title that really fits them, after all the years wishing that ava is okay and... Alive, more than just surviving because even when he was a child he knew, ava was meant for such a bright and grand life, just because she was all that herself.

Anyway, just an idea, of course. My rambling is not in any way meant to pressure you into writing it 😆😅 I hope you're having a good day wherever you are. Cheers!

[first of all i love do a flip!!!! 100/10 recommend if anyone hasn't read it!!

anyway, here's a little diego pov in the butch bea universe. he's like 18 or 19? idk. yknow just roll w it :) ]

//

university is busy as hell, and it's cool that they pay for your doctor's appointments and, when you actually started getting the care you needed, you were able to do basically everything in the normal, big wide world with regular meds and check-ins — but mostly you just want to play rugby and flirt with girls (not well, but you're 18 and always kind, so who cares your success rate) and pass all of your classes. when you got adopted it had seemed like a miracle, and so you don't take any of this time for granted — not the bright sun or the grass stains on your knees or how rachel plays with your hair when you hang out in her dorm.

you don't think much of it when you get a random email from beatrice gu-knight, partially because emails are a pain in the ass and partially because nico brought over a six pack of stellas and his nintendo switch — you're the mario kart champion, undisputed — but, in the morning, when you open your phone, you think your heart might stop in your chest.

Hello Diego,

I hope you're well. I know it might seem strange to get an email like this from someone you don't know and have never even heard of, and, if you don't wish to follow up or connect, please just let me know, and that will be the end of it.

But, in the hopeful chance that you do: my name is Beatrice (she/her), and I'm reaching out to you because Ava Silva is my life partner. We've been together for a few years now and she talks of you often, and fondly; I know from her stories you were an extraordinarily joyful and sustaining part of her life at St. Michael's, and, if nothing else, I hope you understand my deep gratitude for that. I work in tech, so I was able to find this email address for you in the hopes that you might want to reconnect with Ava. We live in Los Angeles, and she's, as I'm sure you remember, wonderful. Maybe even more wonderful now, as I hope you are too.

Again, if you are at all uncomfortable, please feel no pressure to engage in any way; I won't let Ava know, so don't worry about that. If you would like to reconnect, though, you can respond to this email, or call or text me at my cell listed below. Thank you.

Warmest regards,

Beatrice

it takes you a few seconds to get it together, because, what the fuck, first of all. second of all, ava — one of your favorite people ever, and someone you miss every day. who apparently has a very proper and seemingly kind partner named beatrice, and lives in california. ava is alive, and probably really happy. the last time you saw her she was scared and upset and you had thought she died before that. you had thought you would never see her again.

Hey, this is Diego, you text the number on Beatrice's email. you think about the time difference, and, sorry if it's the middle of the night for you

it takes a minute or two, but then your phone vibrates. Diego, wonderful to hear from you! I'm glad my email wasn't too intense.

and, like, maybe it was a little, but your calc III professor is a fucking nutcase, so you kind of have a high bar.

Ava works late sometimes, so don't worry about the time difference right now

it's sweet, you think, that beatrice doesn't work late, or, whatever, maybe she does, but she's up because ava is awake. because ava will be coming home, or finishing up in an office. you wonder about their life, what their home looks like and if ava's laugh is still just as awesome. and, like, what is ava's job? is she still paralyzed, or can she walk like she had the last time you saw her? you're glad for her, honestly, that her partner is a girl, because ava thought boys were hot but also seemed to like girls more — so, like, how did they fall in love? it's funny to imagine ava as a grownup, with a partner and a home and a whole life, but it's also the best.

do you want to facetime tomorrow or something, you text, because you don't really know what else to say, but you want to find out: about your sister, and the life she's apparently built. you think — if ava is anything like how she had been when you were younger — you definitely want to be in it.

I would love that, beatrice responds immediately. you work out the details and, eventually, you go to class and try to have a normal day. but ava is out there, happy, in california, with a partner who clearly cares about her. it feels like a gift, even to know. it feels like a gift, to get to be in her warmth again.

/

beatrice, when you answer the facetime call at exactly the second the clock hits 7 pm your time, is beautiful. it doesn't surprise you, not really, because you remember ava being pretty, and, even more than that, fucking awesome. beatrice is younger than what you think someone with that formal a name would be, with short dark hair that flops into her eyes, which are kind of gold in the light through the window of whatever room she's in. 'hello, diego,' she says, and, yeah, ava probably loves that accent.

it makes you laugh, but, like, in a nice way, to know that ava has a whole partner. a whole entire person who shares a life with her, who helps her with stuff and — beatrice is a saint for this — laughs at her puns.

'hey,' you say, feel awkward and a little sloppy in the face of the chic big oil painting behind her, the hoodie you know is expensive because your friend artur had had it marked on his stockx for, like, months now. 'uh, i'm diego. nice to meet you.'

beatrice smiles, and you see her freckles, and you realize, in a flash, a truth you know implicitly — that ava loves this person. ava picked this person to spend her life with. the world is cruel, you know better than most, but the world is also so, so kind.

'i'm so happy you responded to my email,' she says, less formal and with a slight laugh, mostly with joy. 'ava is the best, and i know that — she misses you. she loves you, a lot. i've always wanted to meet you.' you kind of don't know what to say, and you're relieved when she shakes her head. 'sorry, i'm being a lot again. believe it or not, this is my first rodeo with something like this.'

first rodeo sounds foreign from her, and it inexplicably makes you laugh. 'you're doing fine.' you realize that beatrice is just as nervous as you are, maybe even more: she loves ava. she has a whole life with ava. 'i — does ava want to talk to me?'

'i haven't told her yet. i wanted to see how you felt first, without any pressure, and i didn't want her to feel disappointed. but i know she will be... overjoyed, to have you in her life again, if you want.'

'yeah.' you think of ava's jokes and how full of life she was, even when she didn't have access to much of it herself. you think about the clumsy drawings you had made her, and how happy she was every time she got to go outside in her wheelchair. 'i do, want that. a lot.'

beatrice's smile is relieved and grateful. 'i can talk to her, then, and then maybe you two can set up a video chat? i know she'll be beside herself with excitement.'

'yeah,' you say, and you can't help but smile looking forward to it. it doesn't sound like ava's changed much, in the good ways, which is super cool. 'i'm excited too.'

