#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.

[the5sosarchive]

Calum and Ashton on stage at Firefight Australia — Feb. 16th, 2020

[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

[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 18

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!

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

It’s just a meeting. 

That’s what Calum tells himself when his email calendar alerts him that in fifteen minutes he’s scheduled to meet with his father. It’s just a meeting. He’s had plenty of them. They’ve talked plenty at the end of the day about things--how other meetings went, they’re plan of attack for future goals. This is not new for them. They do it all the time. But it’s never exactly been about this before. It’s never been about the transition of power. It’s never been Calum on his own, or on the brink of being on his own. 

He knows when he comes into power he gets to appoint a few seats. He’ll get to make a few little arrangements for his own personal counsel. But that always felt like a question of if it happened, or what to do if things aligned for him to take the throne. However, it’s not a question of if now. It’s a question of when. It’s a question of what Calum’s going to do about it now. It’s about Calum having to face the test and to pass it. 

But for right now, it’s just a meeting. Or that’s what he keeps trying to convince himself. 

Calum watches the minutes tick by. Fifteen turns into fourteen, fourteen turns into thirteen. Thirteen turns into twelve. His phone shakes and though Calum doesn't really want to look over, he does. It’s a message from you, the red heart next to your name calming the racing of his own heart, Don’t have a panic attack now, love. Do it after the meeting. 

Calum scoffs at the second part of your text. He’d been transparent about his fears when he added the meeting to his schedule. Calum was honest about the way his heart raced and his knees knocked at the thought that he’d really be taking over the throne. It was always going to happen. But it always felt like it would happen so much later than it is. 

I’d really appreciate a ‘don’t panic. you’ve got this’ text next time, but you’re right. I’ll save the panic for after.

Your reply comes swift, I know you’re always going to panic. Just want to spare you from happening it twice. 

The notification chimes again from his computer. A five minute warning. Calum pushes up from his desk, gathering his pad and pen as he goes. The screen goes dark as Calum puts the computer to sleep. The offices weren’t terribly far from each other. But Calum can’t be late to this. He only needs to go to the end of the hall and as he goes, his fingers blaze over the touchscreen. Too late. Am panicking now and will panic again later. Love you. 

Love you too. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see. 

He hopes you’re right. You’ve been right before and he’s praying that lightning will strike twice this time. 

Just as he lifts a hand to knock on the door, it creaks open. David smiles. “Heard you coming,” he laughs, pulling the door even further back to allow Calum to walk in. 

“Do you think the first order of business should be soundproofing the floors?” It’s a tease. A mostly light hearted jab at the floors of the wings echoing terribly. 

“I think it’d be a wee bit of a waste. Want anything to drink?”

Calum shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

David nods and the two men stand, a few feet apart. Neither one really makes a move. They usually sit on the couch. They melt into the worn leather. They laugh. They do drink. Perhaps, Calum’s not the only one unsure of how this whole thing is supposed to play out. Should they operate as normal? Should it be more formal?

Was it ever meant to be formal?

“I think I’ll have a little something,” his dad returns, moving towards the side. The bottle and glasses you bought him rest on the small side table. Calum places his pad and pen onto the table in front of the couch but doesn’t settle onto it properly, perches on the arm of the sofa. It’ll earn him hell, but he’s less worried about that. 

“Still have those anthills?” David asks. He turns now, his glass only a quarter full of the brown alcohol. 

“Some of them might’ve grown,” Calum returns. He’s still worried about him if he’s only ever meant for politics. He’s still worried that grief and humanity might knock him over. He’s worried he’ll fuck it all up. 

“Mind looping an old man like me in?”

“Dad, you’re not old,” Calum laughs, watching as his father sinks into the couch. There’s still feet between them, but no reprimand about Calum’s improper usage of the arm of the couch. 

“Oh, we can be honest. I am. But I’m not letting it keep me down.”

Calum shifts his weight, lets himself slip down the leather into the cushions. “I think it’s always scary, you know. Knowing that I’ll eventually be King. Guess I just want to do a good job if I’m going to take over.”

“You always do a good job. You’re a Hood.”

His father says it is like the family name carries more behind it than just the four letters. And Calum gets it in some ways. The Hoods have been ruling for decades now. But Calum’s not sure legacy means much if he doesn’t do well enough to carry the torch himself. His name won’t mean anything if he himself doesn’t ensure he puts in the work for such recognition. 

Calum drops his head into the back of the couch, posture slipping as he goes. “Yeah, I am. But I don’t know. I think about what could have been too.”

“What could have been?” David asks. 

The glass makes a soft clink against the coaster, Calum assumes it's been put down. “I wonder what might’ve happened if I wanted to be a footballer more than being tied to the throne. What if I wanted something else just a little bit more?”

There’s a hum. From behind the door there’s the click of heels on the floor. The person walks past the doors and carries on down further. “We’ll always think about that. I do too sometimes. What would happen if I didn’t make certain choices that I did? And the only thing that does is bring worry. But if it helps, if it brings even a small piece of comfort, those questions won’t go away even once you decide.”

“Gee, thanks,” Calum laughs, bringing his head up and gaze to his dad. 

David shrugs. “I have to be honest with you, son. You will always wonder what life would look like if you chose a different path. I don’t think that means you don’t choose anything though. I think it just means that when you choose, you have to accept that you’ll always wonder the opposite.”

“A shitty thing to accept.”

