#5sos calum au

[33-81]

missed but never forgotten 💔

[carryonafi]

blood on the drums.

ashton irwin x reader; SMUT!!!🔞

a/n: HELLO MY LOVELIES!!! gosh it’s been so long, life has been chaotic and yes i’m still alive HAHA. but hey… this one’s been cooking for a while and this is the second au ive done!! my bae @souperbloom gave me some amazing WWE insight and i just needed to write some dirty wrestler ashton. so this is truly for the girlies who get it. i’ve missed yall, enjoy!!

words: 2.9k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

SMACK

A gasp tore through your throat, watching Ashton stumble back to the rubber barriers of the ring and when he lifted his hand to his head, there was a mess of red everywhere. That horrible screeching ring of the bell going wild and signaling the end of the match had your fists balled at your sides

“Ashton!” You shrieked, running up each platform and entering the ring. The crowd seemed to ripple in cheers and shouts of surprise and excitement from left to right, all the way around the ring until you made it to Ashton’s side. Adrenaline pounded through your chest, getting down on your knees beside him and shooting a flaming, angry glare at his opponent. It took everything in you not to storm off and beat the shit out of him, but there were rules, you needed to abide by them.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, meeting the gaze of your boyfriend which was dazed and unfocused as you helped him sit up. Security was everywhere, cameras were on you, people watching were muttering angrily and shouting profanities at the intense turn of the match. Your shaking hands moved to cup his face, pinky pressed against his pulse point which was pumping rapidly.

“Yeah, fuck — ‘m fine.” Ashton breathed, wiping his bloodied nose on the back of his hand and letting you help him into a sitting position. Your heart hammered ruthlessly against your rib cage, not a single thing on your mind other than Ashton’s wellbeing as he swayed a little upon getting to his feet. Your arms looped around his waist. The unusual hesitation in his movements and the way Ashton seemed to think about every single step was more than concerning.

“Here, c’mon…” You hoisted his arm around your shoulders, the sheerness of sweat on him slicked your shoulders and hair which was messily tied back and falling out of its done-up style. Ashton leaned into you heavily, bringing a bit of irritance into your eyes. He just wouldn’t stand on his own— you had to basically push him the rest of the way down and into the right backstage door.

“We should get you some water or something, you look…”

Which was where he completely cut the act.

Ashton looked at you with a shit-eating grin, the blood from his nose trickling down to his mouth as he flashed you his teeth.

“I really fuckin’ got ya, didn’t I?!” He nudged you aggressively, making you snarl and almost immediately shove him off of you.

“What’re you talking about?” You snapped, glaring at Ashton with expectancy.

“Oh my god, Y/N — You really thought I was gonna pass out.” He laughed loudly, the sound grating to your ears. Seriously… you wanted to rip the fucking tape off of his knuckles with less care than you ever could’ve imagined.

“No! I didn’t! I was just playing my part!” You stammered, the heat of the moment quickly showing in your cheeks which you tried to play off as exhaustion, but there was no way in hell Ashton was letting you live it like that.

This ‘relationship’ which was set up by the script writers clearly had no thoughts taken to personal relationships, and not that it should, it was just a bit unfair that you had to be all sickly loving to the guy who you found painful to be around.

Ashton was still laughing, near tears to the point where he had to stop in his tracks and catch his breath. You leaned against the wall, nostrils flared up in shame and embarrassment as you stared him down.

“Are you done yet?” You muttered under the sounds of his laughter, Ashton pressed his sweaty back to the opposite wall and his cheeks stuck in a smile with broken giggles.

“No. no. Absolutely not, I’m not done.” He sighed heavily, still trying to catch his breath. The blood from the exaggerated blows had run down his neck, making a sick lightning trail of red which made you cringe. Ashton reached for a bottle of water on the table, carelessly cracking it open while staring dead at your face.

“What?” His eyebrows quirked, the angry little quirk of your lip, he found quite adorable.

“I’m trying to be angry. Stop talking.” You blinked at the way his body glistened, blood trickling in one smooth, flawless line down his chest and matting up in the section of hair in the upper center.

“Trying?” He hummed, tossing the water bottle into the recycling after slamming nearly all of it due to how much he had just exerted himself. Ashton’s eyes were back to boring into your face, the way your brows furrowed and how your lips formed a tight line as you held your tongue.

His face was so fucking annoying, his perfect eyebrows, sweaty skin and hair clinging desperately to his forehead. His chest heaved with every single breath now bated with laughter all while still feeling the adrenaline, it made your jaw tick.

“Never mind.” You snapped, oddly enough, as much as you avoided the blood the more he seemed to become insufferable again. Ashton groaned loudly, like he just lost a sibling fight. A pathetic child who thought he had you where he wanted you.

“Do you know how I feel about you?” Ashton jogged after you as you started to walk away again, your boots clicking aggressively along the tile floor. There were crew and doors, muffled music and crowd roaring which started to piss you off even more.

“Why would I care?” You added with a scoff, nearly ripping the hair tie out of your hair and letting the strands stick to your shoulders. One door seemed like a good choice, so you quickly swerved to the left and ended up in an empty dressing room with a sofa in the corner next to some lit up vanities. This wasn’t like the usual locker rooms, this was for real performances.

Once you turned around to face Ashton again, he looked angry as well which honestly caught you by surprise. “What?” You asked, looking at each frown line on his face and narrowing your eyes at him like he was acting a fool.

“You would never know what pisses me off about you.” Ashton shook his head, taking a few steps towards you and feeling satisfied with the way you stepped back. “Why would you care what I think, huh? Would it hurt you that badly to have a thought for anyone else?” He responded in the tone you were using earlier, and goddamn, something about him standing up like this was hotter than he looked.

“I do give a thought for other people, just not you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t fucking know, Ashton!” You threw your hands up, heels hitting the wall on your last step and his shadow loomed over you. “You’re annoying, all you do is bug me when I’m clearly not in the mood. You want to talk about thinking of other people? Pick up on the clues, idiot! Read the room!”

The arguing stopped, now it was just silence. Your breath on his and it all caught up to you again, the blush on your face started to mirror the dried blood thriving on his skin. There was a sudden, rough warmth on your hip which made your gaze snap towards it. Ashton’s hand was on you, sending a realization in the form of goosebumps all over your body. When you looked back up at Ashton, he was smiling that stupid cocky smile again.

“Y’wanna know what else pisses me off?” He spoke, pausing as if you would say something or perhaps react to how low his voice could get. “You can’t admit that you want me too.”

Too? Who did he think he was?

You shoved Ashton’s chest, not very hard… just a playful little shove as you tried to keep up your act. “You’re so humble.” You rolled your eyes, getting cut off by another hand on your chin, holding you in place as Ashton collected your lips in a tense and searing kiss. Relief. Sweet, intense relief.

That was one thing you couldn’t deny, you felt so relieved and it made your jaw significantly less tight.

“Am I reading the room correctly?” Ashton whispered against your mouth, ready for another hard smack… which he definitely received. Straight in the chest again.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you in the dick.” You whispered back, the tone soft despite the snarky comment.

“Why? You want it that badly and don't want to hurt it?” Ashton started to grin again, but this time it wasn’t that painful. The hand that was on your hip moved to the small of your back, calloused thumb gently caressing your bare skin. His words had you fumbling for a response, it wasn’t that witty, but everything about the last few minutes had your brain turned into mush.

“Fuck off!” You blushed, swallowing down your nerves and watching Ashton’s expression quickly shift to one of possession. You could see that light bulb above his head.

“Yeah?” He breathed, eyes challenging as you nodded and pressed yourself firmly against the wall. “Be that way, then.” Ashton muttered, the hand on your hip gripped tightly and his other swiftly trailed down the front of your skirt to lift it up.

“Ashton,” You cut yourself off as his hand moved between your legs, his eyes silently asking for permission as his thumb moved in slow circles over the fabric of your panties. Instead, you gave him a smile back. “Do what you want.”

There was that nasty grin again, Ashton chuckled and pressed a wet kiss to your cheek. “Sick.” He nodded, now using both hands to tear your panties down which ripped a gasp out of your throat. Now he had gotten all the green lights he needed, allowing the fabric to slip down to your ankles and catch on your tall boots.

It was unpredictable and such a blur, Ashton’s eyes had a bright sparkle of lust and wonder as his fingers dug into the softness of your upper thighs and hips, roughly guiding you to turn around and press your body against the wall. Your breathing had become labored, but Ashton wasn’t one to care. He quickly tugged your skirt up to expose your bare ass, and if only you could see the look on his face… but he wasn’t wasting time.

“This wet, all for me, baby?” He spoke against your hair, breath hot as he ran his fingertip between the slick folds and plunged deep inside once he met your entrance.

“Sh.. Shut up, you’re lucky.” You gasped, turning your head a little, but unable to see him very well. Ashton laughed from behind you.

“Still keepin’ this thing up, huh?” He said right next to your ear, giving himself another challenge as he pushed another finger inside of you. You were about to reply, but clearly, your act wasn’t going to be kept up for long.

Ashton had you pathetically moaning out into the nearly empty room, trying your hardest to keep yourself quiet since these walls weren’t very thick. He knew just the right spot, his fingers were long and rough, curled in just the right spots which drove you further and further towards the edge — until the sensation disappeared.

“Why’d you stop?” You whined, that voice… that didn’t sound like you at all.

“You want more of me, don't you?” He replied, in a tone that was unfamiliar to you as well. It was rough and husky, urgent and just as needy as you.

That was something you yet again, couldn’t deny. You swallowed down the lump in your throat and waited, waited… the silence started to ring in your ears and it became too much. Way too much.

“What are you doing?” You snapped, Ashton was standing behind you, clueless only for a moment until he grinned again.

“Hold on, hold on… tryna’ get a plan.” He mumbled, time broke when he finally moved forward and slowly guided you to turn around. As if you couldn’t do it on your own.

“Okay,” You breathed, disoriented eyes meeting that calculated stare as both of his arms hooked up under your thighs.

“Jump.”

It wasn’t a second thought, there was nothing holding you back from immediately following his orders and wrapping your arms around Ashton’s neck. You hopped up and his forearms flexed beneath your thighs, hooking them around his waist as he maneuvered the fabric around his own body to let his cock spring free.

Your breath coming out in short pants, you tried not to look down and instead stared straight into his green eyes which had morphed into a fury of lust and control fighting over one another. His body pressed yours as far as it would go to the wall, making your heart pound like this was your own match and you were just seconds from the end.

“Do you really fuckin’ want this, huh?” Ashton glared at you, but it wasn’t a harmful glare. It was hungry and feral. The only response he needed was a nod, fingers abusing the curve of your hips as his head dropped forward. He was looking straight down between your bodies, sweaty and bloody, letting himself gently nudge your wetness and drawing a whimper from the back of your throat. There was no control over your own body.

Your thighs were already burning from the effort, nails digging into Ashton’s shoulders and back as he only pushed himself further. It was a quiet mess of heavy breathing, soft grunts and light gasping… then it changed. His hips snapped forward aggressively which made you yelp in response, Ashton’s name just on the tip of your tongue as you bit down on your lip to stay quiet.

“Shit, fuck—“ He huffed, jaw ticking in concentration as he just let go. Ashton figured that if he had already lost it, there was no going back with that rough rock of his hips. His thrusts were near reckless, paying no mind to the sound of lockers and the uncertainty of whether or not the two of you would be heard. It was clear that you felt the same way, holding back was no longer an option as you cried out and grasped for any part of his sweat-slick body. It was his shoulders which faced the abuse and left him hissing with each drag of your nails.

“Gonna make me fuckin’ bleed, for real, ain’t ya?” He growled, his eyes boring into yours through the sweaty waves that fell in front of his forehead.

“Y.. Yeah, no props,” You stammered out the best reply manageable, gasping in pleasure and eyelids fluttering closed as Ashton found that spot.

“Fuckin’ look at me.” He spat, accompanied with a rough slap to your thigh, and not that it caught you off guard, but it did make your eyes widen right as he would have wanted them to. “Y’look like a real slut.” Ashton smiled, the pace of his thrusts slowing to a rough grind instead of the desperate abandon he had started with.

“God—“ You choked out, cursing under your breath with each tremble of your body. Body language was speaking for you, the quivering of your bottom lip and how even after this command, your eyes fell shut again.

“Go on, yeah… look at that.” He licked his lips, his eyes scanning frantically over your body as your release hit you like a truck. Ashton had the decency to let you ride it out slowly, becoming spent himself and pulling out to make a quick mess of your bare midriff. It was over about as soon as it started, your mind a bit hazy and confused with all of the events whirling around trying to make some sense of itself. The frenzy which had taken over Ashton died down, he carefully helped you to stand but kept a hand on your hip just in case the support of your jelly-like legs wasn’t enough.

“So…” You said softly, voice hoarse with way too much effort. Ashton’s eyes turned soft again, the way you had seen them a few moments ago.

“So.” He chuckled, but you shook your head.

“No, no… that was just one time, wasn’t it?” You asked, but it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself of the words you spoke. Ashton’s face fell a bit, blinking increased as he shrugged his shoulders.

“If you’d like it to be, I mean, that was kinda’ spur of the moment type shit.” Ashton was trying to act as himself, huffing out a laugh which didn’t quite make the cut and instead broke down the nonchalance of his act.

“I’m..” For the first time you were speechless, unsure of your feelings and the internal battle which was currently taking place. His hand was on your hip, but gentle. Gentle and steady, not something you two were used to. “Would you be mad if I said I needed to think?”

You had never seen his face light up so quickly, like there was a bit of childlike hope in his eyes as he nodded. “God no, absolutely not. Take your time, however long you need.” He laughed again, not strained at all.

However, the way that he had responded had you pretty sure that your mind was made already. As well as the way he helped you get dressed, used his own towel from his bag to clean up and walked you out through the back doors of the event to avoid being seen. There was no more thinking to be done, that was not a one-time thing.

[ughkat]

focus on me | l.r.h

part six

part five here

college tutor luke au

{ things are getting spicy }

tutor!luke x fem!reader

smut, quickie, sneaky sex, bj, kissing, petnames, fluff, tutor x student, swearing

not proofread

-

Monday

10:45 am

My professors words were jumbled into incoherent mumbles, I bit my thumbnail relentlessly as my foot tapped the floor with anticipation. I had 15 minutes left of class before going in blind to my lunch session with Luke.

My eyes stared blankly ahead of me, every few moments glancing to the clock. The simple knowledge that Luke was present on campus turned my stomach. I had no recollection of what my professor had been speaking about, my mind had been swiped blank by the intimidating company of the blond close by.

I counted every second as the minutes passed, unconsciously ripping the skin from around my thumbnail with my teeth as I was growing more and more antsy in my seat. The classroom was filled with a soft hum of the air conditioner, accompanied with the occasional cough or sneeze from another student. I had no preparation for my meeting with Luke, as his demeanor and tone over text was difficult to read. I didn't know if this was going to be a regular, back to normal session, or something unexpected. My breath shook, I tried my best to calm my nerves as the class came to an end.

My professor offered Luke's tutoring to the class once more before dismissal, grabbing his own belongings for his lunch hour. I watched absentmindedly as students exited the classroom, my professor stopping at my seat.

"Luke seems to be running a bit late. You're free to go get yourself some lunch and come back," He began warmly, "Or you can wait here. Up to you." He smiled, giving my chair a light tap before making his way out of the classroom. My legs felt like jelly, I wasn't confident that I wouldn't tip right over if I stood up. I stayed glued in my seat, burning my eyes into the table in front of me awaiting Luke's arrival.

I bit my cheek, checking the time which was now 11:15. My anxieties began to turn to frustration, as I selfishly started to overthink he was late on purpose. I let out a heavy sigh, my tapping foot emitting a fast thumping sound. I knew that my frustration stemmed from the anxiety of suspense, but I stubbornly blamed it on his lack of time management. I swiftly whipped out my from my bag on the floor beside me, impulsively sending Luke an anxious text.

"Where are you? I'm waiting."

I sent the message with a huff, sliding my phone on the table. I leaned back in my chair with crossed arms, glaring at my phone as I sat silently in the empty room.

"Impatient?". I swung my head around abruptly as I heard the door creak open, a deep voice emerging from behind me. Luke entered the classroom leisurely, his face plastered with a smug smile and two coffees in hand.

"You're late." I muttered, turning back around in my chair with a straight face. I heard him chuckle from behind me, his large frame pulling up a chair beside mine. He set one iced coffee on the table in front of me, scooting it closer to my body. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, he flashed me an apologetic smile.

"I could've been late with no coffee." He tilted his head. His playful demeanor uncontrollably making me crack a smile. I gave in, taking the coffee from Luke with a small giggle. I took a sip from the iced drink, Luke remembering my order perfectly. He let out a small sigh before speaking.

"I'm really sorry, Y/n." He spoke softly. I turned my head slightly to look at him, his eyes burning deeply into mine. "I should've explained myself better for you.". I looked down to my drink, toying with the straw as I took in his words.

"Yeah." I spoke quietly.

"You understand my dilemma, right?" He asked, moving his seat closer. "You know I'm not doing this to you 'cause I want to?". I glanced to him briefly before back down to my drink, his gaze was intimidating. I nodded slightly.

"It just sucks, Luke." I began, "You expect me to just come to tutoring all normal again? Like nothing?" I narrowed my eyes, turning my head to look at him. Luke sighed.

"I know. I'm sorry." He muttered, "You think it'll be easy for me to just be your tutor when I want every single part of you?" He urged. I looked away swiftly at words. "This isn't any easier for me than it is for you."

I felt his body move closer to mine, his knee brushing my outer thigh. His face was only inches from mine. We both could feel the tension in the air rising by the second, becoming desperate. I looked back up to him, his blue eyes looking into mine deeply. I wanted nothing more than for him to take me over completely. He placed a hand on my thigh gently as he spoke.

"You're all I want, Y/n." He spoke deeply. We were lost in each others gaze, our faces only inches apart. It felt as though there was a magnet pulling the two of us closer together, slowly.

Inch by inch, Luke inevitably connected our lips gently, his hand on my thigh tightening its grip. I shivered at the promiscuity of our kiss in the very accessible classroom. The kiss quickly got deeper, Luke moving his lips against mine passionately. He moved a hand up to the side of my face, our breathing slowly beginning to pick up. Luke shifted in his seat at the growing hard-on forming in his tight slacks, whimpering slightly into my mouth.

He pulled away quickly, looking at me with heavy breaths.

"We can't." He lazily shook his head, wiping his mouth with his thumb as he stood up from his seat swiftly. I stood up from mine after him, moving into him closer.

"Can't we?" I spoke softly as I looked up at him, just above a whisper while I trailed my hands down his chest, running my fingers alone his waistline. My hands shook and heart beat fast as I boldly chose my next actions, but the desperation over powered my rationality. Luke let out a shaky breath, looking to the unlocked door just a few feet away.

"Y/n..." He breathed deeply, watching my hands toy with his pants button and zipper.

"No one will be in here for another hour." I smiled, looking down at my hands. I swiftly undid the button on Luke's slacks, the zipper right after, before I dropped to my knees in front of him slowly.

"You're crazy. You're so fuckin' crazy." Luke repetitively rambled at a whisper, anxiously running his hands through his hair as he watched me in awe.

"Just be quiet." I giggled. I palmed his already hard member over his pants, emitting a groan from his lips before pulling his pants down just enough to reveal his shaft. I looked up at Luke through my eyelashes, meeting his eyes as I swiped my tongue under his tip once. He let out a heavy sigh, placing a hand on my head, stroking my hair. I opened my mouth wider, taking Luke inside my mouth fully. He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth, concealing a moan as he tossed his head back. His hand rested lazily on my head, gripping my hair slightly as I picked up a steady rhythm with my neck, taking Luke down my throat.

"Fuck, Y/n, you're so good." He whimpered, his mouth dropping to an "O". I brought a hand up, pumping and sucking Luke at the same time.

I watched him as I trembled above me, glancing to the door behind him every few seconds. Luke abruptly pulled himself out of my mouth, grabbing me from under my arms.

"Get up here." He growled. He swiftly lifted me from the ground, placing me on top of my desk facing him. Luke leaned in vigorously and connected our lips, bringing his hands down to my waistband and pulling my jeans down just to my knees. He effortlessly propped my feet up, leaving my knees against my chest and eager heat exposed. Both of us shook with adrenaline, trying to quickly get our deed done in the public classroom.