/

your palms are clammy and you feel like you might throw up, but beatrice had sent you a link to a zoom and asked if the evening worked for you; you're so thrilled but also, like, what if ava doesn't like you anymore? what if she's way way cooler than you, or too grown up, or just bored by your life? it had been one thing, to lose her when you were young and confused, to have to grieve her absence so obliquely — but it would be an entirely different thing now, to know she's alive and has a life of her own and just doesn't want you in it. you don't really know how you would handle that. ava was your friend and ava was your sister, in the ways that really matter.

but, you realize very quickly, all of your anxiety was for nothing, because ava's face pops on screen — older, and her hair is shorter, and there are slight laugh lines settling into the skin around her eyes, but she mostly looks the same — and her smile is so warm and then she starts to cry and laugh and, yeah. if you do too, it's fine. no one else is in your dorm room anyway.

'hey,' she says, the first to get any words out. she's sitting up, and she waves, and you feel like you're seeing a real life miracle, right there on your computer screen. 'you look so old. i really missed you.'

'you look so old too.' she grins. 'i really missed you.'

it's a little stilted at first, probably because you're both overwhelmed, but then it's just... the fucking best. ava is a bartender, 'mostly for fun,' she says, which, whatever that means, and she still loves the beach. they apparently have a house right by the water. she starts crying again when you tell her you got adopted, that you're not so sick anymore because you have good doctors and caring parents, that you're in school to become an accountant.

'the family business?' she says, choked up, after you tell her that your adoptive mom is one too, and that she wanted you to be able to take over one day if you were interested.

it's as unbelievable to you some days as it seems to her, on bright mornings or when you get to go skiing in the cold snow, when your friends pass around a joint or when you get to go to a museum, whenever you want. 'yeah,' you say —  a family; you learn ava has one too. 'it's pretty incredible.'

/

'holy shit, ava.'

she just laughs, letting you go in front of her into her house. well, her and beatrice's house, you guess. you'd facetimed and texted a bunch with ava in the past two months, so you had figured out they were kinda loaded, and they'd both picked you up from the airport in a very sleek, fancy volvo, but, like —

'this is nuts.'

you think you might immediately cry again when you notice, right away, how there's not a single part of the house you can see that isn't accessible for someone in a wheelchair. ava had told you that she can walk but some days has a lot of pain and a hard time with mobility, and that beatrice was awesome and she had a good chair and even a van and a service dog, but you never could've imagined this. their house is huge and beautiful, like something you'd see in an AD tour you like to watch when you're stoned. ava has a cane today, and beatrice trundles in with your bag — she had insisted, quietly, but with a look that told you it would be totally pointless to argue.

'your house is awesome,' you say, to both of them.

beatrice smiles gently. 'we redid it last year, for accessibility. i think it turned out great.'

'wanna see the best part?' ava says, using her cane to bounce a little on the balls of her feet and you have to clear your throat because you had known her for so long. you had loved her for so long, your best friend in the entire world, who was smart and funny and bursting at the seams to feel it all, to really get to live.

'dude,' you say, 'of course.'

'i'm going to put your bag in your room,' beatrice says. 'and then i have a work call. but i should be done after the hour, for whatever you'd like to do, if you want me to join.'

'of course we want you to join,' ava says, and beatrice blushes and then gathers herself and kisses the top of ava's head before she offers you a thumbs up — nerdy, and it makes ava snort — and then lifts your bag like it weighs two pounds or something. 'love of my life,' ava says. 'definitely doesn't have a work call, but she's been stressed all week about making sure she gives us time to ourselves but doesn't seem aloof. huge weirdo.'

'she's hot.'

'ew, diego.'

you shrug. 'all i'm saying is that, like, i get it. not for me, because she's, like, super gay, but you know. for you.' you take a breath. 'sorry, i'm just excited.'

ava laughs. 'bea is super gay, it's true.' she points to a button on the wall nearby and then floor to ceiling glass doors that separate the living space from the patio. 'now, check this out.'

it's pretty fucking wild that ava went from the horrible orphanage, and tons of abuse that you were too small and too weak and too scared to stop, to a whole house that opens up to a day bed and an outdoor kitchen and dining area and a hot tub, a small patch of grass, and then the sea behind — but in the best kind of way. the kind of way that makes you want to tell everyone you meet that things can get better. that good things will happen to good people, at least sometimes. at least ava, who is the best of all of them.

ava motions for you to come with and walks outside, and then it's, like, genuinely the best thing ever when a black and white dog — korra, who ava sends you pictures of all the time and has featured in multiple zoom calls — who was napping in the sun, perks her head up and you swear she, like, dog-smiles at ava. 'hi, good girl,' ava says, and then claps her hands once and korra obediently, and happily, comes to ava's right side and sits, leans her little head against ava's thigh.

'i can't spend this entire time crying,' you say, and ava laughs. 'can i say hi?'

'of course,' she says. 'she's not usually formally working at home, unless i'm having a really bad day. which, you know, i'm not, but they do happen sometimes.' she shrugs and you kneel down in the sun and pet korra's soft ears as she nuzzles your face.

'she's so cool,' you say, and then kiss the top of her head and her nose. 'hey korra! i'm your uncle, i guess?'

'yeah! uncle diego.'

it makes you beam, to sit on the patio with ava as she shows you some of the tasks korra has been trained to do, and tells you about her bar you'll go to later, and points toward their outdoor shower with a sly smile. you do her the courtesy of fake gagging, although you really are just mostly happy for her, with her partner and her dog and a house that was built just for her.

eventually, beatrice comes outside, carrying a very intense charcuterie board. she places it down on the day bed, between you and ava, korra happily snoozing at your feet.

‘hi baby,’ ava says and scoots closer to you, then tugs on beatrice’s hand until she sits. ava kisses her temple. ‘this is very extravagant.’

‘well, we have a guest,’ beatrice says. ‘there’s wine inside, if you’d like a glass.’

‘i know nothing about wine,’ you admit, ‘but if there’s one you think… pairs? well with, you know —‘ you gesture to the elegantly laid out spread of food in front of you — ‘then i’ll trust you and go with that.’

ava grins. ‘yes, beatrice. be our resident sommelier, please.’

beatrice rolls her eyes, again with a blush, but then stands, ignoring ava’s pout. ‘i’ll be right back.’

‘she’s, like, really nice.’

ava lays back with a grin. ‘well she’s on her i was raised by diplomats and nannies most proper behavior right now. i don’t get charcuterie boards like this… ever.’ she takes a bite of cheese. ‘but bea is wonderful. she’s brilliant and funny and so, so kind. she’ll loosen up. i’m really excited you get to spend time with her.’

‘i’m thankful she reached out. i — i’m so happy to be here, and to see you.’

‘me too, my dude.’

beatrice comes back out with fancy real crystal glasses and a bottle of wine she explains is a vintage napa chardonnay, which mostly just makes you think it’s expensive. it probably is, with the way she efficiently uncorks it — ava practically drools, annoying, and you elbow her in the ribs — but it’s, like, really good. at least compared to the cheap wine you sometimes have with your friends when you order greek food.

