#you can tell it went on for a bit linger in the full clip but it was muted👀

[loudlyunladylike]

incredible clip of the chamber shouting "bye boris" as he tries to make a swift getaway after javid's resignation statement PLS

#HELP #poiltics #british politics #you can tell it went on for a bit linger in the full clip but it was muted👀 #yikers

[indigosunsetao3]

Keeping Lines Blurry

Chapter 1 - It's Been A Long Time

Masterlist of Chapters

Warnings: 18+ - No minors Please read the tags on A03 for any of your triggers

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick X Original FMC 8.4k words - AO3 Link.

“In position,” Gaz said into the microphone that was clipped on the inside of his suit jacket. He was stationed outside a side door to the old building, bundled up in a long peacoat that went down to his knees with black gloves and a hidden pistol holstered to his chest. If he weren’t trying to look the part of an aristocratic politician, he would have pulled the beanie out of his pocket and shoved it over his head to cover his ears. The wind was frigid and standing down an alleyway just turned it into a wind tunnel that even the upturned collar of his coat did nothing for.

“You look cold sergeant,” came Soap’s voice over his ear piece and Gaz snapped his eyes toward a high-rise a little under a klick away. Soap was smirking when he talked, you could tell by the inflection and Gaz casually scratched at his cheek with his middle finger which just earned him a laugh in response.

“Come on down from your little nest and you can find out,” Gaz responded as he pulled out his phone and made to look like he was reviewing something. No one else was outside, it was too cold for someone to linger but he still had to put on a front. There was a pack of cigarettes in his coat that he could dig out and pop in his mouth in a matter of moments to make it look like he snuck out for a quick smoke. He didn’t want to if he didn’t have to though, he had cut way back on his habit and didn’t want to hear shit from Ghost for it. “I’ll trade with you,” he muttered as a shiver ran down his spine.

“Aye well, we can’t all be pretty boys for the party now, can we?” Soap inquired, “my hair sort of precludes me from blending in,” he tacked on. When they were all briefed for the mission Alex and Gaz had been assigned on the premises while Ghost and Soap were overwatch and Price was positioned directly with their intended job, blending into the man’s own security. “Get a mohawk and you can play with the big boys.”

“Or be a lieutenant,” Ghost stated after a moment. He was positioned in another building with a sniper rifle sweeping the area, covering the back half of the building that Soap couldn’t. They had been setup hours ago, watching the catering staff bringing in their supplies and the event staff doing their last-minute prep. The team had done a full hands on sweep the day before in cooperation with the other nations special forces so it was just a matter of watching for suspicious activity now.

The gathering tonight was a large gala in Minsk, the capital of Belarus. It was supposed to be a humanitarian relief fund raiser that pulled in all of the wealthiest people around Europe to aid the current crisis in the middle east. But it was also being used as a careful political meeting between representatives from Russia, England, America and other big players on the world’s stage on semi-neutral terms. Tensions were high once again between all the world powers; disagreements on arms dealing, disaster relief, accusations of election tampering and of course the Russian invasion of Ukraine were big contenders for the conversations. But all the countries history’s ran deep, they were always bound to butt heads over something, even if they may agree on the issue to some degree.

“I think it’s more about your need for a mask, LT” came Soap’s response. “I doubt their delicate sensitivities would be able to handle seeing a skull lurking about.”

“I can see them clutching their pearls and stacks of cash now,” Gaz answered laughing a bit as he randomly scrolled through his phone, swiping through apps and news stories to make him seem busy. It was a burner so there was nothing personal on it, though he had been keeping up with the soccer match, England was looking promising to make it the world cup this year. His sister had been pestering him to take some leave so they could go to a game but there just never seemed to be a good time for him to do it.

“Keep it tight out there,” came Price’s voice, the sound of some classical music wavering in the background as his mic cut in.

“Sorry sir,” Gaz answered quickly as his eyes snapped up to the area where Soap would be. They always goaded one another, like children really, and Price usually had to step in to get them to knock it off. Granted most of the time Price was smirking as he admonished them and, on a few occasions, he came back with his own retort that shut the rest of them down, with either shock or amusement. “What’s the current status inside?”

“Lots of champagne, diamonds and fancy little foods that could barely feed a mouse,” came Alex’s voice. He was inside working the floor, blending in as a staff member. “Price has been roped into a conversation with a woman,” he added, his voice a low whisper but the conspiratorial tone was unmistakable. “Looks to be someone’s mom,” he tacked on as glasses clinked in the background, “or grandmother.”

“She cute Captain?” Gaz asked casually. So much for keeping it tight and professional. Despite the fact they were all chatting casually, they all still knew how to do their jobs and keep an eye out on everything. Gaz trusted no one with his life more than these men and even if they were having a good time, they were all still on high alert and doing what they did best.

“Bring her by the window, let us have a look,” Soap chimed in, the sound of his scope clicking a bit as he obviously zoomed in his view. “Do we need to find somewhere else to be tonight? Just put a sock on the door if you need some privacy.” He cut off mid-laugh, tone changing instantly to serious before his next words. “Gaz movement down the alley to your left.”

Gaz instantly felt himself tense at the last words from Soap, but he didn’t move from his casual stance as he continued to stare at his phone screen. He couldn’t act as if someone alerted him so he needed to find the movement himself through natural means. So much for not smoking. Digging into his jacket he pulled out the pack and whacked it hard against his palm a few times, turning his head to peer down the alley. He couldn’t see anything yet, there were vehicles parked on one side and a large trash dumpster on the other.

“Talk to me,” Gaz muttered as he slipped a cigarette between his lips and flipped his zippo against his leg to flick the cap open and light it. He puffed slowly, putting everything away in his coat pocket as he did his best to look around without seeming suspicious.

“Can’t see anything,” Soap responded, “Ghost got anything?” He asked before letting up on his com to free up the channel.

“Nothing on my side,” Ghost answered quickly. “Wait,” he came back then there was a long pause of silence. “No, just catering staff over here outside taking a break.”

“It was two figures,” Soap answered quickly, sounding a bit frustrated as he obviously looked around quickly trying to find what he had seen. “Skulking by the wall,” he described before Gaz answered back.

“I see them,” his voice was low and below his breath as he inhaled the smoke, holding it in his lungs for a moment before letting it out again. The lightheaded high hit him and he shut his eyes to take it in for a moment. “Man and a woman,” he tacked on simply as he watched the woman stumble a bit before the man caught her around the waist with one hand. “Seems like they may have snuck out here for some alone time,” he inhaled again and raised his eyebrow as the man came more into view, the light above the door throwing him in relief. The man’s face was sweaty and he seemed disheveled, his bowtie was undone hanging around his neck and hair was mussed atop of his head.

“Bit cold out here,” Gaz stated with a smirk on his lips as the woman tugged down on her dress hem. He flicked the ash from his cigarette before popping it back into his mouth waiting for some sort of response from them, if they even spoke English.

Gaz had obviously taken them by surprise, the man about jumped out of his skin when Gaz spoke and grabbed the dumpster to steady himself. He didn’t speak English but he muttered something under his breath in Russian to the woman before gesturing for the door Gaz was standing next to. Gaz picked up on it and stepped a few inches away to give them leave to walk in. The man did not look pleased that they had a witness to them walking inside as he worked on setting his bowtie right again while leaning against the wall. Gaz noticed he had a wedding ring on his finger while the woman did not and she was certainly much younger and too pretty for him.

“Something tells me she is not the misses,” Soap replied as he watched the woman sweep inside while patting down her hair.

“Ditch them,” came Ghost’s voice suddenly. “I need eyes on the staff back here, a van just pulled up,” he continued. “Alex get out here. Something isn’t right,” he continued before going silent again.

“On it,” Gaz answered right after Alex confirmed he was on the way. Snuffing out his cigarette on the wall Gaz flicked it into the open dumpster before sidestepping the dumpster headed down the alleyway at a fast walk. He didn’t want to flat out run and draw attention if this was nothing but Ghost seemed pretty urgent nonetheless.

“You’re out of my sights,” Soap cut in as Gaz’s form disappeared into the darkness of the alley. “All quiet up here still, just a few people leaving the party early.”

“They’re unloading crates,” Ghost stated, “security just showed up so don’t come in hot. The caterers seem confused, this delivery was not on the books.”

Gaz was near the end of the alley and he peered around the brick corner to see the unmarked black van. There were two workers unloading wooden crates from the back and another worker was talking to security, their conversation all in Russian. Security didn’t seem too bothered but the catering staff seemed a bit confused as they brought out carts to wheel the crates inside. “I’m going to get a look at the crates,” Gaz stated as he rolled his head from side to side, “follow my lead, Alex.”

“On it,” Alex answered as he appeared at the door with a cart, handing it off to another catering staffer.

“Oi,” Gaz called out as he stumbled a bit into the light, holding a cigarette between his fingers. “Anyone have a light?” He inquired and he visibly flinched as a security officer rounded on him with his gun raised. “Woah,” he raised his hands innocently, “just need a light bruv,” he mimed a lighter and waved his cigarette to show what he was asking for. The security officer grunted a bit and nodded with his head over at one of the caterers, all of whom had frozen at the sight of the gun. “Alright then,” Gaz said a bit sarcastically as he walked over to the caterers swaying a bit, his head turned to look over his shoulder at the security officer before a woman stepped forward with a lighter. Gaz continued to walk like he had one too many, and even stumbled a bit as he leaned down to touch his cigarette to the flame, putting on that he was uncoordinated and unsteady.

Once the cigarette was lit he moved out of the way, toward the carts with the crates on them, and puffed slowly. He was trying to get a good look at them for any distinct markings or if he could see anything between the slats. There was hay or some type of stuffing in them because it was sticking out from the gaps in the wood but that was it, he couldn’t see anything inside and the wood was clear of any lettering or logos. “I can’t see shit,” Gaz muttered softly into his mic as he curled his tongue up to take a deep inhale of smoke. “Alex?”

“Nothing,” Alex answered with a small grunt, “they’re heavy though and something is rattling inside.”

“Time to make a scene,” Gaz said quietly as Alex appeared in the doorway again to take another crate. He didn’t have a cart this time though, he just offered to carry one inside, huffing as it was loaded into his arms. When he turned to head back into the kitchen Gaz locked eyes with him and gave a small nod before pushing up off the wall he had been leaning on. “Sell it,” Gaz muttered before he stumbled his way toward the door, as if he were going to go back inside for the party but colliding hard with Alex instead.

The crate fell to the ground with a loud crash and Gaz cursed loudly as he had been knocked back on his ass onto the concreate. His gloves tore in a spot as they scraped against the concreate and he felt a sharp sting in his palm where the skin had scraped. “Fucking idiot!” Gaz yelled out as Alex crouched down in front of him to block everyone’s view, acting as if he were going to help Gaz up. They had positioned themselves in the door so they could get a good look at the contents of the contents that had spilled all over, half inside half outside. Fuck. Guns and ammo had come pouring out and they only had moments to react.

“Guns,” Alex said quickly, “Russian RPK’s,” he continued to explain before the van workers had advanced on them. They were yelling in Russian and had produced the same type of guns holding them aimed right at Alex’s back, the catering staff and the security guard who didn’t have a chance to draw his own gun again.

“I only have a clear shot on one,” came Ghost’s voice.

“Duck,” Gaz said as his hand shot under his suit jacket and yanked out his pistol. He hadn’t fastened the holster and it was loaded with one shot chambered already, safety off. Alex didn’t need to be told twice, as soon as Gaz’s hand disappeared under his jacket, he dropped his head and reached for his own gun in his ridiculous cummerbund.

The man with his gun trained on Alex went down first, a shot to the back of the head from Ghost’s sniper rifle. The second man aiming at the catering staff went down next with a shot from Gaz’s silenced pistol and the third that was by the security guard hit the ground dead from Alex’s gun. It took less than ten seconds and the people around them were shocked into silence for a few seconds before the screaming started.

“Put the fucking gun down,” Gaz ordered as the security guard finally produced his gun and was aiming it at Gaz again, who had his own aimed right back. “We just saved your ass. Put. It. Down!” He knew there was a language barrier but the guy seemed to catch the hint and he lowered the gun before looking back at the bodies on the ground again.

“Clear,” Ghost stated into the comms to give Soap and Price an update on what had just happened. “Check and see how many guns were being loaded and see who was coming to pick up the goods,” Ghost finished.

“On it,” Gaz answered as he pushed up into a standing position and moved to the back of the van to check. The thing was packed full of crates and he ripped at one of the planks on one to reveal more guns and ammo. “They are planning something,” he said as he checked yet another crate. “There is heavy weaponry in here, RPKs, AKs, pistols and…fucking hell grenades”

“We’re evacuating the undersecretary,” came Price’s voice, “the event security has all disappeared and I don’t like the looks of it.”

“They didn’t disappear,” Alex answered suddenly as his head snapped to the window that looked into the kitchen. “They’re here to get their delivery.” About fifteen men had suddenly appeared in the kitchen and some of them went to the crates that had been loaded onto the metal counters while others were coming outside to see what the holdup had been. The men inside were loading their clips into the guns and talking in rapid Russian as Alex attempted to shoo the catering staff away down the alley Gaz had come from only minutes before.

“They were planning a damn massacre,” Gaz said as he rushed to get a gun out of a crate he pried open while Alex scooped one up off the ground and loaded it. “Get everyone out of there Cap,” Gaz said as he clicked the firing pin in place before leaning around the van and leveling his gun at the kitchen door. “We’ll keep them busy,” he added before the first shot was fired from inside the kitchen shattering the window, the bullet aimed for Alex who they had spotted had picked up one of the guns.

“Don’t come out the front,” came Soap’s voice suddenly. “There’s a lot of movement out here, oh fuck,” he cut off as an explosion rattled the ground. “They’ve got car bombs,” he came back, the radio crackling a bit “they’re mowing people down. They just rammed the fence and are coming out of armored trucks locked and loaded.”

Sure enough Gaz could hear the gun fire in the not so distance, though it was a bit muffled compared to the fire fight that had opened up between him, Alex and the Russians in the kitchen. “How the fuck did this happen?” Gaz yelled as he shot a man through the chest and ducked back to avoid a bullet that whizzed by his head. “We did a sweep, they were supposed to have done a thorough check on the security company,” he added as he dug one handed in a crate to scoop up some grenades. If they had armored trucks they were going to need more than AK’s and RPK’s to fight back. Hopefully the American’s brought some good toys with them.

“When you’re checked and cleared by the Russian government it’s a little easier to sneak in Russian operatives,” Ghost answered as a well-placed shot took out a man through the busted out kitchen window. “Gate crashing is always a little hard to plan for anyway,” another shot and another man fell.

“I’ve got the undersecretary in a back room, east wing off the library,” Price came in, “I don’t have anything besides a damn pistol and limited shots. Lost two of the security team on our way here. Make quick work of this,” he ordered.

“We’ll come to you,” Gaz said as he pulled another gun out, loaded it and slung it over his shoulder. He shoved magazines into any and all pockets that he had and tossed some to Alex who had joined him at the van for cover. “Take what you can carry, I’m going to blow it,” Gaz said to Alex who nodded as he stashed some grenades a second pistol and more ammo on himself.

They had managed to weed down the fifteen or so men inside down to just a handful but they were locked in tight, hiding behind the brick walls and shooting sporadically over the windowsill. Grabbing a grenade Gaz pulled the pin and lobbed it right through the window and turned to hide behind the van as he heard panicked yells before the explosion. The van shook from the blowback and Gaz’s teeth clicked together as he covered his ears before he peered around again. Half the kitchen wall had been blown out and there was part of a body smoldering. “Russian’s could give the American’s a run for their money for their love of explosions,” Gaz stated as he waited for Ghost to survey.

“Looks like you cleaned shop,” Ghost answered. “Get a move on.”

Gaz grabbed another grenade and waited for Alex to run to the kitchen and do a final sweep. He got the all-clear nod and he pulled a pin on another grenade and tossed it into the back of the van and slammed the door shut. Running for the door he darted inside just as the van exploded, taking all the guns and other grenades with it so at least the Russian’s wouldn’t have more ammo. The crates in the kitchen had been blown apart from the first blast, one of the crates still smoking as Gaz kicked it out of the way.

Alex took point as they moved through the kitchen toward the double doors, walking in a low crouch position and looking through their sights as they moved. The building was massive and the East wing library was a good distance away from the kitchens so they needed to move fast. Kicking the door open Alex darted out into the ballroom area where the main party was being held and hid behind a pillar. Music was still playing over the sound speakers, pictures on a slide show were running on a massive projector and balloons were swaying in the breeze from the hole that had been ripped in the front of the room from the car bomb. It was eerie to say the least as Gaz looked around, darting to a second pillar and peering to see if anyone was around.

There were a few masked men walking around the main floor, their guns aimed at the floor as they walked and toed over fallen bodies on the ground. Someone screamed as a man happened upon them and Gaz winced as they were shot point blank without hesitation. The shooter moved on to look over the rest of the room for anyone trying to hide.

“We have to move,” Alex said after a moment, “we’ll come back for them,” he promised as he looked at Gaz’s mutinous face. “We need to get Price these guns and the undersecretary and his staff safe.” Alex didn’t look happy about leaving them either but he was right, Price and those he was protecting were priority.

“Anytime the American’s want to step in would be great,” Gaz muttered, “or France for that matter.” He kept up the fast past crouch walk behind Alex as they moved, careful to make as little noise as possible as they climbed up two flights of stairs and came to an expansive hallway. They had studied the building maps for days before this mission and they knew the library was almost at the other end. Issue was there were two masked and gun men between them and the library doors.

Sliding his larger gun to his back Gaz pulled out his silenced pistol and darted across the hall and ducked into a door jam before nodding at Alex. They both aimed at a man on either side and took their shots within milliseconds of one another. They fell like stones, blood spraying on the wall as they dropped before pooling around their heads. Gaz and Alex still didn’t move however, waiting to see if they had any other friends with them that they hadn’t seen before. No one else appeared and Gaz stepped out first, taking up point this time as he dragged the big gun back off his shoulder and jogged down toward the library.

“We’re in the library sir,” Gaz said into the radio as he and Alex stepped into the large ornate room. His words came between Soap and Ghost talking to one another about what was happening outside. Apparently, more guards had shown up to get weaponry from the van and when they found that wasn’t an option they scrambled for a new plan as Ghost picked them off one by one until they grew wise and hid. Soap had managed to take out an armored truck with a well-placed shot to a propane heater for the valet services and was doing his best to take off masked men through the windows.

“Rog,” Price responded, “we’re coming from the back left.” Gaz turned his attention that way as Alex watched the door. When they heard a door creak open Gaz raised his gun and stared down his sights until he saw Price come around a shelf full of books, pistol also raised.

“Good to see you sir,” Gaz stated as he slipped his second RPK off his shoulder and passed it off to Price who quickly inspected it and put the strap over his shoulder. There was a small group of people behind Price who looked frazzled and terrified. The undersecretary was surrounded by two guards and a few others in his group were circled about, rubbing their arms and looking around for what was next. “What’s the plan?”

“Fire escape,” Price answered as he looked back at the group. “There’s a fire escape at the end of the hallway outside the big window. Everyone is going out that way, one at a time. One of my men will go first to make sure it is clear and cover us, then you will follow. We will have to make a run for it, there will be transport waiting for us a street over.”

The group looked apprehensive of this plan, the women were in flimsy silk dresses and heels that certainly were not made for climbing down metal fire escapes. The rest of the men looked older or out of shape for running save maybe one. But they all nodded after a beat of silence and Price turned back around to talk to Alex and Gaz again.

Suddenly a man, one of the younger ones but still a few solid years older than Gaz blurted out, “what about my wife?” He looked vaguely familiar to Gaz but he couldn’t place it, it had to be because he had seen him in the security briefings or on television since he worked for the undersecretary. Something needled in his brain that wasn’t it, he knew him from somewhere else but he didn’t have time to try and place it at the moment. It would come to him at three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep and it was still bothering him.

Price turned back to him, “our priority is you. We get you out and we will come back for any survivors and take out the remaining threats. As I told you before.” He seemed a bit agitated at the interruption but the man still pressed.

“She went to the bathroom right before all of this happened, she’s probably terrified and if they find her,” he hesitated and swallowed hard. “Please, I can’t leave here with out her.”

“I’ll go,” Gaz volunteered abruptly with a small nod at the man before turning to Price again. “They are taking out any survivors they find without hesitation, Captain. If she’s still alive she won’t be for long.” He wanted to take out those men he had seen in the main room and this gave him an excuse to circle back. Hopefully the woman had stayed hidden in the bathroom and wasn’t one of the bodies on the floor. “What bathroom?” He asked looking back at the guy, doing his best to not look at Price out the corner of his eye who looked less than impressed with this idea.

“It’s off the lounge next to the main room,” the man answered, relief showing over his face at Gaz’s offer. “She didn’t even want to come to this,” he explained, “she’s sick of me traveling all the time but I had to come to this so I dragged her along.”

“I’ll find her. What’s her name?” Gaz asked before looking at Price who just nodded, still not pleased but not telling Gaz no.

“Liv,” the man replied as he patted his pockets as if looking for his wallet or phone. “I can show you…” he started.

“No time for that,” Price answered before turning to Gaz. “You go to that bathroom and you find her. If she is not there you are to get to rendezvous point C. That is an order,” Price stated simply. There were always multiple plans for escape for these sort of things so Gaz knew exactly where he needed to go once he found this woman. “You have fifteen minutes,” he added on. He was right, his priority was the undersecretary and even waiting an extra minute was a huge risk.

“She’s in a silver dress, dark hair,” the man tacked on giving up on trying to pull up a picture on his phone. “I think she went with a friend,” he added, glancing at Price who indicated for Alex to lead the way out of the room and make sure it was still secure.

“See you shortly” Gaz answered before jogging away from them. He heard Price start moving them but soon the distance from them was too great for Gaz to hear anything. All he could hear now was his own footsteps, gun fire, distant explosions and Soap and Ghost still talking to one another. This night had turned into a disaster that was going to have a huge ripple effect on the world in the next few hours and days.

“What’s it look like out there?” Gaz asked into his comms as he crept down the same flight of stairs, he and Alex had climbed mere minutes before. His path was still clear but who knew where the men in the main room had moved to now.

“Fucking disaster,” Soap said after a brief pause. “I’m already running low on ammo, we hadn’t planned for a damn warzone,” his words were clipped and he sounded frustrated.

“I’ve got company,” Ghost came in. “I’m going to have to move. Soap get out of there, it’s just matter of time before they come for you.”

“Rendezvous C,” Price cut in just as Alex added the all clear for the group to start moving down the fire escape. “Move it Gaz, you’ve got thirteen minutes. And don’t fuck around Soap. Cut your losses and live to fight another day,” Price added in for good measure. He knew his team well enough to know Soap was probably cussing up a storm that he was being told to leave instead of fight.

Gaz had made it back to the main floor and was ducked down behind a decorative wall. With it being nighttime outside the high windows that hadn’t been shot out or exploded allowed for some reflection like a mirror. There were still men moving about the floor, they were setting what seemed to be claymore bombs which would takeout anyone attempting to come in and rescue. He’d have to warn Price so he could pass the information along to the proper authorities for when they eventually came in and cleared the area.

There were too many men for Gaz to engage in an open firefight, especially if Soap had been removed from overwatch so he needed to sneak. If he was lucky he could potentially set off a chain reaction with a grenade on their way out to take all the assholes out in one shot. Keeping as far down to the ground as possible Gaz worked his way around the room, sliding underneath tables and palming his pistol ready to strike. He managed to make it to the side lounge without incident but there was no way to get to the bathrooms without being seen. There were three men in the room unloading more crates full of claymores and other weaponry.

Slipping behind a couch Gaz raised his pistol over the cushions before following suit with the rest of his body. He had four shots left for his pistol so he had to make them count. They hadn’t seen him yet so he took the extra second to plan out his shots before firing, taking the one standing nearest the fireplace first since he was facing more toward Gaz. Next was the one popping the legs onto a claymore but he shifted into a standing position so it took two shots to take him out. The third man had become aware of the situation and was reaching for his radio, so Gaz had to make a quick choice to shoot the thing out of his hand before he could call for backup. That was the end of his quiet bullets.

Leaping bodily over the couch Gaz was on top of the man slamming his still gloved hand over his mouth as they rolled to the floor. The man was cursing and yelling for help in Russian before Gaz cut him off and they were scrambling on the rug, knocking into crates and a coffee table. The man’s right hand was useless, the walkie-talkie had exploded in it and the bullet had gone straight through the flesh and bone mangling it. The guy still put up a fight though and Gaz took an elbow to the jaw hard enough to make his ears ring before he managed to get the man on his stomach on the floor. The Russian man had been disguised as event staff so unluckily for him a tie was part of the attire, which Gaz was now using to choke him to death with. Kneeling on his back Gaz twisted the black silk material in his fist until the man stopped moving.

Not wasting time Gaz shot back up and grabbed his discarded pistol, shoving it into his chest holster before headed toward the hallway that held the bathrooms. He didn’t run into anyone else as he made his way but there were shoeprints in blood on the tile that led from the woman’s bathroom back the way he came. As he got closer to the door he could see there was a puddle of blood seeping from under it and bullet holes in the door. “Shit,” Gaz said to himself as he looked it over before reaching out and opening the door slowly with his left hand, the RPK in his right ready to shoot.

The door was stuck and didn’t want to open fully and Gaz used his shoulder to push it open more, hearing the sickening sound of something sliding through the blood. He stopped pushing when the gap was large enough for him to get inside and what he found caused him to shut his eyes briefly. A woman was dead on the floor, her eyes wide open and body littered with bullet holes as if she had just been shot through the door. This wasn’t Liv though, the woman on the ground was blonde and in a light pink dress, though it was stained mostly red now. But if it wasn’t Liv maybe it was her friend that her husband said she went to the bathroom with so she could still be in here.

Gaz moved to the first stall and knocked it open, there was no one in there. He moved to the next one, looking in the mirror as his backup to make sure nothing snuck up on him as he moved. This stall was partially open and he couldn’t see anything in there either. He cleared two more that were empty but when he got to the last door it didn’t budge. There was no way for him to see in unless he got on his stomach on the ground. The doors went almost to the floor and pretty far up toward the ceiling and it was definitely locked, he nudged it lightly with shoulder and it didn’t budge.

“Liv are you in there?” Gaz asked quietly as he backed up and raised his gun to the door. He wasn’t going to risk it being a Russian operative taking a pee break. “Liv my name is Kyle, I’m with SAS. Your husband asked me to find you,” he tried again. He knew he only had a few minutes left to make it to the rendezvous and if Liv wasn’t in here he didn’t want to waste time when he could be taking out a few bastards on his retreat. He was about to knock but then he heard movement in the stall. He raised his gun a little higher as the lock clicked and the door started to move inward toward the stall to reveal a woman standing there.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Gaz muttered as he took in the frightened woman. That’s why the man, her husband, had looked so familiar upstairs. “Olivia,” he said after a moment. Pieces of the puzzle his brain had been avoiding were falling rapidly into place and Gaz felt his stomach twist. Liv was short for fucking Olivia. The same name as his ex-fiancé who had married a ‘family friend’ that was a politician who worked in the British government.

“Kyle?” Olivia asked, obviously as shocked and surprised as Gaz was. She was holding up the hem of her dress, having been standing on the toilet bowl in her heels. Henry had told her that SAS was part of the security for the gala that evening but it hadn’t even crossed her mind that Kyle would be part of that. He was part of a taskforce that was involved in much more pressing matters she thought. “Oh my God,” she breathed as she took in the body on the floor. “Leah. I told her to stay in the stall, but she was so scared and I heard them shoot her but,” she could feel herself wretch and she turned quickly to get sick in the toilet behind her.

“We have to go Liv,” Kyle said after she finished and wiped her mouth with the back of her left hand, which had an obnoxiously large diamond ring on it. He always hated that nickname for her, it wasn’t fitting in his eyes but if that’s what she went by now then so be it. It had been over three years since he had last seen her, they were two totally different people now, and he wasn’t going to pretend they were on good terms and call her what he used to. “The area is completely overrun with Russian operatives, so you’re going to have to run,” he looked down at her heels before back up at her face.

“I can run in heels,” Olivia answered his questioning look before gesturing for him to lead the way. He had called her Liv. That was what her husband Henry always preferred to use, and the name Kyle always disliked the most. “Is Henry alright?” She asked after a moment as Gaz pulled the door open and stepped around Leah’s body back into the hallway, holding the door for her to slide out behind him. “We went to the bathroom when we heard the shooting start.”