"Can you stay quiet for me, sweetheart?" He cooed, lining himself up with my folds. I wiggled my hips eagerly, his tip prodding against my hole. Wasting no time, Luke slipped himself inside of me, letting out a breath as my slick walls wrapped around him. Immediately, a loud squeal escaped my lips, making Luke's hand fly to my mouth to silence me. His other hand held my leg up underneath my thigh as he let out a chuckle.

"Quiet, doll. You don't wanna get caught, do you?" He spoke deeply, picking up his pace. I looked down to where Luke and I connected, my toes curled at the sigh of him finally inside of me. I let out another muffled whine into Luke's hands as he kept up his vigorous pounding. I quickly glanced up to the clock, then to the door behind Luke, still cautious of our surroundings in the open classroom. Luke noted my concerns, moving my face with his hand to look back at him.

"Don't worry about anyone else, doll. Focus on me." He spoke deeply, looking into my eyes as he made me focus solely on his member pumping in and out of me euphorically.

"You like being fucked where anyone can see?" Luke chuckled, moving in closer and connecting his forehead to mine, "You like being my slut, doll?". I nodded frantically, my whimpers continued to be muffled my Luke's hands.

"Fuck, doll, you're so tight around my cock." He groaned, watching himself pumping into me vigorously.

Luke quickly glanced to the clock, noting we had 10 minutes until the next class would begin to arrive.

"How fast can you cum for me, baby?" He cooed, bringing a hand up to my sensitive bud, rubbing fast circles into my clit. I dug my teeth into Luke's hands, looking up at him. My walls began to clench around his member, my climax rising quickly.

"That's a good girl. C'mon, doll, cum for me." He growled, keeping a steady rhythm with his thumb and pounding. I tossed my head back, shaking under Luke as I released about his throbbing member. My climax bringing him to his on my thigh quickly after.

With no time for catching a breath, Luke quickly retreated any tissue box he could find and cleaned his mess from my leg, assisting me in standing up and putting my pants back on. We silently slumped back into our chairs, breathing heavy as we collected our thoughts. Beads of sweat collected at Luke's forehead, his blond curls sticking to his skin. My hair laid messy down my back.

"That's not what I meant by we'll talk on Monday." Luke half joked, giving me a side eye. Giving us no time to debrief, the clock ticking to 12:15 and my clueless professor bursting through the door made us quickly adjust ourselves in our seats, trying to act nonchalant.

"Afternoon, Luke." He greeted with a smile, making his way to his desk. Luke smiled with a nod, his ability to act like he wasn't jack hammering me into the table just a couple minutes ago bewildered me. "You're real sweaty. Good session?". My professor raised his eyebrows, still completely clueless. Luke glanced to me briefly with wide eyes, then back to the professor.

"Definitely. Getting better every session." He smiled smugly, turning to look at me. My professors eyes flashed to me, my eyes now meeting his. I smiled with a nod at confirmation.

"That's right." I spoke. My professor nodded, placing his books onto his desk enthusiastically.

"That's great to hear, Y/n.". Luke and I shared a glance, unsure of our next move as I had a class I was now late to. Luke stood up with an uneasy sigh, meeting my eyes once more before turning to the door.

"Uhm. I'll see you tomorrow.". He gave me a look as if to say something which was unsaid. I watched as he exited the room, left to my own devices until I heard from him next, which was too left unknown.

[suchalonelysunflower]

Den of Vipers

Sinners and Saints: Chapter 1

Pairing: Mafia! Ashton Irwin x Fem! Hemmings! Reader

Word count: 5.8 k

Summary: Devastating news forces you to knock on the door of the last person you’d ever want to see.

Warnings: Death, murder, blood, guns, mentions of drugs, abuse, torture, kidnapping, language. Some gramatical errors (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Author’s Note: Hiya! Welcome to my new series. I won’t have a taglist anymore, so any way you can support this, whether it is a reblog, comment or like, would be very much appreciated ❤️ Hope you like it and Happy reading 🌻✨❤️

Series Masterlist

The roaring sound of the engine could be heard from your room, distracting you from the book you were so comfortably reading. A smile crossed your features as you jumped out of bed and made your way outside.

The sun was starting to set with the golden hour on the horizon. The image of your brother’s back walking out the door welcomed you for just a moment before you decided to jump on him, immediately making him drop the small amount of luggage he was carrying.

“Since when do you leave without saying goodbye?” You laughed, perfectly koaling your way along his broad back.

The perks of being a little sister: you’re never too old or too heavy for piggyback rides from your siblings.

Luke groaned a laugh “Since I figured I could be free from your ass a few minutes longer”

You jumped off him “You don’t mean that”

“Of course not,” He smiled, pulling you into a hug. “I was going to go up to your room in a few minutes”

It was always like this when he had to leave. Ever since he started helping your father at work, he’s been gone most of the time, barely having any time for you. It was no secret that Luke was your favorite amongst your brothers, nor did he hide the fact that you were his favorite as well. It was just the way it is, having just two years distancing you of age he became your best friend from the beginning. And it was not like you were allowed many friends either - or rather, no one wanted to be your friend because of your last name.

Luke got that, everyone in the family did. But growing up made it harder for you than your brothers. Being the only girl in the family does that.

“How long are you leaving this time?”

Luke sighed “Dad said it’s only for a week, but you know him”

“So I should expect you by the end of the month” You answered him, trying to hide the hurt in your smile “Can’t you come back early? At least for a few days?”

“Why?” He asked with a puzzled expression “Is there something important happening or…?” You punched him, he laughed “Of course I’ll try to be here for your birthday, little thunder”

And if Luke said he would try, he meant it.

He kissed your forehead before a loud honk could echo throughout the house.

“Someone’s impatient” You rolled your eyes.

“We gotta love him” Luke shrugged, grabbing his luggage and giving you one last look “Take care, Y/N”

“You, too! I’ll see you when you get back”

“I’ll bring you a present!”

You stayed at the door until you watched the car disappear through the gates. Little did you know what would happen next.

*

The brain works in funny ways. Always reminding you of things you would rather forget.

It’s been a week since “it” happened, but there wasn’t a day where you didn’t relieve it at least once.

The rain against the window; the loud knocks on the door. You were sitting in the kitchen, putting the last candles on your birthday cake, anxious about the promise Luke made you as you looked at the clock. How did they let the police just pass through the gate like that? Maybe the guards knew it was urgent. How you walked down the hall, careful just to eavesdrop without being noticed, just in time to watch your mother fall to her knees, her beautiful party dress ruined as the most horrifying sound left her mouth.

Then, it was all a blur.

People dressed in black. Your father having meetings after meetings behind closed doors, always catching your eye before the familiar click of the lock filled the silence. How the rain felt against your skin as the casket containing your brother's body was lowered down to the ground, never to be seen again. Your mother’s tears. The fake “I’m sorry for your loss” speeches. Your father's stone-cold expression as his hand covered your shoulder with some sort of affection. The silence that came afterward.

But it couldn’t end like that. It wasn’t right.

“We need to find him,” You told your father after the funeral.

He was sitting behind his desk, looking the oldest you’ve ever seen him. His eyes weren’t even focusing on you, almost as if he were also lost.

The first time he lost a son, Ben, your oldest brother, it made him cold as ice. It helped him build the empire he had now, grown on the blood of the enemies he took down along the way. You were just a child then, not older than thirteen, but you remember how fast things started to change. How friends stopped being friends, how business never meant the same thing again, how your mother stopped smiling as the jewels in her chest started growing.

But this is different.

“Dad,” You begged, hating how you sounded like a little kid again.

“There is nothing we can do, Y/N,” He said, coldly.

That’s who Robert Hemmings was, never sugarcoating anything. He tried, albeit your mother’s begging, to keep you out of the know of the family business. You were their only daughter, their little Angel, what good would it do to drag you into this world of madness and blood? It seemed like she didn’t know you at all.

“So you’re just going to sit there and do nothing?!” Your voice rose with every word.

Your father didn’t dignify you with a response, instead, he chose to sit back and close his eyes. For the first time in years, you realized just how old your father was getting. The creases upon his face were as deep as the dark circles under his eyes. His white hair was getting thinner by the hour, and the spots on his skin seemed to be growing.

For a second you wondered just how much time it had passed since you saw him smile, since you spent time with him like you used to when you were a little kid. But you were not a kid anymore, and the man in front of you did not seem like your father at all.

He seemed tired, he probably was after all of this. But you were tired as well, tired of so, so many things that you were done keeping quiet for.

“He is still out there,” You said, more quietly this time “I know he is”

“Y/N…” He sighed, rubbing the pads of his fingers on his temple, trying hard to come up with the right words before he exploded in a fit of anger as he usually does with his subordinates “You heard what the police said. You read the reports even though we told you not to-”

“The reports said they only found one body, dad. One!” You wanted to scream, to shake some sense back into him but for what? You could already see the lost battle before it even began “Maybe Luke wasn’t in the car, maybe-”

“The car was completely burned out! They found his jewelry, some bones- Y/N I don’t know how else to tell you! They’re dead!”

“Jack is dead,” You said somberly “Jack’s body is the only one that they found. Jack’s the one six feet below. Not Luke”

Robert sat back in his chair, shaking his head as you continued with your ranting.

“The bones couldn’t be identified, so it could be one poor soul that got the short end of the stick. It could be one of the collateral damage, as you call them, right dad? Could be fucking anyone! Luke could still be out there, he could be in trouble and we’re sitting here doing nothing-!”

A loud bang interrupted you. Your father’s fist was tense over his desk after he banged on it, not caring about the glass of water that tipped over and was now spilling over the edge of the mahogany. The vein on his neck was trembling as well as his jaw, but his eyes weren’t focused on you. Instead, he looked down, eyes wide and unreadable with every emotion hidden and swallowed by his pride.

Still, that didn’t scare you.

“Jack would’ve wanted for us to find him”

“Don’t you fucking talk about your brother” Robert spat.

“Someone has to!” You stood up, letting the foot of the chair drag against the floor. You have never stood up to your father before, but it was time to change some things around the Hemmings' household “You know I’m right”

“Y/N, Luke is dead,” He said, finally looking straight at you. The helplessness in his eyes took you by surprise “The sooner you accept it, the better. The ceremony for his remains will be-”

“No! That’s not him!” You nearly cried, but you promised yourself not to. Not in front of him. Not ever “I’m not going to mourn a stranger standing in his place”

Your father just shook his head, letting his hands distract him as he sorted out the papers on his desk.

“Dad,” You demanded his attention, leaning over his desk “Dad!”

No response, no reaction.

“Fine,” You said, voice laced with anger “I’ll go find someone who will pay attention to me”

You started to walk away, not looking back as your nails dug into the flesh of your palm, cutting the skin to distract you from crying out of rage and disappointment. This was not how you expected he would react. You didn’t expect him to give up just like that.

The merciless boss of one of the biggest mafia rings in the country… giving up for his son.

“Y/N,” He called out before you closed the door behind you, making you stop in your tracks but you refused to look at him “I’m thinking of selling the business”

Those words left you frozen in place, a drop of cold sweat dripping down your back as you turned to him, clear fear in your eyes.

“What?”

Robert, stoic as usual, didn’t look up as he signed over something.

“The Luccas made an offer” He explained in so little detail “I believe it’ll be for the best”

“For the best?!” You scoffed, feeling completely betrayed. A new low you believed your father could never be able to reach “For the best of whom? Your conscience? Breaking news, dad. You don’t have one. Cause if you did, you would never-”

You pressed your lips together, shushing the lump in your throat that threatened to escape in a sob. You took a deep breath and turned to your father.

“I hope you know this is the last time I’ll ever talk to you again if you dare to sell it to them. To him”

“That’s not your decision to make”

“Then consider me dead along with the rest of your children. You’re good at that”

The banging on the door was heard all over the house along with your shoes stomping on the floor.

*

He could laugh. Was it possible that they were that stupid?

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for Calum Hood and Michael Clifford to come at him for help, but really? Drugs?

“This has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked me,” He said, both Calum and Michael shifted a little in their seats.

There they were, sitting in comfortable velvety cushion seats with leather handles; drinking a whiskey that was probably older than them; hands adorned with expensive jewelry and dressed in the finest suits they could afford. And they were afraid.

It was normal, of course, to feel intimidated by him. After all, his reputation preceded him as one of the deadliest men in the country. His successful deals gave him millions, and the ones that weren’t as successful still made him a threat. Men feared him or wanted to be him. Women fell at his feet on their knees and not just to beg for mercy.

There was no wonder why he was nicknamed “Lucifer” given that his eyes resembled the evil and cruelty of Alexander Cabanel’s painting. There was no good left in him, not that anyone knew. Not that he would show proof of that.

Ashton Irwin was a proud man, a respectable man. And the two men in front of him knew it, so why waste their time?

Both Calum and Michael were famous around town as well. The prodigal son, Calum Hood, became a household name after he took on the family business after holding his father at gunpoint to sign the papers for him. Soon, he enlisted Michael Clifford, a wizard in technology and heir to his own fortune - albeit a bit small - as his right-hand man. They made themselves known in the business, and even Ashton had to admit that it was surprising how quickly they went up the ladder amongst the other families he knew. But, as any rookies, they made a few mistakes and asked a lot of favors that they were now trying to amend.

“Calum, how’s your girl?” Ashton asked, leaning back on his chair, pretending that their request was never asked in the first place “Still running that bookshop back on Seventh Street?”

The smirk on Ashton’s face might not have meant anything else but a taunt to Calum. But the latter didn’t like the way he said it, almost as if he knew that his girl was his only weakness.

“She’s good” He answered, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing him affected.

Ashton hummed, looking at the third guy who was standing near the mirror on the wall.

“It’s not nice to bring security and bodyguards for a talk with friends,” He said.

“Is that what we are?” Michael asked, “Is that what we’re doing?”

“You tell me, Clifford. Cause I know for sure that if you came to me as partners then we wouldn’t even have this conversation” Calum opened his mouth to speak but Ashton silenced him “Because as you know, I don’t make deals with lost causes, and right now I’m seeing two in front of me”

“Ashton-”

“There’s a thing called “unsaid agreements” in this business, Calum, I know you’re familiar with that. And that is we don’t shit where we eat. We don’t sell drugs in this city, we don’t make deals with the locals, and for fuck’s sake we don’t owe favors to the ones that don’t comply with this agreement” He pointed his finger at the two men in front of him “And you two fuckers did the three things together”

“Well, what choice did we have?!” Calum asked “The Luccas were threatening to take over our territory and-”

“And I don’t give a fuck about the Lucass’” Ashton spat “In fact…”

In one swift move, he took a gun under his desk and shot the security guard right in the head.

“WHAT THE-”

“FUCKING CHRIST”

The two men yelled and jumped as the gun went off. Splatters of blood could be found in their clothing and faces, but nothing compared to the smear of blood and brains that now dropped from the mirror. Ashton, as usual, sat back in his chair with a smirk and hid the gun. Not a single drop of blood hit him or his desk.

“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!” Calum yelled, trying to wipe the blood from his clothes, showcasing his lack of knowledge of the business.

“Cause he was wearing a microphone you jackass!” Ashton spat “Hidden on the belt, look it up”

Michael leaned down and he in fact found a small microphone hidden behind the buckle. He sighed as he showed it to Calum. The two men looked back at Ashton with tired looks filled with anger and embarrassment.

“Another advice,” He said “Don’t fucking invite newbies to “important” meetings”

“You think you’re so smart…”

“I know I’m smart, Hood, and I’m the best there is in this business so don’t you fucking forget it. There’s a reason you came to me and not to the bloody Bermans” He got up and walked up to Calum, grabbing his chin and pulling his closer “I’m the only chance you have but I don’t even know if you two idiots deserve it. So, admit it, Hood”

Calum rolled his eyes, but Ashton tightened his grip.

“Say it” He nearly whispered, looking straight into his eyes.

“Jesus fuck, fine. We need you, okay?”

Ashton smiled, letting go of Calm and patting him on the cheek “Atta boy”

Just in time, someone knocked on the door before opening it. A young blond girl dressed in a white crop top and leather pants peaked inside, only showing half of her body but her whole face.

“Sir?”

“Lauren, not now”

“There’s someone here to see you”

Ashton rolled his eyes “I don’t have time for it right now. Whatever or whoever it is, it can wait till at least for the cleaning to come up”

“I don’t think it can wait, sir. She’s very insistent. I’ve been trying to hold her back for twenty minutes now” Ashton gave her a look that made her roll her eyes “She says her name is angel and that it’s urgent”

Ashton perked up at the name. Slowly biting the inside of his cheek, he nodded and turned back toward his desk.

He clicked his tongue before looking toward Michael and Calum, and then back to his assistant.

“Bring her in and send the cleaning team to at least remove that idiot, please” Lauren nodded and closed the door. He looked at his desk, putting away some papers as he nonchalantly said “You two, out”

“What?!”

“This isn’t over, Irwin-”

“Yes, Clifford it is” He stared at them but barely raised his head “Now get the fuck out before I make you”

Ashton could only hear a string of murmured curses and then the door closing with a bang. He smirked, “Angel,” He whispered to himself in a singing, mocking tone “What have you gotten into”

*

The blonde girl looked familiar. Her smile showed some kindness that you weren’t used to seeing around these places, even when you first encountered her behind the bar. She didn’t ask questions other than your name and the reason for your sudden visit.

“He doesn’t see people without a previous appointment,” She said, handing one more beer to the drunken men who slurred their thank you’s to her.

“What, is he a doctor?” You chuckled humorlessly, but the girl didn’t laugh along with you. her bright blue eyes just showed pity and understanding. You sighed “Look, tell him is angel, he’ll see me”

The girl shrugged “I can’t promise you anything, doll. Just wait here”

Once she was out of sight through a backdoor, you took your time to scan the place. Ashton did outsell himself with this one.

“The Den of Vipers” was the most popular club in the city, having opened ten years ago when Ashton took over the family business, it was still filled with clients who wanted to get lost for a while. Ashton was good at making people disappear, and it showed. This place screamed his name wherever you would look.

The floor was a dark marble with white gold lines separating the tiles. There were booths against the walls, all made of velvet cushions and leather. The lights were low, and changing from blue to purple, to green and then white again as the music played, it was impossible to keep track of the people there thanks to it. The bar itself was made of bulletproof glass, standing proudly and mockingly in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by different bodies lost in the mindless music the DJ of the night put on, almost in trance and unaware of the things that happened behind the scenes.

Of course, this whole charade of a humble business owner was just Ashton’s front to the authorities - even though they always seemed to be on his side, many times you heard your father complain about it - but you knew the reality. In fact, you were sure that when the girl came back, you’d be led through the backdoor and into the real building. You’d walk through careful hallways that will eventually lead you to the owner’s real office.

And that is exactly what happened once she came back and guided you through cushioned, sound-proofed walls covered in dark green velvet. The lights of the halls were dimmed, giving the feeling of being watched at all times like a haunted house. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case, after all, Ashton could be anything but careless when it came to a negotiation.

Which is exactly why you’re here.

When you got to the door of his office, you didn’t need to knock as the door opened immediately. Two guys dressed in black came out carrying a bodybag, leaving the door open. You rolled your eyes because, of course, Ashton would make a big show.

“I’ll take it from here,” You said to the girl, giving her a small smile that she mirrored.

The first thing you saw when you came into the office was the desk. It had nothing but some papers and a lamp, no sign of family pictures or hobbies. It was common for the “big bosses” to keep their workplaces clean of any personal relationships, but coming from Ashton it seemed pretentious - at least for you.

The mirror still had blood stains on it and you could tell they were still fresh, even so you didn’t look twice. Blood and guts are not something that shocks you anymore, and that realization came with a whole can of worms you weren’t ready to open up yet. There were some stains on the floor and what you could assume was gunpowder residue, so you were careful not to step on those.

“I’d apologize for the mess, princess. But you and I both know it doesn’t matter”

You turned to find Ashton with his back facing you as he fixed a drink on his personal mini-bar. His broad shoulders and back were covered with the finest of suits - from Milan, everyone and their mothers wore clothes from Milan - his hair was longer than the last time you saw him.

When he turned around, however, it seemed like nothing had changed.