‘diego,’ beatrice says, measured and anxious and, if ava’s stupid expression is anything to go by, endearing, ‘as you know, i like to surf. although it’s quite early, i was wondering if you might like to join me tomorrow? one of my best friends is an excellent instructor and the wave report looks ideally calm. ava thought you might be interested, if you’d like to learn?’

‘yeah,’ you say. ‘of course. that sounds sick.’

beatrice grins, relaxing a little. ava squeezes her hand. ‘i find it quite fun. it can be hard at first, but it’s nice to be in the water.’

‘diego gets his astounding athletic ability from my side of the family,’ ava says, patting you on the knee.

‘your side of the family?’ beatrice arches a brow.

‘yeah, the orphan side,’ you say, an old joke coming back to you, and ava gives you a high five.

‘i —‘

‘don’t think about it too hard, beatrice. diego also gets his bisexuality from my side of the family too.’

‘now that i’m willing to believe.’

ava winks at you, and then settles back into beatrice’s side.

/

admittedly, you're exhausted, so the mezcal margarita — smoky and just the right amount of sour — is hitting harder than you thought.

'okay,' ava says, 'boys are easy to flirt with.'

beatrice rolls her eyes.

'they are, bea,' she insists, then looks to you. 'sorry, diego, but boys are just... simple. they see someone hot, especially me, and there's, like, no thoughts.'

you think of the way luis had kissed you one night at a party — with his strong hands and his strong jaw and the rough, delicious scratch of his beard — after you'd just offered him a drink politely, so. honestly, that tracks.

'girls, though, diego.'

you laugh.

'you know, people who aren't men.'

'yeah, of course.'

'difficult. i just — whew.'

'aren't you, like, basically married?'

'well, yes, we're domestic partners. but beatrice is horrible at flirting. she's just lucky she's brilliant, and beautiful, and handsome, and funny.'

beatrice rolls her eyes again, although a blush spreads across her cheeks. 'i think i have more women try to flirt with me than you.'

ava huffs. 'that's because you're just — ugh.' she turns toward you. 'bea has grown into being a lesbian magnet. i once was superior. plus, boys flirt with me too.' she claps you on the back. 'either way, between the two of us, we'll teach you everything you need to know.'

'they won't,' one of their friends says, sliding in next to beatrice, who smiles and kisses him on the cheek. he's maybe the hottest person you've ever seen, with tattoos down both arms and a neat fade, probably a few years older than beatrice. 'i'm keiko,' he says, and offers his hand. his handshake is so strong and you feel yourself blush. 'i own the dojo beatrice goes to.'

'my favorite sparring partner,' beatrice says. 'partially because i have never lost.'

keiko waves her off.

'uh, i'm diego.'

ava laughs, delightedly, at how flustered you clearly are.

'well, if you want advice on boys, i am quite successful.'

'i'm sure you are.'

ava gives you a high five, mortifyingly. 'that's my man.'

'i'm cutting both of you off,' beatrice says.

'one shot, bea, please. come on. all we have to do is walk home.'

beatrice sighs dramatically and runs a hand through her hair, and keiko nudges her in the shoulder. 'for once in your life, beatrice, have a little fun.'

it takes a moment, but she laughs. 'fine. one shot, and then home.'

/

you surf the next morning, early as fuck, but you’re kind of jetlagged anyway and it’s really beautiful to watch the sunrise while you rest on a board. you haven’t popped up and you got tired pretty fast, but beatrice’s friend, ray — and beatrice herself, obviously — are patient and relaxed and don’t seem to care at all.  ava wanders out eventually, setting out a towel and drinking a to-go cup of coffee. she waves happily and blows a kiss in beatrice’s direction, who blushes. it had made you laugh, quietly, when she had put a special bucket hat designed for surfing on after she situated her wetsuit.

‘i don’t want to get sunburned,’ she explained, and then handed you a bottle of spf 100 sunscreen and a zinc stick.

eventually you ride a wave in on your knees, laughing, and then go sit by ava while you watch ray and beatrice and the rest of their little crew surf the next set, bigger on the outer break. you can tell beatrice shows off, for ava and, maybe a bit, for you. it's still early, and ava's happy to sit back in the easy quiet.

'hey,' you say after a while, during a break in sets, 'so, beatrice introduced me this morning as "ava's little brother".'

she turns to you, studies your features carefully, just like she always would when you were in the orphanage, trying to pay close attention. 'did that feel okay?'

'other than the fact that i'm taller than you —'

'— hey —'

'— of course,' you say. 'i love being your brother.'

ava scoots closer to you and bumps your shoulder with hers; you have your wetsuit down around your waist and she has one of beatrice's hoodies on, but you've mostly dried off by this point so you put your arm around her shoulders and tug her to you.

'do you, uh. sister? sibling?'

ava smiles. 'either is great.'

'okay.'

'thanks, diego.'

'nothing to thank me for there. i should be thanking you, honestly. all expenses paid trip to a bougie beach house in california to see someone i've missed so much? the dream.'

she sniffles. you don't know all the details but you know ava has been through some real shit after she — came back to life, you guess? 'i missed you too, so so much.' she clears her throat and wipes under her eyes. 'in the spirit of being your cool older sibling, what mild to moderately wild things do you want to do here. i don't want your parents to be mad at me so consider wisely.'

'tattoo.'

'do you have anything planned that you would want?'

'well, no.'

ava laughs.

'what? beatrice has cool tattoos.'

'she is a staunch believer that you should plan your tattoos in advance. but think of something and then next time we'll get you all set up with her artist, if you want.'

there's a level of maturity and care that's a little unexpected but, like, really cool? really nice. it's kind of weird and makes you a bit emotional, because ava is grown up. she's still an idiot, and constantly annoying, and very funny — but she's gotten to get older, and so have you.

'we could dye our hair,' she says, shrugging. 'easy to rectify, if it's a disaster.'

'i'm so in, man.' your hair is darker than hers, and you have no idea if she knows what she's doing, but you trust beatrice — with her neat hair and neat house and neat clothes and seemingly undying love for ava — to monitor the situation.

'maybe we can do the bi flag.'

it makes you laugh, imagining how silly it would look. 'what about just purple? like, a light purple situation.'

'i've done that before,' she tells you excitedly. 'loved it. definitely time to return.'

'deal. also, i want to try california weed.'

ava grins. 'we would have let you last night, you know, but you were actively falling asleep at the bar after one cocktail.'

'it's the time difference, i swear.'