“He’s fine. He’s with my Captain and the rest of the group,” Gaz answered as he crept down the hallway before shooting his left arm out behind him to stop her. He needed to think of the best way out of here and her talking to him was too distracting. Seeing her face after all these years, hearing her voice, had stirred up a bunch of shit in his mind that he was not prepared to deal with and it was taking him off his game. “I need you to stay right behind me,” he stated turning to glance at her over his shoulder, “don’t talk. And if I say duck you duck, run you run.”

“Fine,” Olivia answered him, “what is your plan? Are there others here to help?” She asked as her eyes spotted the three bodies on the floor of the lounge. Two of them had been shot but the third one had a tie wrapped around his neck and it was facing the wrong way as if he had been choked with it.

“Liv. I said quiet,” Gaz answered her, his voice clipped and no longer the soft voice reassuring voice he had been using when he first spoke to her through the bathroom stall. She had been cold, colder, when she last communicated with him so he was just returning the same courtesy. “My plan is to get you out of here to our rendezvous point so you all can be extracted. Henry is already there they are waiting on us but we have six minutes so we have to move. Now.”

Gaz was on the move out of the room and he could fee Olivia right behind him, she was keeping up despite the heels, though he wished she could ditch them. The clicking on the tile was too loud but the glass everywhere made that impossible. He’d just have to fight their way out of there and before he could fully decide on that plan on his own it was decided for him. A man came around the corner and Gaz quickly raised his gun and smashed the butt of it into the guy’s face knocking him out cold in a single hit. Olivia gasped behind him but she covered her mouth with her hand quickly to mask it before Gaz began to move again, raising his gun to use the sights to look around the room.

“You need to run for that door,” Gaz said pointing to the main front door with his gun muzzle. There were men in the room lurking about and Olivia looked at him like he was crazy. If she went for the door she’d be in the open and would be dead before she ever made it. “I’m going to take out that guy,” he pointed with his left hand, “which will distract them and draw their fire on me. You run out that door and go immediately to your right and keep running that way. Don’t stop, I’ll catch up with you.”

Olivia shook her head, “I’ll never make it. There are too many of them. The minute they see me they’ll come after me.” She paused looking at the path she’d have to take, there were overturned tables and chairs she could use for a little cover, maybe. “And how are you supposed to get out if you are going to draw their fire?” She asked furiously a second later as Gaz refused to look at her and instead kept watching the men work to try and get an idea of their movements.

“Because I know what I am doing, it’s my job,” Gaz answered her simply as he cut his eyes over to her for a brief second. His job had always been a source of contention in their relationship and what had finally been the breakdown of it. “I can handle it Liv, just go when I make the first shot. Don’t look back, don’t hesitate and avoid those bombs,” he pointed with his left hand at one. “Or we’re all dead.”

“Kyle, maybe we should,” Olivia said after a moment ready to continue to fight him on it but he fired. The man he had aimed for went down with a head shot and Gaz yelled at her to run. Hiking up the hem of her silk dress again Olivia ran for the door, her feet screaming at her as they cleared foot after foot of tile toward the blown-out door. There was more gunfire as she threw her arms above her head for some sort of protection and she swore she felt the breeze of bullets graze by her as she jumped over one of the bombs Gaz had told her to avoid.

“Keep going,” Gaz yelled over the firefight as he took another shot at two men advancing on him. He was trusting Olivia was going to follow his instructions, he couldn’t wait to see because he was about to be swarmed. Digging out a grenade from his coat pocket Gaz pulled the pin and lobbed it over the wall he was hiding behind before running toward the kitchen in the back, shooting distracting fire behind him with his gun. He barely cleared the kitchen double doors when the grenade blast went off followed by many side explosions of the claymores going off. He hoped Olivia was down the side the building by now because if she was still inside or too close to the front, she would be dead.

Jumping through the blown out back door Gaz immediately turned left and ran flat out down the side of the building toward the street where they were going to rendezvous. He was planning on meeting Olivia around the side of the building and he wanted to beat her there. He didn’t have a chance to tell her that part of the plan though, the man he had been targeting had turned around too quickly. He knew she had been terrified and pissed at the idea he had for her but he wasn’t going to let her get shot. He was a much bigger target and the Russians would prefer to take out the person firing on them versus the one running away.

Gaz skidded around the side of the building intime to see Olivia come around the corner looking twice as frazzled and angry. The explosions had been extremely loud and Gaz was pretty sure half the building had collapsed in on itself now. “You hurt?” He asked as he jogged over to her as she doubled over holding her side, his eyes scanning over her quickly for any injuries. He may hate her but he didn’t want to see her hurt.

“Go to hell Kyle,” Olivia snapped as she held a stitch in her side before standing up fully again, “You’re a fucking asshole for that,” she added before pushing her hair, that had once been pinned up nicely, off her face with a glare as Gaz came closer.

“Sergeant Garrick,” Gaz answered her, his tone even which he knew would just piss her off even more. “And I’ve been called worse by better people,” he finished before hiking his gun back up again and began jogging over to the rendezvous spot which was on the other side of a small strip of woods behind the parking garage they were quickly approaching. The area seemed vastly untouched and Gaz called in over his comms for a report on the area and Alex answered back it was all quiet in this area, though everyone wanted to know what the large explosion had been.

Olivia kept her retorts to herself as they jogged through the woods, knowing deep down that she deserved the shit he was throwing at her. Even if she was pissed off at him right now, he had still come through for her like he always had even when she didn’t deserve it. Her feet were on fire, she was pretty sure she had stepped on glass since her strappy heels weren’t much protection, and she tripped over a few tree roots. Snarling she yanked her dress that caught on a bush and heard the fabric rip loudly, leaving a piece behind. Henry was going to be pissed that her dress was ruined, it was a very expensive designer that had been custom fitted to her.

“Gaz,” Price called as they cleared the tree line to find three armored cars lined up ready to go. “You’re late,” he stated looking down at his watch though there was a small smirk on his lips.

“Sorry sir,” Gaz answered as he looked over at Olivia who walked right past them toward the cars, her chin held up in a haughty gesture and pointedly not looking over at Gaz. Gaz could see Henry was standing outside of an open door and he quickly grabbed Olivia by the biceps and held her there as if inspecting her before pulling her into a tight hug. “Got a little held up by some operatives,” he stated simply as Henry stepped aside for Olivia to get in the car first before he slid in behind her, his fingers plucking at the ripped-up shreds of her dress and shutting the door behind them.

“So, you blew them all up instead?” Came Soap’s voice as he walked over with Ghost and Alex. He was grinning as he approached before gesturing over his shoulder at the car where Henry and Olivia disappeared into. “Princess didn’t seem too pleased,” he chuckled.

“Just took a leaf out of your book,” Gaz answered with a small smirk before looking at the car as the first one in the line pulled away. The undersecretary’s backup security were the ones in charge of extraction and they had brought the cars, the 141 would be meeting up with the other countries special ops to figure out what the hell just happened. “She’s is never happy with me,” he answered sternly after a moment before cutting his eyes back to Soap. He saw the eyebrow raise on his and Alex’s face before tacking on, “Princess is Olivia.” There was a small spark of recognition on Price’s face before Gaz further explained, “the Olivia.”

“Oh shit,” Soap whistled before turning to look at the car again as it pulled away, grabbing at his vest straps with his hands to rest his arms. Soap had been there through the whole mess Gaz had gone through and helped keep him together. Soap hated her, probably more than Gaz did, for what she had done to Gaz. “Glad to see the backside of them then,” he stated with a nod.

“For now,” Price stated into the silence as he too watched the cars turn a corner out of sight. Gaz turned his attention back to him with a look for apprehension and Price merely cut his eyes over to him with a knowing look.

#fanfic #fanfiction #call of duty fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 author #my fic #gaz fanfic #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x oc #keeping lines blurry

[siberat]

can i ask for chubby prowl in lingere? im thirsty for him rn

this one a bit kinky

Oh our beloved, up tight Pro/wl.  I somehow see him being very… very serious. And all the time.  So just how is this going to work? 

Well, Pro/wl is a stress eater, and well, his lover’s- yes, you read that right- he’s hooked up with the Constru/cticons in this scenario. And they are food pushers, big time. Pro/wl naturally was in denial over his weight gain in the beginning, but with how plumped up he got, there’s no denying it anymore. At first, he was shy about it and a bit concerned, however, all 5 ‘Cons ogled and pawed at him like mad; they just loved him with extra rolls on his body! And Pro/wl secretly loved the attention. Secretly because if he expressed that he loved it, it would encourage the combiner team big time.

But his body betrayed himself, and the 5 green bots went apesh*t crazy- never leaving him alone. And you know Pro/wl had to put them in place. He tried doing the right thing first- talking to them. Who here thinks they listened? Well, spoiler alert- they didn’t. Firm talking didn’t help and neither did trying to hide from them (Prowl did enjoy their attention after all, just needed some time to get his work done) It seems this team of ‘Con’s need harsh treatment to get info past their stubborn heads.

And Pro/wl is not one to disappoint or go easy on them.

One evening, he gets home earlier then his lovers, and he gets ready. He sits on a chair in plain view of his habsuit door, and once the 5 ‘bots return home, they are shocked at what they see. They see Pro/wl in a red, skin-tight rubber full body suit that engulfs his chubby body from neck to pede. It’s a wonder that this suit didn’t/doesn’t rip with any movement! His stomach strains at the latex, his love handles bulging, and his thighs look to nearly burst at the seams. Worn over this is a black harness adorned with silver rings, clips, and chains. Pro/wl covers his helm with an evil looking mask and is currently slapping a servo with a crop.

All five of the Constru/cticons hoover in the doorway in which they promptly get ordered to come inside and to get on their knees with a strong and harsh voice.  And when Pro/wl stands- you can hear it; the latex makes noise as he marches over to them and attaches their collars and leashes around their necks. He stomps around with his custom-made heavy boots and sternly informs them of their punishment.

One dares to speak, trying to appease Pro/wl with the fact that dinner was brought, and then earns the honor of being gaged and to be the first one punished with said crop. Naturally, the others, one by one, speak up, because, well, they simply desire this punishment! Of course, Pro/wl acts all disappointment, telling them how low they are and how terrible they are and that they are such bad lovers- you know, worthless piles of scrap.  Before anyone worries, the sound of engines revving and cooling fans running high speed from all five of them is deafening. Wait, better make that all six since all are in for a fun night tonight.

And this is just the beginning, as the evening is full of reprimands and demands that none of the green combiners dare to disobey. Yes, Pro/wl did end up eating that dinner.

-------

Got a bot you wanna see a scenario in lingerie? Send me a note!

#chubformers #chubformers lingerie prompt #siberat ask game

[scentofgenocide]

Not only did I lose you,

I lost myself too.

Fears on my pillow,

Under the unlucky Jew.

I don’t know why it all tumbled out as it did, sadness and spite. Too much truth. You talk too much. You interrupt too much. You said too much. Spiky and stuttered. can’t even spit it out. When you do spit it out, it’s just blood and salt. You know he’ll just turn it on you, right? You’ll get close and then you’re responsible for him. You’re already responsible for him. When people talk against him, you’re ready to fight. You never felt that way about your other fathers. You never wanted to defend their honor. What honor? You turn to an angry dog, rabid and feral.

Through some weird, twisted, fucked up psychic event, it all came tumbling out. The lost years. The grief, the anger.

I heard him say though, “I’d like to hear your story, for personal reasons…” and trail off. I don’t even know why I’m having trouble writing this. It was a chasm. It was a canyon. It was a forest full of branches and sand.

I don’t know why they are intertwined in my mind. There’s crossover. I will recount it, as best as I can, because it was significant.

The non-binary student mentioned their family stuff to him, getting in touch with their half brother, the similarities. They mentioned ties to Israel and Berlin, grandparents they never knew. I was taken aback, and out it tumbled:

Hope yours goes better than mine. We have remarkably similar stories. Wow. Yeah, my dad’s from Israel. Abandoned me as a kid. Didn’t hear from him for many years. I’m adopted. He got back in touch 25 years later.

And he paused, in his measured, lanky baritone, “if you’re comfortable talking about it, I’d like to know more. For personal reasons.” I know he meant his daughter. The missing piece. The dark places, the loose threads. And the non-binary student interrupted. That was supposed to be our talk. It’s not the students fault I bleed all over. It’s not their fault my story went awry. It’s no one’s fault. But I’m furious, furious, furious.

He and I walked outside, and I just. It all came out. The anger, the frustration. I could hear it dripping on the pavement like melting snow, thinking too myself, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, this will only be used against you. You took everything over and you let it fly. Muck, slime, bile. Blood. So much blood.

He asked why my dad got in touch. I said I’ve probed, I’ve asked, and he just isn’t forthcoming. I’ve asked about my grandparents. I told him he just writes to me about all the great vacations they go on. He clipped in his funny German dry humor, “oh, well, that’s great. Why would he do that? Why would be even get in touch?” Reiterate. I don’t know.

I saw him listen, I saw him show compassion, I saw him struggle not to linger longer.

I Said that Ive asked about my grandparents and the Holocaust, and gotten no answer. He said maybe my dad didn’t even know. Many people didn’t talk about it. I said I knew, but I wish my dad would tell me the truth. I bristled a bit, he apologized. It’s not your fault, I said, it’s just frustrating.

However, when we parted, I could feel him a bit shaken, maybe a bit rattled. Maybe someday you’ll ache like I ache. I could be projecting. Maybe he isn’t thinking about me at all. Probably not. Maybe.

This journey plagues me like an illness, a blister, it opens and festers,

But perhaps most acutely

I love him even more

[rin-itoshi]

mc’s departure | obey me

summary: how the brothers would react to MC returning to the human world after a year in the devildom

contains: fluff , angst , ?!!!!&;@;&:idk

♯ LUCIFER

he’s the one to see you off, reminding you of the many things he had taught you so that you’d never forget.

his pride is much too large to admit that he will miss you to death and that he loves you dearly.

after you’re gone, he’s gone for hours at a time, holed up in his room with as much as work as he can take on.

he overworks himself with the intention of getting rid of the heavy emotion on his heart.

everything reminds you of him, even the paper clip on his desk that you had once found under his bed.

he gets easily irritable, feeling rather empty now that you’ve gone and left him alone in this now quiet house.

barely leaves his room, only works.

never cries but gets quite emotional when he finds a belonging you left behind.

♯ MAMMON

he cried every single night up until your departure but never showed you that side of him once

after you left, he cried non-stop, not caring if he looked like a cry baby in front of his brother’s who watched him with pitiful eyes.

once his eyes dried up, he soon never returned home as he partied all day and night.

he forced himself to attend parties after parties in order to forget about you.

it never works because everything reminds him of you.

sometimes he sits in his car and just stares into space, wondering what you’re doing now that you’re back on earth.

literally cannot stand the mention of you or your name or he may break down.

pretends to be okay but can’t go a day without getting upset about your absence.

money soon becomes pointless when he realizes no amount of cash will bring you back to the house of lamentation.

♯ LEVIATHAN

curled up in his bath tub and cried himself to sleep.

stopped leaving his room in general, continuously playing games all day and night.

couldn’t look at his ruri-chan figures because they somehow reminded him of you and how much you used to admire them with him.

every inch of his room has your touch on it and it makes his heart ache painfully.

struggles to attend online school but manages to make it through the day by zoning out in class.

claims he doesn’t care about a normie like you but genuinely misses you

sends you messages, forgetting you can no longer contact him without your D.D.D

writes about how much he misses you on his blog fully aware you’ll never see it.

♯ SATAN

reading. that’s all he does.

he hides in his room and reads every single book he has stacked up along his room, even rereading them if he finished everything.

uses books to get his mind off of you—or more so the lack of you.

will sometimes get excited about a stray cat he sees but stops himself when he realizes he can’t tell you because you aren’t here.

gets angry. a lot.

the smallest things set him off and he can longer feign a smile when he hears your name or anything related to you.

he misses you so much that he wants to tear out his hair and rip apart all these book page by page.

his room is in shambles and he can’t seem to think straight anymore.

♯ ASMODEUS

loses his interest in everything.

forgets his skin care routine and lets himself go without caring about it.

forces himself to go to parties and tries to sleep with someone to feel better but when it fails, he stops sleeping around in general.

like mammon, he doesn’t come home often to avoid seeing the house he had lived in with you happily.

cannot forget about you no matter what he does, and that frustrates him the most.

wishes he had done something to stop you or at least slept beside you one last time.

neglects himself for a while.

♯ BEELZEBUB

poor bby isn’t hungry for once.

can’t seem to eat now that you’re not sitting beside him, giggling about something he had said.

spends a lot of his time doing weight training and exercising to get his mind off of you.

misses all the meals you used to make on the nights you were in charge of cooking.

sometimes forgets you’re not around whenever he’s about to go downstairs to eat dinner.

clings to belphie in hopes to fill the gap in his heart.

accidentally broke down your room door in an angry fit when your absence finally set in.

♯ BELPHEGOR

either he sleeps even more or somehow gets less sleep.

no matter what, he feels sluggish and blank.

locks himself in the attic, almost as if he was never released in the first place.

even though he hated humans, your absence affected him the most after he had grown to love you as a human.

nearly went demon mode on diavolo when he found out that you were being sent back to the human world.

partially wishes he never met you but cherishes his memories with you too much to ever wish for that wholeheartedly.

sleeps in your bed often to hold onto your lingering scent that was fading quickly.

complains to beel that you were nothing but a stupid human who turns their backs on demons like them, but he never means anything he says.

“Why is it so quiet in here?” Diavolo asks as he opens the front door of the House of Lamentation with Barbatos at his side. The man’s golden eyes scanned the entry hall, noticing how it was so eerily dark and quiet that it almost felt like something out of a horror movie. It felt like no one had lived here in over two thousand years. “Hello?”

Upon receiving message from Diavolo, everyone had exited their rooms for the first time in a while, looking like they were dragged through the mud. The state they were in made Diavolo jump with surprise, shocked to find that even Lucifer looked like he was ill. “What happened to you guys?!”

“What is it that you need, Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer asked as he ran a hand through his hair to compose himself a bit in front of the red haired man. “If is nothing important, may I kindly ask you to leave and return another time?”

Diavolo sighed, shaking his head lightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what’s up with you guys, but I brought everyone’s favorite person along with me so sing your praises now!”

Mammon huffed, “If ya’ talking about that butler of yours, ain’t nobody care right now! We got bigger things to worry about!”

Barbatos simply smiled, taking no offense to the sly insult thrown his way.

Diavolo cocked a brow in confusion. “What? Of course not! It’s-“

The person stepped out from behind Diavolo, catching the attention of every single male in the room. The seven brother’s choked, staring at the one person they had longed for these past few days.

“[y/n]!” They shouted in unison, practically flying down the stairs to get to you. Mammon was the first to reach you, wrapping his arms around your entire body as he tackled you to the floor. The other brother’s climbed on top of you two, hugging you so tightly that you feared this would be where you’d die. “You’re back!”

Diavolo chuckled boisterously. “This is amusing! You lot are acting like you didn’t know they’d return today!” His laugh came to an abrupt stop when he saw the flat expressions coming from each and every brother. “Oh- Did I not inform you?”

“Obviously you didn’t.” Belphegor scoffed with a roll of the eyes, burying his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. “[y/n]...”

“Ya can’t ever leave again! I’ll seriously get angry at ya if this happens again! Ya either go to the human world with me or ya don’t go at all!” Mammon snapped, cupping your cheeks while getting dangerously close to your face to yell at you.

“I’ll severely punish you if you ever leave this manor without giving me a heads up as to where you’re off to. You’re not just an exchange student anymore. You’re special.” Lucifer explained, a panicked glint in his tired eyes as he reached out to pat your head gently with his gloved hand.

Satan sighed, pressing his forehead against your back. “If you leave again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control my emotions, so don’t leave.”

The avatar of lust whined loudly, “my beautiful self can’t handle a life without you! Don’t ever go anywhere without me again!” He clutched onto her waist tightly.

“Don’t... Don’t go anywhere.” Leviathan said with a sad frown on his lips as he held your hand, bringing it up to rest against his cheek. “It’s so empty without you.”

“Let’s eat dinner together, [y/n].” Beel suggested, his voice full of emotions as he drooled at the thought of dinner with you.

A million emotions ran through your veins as you sat there, basking in the warmth of their touch. It was overwhelming to receive so much love all at once but it was amazing.

A smile slowly crept onto your lips as you leaned into their touch, enjoying the way they clung to you as if you’d disappear any moment now. “I missed you guys, too.”

“What a lovely reunion!” Diavolo exclaimed happily, snapping a view blurry photos on his D.D.D to send to the group chat later.

After the heartfelt moment, they quickly disappeared upstairs to fix up their appearance before rushing downstairs to the kitchen where you stood. They clung to you like bugs to a light, hounding you about your sudden departure, only to find out that you had gone up there with Diavolo and Barbatos to help the man experience human world activities he had never gotten to try before. Diavolo was sure he had told them that but seeing as they were genuinely distressed, he assumed the message never reached.

Even though they were beyond pissed with Diavolo and his carelessness, they were just glad you were back. Them being here with you really was their idea of a perfect life.

a/n: UH YEA K GOODNIGHT

#beel x reader #Lucifer x reader #leviathan x reader #leviathan #Lucifer #beelzebub #belphegor #asmodeus #satan #mammon #obey me #mammon x reader #asmo x reader #belphie x reader #satan x reader #obey me fluff #obey me shall we date #HEADCANONS #obeyme HEADCANONS #obey me x reader

[wizardouxie]

PANTONE 2046 C

Genre: Fluff, #ZoeAppreciationWeek

Pairing: Zouxie

Summary: The Pink Hair Origin Story (alternatively also the Blue Hair Origin Story)

Word Count: 2788

Author's Note: First day of Zoe Appreciation Week! Wanted to participate so have this not so little one shot to showcase our lovely pink haired witch <3

"Wow, the dye came out really nicely," Zoe murmurs as Douxie exits the bathroom, his hair freshly blown dry -- from its tips to the full bangs dipped in a deep yet striking blue. He smiles widely at the quiet compliment and waves over to Archie.

"How does it look Arch?" they ask, though the answer is pretty clear, if Archie's fond gaze is anything to go by. The familiar flies in to nuzzle his face.

"Dashing as ever, Douxie."

Zoe leans back into the couch with content, taking in the beautiful sight that is her best friend. She did really good. The faint buzz of adrenaline lingers on the pads of her fingers. Right, she forgot. That was her first time.

"Are. You. Crazy? I've never even dyed hair before!" the natural brown haired girl hissed. She begrudgingly wiped the bubblegum that had exploded over her lips -- a result from the initial shock when Douxie first made his request. Granted, she felt honored that they would come to her before anyone else, but still! She can't risk ruining his hair, she doesn't have experience, plus the hair salon could totally do it better and-

"I'd rather it be you than anyone else," the wizard confirmed firmly. Zoe turned to the familiar. Surely the cat who lived with this stubborn kid could knock some sense into them. Archie could only provide a shrug in response.

"They're pretty sure about this."

She groaned.

"Fine, fine! But give me a few days unless you want me to pick out the wrong dye and end up with neon green."

[ 1 Week Later ]

Zoe couldn't keep track of just how many hair channels and blogs she'd gone through. She mimicked their hand movements, using cheap wigs and mannequin heads to simulate the experience. Through it all, one voice echoed the same message: "You can't mess this up."

She bought all the necessary tools. Gloves, hair clips, bleach, foil, just to name a few. Oh, and of course the dye -- though you'll be surprised how one can forget the simplest things while getting caught up in trying to memorize everything. Blue, Douxie had asked for. But what kind of blue? Sky blue? Cobalt? Midnight? Which one? She pinched the bridge of her nose before angrily texting the wizard. It went a little something like this:

DOUX: go with whatever you think will look good! i'm fine with anything tbh :]

ZOE: i Hate you so much

DOUX: ??? WHY

ZOE: IDK SHIT ABOUT HAIR DYE HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT LOOKS GOOD

DOUX: let's talk about this in person before you electrocute your phone again

ZOE: you won't let me live that down will you

DOUX: you know me so well ;)

She shoved the phone back in her pocket. There's no way she was actually doing this for him.

She was.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" she asked for what would be around the 73rd time. Douxie pulled his face down with both hands.

"Ugh, the answer is still yes, love. I'm not asking you to dye the whole thing, just the front part, bangs and sides."

She rolls her eyes at the nickname and smacks the clean brush against his head. She smiles at the little 'ow' that Douxie lets out with a pout. Hm, cute.

"Alright, but don't start moping around if it doesn't come out the way you wanted it!"

"Nothing that a little magic can't fix if it gets to that point. Which I hardly believe it will."

And now here they are.

Douxie crashes on the couch with Zoe, slinging an arm over her shoulders. She raises an eyebrow at the sudden physical touch, but it's never unwelcome. Not when it comes to him.

"You know of all human creations, I gotta say, this one really takes the cake," they start and Zoe snorts.

"You say that about nearly everything."

"Can you blame me?"

She looks at them and no, she really can't. In fact, she finds herself agreeing with him. He looks... really nice. A faint blush spreads over her face; not that it is noticeable by any means -- the two of them happen to have done this dying process starting from the evening to night, so the dim lights in her home do little to highlight her features. This is still her Douxie, lovable guitarist and wizard nerd who cares about everyone. Yet there was something about the hair dye that changed things up a bit. Something good, naturally.

The two of them fall into a comfortable silence, doing whatever is usually available. Sometimes it's texting, scrolling through social media, or listening to music. Other times it's zoning off and reminiscing about the past.

Zoe decides to go for her phone, unconscious of the way her hand finds its way into Douxie's hair, carding through the locks and untangling them with nimble fingers. It's peaceful. Maybe even a little too peaceful, considering the two of them are adrenaline junkies.

"Douxie, I can hear you thinking..." she begins. It's a common way to start the conversation between them, and oftentimes she's right.

He turns around, her hand still in his hair, but enough to meet her eyes. Their own eyes look serious and her heart sinks. Were they not happy with their hair?

The answer is quite the opposite.

"You ever considered dying your hair too? Maybe we can match."

The untangling stops.

And then the tugging starts.

"Ow ow ow-"

"Hisirdoux Casperan you are a menace to society."

She does though. She considers it for weeks. Of course, Douxie doesn't push; it's her hair at the end of the day, she can do whatever she likes. But after seeing how well she did with the wizard, she kinda felt excited. She definitely can't forget the exhilaration she felt when she saw people compliment Douxie at Benoit's or at the GDT book store. Her heart started beating faster when he looked back at her with a proud smile on his face-- damn that wizard, they told the others that she did it for them, didn't they?

After a few days, a young girl in a cap comes up to her at the record store. Probably from Arcadia High, if her backpack stacked with books is any indication.

"Hi! I'm Claire. Claire Nuñez," the girl starts. Zoe raises an eyebrow in interest.

"Hey Claire. What can I get you?" she asks, raising a flask to her lips. There's no water. Damn.

"Um, it's not really a standard request, but um, I was wondering if you could dye my hair?"

Zoe chokes on her water. Dye her what?

"Kid, are you new here? This is a records store. I can give you the direction to the hair salon it's really not that far."

"No, no, no! It's just, this guy got their hair dyed and I asked if he did it himself and they said you did it for them so I came to you. It's nothing too big! Just a strand really," Claire rambles. She gestures to the invisible front of her hair, currently tucked away behind the cap, outlining it with her fingers. The hedge witch groans.

"That would be Douxie. Now, here's the thing I don't do this for just anyone. Douxie happens to be a close friend so what I did was a little gift for him. I don't even know you, so what do I get out of this?"

Claire pales.

"Uh, $20? I know a full head of hair costs way more but like I said, just a strand..."

Zoe's stomach rumbles in response. She had $5 currently in her wallet which could buy a snack at most. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Ugh, you're lucky I'm hungry. Catch me after my shift is done okay? And I only got one color on me, which is blue, you good with that? Otherwise bring your own."

"Yes of course, of course! Thank you so much."

"Yeah, yeah, now scram if you're not here to buy anything."

"Oh actually, I was wondering if you had anything Papa Skull released recently!"

Curse this girl and her good taste in music.

[ 45 minutes later; 2:00 PM ]

"Thank you for doing this by the way," Claire starts. Zoe waves it off. She doesn't really know why she agreed to this. Well kind of. She wanted to eat. But besides that, she also was curious to see if she could satisfy another "customer". Hair dying was never a profession she had properly considered and right now? It doesn't hurt to entertain a thought.

"Alright so I have the bleach, you'll need to let that set in and keep that before dying the strand you want. We can even add toner to neutralize the color post bleaching if necessary," she lists off. Claire shakes her head.

"That won't be necessary!"

The girl pulls off her cap and surely enough, there's a light blonde lock, similar to Douxie's, just a little lighter. Zoe's impressed.

"Well that definitely makes my job easier. Especially since this is my second time."

"Wait, second time?"

"You didn't know?"

"No?"

"Of course Douxie leaves that part out. You want out? I'll pay you back the $20 in four days."