He looked mature, of course, twelve years can do that to someone. But his eyes were still the same shade of hazel you remember, only a bit more sadist. He looked good, and somehow you hated that. It was time to put the past in the past where it belonged and stop the memories before they cloud your mind. Still, something inside you kept telling you, urging you to let yourself go. What did it matter how he looked? But that thought came late for the half smile he wore as he walked up to you, made you realize that he caught you staring.

“Here,” He said, handing you a glass of whiskey and coke. How’d he know your favorite drink? that was a question for another time “I assume you’re a big girl now, princess”

You glared at him as you swallowed the whole glass in one go, never taking your eyes off him and his unimpressed look.

“‘m not a princess” You said, dryly “And I can make my own drink, thank you”

You pushed past him and walked toward the mini bar, fixing yourself another drink. It was clear that you didn’t need it, your mind was screaming and begging for you to keep a clear head while you were ahead and in front of Lucifer himself. But something in his smile… the way his eyes still treated you like a child, so condescending, brought something in you. A chance to prove yourself in front of him.

All your life you had to prove yourself in front of men like him. In front of women who think they were better than you because their hands didn’t get dirty as yours did. In front of your parents. Of Luke… How long until they realize that you are where you belong?

Once you finished making your drink you turned back to Ashton. His eyes roamed your body, shamelessly, he licked his lips briefly before a smug grin adorned his face, eyes looking straight at you.

“I can see that,” He said, leaning against his desk “So, angel, haven’t heard from you in a while”

You rolled your eyes “Don’t call me that”

“You’ve never seemed to mind it before”

“I’m not here to reminisce about the olden days, Irwin” You spat.

Ashton whistled “So the bitch can bark! Impressive. Who would’ve thought that the balls of the Hemmings family were hiding behind their youngest?” Your face turned red in anger as your fingers tensed around the glass. Ashton noticed and tauntingly walked toward you with a smirk and leaning to whisper in your ear “But guess what? Y/N, you still can’t bite”

Your body became hot at his proximity. The smell of his cologne filled your surroundings as the rage - or something else, something new - inside your stomach kept boiling. But before you could push him away, he was already pulling apart and going back to sit at his desk.

“Tell me, Y/N, what is a Hemmings doing here all by herself? Has daddy finally kicked you out?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, looking down unable to meet his eyes. You can’t believe you’re doing this, not with him. But there wasn’t any other choice.

“I need help,” You said, hating how those words sounded coming from you.

“Everybody does” He shrugged “Doesn’t mean they’re going to get it-”

“Ashton,” You finally looked back at him. The urgency of your voice and the fact that you called him by his name for the first time since you came here, took him by surprise as he listened “Jack’s dead”

Ashton’s eyes remained unchanged at your words, looking straight at you while his fingers played with his rings on the opposite hand. From his reaction, it was hard to guess that once upon a time he and the Hemmings’ siblings were inseparable, Jack being the closest of age to him and one of his first friends. Your eyes begged for him to do something, say something. To show you any indication that he might help.

The bond between your family and his broke a long time ago. You were barely a child, but you knew there was no going back to the summers filled with laughter and joy you all shared. In the blink of an eye - or at least that’s what it felt like as a child - The Irwins and the Hemmings were sworn enemies. And the friendship you had with Ashton vanished in thin air.

You and Luke took it the hardest, begging your mother to help you call the Irwin household so you could talk to Ash. Never understanding why suddenly her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head no and told you to play something else.

“He hates us,” Luke said to you once. It was another boring afternoon after you suggested calling him again. But Luke’s eyes were cold as ice, scaring you as he said “And we hate him”

And for a while that was it. You weren’t going to go against your brother, so the subject was finally dropped and you haven’t seen Ashton since. Or at least that’s what everyone thought.

But now, years after the fallout, you were hoping somehow that those words were a lie. Maybe Ashton could still hold some kind of fond memory of your families together. Anything to make you believe he might help you.

“My condolences,” He said after a while, no emotion hidden in his voice.

His comment made you angry, “Is that it?”

“What else do you want me to say?” He shrugged “People die every day, Y/N, it just the way it is”

“He was murdered”

“Shocker” Ashton scoffed with sarcasm “He was never the brightest of lads.”

“It was an ambush,” You said, unable to stop. “They were driving back home in the middle of the night when a string of bullets came raining down on the vehicle. Jack could barely escape before they found him and slit his throat. They burned the car afterward. And Luke-... Luke’s missing, Ashton”

Ashton nodded, pressing his lips in a thin line “He’s probably dead”

“No, he’s not”

And maybe it was because of your determination, or the look in your eyes when you said it, almost as if you believed it. But Ashton grinned at your statement.

“No,” He said, “He’s not”

A small breath of relief escaped your lips. Finally, somebody believed you.

“Would you help me?”

“No”

“What?!”

Ashton shrugged “Why would I help you, little Hemmings? What makes you so entitled to come here and ask for my help after what your family did?”

“My family?” It caught you off guard, what did he know that you didn’t?

“And why aren’t they helping to find their beloved golden child?” Ashton mocked, standing up and circling his desk until he was once again in front of you “All the stories we hear about the young, promising Hemmings… I’m sure they were not talking about you”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the comment, grip tightening around the glass, nearly breaking it.

“I am shocked that they didn’t start a search party already. Has daddy Hemmings opened his eyes to his karma yet? Why should I care? Matter of fact, why should you?”

“He’s my brother,”

“Cute. Not enough, but thanks for trying” He nodded toward the door “See yourself out, angel. This isn’t your castle”

Ashton turned around, not even giving you a second glance. Your hand reached out to him, grabbing him by the arm and making him stop. There were probably a few people who could do that to him, even fewer the ones who were still alive to tell the story. He turned his eyes toward you, curiosity and anger hidden in those hazel marbles staring back at you and then at your hand on his arm.

The tension was clear, but it was a little too late to rethink that mistake. If this was your only shot, then you had to take it. You owe that much to Luke.

“I- I have no one, Ash,” You said, looking down, ashamed of your statement and how weak you sounded.

Ashton didn’t say a word, he didn’t move away either. He stood there, waiting for you to continue. And for the first time in a long time, you felt relieved that someone was at least willing to listen.

“I left them,” You told him, looking straight into his eyes “I left my family because they did not believe me. They can’t find Luke, they won’t even try. He’s the only person I have left and I won’t rest until I find him, with or without your help”

Ashton grinned maniacally, a shadow appearing in his eyes as he looked down at you. Now you understand why they called him Lucifer. For he once was one of God's most beautiful angels, but temptation and his own ego were his doom. And, as he leaned down, you couldn’t help but be entranced by that wicked smile as he said, nearly whispering.

“And what are you willing to do, angel?”

It was a challenge, you could see it in his eyes. A bait to lure you into a trap. And you took it.

“Anything”

Ashton’s smile widened as he freed himself from your grasp and walked over to his desk to grab a set of keys, pressing a little button on it.

“If I’m going to help you, little Hemmings - and I’m not saying I will just yet - you’ll have to resign your name and what comes with it. I’ll be dead before I help a Hemmings out of the sheer kindness of my heart”

You rolled your eyes “You don’t have a heart, Irwin. Is that all you want? I told you I left my father”

“I don’t need a rogue princess fumbling with my business” Ashton scoffed, “So whatever I say goes. You’re working for me, Hemmings, not the other way around” He walked closer to you again, his chest nearly hitting yours “If I say go, you go. If I say we stop, you stop. If I say get out of my sight, you better pray your little feet move fast. I don’t care who you are, what you are, or what you represent. If you fuck with me, I’ll fuck right back. And I go hard, angel. No intentions of having any kind of mercy. Understood?”

You challenged him with a look, trying to figure him out. But time was running out, and you didn’t have any other option.

“Yes.” You said, dryly.

Ashton clicked his tongue “Yes, what?”

“Don’t push it, Irwin” You took a step back “So, we have a deal?”

The doors to the office opened and two large, muscly men dressed in suits came in and stood quietly but threatening at the door. You crooked an eyebrow and looked back at Ashton.

“Friends of yours?”

“Acquaintances,” He said, walking over to them and getting out the door, only stopping for a second “You comin’?”

The two men walked behind you as you followed Ashton through the halls that first brought you there. The image of his broad shoulders walking under the low lights and out toward the club shielded you from any distractions. He would sometimes glance over his shoulder, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his lips when he noticed you were still walking a few steps behind him.

People at the club were sweaty and unashamed. Bodies grinding against one another and along the beat of a dark EDM song. Some women and boys would walk up to Ashton, letting their hands grace the skin of his face and neck or arms as they each seductively said hello to him. It seemed as if they were enchanted by him, moved by a spell of lust as their eyes would meet his. They wanted him, they all wanted him. Ashton would smile, say their names, and acknowledge them with a hello before moving to another person, another step toward the exit.

Ashton led you through a door that led to another dark hallway. The music sounded muffled through the walls, blocking your ears at the sudden change of environment. Ashton walked a few steps ahead before he stopped and turned around toward you, hands in his pockets as he looked at you and grinned.

“Now what?” You asked, annoyed “Any other fan of yours that we need to greet?”

Ashton chuckled and shook his head.

“No, just precautions”

“Precautions? Why would you-”

“Sorry, angel”

And with a snap of his fingers, the world went black.

*

[sinning5sos]

Having a baby with Calum would include...

2/4 in the father-to-be series :

Calum ~ would be really fucking excited but also really fucking nervous

“Okay so our baby is the size of a lime right now. A lime. Can you believe that?” Calum read off, scrolling through his phone in the bathroom as he got ready for bed. He looked over at you, and smiled as he looked at your stomach, a tiny yet noticeable bump there.

“A fucking lime!” He repeated, “That’s insane. We did that. We made a freaking baby and it’s living.”

“The three month mark is an important one too,” You said, continuing to read your book and Calum hummed to himself as he started brushing his teeth.

“Baby, did you know that it’s good for your pregnancy for you to cum?” Calum stated, and you burst out laughing at your husband. He looked up from his phone as he finished brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

“Calum,” You breathed out, holding your stomach slightly as you looked over at him. He spit into the sink and rinsed, then tucked his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“I’m telling you the truth!” Calum exclaimed, and you continued to laugh at how incredulous he was.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe you.” You giggled, and he threw his hands up over his head as he collapsed onto the bed beside you.

“Then let me show you,” Calum murmured and he turned over in bed. You put your book down on the bedside table and 

“Before you do that, explain. And Cal, I’m only three months along.” You reasoned, and he chuckled as he knelt between your legs.

“Orgasms cause a release of endorphins and oxytocin, and orgasms apparently help you prepare for giving birth. And that will help you in six months. So obviously, we need to practice.”

“Hmm. Fine, come on baby.” You said, winking at him and he chuckled as he pushed your (his) tshirt up, and kissed the inside of your thighs gently.

Other pregnancy things from Cal would include - 

Ice cream runs at any time of the day

Helping you shower/bathe, especially toward the end of your pregnancy

Lotioning your stomach and giving you light massages

Lots of innocent touches

Lots of naughty touches too

Playing music for the baby and slipping in some old school rock music to educate the baby

Reading to the baby too

Just lots of enrichment for the baby

Him researching everything that can help and nearly passing out at the information of when you’re about to give birth

Having three different bags and birth plans ready to go in case of anything

[nicksbestie]

can you write where you secretly adopt duke for cal’s birthday? please 🥹🫶

Birthday

(okay so for the sake of this fic Covid-19 started in January of 2020 not March)

word count : 1260

warnings : none!

enjoy!

<3

Calum’s birthday was coming up and you desperately wanted to surprise him with something big, but you had to try and figure out what.

He deserved something huge, and while money wasn’t an issue for the two of you, you still had to pick a reasonable thing to get for a gift. It took you a few hours to come up with something, but eventually you picked one. Calum had been desperate for a dog since you two had moved in together, but since he was always running around and on tour, and you had a busy job as well, having a puppy just wasn’t going to work.

The dog wouldn’t get the attention and care it truly needed, despite whether or not you cared for the dog. But now, you were both at home, due to Covid-19, and nobody was really going anywhere. It was a perfect time to get a new animal, and you weren't the only one who thought so. You had seen Calum’s camera roll, and it was filled with dogs and puppies of all breeds. So, you decided, you were going to get him a puppy. 

It wasn’t going to be easy to keep it a secret from him, but you went to an animal shelter the day before his birthday, and spent so much time with all of the dogs. It wasn’t until you got to the very last one that you felt a strong connection to him. He had been there for five months, and his age was estimated to be about one year old. His name tag on his cage read “Duke”, and when you read his estimated age, you were happy to see that he was a younger dog, which was what you were looking for. 

He was black and white, and very fluffy, and you knew Calum would fall in love with him instantly. So, you went up to the desk to start filling out the adoption papers. When you were talking about which dog you wanted, you learnt that he was already house trained, which was a wonderful thing to hear, because as much as you wanted a dog, you were dreading cleaning up poop from around the house until he was trained. You paid his adoption fee, they put a travel leash on him, and now, you and Calum had a dog. But where was he going to go for the night? You smirked, calling up Ashton, knowing he had a soft spot for Calum. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ash! Can I ask you a favor? But you have to keep it a secret.” 

You could pretty much hear him raise an eyebrow before he agreed, humming an affirmative. 

“I got Calum a gift, but I need you to keep it at your place overnight because he can’t see it until tomorrow.” 

Ashton sounded a little hesitant, mostly confused. 

“You can’t wrap it?” 

You laughed, trying to cover it with a cough but miserably failing. 

“No, I can’t.” 

Duke chose this moment to see a squirrel on the side of the road, losing his absolute mind barking, and of course, Ashton heard. 

“Did you get him a dog?!”

You smiled, petting Duke on the head and getting him to hop down from the window. 

“I did. So, can you keep him for the night? He’s already house trained.”

Ashton sighed, but you could hear the smile and knew he was relenting. 

“Yes, bring him over.” 

“Okay, thanks! See you soon.” 

Before getting to Ashton’s house, you stopped to get him a water and food bowl, as well as some dog food. The shelter had given you the brand that they used to feed the dogs, so you picked up a bulk bag of that, making sure he had everything he needed. You also got him a bed, a soft fluffy one. Arriving at Ashton’s, you walked up to the door with Duke, and he sat right outside with his tongue hanging lopsided out of his mouth. As Ashton opened the door, you could see the last of his resolve fade away as he immediately crouched down to pet him, picking him up in his arms and cooing at him. 

You unloaded the things, helping Ashton set it up for the one night, and laughing when Ashton just waved you off, promising you he could handle it. After about an hour, you left, feeling that Duke would be safe and loved for the one night before you brought him home the next morning. 

– 

The next morning, you had woken up before Calum, and had gone to pick up Duke. Ashton was quite reluctant to let him go, but you promised he could come over later to celebrate. He was currently outside, and you were setting up Duke’s things in the living room. His bowls were in the kitchen, but his bed was right next to the couch. You went to wake up Calum, smiling as his eyes opened and he sat up, yawning. 

“Happy birthday!!! I hate to wake you, but I need a little bit of help this morning.” 

You didn’t need any help, you just were incapable of keeping the secret any longer. Calum smiled, even wider when you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, laughing when he tried to pull you back into bed with him. 

“Aww, come on. It’s my birthday, you’re not going to cuddle with me?” 

You grinned, pulling yourself free. 

“Trust me, you’d rather get up.” 

This piqued his curiosity, and he got out of bed, sleepily following you to the kitchen. You acted like you had no idea what was about to happen, smiling as he just followed you around like a lost puppy, pun intended. You had a few gifts wrapped on the table, noticing him eyeing them like a small child. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, moving behind him to fill Duke’s water bowl. Calum hadn’t realized it yet.

“Before you open anything, can you let the dog back inside? I forgot to do it before I came and woke you.” 

Calum was used to dog-sitting for his friends, this phrase being not completely unfamiliar to him, and so it took him about thirty seconds to realize what you just said.

“Yeah- wait. What?!” 

You smiled as he basically sprinted to his sliding porch door, his hands clapping over his mouth when Duke sprinted over to the new human being, his new owner. Calum immediately dropped to the ground to pet him, laughing and smiling as Duke licked all over his face, spinning in excited circles as Calum petted him. Calum picked him up and walked back inside, disregarding the open door as he looked at you in shock. 

“You- you got me a dog?! You got us a dog?!” 

You smiled, pulling out your phone and taking a photo as Calum held the dog up to eye level, setting him on his head and posing in the kitchen, smiling like an absolute fool. You picked Duke up off of Cal’s head, holding him for a selfie with the three of you. 

“He’s ours? Like, forever?” 

You nodded, handing him back to Calum as he set him down and watched him spin from excitement.

“What’s his name?” 

“I got him from the shelter, his name is Duke.” 

If Calum smiled any harder, his jaw might’ve broken. 

“I love him. Best birthday ever.” 

Calum spent the next three hours teaching him tricks, and if Duke ate his body weight in treats, all it showed was that he was loved.

[valentiyne]

𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖠𝖲𝖳 𝖮𝖥 𝖬𝖨𝖣𝖭𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳

(𝖡𝖮𝖷𝖤𝖱!5𝖲𝖮𝖲 𝖠𝖴)

FIND MIDNIGHT HERE

[caketopics]

idk why its so fucking funny & endearing to me that Luke has gone as Ashton twice for halloween

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

Sweet Dreams--Part 15

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert. Tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible!

CW: Smut/Smut adjacent in this part. 18+

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

Calum closes the space, his hand dancing over the fabric of the seats to slip into yours. Your palm is warm. He watches from the corner of his eyes as you smile and he smiles too. It’s silly, he knows. But the air surrounding you buzzes, dripping with an anxiety you don’t speak on. Calum’s sure anyone might notice the fidgets. The constant turn of your chain around your neck--the gold accents the burgundy of your suit perfectly. A color that makes you look regal. An outfit that makes him look a little longer than he usually might, fitted in the right areas without looking uncomfortable on you. He knows it’s been tailored, hemmed to fit you just right but goddamn, does he like you in a suit. However, the desire in his stomach doesn’t outweigh for long as he watches your free hand play at the chain yet again.

“I’ll be inside before you know it,” Calum offers. 

You’ve opted to skip out on the full carpet as the news cycle still attempts to extract every drop it can regarding the verbal altercation with Diana. A lot of the chatter is calm, but what remains continues to make enough noise that you worry anything regarding you on the carpet will be focused on that particular part of your life. Calum doesn’t fault your choice, but does wish he could show you off on the carpet. You deserve to be seen. He’s proud to be yours. He wants everyone else to know it too. But he understands why you’re opting to skip this particular moment. He might too if there still seemed to be so much heat on such a private family matter in his own life. But he’s grateful you haven’t skipped the entire event outright. 

“I know.” It comes softly, but still with an edge of uncertainty. 

The first time Calum attended he’d been nervous too. His parents did their best to explain what and why things were happening to calm his nerves. But it hadn’t really worked. He still worried and fretted. Until his father asked Calum to make a list of everything that looked good at the event. He’d been young at the time, but the smaller objective was much more manageable of a task. It made the lights and the people feel secondary. “Why don’t you scope out the drinks, yeah? Let me know what looks good.”

“Now that sounds doable.”

“Good, let’s focus on what’s doable.”

You give his hand a gentle squeeze, but don’t give any other verbal answer. With no planned outing to the public prior, it’s not unfair to think that the actual charity event might also be nerve wracking. But this too is something Calum knows you can overcome. Even if it’s small steps at a time, scoping out the drinks. The traffic gets thicker. Calum can tell by the row of cars around them. There’s more frequent stops. All signs that point towards the arrival to the banquet. It’s held off castle grounds, at a fairly large museum of modern art. 

You freeze next to Calum, probably also sensing that the countdown is reaching its end. He doesn’t want you to panic. Not now. You’ve done most of the hard work already. This really is the easy part. “Hors d’oeuvres. I also need a run down on those,” Calum offers in addition to the task prior. 

“Drinks and food. Sounds like you’re more worried about your stomach than anything else.”

A jab, one that Calum would take over and over again from you, if it meant even for just a second in time he could cut through your anxiety again. “Ah, what can I say. I am my father’s son. Besides, the portions at dinner feel like they’re going to starve you out anyway. Just wait and see.”

“I have seen. I think next time they could do away with the live band and put more money into the food budget.”