'sure it is.'

'well, bea loves her edibles. she's very particular about them. i'm... much less particular about joints, but we can start off chill. maybe this afternoon. and then we can have tacos.'

'that sounds like a perfect day.'

she smiles. 'yeah,' she says. 'even more perfect because i get to share it with you.'

'gross,' you say, although you might suddenly cry. 'sappy.'

'yeah, yeah. whatever.'

you keep your arm around ava's shoulders and watch beatrice and ray trade tricks the next set, and then they both call it and walk, laughing, toward you. ava struggles to stand with a frown, and you offer your arm for her to take if she wants. she does, smiles quickly in thanks and then, you know too, moves on without a word. she kisses beatrice soundly on the mouth, then pushes her goofy bucket hat off her head, fastened around her neck and resting on the back of her shoulders, and then gratuitously unzips her wetsuit while ray rolls her eyes.

it's a whole big world, you learn more and more every day. ray joins you for breakfast and then ava takes you shopping while you're pretty sure beatrice just naps. ava uses her chair and brings korra, which is mostly just the coolest thing in the world to you, because she has a whole van customized too, and she just — you had known, when you were younger, when ava would get to go outside in her chair, that nothing was limiting her other than care, and access. you had been limited too, and you ached with it. you ache differently now, because ava navigates her day fully and independently: a wheelchair lift for the stairs, and a huge, beautiful closet and kitchen where she can reach everything without having to stand, and korra, who can turn on lights and open doors and brings you a juice from the fridge when you sit down and mention you're thirsty; ava grins with the command and then praises korra, and you scratch her soft head and even softer ears.

beatrice does supervise when you and ava dye your hair, but ava mostly knows what she's doing, and really gets distracted the most when she looks over at beatrice in lowslung joggers and a cutoff tank and a beanie, leaning against the doorframe quietly, a fond expression on her face. ava wears crop tops and wideleg pants and expensive sneakers and you both end up laughing when you have your matching lavender hair.

you eat edibles that make everything feel lush and slow and perfect, and beatrice laughs softly at ava's ramble about her arms, and she orders a ton of her favorite chinese food that you eat on the patio at sunset. you take some pictures on your film camera, at sunset, and beatrice takes a few of you and ava. you wish you could go back in time and tell both of you, when you were small and sad and scared and abused, that things would be this beautiful one day. that things would be this good.

ava and beatrice eventually say goodnight before they head inside to their bedroom. there's too much light pollution in los angeles to see many of the stars, but you know they're there all the same.

[hannahssimblr]

I shower for ages, standing underneath the piping hot water with the pressure on its highest setting because I like the way it pummels the aching muscles in my shoulders and my back. This is the border of punishment and pleasure. I stay like this until I hear the dressing room doors open and all of the other boys coming in with loud, raucous laughter and the clack of the metal studs of their rugby boots on the tiles. 

“Let off early, Turner?” one of them calls to me as I round the corner of the shower room towelling my hair. 

“Yeah, I’ve plans,” I explain, and as I dress myself by the lockers they all chortle and speculate loudly about the nature of said mysterious plans.

“You’re right,” I say when they suggest that I’m fucking Doherty’s wife, and they love that. They laugh with delight because I am a good sport and I play along with whatever they’re talking about, laughing whenever they’re attempting to be funny. Jen criticises me for this, she says my teammates are like my cronies, whatever that means. That they all follow me around and try to to impress me, but that’s not it. Some of them are nice, they just don’t always know what’s funny and what’s not, what kind of hair looks good, what music to listen to. They need someone else to tell them. 

Back in my uniform my footsteps echo in the school hallway. The cleaners are working in the classrooms. I hear them hoovering the floors and emptying the bins, and around the corner some guy is going through his locker. He jumps when he sees me. 

“Evan,” I saunter in his direction, “Still here?”

“Detention,” he seems pleased with himself, like detention is a fitting part of his self-image. I note the way he pushes his thick fringe out of his eyes as he says this as though I, Jude Turner, am not the worst behaved boy at school. Perhaps he would like me to be shocked or ask him what he did, and I would if I were remotely interested in knowing.

“New eyebrow piercing,” I note, “Did you get that from Santa?”

He scowls. I think Evan knows when I’m joking, I believe he is smart enough to note the difference in my tone but he always does this, acts like I’m being mean because it confirms his biases about people like him and people like me. He doesn't want to get along and prefers to believe that we are a different species who are not supposed to be normal with one another. He gets off on the idea of being the enemy of the boys who play rugby, even though it’s mostly not true. Actually, most of them don’t even know who he is. I know because I brought him up in the dressing room before and they were all confused.

The only reason I know who he is is because he’s going out with Michelle, hence contact with him is inevitable. 

“Says you, with the earrings,” he bites back, but I just shrug. They look good and he knows it. 

I move around him and he shifts his body to shield his open locker “A bit protective of your locker, there,” I observe, “Hiding something?”

“Not your business.”

“Right, cool. Well, good chatting to you as always, this was so nice. I’m off now to-” I pause. It’s probably not going to be very funny to say spend the evening at your girlfriend’s house judging by how poorly this conversation has gone already. “Um, to go home. See ya, Evan.” 

He grunts. 

Mist creeps in from the sea that evening and it sits around the yard, lit up orange from the street lights. A girl I used to talk to is at the school gates, and my stomach sinks with dread when I see her. 

“Hey, Jude,” she says, quietly, her voice almost obscured by the swoosh of a passing car, so I pretend not to hear her and hop the wall so that I can avoid passing her at the gate. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[uneditedidiot]

london boy - jamie tartt x reader

london boy

jamie tartt x gn!reader

Summary: series of moments where you and your boyfriend jamie share a love for the song ‘london boy’ by taylor swift. may include some fun karaoke moments. also, phoebe makes an adorable appearance in an ice cream shop.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: language (cause duh - it’s Jamie Tartt), fluff, Phoebe being adorable, karaoke dorkiness

A/N: Idk why, but for some reason, the thought of someone singing this song AT Jamie just kept sticking in my head and yes, yes, I know he’s from Manchester, but it sounded so cute. Also if it wasn’t clear, I’m a massive Taylor Swift fan so I had to throw in some love for Taylor, too. 

The first time Jamie heard you singing along to London Boy by Taylor Swift, he couldn’t help but smile. 

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and you were dancing around in his living room, the tv blasting the song from the spotify app. He had gone off to grab his phone from another room in between board games and came back to find you singing this song at the top of your lungs and dancing enthusiastically.

He grinned and leant against the doorway with his arms crossed as you sang loudly,

“And now I love high tea, stories from uni, and the West End.