"No, I trust you."

Zoe always believed that she had tough and cold demeanor. Clearly she's doing something wrong if people are finding her trustworthy just by looking at one dye job.

"Alright then, here we go! Don't say I didn't warn you," the witch replies. She wraps the cloth around Claire softly, and pulls up the bowl with the dye in it. With a gloved hand she separates the pale strands from the brown ones. The blue will definitely be more prominent here than it would be with Douxie's. Something tells her that Claire wouldn't mind.

From the looks of Claire's surprise, wonder, and delight, she definitely didn't mind.

"It. Looks. So cool! You're really good at this. Maybe you should start a hair dying salon or something," the girl rattles off. Zoe raises a hand.

"I'm already working two part time jobs so... no. But I'm glad you liked it. The blue looks really good. Stands out well."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Claire repeats, putting back her cap on. A feeling of confusion overcomes Zoe.

"Wait, why are you putting your cap back on? Don't you want to show people?"

"Duh, but um, my mom doesn't know about, uh, all this. You know, councilwoman things."

Zoe's mouth drops, the $20 bill crumpled in her hand. So that's why she didn't go to the hair salon. Nuñez is the councilwoman, so she'd know pretty much everyone in the town. And word spreads pretty fast. In summary: Claire would have gotten caught.

"See ya!"

These kids are going to land her in some serious trouble one day.

With a burger and soda in her tray, Zoe takes a seat and pulls out her phone. That Claire girl though, she's sort of inspiring. Adventurous. Not hesitant in taking chances. And you know Zoe, she absolutely loves the thrills of life. Whether it be hunting magical creatures or refining her usually unpredictable magic. The humans tend to have mellow definition of risk taking, in her opinion, but their examples are fun enough in their own way: crossing the speed limit, riding rollercoasters, anything along those lines. The brunette clicks on a familiar contact and begins typing.

ZOE: which color looks good on me

ZOE: don't ask it's for a stupid job thing

DOUX: which job?

ZOE: WHAT PART OF DON'T ASK

ZOE: hex tech, something for employee uniforms

DOUX: i was going to say pink since it brings out your eyes but if it's for uniforms i dunno, light blue?

ZOE: hm interesting

DOUX: you should just work here at the book store it's chill

ZOE: but then i'd have to deal with you

DOUX: now is that really a bad thing?

DOUX: zoe.

Light blue is definitely a no go, Zoe decides. Too much blue dye going around. But pink, hm she could work with that. It's a pretty bold color and it would compliment her eyes as well as her face in general. A win-win for her.

And as for how far she's willing to go? She decides to go all in. No tips, no ombre, just complete bubblegum hair. Of course this takes a few days to gather the guts.

'You can do it Zoe, just go for the bleach,' she thinks to herself. Her hands shake with nervousness and excitement. Frankly, hunting niffins didn't compare to the rush she's feeling right now. She closes her eyes and brings the brush to her hair.

Well, here goes nothing.

She winces as she feels the tingling sensation, but loads of videos have assured that such symptoms were normal. She continues to work at it, using the foil to make sure she doesn't bleach a part of her hair to death. It's long and strenuous, but she knows the results in the few coming weeks would be worth it.

She doesn't have to worry about Douxie finding out thankfully. Turns out these weeks are essential for Merlin's "To-Do" List. Apparently it was to find Camelot?

"The castle he means. Not the actual kingdom. That's been gone for centuries. Anyways, I'll be back once I actually find it. Dunno how I'll do it and it probably will take me and Arch a month or so, haha. Oh! And if my hirers ask you anything, it's a family emergency."

Hm, whatever. A brief thought of Merlin dying his hair neon green amuses her, before she goes back to watching more hair dye videos. They've become a little addicting nowadays. She's amazed at how often people do it. How do they keep their hair so healthy?

It's been four weeks now and Zoe's eyes stare at the pink concoction in her hand. PANTONE 2046 C. This was the shade that stole her heart in the middle of the hair dye aisle. No other color could compare in the slightest. Even the cashier who packaged her order hummed in approval.

"Nice color! Not many go for it, but it'll suit you for sure."

This time her movements are calculated, not clumsy or fear driven like it used to be. One could even say she's getting the hang of this. Her hair over time changes from platinum blonde to a dark matted pink. She lets it sit for a bit, meanwhile focusing on getting the dye out of her hands. This turns out to be harder than she thought and she sighs. Well, maybe another day.

After washing and blow drying her hair, she stands in front of the mirror. The witch staring back at her is almost unrecognizable. As if she were a new person completely. And she liked it.

The blank stare shifts into a grin and she tugs at her own locks. Goddamn. She looks really good.

And well, Douxie's reaction is priceless to say the least.

DOUX: you said to meet up at the museum where are you

DOUX: i swear if you slept in i'll send archie to knock down everything in your apartment

DOUX: ok no i won't but still it's been a month since we last saw each other come on

DOUX: wait a second

DOUX: you're joking

DOUX: IS THAT??? YOU????

DOUX: IN THE PINK

DOUX: oh fuzzbuckets you look stunning

DOUX: Hello this is Archie. You broke Douxie so could you please finish your conversation with whoever it is you're with and come pick him up? Your hair is absolutely lovely by the way.

ZOE: omfg

ZOE: can't take you guys anywhere

The witch smiles at the girls and nods over to a gaping Douxie and his cat before gracefully exiting the conversation. She approaches her friend and pushes his jaw up with her index finger.

"So I'm assuming you're digging the new look hm?" she teases.

"You have no idea," Douxie responds. A pink tint lighter than the shade of her hair blooms across Zoe's face at the expression of adoration in her best friend's eyes. The two of them have been through a lot together, seeing each other grow and change. And this time, it was a really fun and welcome one.

"I might try this again with a different color some time. You wanna join then?"

"Don't have to ask me twice."

It's crazy how all of this came from a chaotic, impulsive research project to help a friend. But honestly Zoe wouldn't have it any other way.

Maybe Douxie was right. Of all human creations, this one beats pretty much everything else.

#ZoeAppreciationWeek #zoeappreciationweek #here's my entry hehe #enjoy! #toa #tales of arcadia #zoe #hisirdoux #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #zouxie #archie #claire #claire nuñez #ophelia #ophelia nuñez

[bruhlsbees]

to the end - preview

summary: reader starts her first day at the paper and receives a big break

pairing: niki lauda x fem!reader

word count: 2,116

warnings: n/a

a/n: okay y'all i told you i would be writing something niki related after i finished watching rush and here it is! first chapter will be posted sometime this week - as always lemme know if you want to be on the taglist and if you have any other niki lauda writing ideas pls send them my way!!

You knew you should have taken your car into the shop before your first day on the job. The smoke from the engine was seeping out of the sides on the hood and you could smell the burning of whatever it was that was heating up. That’s what you get though for thinking a Ford Cortina was the best choice of car.

Thankfully you managed to pull into the lot before your car wheezed to death. Pushing your foot down on the break, you held your breath as your foot went down, down, down - the car not slowing. The breaks were shit, the engine was shit, what about your car wasn’t shit? Glancing over at the dashboard, sitting in the middle, was the hula dancer your friend gave you before you left to take the job. That, that wasn’t shit.

When your car finally came to a stop, you cut the engine and pulled your keys out, leaning back in the seat as you stared ahead of you at the building. It was an old car garage that had been turned into a paper company. The main waiting room was turned into the secretary and front room while the garage had been turned into the news room where the reporters worked. It was fitting for what the paper’s beat was.

Looking over towards the passenger seat, you reached into the box that had your belongings and pulled out the newspaper clipping of the job offer.

RACING STRIPES NEWSPAPER IS LOOKING FOR NEW REPORTERS TO COVER THE UPCOMING FORMULA RACE SEASON - NO EXPERIENCE REQUIRED

Not to boost your own ego, but you knew it wouldn’t be hard to get the job. With your four years of experience under your best and bachelor’s degree in Journalism, they’d be a fool to turn you away, especially if they were so desperate. You knew how to work in a room full of men, you’ve done it all your career so far - working in a room full of men eager to cover the next formula racing gossip, now that was the challenge.

If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t too proud to be working for The Racing Stripes Co. They had a reputation of causing more trouble than they did good and hardly followed any journalistic ethics. You needed the money though, and getting in the middle of formula racing meant your name being shown. Maybe it was a little ridiculous, but as a woman - getting your name out there and showing men that you could do their job just as good, if not better, was what you aimed for.

So you found The Racing Stripes ad in the paper, gave them a call, got an interview, and hired on the spot. Today was your first day and you were going in guns blazing.

Opening the driver side door, you pushed the door open and grabbed your box of belongings before standing up, pulling your suede pants down a bit and shutting the door shut. Turning towards the building, you let out a deep breath before making your way across the lot and into the main waiting room.

The bell that was above the door rang when you pushed it open, smiling weakly as the older woman looked up from her desk, grinning towards you.

“Well, well, you must be the new reporter?” Standing up, she extended her hand out to shake. You quickly shuffled your box into your other hand, extending your right out to shake her’s, “I’m Regina, but please, call me Gina, all the boys around here do.”

Watching her step out from her desk, she pulled down her skirt a bit and tugged her sweater around her before looking you up and down, “Pants girl, huh? I would’ve taken you for the dress type.” She commented before walking towards the side door that led out to the garage.

Taken back, you opened your mouth and looked down at your own attire: loose flower blouse, suede pants, and dull heels. You thought you looked nice, maybe you were underdressed? When you looked up and realized she wasn’t there, you quickly rushed after her, catching the door before it shut in your face and into the garage, scanning the room at the desks that were lined up, voices talking over voices as some men screamed into the phone, scribbling notes down on loose leaf pieces of paper.

“Newcomer? Nah, we don’t know him. We only cover well-known faces - whoever this Lowdo person is, we don't know him, we ain’t coverin him...no I don’t wanna hear it, gimme a better name and then we’ll talk...fine, fine, I’ll see what the boss says, but don’t expect anything!”

When the phone slammed down and the man stood up, you tried to pull your attention away as Gina stopped at the empty desk, smiling towards you.

“Well, this is you. You’ll be across from David. He was the newest reporter before you,” She turned to David who was busy typing at his typewriter, not paying much attention to you as you sat your box of belongings down at the desk, “David, be good to her. It’s not everyday we get a lady around the journal.”

Before you could start getting your things out, you glanced over at Gina who seemed to linger. Raising an eyebrow, you felt her hands grab your arm, pulling you towards the back, “Before you get settled, I should probably let the boss know you’re here. He might have a story already lined up for you.”

You managed to snake your arm out of her grasp, trailing behind her as she went into the office first, the room filled heavily with smoke and the scent of cigars. Coughing, you waved the heavy smoke out of your face, shaking your head as you adjusted to the scent.

“Boss? It’s the new girl, she’s here.” Gina explained, stepping to the side to let you come in more. Standing beside Gina, your mouth twitched into a smile, looking ahead of you at your new boss - Hank Fezzold. He was a bigger gentleman, with a thick black mustache that drooped over his upper lip, his balding hair combed to one side, and a fat cigar hanging from his lips.

He seemed to take his time wrapping up with whatever it was he was doing. Finishing the cigar before crushing the rest of it into the ashtrap, clearing his throat and looking up at you and Gina.

“So, first day, huh?” You nodded and clasped your hands behind you, waiting for him to continue. He hummed in thought before looking at his desk, going through his papers, “Well, I imagine you know what the job entails? It’s not ethical, as I know you had mentioned in your interview, but it pays well and I think you can mind the code of ethics for a crisp bill, wouldn’t you say?”

You stifled a laughed and nodded, “I’m aware of the job, Mr. Fezzold - if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, staring at one another before Gina finally stepped in, clearing her throat, “Well, Mr. Fezzold, if that’s all, I’m sure she’d like her story so she can get started, yes?”

Mr. Fezzold stared at you for a moment longer before finally nodding, “Yes, well, suppose you’re right, Gina. We are about to have our morning brief so you’ll get assigned a piece then, yes?”

You nodded once, mumbling a ‘yes sir’ before turning and heading out of the office, making your way back to your desk to get whatever you could out before the morning brief began.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You weren’t sure what to expect exactly when the morning brief began. At your old job, things were relatively hectic, but at least there was order. The Racing Stripes lived up to their reputation - messy, unordered, and pure chaos.

Everyone was screaming over one another from their desks, holding up papers of notes that they had gathered to try and convince Mr. Fezzold why they should cover the story they came up with. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, groaning at how loud the room was, the walls of the garage echoing. Mr. Fezzold seemed to have enough as well, slamming his fist against the desk that he was seated at.

“Enough! Bloody Mary, with this eagerness just to get a story going, you’d think you’d already have it all covered! I don’t give a damn if it’s been covered already, just get the fucking content out and we will work from there. We don’t know a single thing about this season yet, so gather what we can get and we’ll decide from there.”

It was the man from earlier who raised his hand, the one that you overheard on the phone. When Mr. Fezzold nodded for him to speak, frustrated by his sudden politeness, the man stood up and cleared his throat.

“I got a call earlier today, Mr. Fezzold, someone going on about some newcomer from Austria, Niko Laudo? I think that’s his name...they think he’s going to be an important figure this season, want us to cover him. I told them that we don’t cover nobodies, Sir, but I said I’d let you know about it.”

The room erupted in laughs, thinking it was crazy for the man to even suggest it. You didn’t see what the big deal was - newcomers often had more stories than known ones since they’re new and still getting their story out. Nobody seemed to want to take the story, and you thought maybe - maybe, this could be your big break.

Standing up, you cleared your throat to gain everyone’s attention, although that didn’t seem to work. Everyone was still laughing and teasing the man who pitched the idea, saying that he should take it if he’s so obsessed with the man. You bit your tongue, hoping that maybe you’d get a brief second of silence to finally tell them that you would take it. But it never came.

Finally having enough, you sighed and took a deep breath, “HEY!” You yelled over the men, watching as they all fell in silence, mouths gaped at the sudden outburst that came from you. Sighing, you cleared your throat and adjusted your posture, standing up, “I’ll take it. In my experience, you get a fresh face and they’ll give you double the stories of what you’re already getting from a big shot. Whoever this Niko Laudo man is, I’m sure the guy is right, maybe he is going to make a name for himself.”

Mr. Fezzold leaned back in his chair, taking a long drag from his new cigar before exhaling the smoke from his nose. With the cigar in between his index and middle finger, he shook it at you, a smirk toying on his lips.

“You got guts kid, I’ll give you that. But you’re new to covering formula racing - that theory might work for the town paper that you used to work at, but here what people wanna read about is who they already know. You throw out a nobody and the paper might as well be just thrown in the trash.”

You could feel your lips curve into a frown, not sure what to say next. You wanted to prove that you could do it, but it seemed like Mr. Fezzold and the rest of The Racing Stripes Co. were stuck in their own ways. Until Mr. Fezzold surprised you and the rest of the reporters in the room.

“I tell you what. You wanna get your big break here? Fine, I’ll give this to you. Cover him throughout the season and if you’re right on him and your stories do well, I’ll think about keeping you around.”

You smiled weakly and nodded, thanking him before watching as he nodded back, standing up after crushing his cigar in the ashtray and clapping his hands.

“Okay ladies, come on! Season is starting and we got stories to cover. I don’t want to see anyone slacking or else you can kiss your jobs goodbye, you hear?”

Scrambling to get started, reporters began dialing numbers and attempting to set up interviews. They already were steps ahead of you since they were covering racers from the previous seasons. While they were getting interviews, you were only starting to figure out how to get in touch with this Niko Laudo person. As you searched through papers and notes that the man, who’s name you learned to be Ted, gave you - you realized quickly that maybe you were in over your head.

#to the end #niki lauda #niki lauda x reader #niki lauda x you #niki lauda imagine #niki lauda smut #rush #daniel brühl #daniel bruehl #daniel bruhl

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Christmas at the Hoods

You escape your family by going home with Calum to Australia for the holiday. And the escape is necessary, but at the end of it, you’re reminded that sometimes family is chosen rather than given. 

Reader Insert. Fluff a little bit of angst. You just a perfect amount of tear your heart out but then put it back like nothing ever happened. 

CW: Death of a parent, strained family relationships. 

Enjoy my masterlist. 

Support me on KoFi

__________________________________________

You stare down at the text from your mother. Are u coming home for Christmas? The truth is--no, you don’t want to come home. Home is too stiff, reminds you just how much you don’t fit. And maybe it’s just you, you thinking that you won’t ever live up to their expectations of what your life should be like, and maybe it’s not fair to them. But given all that, you still don’t want to subject yourself to that awful feeling, the squirming in your spot wondering how long is appropriate for you to stay before you dip the family pretend bonding.

You don’t want to go home. But you don’t have an excuse not to go. You sigh and place your phone face down on the counter. Ice clinks around in the glass that Calum sets down in front of you. Over the speakers faintly, you hear the twang and kick of guitar as Carla Thomas sings her conversation with an imagined other. At Christmas time, Calum gave you control over the speakers whenever you come over. He liked the Christmas music you had saved and even if he didn’t always get full on decorations the music helped the holiday feel a bit more real for the time you were over at least.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “That had to be the heaviest sigh I’ve ever heard.”

“My mom,” you reply, unlocking your phone and showing him the text. “I can’t exactly say, ‘No, I don’t have any plans. But I don’t feel like pretending to care so I won’t be coming home.’ Wouldn’t go over nicely.”

Calum stares down at the text. The exchange previous to this was a Happy Thanksgiving text that you replied to and prior to that it seems like the conversation was just your mother updating you about the changes she was making to the home office. To which you only replied with ‘Pretty!’ but nothing more. He always suspected you and your family weren’t that close. You talked pretty highly of your dad, but he passed away a couple years ago. And you and your mother just didn’t click. Any sort of sustained interaction always seemed to go south. He just hadn’t had a clue just how sort you kept your conversations with your mother.

He had plans to go home to Australia. His sister was flying in too, the first time he wouldn’t have to split his Christmas vacation time between London and Sydney. Calum knew for sure that Luke was going home to Australia too. He wasn’t sure about Michael, though if previous years proved to be any sort of pattern, Michael would be spending Christmas with his partner’s family. Ashton seemed to be tentatively planning spending New Years in Australia at the very least. Sure you had other friends but given the holiday, he suspected that they might be traveling home or spending time with their families.

“Come with me to Australia,” he offers.

“You leave in a week, tops? The cost of that ticket on it’s own is going to be fucking awful.” You take your phone as it’s handed back over, but you only focus in on him. There was no way he was serious about an offer like that. There was no way he was getting a roundtrip ticket for you under three grand. Tickets for that kind of travel months in advance were easily a grand or more. So there was no way Calum could guarantee a ticket for you round trip in a week for a reasonable price.

“I always told you I was going to take you home with me one of these days,” he counters. “Show you those Sydney streets I grew up on.”

You laugh at the way he bobs with his fists in front of his face like a boxer in the middle of the ring. “Yeah, when we could both plan it out and I could at least pay for my own airfare. I can’t Cal. I appreciate it and you. But that’s too soon and I can’t have you dropping money like that on me such short notice.” You take the glass from the counter and spin around in the barstool before traveling to the couch.

Calum drops his arms and follows behind. He’s not worried about money. That’s nothing. “I can’t leave you alone for the holidays. I know going home would just be rough right now. I’d-I’d come with you if you wanted.”

“Oh my god, Calum, no. Go home. You haven’t seen your mom and dad in ages. I’ll be okay.”

“If I cancel I can still get a voucher for another time,” he offers and settles onto the ottoman in front of you.

“Go home. See your parents. Give them a hug. Fucking hell, I’m not worth canceling a trip over. I’ll suffer through this Christmas like I have every other Christmas.”

With a tap to your knee, Calum shakes his head. “My friend absolutely cannot spend Christmas miserable. I won’t have it.”

You shake your head. It’s not like you haven’t had to spend every other CHristmas miserable--what’s one more to the list? Calum looks to the coffee table and spies his phone. He stretches out for it. This would be embarrassing to admit. He wasn’t going to do it like this. In all actuality, he had meant to ask you last week. But you had to out of town for a conference. He hadn’t realized the conference was this late in the year but it was one that you had been trying to get into for years, so when you landed the opportunity, Calum knew you’d take it in a heartbeat.

You take hold of the phone as it’s handed to you. “What’s this?” You ask but Calum remains silent and you glance down to the phone to see it opened to an app. “Why am I staring at trip information?”

“It’s because I bought two round trip tickets,” he returns.

“What do you mean you bought two tickets?”

“One of those is for you. If you want to go.”

You drop his phone into your lap and push to the edge of the seat. “When the hell did you buy these tickets?”

“A couple months ago. I knew the holidays were always a little rough for you.” He shrugs. “At least you won’t have to lie to your mum now.”

“Calum you are the most insane person I’ve ever met and I’ve lived with myself for a while now. When the fuck were you going to tell me?”

“I had plans to last week. But I remembered you were going out of town for that conference and I wanted you to focus on that since you had to present and be on a panel too.”

“How fucking early do I need to wake up?” you asks.

“I-I figured you come over the day before, sleep over and then I’d drive us to the airport.”

“It’s summer in Australia right now, correct?” He nods at your question. “Beaches?”

“If you wanna go, sure.”

“Do I get to say that I’m being kidnapped for Christmas?”

“If you really want to phrase it like that.”

“I’m in,” you agree and Calum smiles, wrapping his arms around you as you fall into him in a hug. “Thanks, Cal.”

“Of course,” he returns softly. He’d do anything for you, or just about anything if he’s honest. You matter to him and even if he does have to kidnap you for the holidays, he’s happy to do it if it means you won’t be miserable.

A couple hours go by and you head home, now having to start packing for the holiday trip with Calum. As you sit on the floor in front of your suitcase, you pick up your phone. You aim to go the weather app and see what it’s like in Sydney right now. But the text notification from your mom still lingers on the messages app. You tap on it and reply. No, Mom, sorry. Going to visit Australia for Christmas.

Who’s in Australia?

Calum’s family is there.

Who’s Calum? Is that the boy you talk about in the band?

“Fuck,” you mutter, realizing there were two ways this could go. You hadn’t ever really talked about your friends with your mother. Your dad knew and he filled her in a little bit, but even still you didn’t tell him a lot before he died. Mostly because you were afraid. What would happen if you told him everything and you needed help and he died? He’d be the only one to know and then he’d be gone. You’d have no one. So you told him half of everything. You told him about the band and some of your friends and you told him that you were doing okay. But you didn’t tell him that you were finally starting to figure what what you were meant to be doing on this earth. You didn’t tell him that you were dating around. Your dad only knew half the truth and now you realized all he could tell was half your truth to your mother. He could only convey what he knew and your mother didn’t always listen too well. She always got into her head what she wanted to hear and that’s the version she went with.

You can almost imagine your mother now, sitting on her couch tapping at the screen of her phone with one finger and looking up to the kitchen where your dad would usually be--and here, she would call out to your dad to ask Do you know about this Calum fella? They ever talk to you about ‘im? And your dad would reply in some sorts clipped and in half truths, Yeah, they’re friends or something. He’s got a good head on his shoulders from what I could tell. Because that what your dad would always say about any of your friends, that they always had a good head on their shoulders because he trusted you.

Your dad told you once that he said they always had a good head on their shoulders because you had a good head on yours and you’d never be friends with anyone that didn’t match morals like yours. He knew you’d never get mixed up in something that you couldn’t see yourself out of because he had raised you, because he had to trust you now; his fears couldn’t stand in the way of you living your life.

If you could tell your dad the whole truth, you would. You would tell him the first year after his diagnosis you lost yourself. You’d tell him that Calum had found you more than once on the edge of something dark and secured you to his chest for nights on end. He’d take you the studio with you just so you wouldn’t be alone. You’d tell your dad about the times you cooked all his favorites just so your house smelt of him. You’d tell him that even though you and your mother fought and you felt like you were always at arm’s length with some family, you always loved him. You’d tell him everything in full detail so that when he died, he would die knowing fully.

Yeah, you start typing to reply to your mother’s question, he’s the guy in the band.

Enjoy. But you should see family during this season too. Remember the ones that have been with you through thick and thin.

You don’t respond to the text. More than half of your mom’s side didn’t show up to the funeral. They never liked your dad all too much and you were slowly uncovering why. But no matter the reasons, it hurt. It hurt to walk with your mother down the aisle of that church to the funeral procession and seeing a halfway empty church because her side hadn’t supported the marriage. Your father was dead and the least they could do was show up to a fucking funeral. There’s no thick or thin in that, just them.

Another text buzzes through your phone. It’s from your aunt, on your dad’s side. We’re loving the pj’s! Nana’s rocking the new slippers and everything. Take care and rest. Wanna come by for New Years? We may be old but we can still keep up!

You laugh at the photo of your grandmother, sleeping as she sits on the couch, bundling up in the robe you also ordered for her. The new slippers are almost falling off her feet. That’s keeping up if I’ve ever seen it, you return. I might come by a little after New Years but I’ll bring the wine--you just bring the chips and dip. Going out of town for a little bit.

No worries! We’ll see you then. Chips and dip are stocked. Don’t you worry. Enjoy!

There’s a twinge--you almost want to stay just for them. But nothing feels the same anymore if you’re honest. When you hang out with your dad’s side of the family, there’s a hole. His seat is way too empty, even if you sit in. There’s no one to joke around. Your grandmother has no one to pass on her list of chores too besides finding people in town to help her with. And it’s not the same. They don’t laugh when she hands it over. They don’t joke that they only had a son just so he could do all the house repairs, or lawnmower repairs.

It has to be hard for them too. It’s all around just not a great time. But then in your peripherals you see your halfway packed suitcase, the swimsuits you’ve rolled up and tucked into one of the mesh pouches. Was this running? Or was this healing? Was going all the way to Australia just an escape? Maybe it was all three, but it was running into an escape but on the other side, there was some healing in it too. You continue packing, pulling out some loungewear and figuring how many pairs of jeans to include on this trip too.

You feel silly in your sneakers and leggings as more people filter into the terminal area from TSA in bulky coats. But Calum’s dressed roughly the same next to you, only in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Your phone shakes in your hands. Let me know when you land, your mother requests in the text.

Will do.

“Do your parents know I’m coming?” you asks, suddenly remembering that you will be in their place for three weeks.

“They know,” Calum returns, slouching down in the chair. “Trust me. Mum keeps asking me if you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions. And everytime I answer, she asks if I have checked in with you recently about it. And I have a feeling if you suddenly sprouted some new allergy, I would know by now.”

“That’s how moms are,” you laugh.

“Don’t be surprised if you find your favorite snacks just chilling in the kitchen.”

The thought of Joy going out of her way to find out via Calum about your favorite snacks and to only have them just in her cabinets or pantry makes you laugh but deeper than that you feel touched, chest warming just a little at the thought that she’d do something above and beyond. You slouch down to match Calum and rest your head onto his shoulder. “Is your childhood bedroom still embarrassing?”

A soft exhale of laughter pushes through Calum’s chest. “No, not too embarrassing anymore. Some of the posters are still up and mum’s changed the bedding for sure. A few of my things are tucked into the closet. But Mum’s said she’s been going through things in the house slowly so maybe she’s put more things on display just to set me up.”

You nod. “I imagine there are going to be lots of sports posters.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Calum chimes, resting his cheek on your head. “I was supposed to be the sports kid. I mean, I was the sports kid for a really long time.”

“Then you found out you had those pipes,” you laugh, tapping on his chest.

“Yeah, then I realized music was a thing. Mali used to blast R&B and I mean blast it. But she’s always had great taste in music so it was never like the songs were bad. They were just loud. Sometimes I’d stay with Michael for as long as I could. Not that I didn’t want to be home, I just wanted to save my ears for a little bit before Mali and Dad would take over.”

“Your dad sings?”

“He’ll tell you only a little bit. But yeah, he sings.”

“So it’s a family trait!” you laugh. “A long line of singers.”

“Mum would disagree with you.”

You glance down and look at the initials inked into his skin. You brush your thumb over Joy’s. You had only heard about her. Once you saw her. Calum was calling home when you dropped by unplanned. It was quick, you waved at her from his computer but mostly you hang around in the kitchen, petting Duke as he wrapped up the call. From the way he talks about her, you know he’s close to his family. You know being away from home is hard sometimes for him. You’ve talked to Mali more, caught Calum a few times FaceTiming her too, or meeting her when she visited LA for his birthday. You know about his Dad too. Haven’t met him yet, but you’ve seen him when you watched the ARIA’s one year and he dad popped up in the crowd while the band performed. You screencapped the moment and send it as a reaction photo to Calum whenever he shares good news. You’re sure he must be sick of it, but he never says anything about your habit.

“There’s a little shop not too far from the house. I used spend hours to looking at all the trinkets. I think you’d like it,” he admits quietly.

“Yeah, I’d be down for that.”