Calum winces at his own oversight. These events are advertised at the castle. Personnel staff--particular kitchen-- are offered additional compensation to take shifts at this event too. Rules he’d approved again this year, much like last year and the year before that one too. Yet, still forgotten. Only a few weeks at this new job and somehow Calum’s fallen so accustomed to the change. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. 

“No harm, love. We can always use some extra grace now and again. Like I’m sure once I’m inside, I’m going to positively embarrass you in front of your peers so I’m just getting a head start.”

Calum can say that you won’t embarrass him. He can say that you’re not even going to embarrass yourself. But it feels so dismissive. He’s done this before. He’s been raised in this. “Well, I’ll try to top whatever it is that you do. You drop a glass, I’ll break a plate. You stumble in a conversation, I’ll--oh, I don’t know, just burp in someone’s face. They won’t even remember your faux pas.”

You snort--the choked laughter leaving you in spurts. It’s silly. Utterly and entirely silly. Calum imagines the headlines now that would swirl. But it’s a storm he’d weather without hesitation. “Can you picture it now? I think Miranda might actually kill me.”

“Please, spare both our dignities,” you smile. 

“I make no such promises.”

“Are they now threats?”

“I prefer to call them dedications.” Because Calum knows he needs no dignity when it comes to you. He needs no etiquette. He needs no worry. It will come, the worry, the desire to do what is right for you. But they are not necessary. Just byproducts of his devotion, but byproducts he’d take all the same if it means you laugh next to him. If it means, you take his hand and kiss the back of it, lips pressing at the steady pulse, he will accept them hand over foot. 

“I like the sound of that,” you whisper. The air between you is gentle with the words and he almost doesn’t catch it. He’s not sure if the sentence is meant for him, or if it’s a thought that you verbalized without realizing. 

“We’ve arrived, Your Highness,” Jacky calls out from the front seat. She always tags along for events, usually just there and then again if Calum was headed to an afterparty. But the simple sentence she’s uttered is enough to suck the air form the backseat 

Every muscle of yours that had melted, relaxed thanks to Calum’s quips, freezes rigid again. The truck stops and his door cracks. But he takes the moment, slides across the leather saints next to you. The carpet is loud, the shutter of cameras goes off constantly. Voices rising higher and higher above the other to be heard. It is a cacophony of noise from the open door. But that can wait--five minutes, thirty, he doesn’t care. All of that can wait for you. He slips in close, lips pressed to your temple. “Remember, drinks and hors d'oeuvres.” 

“And you’ll embarrass yourself more than me, yeah?”

“I’ll tarnish the Hood legacy for decades to come for you, baby.”

“Thank you, love.”

Calum pushes on, stepping out from the relative quiet of the truck. And as expected, the already bright afternoon fills with the flashes from cameras. The dots in his vision turn silver and then fade, leaving behind a burst of reds and blues that dance. It only takes the first few blinks for Calum to adjust. 

“Oh.” It comes out a bit more shocked from you. Undoubtedly not quite prepared for the flurry of lights. 

“A little bright. C’mon. I’ll at least walk you to the door.” 

Though you freeze at the warmth of Calum’s hand, you follow him all the same. Not quite like leading a horse to water, more like directing a frightened creature from a distance to its own safety. From the crowd, there’s a roar, “Are you walking the carpet?” alongside, “Why are you skipping the carpet?”

“Sounds like someone is a popular guy,” you tease as the two of you approach the side doors. 

“Not as popular as you’re going to be after tonight and people see your amazing talents,” Calum returns. He pauses, poised to take the handle of the door into his grasp. 

“Didn’t they tell you flattery will get you nowhere?” There’s a twinkle in your eye, a small smile dancing over your lips as you speak. 

“Something tells me my flattery will carry me places.”

“Maybe only for you. And maybe only when it comes to me.”

“Those are the only places I need to go.” The air is a tad cold as Calum pries open the door. He’d anticipated the inside to be a bit more given the descent of winter. But it could be the sun that makes it all feel warmer and the air feel colder. 

“I’ll be sure to save you a spot.” You carry on, giving a quiet thanks as you walk through the door. Calum watches you down the hallway just long enough for him to see you get assisted by some of the event hands inside towards the main room. Assured that you’re settled, he turns back towards the carpet. His arrival is marked by another wave of roars. 

“Your Highness! Where’s your partner?”

“Your Highness! A little to the left.”

It’s a flurry of directions and questions--to be expected.  But as Calum steps onto the marks as directed, he slowly tunes them all out, tries to distance out his stare so the flashes don’t feel as blindly. He makes sure to look in all directions. He makes sure to smile and wave in all directions. It won’t be perfect, but it’ll be good enough to move on to the next spot. One of the assistants guides him down, another spot for more pictures and then onto the next. This part feels mechanical--an over-calculation of what people are going to be asking, always anticipating how long he’s going to be told to stay at one marker before being moved down to the next one. He always worries that in the pictures it’s always going to be obvious on his face that he’s thinking much too hard about it all. Yet, they also come out well enough. 

“We thought we were going to lose an appearance from you,” the lady laughs as Calum approaches for his interview. Her dress is pale pink and shines under the lights. 

Calum shakes his head. “No, no, I could never think of such a thing and miss the opportunity to speak to you? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh, you flatter me. May I ask, when you first arrived, it looked like maybe your partner was here with you as well. Is that correct?”

“They are here. Yes.” It’s all he wants to say. All he thinks he needs to say but there’s a bit of anticipation that drips from the interviewer’s face. Calum knows what they’re waiting for. 

“And no carpet for them? We’ve seen some of those photos. The two of you look quite cozy.”

“No carpet this time. When they’re ready, they’ll walk it with me. But I highly doubt we should spend all our time on personal business. There’s a great cause at the root of why we’ve gathered.” A gentle redirect that seems to do the trick as the interviewer nods. 

“Yes, yes, we’ve heard there’s a lot of great things being auctioned off for the charities involved tonight. Is there anything in particular you’re interested in seeing how well it does?”

There--so simple and so innocent of a question, but he knows what’s underneath. All the items up for auction have already been listed. If he doesn’t talk about your painting, which he is sure tabloids and reporters have looked at the preview, then it’s going to look back. But if he does it’s yet another trap he’s fallen into. Calum takes a deep breath. “Well, there’s some interesting offerings of dinner with some celebrities, which always goes over well. Those pull in a lot of bids. There’s some original artwork that I’m also interested in seeing how well it does too.”

“Would one such piece be that of your partner?”

Calum laughs. He’s caught, even as he tries to tiptoe around it. “Yes, it would be. They worked incredibly hard on the piece and I think given how routine these things can start to feel, I am really hopeful that something like my partner’s art can strike up a good bidding war.”

“Well, we are certainly rooting for them and hope that they too can bring in a good momentum to the funds being raised tonight.”

“Thank you. That’s greatly appreciated.”

Calum takes the cue to exit and then slips down a little further to a couple other waiting reporters. They ask a similar round of questions, speculating about the lack of your presence and also wondering how tonight will turn out amongst the total for the funds raised. And all this happens amongst the flash, the shouts, the roar of everyone’s voice rising. Somehow each move makes things feel louder, like the noise will reach a critical mass. Calum’s never sure what the end result might look like. 

But inside is much quieter. The second Calum steps into the air conditioned lobby of the museum, his shoulders drop. The cool air is welcomed as the sweat starts to prickle on his back. Even the carpet gets to him occasionally. It is utter relief and just inside the foyer, up the second but smaller set of stairs, you stand next to the fountain. In the middle a sculpture of a woman sits, her marble stomach rolled as she arches herself forward. For a moment, Calum’s sure if he were to touch it, the stone might give under his hands like flesh. Her veil ripples down over her back. And Calum watches your face as you take in the work, something like awe writing over your face. 

He follows the lines down, taking in the bend in your neck to support your head as you tilt backwards to get a larger picture. Calum carries on all to your hands, where two plates. Each one stacked nearly the same. You rattle off the name of the artist. “Each time I see it, I can’t help but fall a little bit more in love with it.”

“I’m almost ashamed to admit I’ve seen it so often I forget it's a wonder,” Calum offers to your initial bidding. 

“Problems I think I’d kill to have,” you laugh before extending one of the plates. “You wouldn’t believe who I had to fend off for this.”

Calum takes the plate, noticing the skewers holding veggies and meat that he’s not sure what it is, alongside a few other finger sandwiches. They look much too small and thin to do much, but it’s the thought that counts. He thinks too maybe there should be less focus on the theatrics of such an event and more focus on the food. But he looks back up from the plate to you. “Who?” he asks. 

“David. He spotted me the second I walked up to the food.”

Calum snorts around his bit of the tiny sandwich. “Probably because he was headed for the line too. I love him, but he’s predictable.”

“I quite appreciate his predictability. It did lead to me being introduced to the art director for a local gallery, who is quite eager to see my work in person. And that absolutely has not shattered my resolve. Not in the slightest because it was Amy fucking Whitacker.”

The sudden inhale makes Calum choke on his bite. He sputters for a moment before catching air back into his lungs and keeping the offending item from going down into his windpipe. Amy Whitacker is not just the art director for any small local gallery. She has a direct hand in helping the modern art museum in selecting and showcasing talents in contemporary and modern artists. A well traveled legend in the art curation scene, always on the pulse of whatever is surely to become the biggest trend. She’s always right, even if at times she’s too early for her own good, having helped a couple artists who got caught up in the wrong avenues of the art scene before getting themselves clean. 

“Baby, that’s fucking incredible.” Even if all that becomes of it dies at the introduction, someone knows your name. Someone big knows your name. Someone big would’ve seen your art. The kind of strings that not even Calum can pull no matter how hard he might’ve wanted too at some point. But Calum doubts it’ll just end there. Your talent speaks for itself and though you think of art as just a hobby, it’s a hobby Calum knows with a little fostering could lead you to great realms. 

“Yes, why do you think I am trying not to lose my cool here?” Your laughter is soft and nervous. 

But Calum can’t fault that. He’d be nervous too. Hell, he might even be nervous now at the thought of it. What could today bring for you? You talked about wanting to be there for Charlie and Teagan, and something that paid your bills, but feeling stuck. Like you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do next and though that was in relation to finding a new job, Calum feels like maybe art could help get you unstuck. What could life look like for you should have wind underneath your art? It could be yours fully. There’d be no politics involved. Not even Calum’s life and reputation could take it away from you. He wants that for you. He wants you to have that kind of freedom. 

He switches hands to wipe his palms on the handkerchief in his pocket. It’s a much too formal touch to have it in his front facing suit pocket for the studded look he’s going for. He can see the wheels turning. The way you chew at the corner of your lips. For the jest, Calum takes the handkerchief and dabs at your temples.  “You got this. You’re going to remain so calm,” he laughs. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Always.” It’s one word, but Calum hopes you understand what he means. That he’s always got confidence in you. That he’s always in your corner. But before he can utter the sentimental clarification, he’s interrupted. 

“Your Highness, it’s a pleasure to see you here again,” the voice is shaky and Calum pauses at the last dab to your forehead.

George stands next to you,  nearly shoulder to shoulder with you, hand extended out to him. He’s a retired Cabinet member, but keeps a high level of influence in some circles. Calum’s not sure what he really does anymore. But he does remember his father’s huffed complaints about George from his younger years. 

“Nice to see you again too, George.” 

“I hear you’re up for volunteer time again. An old staple,” he retorts, dropping his hand as Calum’s yet to move to take it. 

Calum knows George has to notice you. But his gaze wanders over nearly everywhere but you. “I am,” Calum answers. “I haven’t heard anything about you yet though.”

“Oh, no, nothing from me this year. Next year I think my efforts can be better served.” Calum knows what that means. This effort to focus on marginalized communities is not worth his time. There are better reasons to spend money has never sounded so sleazy before. 

Calum feels a part of him is thick now with disgust. This is the part of it that he was afraid of. That he’d turn into a George who forgets the merits of helping a wide variety of communities. That is the dirty part of the job are all the George’s in the game. But today’s not the day that he’s going to slip into the mud. “Well, I do hope you bid today at the very least. Especially on my partner’s work. Whom I’d like to introduce you to actually.”

And like Calum’s hand hasn’t been outstretched pressed against your temple and now at your shoulder, George turns. “Oh, excuse me. Poor manners. Nice to meet you.” There’s no extension for a handshake. 

Your smile in return is tight. “Nice to meet you too.”

“And, uh, what is it that you do? Here for this fundraiser, I mean”

“Art,” you return. “I painted and used mixed media for an art piece.”

“Ah, art. I heard you were a cook. Wasn’t sure if you’d whipped up some kind of desert,” he laughs, his jowls shaking at the action. 

“I cook too.” There’s a small bit of challenge to the sentence. As if you’re daring George to make a quip about it. Calum can’t fault you, but prays George doesn’t pick up on it. 

George nods, his face flat of emotion. “So you cook and you do art, that is indeed interesting. Well, I hope your art does well tonight for the cause.”

Just as quickly as he walked up, George walks away. If anyone would leave a sour impression it would be George and Calum takes a moment to place his handkerchief back into his pocket. Not how he wants your first few introductions to go tonight. You already had an expectation about the people at the vent. He’d hope that no one would stoop so low as to affirm them. “He’s an asshole,” Calum states. 

“The only reason he still walks is because the earth doesn’t want to deal with him either,” you spit. 

Calum would be a liar if denied the small surge of pride from his chest. But this is not necessarily the place for it. Even if Calum thinks you’re spot on. “I’m sorry about him. George has always been rather rude.” There’s no other way to say it. There’s directness--a trait that has its time and place--and then there’s blatant disrespect. 

“Well, if I’ve got nothing else to motivate me I think I’ll take spite. He thinks his efforts are better suited for something else? And I most definitely did note that he was quite noncommittal stance on bidding.”

“I was hoping I could catch him. But for as old as he is, he’s still rather squirmy. But he’s just one guy. Just one.” 

There are better people. There are. He knows it. You nod, but Calum’s sure it’s not the right foot for you to start off with. Not in a place like this, not at a time like this. 

“I’m not sure I got the memo that our uniforms changed colors.” 

Calum’s glad for the divinely timed quip. You snort, stepping aside and unveiling Cyprus behind you even in the thickening crowd. The tension at your shoulders melts as you face her. She holds the tray, only a few remaining glasses sit on top. There’s bubbles in the liquid in the glass. She smiles before holding the tray out. “Champagne?”

“Janet still likes me more than you,” you retort. “I can try my hand but it might be a hard sell.”

Cyprus nudges gently at your shoulder. “All efforts are appreciated. Good luck tonight, we’re all rooting for it. It looks gorgeous, the painting.”

“Thank you, Cyprus.” 

God bless her, Calum thinks as she grins at the two of you before she carries on, “But seriously, do either one of you want a drink? I’m sick of carrying this tray around.”

Calum takes one glass, leaving three more behind. It’s a small token of gratitude, not that he’s even sure Cyprus even heard the exchange. And if she did, he’s glad she stepped in. “It’s the best I can do.”

You take a glass too. “Halfway there.”

“Such caring people. Besides, if I weren’t working, I’d down both these glasses. Thank you for your efforts. They will not go in vain.” Then she’s off, sliding down to the next group of people. There’s an utter factualness to her statement that Calum knows it’s true. He doesn’t fault the sentiment. 

“I feel like I don’t know how to breathe in a place like this,” you mutter. You’ve yet to move, not that you necessarily have to. Most of the guests are still arriving. Soon there will be an announcement to help move all guests to the dining area. But there is a firmness in your stance that echoes the discomfort you’ve verbalized. “Not dressed like this, you know. I know the other side.”

Calum takes a moment, glancing over your shoulder to take in the all black uniform as the room echoes with stiff laughter and the click of expensive shoes that are priced a thousand times more than the materials cost to make. How even in a sea of suits, workers stand out. And no one looks at them. Invisible, but utterly necessary as the cogs that keep the machine running.  Glasses on trays that look like they float by if no one takes the moment to look at the human servicing you.  

“You’re doing great for what it’s worth. It’s all going to be okay.”

“You promise?”

It’s so soft as you utter it. Like you’re not sure if you really should be asking. It breaks his heart to hear it. The fear that underlies every anxiety you had. 

Calum nods. “I promise, baby. Just take a breath, okay.”

Your inhale is deep, chest rising with the action and your exhale is long. You repeat the action one more time. 

“You ready to prove that old man wrong?”

_______________________________________________

It feels like a simple question. It is a simple question. You ready? And you’re not. You’re not ready for this. But you’re already here. You’ve got the suit on. You’ve sat for hair. You’ve been adorned in the jewelry. You’re here dammit. But you don’t know if you’re ready. Such a concept relies on a sense of confidence, of such assuredness that you don’t have. But maybe you can use spite to create a false precursor for the necessary emotions. But even with the sour taste of George’s interaction, you find that your feet won’t move. 

“I wish,” you exhale, looking back to Calum. He looks calm. His plate is clear. You’re not even sure how. But the portions are small. He seems so unphased. Your shoulders are starting to ache. You’re gripping the glass too hard. You know that. Everything is too tight, too stiff. 

“I’ll be right by your side the entire time,” Calum reassures. 

And you know you have to move. The crowd’s pushing up and on. The announcement from overhead is asking folks to move towards the main dining area as the event will be beginning shortly. You are running out of time. Part of you wishes you’d skipped the whole thing. 

The glances are sharp as people look at you. You tried not to focus on them, but you could always feel them. And now they feel even heavier after Calum utters anything about actually moving on from the lobby. The plan had just been getting in, looking at the initial selections of food and drink. Somehow you’d tricked yourself into thinking that’s all there is to this. 

But that is not the reality. The reality is that you have to go deeper. And you can picture it now. The dining section around the corner from the lobby opens wide and in front of the stage all the items up for auction are displayed. Tables are strewn about, labeled for who’s sitting where. You know in the back there is an entire map, scaled down to show who’s sitting where, food allergies are assigned to specific color dots. Food preferences are labeled with various star stickers. The back is a lot more comfortable. In the back, in the kitchen, the untouchables reign and all the rich people are just colors and stars. 

In the lobby, in this burgundy suit, you are a colored dot; you are a star. But you know you don’t belong. Everyone else knows it too. You’re only here because of Calum, in this lobby. You’re only here because your submission was approved. You’re only here by whims and fates. It feels so unearned. But you can’t change that.

“Oh, there they are! Really, when you see this painting you’ll understand what I mean. The talent is out of this world.”

It’s Joy’s voice. You spin at the cadence of her words, some relief easing your chest open. God, thank the heavens for Joy and for Cyprus too. Joy smiles as she approaches in her navy blue dress, floor length as it dazzles in the lights. The dress looks like it cost more than you’ve ever made in your entire life combined. The shawl covering her shoulders echoes the ripples of an ocean. You don’t recognize the woman she’s leading across the floor. But you smile in return. 

Joy gives your name first as she introduces Lilith, the CEO of her own company. You think there’s more that Joy says but you can’t hear it all properly. Your heart is racing in your ears. Though you do catch as Joy explains that Lilith is an art collector.

Lilith laughs. “Oh, Joy, please. You say it like I’m an expert. It’s a hobby really. By trade, I find myself surrounding my code.”

“Oh, like software coding?” you question. It feels like a stupid question but you don’t know what else you’re supposed to say. There’s a heavy moment where you open that her introduction as CEO wasn��t linked to her coding. You’d surely make a fool of yourself if it was. 

Lilith nods, face opening up at the question. Her dark curls bounce with the motion. “Yes, software. I’ve dabbled in front end stuff, user experience, websites too. I prefer the backend though. I know people think that’s a man’s world. But I’m rather proud to admit that my small company’s been around for the last fifteen years. We’re focused now on funding STEM programs in underfunded schools to encourage girls in the field.” 

“Oh small. You all have started and funded over 20 different STEM programs in the schools just in your hometown. Small is not serving you in the slightest,” Joy reprimands. 

“Thank you,” Lilith laughs. “But enough about me. Joy speaks highly of your talents. Did you study art?”

The question stings. Will the truth make you look worse than a lie? But she seems genuine. Lilith feels like a total opposite to George. And maybe there’s more to this room to the people in here than you originally gave credit for. Joy nods when you catch her eye. It feels like a silent encouragement so you exhale and with it comes the truth, “Culinary by trade. But nothing formal in the fine arts.”