You can find me in the pub, we are watching rugby with his school friends.”

You spotted him just watching you and pointed at him as you continued your serenade, slowly dancing your way over to him. 

“Show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride,

Babe, don't threaten me with a good time!”

You slung your arms around his neck, still singing, pretending to act out the lyrics. His hands found the small of your back.

“They say home is where the heart is,

But God, I love the English!”

You pretended to swoon in his arms, making him laugh wholeheartedly. He spun you around as you continued to sing the lyrics. You both made your way to the middle of the room to have more space to dance and goof off.

“You know I love a London boy

I enjoy nights in Brixton, Shoreditch in the afternoon

He likes my American smile

Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you

Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates

So I guess all the rumors are true

You know I love a London boy

Boy, I fancy you!”

You kept pointing at Jamie throughout the rest of the song whenever the words ‘London Boy’ continued repeating. 

When the song was over, he wrapped you in a giant bear hug and kissed your cheek repeatedly.

“I like to think that song is from me to you, Jamie,” you told him softly as the next song began.

He pulled back a little with a slightly amused smirk on his face. “Babe, you know I’m from Manchester, right? I ain’t from London.”

You rolled your eyes, your tone deadpan. “Wow, really? How would I ever know?”

Jamie laughed. “Alright, alright. It’s very sweet of you to want to sing that song to me.”

“I just feel like it fits us well,” you replied. “You know, when I met you, we were in London. You lived here and I was new from the States.”

His smile grew. “Like I said – very sweet. But not accurate.”

You smacked his chest playfully. “Whatever. Let’s do another game. Uno? 7-Up? Ooh – how about I crush you at Mario Kart?”

The second time Jamie heard you singing along to London Boy was at an ice cream shop while the two of you were babysitting Phoebe.

“What do you think sounds best, Pheebs?” you asked as the three of you peered into the glass case if ice creams on display.

The little girl was thoughtful. “Hmm…well I think strawberry sounds awfully good, but that straciatella does, too. What do you think, Jamie?”

“You’re right, those do sound good, but I’m a bit of a cookies and cream man, meself,” he said.

Phoebe gasped. “That sounds delicious! Can we all get matching ice creams?”

You laughed. “Three cookies and creams on cones? Or do we want bowls?”

“Only fuckin’ losers get ice cream in bowls,” retorted Jamie. “Waffle cones, obviously.”

Phoebe cleared her throat, smirked, and held out her hand. You nodded your head at him towards her outstretched palm.

“Pay up, Tartt,” you giggled.

He begrudgingly took out a pound note from his pocket. “Well what I said is true. No denyin’ it.”

Phoebe shrugged and she folded the money gingerly and placed it in her little plastic purse. “But Jamie’s right – waffle cones are the only acceptable way to eat ice cream.”

The employee made their way over to the three of you. “What can I get you?”

“Three cookies and cream ice creams on waffle cones, please,” ordered Jamie. “And can we get rainbow sprinkles?”

“You got it,” confirmed the employee.

Jamie stood patiently and waited for your order as you led Phoebe over to a table by the window. In the background, he heard the faint lyricism of Taylor Swift and recognized the song immediately.

“So please show me Hackney,

Doesn't have to be Louis V up on Bond Street,

Just wanna be with you

Wanna be with you.

Stick with me, I'm your queen,

Like a Tennessee Stella McCartney on the Heath

Just wanna be with you.

Wanna be with you

Wanna be with you…”

He turned to see you singing the song quietly to Phoebe, who was shimmying in her seat with you. He chuckled lightly at the sight, knowing how much you loved the song and, of course, how much you had liked singing it at him.

He had to admit – it was a good song and quite catchy.

At the table by the window, you were explaining to Phoebe why you loved Taylor Swift so much. “And now she’s re-recording her first seven albums and re-releasing them.”

“That’s amazing!” exclaimed Phoebe. “Does Jamie like Taylor Swift, too?”

You turned your head to smile at Jamie as he paid for the ice creams. You admired his profile, cheeks going slightly red.

“He’s not as familiar with her songs as I am, but yeah, he likes Taylor.”

“Can I have some help with the ice creams?” he called over to the two of you.

“I can do it!” cried Phoebe. She raced over to Jamie, grabbing two of the cones from him. Walking carefully and keeping her eyes on the frozen treats in her hands, she brought you your serving. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Pheebs,” you smiled. She smiled back.

As Jamie took his seat next to you, Phoebe couldn’t help but ask him, “Do you like that Taylor Swift song that was just playing?”

He eyed you with a warm fondness, then turned back to the little girl. “Course I do. Especially when this one sings it to me.” He nudged you playfully with his shoulder.

“I wonder if Uncle Roy likes that song, too,” Phoebe speculated aloud. She licked her ice cream with a thoughtful expression, smearing sprinkles across her nose.

The third time Jamie heard you singing along to London Boy was when the whole team was out doing private karaoke in a club after a winning match.

He wasn’t much of a singer himself, preferring to be in the limelight on the pitch and not on the stage, but that didn’t stop him from signing up for a solo.

Bumbercatch had just finished a gut-wrenching performance of My Heart Will Go On, which moved many to tears…from laughing at his dramatic rendition. The whole team burst into thunderous cheers, applauding and screaming.

Isaac, who had deemed himself the host for the night, took his duties very seriously. “Thank you, Bumbercatch, for that incredibly beautiful song. And now, please welcome to the stage, the king of the pricks…Jamie Tartt!”

Your eyes widened in surprise as Jamie turned to you, grinned, patted your thigh, and stood as the rest of the room yelled in encouragement. He bounded onstage and took the microphone from Isaac.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said. “Now this number goes out to my favorite person. Enjoy the song, babe!”

He pointed at the DJ and you gasped in recognition.

Jamie smirked at you as he said the opening lines of the song in his Mancunian accent.

“We can go drivin' in, on my scooter.

Uh, you know, just riding in London.”

“You’re fucking JOKING!” you laughed. Your mouth still agape, Jamie began to sing.

“I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal.

And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey.

But something happened, I heard him laughing,

I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent.

They say home is where the heart is,

But that's not where mine lives…”

The rest of the room began singing along, but your voice was the loudest. You and Jamie never took your eyes off each other. You knew he had learned it just for you.

It was quite an impressive show. Jamie certainly knew how to work a crowd. He’d gotten every single person in the room to wave along with him during the last chorus.

When the song was over, there was an absolute uproar. He’d smashed it.

Isaac took the mic back and Jamie rushed over to you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. The rest of the team whistled and cheered. 

Neither of you listened as Isaac called up the next performer.

“You learned that just for me,” you grinned.