“But first, there will be food,” he laughs just as the speakers overhead crackle to life and the voice faintly reminds everyone of the boarding procedure. You can Calum both stand, slinging backpacks onto your shoulders as you want for them to call group one to board. “Lots of food.”

“I’m ready,” you return.

Sleep on the plane isn’t all that restful, but you take it in stride though you manage to make progress in your book. Halfway through the flight, Calum holds out one of his earbuds to you. “You’ll like it,” he urges and you take the bud placing it into your ear.

Somewhere between the songs that Calum plays and the movie you’re not fully paying attention to, sleep claims you once again. And you let it hold you well past the light layer of sleep you had the first time. Sleep lays claim to you, holding you deeply into its grasps. You only find yourself waking up when the lights on the plane lift just a little and it breaks through your lashes and Calum shakes you awake. The two of you climb from your seats, backpacks on shoulders and wind through the airport to baggage. Thanks to the cat and dog luggage tags you bought, spotting your and Calum’s luggage is easy. Calum easy snatched the cartoon dog but you didn’t put up a fight. You let him have it, especially since it looked slightly reminiscent of Duke.

As you gather your luggage, you hear a voice from behind you. Calum turns to the sound of it immediately, his hand leaving the handle of his suitcase. You grab it for him and watch him, hearing his laughter escape him, as he runs up to his mother. “Mum,” he laughs, “hey!”

The hug looks bone crushing, only the hug a mom can give that even if it shouldn’t be tight is tight because there’s nothing like the squeeze. “Oh, my boy,” she grins. It lights up her whole face and you stand, just behind them, a couple feet off, both suitcases in front of you.

Joy spots you and the grin grows brighter. She releases Calum and shuffles up to you, arms still opened wide. “Hi! Look at you,” she greets. You immediately step out from the luggage. She’s warm and taller than you imagined as you hug her. She gives you a squeeze and your eyes water just a little. There’s something to the embrace that makes your chest tight and you find yourself clinging a little tighter to her too as she runs on about how late it is, and how hungry and tired you both must be. She keeps you close, an arm around your shoulders, hand splayed across your back. Joy pinches Calum’s cheek and wraps her other arm around his waist.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she urges. “David’s with the car. But I just couldn’t wait to see you both. Oh, it’s so good.”

Even as you exiting the plane it shocked you just how bright in the day it was still. But when you look down at your phone you realize you’re almost a whole day ahead, now standing in the middle of the afternoon, as if you somehow only flew a few hours instead of half the day. Calum’s dad is not parked too far from the entrance. As the three of you approach, he runs up some of the way with a large smile. “Aye!” he laughs, hands clapping Calum on the back. “Look at you!” “I swear I haven’t gotten any taller, Dad.”

“Coulda fooled me,” David returns. “Now,” he laughs, pointing to you. “I heard you got dragged along. Did ya put up a fight?”

“Less of a drag, more a kidnapping,” you return but step into the embrace with a laugh.

“Next time, next time, you’ll go a couple rounds with him, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, next time.” You don’t know if it’s going to be a next time but the idea sounds nice. Calum and David load up the suitcase into the trunk before all four of you slip into the car--you and Calum in the back.

“Hope they haven’t scared you off,” Calum whispers to you. You shake your head, mouth opening to say more but then David pipes up from the front seat. You almost don’t catch what he says, but Joy and Calum respond, so you stay quiet with a bit of a nod and watch the lights fade behind you as you travel down the streets. You make sure to text your mother that you arrived safely.

Calum’s room isn’t so bad, like he figured. Though you do almost wish there were a few more embarrassing posters on the wall. No sooner than the two of you can slip bags off and get out of shoes, a knock sounds from the door. It’s Joy, peeking her head inside. “Calum knows this, but you’re free to whatever’s in the house to munch on. I think there’s a few beer already cold too. But,” she waves her hand a little as if dismissing the thought. “either way, whatever’s there, you’re welcome to take.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hood.”

“Joy, call me Joy.”

“Thank you, Joy.” She nods and then slips back out of the room.

“They’ll be like that for another couple of days, but don’t mind them.” Calum shows you were the linen’s closet is and where the bathroom is too. “If you wanna shower first, I’ll whip up some snacks.”

“Oh, that’s some hard work putting together some snacks.”

He glares at you, throwing a towel at your head. You manage to duck it though it does land on your shoulder. You laugh as he flips you off and then heads to the kitchen. You head back to the room and grab a different set of clothes. It takes a moment to get the water right but you keep the shower as short as you can and slip into the clean clothes.

You return to the kitchen and find Calum with a plate of various chips, fruit snacks, and a small section of meat and cheeses out. He cracks open a beer just as you pad into the kitchen. “Want one?” he asks, but you decline the offer.

“It’s cozy,” you say softly looking around the living room and kitchen of the house. Even Calum’s room teleports you. You’re not sure where just yet, and even though it’s obviously a whole different continent there’s something about the house, about seeing Calum’s family so visibly happy to have him back home and the genuine smiles that feels like a warm blanket straight from the dryer. It envelopes you.

Calum shrugs a little. To him, it’s just familiar and a tad foreign. Like he can’t remember if the paintings are the same ones from his last visit but the pictures of him and Mali have never changed. The family vacation photos still line the walls too--unwavering it seems even against all of his mum’s decorating attempts. “Once Mali comes into town, it’ll feel complete,” he states. You wonder how any of this could feel incomplete, but don’t voice that curiosity.

Calum runs up to shower next and in the middle of your munching, Joy returns to the kitchen too. “I’m surprised you’re still standing upright.”

“Oh I could fall over at any point. Keep an eye out.”

Leaning into the counter she nods. “Time zones are killer. I’d say try to make it through as much of today as you can and then zoink out later on. Might be easier to adjust to the time that way.”

“I’m hoping,” you say.

“Calum told me you went to a conference last week. How’d that go?”

“It went well. Slight tech issues with my presentation but we managed to pull through unscatched after that.” You talk a little bit more about it, but are aware that you feel like you're rambling. When you ask her a few questions, she’s more than willing to answer them but she keeps them short and instead asks you more questions too.

“As the best friend, I feel like I need embarrassing material. Do you have photos of baby Calum?” you ask after a bit.

“Of course I do. He asked for some for a video once and I scanned over the most neutral ones. But if you want embarrassing photos, I got ‘em,” she laughs, wiping the salt off her fingers from a chip and waving for you to follow her.

Calum returns the sound of laughter and you cooing about something, he thinks you might’ve mentioned chubby cheeks and he knows without a doubt it’s him. “If you are going to embarass me I’d like to be in the room,” he states, seeing the photo album open on your lap. He steps to the arm of the couch you’re near and watches you flip through a few pages. You pause at a couple and pull your phone out to snap a few pictures of the picture. He doesn’t miss the several messages still lingering on your notification screen from your mother.

It’s over dinner that Joy suggest putting the tree up over the weekend, since Mali will be in town at that point too. No one objects to this plan and the latter half the week you and Calum spend mostly trying to adjust to the time change, though Calum seems to be having an easier go of it than you. Mali is licked up from the airport and you linger behind knowing that there’s not quite enough space for all three of you in the seat. It’s a little strange to be lingering around in Calum’s old room at his mum’s house but it’s not to bad. You take in all the sports posters, notice some medals and trophies still hanging around to otherwise bare shelves. Among them are some photos too--mostly of Calum and the guys. A few of some people you’ve never seen before and you assume they’re friends from soccer, or other sports along the way.

The sound of laughter echoes around you. Though you do hold onto one photo of Calum. He’s in a jersey, arms thrown over the shoulders of two other boys. They smile wide and big at the camera. The grassy fields hold blurry people and you like to imagine in that blur there are parents hugging kids, or kids running to their parents. There are coaches, people shouting in those blurs. The sounds of feet on stair should break you out of your trance staring down at the photo and you hear more laughter too. But you continue to stare down at younger Calum.

Calum tries to catch onto Mali’s wrist. “Do not! God,” he huffs when she slips through his hold. She laughs, backpack still on and barrels past her old room to Calum’s. You’re standing halfway turned to the door, but still clearly engrossed in something.

“Hey,” Mali huffs out, slipping just inside the cracked door. “Have you found the good blackmailing photos yet?”

You jump just a little but lift your gaze and find Calum’s sister beaming brightly at you. “Hi,” you return with a laugh. “I found a few. Your mum broke out the photo album.”

“Good,” she returns. “Sorry for kicking you out of the arrival party. It’s not normally five of us.”

“No, no, it’s cool. I couldn’t necessarily swing a vote on voting Calum out, so, I just took that blow.”

She gives a light tuft of laughter and hisses just a little. “Yeah that’d be a little hard to swing. But I’ll teach ya a few pointers for next time.”

“I’d appreciate that,” you return and Mali excuses herself to drop off her bag. Everyone seems hooked on the concept of a next time. It falls easily from their lips and while you’ve enjoyed the time here thus far, next time isn’t on your mind. Honestly, you’re not sure what’s on your mind besides not thinking about the text messages you need to respond too. Most of them seem to be about making sure you’ve adjusted to the time difference, if you’ve seen anything exciting. And you want to tell her--but you know you’d most likely tell her half truths too. Possibly even quarter ones. So you’ve opted to tell her nothing really. It seems trivial to explain to her that you’ve gone out a couple times--to the beach and the shop that Calum mentioned earlier. Most of the time though, you spend with Calum going down his memory lane. You rode past the school’s he attended, saw all the spots he used to hang out. Those don’t feel like the spots your mother is looking for.

When the Christmas tree is unearthed and Joy brings out the decorations you don’t think about those text messages again. You instead help feed the garland around the tree to Calum who’s standing at the back of the tree and he passes it along to his mon and she passes it to Mali and Mali passes it back to you. And that’s the way it goes for the lights too. Once those are put up, you look over the bulbs that Joy has. Behind you Calum and Mali are already working to put the hooks through the box Joy approved. You’re trying to help her find the last box in that set.

“Short end, Calum. Short end is what you hook through the top of the bulb.”

“Which end is short then?” you hear him return.

“That end,” she laughs. “I’ll put the hooks. You put them on the tree. Don’t put the same colors close together. Space them out.”

“I can decorate a tree,” Calum states.

“Sometimes I wonder.”

You find the last box of bulbs in the matching set, under a layer of icicle like ornaments. “Found ‘em,” you tell Joy and she beams, stopping her work on the box she was digging in.

“Ah! I’m not sure how they got separated.”

“Someone packed them wrong,” Mali returns, focused in on hooks still. “Most likely,” she counters. You step over to her and help prep more ornaments. A few look homemade with popsicle stick and felt. You pause looking at them on the table.

“Made ‘em in primary,” Calum answers, picking up the ornaments you’ve already hooked. “I thought Mum would give up on bringing them out.”

“But I never have and never will,” she counters picking them up and proudly displaying them on the front of the tree.

Calum makes a show to wave his hands. “That.”

“You made them and I cannot not display them,” Joy laughs and takes the bulb you’ve prepped.

“I think it should be the star,” you tease.

“Do not give Mum any ideas,” Calum groans. “She needs zero ideas.”

“My dad would put mine near the star. I used to hate it too,” you offer.

“Because he was proud of them! See, it’s a parent thing,” Joy laughs, taking another ornament.

You don’t respond, giving a shrug. Maybe it’s a parent thing. And maybe it’s just a love thing, you think. Maybe putting your atrocious ornaments near the top was a way your dad was saying you were always near the top, he was always thinking of you first. When you blink the silver hooks blur for a moment and it hits you that you might be crying. So you blink again and the tears don’t completely clear.

Arms are around your shoulder and you think it’s Calum but as you turn into the embrace, you notice it’s Joy. “Hey, it’s okay,” she offers. She’s quick to scoot you over to the other end of the living room and hands you a tissue. “Do you want to keep on decorating? You can take a breather.”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Her hand runs a soothing line up and down your back. You can only nod. It takes another moment and a deep inhale before you find a resolve. Joy takes your spot hooking the ornaments and you hang one up on the branch. You’re not even sure if Calum and Mali noticed your quick time out, but they don’t seem to be visibly concerned. You finish the tree half an hour later--many ornaments had to rearranged after realizing the back hadn’t gotten nearly enough love. You snap a photo and you don’t think too much about sending it to your aunt and your grandmother, but you hover over your mom’s contact.

Would she think you’re betraying? Would she find some way to say that you could’ve been home decorating the tree too and that she could’ve used the help since Dad wasn’t around anymore? You don’t hit send. Instead you lock your phone, place it face down and ask Joy if she needs or wants any help cooking dinner. She waves you in happily, explaining the dish she’s preparing to you as you wash your hands. This is easy. This feels complete, listening to the sounds of the TV in the background. Knocks at the door don’t make your heart startle and you almost know, without looking, that it’s David. And he no doubts has an armful of things--food, drinks, and god knows what else.

“Do-do you mind me asking about your mom?” Joy brings up as you tend over your hot pan.

“I,” and all words have fallen from your brain. “I don’t know,” you answer. It sounds so stupid but it’s the truth. The whole truth. “I don’t know how I feel. I-I wouldn’t be upset, but there may or may not be a reason I’m hiding on the other side of the world.”

It’s a small laugh, but a laugh nonetheless that Joy gives. “You know, fair. It’s okay if you don’t know. Instead, we’ll knead dough,” she offers, “or whatever else we need to do.”

“I’ll take kneading dough.”

There’s a nod and a smile, an understanding that kneading dough is the best alternative. The sleeves to your hoodie start to slip down again and just before you can clear your hands from the flour to pull it up, two hands come from the side. Calum, you deduce. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Did Mum put you to work or did you volunteer?”

“Volunteered,” you answer and go back to kneading the dough. The fridge door opens and then closes a few seconds later.

“You’re a guest. You don’t have to you know?”

“I know. Just need to do something.”

“Besides not answering your mom’s texts.”

“Besides not answering my mom’s texts,” you agree. Calum reaches across the counter and grabs your phone. You gave him the passcode ages ago and shockingly he remembered it. “Gonna delete the embarrassing photos?” you tease. You already emailed yourself copies just in case you tried too.

“Nah, no need. You’d just find a way to get them again.” You watch him for just a moment open up the app and the picture of the tree is still loaded in. “Why didn’t you send this?”

“Because I didn’t want her bitchin’ to me about how I could’ve been doing that with my real family. I would rather decorate a tree with you and your family anyway. Just as real as anything else,” you huff out, pushing in a little harder into the dough.

Calum pauses for a moment, glancing over to you. He’s not even sure his ears actually heard what you are saying. “What?” he asks in an exhale.

“I’d rather spend legit any holiday with you.”

He stops you, a hand on your wrist. “Did-did you just admit that you’d spend any holiday with me and my family?”

“Do you want bread or not?” you ask and he releases your wrist. “But yes, I did admit it.” You look up from the dough, knowing you’ve worked well enough for you to be done. The Christmas tree twinkles from the corner and it’s nice to see a family together--there’s no arguments, no need to feel like you’re at arm’s length. The TV plays and it’s idealistic. It’s what you want, not the screaming that occurs on most holidays, no one too drunk off their ass, no one being kicked out.

“I like it here,” you admit softly. Christmas is about five days out and you still need to wrap Calum’s present. It’s currently hiding in your suitcase and you want to get something nice for his parents for hosting you, and you’re not entirely sure what to get Mali but you want to do something nice for her too. Calum doesn’t miss the way you stare, the longing in your gaze as you’re still knuckle deep in dough. “I could send the photos to Dad. He’d probably just send a thumbs up. But, still it would’ve been better.”

“Then send it to him.”

“Mom disconnected the line. I have no clue who has the number now.”

“Send it anyway. Whoever it is, probably wouldn’t mind.”

You shake your head and look down at the dough. It’s done and you place it back into the bowl. The idea is asinine to you. No stranger would be okay with getting a random text about a Christmas tree you decorated and whatever sob story you’d type out. Best not to bother a stranger. Even as Calum tries to urge you one last time, you don’t give in. You move about the kitchen as if you’ve always worked in and wash your hands. It doesn’t take you long before you settle onto the couch next to Mali.

I know this might be strange, Calum starts drafting. But my best friend lost their dad about two years ago and this is his old number (this is their number and they still has the number saved). I took them to see my family for Christmas since they and their mom and that side are in a rough spot. I say that like it hasn’t been years of a rough spot but they helped us decorate the tree. I don’t know who’s going to see this, if it’ll go through or not, but I’m hoping for a miracle, I guess, for kindness in the universe and kindness in a stranger. They just needs something good, so we hope you enjoy our Christmas tree. They told my mum about how their dad would put the homemade ornaments near the star. Needless to say my mum agreed with the idea.  If you see this, and get the picture, I hope you have safe and happy holidays.

Calum doesn’t even think twice about hitting send on the message. He finishes pouring himself a glass of water and pour another one for you too. By the time he grabs a snack too your phone buzzes again. There’s a response from the number that once belonged to your dad.

Tree looks awesome, kid, reads the first message. And then another one follows it. Homemade decorations near the top are the only way to go. Hope your friend gets through the holidays safely, but with people like you in their life, we think they will. Happy Holidays and enjoy our tree too. A picture comes attached with it.

Calum leaves the response up. It works out perfectly that the first response sits directly under the picture Calum sent. The first part of the second text is still visible but he doesn’t worry about that. He taps on your shoulder. “The world’s not so bad after all,” he states.

It takes you a moment to realize who the message is under. And you know it’s not actually your dad. You know that line went cold months ago.Your dad didn’t call you kid too much else he was trying to annoy you.  But it’s something about seeing a message from that number that makes your chest ache. For a split moment in time, he’s real again. A sob racks through your chest and you're quick to cover your mouth, aware that other people are around. “I should’ve told him so much more,” you gasp and another sob breaks the sentence up just a little at the end. But all you can do is stare at the response with blurry vision.

Calum wraps you into his arms, pulling you into his chest. “Hey, you can still tell him. Maybe not by texting this number but you can still tell him,” he whispers. And though you tremble against him, he manages to get you to the shelter of the stairs. You settle oddly on top of him, your legs draping over his and your cowered into his chest mostly. But you don’t object to the arrangement.

Joy places a box of tissues down next to you both and settles on the step just below Calum. Her hand is warm on your knee. “I thought you were kneading dough.”

You chuckle just a little but tremors still rock you. “Dough didn’t have a lot of resistance.”

She nods, tsking just a little. “Ah, next time I’ll have you knead two loaves.” Once she’s sure you’ve cried it all out, she leaves you be, though most of her comfort was soft reassurance and knee pats. But it’s just what you need.

Calum guides you upstairs and unearths his journal from his bag. Or at least a journal you think you’ve seen him writing in before. “I was going to give this to you on Christmas. But it sounds like you could use it now. Whatever you wanted to tell your dad, write it down. Pretend like your writing letters to him. I know know it might sound silly, but it helps me.”

The journal is leather, embossed on the front are your initials. It almost looks too expensive to even write in it, but when Calum hands you a pen you think you might explode again if you don’t get it off your chest. So you settle onto the edge of his bed, which is barely just enough space for two of you to sleep on during the night and tell your dad all the full truths. Everything you felt like he couldn’t take the grave, you spill onto the page.

Dad, It’s Christmas. Or it’s nearly Christmas. I’m in Australia with Calum and I’ve already had one emotional breakdown. So we need to reset the count on that one. It’s hard without you. Joy put Calum and Mali’s old homemade decorations near the star of the tree and all I wanted was to be six again and be up on your shoulders and have you force me to put my decorations up high on the tree for everyone to see. I used to hate it. When you did that. But now I miss it.

I miss a lot of things, I guess now. I miss being honest with you. I wasn’t very honest while you were dying. I was afraid that I told everything I’d be weak. That if I told you everything you’d take all the words with you when you died and I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else since it would’ve been one of the last things I told you. It all sounds silly now to write it down, but that’s what I thought.

Here’s the other half I never told you.

Calum lingers, sitting on the floor and finding one of his old guitars sitting on the floor tucked into a corner. He slides over, and places it into his lap before strumming mindlessly over it. The scratch of the pen is hardly audible as he strums but he can envision what it sounds like, see how fast you’re scribbling words down onto the page.

Later in the week, as you have Mali and Calum helping you find a gift to give their parents, you stop at one of the small shops in the mall. Mali’s wandered off to the far corner but Calum’s close next to you, glancing around the walls for something that looks remotely interesting and appropriate. The housewares all look too dated and Calum’s not even sure what his parents do and don’t have to even suggest something like this. But Mali thought it might be a good place to stop so the three of you stopped to look.

“Thanks,” you say to Calum, running a finger over a serving spoon. “For the journal. It helped a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” he beams at you. His attention is still filtering around the store. “I have no clue what to even suggest in a place like this for my parents. They’re not super into stuff like this.”

“You sure a Kiss The Cook apron wouldn’t do the trick?” you joke holding up the red and white apron.

“Hmm, afraid not,” he laughs. The two of you still wonder about the store and you find a couple cookbooks that seem interesting. One’s for cocktails and Calum says it’s a definite--his dad would enjoy flipping through it. Neither he or Mali had gotten one for him before, so it won’t be a duplicate.

“Your mom has a lot of photos you guys. You think she’d be into something like this?” you ask, pointing out to a few picture frames. They’re all collages, just arranged differently. Calum seems to be vaguely interested though Mali worries about the fact that she tends to keep them in a particular way.

“Could make one with the photos you’ve taken over this trip, she loves stuff like that and I’m sure she wishes she could get more photos of us now since we’re gone. We spend a day taking some photos in front of our old stomping grounds and I know she’d love it,” Calum offers looking over to Mali.

She shrugs. “That could work. Sure we can’t say it was from all of us?” she jokes.

“I wouldn’t mind, especially since you two would be doing some leg work in it,” you state.

“If we’re going to do it,” Mali counters. “Let’s go with this one.” She points to a wooden slab with rows of twine wrapped around and clasps that are wooden too where stock photos are currently pinned but it’s clear that you can add your own photos.

“This really blows my flowers out of the water,” Calum mutters, holding onto the paid for box of the wooden frame.

“You also got her the embroidered pillow,” you counter. The pillow has the coordinates of Sydney, LA, and London on it--for each of the cities they’re in respectively.

“True,” he nods. “But still,”

“If you don’t want--” you start but he cuts you off.

“Hey, no, I want to do this. Shush,” he laughs. “We gotta make another stop though. I’ve seen ads for those portable printers and can print photos and I don’t see either one of you with those old school polaroid cameras.”

“I’ll have you know,” Mali teases. But she interrupts her own joke as a ponderous hum falls from her. She rattles off a couple stores that could have it.

“Let’s give it a shot,” Calum returns. The first store is a bust but the second one has it. They grab one of the last ones off the shelf and scurry to the lines. They’re long and it’s no avoiding it two days from Christmas. The rest of the day, Mali navigates, pulling over into random parking lots and telling stories about their childhood.

You snap as many photos as you can. Some are more planned than others but it’s okay. You play with angles, flipping your phone upside to get some cool shots and you’re honestly impressed with the quality of just a cellphone camera. By the time it starts to get dusk, you’re half convinced your phone will alert you that you’re almost out of space. It’s not too hard to sneak the bags up to the bedrooms. You take up distracting Joy just a little as Calum and Mali book it up the steps.

“Oh, this reminds me,” Joy says standing right as Mali clears the first step. “If you need any sort of wrapping supplies they’re in here,” she directs you down the hall and you watch Calum and Mali clear into one of the bedrooms, you think it’s Mali’s before diverting your attention back to the wrapping paper.

“Thanks,” you nod at her. “I’ll be down in a few if you want help with dinner?”

“An extra pair of hands never hurt,” she counters with a grin and it’s become a tradition, or a thing at the very least that you help her with dinner and she’s given up on trying to shoo you out of the kitchen.

You take the stairs slowly, but you can feel the buzzing in your pocket. No doubt Calum bugging you relentlessly that you’re needed upstairs. You find them in Mali’s room situated on the floor as she removes the pictures from the frame and Calum seems to messing with the printer.  “Thank you for joining us,” he teases. Music starts up and the door closes.

You settle on the floor next to him. “My job was to distract so that’s what I did. What do I need to do?”

“Pairs with BlueTooth, so I just gotta get this thing on.”

“Let me know when it’s up,” you return and then pull up the photos you took on your phone. Mali helps pick out which photos have to go onto the frame. It’s only a minute or two later that Calum tells you to make sure your phone has the BlueTooth turned on.

“You cannot use that,” he laughs, as the first photo prints out. “I look so dumb in that take.”

Mali laughs. “Oh, c’mon it’s a pretty shot.”

“Yeah of you,” he returns.

You swipe to the next photo and there are no photo blunders for either one of them so you print that one down. Some are in front of buildings that you’re not even sure could mean anything. A couple are of Calum’s old practice field for soccer--the same one from the photo you were looking at when Mali first arrived. There are a few of Mali in front of the place she sang to a large audience for the first time. There’s a picture of the Christmas tree as well--Mali and Calum are in the photo adding decorations to it. There’s one of you, in the middle of Calum and Mali, arms wrapped around each other. You’re laughing because even standing you nearly stumble just trying to shift your weight a little, but the picture is perfect as the sun just starts to step a little behind you.

With the last photo printed, you look over the arrangement and give your approval. “Did you remember to grab our wrapping paper?”

“Shit,” Calum sighs. “I’ll run to the car and grab it.” You nod and head back downstairs just in time to help Joy.

It’s late before another opening arrives for you three to place the gift under the tree and during this time you also add Calum’s and Mali’s gift to the bunch. You managed to snag some cool t’s with Calum’s help for her. She eyed them in your shopping adventure and carted them around the store before ultimately deciding to put them back. Calum stayed behind to grab them off the rack while you went with her to the next store.

Over mugs of hot chocolate--though the Australian heat doesn’t warrant it-- you, Mali and Calum sit on the floor in front of the tree. “It’s been nice to outnumber him,” Mali laughs.

“I’m already outnumbered with you and Mum,” he retorts.

“Yeah, but it’s Mum. She counts but like not really. Now you’re outnumbered by someone in our age range.”

Calum shakes his head. “If you say so. I’m glad Mum and Dad weren’t too weird about it.”

You know he hasn’t brought anyone home in a long time. And part of it is probably just time, but another part is deliberate but you don’t know why. “I’m sure they were starting to think I wasn’t real,” you joke.

“Haha,” Calum gently shoves your legs. “You’re a fucking comedian.” You snicker and take another sip from your mug. The night almost doesn’t feel like it’s slipping away as Mali and Calum take turns on the guitar. You climbed up onto the sofa at some point during the night, asbentedmindly playing in Calum’s hair. But somewhere in it the strumming, sleeps pulls you under, you felt your eyes blinking close but weren’t able to recall when the final blink took you full under.

You find yourself startled awake to the sounds coming from the kitchen. Mali’s asleep on the couch, facing the opposite away of you. Calum’s reclined against the sofa between the both of you but still sitting on the floor. There’s a faint light coming from behind you and you squint against it to see the kitchen light’s on. You settle back against the arm of the couch and let yourself fall into sleep a second time.

When you wake the second time, it’s to gentle shakes and you’re not even sure you had fallen asleep again. Until you find yourself stretching again and blinking back the light of the living room. Calum’s slumped to the floor. “No, five more minutes.”

Joy chuckles. “It’s your presents you’ve gotten open.”

“Hmm, maybe I’m awake enough for presents.” Presents are slow to be handed out, mostly to the three of you still trying to wake up. But Mali gets the first tear into the wrapping paper and beams over at you spying the two shirts.

Joy loves the pillow from Calum and the jacket from Mali. Calum gets a few things, most of them necessities but the socks are cool enough to put on immediately. Mali’s content with the clothes she’s received and the necklace. Calum thought about wrapping your journal as a joke but he hands you a tiny stocking stuffed with some candies, a cool pen, and some knicks knacks he found during some of the shopping adventures. David’s tickled as he flips through the cocktail recipes.

“What is this?” Joy laughs pulling on the wooden and twine picture frame ad she’s handed it.

“For you,” you answer. “A collective effort between the three of us.”

“But originally their idea,” Calum tacks on.

Joy looks at the three of you, unsure of what trick might be pulled. She unveils the first corner and pauses. “Seriously, what is this?”

“Just keep going Mum,” Mali counters.

Joy continues tearing at the wrapping paper and she gasps for a moment noticing the photos hanging from the pins. “No way,” she laughs, lifting it up to take a closer look at the photos. “No way,” she whispers.

“The pictures can be switched out, so you can frame some, or just rotate it based on the season,” you explain.

The tears collecting in Joy’s eyes don’t get past you but they do hurt just a little. In a good way. You hadn’t seen a teary eyed smile like Joy’s in such a long time you almost forgot how good it felt, but how much it hurt too.

“You did all this for me?” she asks.