“Oh, you’re a chef who paints. That’s amazing. Do you think you’ll ever want to study it more formally? I think my wife’s been in talks with a few local universities and if you’re interested, I’d be happy to offer any support. Joy’s spoken so highly of your work and I, for one, would love to keep the art scene alive. Have you had a chance to speak with Amy Whitacker? I think you two should connect if you haven’t already. I do believe I saw her here earlier.”

The sincerity in the offering is unarming. She’s so close and yet still so far off about you. Yet you can’t help the laughter that presses at your chest. You keep it at bay. You swallow it back down. It’s not worth the correction that you’re currently nothing more than a line cook who’s finally got a license to bartend. But the generosity cuts through the cynicism. “It’s a hobby, really. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“Yes, yes, of course. If you ever change your mind, just give me a call,” Lilith pops open her clutch. You’re not sure what she’s going to produce until a small white business card moves across the gap towards you. 

It’s silly, but you take a moment to consider the plate and the glass in your hand. Before you can make a move, Calum slips his hand forward and takes it on your behalf. “Tha-thank you,” you managed to get out. “Really, it’s greatly appreciated.”

Lilith smiles. “Of course. But, truly, do call, okay? I’m eager to see what you’ve produced today and what comes next. It was nice meeting you.” She gives a goodbye to Joy before walking on past to another group. She doesn’t appear to be moving closer to the dining hall. Perhaps, she’s less worried about the overhead warnings. 

“You okay, sweetheart? You look like a deer caught in headlights.” Joy’s concern is palpable. But there’s something about the glances, you spot them as people come back. Do they know the terror locking into your joints? Are they going to gossip about you behind your back once they’re out of earshot? Are they thinking about whatever godforsaken pictures that have surfaced? Are they nice like Lilith or will you encounter more George’s in your time here? How do you prepare for such wildly varying encounters when everything in you is telling you to run?

“I don’t know what to do with my hands,” you confess with a laugh. 

You took the glass from Cyprus purely to save her, knowing how hard it can be to cart around a tray with drinks, how the quakes in the shoulder can start. But you don’t really want a drink. You don’t really want the food. You want to be invisible again. Though it saved you initially, maybe it was a smarter idea to actually know what the public consensus about you was. It’d at least give you a tougher skin. 

“Oh, okay. Fair enough. First, do you care to finish this drink or not?”

You shake your head at Joy’s question and she takes the glass from your fingers. “Never even started it.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.”

Calum stacks his empty plate under yours and takes it. “The skewer thing or whatever is decent if you want something off the plate,” he offers. 

You look back at the item. Your stomach turns a little. Calum eases the plate away from you. “I’m good,” you answer. 

“Your face speaks for you do,” Calum laughs and takes the item for himself. 

“You’ve been to this event before,” Joy starts, taking a sip from the glass she got from you. “You know this place better than we do. What happens next? What would you do next?”

“I know the kitchen. I know that yellow is a dairy allergy and gold is a dairy free preference. I know greens are plant-only restrictions.”

Joy slips an arm around yours, both your elbows hooking. “Well, tell me who’s plant-only then, yeah?”

You’re walking before you realize it. You’re rounding the fountain and the dining section is opening up before you. The guests change a little year to year. But you do know that people with similar dietary requirements and preferences are usually grouped together unless they must be seated separately due to charting reasons--usually for press or affiliation reasons. “The northern quadrant is typically your strictest dietary needs. We try not to put them too close to the kitchen should anything be airborne.”

Joy hums at the news. “Aye, I can understand that.”

It’s easy to talk about what you know. The words are falling and you don’t really care to stop them. “Middle typically sits your people with some restrictions or preference but nothing severe. Closest to the kitchen either didn’t indicate a preference or indicated they had no preference or restrictions. You’re grouped, or I guess I am too, upon charting requests and dietary needs. If you’ve come alone, you’re usually sorted into tables by dietary restrictions. If you come with a plus one, you’re seated together, but if one party indicates severe restrictions or preference you get booted to the farthest end. Being at the far end does mean, you are served first.”

“To avoid cross contamination?”

“As much as possible.”

Joy grins, squeezing at your bicep. “Well, you’re inside it now, sweetheart. Do you think you’re a green dot?”

The dining hall is quieter than the lobby, but more and more people are trickling in behind you. And there in front of you in the 60 x 40 inches is your art. The red paint drips down the pages, but never reaches the floor. Frozen thanks to the hair dryer you had to use and gravity. A sea of red and gold. You know the pages up close are articles, missing posters, poems and songs from families affected, literature about the hardship of a community never believed. You know the imitation of bells you’ve etched into the corner do whistle if listened to closely enough. You know the braided fibers creating the border between the ocean of red and the black text doesn’t truly echo the vanilla and hay of the plant it’s created after. The painting looks so out of places, much like you feel. It’s big and bright. The other items are in glass boxes, small, and polite. Yet your art is bold.

“Why do I want to apologize for my art?” you whisper, mostly to yourself. It’s such a silly thing. You made it for the intention of selling, of raising not just a little bit of money but hopefully a sizable amount. You made it to make a statement. You made it as a reminder. It’s not meant to be a thing that can blend into the background. Yet, all you can feel is the hot sting of shame. 

Joy hums at the question. “Well, you don’t have to apologize for anything. You’re here because you’re meant to be here. What it actually looks like, only time will tell of course. Doors open for reasons.” 

It dances at the edge of your tongue that you didn’t walk through any doors to get into the hall, but you know what Joy means. Metaphorical, not literal. “Doors open for reasons and I wish I could see them.”

“In due time.” Joy slips from your side to the front of you. She lifts your chin and smooths at the lapels of your suit jacket in a fluid motion. A well practiced set of movements that you know she’s probably done a thousand times over with Calum. “I’m proud of you. Whatever happens today, okay? I don’t care if no one bids, or if everyone bids. I don’t care if you drop a glass, or two. I don’t care if you laugh too loud. I don’t care if you have to hide in the bathroom for ten minutes or twenty. I am so incredibly proud of you for showing up today and for putting in the time for this cause.”

She swims in your tears. Joy’s there, and then she’s blurry before you can blink her visage clear again. “Thanks, Joy.” Your throat quivers and you’re not even sure you’ll be able to get the sentence out fully. You know you’re truly going to steal her one of these days. Or perhaps, she’s already stolen you. But either way, you’re incredibly grateful for you. You wondered in the back of your mind how your parents might have reacted to the news of you getting into the banquet. You still wonder if Melvin’s caught wind, if he’s tuning into the live coverage. Will he text you at the end of this? 

“Would you look at that? Is that gold foil around the corner to make bells?” It’s pure awe. You know it’s about your piece. But you don’t look to see who it is. All you manage to focus on is the last warm comforting pat at your shoulder from Joy. She grins and you know what she is saying. You know that your fear might have caused you to suffer twice. 

“I am going to make a couple more rounds. Find me if you need me, alright?”

You nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

Joy doesn’t go terribly far, but you move on to look at the other items on the docket after wiping the tears from your cheeks. A few collectable items sit out--a watch, a necklace,--things that look like they mean a lot more to people who can afford to care about status. But as you move further from your own peace, you do watch. People seem rather uninterested in the display boxes but stop to regard your piece for minutes at a time. 

At the end of the stage, you take in the rest of the room. You can spot Cyprus shuffling back into the kitchen, empty glasses and plates on her tray as she goes. Valerie skirts around her, empty tray tucked under her arm and you know that means she’s looking for someone or something. You hope it’s not bad. 

“Yes, yes, we’ll have to arrange a time for drinks. I think after the holidays is best.”

Calum’s trying to pull himself out of the conversation. His hands are now empty from the plates he was holding earlier. He’s a half step from the group and you don’t know if they gathered while talking to Joy, but he looks back to you before facing the group again. You can hear someone mention needing to stay away from vodka though as the group laughs. Calum wiggles his fingers behind his back, as if attempting to reach for you through the several foot gap. 

You do feel out of place on your own and you’re sure you’re going to feel out of place in the group. But Calum’s there and you carry on, knowing that you’ll have at least one person. You do have to duck around a group paused now at the last display. “Sorry,” you whisper to them as you slink behind. 

“Oh, my apologies,” the man returns, looking back to you. 

You continue on, poised to slip your hand into Calum’s but someone calls back out. “Are you the artist of this here painting?” 

You turn, fingers just brushing Calum’s to see the older man you passed looking at you. His hair is graying, but still has some of the dark brown in there. You don’t immediately recognize him, but you don’t recognize hardly anyone else in here. Your lack of social media truly keeps you rather out of the loop though you paid attention to the things that mattered to you. You wish for a moment that you could place him. 

Your heart thunders in your chest. Though there was no picture attached to the display in the room. However, considering the website did ask for a headshot to pair with your work, you assume he might’ve noticed your picture there. You can’t help the wince that overtakes you. “I-I am.”

“Goodness, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad by that question. I, uh, I’m actually quite excited about it. It looks beautiful.”

“Thank you. Sorry about that. I-I’ve never really had my work out like this before so I’m still never quite sure how it’s going to,” you return. 

“Understandable. You know, about four, maybe five years ago, there were more artists that were commissioned to make pieces for this very event. Those pieces were always a favorite. I don’t know what happened. If they stopped commissioning because of optics or something, but I really hope after this year we get more art back. I hope your art comes back too, I mean. I really do think it’s such a worthy and important form. You might be on the edge of something truly, truly, special.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” He smiles and then continues on at the beckoning of his wife. Or who appears to be at least his date for the event. You don’t really know the relationship.

Calum’s palm is warm against yours. Out of reflex, you thread your fingers through his. “I was sure I was going to have to unglue you from my side. But it seems like you’re getting quite popular.”

“I got sidetracked looking at the items up for auction. But you might be right that it won’t be all bad. I didn’t think I’d be getting this kind of response.”

“Oh, I might be right, huh?” There’s a small tuft of laughter exchanged between the two of you at the jest. 

“Sarcasm is a love language.”

He hums. “I’ve got Lilith’s business card in my suit pocket, so please remind me to fetch it out before I return this suit back.”

“Hey, Calum?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget you have Lilith’s business card in the suit pocket.”

“Smartass.”

“Yes, yes I am. That is quite the astute observation.” 

At the table, after about fifteen minutes or so of additional chatting, you settle between Calum and Joy. It’s directly in line with the stage and the podium. A spotlight that you cannot escape. But you know the order of events. There will be a few speeches, from the organizers, from the spokespersons of the charities receiving the funds today and one final speech from a keynote speaker. It then moves into a reading of the rules for bidding. Each plate is set with a corresponding paddle. On it is a number. The paddles have to be raised and have to be visible to the auctioneer when actively bidding. The interval increase is set by the parties bidding, but cannot exceed a five thousand jump at once. Each item is independently appraised for where the bidding must start. But no one, not even the original owners of the items know what that number is set. After all items are auctioned, dinner will be served. Refreshments will be served after on the back lawn until the very end. 

You know this, having caught pieces of this spill before. But still nothing prepares you as you look down at your number on your paddle, 827, after all the speeches and you know that eventually all the talk you’ve heard about your piece will have to find legs to stand on. You’re not sure if spite or the reassurance from Joy are truly a match for the wave of anxiety. The items are auctioned down the line, starting with some fine jewelry at the start of the stage. The camera zooms in for the screens hanging on the corners for everyone to see the item in question. 

The jade necklace sells for six thousand in a blink. 

The heirloom watch goes for ten thousand. 

Calum’s volunteer time is auctioned off at twenty thousand. 

Dinner with various celebrities for CEO’s range from ten thousand up to twenty-five thousand. 

Rugs go for twelve thousand. 

“We have an original painting with us today entitled, Nomenclature: A Calling. Acrylic paint with mixed media on a 60 x 45 inch canvas. As described by the artist, ‘Nomenclature is a call to center voices and literature of the women missing and murdered that the charities today strive to call back out to, to tell them they are not forgotten. With a history steeped in silence, Nomenclature asks the viewer to not only listen--or in some regards, to read the excerpts attached and highlighted in the piece--it also the viewer to speak as well. It asks the viewer to touch the braided sweetgrass imitated and to listen for the call. Each woman missing is a family begging for her return. Each corner of the earth must be searched. Each person here today, and who encounters this piece, must reflect on what we can do to help, to speak up.’”

The camera pans to the bottom angle and as it does, the bolded parts of the literature and posters attached make out the shape of a hand print, dripping down, the thick red paints only serves to illuminate the undercarriage and hidden symbol. The room fills with a low ‘ooh’ the new angle from below unveiling to them yet another layer. And you know, you know if they’re to study it from each angle too more would be revealed. You mentioned that they should show the bottom left angle before out of desperation. You thought maybe your vision would strike at a handful of people to consider a good bidding war. A round or two at the most. 

“Bidding starts at 5,000,” the auctioneer states after a few more seconds of silence. Five feels way too steep to start for the work. Not even Calum’s volunteer time started there. The camera moves back to a front on angle of the painting. 

You don’t know what number you’d expected. Maybe it was somewhere in the low ten’s. Perhaps in your wildest imaginations you might break thirty thousand. But the minutes are long as they go, and as they go, the price goes up. You count passing seconds in increments of five. 

“I have 50 thousand. Do I have a response? 50 thousand going once.”

“55!”

Your heart is swimming in stomach acid. Your plate feels like it’s spinning in front of you. You’re too afraid to look up. If you do it makes each bid real. Who’d spend 55 thousand dollars on your painting? It’ll stop soon. Besides, it’s all for a good reason. It’s all going to good use. But yet, it still feels much too steep, like it’s generosity that is undeserving. 

“60!”

“65!”

“Can I get 70?” the auctioneer eggs on. 

“70,” a voice returns. Where other bidding has been relatively quiet. You catch the lilt of something that sounds like a thrill to the bidder’s voice. 

Your bidding number 827 blurs in your vision. You hold onto the sides of your chair, hands clammy even to the wood beneath. Surely you can’t exceed 70. No one would want to spend that kind of money. 

“75!”

“80!”

“85.”

“90!”

Your ears feel thick. Every sound wave that hits comes in slowly. You can feel every curl of folks tongue as they shout out their bids. But it feels unreal. The air thickens. Everything is slow as the number continues to rise. There is no way. No way. No way. No way. No way. The number just keeps going up and up, and up. It’ll stop soon. It has to stop. It’ll stop. It’ll stop. It’ll--

“Sold for 135 thousand dollars to 955. All other numbers down.”

“I’m going to throw up,” you state. Your stomach flips and you know there’s nothing to come up, but know that’s an error. There’s no way your painting could’ve sold for that much. Your grip on the bottom of the wooden chair tightens. “Someone please tell me I actually hallucinated that entire thing.” 

“Hey, no, no hallucination.” Calum’s arm slips over your shoulders and he eases your head up from where you’d tucked your chin to your chest. 

With your head up, the cheers are much louder. An applause deep and echoes from corner to corner. You can tell if it’s sweat or tears rolling down your cheeks but it doesn’t slow Calum as he clears them away with the pads of his fingers. 

“I-I did that? Like my artwork?”

His lips press against the apple of your cheek in a quick kiss. “Yeah, you did. A hundred and thirty-five big ones.”

And even with the praise, the reality feels too far away to grasp. Everyone in the immediate vicinity of your table smiles at you when you catch their glance. You manage a smile back, but feel heavy with disbelief. You didn’t even look to see who 955 was. Could it be Lilith? You don’t even let the thought of it being Amy linger too long in your mind. Joy squeezes you, a hug that normally feels bone crushing but at this particular moment it’s a hug that lets you melt. You’d suffer twice, possibly even three times over. But the rewards pay out for it in the end. 

You don’t remember dinner; you don’t live it deep enough to remember it. You wouldn’t be able to say how it tastes, or if the chicken was dry or not. Yet, you know that once everyone’s excused to the lawn, you’ll remain in the hall for pictures. You’ll come face to face with the person who won your painting. But you’re still lifting a fork to your mouth. You’re still eating food without tasting it. 

The dining hall echoes with the whispers now. Above you are the photographers and winners. You can hear the shutter of the lens as the photos are snapped. Calum excuses himself to the restroom, a kiss pressed to your cheek before he goes. Most of the crowd is outside. You’re not sure why the event would move there, considering as the evening settles it will get colder. But perhaps, it’s meant to be the excuse. Folks can leave now, using the chill as the perfect out before they make moves to the after party at a few different clubs around the downtown area. All you can think to yourself as you stand just below the stage is that part of wishes you could slip out into the night too. 

Your name comes, a sound deeper than you’re used to. So it’s not David. In your peripheral, you can see a hand, pale as it extends out. “Sorry to bother you,” the man laughs. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His nose is sharp on his face, light brown hair slicked back but you can still tell it’s long. “I’m Walter.”

You take the extended hand in the polite but firm handshake you’ve learned over the years. “Nice-nice to meet you.”

“I won your piece. Sorry, that might’ve been good information with which to also lead.”

“No worries. I-I hope you enjoy it, for all that you donated for it.”

“I do. You don’t need to worry about that. It is truly incredible work and the description you also wrote for it. I mean, goodness. Utterly moving. I don’t think I’ve seen you here at this event before. What brings you here this year?”

Saying my boyfriend feels too thin, too asinine to utter. But it is the truth. “Well, uh, I was originally just a plus one. But submitted a proposal in tandem with my boyfriend. He sort of asked if I would be willing and I agreed and it got approved based on some other art samples I submitted along with the proposal. And I am talking entirely too much.”

Walter’s laugh is short, but feels genuine. “No, no. It’s okay. I can ramble on myself. So you don’t do art full time then, I take it?”

Walter’s tactful sidestep around asking who is your partner makes you wonder if he already knows and wants to make conversation or if he truly just doesn’t keep up. You’re grateful for it regardless. “No, not right now.”

“Would you consider it? Taking more of it on?”

“Potentially. My life currently doesn’t fully suit it, but I guess we never really know the future.”

“No, no, we don’t,” Walter agrees. 

“I take it you’re a bit more of a regular attendee than I am, considering that you notice a newcomer.”

“I too started as a plus one. My father served in the Cabinet when I was younger and I never liked politics much myself. I come with him for networking purposes every year. I work currently in the nonprofit sector and help organize this event on odd years. Which I guess you could say nonprofit is adjacent politics, or at least responding to the political landscape of our country. But I digress. I really just wanted to let you know that it’s truly inspiring what you’ve created. What you so boldly demand of your viewers too with your work, specifically for this cause.”

The more you take in, the more you try to place who he might be related to, but you come up short. “Do you enjoy it? The nonprofit work?”

“Most days. But I think everyone has a day or two where things don’t seem to ever go quite right.”

“Yes, they do happen a time or two.”

“I--well, do forgive me for this. I know you said you don’t do art full time, but I’d hate to see talent like yours underutilized. I’d like to connect you with some people I know. They want to commission a mural for their shared office space and prefer to work with local artists.”

“That-that would be amazing. And I’m so sorry that I don’t have a card to give you. I am woefully under prepared for this kind of response. But thank you. For bidding, for speaking with me.”

Walter nods. “No worries. Here,” he reaches into the front suit pocket and unearths another white business card. “Keep this. When you get everything up, just give me a call. I can then pass along all the information. Thank you again. It’s really an incredible piece and I’m honored to be able to take it home. I was sure someone else would outbid me.”

You take the card. There’s no way for you or Calum to forget to check for all the cards before the suits are returned. Your pockets are full of them now. So are Calum’s. You look down at the full name: Walter George Thompson, Jr. “I didn’t think the bids would go as high as they did.”

“Well, here’s to the both of us being quite fortunate tonight.” You nod at the sentiment, unsure of where you should take the conversation next. But your saving grace is as the two of you are called up to the stage. You pose at the sides of the canvas, the corresponding charities spread behind you. And it all happens in a flash, the count down before the shutter comes. 

The photographer takes a moment to look at the photo in the preview. He throws a thumbs up. “Thanks, y’all. Turned out great.”

You and Walter both move down stage and back down the stairs. Calum’s at the bottom but before Walter leaves, he pauses. “Please consider that offer. I hope to see your work again next year.”

“I certainly will.” He leaves with a final nod. 

As you turn back to Calum, you notice his lips twitch into a smile. The kind of smile that tells you it’s just just amusement. “Do you remember our lovely friend George from earlier this afternoon?”