“Duh,” Jamie grinned back.

“My London boy,” you laughed.

“Yours,” he agreed.

And then you danced together as Rebecca absolutely SMASHED a rendition of Love on Top by Beyonce, both of you screaming the lyrics and singing to each other.

But London Boy would always be your song.

[annoyingvoidzombie]

Heartstopper 2x01 Family:

Oh shit, parent teacher meet.. everyone is being well students but Charlie is very much "distracted" with other things (Nick Nick Nick)

Loving seeing papa Spring speaks Spanish

You Need To Start Focusing On Your Schoolwork Charlie baby

The Spring's are very not Nick's favourite fans now days

I Love Nellie Nelson

David, so if we'll wait long enough, Nick's going to look sorta like this "rockstar trash"?

Nick isn't comfortable with him and it's shown, how dare you take his Nintendo?

Nothing like drumming to not do your school work huh Charlie?

Obviously, texting your bf is always fun.. "the universe is pulling us apart" well, not in this life time it won't

Running together to Paris with Nellie, now that's a dream we can share my Narlie friends ❤️

Sharing is caring 😔

Imogen and Ben? Now that's seems kind of toxic, don't play with my baby's heart please

P-R-O-M-!

Elle x Tao is not even a slow burn, just burns

I remember taking those damn GCSE's and it was very dreadful

Holding eachother through a pen

Ben is hopelessly in love with Charlie

David kinda trying be a big bro but no, he has his intentions .. and know he knows about "Charlie"

Why in hell dose Charlie needs your approval men? Why?

This hug is everything, I know it's like only few days since last they hugged or saw eachother but my poor gay heart

Jumper, he gave him his jumper, it's basically like giving him an organ

Nellie is so pretty and they play so beautifully and its all your world now, no wonder you want to capture it Nicky boy

They kiss and the world spins once more and wow, they've learned to get in sync which is perfect

Paradise indeed

Wow Elle, you look beautiful ❤️

Elle new friends group seems fun and she's very fitting as always, perfect

Tao's mum is an Elle x Tao shipper, I call it like I see it

Imogen is so very bubbly sometimes wow but don't hurt her Nick! Although you're just trying to protect her

Oh shit, Math, I Felt the very same when I took it

Charlie comes by, that won't end well but the hug and small lift up is so cute

Elle's mum also a shipper "Your Boy" you know it mama

Tao pushing forward but Elle just pull backwards.. it hurts seeing them as that when you knoww but they don't know

Narlie and Nellie cuddles

Since when nice cup of tea makes you an old man?

David, you bitch, stay away from Charlie, he's the sweetest cinnamon roll you'll meet so fuck off!

Oh snap, Nick is out once more but not the way he would like

Fuck off David! Fuck off

You're upsetting Nellie and that's the line! Stop it!

Charlie.. it's not your fault

No Paris?? Noooo

Charlie ED is showing and I feel triggered as shit but deep breaths, I'm okay

At least they'll always have eachother texting

Wowww that's a nice body here Nick, thank you rugby !

He recorded to him.. it's new and it's so very from the heart

It's not easy to come out and we all know that

Tao is so worried for his heart and upset and he doesn't know why.. that so hard

Mama Xu is the best!

Oh Tao baby, finally, the REALISATION! now .. what you gonna do about it??

[iveneverdoneanythingwrong]

So I have the day off today, and I marked the entirety of it down to watch Red, White, and Royal Blue. This was a good decision as I've had to pause three times and I'm 3 min and 40 seconds into the movie. I just get so

and I have to stop and calm down. So I'm blogging when I have to pause.

Such a fanfic set up - Enemies to Lovers, royalty AU, slow burn, 400k.

I'm at the after-wedding party and the cake is SO BIG I KNOW WHATS COMING I CAAAAAN'T

IT'S LOOMING LIKE ITS READY TO ATTACK

ALEX IS DRUNK ALEX STOP ALEX YOU ARE AT A WORK FUNCTION AAAAALEEEEEEXXXXX

OH NO OH NOOO DRUNK!ALEX HAS SPOTTED HIS NEMESIS HARRY IN FRONT OF THE FERAL CAKE

The cake has chosen a victim. To be fair, Alex attacked it first, so I can't blame the cake…

This is the funniest face, I don't know why but I can't stop laughing at Alex's reaction to icing. You'd think it was cum

THE CAKE HAS ATTAAAAAACKED . Alex FAFOd. RIP Alex.

I love how this whole thing is basically Alex's fault, but the crown prince blames Henry. Family tension, yay!

I also love how Alex is called on the carpet in the oval office and it's ALL WOMEN IN THERE. He's cracking jokes, and they're talking trade negotiations and polling numbers around him.

Zahra is my favorite person ever. GET HIM!

Ok, Alex, sweetheart, honey, you are FIXATED on Henry being 6'2''…. do you have a, shall we say, issue? "Making it was one of the most depressing moments of my career - and I once saw Mitch McConnell eating a banana." Thank you for your service, ma'am.

Smile, boys. I SAID SMILE.

"Alex has very strong opinions. And he shares them. Loudly." 🤣 He's just American, Henry. 🤣🤣🤣 This is our Get-Along-Press Conference.

OK, so my friend who is also watching says her first unbelievable moment was the wedding gown without sleeves. I don't know enough about fashion or royalty to argue, but MY first unbelievable moment is shots fired at a hospital and they're NOT in the US? DOUBT.

Active shooter and Henry is more focused on how Alex smells and why Alex doesn't like him. "Makes sense." "What do you mean by THAT?" "It means you have good taste, Alex."

Oh wow, Henry is showing some emotional intelligence here.

Nevermind, I take it back. Henry! Don't be a douche! Ok, I take it back take it back. Thanks for being vulnerable, Henry.

Fireworks. OK, that makes more sense.

I also love Alex's bodyguard.

"Kill me and I won't have to go." Hey writers, this is more relatable than making him talk about how expensive the cake is. Same, Henry, same.

My god, Alex's eyelashes are insane. Why. Why does he need those? To flirt with men?? Oh wait, yeah, I guess he does.

Oh my god, they actually POINTED OUT HIS EYELASHES. This movie was made for me. Is that guy flirting? Back off, man!

Henry is an amazing texter. I love the way they fit social media into the movie format.

Can I have another two or three hours of them just hanging out and snarking at each other please? kthx.

Alex's NYE party - is this the first time Henry has been underdressed for an event? *gasp* the mutual "oh no he's hot" moment.

aaaand already Henry has been bit by the little green monster. Pugsley. That was fast.

EEEEEE the kiss. Alex is like, I'm not touching I'm not touching I'mnottouchingIswear.