“I had help,” you return. “But I wanted to do something or give you something nice for hosting me the past two weeks and agreeing to take on an extra mouth to feed. It’s a thank you.”

She gives you another one of those hugs that squeeze more than they should, more than thought possibly. You squeeze in return and though you feel a couple tears slip down your cheek, you aren’t so afraid of the emotion. It’s something like loved, maybe it’s understood. Quite possibly it’s just the feeling of being embraced without judgement or restriction. You’re not really sure, but you do know you like it.

“Thank you,” Joy whispers while still hugging you. She makes space for the frame almost immediately though it takes a little rearranging of the living room but she finds the space. You’re sucking on a piece of candy, looking down at your phone. You know your mother is still living in Christmas Eve and the only message she’s gotten from you are about you being safe and okay.

I would send this as an actual letter, but I worry from Australia to home would take too much time. So I guess this works as next best. I can only hope you understand.

The easy things: Australia’s been fun. Haven’t run into a spider as big as my head just yet but there’s still plenty of time. Calum’s family has been amazing. I helped with Christmas decorations. Joy and I are cooking buddies. If I never had to leave, I probably wouldn’t.

And on and on you go about the tails of this particular vacation before getting to the hard stuff, how it’s hard sometimes to be home because home feels empty and too far away and how it’s hard sometimes to feel like you fit in the puzzle of it all. You tell her how hurt you are seeing how her side paid the death of your father dust. How nothing’s felt right once and you don’t know what caused it. You don’t know how it started but all you do know is that when dad was around, when you and him had those quiet moments it was closest to right you had every experience until now--sitting in your friend’s childhood home in a whole different country, more than half the day ahead of your own family and watching someone else’s world that you know you’re not really apart of but somehow you fit even as a stranger.

There’s that nagging voice in the back of your head that tells you this could all go to shit. Your mother could read all this and blow her top. But at least she would blow her top knowing the truth and the whole truth at that--that you love your family for being your family but recognizing the detriment happening.

I need you to know Mom. Because Dad didn’t. Or maybe he did, but I know I wasn’t the one that told him. So I am telling you. You don’t have to like it. You don’t have to like any of this and I’m not asking you or telling you you have to. But you have to know the truth and I have to tell you.

Before I go, there’s a present for you. Hidden in the top box of Dad’s stuff in your closet. It’s only tiny pieces of me and him, of us, but I hope you enjoy it. I hope it provides comfort.

While you’re not the most crafty, you know your way around a sewing machine. You didn't keep nearly as many t-shirts from family vacations as you would’ve liked to, hanks to a couple moves. But you kept enough and you snagged a few of your dad’s t-shirts and some of his old flannels too. All together it made a decent sized blanket--it could’ve been larger but there were a few failed starts before you got the true hang of it.

You’re not sure the whole message will send correctly and you think maybe it should’ve been an email, but that feels even less personal. So you watch the message lift up, hover for just a moment before it settles down and just beneath it, Delivered, pops up. Immediately, you place your phone face down. A watched pot never boiled and a watched text is never actually read.

“Calum!” Mali laughs. Just behind you they go barreling past, through the living room and he tries to make an escape up the steps but she manages to lunge fast enough to take hold of the back of his t-shirt. “Drop the cookies and no one has to get hurt.”

“Never!” he cries in return. His attempts are half hearted and you can only giggle watching them. That in turn earns you target as a potential accomplice and he calls out to you to get you to take the cookies and make an escape.

You walk over, take the packet of cookies. They’re decorated for Christmas and you decide take one off the top is fair pay for whatever mess you’re stepping into. After your take the first bite of your cookie, you hand the packet over to Mali who happily release Calum to snag a couple. “Traitor,” Calum returns, but takes another cookie too.

“I got my pay,” you laugh, polishing off the one cookie in your hand.

David enters then, taking another cookie too. “I got mine too,” he laughs before disappearing again back down the hallway. There are a few things around the house he needed to repair and Calum had been helping him though you suspect more than helping, Calum was sneaking cookies and trying to hide them from Mali. You offered to help too, but David insisted that you actually take a rest at least once during this time away.

You manage to catch the buzz over all the laughter. You don’t think your mother could’ve responded that fast. It’s not possible. But you slip away from the group and grab your phone from the couch cushions. Your heart hammers against your ribs, you can feel the vein in your neck throbbing.

Thank you for the blanket. It’s quite lovely. Glad you’re enjoying Australia. I don’t know if I can say sorry and have it mean much. But in turn, thank you for telling me the truth. Somehow you expected this to be much more emotional, much more earth shattering. But tides don’t change in the blink of an eye and cities don’t build themselves in a day.

“We should have a board game night,” Mali suggests from behind you. “Dunno know. Not much will be open up for long.”

“I’ll kick your ass in Scrabble,” Calum returns, “Anytime.”

And just behind is all you’ve ever really wanted. But just in front of you is all you’ve ever had, your mother and the distance. Maybe it’s not a matter of what you deserve or what is actually yours by blood. Maybe it’s just time to admit that family is also chosen. And you did all you could with your mother. You told her the truth.

A tear splashes onto your screen and you wipe at your eyes quickly. When had those formed? They didn’t even sting that time or maybe they did and you just hadn’t felt it. You’re not sure. Her message doesn’t warrant a response. Though you do imagine for a moment, her curled up on the couch, your blanket across her lap as she snacks on pistachios and the fireplace blazes next to her. The TV is playing Polar Express, her favorite Christmas film. And if the scene is sad, your mother is sad. And if the scene is happy, your mother is happy. And you like it better that she is tethered to the film’s emotions rather than anything going on outside of it.

“You down for a board game night? If not, we can find something else.” Calum’s voice is close and you can feel just how close is he off to the side of you.

“I’m down for a board game night,” you nod. Your voice quivers just a little. Crying is exhausting and you’d wish you had nothing left, but there is always the dregs left. Just enough to make your cheeks wet.

“You good? What’s up?”

“Told my mom,” you answer truthfully.

He figures it didn’t go super well given your silence.  “We can watch movies in my room then.”

“She didn’t threaten to blow up the country so I think we’re good,” you continue on. “But she loves her Christmas present. So I’ll take it as a win.”

“It’s the small victories.”

You nod, looking at the photos hanging right next to the Christmas tree. “Like kicking your ass in Scrabble,” you laugh. “I’m on Mali’s team.”

“Fighting words, those are fighting words. I brought you out here and you already turned over my cookie stash. Now you’re going against me in Scrabble! Really?”

“I’ve chosen you over and over,” you admit quietly. You’ve chosen him as a friend, and confidante and you appreciate him for being there. But you don’t say all that, instead you counter with, “But I think sometimes I should kick your ass in a game of Scrabble or too.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he returns with a laugh.

“I am,” you state simply. “I am lucky.”

#calum hood #Calum Hood fanfic #Calum Hood imagine #Calum Hood fic #Calum Hood fluff #calum hood angst #Calum Hood x reader insert #Calum Hood x reader #5sos #calum 5sos #Calum Hood 5sos #h writes #5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer imagine #Calum Hood blurb #h writes christmas 2020 #Luke hemmings #Michael clifford #Ashton Irwin

[guardianofrivendell]

Tea and Lockscreens

Modern!Fíli x reader

Requested: Yes! For my 500 followers sleepover @cassiabaggins​ asked for prompt nr 12 from the Fluff list with Fíli!

Prompt: “Am I your lockscreen?” - “You were not supposed to see that.”

Warnings: minor injury (I couldn’t help myself) - fluff - sweet caring Fíli - rushed writing (seriously, I need to chill sometimes)

A/N: Well, I broke my promise of keeping the sleepover drabbles under 1k so this gets its own post between the oneshots. I loved my idea/the plotline for this fic, I’m only not so sure it’s well written. 

You walked through the dark streets of your hometown.

Not too fast, but at a steady slow pace in an effort to keep the night going. Even though it was freezing outside, you didn’t want this night to end yet.

You pulled your warm woolen hat a little further over your ears to keep the cold from making them red and numb.

The reason why you didn’t want the night to be over soon walked right next to you, an arm around your shoulder.

Fíli.

Tonight had been your third date, and you were already looking forward to the next one. You tried to hide your excitement, knowing that you sometimes got carried away. It made you seem clingy or too attached. At least, that’s what your exes told you.

So when you met Fíli, you tried really hard not to go too fast.

The only thing you allowed yourself to do was changing your lockscreen to a picture of the both of you. The one Fíli took on your previous date at the ice skating range.

You had shared a few kisses - nothing too steamy, sometimes holding hands or he kept you close under his arm like he was doing right now.

But that was it.

It was your little secret. Your guilty pleasure.

When the inevitable happened and you had reached your apartment building, you stopped and turned to him expectantly. This was the moment he would kiss your cheek, tell you he had a wonderful night and would watch you enter the building.

Nice and slow, you kept repeating over and over again in your mind. We don’t want to rush things. But somehow, it wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted more. 

“You want to come inside to warm up?”

You bit your lip, anxiously waiting for his response. Fíli smiled, and placed his hand under your chin, pulling your lip from between your teeth with his thumb.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said. “And yes, I’d love to.”

* 

“Please,” he answered. He took a seat on your couch and you couldn’t help but think he belonged there. Dark slacks, white button-up shirt – with the top button open – and a matching suit jacket. No tie… Pity, you thought. It might have come in handy later, when he would tie your hands with–  Ok, that’s enough young lady! Remember to go slow! Go, make tea!

“Tea?” you asked when you hung his coat away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremble in your voice.

The date had been wonderful, you both had a lovely time and he had taken your offer to come inside. In your apartment. No reason to freak out right?

You excused yourself and hurried to your kitchen before he would notice your flushed state.

While you were making two cups of tea, you tried to get yourself together again.

You felt like a schoolgirl again, infatuated with the lead actor of some teen movie. It had been a long time since you felt so giddy.

You took a few deep breaths and smoothed out your clothes. You got this!

 You carefully made your way back to your living room, carrying the two steaming mugs in your hands when you heard your phone ding. That was probably your friend to see how everything was going. She could wait.

You were focusing really hard not to spill anything that you didn’t notice the message had made your screen lit up. Before you went to the kitchen you had thrown your keys and phone on your coffee table as you always did. In full view of a pair of blue eyes…

“Am I your lockscreen?” he asked, looking up from your phone, a hint of amusement in his voice.

What? No! No, no, no!!

In your haste to get to your phone so you could pretend this never happened, you forgot you were holding mugs with boiling hot water. The sudden movement of your body made the water spill over the edge, right onto your hands.

A curse escaped your mouth and you dropped the mugs.

Fíli jumped up from the couch and was at your side in less than a second.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking your hands in his.

Before you could answer his question, a curse escaped his own lips and dragged you towards your kitchen.

He opened the tap and put both of your hands under the ice cold stream.

“Keep them there, the hot water has burned your skin,” he instructed. His voice was calm, but you could see the worry in his eyes. So cute.

He placed his hands on your shoulders and gave them a light squeeze, before he lowered them to rub your upper arms a few times.

“I’ll be right back.”

A few seconds later he returned to the kitchen with the two now empty mugs.

“Luckily they fell on your carpet, so they didn’t break.”

But then he heard you sniffling.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

He lifted your chin with his hand and wiped your tears with the back of his other hand, lingering a little longer than he probably should.

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it stings a little but that’s it. And my hands are cold.”

You made a move to close the tap but Fíli’s warm hand stopped you.

“Just a few more minutes love,” he said softly.

The endearment was enough to send a few more tears over your cheeks.

“We were having such a good time and then I had to ruin it, and you’re being so nice and cute and… god!” you groaned, frustrated with the turn of events.

He chuckled.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Yes I did,” you muttered.

 He leaned against your kitchen table, crossing his arms.

It gave you the chance to look at him. Really look at him. The man in front of you was drop dead gorgeous. The piercing blue eyes, long nose, the stubble you couldn’t wait to feel on your skin…

“What?” he laughed, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the spitting image of Dean O’Gorman? You know, the actor?”

The cute dimples in his cheek you liked so much appeared when Fíli smiled. He rubbed his neck to hide that he was flattered by your compliment.

“Yeah, they might have mentioned it once or twice.”

 “Can I remove my hands now? I can’t feel them, they’re practically frozen,” you whined after a while.

He placed his hand on the small of your back when he closed the tap.

“Let me see,” he said, and he took your hands in his. They were red from the cold water, and on your left hand was a small second degree burn.

“Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Fíli,  you don’t have to do this. I’m fine!”

He held your face in his hands and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Let me take care of you. Please?”

Was it possible for a human to melt? Because if not, you might be the first one.

You nodded slowly and told him where he could find the necessary supplies.

*

When he was almost finished bandaging your left hand, you bit your lip again.

And just like he did outside, Fíli took your chin in between his fingers and made you release it.

“What’s bothering you?”

You sighed.

 “About the lockscreen…” you began, dreading the possible outcome of this. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

He placed the clip in its place, securing the bandage around your hand.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Fili said, taking his own phone out of his back pocket with his free hand. He held your injured hand in his other, absentmindedly rubbing it with his thumb.

“Here,” he smiled and gave you his phone.

You looked up at him questioningly. Why would he give you his phone? 

“I saw your lockscreen, so it’s only fair I showed you mine.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. You giggled. Dear god, you were acting like a school girl. But when you pressed the side button of his phone, your smile faltered and your breath hitched. 

His lockscreen matched yours. 

“You’re not the only one excited about us…,” he whispered before he nuzzled his face into your neck.

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​

#fili x reader #fili imagine #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit #fili #lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lotr fanfiction #fili son of dis #the hobbit fanfiction #modern!fili #guardianofrivendell #dean o'gorman #Dean O'Gorman x reader

[djjarins]

it only takes a moment (modern! maxwell lord x f! reader - only one bed!)

modern! maxwell lord x f! reader ft. only one bed!

summary: after a planned trip goes awry, what happens when you, Alistair’s nanny, and max only have one bed to share?

warnings: mentions of drinking and sex (no smut in this work), mentions of bad weather and turbulence on a plane, anxiety

a/n: this is my first maxwell oneshot!! thank you to the anon who suggested it! my masterlist is here and my requests are open! also this is not beta read - we die like men KSJDHAKKS

To say this was one of the longest days ever would be an understatement.

Your day started like any other. Waking up around 6:15am, you quietly pad into your bathroom and wash your face, taking a few minutes to complete your skincare routine and brush your teeth before making your way back into your bedroom.

Going over to your desk, you pick up your outfit you laid out the night before, a comfortable pair of leggings and an oversized crew neck with the name of the college you went to on it.

You hold the wooly sweatshirt in your hands, a smile tugging at your lips at the memories of your time back on campus. While it’s been less than a year since you graduated, you still hold the memories close.

One memory in particular plays on a loop in your head.

It was last May. You were sat in a back booth with some friends of your favorite bar in the city.

You were celebrating the new job you had just been hired at - as a full-time nanny for a single father with a young boy.

It was no secret that you had struggled finding a job after graduation. You had put in a lot of work at your time here at school, but you felt a pit of sadness in your heart at graduation when all of your friends had already secured jobs and a future for themselves.

You felt the sadness when you didn’t know how you were going to make ends meet - you had student loans, bills and other things piling more and more stress on - but when you found an ad for a nanny job, you were over the moon.

After your interview with the assistant to the single father, who must be very busy or important if he has an assistant, you were thrilled when you got the news you were hired.

The assistant explained her boss was a high-profile man, and that he wanted to be the one to introduce himself to you, which you had no problem with. You also would be a live in nanny, meaning you would have your own space within the house.

With the job starting tomorrow, your friends decided tonight would be the night to celebrate, wanting to “send you off” with one last night out before your job started.

A couple of rounds of drinks in, you felt a sudden burst of energy - whether it be a real energy boost or the tension leaving your body from the numerous drinks you’ve had throughout the night - but suddenly you make your way over to the makeshift dance floor.

You feel the beat of the music flow through you as your friends come and dance with you for a while, losing track of time in the small bar as the night goes on. It’s after several more songs that you feel a set of big hands rest gently on your hips and a strong, yet comforting scent of cologne filling your nose.

“I hope you don’t mind me being a bit forward angel, but I couldn’t help but notice you from across the bar, and I have to say you are absolutely gorgeous,” the man says confidently, his fingers rubbing a soft pattern into the flesh of your hips.

You turn your head to the side to lock eyes with the handsome stranger, his brown eyes like swirls of chocolate and honey reflect the colorful lights of the bar back into your own.

A smile plays at his lips as you take in his styled appearance, his clothes fitting him in all of the right places, almost like they were made just for him.

“You see something you like darling?” he asks soothingly, the smile on his face morphing to a playful smirk as you nod back at him faster than you can say something.

He lets out a hearty chuckle and gives one of your hips a squeeze as he presses his front firmly up against your back, a small gasp leaving your lips as you feel how he is pressed against your ass, and you have to stop yourself from arching into his chest.

“Let’s get out of here,” you whimper, feeling the room get hotter as he stays close to your body, wanting to get some privacy with him before you drop to your knees right here on the sticky floor of the bar.

He nods along with your suggestion, gently grasping your hand in his and leading you to an awaiting taxi.

A shiver runs down your spine at the memory of that night. The more your mind lingers on that night, you swear you can almost feel him back between your legs and hear the whimpers of praise in your ear.

But of course that once in a lifetime high from your hookup turned into a nightmare the next day, when you realized that the gorgeous man next to you was not only the famous Maxwell Lord, but that he is the man you were to work under as a nanny.

Sure it was awkward when you came back to Max's house in the morning after sneaking out a few hours earlier, preteding that the two of you didn't have mindblowing sex the night before, instead opting to focus on the specifics of the job. 

Max explained that he was a very busy man - something you already knew - and that he really appreciates what you are doing for him and Alistair, and that he knows his son will love spending time with you.

That was a year ago.

Now the tension had gone down significantly, but you would be lying to yourself if you said you still didn't think about Max in the way you did that night with him. There were times when you caught him staring at you from across the room, feeling his eyes on you as you played with his son, a smile tugging at his lips.

There were nights where you laid lonely in your bedroom, wondering what would happen if you went down the hall to the master bedroom and joined your boss, but you stopped yourself from picturing what could happen.

You slip on your sweatshirt, brush out and twist your hair, opting to put it in one of you claw clips, a few stray pieces framing your face in all of the right ways.

Making your way out of your room you head down the hallway to Alistair’s room, knocking lightly before peeking your head in and letting him know it’s time to start waking up.

Today was a travel day.

Max was attending a conference down in DC and decided to bring you and Alistair along so he could spend some time with his son, as well as turn this little trip into a mini vacation. He planned on visiting several museums that he knows Ali will love, like the natural history museum and air and space museum, but also the national gallery of art for you as well.

He didn’t tell you he rented out the museum so it would be just the three of you. He wanted that to be a surprise.

You grab your small duffel bag for travel and make your way down the grand staircase, placing the bag near the front door as you head to the kitchen, starting to grab the ingredients to make belgian waffles - Alistair’s favorite.

Turning on the coffee pot, you hum to yourself as you mix the ingredients together to make breakfast, making sure to lay out three plates. As you pour the batter into the waffle maker, you make quick work of cutting up some fresh strawberries to serve on the side.

Hearing two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs, as well as an accompanying giggle, you turn to see Max chasing Alistair through the foyer and towards the kitchen island, with Max laughing as he picks up his son and plops him down onto the barstool in front of him.

A smile pulls at your lips as you slide Max a mug of coffee, getting a nod of appreciation in return before he helps you plate up breakfast, encouraging his son to eat up so you all can get going.

Max had arranged for one of his private planes to fly the three of you out, telling you it would be much more relaxing than taking a normal flight, to which you rolled your eyes.

No matter how long you had been working for Max, you still aren’t used to how causal he is with spending his wealth. Especially when it came to you.

It was no secret Max had a sweet spot for you.

How could he not? It wasn’t all about that first night - sure he still thinks about it when he’s alone - but it’s about all of you. He loves the way that when he comes home it feels so domestic - you and Alistair either running around the house playing games or cooking or baking together - something about it feels so right to him.

But he doesn’t want to make things weird between the two of you.

He hopes this special trip will help him out a little bit.

“Alright, the only room we have left is room 5. Is that ok Mr. Lord?”

Max nods as the small bed and breakfast owner hands over the key. He turns to look at you with tired eyes, seeing Alistair leaning up against you, barely awake.

Grabbing your bags, Max makes quick work of guiding you and Ali down the long hallway of numbered rooms until the three of you were gathered outside of room five.

Opening the door with the key, Max leads the two of you inside the small two room suite, dropping the bags unceremoniously onto the carpet as Ali lays down on the couch in the “living room” which consisted of a small kitchenette, a couch and two comfy chairs, a tv, and kitchen table with chairs.

“I knew he was tired, but not that tired,” you chuckle, pointing to the couch where Ali is fast asleep, one of the stuffed animals you had bought for him tucked under his arm.

Max let’s out a huff of frustration as he sits down on one of the soft chairs, running a hand through his now messy locks.

“Hey,” you say soothingly, making your way to the chair next to Max’s and sit down. You reach out a hand and place it on Max’s shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze.

At the feeling of your touch, a pair of brown eyes looks up and lock with yours, Max’s brow furrowed in not only frustration but stress.

The past several hours didn’t go as any of you planned.

The plane ride started out as usual, Max siting comfortingly in his seat and looking over some documents for his upcoming meeting. You and Alistair were sat in your own seats, playing with a new copy of Mad Libs, with Alistair giggling as you read out the story he created.

You were probably in the air for about 45 minutes when you hit a patch of bad weather, the plane going through a bit of turbulence.

Feeling the plane rock, your hand immediately shoots out to grab onto Max’s, your eyes locking with his in fear as he squeezes your hand, sending a small wave of comfort throughout your body.

The pilot comes over the speaker to inform you that he needs to make an emergency landing while the weather passes, and you feel your heartbeat pick up as the plane begins to descend, hearing Max comfort Ali from his seat.

It’s when the plane is grounded, that you begin to process what just happened - you find it hard to catch your breath as your bags are unloaded from the plane.

“Hey hey hey,” a soothing, familiar deep voice says, “we’re okay, alright? Let’s find somewhere we can stay so you and Ali can rest.”

“What about you? You need rest too after today,” you sigh, feeling Max place his hand on the small of your back, grabbing a few bags and grabbing Ali’s hand as the three of you make your way towards the taxi the small airport called for you.

“I’m not too worried about it,” Max reassures, helping you load everything into the taxi before helping you inside.

The bed and breakfast you were staying at was hours outside of DC, but you could always find a cat tomorrow and drive down to make it to Max’s meeting. It was the only place nearby with availability, even if it was only one room.

You break eye contact with Max, telling him you are going to run to the bathroom real quick. You stand up and walk over to the door to the bedroom, turning the knob open and gasping as you look inside.

“What’s wrong?” Max worriedly presses, still on edge from earlier. He jumps up and makes his way over, ready to face whatever danger may be behind the door, but feels his eyes widen as he sees the one singular bed in the center of the room.

“Oh,” he sighs, seeing you have the same reaction. The two of you haven’t shared a bed since that first night, and the two of you never spoke of it again.

“I can sleep in one of the chairs,” you blurt out, not fully thinking before the words come out. You can’t imagine sharing a bed with your boss, with Max, after what happened last time. It just would be too awkward.

“No no, you don’t have to do that,” he reassures, “I’ll sleep on the chair,” he suggests, getting a head shake from you. You don’t want him to be uncomfortable because of you, but you also don’t want to push the boundaries.

He lets out a sigh as he runs his hand through his hair again, something he would do when stressed over something such as a business proposal or shareholder meeting, but this was different.

You take a deep breath and turn to look at the tall man, watching as his eyes look down to meet yours. God he was so pretty. Has he always been this pretty?

“How about we just both sleep in the bed Max, that way we can both be comfortable and get some sleep before our drive tomorrow,” you rush out, looking down at your feet to avoid his gaze.

Max stays quiet for a moment, thinking over the benefits of actually sleeping in a bed, with you in it. After today, he feels like he could fall asleep instantly, so maybe it’ll be that way in the bed.

“Alright,” he sighs, “I’m going to change in the bathroom.”

You nod as he reaches down to grab his designer travel bag, heading off to the attached bathroom before shutting the door, missing the way your face heats up at the thought of sharing a bed with him.

You will yourself to get changed quickly, not wanting Max to walk in on you changing, even if he’s seen you undressed before.

Grabbing your bag, you search through for your pajamas, which consist of a pair of striped sleep shorts and an old oversized tshirt. Letting your hair down, you feel a heavy weight of exhaustion flow over you like an ocean wave, and your body subconsciously makes it’s way over to the small bed and lets you settle in.

Max walks out of the en-suite bathroom a few moments later, clad in his custom Armani pajamas and makes his way over to the bed, seeing you already tucked under the covers and turned away from him.

He lets out a sigh as he peels back his side of the covers, letting his body slip into his side of the bed and relax, the bed feeling like a cloud under his tense muscles. Letting his eyes flutter closed, he wills himself to fall asleep fast.

“Max?” you whisper, turning over to lay on your back.

The older man lets out a quiet groan, flipping over to face you. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you date?”

The question nearly makes his eyes shoot out of his head. Was he dreaming?

“I uh-,” he starts, letting out a small cough and staring up at the ceiling. “I haven’t found someone i’d want to bring home.”

He doesn’t miss the small “mhm” you let out, the air becoming thick with tension.

“Why don’t you date?” He questions back, feeling a little bold. If you could ask him, why couldn’t he ask you.

You let out a small laugh, “Of course you’d ask,” you laugh, taking a deep breath before closing your eyes. It’s now or never. After the turbulence situation, it made you realize that things aren’t guaranteed. Hell, if it bothers him Max can find another nanny.

“I haven’t found anyone i’d want to bring home since I met you.”

Max feels his throat tighten up. He immediately turns towards you and sees you have opened your eyes back up, and are looking right at him. Fuck, is this really happening?

“Me?” he asks excitedly, trying to stay calm as his nanny confesses her true feelings right before his very eyes.

“Yes you, unless there is some other Maxwell Lord that I have slept with and work for!” you laugh, feeling the anxiety in your chest start to fade away. You watch Max closely, swearing you can see stars in his eyes as your confession escapes your lips.

Max smiles to himself, letting out a small chuckle to himself before looking back at you. He scoots a little closer to you, not wanting to overcrowd you, but wanting to close the space between you two. He reaches forward and brushes a stray piece of hair away from your face, watching as a faint blush rises upon your cheeks.

“Can I hold you?” He asks softly, almost as if you would disappear if he spoke louder. You nod back at him, turning on your side so that your back is pressed up against his front.

Adjusting the covers around you both, Max brings you closer to his body and places his strong arm around your waist, holding you softly, yet securely, as if he would never let go. He settles his face into your neck and takes in your soft scent of coconut and something else sweet, never wanting to forget the scent.

You both let your eyes flutter shut, set on getting some rest. Feeling Max rubbing a familiar pattern on your hip, you feel yourself start to drift off comfortably, only feeling butterflies in your tummy, but the good kind.

Tomorrow you both can talk about your feelings, but right now you just want to lie in Max’s arms, and never have him let you go

taglist: @salome-c @jasterslegacy @marydjarin @hnt-escape

#ksjdjdjks #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #maxwell lord one shot #wonder woman 1984 #ww 1984 #pedro pascal characters #my writing

[kmikaelsonimagines]

The 1: A Kol Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: The 1 please xx

I didn’t realise until I read over this, but there’s a bit of me in this one, in that what Kol feels is very similar to my own experiences. If you guys ever need to talk about anything similar to the content in this imagine, please don’t hesitate to pop me a message. Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x 

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

The 1

I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit Been saying "yes" instead of "no" I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn't though

Kol had been doing well for the first time since it happened. It had only taken a few months, but he was finally beginning to feel some level of peace. He knew that he would never be the person he was again, never feel entirely complete, not after what had happened, but he was starting to feel almost contented.

It was what she would have wanted, always moaning at him for being too moody whenever things didn’t go quite the way he wanted them to. He smiled at the memory, seeing her faint outline standing in front of him.

It wasn’t really her, he knew that, but it was better than nothing. Better than being alone with his thoughts, better than letting himself spiral into a deep dark void where he was reminded of all his mistakes, self-loathing swallowing him up.

He refused to let that happen, not again, knowing that if he fell down that hole again, there would be no-one to help him out of it. No-one had the first time, after all, his family either hiding and pretending it didn’t happen, or threatening him if he stepped a foot out of line.

It was why he had left Mystic Falls, not being able to face them, not that they would have missed him.

But now a few months on, he realised that he needed to go back. He took a breath before opening the front door, stepping into the house where it happened.

The house where Y/N had died.