“The one whom even the earth detests. Yes.” Of course you remember that old man. You wish he had bid. Though there is some revenge in his earlier comments knowing now how much the painting sold for. 

“And do you recall how he very clearly didn’t answer about bidding on your work or anything tonight?” 

“Vividly.”

“Take a guess how Walter and George are related.”

The wheels turn. Walter’s long gone but you turn back to where he exited, as if somehow he’d still be there. You pull back out the business card with his name on it. Understanding descends and brings with it disbelief. “Walter is George’s son? That rude man’s son won my painting?”

Calum laughs, but nods anyway. “George is going to have a sour reminder in his son’s house of his lack of empathy.”

“There’s no way Walter knew about what happened between George and I though.”

Calum shrugs. “Walter knows his father just like everyone else knows George.”

A perfect irony. Even if Walter never knows, George will. George will have to carry the weight around with him.  You slip Walter’s card into your pocket, amongst the thickening stack already nestled there. “My first call I guess should be Lilith to see if she can help me put together a website,” you muse. 

Calum nods, his grin is soft. “Tomorrow though. She can be your first call tomorrow.” He takes your hand and tugs you into his chest. The two of you stand toe to toe, chest to chest. There’s still others posing for their pictures. But in the soft whispers of the nearly empty room, you don’t think you care enough to stop. The kiss is hardly a second long. But clearly not enough. Calum’s hand settles on your hips.  “No, no,” he laughs as you pull away. “That’s too little of a tease.”

The second kiss is longer, an exhale to how long you’ve been holding your breath. Your fingers tease at the button of Calum’s suit jacket. It’d be so easy to pop up, slip your hands inside. But that’s a bit too far. For now at least. You’re gentle as you pull away from the kiss. Though even in your own throat you can feel the whine of displeasure building. 

Calum presses one final kiss to the middle of your forehead. “Tonight you should celebrate. Your first original art piece selling for 135 thousand dollars. You’ve eclipsed my twenty thousand almost a full seven times over.”

“That number doesn’t feel real.”

“It is. It’s on record. It’s a number so big that I know for a fact Walter’s going to have to do several wire transfers with his bank.”

“It's unfathomable.”

“Fathom it, baby.”

You can’t. How can a number that big be real? You drop your head to Calum’s shoulder. Maybe it could be real. Maybe it’s a number so inconsequential to Walter that he’s not worried about how it has to get paid. Maybe it’s a little bit worth it for the sweet taste of small revenges. There’s nothing to say Walter heard that conversation, and there’s nothing to say that he didn’t. But you carry with you a little piece of you vindicated nonetheless. 

You’re not sure you can fathom anything in the sterile lighting. You still feel much too much clay in the suit, firmly molded by someone else’s hand and not your own. If you’re going to celebrate such an accomplishment, you’d like to feel like yourself. And you don’t feel like yourself here. “Can we get out of here?”

“Absolutely we can. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Home, I think I just want to go home.” 

“And home as in your place?”

You shake your head at the question. “Yours.”

“Yeah,” Calum breathes. “Okay. We can go home.”

It’s easy to leave. Calum manages to flag down his parents and let them know about your early departure. David’s grin is wide as he embraces. “A stellar night!” he cheers. “I hope you’re proud of yourself like we’re proud of you!”

“Thanks, David.”

It’s strange to think that you should be proud, when you’re not sure if anything’s truly happened. But it had to have happened. Why else would your photo be taken? Why else would you have a stack of business cards in your pocket and in Calum’s pocket too? 

Joy’s embrace is still as strong as she presses a kiss to your temple. “Enjoy the rest of your night, okay? You deserve it.”

On the way out, you pass by the sculpture of the woman bowed as she picks up the basket to settle onto her hip. Her veil still ripples behind her. You wonder why in that moment, under what seems like such a mundane chore, she feels so compelled to be so bold. Yet you can’t ask her. She is a woman captured in motion but frozen by the marble she’s carved out of it. Held so perfectly still you’re glad stone can’t ache. It’s a craftsman ship you admire but not out of envy. You know you don’t want to work with stone. You know you don’t want the life of the chisel. But you get it. You understand why she stands where she does. You want your art in a museum. You want your art on more walls too than the shed and now Walter’s house.  It’s a thought that feels strange. It feels heavy but is light enough for you to carry it. Art’s always been a release, the place to escape when you can’t seem to escape the hardships of life. You thought it was something just for you. And it is--but maybe you can share that with others too. Maybe it’s okay if things are doing multiple things at once. 

“I’ll get a ride back. Give me two seconds.” There’s only one car that was meant to collect all four of you at the end of the night and you’d rather not leave his parents stranded. 

“I’ve got plenty of time,” you hum in return. Here, outside, things feel a bit more normal. Time feels right again, the seconds are seconds, sixty of them to make a minute. Sixty of those to make an hour. It’s as it always should be outside. 

The night is cold, but the chill feels great against your otherwise clammy skin. The breeze is an exhale. Even if the suit is well fitted, it feels like it breathes better outside. You can breathe better now. You momentarily regret not having an additional layer. But you shouldn’t be out long. You step in behind Calum, winding your arms around his waist. Part of it is out of warmth. He tends to always run a little bit warmer than you do. But you’re also acutely aware of the ache deep in your belly. The studded collar to the jacket gives Calum an edge, sets him out from the other boring black tuxedos of the night. He looks handsome, devilishly so. Your fingers dance over the buttons again, holding the jacket together. You know it’s a dangerous game. You know that every paparazzi is aware of the event tonight but you don’t care. 

You slip the top button undone, anticipating Calum’s going to say something. Yet, he says nothing. So you move on and slip the second one undone while planting a kiss at the nape of his neck. It is a dangerous game. The way you’re teasing at the other buttons of his shirt. It’s entirely too public. But there’s a little thrill to it all. If people are going to talk, why not give them something to talk about? Calum threads his fingers through yours, stilling your steady up and down over his buttons. The headlights cut through the evening well before the car makes the final turn onto the street. But it slows as it approaches and you assume it’s the car meant for you and Calum. Perhaps, folks were waiting nearby for people to pick up.

Calum brings your hand to his lips before starting forward to the car. “Think you can keep your hands to yourself during this ride?” he teases. 

“I could if I wanted to.” 

“Do you want to?”  

The question tastes sweet. It coats your tongue in a way that you never want to swallow it back down. “Do you want to?” you ask. It leaves you in a pant, but you savor the taste as try to regain some of your breath.  

Calum’s hair is in your hands. His tongue traces at the thumping vein of your neck. The front door is closed behind you, pressed against your back. Your right hip is in the palm of his hand. The grip firm as he pulls you in. Your leg hitching up, wrapping around his hip. This feels right. This feels so good. Calum ruts up against your clothed crotch and you know the answer to the question. Much like he knew the answer when he posed the question to you earlier. You know he wants to. You know you want to as well. 

Outside of that museum, you could feel yourself unthawing. Even with the fear, you had to admit to yourself that Calum looked good in the all black attire. You wanted a taste long before you got into the SUV, but all that flew out the second the car started towards the museum. You couldn’t think about anything else as you spiraled around your fear. Some of the anxiety stll lingers, but much less than before. The thought teases the back of your mind that you’re going to somehow wake up and not have actually lived any of it. It’ll just be a dream. 

But the thought is drowned out by Calum’s touch against your body. There’s no way his touch isn’t real, not when it feels like it can feel a burn. A stark contrast to the back seat of the ride here. You two sat comfortably in the back of the SUV. The drive was mostly quiet. Occasionally the driver posed a question and you and Calum. You’d answer and the volley would fall. But all underneath that was a current, a strong enough tide that was going to pull you both under the moment you got alone. You held hands, but it was tame. So much tamer than the second the two of you got inside. 

And now that you are alone, you are more than happy to succumb. But you can’t help the question, not at the way Calum barely got the door closed. He laughs against your throat, nose running the length of your neck up to your jaw. “Well, yes, I do want to. Thank you for asking. Do you?”

You drop your hold from his hair to cup his jaw to bring his face up for you to see. His gaze is lazy to meet yours but once it does, your stomach melts. His eyes drip, a gooey dark brown that you can feel. “I do,” you return. It’s breathy, but you laugh all the same. 

“Then I truly think you ought to tease me less.”

“Oh, I tease too little. I tease too much. Which one is it, love?”

The retort is primed, you can see it curling on his lips but you kiss it away. You don’t really care which one it is. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that your body is seared by his touch. What matters is that you get to taste every inch of him, that you get to consume him totally and utterly. And God, you know you will have everything when the retort from Calum melts into a whine from his throat that you swallow down.

“I think you might be the death of me if you keep making sounds like that,” you laugh. His whines have turned your insides into liquid. All you want is to hear them again and again. 

Calum hums against your throat, the vibration falling down your spine to your toes. “I’m not CPR certified, so please refrain for the time being.”

“I’ll be sure to pencil my metaphorical death into your schedule.”

 You’re not even sure how you manage to get from the front door. For a moment as shirt tails are pulled out from pants, you worry you don’t need to move from the front door. In a place this big, it almost feels like it’ll be impossible to get caught. But that’s only a thought. The reality is that you two do take yourself from the front door all the way to the back elevators. 

The reality is that you don’t wait for the doors to close this time. The inches feel like miles and you’ll do whatever you need to close them. It’s only steps, and you’re grateful for that. You’re grateful it’s only steps. You’re grateful it’s only buttons. You’re grateful it’s only hallways. You’re grateful when the edge of Calum’s bed hits the back of your knees. 

Calum laughs as you lose your balance. The backward shuffle is a little unforgiving if taken too far. But the bed catches you. From above Calum sheds the undershirt, leaving his bare chest on display in front of you. A sight you know you’ve seen a hundred times over, but never get over seeing. Perhaps, he should be carved next, molded into stone so that you don’t forget the sight. 

He holds himself above you, palms pressing into the mattress on either side of your head. A smattering of black ink across the cosmos of his body and you’re sucked into his orbit. “I think you worried incorrectly about those stars you painted over,” you whisper, finger tips tracing over his golden skin. Things just make sense when you’re with Calum, even if it’s not easy, at least he’s there. At least he’s always rooting in your corner. “They’re dying anyway, what we see of them. And I’ve never felt more alive.”

“Never?”

“Never,” you return. You’re not good at letting people in before now. You’ve always been too afraid of it. But you’re glad you have Calum. You’re glad he’s in your life. 

“I know I can do better though. We’ve barely gotten started.” 

Calum doesn’t need to do better. That’s the thing. It’s not a scale of passing or failing. It’s not a test. It’s a dial. It’s the antenna that needs just a little extra help to get a strong signal. It’s about what’s unearthed, and excavated. It’s about the fact that you know you love this man. Who else could’ve gotten you to showcase your art to the world? Who else could’ve gotten you to open up about your family? Who else would’ve gotten your permission to pervade? You knew you didn’t want to let Calum go and you knew it’d be hard work. But it would’ve been so, so much easier to stay locked away. 

This man has you dreaming of things you wouldn’t have dared of. Maybe you could do art full time. Maybe the entire landscape of your life has just opened up to you. You’d be a fool to think love was about passing, doing everything right and perfect. But you don’t correct him. When he dips closer to you, you happily take the kiss. When his tongue traces the valley of your chest exposed with every undone button, when he takes hold of your flesh, you wonder if you should carve yourself in his hold too. 

As if somehow the statute of Calum is incomplete without his devotee. All you have on your tongue is his name, all you have is the gratitude as he works down the length of your body. And though you’re on display, though you’re the one under him, you know you’re addicted. You know no touch will be the same. No one after will make you feel like Calum does. Your body is a prayer and only Calum knows the verses. Only he knows just where to bite, where to kiss in just the right way to bring every neuron to life, every nerve ending ignited. 

The stretch of his fingers, the whisper of his lips at your jaw of I’m so proud of you are your undoing. And over and over you want the words etched into your skin, I’m so proud of you. You don’t know if Calum’s talking about how well you’re taking him, how well you match the pace of his hips with yours, or if it’s about the auction, or if it’s all of them, but you love the sound of the phrase leaving his lips. 

“Oh, fuck!” It comes out hard, a strain over your lips and tongue and through your teeth. Your legs are shaking, muscles quaking from the exertion. But the crash of your orgasm is faster this time than before. You’re not sure you even expected it. You knew it was coming, but you’d gotten too lost. Between the final stages of undressing and you settling atop Calum’s waist, you’d gotten lost in the sting of Calum’s grip on your hips. You’d gotten lost in the way he thanked you. You’d gotten lost in the way Calum drove his hips up to match the pass of your hips coming down, a perfect coordination of ecstasy. Well practiced but always so divine as the two of you meet, body to body, soul to soul. 

And even when the release comes in blinding, you don’t worry to fight against it. Calum pulls you in, hands cupping both cheeks as he seals your mouth in a kiss. It’s slow--lips meeting and parting but so unhurried the seconds feel like they might be hours. You think you’d like to spend hours in his embrace, getting lost again and again in the soft brush of his lips, the entanglement of his tongue.  You’d be okay with a sleepless night, if the morning sun greeted the two of you as long as it meant that it was Calum you’d been buried in and up against. 

“Come back to me, my love.”

You hear the command, but you’re hazy. You’ve already kept track of the orgasms, but you think they’re definitely catching up. Your bones feel heavy but you blink back up and Calum’s hovering above--the inverse of where you’d been previously. His thumb strokes over your cheek and you cusp his fingers into your grasps. “I’m still here.”

“Barely here. But here.”

“It counts for something,” you huff. 

“You’re supposed to be more alive than ever, but alas.” The end of the sentence lilts up into a tuft of laughter. You take your free hand and swat at his chest. The tap barely connects. 

“I look so alive.” Your eyes are closed. The desire to sink into sleep next to Calum, under his sheets, warm in a way that’s beyond body temperature, is strong. 

“Something like that,” he returns. 

You feel him as he pushes in closer, a kiss to the end of your nose. “I love you, you know.” Your lips brush over Calum’s as you speak, not in a kiss, but due solely to the proximity. You two are sharings breaths, his exhale is your inhale. There will be a small part of him that is pressed into your lungs, a piece of him that you’ll carry around. 

“I love you.”

Calum’s smile is evident when with your eyes still closed. God, you should say that phrase more. The two of you had an exchange of actions that spoke more than the words themselves, but when you feel his lips turn up into a grin against yours, you can’t lie that it makes your chest warm. You did that. You make him feel that way. 

The blink of your eyes open is slow but Calum’s still smiling in front of you. “You’re pretty when you smile.” Calum’s smile turns shy and you already know he’s blushing even if you can’t see it fully. “And when you blush too.”

“Shut up. But don’t. Tell me more.”

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need.”

There’s a moment of silence, shared breathes passing back and forth. You can see it on his face though as the smile settles into pensiveness. He chews at the inside of his bottom lip. “Ask me,” you command. You know there’s a question. There’s no need to deny it. 

“When you called the palace home, what-what did you mean by it?” There is so much hope in the question, wrapped in a thin lace of fear. You know the sound all too well. 

“It feels like home. Like it’s safe. But more importantly, you make it feel safe and feel like home. Joy and David make this place feel like home. That’s what I meant by it.”

“That might be the third best thing you’ve said to me yet.”

“What’s the first and second?”

“First is every time you’ve said you loved me and second is still when you said you wanted to steal my mum. I’ve never had someone phrase their adoration for my mother like that.”

You snort. “It was a moment of weakness. And I’m actually offended second isn’t when i said I wanted you to fuck me, in lamest terms of course.”

Calum presses more weight into you. You sink a bit more into the mattresses, cradling his head as he buries his face into your shoulder as he laughs. “God, as much as that sentence was and still is quite hot, no, it doesn’t make the list. I’m much more romantic than that.”

“A near fatal flaw, but I excuse it.”

“Alright, Shakespeare.”

___________________________________________

Your phone vibrates against the table. You hardly think it could be Lilith. You’d emailed her, thanking her again for her kind words last night and to see if she could help you in the direction of getting a website set up. It’d taken you a while to find her card as you and Calum both work through the stacks unearthed from suit and pant pockets after rousing in the morning. Calum found her card in his stack after a solid five minutes of shuffling. You set it apart and then rubber banded the remaining cards together as to not lose them. You’re sure you’ll be headed to an office store soon to find some way to store all the cards you got properly, but for now the rubber band would have to work. But it wouldn’t make sense for Lilith to respond to your email a measly twenty minutes later. She seemed like a much more important person than that. Certainly, she would respond, but you expected at least a week before she got back. 

Calum slides you over a mug, instead the liquid is a lighter brown than his cup. “Two eggs or three?”

“Two,” you answer, flipping your phone over. Calum insisted on cooking breakfast for the two of you and though you’re not a big breakfast person, you obliged. There wasn’t much you could fight as he batted his big brown eyes at you. 

Melvin. New Text Message, reads the notification on your screen. Your first thought is that it’s about Charlie and Teagan. He’d agreed that he’d reach out to you if he needed a little extra help with Diana away. But you weren’t sure he’d take the offer. 

As you unlock the device and pull up the thread all suspicions about him reaching out about your siblings disappears. Saw this article about the banquet. Congrats on your painting raising 135k. Quite proud of you, kid. It looks phenomenal. The shakes in your hand nearly cause you to lose your grip on the phone. How’d he even see this? Was he looking for information about you? Had it just happened across his newsfeed? 

Quite proud of you, kid. 

Words you always wondered how’d they feel. Even if it’s not words you’re hearing, seeing them alone makes your chest constrict. Your lungs burn. You don’t want to cry. It could be nothing, but it’s Melvin. That is your dad and it doesn’t feel like nothing. It doesn’t feel like you have to keep him so far away from your life. 

Quite proud of you, kid. You are his kid, even if you’re closer to thirty than your teens. All you’ve wanted was for him to care. All those years fighting, hiding away, could’ve been used for something more restorative. Yet all the pain and anger wouldn’t have made you receptive towards it. Maybe you can now. Maybe there’s something there. But what happens if you jump the gun? What happens if you get your hopes up and they fall flat again? The tears are hot on your cheeks. 

Thanks. Your first move for the ‘m’ first and then you pause. Using his name doesn’t feel right. But you can’t bring yourself to use dad. This here is the gap. Do you leap it? I appreciate that. A lot. Probably more than you know. 

“Baby, chocolate chips or blueberries in the pancakes?”

“Whatever you want is fine,” you answer to Calum’s question, phone clutched in your hands. You catch the croak in your voice, but you don’t dare look up should Melvin respond quickly. 

“I was thinking blue-Oh god. What happened? Why the tears?” 

You can’t look up. You can’t. Not when your phone shakes again.  Think you could come over for dinner next week? I’ve heard around that my cooking’s not that bad. I’d love to hear more about the event. Charlie and Teagan are asking about you too. 

“Is it bad?” Calum asks. 

You shake your head. “No, just- one second.” Your fingers are swift over the keys. I can bring a dish too. Would Friday work?

Friday’s perfect. Please extend an invitation to Calum too. 

Your hands are trembling. You feel like you’ve run a marathon but managed to scroll back up the thread and hold the phone out to Calum. Words are going to fail you. Your throat is tight, even you can feel it. Furling your fingers into fists to get the tremors out. Calum reads over, lips whispering as he reads with half breathes. His brows raise before his eyes meet yours. 

“This-this is good. And you’re willing to meet for dinner?”

“I mean it’s Melvin, so yes. But-” there the words go. They’re all leaving you. He cares. He fucking cares. “It’s like-” The tears are choking you, closing up your throat each time you try to speak. “He cares.”

The embrace is warm. You settle your head into his sternum and try to inhale. “Baby, he’s made his mistakes, big ones. But he’s always cared. I’m glad you’re at a point to embrace that.”

You’re not sure if you embrace the right word. But something about him reaching out about the banquet, after how nervous you’d been, unlocks the dam. The thing you’d been swallowing back comes barreling forward. You can’t hold it back. “I hope the stove’s not on,” you manage to hiccup out. “I don’t think I want to be the reason for burnt pancakes.”

Calum’s laughter rumbles through his chest. “I turned it off. Take all the time you need.”

[gothluke]

Life-Size Luke

i had everything. i was everything,” luke mused.

“even a yacht?”