"The first fifty rows of a Gaga concert." 🤣🤣🤣 The women in the movie are On Fire.

"He grabbed my hair in a way that made me understand the difference between rugby and football" WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?????

"He can't ignore me all night. Can he?" Oh honey....

LUNCH BREAK - I started this at 8:30 am, it is now 11:30. I am 37:45 into this movie. 🤣

Why is Miguel coming off as skeezy to me? I want him to go awa-ALEX, your literal prince has ariiiiived.

Henry, sweetheart, you are not fooling anyone.

Damn Alex, *fans self* So... this was the "fade to black" of a sex scene. I mean, I wasn't expecting this movie to be subtle, but c'mon!

Henry: I just don't want you to fall in love with me. Me: How's that clown makeup feel?

Well now I gotta know. How many/which famous men have you shagged. Henry? Henry, COME BACK HERE!

"I'm so not playing this cool right now." Don't worry Alex, you guys are dork4dork.

I KNEW MIGUEL WAS A SCUMBAG

Ugh, Dickbag alert! Ah, jealolus dickbag alert!

Alex!! You've broken Zahra!! Zahra my loooooveee!! Put these boys in their place! That ENTIRE scene was AMAZING. This movie was worth it just for that.

HAHAHAHAH they didn't even get through the whole gag set up "I'm definitely not doing karao-*singing karaoke*

It's taking me forever to get through the floating dock/Alex confession scene. The whole "rope attached to my chest" is real Jane Eyre vibes. Henry, you need to say something. Communication is key, my dude. Or drown yourself, that's valid.

Oh you are NOT just sneaking out. No. I forbid it. Ugh, men.

"What happened in Texas?" "I ended things with Alex" NO YOU FUCKING WELL DIDN'T, YOU DICK.

Of course there's thunder for the big romantic confrontation scene. It has to be raining! For reasons!

oh, that is some grade-A projection there, Henry.

Mr never had a key has a key....

Damn, Alex, you have game.

"When they write the history of my life I want it to include you" Damn, Henry, you have game, too.

Ok, the most unrealistic thing in this movie - these motherfuckers don't move in their sleep??! The covers are always immaculate when they wake up. FAKE. FALSE. THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN.

DOUCHE DOUCHE DOUCHE DOUCHE DOUCHE DOUCHE

Zahra is so done. Go ahead, Zahra, smack him with a pillow again, I know you want to. You've earned it! "mooning over the prince like a cow in labor" 🤣🤣🤣 Marry me, Zahra!!

Stephen Fry playing a homophobe?? He really stretched his acting chops for that. "Take the American with you." Thanks gramps.

Do you think anyone noticed??

Final tally: It took me 5 hours to watch this, not including the hour lunch break.

[mauesartetc]

Hi, I want to give you this character to redesign:

her name is lady Kryptina and she is the gym teacher of a school for young vampires. Her costume is a clear reference to Lucy from the "Bram Stoker's Dracula" movie. The cartoon she's from, "school for little vampires" has a lot of references to classic horror movies, with characters being based on movie vampires.

While the reference is cool, her outfit is very impractical for a gym teacher. Plus, she has worn a more practical outfit in an episode about camping where she teaches wilderness survival:

Could you redesign an outfit for her that is more practical for a gym teacher while still remaining somewhat elegant, and preferably drawing some inspiration from gothic fashion or classical horror?

Man, I gotta see Bram Stoker's Dracula. I hear Keanu's hilarious in it. (Also that outfit would make a killer Halloween costume ngl)

Looks like this character loves being fashionable and fabulous, so we can keep some of that elegance while balancing it out with something more practical for her job. Gym teachers don't engage in athletics all that much while instructing, but it might be nice if someone unfamiliar with the show could guess her profession just by looking at her.

Bram Stoker's original novel was published during the Victorian era, so perhaps a women's gym outfit inspired by the same time period would be fitting (keeping the headdress and mostly-"white" palette so the reference is still recognizable, of course). In terms of research, I found an authentic Victorian women's gym suit here, as well as a photo of girls working out in bloomers. I haven't verified the exact time period of the second one, but the style of the bloomers and shoes is similar to those in the Met collection, and the girls' hairstyles look plausibly Victorian as far as I can tell (fashion historians, feel free to confirm or debunk as you please).

It's a bit rough, but here's what I came up with:

The headdress and overall color scheme are basically the same, but I gave her bloomers, knee-length socks (with stripes similar to those worn by Victorian rugby players), athletic shoes, and a diamond-shaped neck ruff as a callback to the collar of the museum's gym suit. She still has the gossamer "cape" as well, except now it's transformed into a sash around her waist. Now it should be much easier for her to run and jump, if she feels so inclined. This was fun!

[ticklethepup]

The Trouble With Asking

Author’s Note: Ho ho hiya! @cringemesstickles happy holidays from your secret Squealing Santa! I hope you enjoy what I’ve written, I had a ton of fun with the anticipation - it’s just the cutest.

Fandom: Heartstopper; Nick/Charlie

Word Count: 390

“Charlie, it really isn’t hard,” Nick Nelson laughed, adjusting his positioning on his boyfriend’s hips, fingertips looming over the clothed ribs in front of him. Ashen blonde hair fell against his forehead as he bent down even closer to Charlie Spring’s reddening left ear, blocking the setting rays of the sun spilling into the bedroom from the open window.

“Just ask.”

The younger boy sputtered out a strangled kind of giggle, eyes flicking nervously to Nick’s hands as he wriggled against his mattress. “Nick, I can’t, I-I don’t-”

“Look, I’ll give you a little motivation. Either you ask me to tickle you-”

“Nick-”

“Or,” the rugby lad continued, smirk barely contained by a hastily bitten lip. “Or I can start with your ribs as…well, does ‘punishment’ really even fit here? Because you like-”

“Alright, okay-” Charlie huffed, the blush he sported across the tips of his ears sinking down into his cheeks and coloring them a dusty rose. His light eyes softened as he gazed into the other’s dark ones; it really wasn’t fair, how much Nick resembled his dog Nellie whilst he waited for something.

So patient, but just as adorably unforgiving.

“I don’t have all day, Char,” Nick murmured in a low voice that made Charlie shudder from his shoulders all the way down to his toes. His fingers twitched at Charlie’s ribs, grazing the bones with a feather-light touch, and Charlie all but shrieked in surprise.

“Okahay, okay,” he giggled, high-pitched and breathy as his fingers moved of their own volition to grab at his partner’s, halting them in an instant.

Nick froze, genuinely puzzled. His face fell. “Did I-?”