I hit the ground running each night I hit the Sunday matinée You know the greatest films of all time were never made

The first thing he saw was the book on the armchair. Spine broken, pages old and worn, leather bookmark sticking out of them. He knew that book, knew its smell, its touch, the way it made the reader smile.  

It was Y/N’s, something he had obviously left behind when he had taken her things and moved them out of the Mikaelson mansion. Someone was reading it, and as Kol inhaled its scent, hoping that Y/N’s had lingered, he felt anger bubble up as hers was swallowed by that of his older brother.  

Elijah.  

Kol tried to drown out the image of his sibling with one of Y/N, of her telling him just how this was the greatest book of all time, how a film should be made out of it. He had promised her that one day, when that movie was made, he would take her to see it on a Sunday afternoon, and she had smiled, her eyes lighting up as she kissed his cheek.  

Kol pulled the bookmark out of the pages, and pocketed the book. He would take it home with him when he was done here and leave Elijah with the ever damning thought that he would never find out what happened at the end of the novel.   

Just like Y/N would never see that movie. I guess you never know, never know And if you wanted me, you really should've showed And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow And it's alright now

“You’re back.” Kol was snapped out of his thoughts of Y/N by the voice of his sister. Turning, he looked at Rebekah, her eyes so full of sadness and hope that maybe her brother would stay this time.

“Not for long. Just need to pick up some things, and then I’ll be gone.” His words were clipped, and he turned his back on his sister as he walked towards where his bedroom was. No, not his bedroom. Their bedroom. His and Y/N’s.

“Kol.”

“What, Rebekah? What could you possibly want?”

“How are you?”

Kol shook his head. He knew his sister cared, knew that she was trying. But it was too little, too late. If she wanted him to stay in the first place, then maybe she should have tried a little harder all those months ago. Maybe she shouldn’t have sided with Klaus when Kol went on a bloody rampage out of grief, his hybrid brother threatening to dagger him again.

Fucking hypocrite. How many people had died at Klaus’s hands after he had lost someone?

But Kol didn’t say any of that. “Fine.”

He opened up the wardrobe, trying not to look at the bed where he and Y/N had slept.

But we were something, don't you think so? Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

Kol knew Rebekah was still standing there, watching him as he ran his fingers over Y/N’s clothes. Unlike the book that still rested in his pocket, her scent still lingered, and he resisted the urge to cover himself in it, to wrap each dress, each t-shirt, each jacket around his body.

If he did that, he was sure he would break down, and all his progress would be for nothing.

His gaze turned to a black dress, short feathered sleeves between his fingers as he remembered the day Y/N had worn it. It had been her birthday, he forgot which one, but he remembered how she had leaned over the railings surrounding the pond in the park.

He remembered how she had pulled coins out of her purse and given one to him.

“Make a wish, Kol.”

“You know we could just do this with magic.”

She’d pushed him playfully. “Just throw it in. You can’t tell me your wish otherwise it won’t come true.”

She had said that he couldn’t tell her. It hadn’t stopped him from showing her that night, pushing the dress off her shoulders and her body into the bed behind him.

Kol took the clothes off the hangers and packed them into the box he had brought with him.

And if my wishes came true It would've been you

“Kol, can you just talk to me? Please.”

Kol walked past his sister with that box of Y/N’s clothes, pretending as if she wasn’t there. He hadn’t forgiven her for what had happened those months ago, for siding with his brothers, for acting like Y/N hadn’t even lived in the house.

Kol hadn’t stopped blaming himself for what had happened to her. If only he hadn’t shown her his wish, maybe she would have still been alive. If only he hadn’t whispered it onto her skin, maybe he wouldn’t have had to bury her.

If his wish had come true, Y/N would still be here. If his wish had come true, Kol and Y/N would have been spending the rest of eternity together.

He surveyed the room, patting his pocket to check that her book was still there. It seemed he had everything he needed. Except-

There was a dagger at his back, the point digging into his skin through his coat. He froze, a familiar chill creeping over him. It had been Klaus last time, it had been Klaus almost every time.

He had never thought it would be his sister, never thought it would be Rebekah threatening him.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you to listen.”

In my defense, I have none For never leaving well enough alone

Kol’s anger grew as Rebekah spoke, and he tried ridiculously hard not to snap.

“I know you’re upset with us, but we’re your family Kol. We were hurting too. We miss her too.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” His voice was flat as he tried to remain calm, tried to keep his defenses up, the way Y/N would want him to. “Are you going to put that bloody dagger down?”

“Not until you agree to forgive us.”

That was it. That was the moment Kol snapped, his rage pouring over him in waves.

“Forgive you? Forgive this family? You must be joking. You’re the reason she’s dead. Klaus thought the best idea would be to put me away, Elijah won’t even show his face, and you’re swanning around in one of her dresses. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I can’t forgive you when you won’t even acknowledge that she’s dead, and that it’s your fault, because this bloody family is too damn obsessed with pride and power, and can never leave things alone.”

“But we’re family, Kol.”

Hearing in Rebekah’s voice that she was off guard, Kol turned and gripped the blade in his hand, yanking it away from his sister. “No, we’re not. Y/N was my family, and you all took that away from me.”

He dropped the knife to the floor and left the house.

But it would've been fun If you would've been the one

Once back in his car, Kol put the box full of Y/N’s clothes on the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel so tightly he thought his knuckles would protrude from his skin. He wanted to scream, but knew that once he did that, it would attract attention and that was the last thing he wanted.

So he took deep breaths, trying desperately to steady himself before he drove home. Whatever home was anymore.

He remembered the book in his pocket, and pulled it out so as not to damage it whilst he drove. He fingered the pages, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he remembered Y/N’s words.

“You’d like it if you just read it, Kol.”

“I’ll wait for the movie.”

Kol smiled, tears welling in his eyes. If there was ever a time to read Y/N’s favourite book, it was now. He opened it up and his breath caught at what was scrawled onto the front page.

Kol,

If you’re reading this, it means you’ve finally listened to my advice.

I love you, and just so you know, you’ve always been the one for me.

Y/N xxx

Kol lifted the book up to his nose, and there it was, the last lingering trace of her scent. He inhaled it, breathing in all he had left of his Y/N.

Kol had been doing well for the first time since it happened. It had only taken a few months, but he was finally beginning to feel some level of peace. He knew that he would never be the person he was again, never feel entirely complete, not after what had happened, but he was starting to feel almost contented.

None of that stopped him from placing his forehead on the steering wheel and crying until his throat was raw.

None of that stopped him from mourning Y/N, the woman who should have been the one.

Masterlist

Folklore Masterlist

#the vampire diaries #tvd #tvd imagine #tvd imagines #the originals #to #the originals imagines #the originals imagine #Kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson imagines #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson x reader #nate buzolic #nate buzz #Nathaniel Buzolic

[murderousginger]

Cherry Red

Cops & Robbers epilogue???

Warnings: They’re criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Word Count: 2,982

Song inspiration here

Warm rough fingertips danced along your bare back, stopping to trace along the horse tattooed upon your shoulder. The cool rings made you grip your champagne flute tighter as the hand -- which most certainly was not your husband's -- dipped from your shoulders down your exposed back to the indent above your waist. 

"Backless dresses suit you much better than men's clothing, pet," his breath tickled your ear as he rounded you, his red beard unruly compared to his sharp black suit. "You lied to me those years ago. You are a Shelby."

"You ever hit me again, Mr. Solomons, and I'll gut you in front of God and Polly," you smiled as you tipped your glass to him, your wedding ring gleaming against the flute. "Keep that in mind tonight."

"I don't remember you being so brave those years ago," he squinted, looking over your dress. As his gaze followed the line of your body you cocked your hip, showing your leg through a slit in the gown. His eyes widened before snapping back to your face. "Pretty creature gained courage with a ring on her finger."

His hand lingered on your waist as his fingers played with the edge of your cherry red dress. You lifted your eyebrow at him but refused to move out of his grasp. 

"You looked me in the eye far more when I was dressed as a man," you countered before finishing your glass in a gulp. "Perhaps my witchcraft only works on you when you're reminded of my body. You forget what you told me?"

"Which part, love?" He smirked as his free hand smoothed his beard.

You leaned forward and pressed your hand on his chest as you whispered into his ear. 

"Funniest thing about pretty creatures, pet," you drawled, mimicking his accent. "The most colorful are usually the likeliest to kill you dead without warnin'."

You pulled back and looked around the room with bored eyes. You could see Arthur shooting glances your way as he conversed with a man, and John and Esme were at a table across the crowded ballroom. Esme wrangled their youngest and John's glare fixed on Alfie's arm. His fist was tight on the table as Esme drew his attention back to his family. Finn and Isaiah were both talking in a corner with the help, darting glances your way from time to time.

You raised your glass to a maid and nodded for her to bring her tray over. She smiled nervously and hastily cut through the crowd. 

"Mrs. Shelby," she said, eyeing Alfie standing so close with his hand on your waist before her eyes snapped to yours. 

"I'm bored of champagne," you monotoned. "Get me a whiskey, please, Dolly. Mr. Solomons? Would you rather rum? Gin?"

His eyes flashed and you felt his fingers flex on your side. 

"Don't drink the stuff, meself," he said. "I suppose, when in hell, I'll have a whiskey."

"How courteous to fall to our level," you teased as the maid tittered away to fulfill your request. 

"I've seen no white knight come to your rescue yet, pet," his cold rings pressed against your bare spine. "Why do I feel glares but no one has dared interrupt us? Where is my good friend Mr. Shelby?"

"I've no need for a good man, let alone a knight, Alfie," you smiled and raised your glass to the ballroom. "This is my dear husband's fundraiser. He's around somewhere talking old men out of their money and into his favor."

"Ay, Birmingham and London wasn't enough, he had to join parliament," he chuckled. "And his wife's scandalous attitude has gained more than one headline in the papers."

Alfie's hand raised to graze along your tattooed shoulder. 

"You show you are marked so openly," he murmured. "Like a badge rather than an abomination."

"God never visited Small Heath," you laughed. "No need to gain favor of an absent father."

"Blasphemous with a smile," Alfie shook his head and pressed his lips into a tight line. "Perhaps you should be in men's clothes with the balls on you."

"Says the man with his hands on another's wife at a very public gala," you smiled curtly and squinted at him, as if assessing him and finding him wanting.

"How will the papers headline it?" Alfie said, leaning closer as if to tell a secret. "Another man touching the good politician Shelby's wild wife. Her bare back at that. Scandalous, innit love?"

You laughed loudly and threw your head back, running your fingers along the seam of his suspender inside his jacket. You felt him freeze under your touch as you pressed against him, taking in the spice of his cologne as heads turned to follow your laugh to its source.

"Aren't you a prominent beacon in the Jewish community, Mr. Solomons?" You pushed the words into his ear, velvet draping over him as your grin grew Cheshire-like. "I'm not the only one that can suffer a scandal, and I can promise a pious man will make more headlines than a Shelby."

The maid returned with a stiff 'ma'am' as she handed the whiskey glasses to you both. You murmured your thanks, sipped your drink as you deftly took a step away and turned to face your adversary. 

You looked over his shoulder to see you had Polly's full attention, her scowl cutting you as your glance stuttered on her. She nodded once slowly as she glared daggers one more moment before returning to her conversation. The signal was loud and clear: behave. 

Your eyes searched the ballroom again, finding John's jaw set as he held a toddler, his eyes squinting at yours in question. You winked at him, a smile curling on your lips that you tried to hide by the rim of the whiskey glass. He was not amused.

"Getting all your orders signed to you, love?" He chuckled. "Did you get in trouble with your family? Not as free as you'd like to think."

Alfie smiled wide, a wolf who realized he found a soft spot, and took a large gulp of his drink. He grimaced, clearing his throat as he frowned at the glass. 

"I'll forgive you this once," you said, your attention returning to him. "So it won't interfere with our business."

"Business?" Alfie frowned. "You would never interfere with my business with Tommy."

"No, Alfie," your eyes hardened as Alfie's expression blanked. "I do mean our business."

"Alfie, old friend," a warm voice called from behind you as a familiar hand rested on your back. "I hope you didn't start business without me. Some of my guests require more attention and it becomes difficult to get away. I see you found (Y/N) to entertain you."

Alfie watched as Tommy came up beside you, all ease and familiarity as if it was instinct. His suit was crisp, every corner of his appearance perfect and every bit a politician, down to the fake turn of his lips. His fingers played with the fabric against the small of your back and goosebumps covered your skin as he talked with the increasingly agitated man in front of you.

"What do you mean she's in charge of your shipping business?" Alfie's voice had clipped, his games falling aside as his shock got the better of him. 

"Exactly what he said," you smiled. "If you would like a piece of our shipping gin -- and possibly your rum -- to the Americas, you'll need to speak to me."

"Ah," Alfie said, tongue circling an eye tooth as he reassessed you in Tommy's arms. "So the soldier had become a general herself."

"More like a queen," Tommy said, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he pulled you into his side. 

"Wouldn't the charity be better business for a woman to run?" Alfie frowned, squinting between you both. 

"Lizzie is running the charity," you supplied, your fingers running along Tommy's arm that stretched along your middle. "We're a modern company, Mr. Solomons. Multiple women can run multiple pieces."

"I was hoping to introduce you two, make the transition smoother," Tommy said as his jaw ticked. "But you seem to have shot straight for (Y/N) before I could."

"We've met, we did," Alfie said as he twisted his beard in his hand. "Had a nice little discussion all those years ago, didn't we pet? Thought it only proper to give her a hello while you were busy."

Tommy's face was blank, his eyes half lidded as if bored. If anyone could shut Alfie Solomons' erratic energy down, it was Tommy Shelby and his nature of being completely still. Looking between the men was like looking between fire and ice. Both were dangerous, conniving, and ambitious to a fault. 

Alfie was loud, erratic, constantly flipping moods, expressions, energies, to keep everyone around him on their toes. You never knew when he would strike because he constantly tapped on walls for weaknesses. By the time he had done what he wished, no one flinched because it was old hat. You couldn't tell whick way was up or down by the time Alfie was done with you.

Tommy, on the other hand, preferred to be still, watchful, quiet. People often would see his blank face and -- unable to read an expression -- take whatever he said as truth. He would hold himself still until everyone forgot he was there and when he would strike there would be nothing but astonishment and dust in his wake. He was a ghost.

Tommy licked his lips, letting the air thicken between them before he unwrapped himself from your waist and took your hand. You placed your drink on a nearby table. His eyes instantly warmed as they left Alfie to look you up and down. 

"Do you like this dress, Alfie?" Tommy asked as he twirled you slowly in front of the man, letting the long red fabric frame you. "I picked it out myself. I believe it's from Paris, right love?"

Alfie grunted, looking between you and Tommy with suspicion.

"It is," you said evenly, allowing him to spin you in front of the man like he was showing off a jewel in the light. 

"Your taste has always been rich, Tom," Alfie squinted. "No doubt about that."

"It's made from a very fine silk, I believe," Tommy went on, ignoring the comment, his eyes dancing between your figure and Alfie's confused face.

"The thing about it is the cut," he went on, leaning toward Alfie as if conspiring. "My beautiful wife can't wear undergarments with it. Low back, that slit up the side, how the dress flows over her more like water than fabric. Very unfortunate, don't you think?" 

Alfie's eyes widened as he eyed your body even closer. He reddened slightly as he finally made his way to your face to see your eyebrow cocked at him daringly, the smallest curl of your lips a mix of a snarl and a smile.

"Very unfortunate, indeed," Alfie mumbled. "Why are you telling me this, Tom?"

"Oh no reason at all," Tommy tilted his head and winked as he pulled you closer to him, his hand dropping yours to rest splayed on your hip.

"You're going to dance with my wife, Alfie, while I grab a smoke," Tommy said, the edge to his voice sharper than his locked jaw. "And you'll figure out the conditions for our joint alcohol smuggling effort during that dance."

Tommy's blue eyes burrowed into Alfie as he waited for an answer. Alfie nodded slowly and extended his hand toward you, a grimace on his face as you dipped your head and accepted his hand. His hand extended yours out as his other rested on your waist, flitting over your skin rather than holding. He was nervous like a clumsy child that was told to set the table with fine china tonight.

"Oh, and Alfie," Tommy called before Alfie could pull you too far away. You both looked back at him, but only you had a sparkle of mischief in your eye.

"She might cut you if your hands wander," Tommy said, his eyebrows raised as his chin and voice sank. "I'll shoot you in the fuckin' face."

You exhaled a sharp laugh as Alfie's hand on your waist all but hovered above you, his face white as a sheet as he pulled you away from your husband. Tommy gave a nod and moved within the crowd, finding a place next to Polly for a moment. You looked around the room for a moment before reading your eyes back to the uncomfortable man in front of you.

"I will, you know," you smiled as his mouth quirked. "Cut you."

"With what blade in that dress?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," you said.

Alfie grunted and looked over your shoulder, no doubt looking for the positions of the Shelbys.

"Stop being grumpy, it's lame," you laughed as you rubbed his shoulder. "We have business to agree upon."

"Easy for you to say, pet," he mumbled. "Didn't realize I would be holding a bomb to me chest tonight over business."

"Isn't that the only way to do business?" You frowned. "I even wore red to alert you. I thought you knew better."

"Fuckin' should've," he breathed. "Alright, now, let's get to it then."

----

As the song ended, you and Alfie had agreed on a preliminary run of a limited amount of his rum going in your next shipment to America. If the numbers and shipment went well, you would ramp up within a fortnight. 

"May I have this dance?" Tommy appeared, his hand outstretched and pushing the two of you away from each other. 

"I believe we have amenable terms for now," Alfie bowed his head as he kissed your hand, in much better spirits than when the dance began. "I will leave my favorite cutthroats to go forth and ruin someone else's night with their fuckery. I do believe I need to return home and wash the sin from my clothes before it stains."

"Goodnight, Alfie," you said warmly as he easily transferred you to Tommy's side. "Safe travels home."

"Goodnight," Tommy said, all edge of his voice gone as his attention was only on you, his mouth dipped to kiss your shoulder. 

Alfie looked between you two and exhaled a soft laugh before he turned away, shaking his head. 

"Are we going to dance before you leave me to Polly to be yelled at, or was that just a way to cut short my time with your ally?" You murmured as his hand tickled your back. 

"I can dance," he said as he kissed your neck and swept you into his arms. 

You giggled as his hot breath tickled your ear and he pulled you across the hall. 

"So Polly is unhappy with me," you laughed as you pulled back to look him in the eye. 

Tommy sighed. 

"You threatened to make a scene, love," he said as his eyes softened. "With Alfie of all people."

"I think she's more upset about the half a glass of whiskey I had than dealing with Alfie," you said, earning a confused look from Tommy. "Alfie was only trying to make me uncomfortable."

"You didn't flinch a bit," Tommy toned. 

"Oh! You're jealous," you gasped. "Did Alfie Solomons upset my dear husband, king Tommy?"

"No one's to touch my wife but me," he said, roughly tugging you to the other side of a pillar as he pressed you against it in the shadow. 

He lifted your chin with his finger as his knee pressed between your legs and his other hand found its way into the slit of your dress and squeezed your ass. 

"Will you take me right here, Mr. Politician," you taunted, grinding a little against his knee as his eyes caught flame. "Need to prove your claim that boldly? Not enough to dangle me in front of your colleagues?"

"You're bored of the parties," he said as his head tilted and his hand wrapped around your throat, holding you against the pillar. "You aren't made for the pleasantries of the light."

"I'd much rather us in the dark," you tipped your chin up, your hands roaming up his chest and neck to pull him close.

"I hear you," he panted as your foreheads touched. You teased, your breath on his lips as you kept just out of reach. "But tonight is about what's best for this family."

"I agree," you smirked. "Our little one deserves a good life."

Tommy's mouth slacked and his hand dropped from your throat as you chuckled. 

"S'why Polly's upset," you whispered into his open mouth. "The whiskey. She called it last week. John was in the kitchen. Why do you think your little brother had grown so protective over me again?"

You smiled, taunting as he stood frozen.

"Did you fear he was trying to claim me again?" Your hand traced his jaw before you closed his mouth. "I'm yours, Tommy Shelby, just like this child is."

"Well, Mrs. Shelby," his voice was hoarse as he pushed the words out, shoveling them like gravel. He cleared his throat as he licked his lips. "Perhaps we should retire for the night."

"And leave your fundraiser?" You asked, your brows raised. 

It was not like him not to be the last one in the ballroom, talking to every last person as if to stuff his pockets with every cent and favor he could. You bit your lip as you watched the gears turn behind his soft eyes. He had completely melted against you. 

"My poor pregnant wife must be exhausted from the stress of the night," he said evenly, his hand tickling your thigh. "And what sort of man would I be if not to take care of her?"

"What sort, indeed," you smiled as you kissed him softly.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #tommy shelby x reader #storytime with murderousginger #promptmurderousginger

[lupismaris]

For the requests silver flint Hamilton adopting a cat?

(aahh i loved this thank you!!! it got a bit long so I’ve put most of it under a readmore but I hope you like it!)

Silverflintham in my general modern au.

******

“What’s this?” Silver asked, digging through the grocery bags that now littered the kitchen counter.

Flint was busy sorting through the day’s mail, tortoise shell reading glasses perched on his nose, brow furrowed as he read over a dinner invitation for himself and Thomas.

“What’s what?” he asked, tossing aside the invite and shuffling through bills.

Silver rolled his eyes and slid the stack of high end tins of cat food across the counter until it was in Flint’s line of sight. He knew that if he went down to the first floor he’d find a large bag of high end kibble to match, likely resting by the patio door.

Flint looked up, saw the cans, and snatched them off the counter. “Nothing. Just- for the shelter-“ he muttered as his ears started to burn.

“The shelter you send a check to once a month and whenever they ask?” Silver clarified, perching himself on the edge of the bar as Flint tucked the cans of food in the back of a cupboard. “That shelter?”

Flint scowled at him. “Yes for that shelter, they put out fliers asking for supplies alright? Figured I’d drop some off on my way to work tomorrow,” he snapped. There was very little bite to it, it was rare that Flint ever truly got annoyed with him.

“And it’s not for the slowly growing cat colony you totally aren’t feeding out in the alley each night?” Silver asked in a sweet voice.

He’d known about the stray cats in the neighborhood almost from the beginning of his relationship with Flint, how he’d keep a bag of food at the bar in case any of them came to the kitchen door, how according to Gates he’d managed to trap a few and get them to a rescue. He hadn’t found out about Flint’s unofficial colony of strays, however, until he had moved in. At present Silver guessed it was only a handful, four or five adult cats who were either content being feral or just waiting for the right home.

Flint liked to think he was subtle, that he wasn’t so obviously sneaking out each night before bed to leave food and water in the alley, to make sure the little cat boxes another neighbor had built were in tact. Silver let him believe it, though he couldn’t be sure whether or not Thomas knew about his husband’s unbearably endearing hobby.

Silver laughed softly at the flustered and indignant look on Flint’s face, the flush in his cheeks making his freckles turn ruddy. He reached for his hand. Flint took it without hesitation.

“It’s kitten season,” he said softly, not meeting Silver’s eye, “and that always means a few more strays on the streets. The little ones need different food, more calories so they put on the proper weight. That’s all.”

Of course Flint would be thinking about the kittens. Of course. God Silver had fallen in love with a truly ridiculous, wonderful man.

“I’m only teasing. You’re awful sweet,” he said, pulling Flint in for a kiss. It was enough to soothe Flint’s bristly demeanor, though he was still a bit flustered when he pulled away with a muttered ‘am not.’

Silver hooked his arms around Flint’s middle and tucked his face into his neck, purring slightly when Flint leaned into him and went back to sorting the mail. “You are. Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone. Your husband might though.”

Flint huffed a laughed and kissed Silver’s curls. “Oh without a doubt. Speaking of, he home yet?”

Home, that was still taking some getting used to.

“No but he did say he’d be a bit late today, last minute student meetings or something.” Silver said against Flint’s throat, pausing to mouth a bit at the hinge of his jaw. He could feel the vibration of Flint’s soft rumble of content and he nipped the soft skin below his ear.

“Well dinner won’t take long, I can fridge the duck for now, wait till it’s closer to supper time.” Flint’s voice held a note of mischief to it. “I’m sure we can think of something to entertain us in the mean time.”

Silver smiled against Flint’s throat, lifting his head to kiss him. “Oh I have a few ideas.”

Flint chuckled into the kiss, pulling back despite Silver’s whine of protest. “I’m sure you do. Help me finish the chores, pup, and you can tell me just what kind of ideas you have hm?”

As if Silver could say no to Flint, in his reading glasses and half buttoned shirt, his hair pulled back in a messy bun so the well trimmed undercut was visible.

They got the groceries put away, the ingredients for dinner prepped and stowed in the fridge, the duck legs braising in the oven, and when Silver thought he’d finally be able to get Flint at least to the sofa to make out like twenty year olds, Flint instead asked him to follow him down to the garden.

He took Silver out to see where he left the food for the cats, no longer keeping up the old pretenses that he was keeping it secret. Three of the cats were lingering in the alley when they stepped out of the back gate, a big black bruiser of a cat with a clipped ear and a few scars on his muzzle. He didn’t like silver one bit but he went right up to Flint as if greeting an old and cherished friend. The other two were younger, long haired domestics Silver would’ve guessed.

“Those two are brothers I think,” Flint told him, as the one with a white belly and rusty brown spots came over to inspect Silver, the other with tabby markings watching warily. “They’re new, oddly friendly, which means they likely had a home first.”

“Poor things,” Silver murmured, letting the two cats inspect his hands. He noted that they didn’t have their ears tagged. “Are they much younger than the others?”

“Probably only a year or so old, I’d guess. I was waiting for them to get a bit bigger before trying to take them to a rescue, so they can get fixed and all their shots and stuff. I could trap them rather easily I think but the closest shelter is overwhelmed right now.”

Silver nodded, setting out a bowl of food for them to share. “This explains all those random scratches you keep coming home with,” he said flatly, relishing the way it made Flint laugh.

Half an hour passed and Bruiser, as Silver now called him, trotted off to do whatever it was stray cats did. The brothers were happily playing with each other, tumbling and rough housing down the alley.

“You know, I’m surprised you haven’t just…” Silver mulled over his words as he and Flint went back inside, pulling the garden gate closed behind him. He was too focused on Flint, and his own thoughts, to double check if the latch had caught properly.

“Brought them inside?” Flint offered.

“Yeah. I’ve only just met them and I find myself considering how to convince Thomas we should adopt them. Well, I dunno if Bruiser wants to be adopted but the others-“

Flint shrugged, leading the way up the back stairs to the deck that extended from the back of the kitchen, leaving the glass door cracked a little to let in the cooler evening air. “Between you and me, Bruiser is about a week away from being adopted by the little old lady on the next block. I was seeing him less and less and got worried but it turns out shes got a whole set up for him. I’m sure it won’t be long before she gets him inside and he refuses to leave. The others though… I dunno I guess I’ve always had strays and never an actual cat. We had them back in Padstow, and in Camden, in Manhattan, and even when I was stationed abroad. There were always strays.”

Silver considered him, following Flint into the kitchen and again perching himself on the bar. “You knew how to take care of strays but the concept of being their forever home scared you.”

It took a moment for Flint to reply. Silver watched him roll up his sleeves, tattoos vibrant in the golden hour light that filled the kitchen. He watched as he washed his hands, pulled out the prepared ingredients for the duck sauvage and rabe he was making, and set to work.

“I never felt stable enough to have a pet,” Flint said as he coated the pan in butter. “Not even when Thomas and I were first over in Manhattan, once he’d recovered from the accident, it just- there were too many risks, too many variables. We already had so much on our plate, between his recovery and the bar that any pet we did have wouldn’t get the attention it needed.”

He set the seasoned duck breasts in the pan and let them cook, stepping away to pour them each a glass of negroni from the pitcher he’d made the night before. “I refused to adopt an animal only to risk neglecting it. So, once we moved here I found the local ferals and the people with their own colonies and did what I could.”

Silver nodded, taking the drink and the soft kiss that came with it. “And now? Since you both seemed so settled here?”

Flint smiled fondly at him. “I was too busy making sure I could bring you home for good to think about pets.”

For an asshole, Flint really was an unbelievably sappy romantic.

Silver felt himself blushing, knew he must have been from the way Flint’s smile sharpened a little before stealing another kiss. “I suppose thats fair.”

They looked up at the sound of the front door and sure enough Thomas’ voice echoed down the hall. “I hope you two aren’t fucking without me again.”

“Do blow jobs count?” Silver called back as Flint flicked his ear, the sound of Thomas’ laughter preceding him.

“Whatever you’re cooking smells divine,” Thomas said, joining them in the kitchen. He looked tired, his carefully styled hair a bit ruffled from the wind and his fingers toying with it, his shoulders heavy with a full day of lectures so that he leaned more heavily on his ornate walking stick than he had that morning. Silver watched as he pulled Flint in for a kiss, noting the way his body began to relax and shed the stress.