“a yacht, an rv, a pool, another pool, a private jet—”

“okay! don’t rub it in,” ashton laughed. luke shrugged like he was amused at his own bragging.

“i’m pretty sure i’ve had everything and any career i could ever want.”

“i wouldn’t want to leave either.”

“well, except one thing,” luke played with the buttons on the remote.

“what's that?”

“a boyfriend.”

————　♡　————

or:

ashton is a séx store employee when the new adult, collector dolls hit the shelves. he's had enough of these "lukey dolls," when one night everything changes, and his life becomes lukalicious.

rating: e

tw: smùt, language, but more specific tags on ao3

word count: 15k

barbie luke au • lashton • plot & smùt

[basslinecal]

cashton moodboard but make it emo

[33-81]

The danger gets me high, and I can't help myself

[calpalirwin]

Ice Breaker

Summary: Thea had her reasoning as to why she didn’t like hockey players. Until Calum makes her re-evaluate her opinion.

Word Count: 6.1k

And away, and away we go!

__

Thea didn’t mind the frigid air of the ice skating rink. What she did mind was the group of hockey players already on the bleachers, their gear scattered around as they laced up.

Thea hated hockey season. She hated how their brutish nature of yelling and slamming into each other was a constant cause of distraction. Hated the smell of sweat that always clung to their gear and their bodies, as if they had no idea how to operate a washing machine or a shower. And she hated their sense of entitlement. Not to the rink— no, that was rightfully theirs— but their sense of entitlement to her. As if she was there merely for their sake and desires.

Coach Anderson had always held a zero tolerance for disrespect or harassment, to the point of banning players from his team. But even the strictest of policies hadn’t been enough to deter the most determined.

She kept her face neutral of any contempt or disdain as she staked her claim at the bottom of the bleachers.

“Excuse me, miss?” one of the men called out to her. “Were you planning on using the rink?”

Thea clicked her tongue in her cheek as she looked over at the man. Dark brown curls, wild and loose framed his face, and equally dark brown eyes studied her closely. His black jersey lay slung over his broad shoulders. “No,” she smiled sweetly at him. “I just came to the ice rink with a bag of gear to sit here for three hours.”

The man laughed. “Real funny, princess. But I got the schedule from the coach right here in my bag. And I hate to break it to you, but this is our practice time for the next eight months.”

“Four months,” Thea corrected. “Your season is four months.”

“For the regular season. But we’re in training for the first two months. Then the actual season. And then playoffs which are an extra two months. And that, princess, is how to count to eight,” the man clarified.

“So I’ll be rid of you in six,” she grinned. “I shall count the days!”

The man laughed again. “Tell you what, princess. Since you’re already here, and we would hate to see you freeze waiting on us, I’ll talk to the coach, and see if we can’t work something out for today.”

“Or I can talk to the coach myself. See if I can’t work something out for today. Wouldn’t want you boys to freeze or anything.” Her voice was rich with sweet sarcasm.

The man scoffed, sweeping a large hand in the direction of the hallway that led to the offices. “Be my guest, princess. Fair warning through, Coach Anderson can be a bit of a hardass.”

“Ooo, I’d be careful how you refer to your coach,” Thea winced.

“As would I,” Coach Anderson said as he walked into view, his co and assistant coaches a step behind. “Thea, sweetheart, how are you?” he asked with a warmth that had his team looking at each other in surprise.

“I’m good,” she smiled, giving the coach a hug hello. “Although there appears to be an issue with your scheduling. You double booked yourself.”

Coach Anderson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit. I always want to think you end at three, not start at three.”

“You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you do this on purpose as a chance to see me.”

“I don’t do it on purpose,” Coach Anderson said with a laugh. “I’ll look everything over and find a work around. As for today… Peter, let’s get set up on half the rink. We’ll let Thea use the other half.”

Peter Steele, the assistant coach nodded once before jogging off.

Coach Anderson clapped his hands together. “Alright! Thea, have you met the team?”

“Briefly,” she said, her eyes sweeping over the twelve men who sat on the bleachers, still watching the interaction between the head coach and the figure skater with both intrigue and shock.

“Thea, this is the team. First line I have Hood, Irwin, and Hemmings as my forwards. Fleming and DeLuca are the defensemen. And then Clifford’s goalie.”

Each man waved a hand in greeting, first the dark haired man whom she had spoken with, a man with light brown curls, two blondes, another brunette, and another blonde.

Coach Anderson then prattled off the names of his second line, but Thea kept her focus on Hood and the arrogance that radiated off him as he stared blankly back at her. “And I’m still working on a practice schedule for the third and fourth lines. Gentlemen, this is Thea Anderson, my daughter.”

Eleven men coughed uncomfortably. The twelfth— Hood— only widened his eyes, the only indication he gave of the news shocking him. “I apologize for the overlap of schedules and will work on getting that fixed. However, I think we’ve wasted enough time, so let’s get to it.”

Thea paid them no mind as they all headed out on the ice. As she readied herself, she let the sounds of the sticks hitting ice, the yells and grunts of the players, and the shouted commands and whistles of the coaches all fade to a nonexistent hum.

By the time her skates were laced and she made her way to the ice, her focus was solely on her own movements: each push off, jump, spin, and landing. Flawless and graceful execution. No room for error.

For the twelve hockey players and three coaches, playing with only half a rink was a challenge, given the less than ideal space. Cramped, but not impossibly so.

Hood, in a state of hypervigilance, saw how Thea pushed herself into a backwards skate with her right foot. He also saw the left defender shoot the puck, the trajectory destined to cross the figure skater’s path. Hood rushed towards it.

Thea noticed the black blur of the puck hurtling towards that red center line, saw its trajectory same as Hood, and adjusted, jumping as Hood continued to race towards her to stop the puck.

Thea completed her spin as Hood slid to a halt, his skates showering her in sparks of shaved ice, and he sent the puck flying across the rink towards his left forward. Breathless, and a little pleased he’d managed to pull that off without colliding with Thea or even crossing the center line, he shot a grin at her. “Pretty jump there, princess,” he complimented.

She scoffed at him, brushing the shards of ice off her skirt. “And I suppose I should thank you for saving me from nothing?”

“That puck would have tripped you if I hadn’t stopped it,” he pointed out.

“No it wouldn't because unlike you, I’m aware of my space.”

Hood glanced down at the red center line, the toe of his skate right along the edge on his side. “As am I,” he said smugly.

“You’re a brute,” she hissed.

“If it so pleases, Your Highness,” he grinned like the fool he was, before he sketched a bow that even Thea had to admit was rather graceful despite his size and gear.

“Hood!” Coach Anderson barked with a sharp look at both his player and his daughter.

Hood pushed himself backward, still bowing. Thea scowled at the theatrics, at the smug look on his face, as he skated away and turned his attention back on his teammates and that infernal black puck.

~~~

The following day when Thea walked into the arena, the men that made up her father’s team were already out on the ice.

She scowled as she stalked over to the bleachers and laced up. If Coach Anderson was so insistent on sharing the ice, then he could have the burden of making sure his players stayed out of her way.

“Thea, sweetheart!” her father greeted, skating towards the edge of the rink closest to her.

“I thought you fixed the schedule.”

“I did!” the man beamed. “We have…” he glanced over at the clock on the wall, “a half hour left. They’re gonna start their cool down exercises so we won’t have any pucks flying around. It was the best solution I could come up with.”

“Mmm, how thoughtful…”

“Thea…” Coach Anderson said in a low warning.

“It’s not you I have the problem with, Dad. It’s them,” she clarified with a pointed glance at the team.

“They haven’t done anything to you, have they?”

“Not them specifically.”

Coach Anderson’s jaw tightened. “I traded that entire part of the roster, and made it very clear to this team that I won’t tolerate any indication of disrespect or harassment.”

“I know. And I hope you know I appreciate the lengths you have gone through for my sake. But they view kindness as a weakness, so it’s easier if I’m a bitch from the start.”

Coach Anderson rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Your kindness is your greatest strength, don’t let anybody make you feel that it’s not.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Of course. Now, feel like showing these men what you’re capable of?”

“Suicides? Let them think they have a chance, at least?”

The father and daughter shared a grin, as Coach Anderson blew his whistle. “Line up!” was the barked command.

The twelve men scurried to line up along one of the goal lines waiting for the next order. They kept their focus straight ahead even as Thea joined them in the line up. “Alright, gentlemen. We had a good practice, so I’m gonna give you the opportunity to earn a little reward here. One suicide across the rink.”

The men blinked in confusion. “That’s all, Coach?” one of them asked.

“That’s all,” Coach Anderson nodded. “One suicide stands between you and an early end to practice. However, if Thea finishes before you, you all will be doing suicides until practice officially ends.”

One of the players raised their hand.

“Yes, Hood?”

“To clarify, does place matter? So as long as Thea doesn’t finish first, we win? Or does she have to finish thirteenth for us to win?”

“You’re a team, Hood. If one member finishes before Thea, you all win. That’s what? A ninety-two percent chance at success? Sounds more than fair, right?”

“Yes Coach!” was the uniform response.

“Full rink. On my mark. Ready. Set.” Coach Anderson blew the whistle.

The players were quick to fly back and forth across the ice, gaining the lead early. Thea skated towards the end of the pack, pacing herself, playing the long game.

By the center line, the players started to fall on the return, as Thea made her way to the middle of the pack, still keeping a comfortable pace.

The men ahead of her pushed themselves harder to keep their lead as they skated for the goal line.

“Dig deep!” was the encouraged shout from the coaches as they hit the goal line, and skated back across the rink.

Thea passed more of them as they reached the second blue line. And as she headed out for the last round of goal line to goal line, only Hemmings, Hood, and Irwin were ahead of her.

Despite their longer strides, Thea passed Hemmings by the center line, and then Irwin as she hit the goal line. Hood was only a few feet away, passing the blue line.

All that lay between Hood and victory was a clean shot across the rink. He had a small but decent lead, and a longer stride.

Thea lengthened her own stride, feeling the stretch in her leg muscles. By the center line she was half a step behind.

Hood grit his teeth, and put as much speed in his strides as he could, already having maxed out how far he could extend his legs between each stride.

The toes of their skate hit the final goal line at the same time.

Thea nodded at Hood, conceding graciously. She opened her mouth to extend her congratulations, but Coach Anderson spoke up first. “Good effort, but not quite good enough. Line up!”

“Coach,” Hood replied, his voice coming out as heavy as his breathing. “With all due respect, you said Thea had to finish first. She didn’t. We both did.”

Coach Anderson’s eyes darkened, ready to tear his player apart for daring to question orders.

“Dad,” Thea interjected. “He’s right. You were very clear that I had to make it to the line first. And I didn’t. So unless Hood is up for a tie-breaker, your team’s free to go.”

“What kind of tie breaker do you have in mind?” Hood asked, intrigued.

“3 laps around the rink. If we tie, you lose. If I win, you lose.”

“You got yourself a deal,” Hood agreed, offering her his hand.

She shook it, sealing the bet.

“Take your marks then,” Coach Anderson relented. “But, Hood, if Thea wins, I’m adding an extra 5 minutes for your impertinence.”

“Understood, Coach.” Then he focused those intense brown eyes on Thea. “Am I allowed to shed some gear to make the odds more even?”

“You could skate in your underwear for all I care, Hood. I could even skate backwards and blindfolded, you’re still going to lose.”

“That’s a bold statement. Hope you can back it up,” he told her as he shucked his helmet, gloves, and jersey, discarding them on the lip of the wall surrounding the rink. “And it’s Calum.”

“I didn’t ask.��

When Coach Anderson blew the whistle, Calum skated like his life depended on it. Not only did he want to prove her words wrong, he wanted to pull through for his team. Ten minutes of suicides— fifteen in Calum’s case— would be an excruciating end to practice. Then there was the scathing lecture the team would receive about their lack of discipline for failure, and the personal one-on-one reaming Calum would get afterward for his attitude.

But a victory… A victory might earn him only a stern reminder at most. And the gratitude of his team.

While Calum had more reasons to win than he could count, Thea had zero. It didn’t matter to her whether or not she won. No threat of punishment loomed over her head as she and Calum raced around the rink. Just the pride that came with putting hockey players in their place. To show that she was a force to be reckoned with in her own right.

Every part of Calum was on fire as he fought to at least keep pace with Thea as they entered the final lap. Calum raced down the straightaway letting his speed carry him through the turn, using the chance to catch his breath, determined to hit the last straightaway with everything he had. His lungs burned. Sweat trickled down his spine. Even though a tie would mean he lost, it was still better than a complete blow out.

Thea pulled ahead as they hit the last turn, and he mentally braced for the inevitable defeat. But as she came out of the turn, Thea slowed. At first Calum assumed it was so she could stop just over the line, and she had somehow misjudged the distance as he went past her, crossing first. But the soft smile she flashed his way told him that she had let him win. But what for? “Good race,” she continued to smile, offering out her hand.

He didn’t dare question her reasoning for throwing the race in his favor now. He engulfed her hand in his larger one. “Good race.”

“Alright,” Coach Anderson said, a slight edge of confusion in his tone. “Hit the showers and I’ll see you all tomorrow. Hood, hang back a second, please.”

Calum squared his shoulders. While he knew he should consider himself lucky, and was indeed grateful to Thea for saving him and his team a grueling five extra minutes of practice, he hoped whatever Coach Anderson wanted to discuss didn’t include being benched to curb Hood’s impertinence. “Yes, Coach?” he replied once the rest of the team made their swift exit towards the locker rooms. None wanted to be privy to whatever hell Coach Anderson had planned.

Even Thea had managed to make herself disappear out of immediate earshot as she started to practice a series of jumps on the other side of the rink.

“Good effort out there today.”

“T-thank you, Coach,” Calum faltered over his words. This was so far from how he imagined this conversation happening.

“But if you ever have the boldness to act disrespectful in regards to me, the other coaches, or any of our judgments again, your time on this team will be incredibly short-lived.”

“Understood, Coach,” Calum nodded.

Coach Anderson clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “And at some point I would thank Thea. Rightfully so, she’s not overly friendly toward hockey players. And she wasn’t being overly confident about being able to outskate you blindfolded and backwards. I’ve seen her do it before. So the fact that she threw both races in your favor is beyond me. Now, hit the showers and get out of here.”

“Yes, Coach. And thank you.”

Calum wasted no time in heading for the locker room, in the event Coach Anderson changed his mind.

“Why did you let them win?” Coach Anderson asked as soon as Calum had left, and Thea skated back towards her father.

She skidded to a halt in front of the coach. “Same reason you let him off easy. Kindness is our greatest strength, isn’t it?”

Coach Anderson shook his head, chuckling lightly. “That it is. But I didn’t expect you to be so quick to set aside your reservations.”

“I’m not. I’m merely giving them a clean slate to work on. And there’s a fine line between being confident and being cocky,” she began to skate around the coach in a lazy loop as she elaborated further. “They’re confident. As they should be, they have all the markings of being great players. I assume you saw as much because they’re on your team. But I also know you don’t put players on your team solely because they’re good at hockey. I don’t know your team enough to pass my own judgment on them, so I’m trusting yours. I’m willing to see in them what you see in them, until proven otherwise.”

“I wonder who you learned such wisdom from.”

“Mom,” Thea laughed, jumping into a perfect spin. “Plus, your team was at a disadvantage. You had been running them ragged for who knows how long, whereas I just got here, fully energized. A few of them might have genuinely beaten me in the first run if it had been the beginning of their practice. If I want to win, I want it to be because I’m truly better.”

“Fair enough. So you think you can manage to share a half hour with them?”

“Yeah I think that’ll be fine,” she smiled.

Coach Anderson bid his daughter farewell, and Thea returned to running through her practice routine. The team slowly filtered out of the locker room, offering her a friendly wave or a shout of thanks on their way out the door. And while she acknowledged them in return, neither her nor the players engaged in further interaction. Not until Calum finally trudged out, his bag slung over one shoulder, and his skates slung over the other.

He dropped both of them at his feet, mindful to not damage his skates. Then he leaned against the wall of the rink dividing him from her. “You let me win. Why?”

“It wasn’t a fair match. You had already had your practice. I was just beginning mine.”

“All the more reason you should have mopped the floor with us. You had the upper hand, and you don’t like us. So to give up an easy win like that…”

“If I win, I want it to be because I’m truly better. Not because you’re already fatigued. And I never said I didn’t like you guys.”

“You didn’t have to. Your attitude towards us speaks for itself.”

“Not being fond of hockey players doesn’t equate to me outright disliking them.”

“Fair enough. I wouldn’t be fond of hockey players either. I’ve heard some of us are brutes.” He flashed her a knowing grin.

“As long as you’re aware you’re a brute,” she responded airly.

Calum laughed. “Well, I prefer to earn my victories too. So any time you want that rematch…”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find each other.”

“See ya tomorrow, princess.”

“Rest up, brute.”

~~~

The next few weeks, Thea set aside her reservations as she utilized the hockey team’s cool down exercises as her own warm up.

She learned a lot about the team in daily half hour increments. Most of them had girlfriends. They all enjoyed a drink or two, except Ashton who was sober and more than happy to play designated driver. All twelve players that made up Coach Anderson’s first and second string had almost always played together on the same team, and as a result were all really decent friends, but the bond that the first string players had was a lot stronger than the bond the second string players shared.

In return, they tried to learn what they could about their honorary thirteenth, but Thea offered them as little information as she could. Opening herself up meant dealing with their questions, or worse. From what they were able to gather, they could reasonably assume that Thea practiced daily, but only worked with her coach during competition season, and that she was closest in age to Luke.

Usually, Calum hated how much his life was on display. Hated the unfair power dynamic it created with someone knowing so much while he knew so little in return. But with Thea, he found himself enthralled by it. He knew what he needed: that she was elegance and grace incarnated, and that she was more disciplined than any one he’d ever encountered before. As far as he was concerned, everything else was a matter of details. And he was certain that details would only enhance the big picture that was Thea Anderson, and he didn’t need to be more distracted by her presence than he already was.

As training came to a close in preparation for the opening season, Coach Anderson gathered his men at the end of one of the practices. “Gentlemen. Our first game of the season is tomorrow, so we won’t have practice. However, you need to be here at five. You don’t want to know what happens if you’re late. Is that understood?”

“Yes Coach!”

“Dismissed. Thea?”

“I’ll keep an eye on the time so I don’t conflict with your game, I know,” she told him.

“Thank you, but that’s not what I want to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“The team we’re playing tomorrow… As much as you are welcome to the rink for your practice, and as much as I would enjoy having you with us for our first game… Estrada is on the other team’s roster.”

Thea paled. “Oh…”

“So I understand if you need to be elsewhere.”

“No.” Thea shook her head and drew up her body as tall as she could. “No. He took enough. I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he took this away from me, too.”