“No! No, god, no-” Charlie was fast, leaning up on his elbows to press a kiss to his forehead. A shy grin spread from ear to ear once he pulled away, rosy blush returning. “I’m sorry. You did nothing wrong, I-”

Charlie took a deep, wavering breath before exhaling the words out in a whirlwind. “NickNelsonpleasetickleme.”

If he hadn’t been so flustered, he would’ve laughed at the sight of Nick’s relieved grin, altogether eclipsing the sun in its beam of pleasure. “Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

And if Tori Spring paused momentarily outside of her brother’s bedroom to give an affectionate eye roll towards the door at the sound of shared euphoric laughter, what of it?

[hyacinth-sims]

Mercutio still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about Romeo dating the elder Capp girl. It wasn’t as if he had any personal issues with her, he barely knew her at all. But Mercutio knew that Romeo was treading in dangerous waters, and Mercutio couldn’t do much other than hope his brother wouldn’t drown. Romeo was always going to follow where his heart took him, no matter what anyone said. 

He just hoped that Romeo wouldn’t fuck up and break her heart. If there was anything Mercutio had learned, it was that no one ever wanted to bear witness to the wrath of a Capp. It was bad enough with Rosaline, who still wouldn’t even look at Mercutio without scowling even though he had nothing to do with her breakup with Romeo! 

Honestly, that whole family was filled with bad tempers!

“You think Romeo ran for the hills after last night?” Benvolio asked teasingly, “I haven’t seen him since this morning.” Mercutio remembered it quite clearly, hearing his younger brother sneaking back in the house. When he left his room to ask how things went, Romeo looked about as pale as a sheet of paper.

At first, Mercutio was surprised that Romeo was even alive after Tybalt had caught him with Juliette. His surprise only grew when Romeo said he’d just let him leave—without a single scratch. He was a little peeved about it, seeing as though Tybalt held no mercy for Mercutio for doing a lot less. 

Okay—maybe he’d provoked him once or twice. Maybe, a few times. Okay, most of the time. 

Mercutio shrugged with a hum, “Doubt it, he’s probably just with his girlfriend.” Perhaps it was just the honeymoon phase, but it definitely seemed as though Romeo’s life had begun to solely revolve around Juliette. Were relationships that life changing that every single conversation topic circled back to your significant other? 

Truthfully, he just didn’t understand all the fuss about love. It just seemed like so much—effort. Sure, he supposed he enjoyed hanging out with Hermia. She was witty, and scathingly sarcastic but did he love her? Absolutely not. 

“He did tell me about this stupid party the Capps are hosting,” He mentioned, “Juliette invited him to sneak in, and wants us to go for backup—whatever the hell that means.” Did Romeo really think Juliette’s 75 year old grandfather would try to jump him? And Mercutio knew Tybalt well enough to know that he wouldn’t risk his family’s social status by getting into a fight in front of the entire Veronaville area. Well, not with Romeo anyways.

“So that means we’re going, right?” Benvolio said as he perked up, a bright grin on his face. Of course Benvolio wanted to go to a party, regardless of what side of town it was in. He could already hear the droning on about how it was a “good chance to create peace with the Capp family.” But Mercutio really knew that he just wanted to get drunk and flirt with whatever guys were present.

Admittedly, that sounded like a good time—but not at the Capp manor.

Mercutio rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Do whatever you want, but I don’t have a death wish.” He narrowed his eyes as he spotted Tybalt across the library, scanning the shelves with that sour look on his face that never seemed to fade. While Tybalt wouldn’t fight Romeo in front of the entirety of Veronaville, Mercutio knew that he was fully considered “fair game” to his rival. 

The other boy tilted his head curiously, “Death wish…?” However, he seemed to quickly understand once he noticed Mercutio’s glare at Tybalt. “Oh, I see,” Benvolio teased, “You’re afraid that you’re going to get your ass kicked again.”

It was harsh, but true. Mercutio was simply outclassed by Tybalt, with his stupid rugby experience and stupid regular fitness training! And yet, Mercutio still tried to get the best of him. He even fought dirty most of the time, and still lost. One day though—surely, one day he’d win though.

“He’s not that bad really,” Benvolio insisted, “He’s always been pretty cool to me.” The boy looked back at Tybalt, lifting a hand for a wave. “Hi, Tybalt!” He greeted happily, Mercutio watching as the red-headed boy lifted his eyes from his book. 

“Benvolio,” Tybalt said with a small nod, quickly returning to look back at the bookcase.

Surely it wasn’t that easy, right? Mercutio sighed, taking a deep breath in. “Tybal—“ He began, but before he could even finish speaking the other boy’s name, he was greeted with Tybalt turning around, and a middle finger that said what words couldn’t. God, what a…

“Fucking asshole,” Mercutio murmured under his breath. Benvolio tried to hold back his laughter, but clearly to no avail. He really wasn’t sure why he thought that would work, Tybalt didn’t like him even looking in his general direction. 

“Okay, obviously there’s more to it than just saying hi,” Benvolio teased, “I’m just saying, I’ve never messed with him before so he doesn’t hate me—“ He smirked over at Mercutio, “Even though I hang out with you like 99% of the time.”

“But I don’t mess with him!” Mercutio defended with a frown, crossing his arms. “…that much,” He quickly added, Benvolio clearly seeing through his false claim. “Okay, but obviously it doesn’t warrant him being a total dick all the time!”

“You put a glitter bomb in his locker, dude,” Benvolio pointed out. 

“It was an early birthday surprise!” Mercutio retorted. The look on his face was certainly priceless as well. 

“I saw him picking glitter out of his stuff for weeks after that,” He added with a small sigh, “Look—if you keep poking the bear, obviously the bear’s going to eventually start solely targeting you.” 

Mercutio glared over to Tybalt, his nose now in a book as he sat across the room. “He’s more like a cat,” He mumbled, “A rabid, feral cat.” While Benvolio was probably right that Tybalt would leave him alone if Mercutio stopped provoking him…

Where was the fun in that?

[adarafaelbarba]

May I have your attention please? 💕

So not many people on here might know this, but I’m working on a sports romance book, which will hopefully be my debut novel if everything goes well.

The book will be about a French rugby player and the team’s physical therapist who’s from Norway. It’ll have language barriers with miss communications, he’s a sunshine off the field but on it he’s the grump. She’s seen as grumpy but might actually be a sunshine (if people get to know her).

What I would love to know though is, if you’d pick the book up, what other kind of tropes would you love to see? Are there prompts you think would fit in the story?

I’m very early on in planning and working it all out so any little insight from you guys as readers and writers would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks in advance my loves,

- Karen 💕