“It’ll be ready in forty minutes, if you both can stop distracting me,” Flint teased, kissing his husband’s cheek before turning back to the stove. “How was your day?”

Thomas groaned, moving around Flint to greet Sliver with a kiss hello. “Don’t ask me that till I’ve had time to process it. Exam season approaches with it’s usual misery.” Silver managed to steal a few more progressively dirty kisses before Thomas pulled away with a hum. “Hello pet.”

“Evening Professor,” Silver replied sweetly, feeling a thrill at the way Thomas’ blue eyes darkened at the title. “Need some help freshening up before dinner?”

Thomas laughed, though he looked like he might be considering it, and took a sip of Silver’s drink. “No, no, best save that for after dinner. I’m just going to go wash up down the hall.”

Begrudgingly Silver let him go, moving to sit in one of the bar chairs so he could watch Flint cook more comfortably. For short time the kitchen was quiet, save for the sounds of food cooking and Flint occasionally muttering to himself.

Then, suddenly, they heard Thomas’ voice in the hall.

“Oh- oh my goodness hello precious! Oh hello just look at you-“

Flint looked up from the stove top with a frown that Silver returned. They listened a moment long as Thomas cooed and made soft little noises, the kind someone made when talking to a cat, for example.

There was a moment of silent realization as they stared at each other. The glass door to the deck was still open.

“Did you make sure the gate was closed?” Flint asked, already moving to clean his hands.

“In theory?” Silver replied, scrambling off his stool and out into the hall.

Thomas sat against the wall with the white and brown stray in his arms, the cat purring loudly and rubbing himself all over Thomas’ shirt. His brother was sniffing curiously at Thomas’ shoes, though upon seeing Silver, he trotted over to him with his long fluffy tail held high. Silver crouched down as best he could without his prosthetic, holding out his hand to the cat who greeted him happily.

“You didn’t tell me we were adopting kittens!” Thomas said in bewildered delight when Flint finally joined them, the poor man staring at his two partners in equal disbelief.

“Uhm.”

“They were curled up in the parlor! They woke up when I came in a suppose and they followed me over to the bathroom- where did you get them? They’re such angels oh my goodness-”

“It’s a bit of a story, actually.” Silver held back his laughter as the more skittish brother crawled into his lap, Flint’s face growing more and more overwhelmed, and more and more flushed as he watched.

“They’re uhm. Strays.” Flint finally managed to say. “From the neighborhood. I must’ve left the gate open, and the- the deck door was- they must've slipped in while I was cooking-”

“Oh you saint of a man,” Thomas said, getting carefully to his feet with an armful of cat. “Were you feeding them? Of course you were, thats a ridiculous question isn’t it. Have they had their shots? Oh we need to find a vet, schedule a visit. And they need baths, and a groomer too I imagine. Do we have enough food-” his voiced trailed off as he went back to the kitchen to search the cabinets.

Silver looked up at Flint with a fond smile.

“Guess I brought a few extra strays with me, huh?” he asked, holding out a hand so Flint could help him up.

It got him a weak laugh, Flint helping him carefully to his feet and greeting the cat in his arms. “Looks like it. Though I don’t think any of you are strays anymore, what with a home like this and all.”

Silver tried not to think too hard about the way his heart ached at Flint’s words, leaning in for a kiss instead. “Go finish dinner, I’ll help Thomas get these two washed up.”

The cat in his arms lifted his striped shaggy head and nuzzled into Flint’s beard a moment, as if to reassure him and Silver watched as any possible argument Flint might muster vanished in an instant.

“Good thing I bought that extra cat food, huh?”

#my fics #silverflinthamilton #@zacklover24 #jamie's fic prompt fills #john silver #james flint #thomas hamilton #this got really long because i got caught up in the idea of flint caring for strays and brooklyn has SO MANY STRAYS!!!! so like!!!! #thank you for this i loved writing it so much

[perksofhs]

‘So... the weather?’

This is a little AU piece that was requested! The prompt: Hey could you do a one shot where harry and famous reader are in a talk show and he has a crush on her. Maybe he accidentally hurts her while playing a game and he feels awful about it orrr maybe the host put a video where harry says that the reader is his crush and he gets nervous and embarrassed.

Promoting a movie was all but glamourous. It was a constant string of 14 hour days, 5am wake up calls and repetitive questions about working with this person or that person with very little time spent discussing the actual plot of the film. The savior of press tours was any interview where you werent alone, whether it was a joint interview with cast mates or a full couch talk show.

You’d been on the Late Late Show once in the past and you had to be honest, it was so much fun. Your first appearance included a 7 minute long musical medley involving fifteen quick changes and you very nearly faceplanting the floor.

By this point you were sitting in the dressing room, your hair being tugged one way or another by David your hairdresser, with your make up artist Cam working his magic on your noticabley exhausted face. “Who am I on with tonight Maggie?” you ask your manager, realising no one had actually told you. Maggie looked up from her laptop, a smirk on her lips. “James told me not to tell you so you’ll have to wait!” she said smugly. You rolled your eyes, “Of course he said that, that man has to stop trying to set me up”. James was a good friend, the two of you having met a number of times through industry parties award shows. He’d always try and find the mosyty eligible bachelor in the room and push you towards them just to shit you. Suffice to say none of them worked out.

Once your hair and makeup were done and you were dressed in a cute but entirely impractical and kind of uncortable outfit, a crew member came to get you and walk you down to the stage. “Ok so once we get to the stage, you’ll hear James announce your name, walk down the steps through the audience, wave or high five whatever you feel like. Then greet James and take a seat, then he’ll then announce the next guest”. You nodded along politely, already knowing the drill. “By chance, do you know who the other guest is?” you say shooting Maggie a smug look. “Yeah its Harry Styles” with that your heart skipped a beat, you’d always found him attractive and incredibly charming which is something you had stupidly mentioned to James once or twice. “That bastard” you say under your breath, you didnt have much time to think about it though because not even 30 seconds later you rounded a corner and there he was.

He was a gorgeous as ever, wearing what you could only assume with a gucci knitted jumper with a delicate lacy collared shirt beneath it, his signature pearls hanging perfectly around his neck, and a pair of cream flared pants. The outfit was quintessentially Harry. He was chatting to another random crew member who seemed to be giving him the same speech. You could hear James wrapping up whatever he was talking about, you were too distracted to follow it, you couldnt look away from the man 8 feet away from you. “You good?” Maggie says, pulls you from your bewildered state, Maggie’s words also caught the attention of Harry who finally looked in your direction.

Harry’s eyes landed on you and unbeknownst to you he was just as taken by the sight of you. Realising his gaze was lingering, Harry snapped himself out of it “Hey i’m Harry, nice to meet you” he said, taking a few steps towards you, his hand awkwardly out for a hand shake, something Harry was already kicking himself for doing. You took his ring clad hand in yours briefly “Hey I’m-” before you could finish you could hear James announce your name, you let out a laugh “that’s my queue”. It was probably a good thing that James has inadvertently introduced you, who knows whether you could have actually remebered your own name in that moment.

You descend the stairs, meeting James at the bottom with a friendly hug before taking your place on the couch. “Can you also put your hands together for the incredible Harry Styles!” James proclaims, the audience erupting once more, you watch Harry interact with the audience effortlessly as he makes his way down the stairs, having a bromance moment with James before he plops down next to you, sitting closer than you had expected him to. “So have you guys met before?” James says, knowing full well the answer is “No we haven’t, we met briefly backstage” Harry says. He couldnt stop thinking about how awkward he’d made the initial encounter but he couldnt help it.

Throughout the interview it was all too clear that sparks were flying bewteen the two of you. Harry had talked about his new music, you’d talked about your new film, an anecdote or two thrown in from the both of you. all was going smoothly until about 15 minutes in when James began to look very smug. “Now Harry, I know you two hadn’t met before but from what I hear you have quite the crush huh?” Harry’s cheek went bright red knowing exactly what was about to happen. You on the other hand had zero idea what was going on. “And how would you know that James?” Harry says trying to pretend he has no clue what James was referring to. “Funny you should ask my friend, this clip might just answer that for you!”

Your eyes darted to the nearest screen as the clip rolled, it was an interview from the press tour of the movie Harry had been in last year. The interviewer had asked the cast who they’d love to work with on future projects and to your surprise, Harry’s pick was you. The interviewer then asked why you were his choice, Harry’s response was “she’s just so talented, every time I watch her in something I’m just profoundly captivated. Her on screen presence is incredible.” One of his castmates laughed, playfully poking Harry in the shoulder adding "If it wasn’t already obvious he’s got quite the crush! He made us watch like 4 of her films during our set downtime” before the clip ended.

Harry dramtically buried his head in his hands out of sheer embarrassment as the audience let out a series of ‘oooohs’ and whistles and James burst out laughing. You let out an laugh as you awkwardly fiddled with your fingers, not entirely sure what you were menat to say or do in that moment. "Well then Harold, go on, ask her out. Nows your chance!” James goaded. Harry was utterly mortified but wasnt the least bit surprised. “So... the weather?” the audience laughed at Harry’s miserable attempt at changing the subject. “Alright alright i’l drop it but you can’t say I didnt try! Just remember this moment when you get married ok?” James said, throwing his hands up in defeat as he got in one last playful jab.

The rest of the interview went awkwardly by, although you were a little distracted. Did he really have a crush on you? How could he have a crush on you? You’re the one who had the crush on him, surely he didn’t feel the same?  James wrapped up the interview and once the cameras had cut both you and Harry made your way backstage.

“Well that was sufficiently awkward and I apologise for how uncomfortable I’m sure that made you. I’m honestly gonna fucking kill James for that” Harry said, you could only giggle in response. “He has no idea what’s coming the next time we catch up. In all fairness, despite how uncomfortable that whole ordeal was, it was lovely to meet you” the two of you smiled at each other. “It was lovely meeting you too Harry, no need to apologise, I bloody knew he was up to something. anyway, I have to head back to my dressing room, I’ll see you around” you say before starting to walk away. You only make it a few steps before Harry stops you “Hey wait! What are you doing this afternoon? This was my last interview for the day and I was gonna head from here to get some food. Wanna come along?” You pause for a moment to think about what the rest your day looked like before smiling back at him “Well, I had planned to go home and eat some left over chinese in front of a film... but I like your idea better. Swing by my dressing room on your way out?” Harry could conseal his happiness with your response, a giddy grin now plastered on his face “It’s a date, but we have to make a deal that neither of us tell James ok? You know how smug he’d be. Deal?” Harry said with a wink, reaching his hand out to seal the deal. You laughed as you shook his hand once more, this time a little less awkard than the first encounter. “My lips are sealed. Now you better not take too long, I’m starving!” you say as you walk away with a smirk and as they say, the rest was history.

Hey lovelies, I hope you enjoyed this one! And I hope the anon who requested it thinks I did an ok job! I havent done many request pieces. Also I know its not super long but I still think its pretty adorable.  Requests are open, just shoot me a message and I’ll see what I can do! xx

#imagine harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles #one direction #harry fluff #harry smut #harry imagine #imagine harry #harry oneshot #harry styles onseshot

[platypanthewriter]

Fire

Harringrove April day 21, Fire.  Robin decides to move on with her life by burning her memories in a summer bonfire, but it turns out the one that moves on is Steve.

Robin lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, and Steve waited.  She groaned, grabbing the pillow, and smushing it over her face.  “...she smelled like summer,” she groaned.

“Kinda like lawn clippings,” Steve agreed, wrinkling his nose, and then ducking the pillow she threw.  

“I’m over her,” Robin sighed.  “I am!  I’m over her, jesus.”

“Is that her scrunchy?” Steve asked, pointing at the suspiciously shrine-like setup with the photo of the girl in question, a gold star sticker Steve remembered her sticking on Robin’s cheek, and a stick of gum she’d passed across the ice cream counter, saying ‘look, it’s a new flavor!’.

She’d blown a bubble in Robin’s face.  Steve’s best friend had staggered watching full, bright pink lips pursed around the bubble, and then clutched the counter at the dazzling smile after. 

“I think she might be dating Tommy Hagen,” Steve muttered, both wanting Robin to know, and not wanting to be the one to tell her.  

“Auuuugh,” Robin moaned, kicking her feet.  “Why do the hot ones have such bad taste?!”

“No idea,” Steve said, huffing a sigh of his own.  

“This isn’t about you,” she hissed at him.  “Hot girls like you, so shut it.”

“I thought she liked you too,” Steve told her, holding up a ratty old Curious George toy, and making it clutch its paws over its mouth.  “She kept trying to put makeup on you.”

“Oh, is that what girls do when they’re hitting on you?” Robin muttered at him, hugging her pillow.  

“No,” Steve said, having Curious George pat reassuringly at her toe.  She yelped, and snickered.  “But, I mean, she doesn’t...maybe she didn’t know what to do.  She tried to get you to come over, I mean—”

“To look at magazines about boys, probably,” Robin mumbled into her pillow.  “God, why wasn’t I born on Themyscira?!”

“Where?” Steve asked, cocking Curious George’s head. 

“Where Wonder Woman lived.  Full of lesbians,” Robin sighed, and Steve nodded slowly.  “Anyway.  I’m over her.  Done.  What do I want with some party girl, anyway.”

Steve, who’d watched Vicki Carmichael fixing her makeup and scrunching her hair before coming in to ask for Robin, bit his lips.  

“The mall burned, and so did my fantasies,” Robin sighed.  “Let’s have a bonfire.  I’ll burn my creepy shrine,” she said, and Steve winced.  “I saw you thinkin’ it,” Robin told him, glaring.  “You can burn your lock of Nancy’s hair or whatever—”

“I don’t have a lock of her hair,” Steve said, his cheeks burning, as he remembered the notes he did have, when she’d returned a few replies to the the hundreds he’d slipped in her locker.  

“Bring Henderson,” she said.  “He can burn whatever weird shit of Max Mayfield’s he’s got ferreted away.”

Steve snorted a laugh, shaking his head.  

 When he saw Vicki Carmichael lingering around his car the next day, her brightly lipsticked mouth sucking a Tootsie Pop, he narrowed his eyes.

“Where’s Buckley?” she asked, eyeing him up and down, the way she had.  

“At home, I guess,” he told her, and she ran a bangled hand through her hair.  

Her lashes were sticking together, a little, and he wondered if she’d applied fresh mascara while she waited.  “Thought you two were stapled together at the hip,” she said, and then spun the Tootsie pop in her mouth.  “Never see one without the other.”

“We’re not dating,” Steve told her, trying to think of what a good friend would do.  “Uh.  We’re...not like that.”

“What are you like?” she asked, laughing, and Steve had no idea what that meant, so he just frowned at her.  She smiled down at her nails, shifting her heels on the concrete.  

“...she’s throwing a party,” Steve told her.  “I mean, kinda, us and a couple of friends, is all, but you should—you should come.”

Vicki went still, searching his face.

“Not—” Steve waved his hands, stepping back, and trying to figure out how to politely say ‘Don’t worry, I’m not into you!’.  “Um, you can hang with Robin, I’ll have other, uh, other friends there.”

It was the first time he’d ever seen Vicki Carmichael blush.  Her makeup hid most of it, but her ears went red, and down her neck, and Steve jerked his head to look away before he stared at her chest like a creep to see whether she was blushing there too.  

“...maybe I shouldn’t go,” she said, laughing a little unsteadily, and he realized he’d scared her.  “Just—say hello.  Or don’t,” she said, biting down on the tootsie-pop, and then muttering what sounded like a stream of fuck, fuck, fuck with her mouth full of candy shards.

“No, she, um,” Steve flailed, trying to reassure Vicki without saying anything Robin wouldn’t want shared.  “She’s been waiting for you to come in the video store.  We uh, we get movies in, and she says you’d maybe like something—”  It was sarcastic, usually, because while Robin obviously wanted to tear the buttons off Vicki’s shirt and suffocate herself in Vicki’s cleavage, she didn’t have a very high opinion of her movie taste.

It was pretty much the same movies Steve liked, so he was used to Robin rolling her eyes and saying “Figures.”

Vicki still hadn’t said anything, her eyes wide as she stared at his face again.  “I think she’d be happy to see you,” Steve told her, holding back a little smirk.  “And this is dangerous for me to say,” he said, lowering his voice, and grinning at her, “—because she’s gonna be embarrassed as hell that I told you.”

It was hot, in the parking lot of Bradley’s Big Buy, in the last lingering days of summer, watching Vicki shift, hugging herself, and Steve thought it didn’t say much good about him as a person, how scared she was of a trap.  

“Or look up her number in the student handbook,” he said, holding his hands up.  “Bring her some ice cream.  She’s been bitching about not getting it free.”  Vicki’s eyes widened at the idea, and she shook her head rapidly, her hair flouncing over her shoulders.  

Steve put his hands on his hips, thinking.  “Halloween’s coming up,” he remembered, brightening.  “Wonder Woman costume.  She’d probably forget how to breathe.”

Vicki snorted a laugh, staring at him.  “...you think she’d really want me there,” she whispered, a little mumbly, because she was still trying to chew through half a Tootsie-pop.  

“It’s the day after tomorrow,” Steve said, tasting victory.  “Friday night.  Just, like, me and her and some kids we know, you remember Dustin, he was always hanging around at Scoops.  He’ll bring a friend or two, maybe.”

“...if this is—if this is some kind of—” Vicki hissed, waving the half-chewed Tootsie-pop at him.  “If this is—” she stopped again, sniffling, and Steve waved his hands.  

“No!  No, it’s—it’s nothing weird, I promise, she just...she’d be happy,” Steve told her, grimacing.  “If you were there.”

Vicki nodded, chewing her lip, and Steve rattled around in his glove compartment for a pen and paper.  He found a pen, and wrote Robin’s address on Vicki’s hand.

 The night of the bonfire, Dustin showed up with Erica Sinclair, Will Byers, and Eleven.  They all looked solemn, and Steve wondered what kind of weird hijinks he’d let poor Vicki in for.  Everyone brightened up as they piled brush on the pile and lit it, though, and Steve got the hose—just in case—as Will got the others dancing around the fire to music, and some kinda chant.  

“Out with the old, and in with the new,” they sang, giggling, and holding hands.

Robin looked kind of depressed, watching them, and Steve stopped her from just tossing a whole box of things in the flames.  “Come on, wait until it gets going,” he said, “—you’ll put the fire out.”

She groaned, and nodded, then narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as he leapt up at the sound of a car in the drive.  

It was the Camaro, with Max in the driver’s seat, and Billy, newly out of the hospital, pale and shaking in the passenger’s side.  “Shut up,” Max hissed, before Steve had even said anything.  “He needs to get out of the house sometime.  He was desperate enough to let me drive.”

“He looks like he needs to lie down,” Steve whispered back, as Billy sat in the car, staring forward.  

“He said he’d be fine,” she shot back, shrugging, but looking just as doubtful as Steve did, and crossing her arms.  

Billy leaned his head against the window, watching them, and Steve finally walked around to knock on the glass.  “You need help?”

“...no,” Billy snarled, looking away.  “I’m just peachy, Harrington.”

“Ugh,” Steve sighed.  “Look, I’ll go find you a chair.  Take your time.”

Billy glowered at him, and Steve wondered whether he was supposed to insist on helping, or ignore him, or what, and rolled his eyes, walking off.  

“...I think he might be stuck in there,” Max said conversationally, as they walked back over to the bonfire.  It was burning high now—taller than Steve twice over, with the fuel of a hot summer’s worth of dry branches and old paper.  Erica stuck a cedar branch in there, and the fire ran down the oily fronds like a sparkler.  The heat was too much even six feet away, and Steve soaked the ground around it again.

“Let’s do this thing,” Robin sighed, clutching her box, and Steve grimaced.  

“Uh, wait a minute, Max brought Billy, and he can’t get his weak ass out of the car,” he told her, as she raised an eyebrow at him like he was being ridiculous.  Steve wandered back out to watch for Vicki, his arms crossed.

Billy had his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, and Steve knocked on the window again.  “You alive?” he asked, wondering whether Max’s night was about to be ruined by her brother dead in the driveway.  Maybe inheriting the Camaro would be worth it.

“...’m alive,” Billy said, after taking a slow breath.  “What’s it to you, Harrington?”

“Nothing,” Steve told him, and Billy smirked.  “...Max is all right, is all, and she’ll be pissed if I let you die in the driveway—”  He cut off as another car pulled in, an aged Plymouth Roadrunner, and Vicki clambered out, struggling with three bags of groceries.  

Steve ran over and took one.  “You came!” he whispered excitedly, and she shot him a wary glare.  The bag he’d snatched had two gallons of ice cream under a six-pack of beer, and he snorted a laugh.  “You know how to make an entrance,” he told her, and she smirked faintly.  

“Gotta use everything I have, right,” she said, taking a deep breath, and Billy started laughing in the car, startling her so she nearly dropped the other two bags of ice cream.  

“I’m so sorry, I have no idea why he’s here,” Steve whispered to her, and sidled around between Billy’s car and the hedge to open his door.  Billy’d been leaning against it, and he nearly fell out, his shoulder thudding into Steve’s thigh.  “Come on, asshole,” Steve told him, crouching.  “Put an arm around me, I’ll get you in there.”

Billy glared back at him, but slowly wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and swung a leg out.  Steve grabbed his belt—prompting a strangled noise from Billy—and hauled him along to the gate to the backyard, while Vicki stared.  

“Thought it was gonna just be you and the kids,” Billy panted, his voice strained.  “You...planning to get lucky on your...best friend’s bed...Harrington?”

“Gross,” Steve muttered.  “How are you this heavy, jesus.”

“Why are you yanking my jeans into my colon,” Billy shot back, growling, but all three of them made it inside, and Robin dropped her box as she shot to her feet, staring at Vicki Carmichael.

“You said she’d be glad to see me,” Vicki said, slurred through her frozen smile as Robin stalked up and tried to yank Steve away somewhere, but Steve was anchored by Billy’s weight.  

“Lemme put this shithead down,” Steve told her, as poor Vicki waved a bag of ice cream, her whole body stiff.

“I brought ice cream,” she said thickly.  “S-Steve told me there was a party.”

“Steve told you,” Robin said flatly, her fingers digging bruises into Steve’s arm.  

“What’s happening,” Billy said under his breath, looking between them, and finally Robin stopped staring Steve down, and clapped her hands.  

“All right!” she shouted.  “Let’s start!”

The kids started chanting again, like the freaks of nature they were, and Steve caught Billy smiling bemusedly at Max, as they pranced around the fire, the flickering light making them look like witches, or something.  Vicki’s eyes were huge.

Steve kicked Dustin’s leg to make him get out of one of the three lawn chairs, and eased Billy into it.  His grip was nearly as tight as Robin’s, but it wasn’t hard to put his cold, shaking fingers together with his pallor, and guess that he was just trying not to fall.  

“I’ll go first!” Max said, waving a handful of paper.  “I’m gonna burn my report card so I can stop hiding it from Neil,” she said, and Billy winced, “—and these letters from my fucking dad where he says I’ll learn to like it here, and—” she swallowed hard, and then just threw the handful into the fire, and Eleven gave her a side-hug.  

Will threw a crumpled ball in, without a word, and then Eleven shoved a whole box into the middle of the flames.  

Dustin had gotten spoons, and Vicki was getting a lot of soft “Thank you!”s as the kids gathered around her grocery bags, and even Robin grabbed one of the beers, eyeing her and then Steve suspiciously.

“Those are the files on the scientists that...did this,” El said.  “To me and my mom.  I decided not to look for them.”

“Holy shit,” Dustin muttered.

“Me next,” said Erica Sinclair.  She held up a polaroid.  “Heather at the pool gave me this of the hot new lifeguard, this summer,” she said, staring directly at Billy, “—but then I found out he was possessed and drank bleach.  I can do better.”

Max stared at her, open-mouthed, but Billy cracked up, holding his chest as he wiped his eyes.  The photo melted, releasing black smoke, and Dustin and Eleven coughed.

“And then there was you two,” Erica said, putting her hands on her hips to survey Steve, and then Robin, and ripping another photo of them—in Scoops uniforms—exactly in half.  “No free ice cream?  Neither of you are my true loves.”

“Oh my god,” Billy whispered, laughing harder, and looking pained.  

“None of you deserve me,” Erica said, sighing, and she sat down again.

Steve yanked the folded notes he’d kept from Nancy, folded them tighter, and tossed them on the fire.  

“What was that?” Billy asked, frowning up at him.  “Harrington.”

“None of your damn business,” Steve sighed, hoping his blush wasn’t visible in the firelight.  He was watching poor Vicki, ignored while her ice cream offering got consumed.  Billy sighed.

“I didn’t bring anything to burn,” Vicki admitted, glaring over at Steve.  “I didn’t know it was a...fire party.”

“Yeah, how dare you bring ice cream, and not s’mores,” Robin said, around a mouth full of ice cream.  She glanced at Vicki, and then stared down into the carton, taking another huge bite.  

“You should put some of this in the freezer,” Steve prompted.  “Robin, you should show her where the freezer is.”

Robin stared at him, her cheeks full of ice cream, her expression epically betrayed.  He glanced at Vicki to see her giving him nearly the same glare, but they did finally go inside, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief watching them through the kitchen window, edging around each other, bumping elbows, and blushing.  Robin caught Vicki’s arm, saying something, and Vicki turned back, so close Robin was pinned against the counter, staring at Vicki’s face, and then her lips.  

“Shit,” Billy whispered, under his breath.  “Those bitches are gonna kiss.”

“Sssht,” Steve hissed at him, watching with a whiteknuckled hand on Billy’s shoulder.  After a pause that went on forever, as they half-listened to Dustin explaining something about his girlfriend Susie and becoming astronauts, Vicki leaned in, licking her lips.  Steve heard Billy take a shaky breath along with him as Vicki turned her head, kissing Robin firmly enough it pushed her head back, and Robin waved her hands in the air, her eyes huge.  Vicki’s eyes were closed, and her shoulders hunched, a little, when Robin just stared into space, instead of kissing her back.  

Vicki jerked away, and they could hear her heels clacking on the linoleum towards them, so Steve ran over and banged on the window.  “Robin!” he yelled against the glass.  “Wake up!  She’s leaving!”

Robin jerked, shaking her head, and then glowered out, slapping a hand over to turn off the kitchen light, so they couldn’t see what was happening anymore—but she didn’t catch Vicki, apparently, because the heel-noises clattered across the threshold and she came barrelling out, wiping her eyes.  She glared at Steve, and then stomped towards her car, and Robin came flying out after her.  

“Stop, wait,” she hissed, and the kids finally looked over.

“Put more wood on the fire,” Steve told them, spraying the ground around them, as the fire dried the sparse grass.  They yelled and scrambled out of the way, giggling, and out of the corner of his eye, he watched Robin catch Vicki’s hands, whispering to her.  

The kids started building the fire up higher—Steve took the precaution of really soaking the yard down, not wanting to burn the whole neighborhood down even in exchange for getting his best friend laid—and Robin pulled Vicki back over to where she’d been sitting, and slowly, showed her what was in the box.  Vicki covered her face, crying over her own scrunchie, her hair and jewelry glinting in the firelight.  Robin stared over at Steve, rolling her eyes with a bewildered grin.

“...you were playing wingman for a goddamn lesbian,” Billy whispered, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Shut up,” Steve hissed at him.  “Don’t tell anyone.  I’ve still got the hose.”

“You set that up,” Billy said again, and Steve squirted the hose at his lap.  Billy swore, clutching the arms of the chair, but wouldn’t stop staring at him, like he was a zoo animal, and Steve avoided him as much as he could, the rest of the night.

When the kids started to get tired—leaning on each other, their faces orange and sleepy in the firelight—Billy was squirming around, his teeth clenched, a trail of cold sweat running down his cheek.  

Steve sighed.  “You want me to get you home?” he asked, and Billy stared up at him, the same weird, blank look he’d been giving Steve ever since they’d watched Vicki and RObin kiss.  “Look, man, I can tell you’re hurting,” Steve told him, and Billy bit his lips together, swallowing.  

“...I’m fine,” he said, glancing over towards the driveway and wincing, and Steve sighed.

“...you pushed yourself too damn far, and now it’s gonna hurt getting home,” he sighed.  “Am I right?”

Billy licked his lips, and looked up again, watching Steve’s face like it was riveting, like the best new music video on MTV.

“...look,” Steve said, tiredly.  “Robin’s parents are out of town.  Lemme get you to the couch, you can lie down, okay?  I’ll take you home later.”  He said the last part loud, looking over at Robin, and she waved him on, staring into the fire, with Vicki curled up against her shoulder.  Robin shook her head slowly, and squeezed her close.

Billy watched them, then staggered as Steve grabbed his arm and hauled him up.  