Coach Anderson nodded once in understanding. They both knew Thea could face whatever bullshit Donovan Estrada threw her way. She’d done it once before.

~~~

The following afternoon, Thea was surprised at how off she felt as she began her practice. She chalked it up to nerves about potentially running into Donovan, but when Calum walked in fifteen minutes early, she was shocked to realize it wasn’t nerves about the game at all.

She had become used to starting her practice as they ended theirs. Used to their loud laughs coming out of the locker room, and their friendly waves goodbye. Used to their presence, Calum’s in particular. She swallowed the patheticness of it all.

He offered her a two fingered wave and a broad smile. “Hey! Glad to have the whole rink to yourself the whole time?” he asked, leaning his forearms against the wall.

“It’s so quiet,” she said, flashing him a wide grin.

Calum laughed, his head tilting back. “Aw! The princess misses the brutes!”

“Shut up,” she laughed with him, pink coloring her cheeks.

“You staying for the game?” he asked.

“Aw, the brute misses the princess, too!” she mocked. “I’m still undecided. Not the biggest fan of who you’re playing.”

“Oh yeah, some of ‘em used to play for your dad. Hmm… Damn, that’s something.”

“What?” she paused.

“Nothing,” he said with a small shake of his head. “Just wondering if it’s all connected. Must have been pretty bad if it is.”

She stiffened. “It’s none of your business, Hood.” The words came out colder and harsher than she had ever spoken to him before, even on that first meeting.

Calum raised his hands in surrender. “Not trying to make it my business. But I know it would mean a lot to the team if you could find the strength to stay. Hell, it would mean a lot to me.”

She would have teased him for that, and he knew she was about to based on how a slow smirk spread across her lips. But he was saved from the back and forth taunting as the rest of the team slowly started to trickle in. So Calum pounded his fists against the lip of the wall in two quick thuds. “Be real cool if you stayed,” he said before following his team towards the locker rooms.

Thea stayed frozen in place until Calum was out of her line of sight. She took a few deep cleansing breaths to steady her racing heart. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to give Donovan the satisfaction of thinking he had ruined her safe haven. But Calum wasn’t stupid. He knew too much. And while she had zero plans to interact with Donovan, on the off chance she did and Calum witnessed it, he would be able to put all the pieces together. She wasn’t sure which reality was worse: one where Calum knew the truth about why Coach Anderson had a brand new team and judged her for it, or pitied her for it. And if he shared any of his suspicions with the rest of the team…

She shook her head. No. She was certain that Calum had been honest when he told her he wasn’t trying to make her business his business. She had to put her trust in that. In him.

In the end she decided to stay, setting herself up right behind the players’ bench on the home team’s side. And she felt sure she had made the right choice by the excited smiles that lit up the team’s faces when they all came out. “Glad you stayed,” Calum told her, his gloved hand resting on top of hers. A brief moment of warmth that would have been over as quickly as it happened if it hadn’t been for a harsh bark of laughter.

Calum’s head whipped to the source of the sound, noting how Thea’s hand stiffened under his. “Estrada,” she said coldly.

Donovan ignored her, his sneer focused full force on Calum. “I’d be careful getting close to this one. Her daddy might trade you, too.”

“You got traded because you’re as shitty a player as you are a man,” Thea spat, the tightness in her body that once was fearful panic now tightly controlled anger.

Donovan’s hands clenched into fists and Thea laughed, an eerily lifeless sound that chilled Calum down to the bone. “Oh? You’re gonna hit me again, Donny? Go ahead. Seeing as how that worked out for you so well the last time.” Her voice was low and lethal as she took a dangerous step forward, leaning up on the tips of her toes to get as close to Donovan’s face as she could. “Be more than happy to break your nose again. Straighten it back out.”

Quick as a flash, Donovan’s hand snaked around Thea’s other wrist. And the way her breath hitched in pain was the final straw in this meeting for Calum. “Let her go,” he said with a steady calmness.

Donovan turned his attention back to Calum, hand still gripping Thea, a terribly cruel smile on his lips. “And what are you? My replacement? The princess’s bodyguard?”

“Nah, mate,” Calum replied, his tone almost bored. “Thea doesn’t need a bodyguard for one thing. And for another, I don’t play anybody’s replacement, especially not some shitty excuse for a man like yourself.”

Donovan dropped Thea’s wrist as more players from both teams started coming out of the locker rooms.

Thea watched the silent stand off between the men. Donovan’s face was twisted in a sneer, barely containing the rage radiating off him; Calum the epitome of relaxed ease, his anger tightly restrained. Two sides of the same coin. Thea cradled her wrist to her, the skin tender and red. She gave the barest shake of her head as Coach Anderson walked by, worry in his eyes.

“Count your days,” Donovon hissed after Coach Anderson passed before stalking off himself.

Thea felt her knees go weak. “Whoa, steady,” Calum said, his hands flying to her waist, his hold delicate. “Are you alright?”

Thea shook her head. “No. And I wouldn’t suggest making an enemy out of him. Not for my sake.”

“What if I wanted to make him an enemy for my sake?” Calum asked, the corners of his lips pulling up in a playful smirk.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice strong. “He’s part of my past for a reason. Leave it that way.”

Calum dropped the smirk. “With all due respect, I’m not sure if I can.” And without saying another word, or entertaining another argument from her on the matter, Calum walked off to join the rest of his team.

“That one,” Coach Anderson overheard as Calum fixed his stare on Donovan. “Number 83. Find any excuse to hit him. Hard.”

Ashton snorted, “And what could he have possibly done to already royally piss you off?”

“None of your damn business,” Calum snapped. “Hit him, or I’ll hit you into him, is that understood?”

Ashton clicked his tongue in his cheek, taking note of how Calum’s eyes flickered to watch Thea settle herself behind their bench, before flickering back over to Donovan. Watching. Studying. “What did he do to her?” Ashton asked, keeping his voice low.

“I’m not sure of all the details, but there was some sort of abuse.”

Ashton cracked his knuckles.

~~~

The game was brutal, even by hockey standards. The crowd cheered and winced whenever a player was slammed into the plexiglass barrier. No one seemed to note, however, that oftentimes it was Estrada who was shoved up against the wall. No one except those involved, and Thea.

Thea couldn’t control the gasp that escaped her as the plexiglass barrier in front of her shook with the force of Donovan being slammed into it.

The referee blew his whistle, calling a penalty on Calum for boarding. Calum merely shrugged as he skated off towards the penalty box, Donovan shooting daggers at him the whole time. Thea slowly made her way through the crowd to get closer to the penalty box. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she hissed at Calum.

“Playing,” he answered with that same bored tone.

She rolled her eyes. “I told you to leave him alone. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing.”

“And I told you,” Calum replied, his words coming out cold and harsh, “that I can’t let it go. And I can handle him.”

“Calum, please.”

The plea in her voice and body language irritated Calum. Thea was scared, and he hated it. “I’m sorry, Thea. I’m so sorry,” was all he said before he jumped back into the game.

“Calum!”

To his credit, Calum laid off Donovan for the remainder of the game. But Ashton and Luke picked up his slack, and Donovan still had it out for Calum.

Donovan bided his time, taking the hits from Ashton and Luke and adding it to the specific style of hell he would leash upon Calum, and when he saw his opening, he didn’t hesitate.

“Hood!” Calum heard the shouted warning moments before his head slammed into plexiglass.

Helmets clattered to the ice and a fist was on a collision course with his jaw. Calum never heard the whistle as he tackled Donovan onto the ice, both of their fists flying. If Donovan wanted a fight, he was gonna get a fight, consequences be damned. Calum didn’t care if he got thrown out of the game, if Coach Anderson benched him for the rest of the season, or if he even got blacklisted from the league entirely. All he cared about was making sure Donovan knew that there were no lengths Calum wouldn’t go through for Thea’s sake.

Calum wasn’t aware of Ashton and Luke physically dragging him away down towards the locker room, the rest of the team and the coaches following in a hurry. He wasn’t aware of anything except a blinding desire to go back out and finish his fight with Donovan. Nothing until Thea’s face appeared in his line of vision, worry making her eyebrows crease together.

“Oh, Calum,” she mused, her touch gentle as she traced the bruising on his face.

“You should see the other guy,” he tried to smirk. “And since when do you call me ‘Calum’?”

“That is your name, isn’t it?”

“You know what I mean.”

She sighed, and there was a beat of silence as the locker room emptied. “Why’d you do it?” she asked, her voice a low whisper despite them now being alone.

“It’s stupid to explain. But I feel… protective of you, in a way I don’t fully understand. I don’t know the full history between you and Estrada, and it makes no difference to me if you tell me it all, or you don’t. Well it does make a difference, but not that way, if that makes sense. Like I still would want to beat him to a pulp. I still do want to beat him to a pulp. I want to make him pay for every ounce of hurt he ever caused you because I’m not the type to stand to the side. And the way you reacted around Estrada… I know I would do anything to make sure nobody ever makes you feel that way because… because you, Thea, are… you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“You are… unexpected. In the best way possible. Every time I think I got you figured out, you find a new way to surprise me. So, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry if I overstepped, or made you feel that I don’t think you can handle your own shit.”

She pondered on his words, saw the sincerity in his face, his beautifully bloodied face. “You’re right. That was stupid to explain.”

Calum scowled as much as he could. “Gee, thanks. Pouring my heart out over here.”

“Pouring your heart out? ‘Sorry I pummeled your ex during a game where I’m supposed to be a professional, but you’re just so unexpected!” she mocked, batting her eyes at him for extra effect.

He chuckled. “I didn’t say I was sorry for fighting him. I said I was sorry if you found me defending you offensive.”

“Well I accept your apology, Calum.”

“That’s four times now you’ve actually called me by my name. You can’t tell me that’s coincidental.”

Thea shrugged “I’m unexpected, what can I say?” Then, her lips brushed lightly against Calum’s cheek. “And for what it’s worth, I care about you, too. More than I ever thought I could care about a hockey br— Sorry. Hockey player. Not brute. Matter of fact, let’s just agree that I’ll never call you a brute again, so long as you never call me a princess.”

“Deal,” Calum easily agreed, as his playful nickname for her had been tainted the moment in rolled off Donovan’s lips with such disgust. “And Thea? Provided I’m not about to walk out of here and lose my job, and uh, maybe after my face heals up, would you maybe wanna go out to dinner?”

“You owe me a rematch on that race, first. And if you win, then you can take me out.”

“And if I lose?”

“I don’t see that happening.”

__

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[ughkat]

hi! could you write calum x reader where calum has a crush on her and ashton exposes his crush on her during a live or something?

pls and thank u

i might do a part two of this idk 😳

-

crush | c.t.h

calum x fem!reader

part two here

got excited writing this sorry ab the lengthiness!

alcohol, swearing

not proofread

"I'm heading over right now."

"We'll be here.".

I finished my phone call to Ashton, who had just minutes ago invited me for a routine hangout with him and the other three boys.

My friendship with Ashton had sprouted prior to his band forming. We were best friends, some would describe as inseparable. Once joining the band, they immediately brought me in as well. Though never having the same connections as I did with Ashton with them, Calum, Luke and Michael never failed to make me feel at home.

Since then, we've grown up and blossomed into larger things in life, yet we still keep our bond close. Routine effortless hangouts and conversations on almost a daily has kept out growing friendships alive.

Recently, I had began to notice a shift in energy with Calum. I tried to think nothing of it, but the conversations began to get shorter, and his words for me grew small. He almost made me feel as if I did something wrong.

I gathered my belongings, checking my outfit before heading outside to my car, shivering at the cold weather. I dressed lazily in a large grey hoodie, along with black leggings and converse. I quickly turned on the heater after starting my car, and pulled put of the driveway.

I drove quietly as my mind wandered about confronting Calum for his change of mood towards me. I knew I was safe to bring up an issue to my friends, but I was concerned this was only a me problem.

My wandering mind passed the time quickly, arriving me to Ashton's apartment. I pulled slowly onto the curb in front of his apartment, sending off a quick "I'm here" text before exiting my car.

"Heyyy!" Ashton cheered goofily, raising his arms as he appeared from the front door. I giggled as I made my way up his driveway towards him. He reached an arm out for a quick hug as he spoke.

"How ya' doing?" He smiled, ushering me inside. I sighed dramatically.

"Could be better." I raised my eyebrows with defeat as I made my way inside. I set my bag and keys down on his kitchen counter which was decorated with various alcoholic beverages and snacks. I turned to the living room, being greeted by Calum, Luke and Michael at the couch. I watched as Calum's eyes quickly met mine, then shot back down to his hands.

"Well..." Ashton began, moving behind me swiftly, "Have a shot." He grinned, I turned to look at Ashton who had presented me with a small glass with a shot of mystery alcohol in it. The three boys from the living room shouted dramatic miscellaneous cheers and encouragements from behind me. I let out a laugh and reached for the drink. I looked at Ashton and shook my head laughing. With a shrug, I tossed my head back, taking my shot quickly. I scrunched my face briefly before frantically searching for a chaser.

"Give me a drink. I need a drink." I mumbled, shaking my head. Luke whistled from the couch with a laugh, holding out a Coke can. I hurried to the open drink and took a large swig.

"You didn't take that shot, that shot took you." Michael joked as I found my seat on the couch. I scoffed with furrowed eyebrows.

"Fuck off." I giggled. I glanced to Calum who had been awfully quiet. He was heavily focused on picking at a loose string on his t-shirt, faking an amused look on his face. I immediately noted his off mood. The boys continued whatever conversation they had before I arrived, laughing and cracking joke's beside me. I watched Calum carefully as he loosely followed their words, more in his own head than present with us. I decided to finally speak up.

"Cal." I chirped, snapping him out of his trance. His head perked up quickly as the room fell silent.

"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow, his eyes darted to everyone in the room nervously, then back to mine. I anxiously slouched back down at the unexpected and unnerving silence before speaking.

"Are you mad at me or something?" I questioned, keeping a cool tone. I watched from my peripheral as the boys eyes flashed to Calum. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he shook his head slowly.

"No..?" He muttered quietly. I bit the inside of me cheek and looked to the other boys, hoping one of them would agree with my observation of Calum's negative mood. Instead, they watched Calum like a bomb.

"You've been so quiet and weird with me lately. I know they see it too." I laughed anxiously, motioning to the boys. I widened my eyes at them, begging for some help. Calum looked to the boys, licking his lips anxiously.

"I-.." He began nervously, "I've just been feeling kinda off recently. I'm sorry." He stuttered nonchalantly, his eyes failing to connect with mine. "Kinda off?" I thought to myself, "Bad excuse.".

"I think he just means in the studio and such. We've all been pretty tired recently." Ashton jumped in quickly, glancing at Calum after speaking.

"Right." I replied, not buying whatever game they were trying to play.

We continued the night many hours into the early morning, as we normally would, we watched a few movies and ordered a bunch of junk food. Calum kept up his unusual behavior, trying his best to fake it, but I never let go of the thought that I would find out what was going on with him.

"You sure you don't wanna spend the night? It's late, and you've been drinking." Ashton offered as we walked to his front door. I gave him a hug and stepped outside.

"No, it's okay." I looked down to my phone, noting the time of 1:45 am. "I have work tomorrow and I'm okay to drive. My last drink was hours ago and all those snacks and fast food have taken over my veins." I groaned dramatically. Ashton giggled before nodding gently.

"I'll see you later." He patted my back and sent me down his driveway, watching me as I entered my car.

On my drive home, I was left unsatisfied with my confrontation with Calum. I thought our closeness would have led him to be more open, but he was so blatantly lying. Ashton obviously covering the lie for him only grew my suspicions more. My mind raced of the possibilities of what could be bothering the boy.

I lazily kicked off my shoes as I entered my apartment, tossing my keys of a small side table beside the door. Filled with junk from Ashton's house, I skipped my kitchen and headed straight for my bedroom.

I slipped out of my black leggings and hoodie, changing into a large shirt and underwear. As I tossed my laundry into the basket, my phone let off a ding on my bed. I flopped onto my bed, reaching for my phone and reading the notification. It read that the boys had started a live stream on twitch. I let out a giggle, amused at the boy's inability to rest. Clicking on the notification, I settled into my bed.

"We just saw each other 20 minutes ago!" Ashton cheered sarcastically from the livestream. I smiled at the faces on the screen.

"Hey, Y/n is here." Ashton chuckled, looking closer at the screen. I watched as the boys talked to the viewers of the stream and to each other, making jokes and messing with filters.

"Calum's sad cause Y/n yelled at him." Michael joked. Calum sent Michael a death glare, earning a chuckle from me.

"She didn't yell at me." Calum scoffed with a forced smile. I rolled my eyes sarcastically at his stubbornness, continuing to tune into the stream.

"He's sad cause he's in love with her." Ashton mumbled looking down to his phone, widening his eyes quickly and looking up at his screen after speaking, realizing what he had said.

"Dude." Calum spoke quietly. I narrowed my eyebrows at his words, him looking just as surprised as me. Ashton turned off his camera, followed by Calum, as if he had said something controversial. I put the speaker to my ear as the live suddenly fell quiet. Incoherent whispers came through before Ashton appeared again.

"Alright we'll see you guys later." Ashton forced a smile and a wave to the livestream before ending it abruptly. I stared at my empty screen in confusion, trying to make sense of Ashton's words. Did I hear him wrong? Was my phone glitching? I decided to play it cool and text Ashton calmly.

"Hey, why'd you end your live?"

I watched the three dots appear and disappear repeatedly before his message appeared.

"You should text Cal.".

[theshyspy]

bookstore au with ashton irwin - headcanon

Based on this request from the very talented @littledrummerangie,thank you for sending it in lovie🦋

He was a bookworm who loved the familiarity of the known. He didn’t even notice how everything was a routine: the way he went to the same cafe and browsed the menu but got the same coffee each time, before heading to the usual bookstore a few feet away.

Which was why Calum was so confused as he stopped outside a newly opened bookstore, his eyes fixed at you moving inside it. In no time he had pushed the door open and started browsing through the shelfs, waiting for you to ask if he needed any help.

He swore you had the voice of an angel as you moved towards him, smile on your face as you wondered if he needed anything. (He didn’t, but) shortly after you were recommending all sorts of books.

He was so quick to return the next day, claiming he forgot to get one of the pieces on his wishlist (something he definitely hadn’t). He was just hypnotized, adoring the way you strang your sentences together and how all your opinions was so reflected. He could listen to you talk about anything for hours.

Every other day he would come up with a new excuse and be back again, not that you minded. He was your favourite customer, always smiling and asking about your day. Once in a while he even brought you coffee (he swore the barista had made an extra on accident but it happened way too many times for it to be a coincidence)

You always looked forward to your meetings, but was getting impatient, kinda hoping he would ask you out.

He most definitely wanted to ask you out. But it had to be perfect, something you couldn’t say no to.

So when your favourite author came out with a new book, he figured it was his time to shine.

At the end of your shift, he was waiting patiently outside the door. A basket resting on his arm, filled with food you’d briefly mentioned you enjoyed. To say you were surprised was an understatement, but you followed with a smile plastered on your face as he said he knew the perfect reading spot.

And that’s how you ended up with your head in his lap, his fingers gently playing with your hair as you fell in love with both your new book and the man beside you.

[sinning5sos]

Having a baby with Ashton would include...

1/4 in the father-to-be series :

Ashton ~ would be a helicopter partner near the end of your pregnancy, making sure you had anything you wanted and everything you needed.

You stared down at your stomach, admiring yet feeling anxious at the protrusion. You were at the thirty-nine week mark, and there wasn’t much that you could do at this point. You already knew you were having a girl, your excitement could hardly be contained but that was nothing compared to your husband. 

You listened to him humming along in the other room, only pausing when a lyric popped into his head and rubbed your stomach mindlessly. 

When you had that first wave of nausea so long ago, then you peed on those sticks, Ashton had been so excited. He still was, sometimes to the point of too much excitement for you. But the two of you were happy to finally have a child together, a dream you’ve both shared for a few years now.

You sighed as you realized you had to pee, which meant that you had to get out of your comfy chair, a chair that Ashton had bought when you had hit the thirty week mark stating that, “My love and my love deserve the best.”

You heaved forward slightly, but barely moved and you huffed as you sank back into the chair. You tried once more, but fell back. This chair was too comfortable.

“Babe?” You called, and heard a pencil fall onto the desk and his chair scoot back instantly, and he nearly tripped over his feet as he came around the corner.

“Yes, what is it? Is it time?” He asked, kneeling at the foot of the chair and you giggled as you shook your head.

“You think that if I was going into labor, I’m just going to call for you?” You said, and he chuckled as he kissed the top of your stomach, “No, I just have to pee darling.”

“Ah,” He replied. He stood and held his hands out for you to take, and using your momentum and Ashtons help, you were finally able to get to your feet. You felt the baby shift slightly inside of you, a feeling you couldn’t tell if you enjoyed or not, and let out a deep breath. His eyes widened in concern, but he remained quiet.

“Pee time,” You mumbled, and Ashton helped you walk over into the bathroom. You shut the door behind you, smiling to yourself as you saw his feet cast a shadow underneath the door, “Ash, I can pee just fine.”

“I know, I just want to help you.”

“You’ve done more for me Ashton, than any other person in this world.”

Other pregnancy things from Ash would include - 

Countless foot massages and helping you lotion your feet/legs

Literally a n y t h i n g you wanted, you got it

Him spoiling the baby with lots of clothes and toys

VERY PROTECTIVE

To the point where it’s kinda annoying but also he’s a father to be and you love how dedicated he is

Lots of affirmation from him

He’d be doing lots of research on everything and anything baby related

Because he doesn’t want to be like his dad so he’s going to try his best in every single fucking thing possible

And he’d tell you every single day how thankful he is for you and how he’s so excited to do this with you

He’d try to convince you to do anal just once

But he’d also spoil you