 It wasn’t far, to get into Robin’s living room—and thank god it wasn’t, Steve thought, hobbling under Billy’s nearly-limp weight.  He tossed the pillows and things off the couch, lowered Billy as gently as he could onto the couch, and yanked Billy’s boots off.  Billy eased himself back with a soft groan, letting his eyes close.  

“You need a blanket?” Steve asked, and Billy started laughing again, softly, but enough so he grunted with pain, baring his teeth as a tear rolled out of his eye and around to his ear.  

“...jesus,” he whispered.  “You wanna give me a blanket?  I kicked your ass, Harrington—”

“Just don’t do it again, asshole.  Would a blanket help?” Steve asked, waving his hands in frustration.  “Is there anything I can do?  Do you have, like, something for pain?  Jesus, Hargrove.”

“...only one thing you can do,” Billy laughed.  “Come here, Harrington.”  

Steve sighed, and knelt on the floor next to him, letting Billy Hargrove grab his shirt, and pull him in close.  He wondered what the hell Billy couldn’t just say aloud, and then Billy whispered “Don’t get too pissed, Harrington,” and kissed him.

Steve sat back on his heels, his lips tingling from the warm, dry pressure of Billy Hargrove’s lips.  He understood how Robin had felt, suddenly, staring like a moron as her lady ran out the door.  “...what,” he whispered.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Billy said, laughing again, his breath catching as he squeezed his eyes shut.  “S’nothing.”

Steve remembered touches on the basketball court, and lingering glowers in the showers at the gym.  He remembered Billy choosing to save Eleven and die, throwing his whole life in the bonfire, and Max missing him, like there’d been somebody inside Billy Hargrove worth missing.  Maybe there was, Steve thought. “Seemed like something,” he whispered back.

Billy started laughing again, tears trickling out of his eyes as he gritted his teeth, curling tighter on the couch, and Steve panicked and kissed him again, deeper this time, until Billy went soft and loose against him, his eyes wide in the flickering light from the fire.

“Ssssh,” Steve whispered, again, stroking Billy’s side, trying to avoid the bandages under his clothes.

Billy licked his lips, his eyes shiny.  “...what’d you burn, Harrington,” he whispered, and Steve bit his lips, thinking.

“...I needed to move on,” he whispered back.  “Find...something new, maybe.”  He watched Billy’s hands clench in the fabric of his shirt.  “...somebody new, maybe,” Steve breathed, and leaned in again.  Billy tasted like woodsmoke, and new beginnings.

Other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Smooches for Robin Buckley #SMooches for Steve #Ice cream for everyone else

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Written for @ruleofexception‘s birthday! I had a choice between this and the Buzzfeed AU, and I jumped at the opportunity to close out this arc-- and also give at least one fic the chance to update three months in a row 🤣 I hope you enjoy your special day, Beth!

Shirayuki knows all too well what it’s like to have a defining feature.

In her earliest memories, she toddles around the swing set in the yard-- a Sesame Street one, faded from decades outdoors; she’d been shocked, years later, when she saw how bright Big Bird used to be in her dad’s pictures, canary yellow beneath his dungarees-- and in the background she can hear a boarder whisper to Busha, her hair’s so red! I’ve never seen anything like it.

It runs in the family, Busha says, her tone not yet tired. It must be one of the first times, when her apple red curls were still a source of pride instead of worry. Before anyone’s started yanking them at circle time, before full-grown adults sunk their hands into it and told her, if only my girlfriend had hair like this. Before people started calling her a firecracker, or feisty, or a fighter; before someone took a pair of shears and clipped a whole hank of it off to keep.

It’s changed her. Not how everyone expects; shame doesn’t cling to every strand of her hair, begging to be hidden. Nor does she brush it to shining every night with a hundred strokes, whispering a women’s hair is her glory. Half the time she just...forgets that there’s anything special at all, until someone stares at her over the avocados.

It’s strangers that need to make something of it, that need to say something, and well, she tries to take their compliments in the spirit they are given. Most people don’t know what it’s like-- will never know what it’s like-- to catch attention without trying. They can’t imagine being stopped on the way to school, at the gas station, at the grocery store, just to be told your hair is so red. They can’t fathom how each interaction has to be weighed and measured; to most people she’s a delightful oddity, but to a select few she’s a delicacy, something to be plucked and collected, and she never knows until it’s time to run.

(Most people also don’t know at the ripe age of thirteen that the best answer to does the carpet match the drapes? is a very assured, hair color is a different set of alleles than eyebrows and body hair. Confusion often makes the best getaway)

But that’s all typical; a natural response to a frequent stimulus. No, the thing that changes is what she notices in other people.

On some level she must see what everyone else sees first; it’s the only way she can disregard it with such unerring accuracy. When she first meets Zen, she doesn’t notice the princely bearing, the idol pretty looks-- instead it’s his hands and the firm way they clasp hers, the calluses where he holds her pen. The places where they are streaked with the barest hint of color instead of the uniform porcelain paleness-- eczema scars, he tells her, from when he used to get it every winter. With Kiki, it’s not her traffic-arresting beauty, but the way her shoulders fill out her button-up, how her skin is striped over her scapula with the tan lines of sports bras past, the casual flex of her muscles as she moves. But with Mitsuhide, well...

Much to her everlasting shame, all she sees is his height. Though in her defense, she was sitting when she met him, and he did blot out the sun. And she was very quick to notice the earnestness of his smile and the warmth in his eyes right after. But still, Mitsuhide is...large.

And yet, as big as he is, he has a gift for turning up unexpected.

“You better give those dice of yours a kiss tonight.” Kiki’s chair groans under her as she stretches up to standing, the edge of her flannel flirting with the band of her jeans. “They saved your ass tonight.”

“Excuse me, princess.” Obi’s already on his feet, grin just as ready. “Luck had nothing to do with it. That was all skill.”

Kiki’s eyes roll to where Izana sits, scribing his meticulous notes. There’s no need to say a word; she just waits, and without even a stilling of his pen, he replies, “Luck had everything to do with it. If I didn’t ask you to keep your dice here, I’d suspect you’d put that d20 in the microwave.”

“Hey, it wasn’t that--”

“You rolled three natural twenties in a row.” That ice cold gaze flicks up toward him, grim. “You can thank that rock you just threw for keeping that die from early retirement.”

“But Master.” Obi’s voice drops into his chest, a distant rumble that flutters his too-pretty eyelashes. “Could you really believe that I would do something so despicable as ch--”

“Yes,” he replies, nearly drowned out by Kiki’s, “Absolutely.”

“Hey!” The thin cotton of Obi’s button-down stretches taut over his back, his crossed arms folded tight across his chest. “I built this baby for speed and sweet-talking, and--”

“You should really consider putting more CON on Beaumains.”

Shirayuki nearly jumps out of her skin. The last she’d seen, Mitsuhide had been at the end of the table, putting away the reference books at an unhurried pace. But now the gentle gravel of his voice crinkles right behind her, and it’s impossible that he could move that fast, that she wouldn’t see someone his size slip around the table--

But she twists in her chair, her eyes confirming what her ears suggest. He’s right at Obi’s shoulder, all six-foot-four plus of him, easy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t want to tell you to put an ability point toward it, but there’s plenty of ways to scramble an egg.”

“Ah...” Obi shuffles back a step, hip bumping into the table. “Scramble an egg, big guy...?”

“Well, ten CON is going to put you a little behind the curve for a character at your level,” Mitsuhide tells him gently. “And we’re probably not near a market that would have appropriately leveled magic gear, but we could look into investing in a Belt of Might Constitution for you.”

Mitsuhide turns toward the stairs, invitation clear in the way his body angles. Obi stares for a moment, his jaw just the slightest bit slack.

“N...nah.” His shoulders twitch, a shrug that folds him in on himself. “Beaumains isn’t really an accessories type guy...”

The smile still lingers on Mitsuhide’s lips, but it’s fainter now, reserved. “Oh, okay then. Just wanted to let you know some options.”

He ducks his head beneath the looming bit of ceiling above the first step, shoulder hunched to make himself small enough to fit. There’s nothing about him that’s particularly sullen, but there’s something in the way he holds himself that reminds her of a child’s hand slapped away from the cookie tray.

Obi stares at the space between them, growing by the second. “H-hey, big guy.” In a flash, he’s behind him, one boot fixed on a stair tread. “Do you think the belt looks cool? Beaumains could be down as long as it had, you know, a bitchin buckle or something.”

Shirayuki can’t see Mitsuhide’s face from her seat, but she can hear the laughter bubbling in his chest when he says, “I think you might have to take that up with Izana.”

Izana smothers a smile before it can take its first breath. “We can talk aesthetics when you manage to find an atelier that carries such an item out in the Welsh hinterlands.”

Obi scoffs. “Details, details.”

Kiki stands, voice pitched just loud enough so that even the boys on the stairs can hear, “The last time I checked, that was where devils live.”

If Shirayuki were to try to guess at the target of Kiki’s verbal riposte, she would have thought it was Obi-- he’s the one who rushes in to parry her witty one-liners. But instead she leans in as she passes Izana’s chair, and with more boldness than the rest of them combined, she gives his ponytail a tight, quick tug.

Izana’s nose wrinkles, but she sashays out of range from his halfhearted swipe. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hey!” Obi’s head ducks down, peeking around the corner. “That’s racist. I’ll have you know Beaumains has never seen a detail in his whole life.”

Kiki snorts. “I can believe it.”

“Obi, have you ever heard of a feat called Toughness?” Mitsuhide asks, his voice faint with distance. “I think that might bridge the gap while...”

The rest of his comment fades into an indistinct murmur, muffled by the angles and floor between them. By the time Obi answers, he’s the same, only a dancing sing-song above her. Shirayuki smiles, satisfaction warming her just as thoroughly as the cardigan she wraps around her shoulders. Despite all the, ah, hullabaloo tonight, Obi is already well on his way to making friends.

She drops the last emerald gem of her dice into her bag, setting it on the tray on the table. All she needs is to collect her notes, and--

“Shirayuki,” Izana murmurs, too soft. “If you have a moment.”

Her head jerks up, and she’s suddenly aware: there are only two people left in this room. Izana’s watching her with that steady, inscrutable gaze of his, as if he’s about to ask her to make a roll she has no skill points in, and she-- she--

Breathes. It doesn’t help with the stomach-knotting fear in her gut, or displell the knee-trembling sensation of being asked to stay after class. Not just by a teacher, but her favorite teacher; the one she studies for on weekends just so that she’s that extra toe ahead. Just that smidge more special, so that she can earn her gold-star praise.

And yet here she is, held after class still. She slumps into her seat, hands knitted in front of her. Where did Zen go, anyway? She hadn’t seen him--?

“He went up first,” Izana replies, even though she’s sure she hadn’t said a thing out loud. “Excuse me, it was obvious you were trying to find my brother. But he slunk up while Obi and Mitsuhide were talking about magic items, and I figured that you, well, hadn’t been keeping your eye on him...”

He lifts a too-knowing brow, and she squirms. “Is there a, um, problem? Did I do anything that--?”

“Oh, no no. You haven’t done anything.” Izana waves a hand, dissipating all her worries clouding the air. His mouth twists, curling into a rueful smile. “I merely wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” She wouldn’t have thought he was acquainted with the concept. At least, outside of statements penned by no less than three HR managers.

“Yes.” He shifts, and it dawns on her-- he’s uncomfortable. Not due to a lumpy cushion or a tingling limb, but because he means what he says. He’s going to apologize. “I recognize that some actions on my part caused you to be put into an...uncomfortable position tonight.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

His breath hisses through his teeth. “This is far from the first time I have run a session. I should have realized that introducing such a volatile plot element this early in your tenure might...put a strain on the group’s chemistry.” He hesitates, fingers stilling where he picks at the edge of his journal. “Even if it was an agreed upon element of your backstory, I put you in a position that I was not clear in communicating the breadth of for...personal reasons.”

As pretty as his words were, they cleared up precisely nothing. “I don’t think I understand...?”

“Ah, yes, of course not. How should I put this...?” He drums a swift, asynchronous beat on the table; not music, just nerves. “Whenever I work with someone to create their character, I make sure they hand me...leverage. Things I might use to spur them into motion, if need be, or draw them deeper into the story as it is woven.” His mouth quirks. “I’m sure you suspect just which elements those might be for Lynet.”

A red gauntlet flashes in her mind, spiked and grasping, and Shirayuki fails to bite back a grimace. She’s definitely given him more than enough rope to hang her, if it suited him.

“It’s my job to appropriately apply it. To wound you with exquisite precision, if you will.” His hands still, pressing flat against the glossy wood. “I was careless tonight. I should have anticipated that the reaction a former lover might garner would not be...mild.”

“Oh.” Her head tilts. “You mean Shuuka?”

Izana stares. “...Yes?”

Shirayuki twitches her shoulders, more of a shrug than she’s seen Obi give. “Lover is a bit strong, but I wasn’t...upset? It was fun to have Lynet’s story show up so early. I know they’re on her quest right now, but...now she feels less like an, um, escort mission, and more like a party member, if you know what I mean.”

“I...” His mouth works, and beneath his furrowed brow, she realizes she’s surprised him, somehow. “I do. But you enjoyed the session, even with my brother’s behavior?”

“Of course,” she assures him. “Everyone is invested in their characters, so it’s only natural that tensions would run high. Doesn’t this usually happen?”

Her first impression of Izana had been of his height, of the way he holds himself, like a whip coiled to strike-- or no, better yet, a sword angled to parry. But now it’s his eyes she notices, not the icy pale like she assumed, but the same rich indigo of his brother’s, so deep it reminds her of Antarctica, a blue so close to black it’s bottomless. But when he looks at her now, light scatters to make them warmer, a sea more pleasant than its usual frigid waters.

“Ah...” A hand delicately covers his face, long fingers splayed over the sharp rise of his cheekbones. His shoulders shake, and for a moment she’s concerned, but he-- he’s laughing. “My brother really wasn’t kidding about you, was he...?”

She doesn’t see what’s so funny. “Excuse me?”

He lifts his hand, dismissing his good humor with a wave. “Never mind, it’s nothing. I’m glad you were comfortable, but nonetheless, you have my gratitude. Plenty of other experienced players wouldn’t handle this with half as much aplomb as you, Shirayuki.”

“Well...” Her fingers knit in her lap, knotting together like her nerves. “If you feel like you need to apologize to someone, you should consider Obi.”

That draws him up short, his hooded eyes blinking wide. “I’m sorry?”

“I just...” She bites her lip, measuring out her words. The dose makes the poison, Busha says, and it works for words as well as wellness. “Maybe I’m more sensitive to this because I don’t have, um, siblings, but...it felt like Obi was always in the position to rile Zen up because you put him there. And that’s not really...nice. Especially since he’s a new player, just like me.”

Izana’s lips part, but he presses them tight again, curling into a too-knowing smirk. “I appreciate your concern for a fellow player,” he says mildly, even as his mouth stretches wider with every word. “But please believe me when I say, Obi knew full well what he was getting into when he took a seat at this table.”

What’s unfair is that Izana invited that guy for the specific purpose of scaring Shirayuki off, and no one seems to care. Zen doesn’t lose an ounce of his bitterness in memory, but it rings at a truer tone now, watching Izana lounge behind the table, confidence palpable.

“Still,” she insists, tearing her gaze away to trace wood grain instead. Something steadying, rather than the constant agitation she feels looking at him. “Even if he was prepared for it, it’s not like taking the brunt of Zen’s attitude was any more comfortable for him than you assumed it would be for me.”

It’s the weight of his attention that draws her back into it, the way his eyebrows sit so heavily over his gaze. “You have a point,” he admits slowly, finger picking up their asynchronous beat once again. “I’ll make sure to tender an appropriate apology to our resident demon for his service.”

“Devil,” she reminds him. “I was only in the splash zone their whole...conflict, and I can’t imagine it was fun on either side.”

“Oh, you were a little closer than that,” Izana hums, but before she can ask what he means, he rolls up to his feet, towering over her. “Come, I’ll walk you up.”

She frowns, scurrying out of her seat. “I can handle the stairs myself.”

“Of course you can,” he soothes, smile taking a more genuine tilt. “But it would be my pleasure.”

He holds out an arm, gesturing up the stairwell, standing there like some gentleman out of a period piece, and, well-- it’s hard to argue with that one. At least this is something she can tell Kihal later that she won’t turn into some Cute College Boy romance fodder.

(It’s doesn’t occur to her that it would, however, cause Hot For Teacher fodder; not until it is far too late)

Shirayuki crests the top of the stairs, Izana not far behind, and her first sight-- besides the immaculately maintained foyer and its ostentatious and assumed-real crystal chandelier-- is Obi looming over Zen, smirk firmly in place as they linger at the door. Blocking really, but since Mitsuhide and Kiki are nowhere to be seen, she assumes that they at least waited for them to leave before starting in on their next round of verbal fisticuffs.

It’s instinct to get between them; Shirayuki makes a habit of giving the benefit of the doubt, but the past four hours have only proven that these two get along like Mentos and seltzer. She takes one soft step, the soles of her ballet shoes slapping against the wood, before she realizes-- they’re talking. Nicely.

“--It’s worth asking,” Zen concludes, sweater shrugged casually around his shoulders. “Izana can be a hard ass, but I think you have plenty of ground to ask for a--”

Obi’s the first to look up; a slow lift of his eyes until they meet hers. Zen must catch the change, subtle as it is, since he whips around, eyes widening. “Shirayuki!”

He bounds over to her, hands coming to fit right around the caps of her shoulders. His eyes flick over her, searching, though she can’t imagine what for until he asks, “Are you all right?”

“Ah..?

He glances dubiously behind her, right to where Izana looms, smug satisfaction wafting off of him in waves. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

That gets a huff. “I am right here,” Izana informs him, prim. “I can hear you.”

Casting aspersions, he doesn’t say, but he may as well have for how loud it’s not. Zen shrugs it off with all the ease of a sibling. “You know what you’re like.”

Izana’s laugh could make plants wither and die. “Do I...?”

“I’m fine!” Her hands wave, carving out space between them. “Izana just wanted to talk about, um--” your behavior was the exact way to make this worse, true as it is-- “Lynet’s backstory. Since I, ah, improvised some of it during the session tonight.”

She’s not sure what she did to deserve two Wisterias staring at her, but she’s starting to regret it.

“Really?” Zen doesn’t have to sound so incredulous when he says it. It’s not like she’s been in the habit of lying to him. “That’s all?”

“Yes,” Izana hums, too amused for comfort. “I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. After all, Lynet has provided me with so much...raw material.”

He smiles the way a poke feels, and every part of Zen bristles. “You better not be planning to--”

“It amuses me how you think you have any foot to stand on when it comes to--”

“Hey, milady.” Obi strolls up beside her, pitched just too loud to be natural. “You ready to bounce?”

She blinks, the interlocking hamster wheels that make up the innermost workings of her brain clunking together as she tries to parse what he’s saying. “Oh,” she murmurs, the stars aligning and gears meshing. “Yes, I’m ready to, um, leave.”

“Thank you.” Izana twists away from his brother’s glare, the very picture of a congenial host. “For coming. And your gift. I plan on enjoying them.” He cuts a superior glance over his shoulder. “Alone.”

“Ah...” She glances back at Zen, watching the way crimson creeps up his neck, curling over his ears. “You can share them, if you’d like.”

“Oh, I know,” he assures her, walking them to the door. “But I won’t. Have a nice evening.”

The door shuts, gently swooshing into place, and the moment the lock catches, Zen’s voice erupts wordlessly from behind it.

“Well.” Obi blinks at the frosted glass. “That makes me glad I’m an only child.”

She lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Me too.”

Shirayuki’s only known Obi a week, but already she knows one thing for sure: it’s easy to be quiet with him.

Not that she doesn’t want to talk-- she does, she’s dying to, but when the car’s already idling at the top of the portico, they slip in without much more than a here (for when he opens her door), a thank you (for when she take the invitation), and one sec (the last thing he murmurs before trotting over to the driver’s side). And now that they’re underway, rolling out between the loops of that wrought-iron W, she finds that she isn’t concerned about providing conversation.

She settles back into the seat, giggling when the plastic creaks beneath her. Plush leather interiors this isn’t, but the seat’s at just the right height to kick her heels up on the dash, toes tapping over the silvery ACCORD label in the corner.

“Hey,” he hums, nearly lost in the soft beat of his music, turned down so low all she can hear is the beat of drums and the faint warble of a singer. “Sorry if I interrupted anything. It just looked like you might need an assist.”

Shirayuki blinks. “You mean--? Just now?” She scoffs. “A rescue is more like it.”

“Nah.” He turns the wheel, shaking his head. “You have the both of them handled. I just thought you could use the break from the balancing act.” His teeth flash in the dim light of the dash. “And I’m a walking target to Wisterias.”

The correct thing to say would be, thank you. Simple, quick, to the point. If she really couldn’t leave well enough alone, there was always, good thing they were too busy with each other to bother with either of us.

But instead she chomps at the soft flesh of her cheek, desperate to keep her opinion locked behind her teeth. It’s no use; she manages a spiky, awkward silence before the lashings fly loose, and she says, “We all like you, you know.”

It’s a good thing they’re at a stop light, since Obi’s head whips toward her, eyes so wide she can see them shine gold. “Wha..?”

“I mean, you’re a great addition to the party,” she flounders, taking every ounce of self-control to keep her hands from snapping up to cover her face. “Beaumains’ skills are an asset.”

Obi’s mouth curls into a rueful grin. “Even if he’s lacking in the CON department.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she insists, too earnest as always. “The fact that he isn’t sworn to Arturius adds a lot of inter-party tension in a way that’s interesting. It forces our characters to examine their own motivations, and what the concept of the Round Table means, rather than just blindly following his lead.”

She should stop. That’s enough of a lecture, more than Obi probably wants to sit through from a girl who doesn’t even have her own license, but the words keep sloshing out of her, like a levee straining under a seven-years flood.

“If Zen made you feel like you’re not wanted, it’s not true.” Her hands rattle like leaves in her lap. “He doesn’t speak for all of us. I know I’d miss Beaumains if he stopped questing with us, so, um.” Her teeth pluck at her lip. “Don’t quit. If you were considering it. Being Lynet wouldn’t be as fun without you.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Long enough for her words to echo back in her ears, for her to realize that she practically begged him--

He laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry.” It’s a dark, rumbling sound that has her flushing from head to toe. “I wasn’t. It takes more than a little temper tantrum to drive me away when I’m having fun.”

“Oh,” she breathes, hands clapped to her cheeks. “Ah...”

“Besides,” he hums, softer. “Me and the Prince of the Britons and the Angles or whatever had a good chat before you and His Majesty arrived. We’re good now.”

“Good now?” She frowns darkly. “Zen better have apologized.”

“Well,” he wheedles, “as close as guys get to that sort of thing.”

“That would be an apology,” she informs him, “since ‘sorry’ isn’t gender specific.”

It’s hard to make out any details in the dark; even with the streetlights and the dash he’s more a shadow limned with light than human. But even still, she could swear she sees his shoulders tremble, hedging in his face.

“Is that so?” he hums, amused. “No worries, my lady, your devoted swain cannot be scared away, even by the whims of princes. Plus, I already agreed to let Big Guy help me out with my little CON problem. It’d be rude for me to bail now.”

“Oh.” She might burn alive from how hot her cheeks are. “So you were already...and I just...said all that for...?” She coughs. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“While you were saying such nice things about me? Milady.” He presses a hand to his chest. “I’d never. Besides, you get real cute when you’re fired up.”

His eyes slant toward her, mouth to match, and something in the vicinity of her stomach quivers. “O-oh.”

“Ah...” Obi coughs, gaze sliding back toward the road. “Anyway, it’s not like His Highness didn’t have a point.”

Shirayuki frowns. “Of course he didn’t,” she huffs. “You weren’t trying to ruin the game on purpose.”

His grin stretches into a grimace. “Ah, well, that’s what I mean, Red. That first session...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “Well, let’s just say, there’s a reason why Beaumains’ CON is so low.”

Every line of his silhouette tense as she asks, “What do you mean?”

One hand raises off the wheel, thumb digging into the meat of his shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d be playing him more than once.”

“But Izana said...”

“I owed Izana a favor,” he admits, every word a pulled tooth. “He asked me to help him scare away some gold digger that was sniffing around his precious little bro.”

Gold digger. Shirayuki blinks. She’d been under the impression that people like that provided activities a little more alluring than playing an off-brand wizard once a week. “And so you...?”

“Agreed, yeah.” His shoulders twitch up into a shrug. “I thought I’d be providing a public service. But it turned out that the only thing this girl was trying to dig up was fantasy plants. And by the end of it I was, uh, having fun, so...”

“You came back,” she murmurs, stunned. “Because you liked playing with--” me-- “us.”

“Yeah.” He lets out a weak laugh. “Turns out Beaumains’ type is girls who don’t scare easy.”

He turns down her street, car slowing to a crawl, only the soft hum of the radio between them, and she wonders why she’s so tempted to ask, but what about you?

“Hey, so,” he coughs, clearing both the air and his throat. “If you don’t want me to come back, it’s fine. I can tell Izana that it’s not--”

“What?” She twists in her seat, meeting his wide eyes. “When did I say that?”

“You...” He licks his lips, then turns back to the wheel, hands clenched at ten and two. “You didn’t. But considering how you know I was trying to ruin this for you, I thought it followed that you might be sick of my face.”

She blinks. “But you did a bad job of it.”

A laugh bursts out of him, a surprise to them both. “Wow, uh, thanks, kid.”

“No, I mean...” She shakes her head, trying to clear the slate of her thoughts. There’s too much on there for her to be able to put anything coherent in the air between them. “You weren’t trying very hard. And when you could have just ducked out entirely, you came back. Besides,” she offers him a shy smile, “you aren’t trying to get rid of me now, are you?”

“...No,” he breathes, the gold of his eyes intense where they meet hers. “I’m definitely not.”

His hand twists, killing the engine. In any other car, the music would keep playing, but Obi’s is from when grown adults wore sparkly butterfly clips in their hair and dressed in space-age metallic pleather, so it cuts out, sharp and obvious, leaving them in silence.

She glances at him from the corner of her eyes, tracing the hunched curl of his body over the steering wheel.

“So what was your plan, anyway?” she asks, conversational, planting her elbow on the center console and tucking a hand beneath her chin. “You were trying to make me uncomfortable, right? That’s why there was all that cloak and dagger.”

“Izana thought you might get the hint if someone made you feel seen,” he admits, settling back into the seat. His eyes narrow, gold tracing down to their corners. “So I just went with that.”

Her mouth twitches into a grin. “And you thought flirting might make me uncomfortable enough to go?”

“Ah...no.” He scratches the back of his head. “That was natural.”

Shirayuki’s read about spontaneous combustion before, and in this moment, she finally understands how it might happen. “Oh.”

He grunts, shifting in his seat. “I didn’t expect our characters to have so much, er...”

“Synergy?” she offers.

“No,” he breathes, peering down at her with molten eyes. “Chemistry.”

Her hands clench hard in her lap, unsure of what to do with themselves. Or rather, they’re certain, but whatever plans they have, they haven’t seen fit to tell the rest of her. Well, beyond suggesting that Obi’s thermal looks very soft beneath his button-down.

“Anyway.” It’s less a word and more an inhale, Obi vaulting himself upright to clutch the wheel. “You better get inside before your grandparents think we’re up to something.”

They’d probably love it if they were. Shirayuki bites her lips to keep from saying so.

His hands fly up between them, eyes wide. “Not that I would! That’d be, um...”

“Ah.” It’s silly to feel disappointed, not when she doesn’t even want to, um, hm--

“Not that there’s anything wrong with you,” he’s quick to add, mouth clenched to a grimace. “I just mean, you’re, ah--” his gaze swings toward her, and when it does--

It’s...a lot.

“Ah,” he hums, faint. “Never mind.”

“I should...” She licks her lips, suddenly aware of every nerve ending that terminates in her epidermis. “Go?”

“Yes, good.” He doesn’t sound relieved in the slightest as she slides out, just winded. “Great plan.”

Jaja and Busha are waiting when she steps inside.

“Did you have a good time?” Jaja asks archly, newspaper casually laid open on his lap. “You were out there a while.”

She sighs, eyes rolling. “Jaja...”

Busha bustles over to the window, peeking through the blinds. She can’t possibly see him-- she’d be hard pressed to find anyone more than a few feet in front of her in broad daylight, let alone across the courtyard in the middle of the night, but that won’t stop her from trying.

“More importantly,” she intones, dire. “Did you ask him to dinner?”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #dungeons and dragons au #my fic #ans #this is 2 out of 3 of the updates I have planned for this fic! #ch 10 should be coming late October #though that's....subject to change depending on how rough obiyukiweek prep gets #but expect a change of POV #>:3c