“But if you always knew how things would turn out, if you always knew if the grass was really greener or if it was poisoned, if you always knew what was the right thing to choose, life would be a little bit boring. The bad thing is you’ll always wonder. The good thing is choosing makes life adventurous.”

“I don’t know. I feel like I chose before I should’ve. Or maybe before I realized what I was choosing. Doing my duty sounds good. It feels good. But yeah, I always think about if I knew back then what I know now if I’d still choose this. And maybe I would’ve, you know.”

“I think I do,” David agrees. “Maybe you still choose all of this--politics, taking over the throne. Or maybe you wind up somewhere totally different and you’re not happy as you are right now.”

“A large game of what if,” Calum muses. 

His father grins. “And it never gets easier.”

It doesn’t feel cynical. It’s just a fact. It’s just how it works. Calum will always have choices to make and he’ll always wonder what would happen if he chose differently. And while you said maybe he didn’t always make this into a choice. Maybe he could be King and still enjoy a game of football with his old friends. Maybe he can be King and still tend to his mother’s garden when she’s ready to pass it along to someone. Maybe he can be King and still be human, still be himself at the end of it all. Maybe the title’s only that--a title, a job, not an existence. 

“Thanks for listening, Dad.”

“Anytime, anytime. Still don’t want that drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“Aye, your loss,” David laughs but picks up his pad. There’s already notes scribbled down from what Calum can read but he can’t make out the specifics of what’s written down. “Shall we get started?”

Calum exhales. It’s just a meeting. Only a meeting. Nothing would officially change just yet. It’s just a meeting. 

“There’s no time like a present,” Calum finally agrees, reaching for his own legal pad. He’d attempted to write down any semblance of rational thought for days now, but the most he’d conjured up were circles and loops. He did manage to print down the write up he’d done last week of the results from the direct form, so he is at the very least a little prepared. But not fully. God, he’s not fully prepared. 

“I had some ideas on the right timeline, but I wanted to check in first. What sounds reasonable to you? And no, not forever.” David grins as he says it, like he might’ve been anticipating Calum’s snarky response. 

Not that Calum faults him. He might’ve actually said forever, but it wouldn’t have been in jest. Calum considers it--what would be a reasonable request. He’s twenty-seven now. His birthday came and went now in a bit of a haze. His own batch of cupcakes--chocolate to his own dismay in giving into how right Ashton was about him--all consumed too. The sincere birthday card and small stuffed bear from you still sit on his personal desk in his room. The flowers you had delivered wilted too soon, but the vase remains on his coffee table in his office. It was a small affair, the way Calum prefers it with a small dinner with his family and a few drinks in the evening with his friends. But he’s twenty-seven now. A year at twenty-eight feels too soon, like it won’t work. And he’s not sure two will either. 

“Three years?” Calum offers. “I’ll have a decade’s worth of experience at that point.”

“Seats in Counsel will be vacant sooner than that. I’d hate to put you in a pickle because of that timing.”

Calum hadn’t fully considered how that sort of election and appointment would work, but it is a fair counterpoint. Though he understands his father to be a bit more strict on the rules, Calum had at least assumed empty seats would be for his choosing anyway. “Would a soft transition work? Perhaps I take on more behind closed doors for a little bit, so I can have more say in those seats and then a final public transition after that?”

David nods, scratching down a note. Calum knows it’s a non answer. There’s still nothing solid about how many years that plan would take. But for now, it seems to satisfy his father because he offers, “We can make that work.” 

Calum almost asks about his mother, if she’d offered any ideas on the matter. Joy respectfully declined to partake in this meeting. Calum doesn’t attribute her absence to anything malicious.  She’d been thrust into this world, much like you, by association. Though she took it with grace, Calum wonders if she’s always been sort of looking for her own escape. If his mother’s always been waiting for her chapter to end on the throne and to put herself back where she wanted to be--behind the scenes, and in the muck. Perhaps, her absence is her own way of easing herself out of responsibilities as Queen. 

David continues on. “We’ll need to put together a solid platform under you--show you as someone who does care and is a champion of the everyday man. I think that will help immensely in that public transition and it could help get certain folks in line early rather than too late.”

His father is all gas. “Yeah,” Calum nods, clearing his throat for a second. He’d have to talk to his mother after. No doubt, she’d be debriefed twice--once by him and once by David--but she never seemed to mind. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too.” Calum gathers his notes into his lap, digging out the pie chart.  “I think taking some issues from the form would be a good place to start.”

David takes the extended sheet, eyes darting over the colors and the key. “I like the sound of that.”

It’s just a meeting. It’s just data. Calum can talk data. “There’s a lot of chatter about the state of the roads, which is a topic I think is fair but maybe small fruit considering we could work something out together now versus later. I’d like some time to look into the concerns about the public school systems. Look at how teachers are compensated, make sure schools have money for the most recent textbook editions, that technology centers in the schools are up to date.”

David’s head bop--left then right-- is noncommittal in tone before he speaks, “Public transit is also a sizable chunk too. But I don’t think you should spread yourself thin. The roads, public transit, schools--these are all topics that come up all the time.”

 It sounds like a warning, like his father might be trying to tell Calum to focus on something else. “If we can fund, or find ways to partially fund vocational schools like we did with two and four year institutions, we’d have more people going into trades. Kids in public schools need equity and they need to feel like they have real tangible options once they have that diploma. Some of them can’t afford to take four and five plus years to start earning more than what they get by dropping fries. Funding public schools and also looking into ways to make trade schools more affordable can help us fill some employment gaps.” And the more Calum speaks, he wonders too if he is biting off more than he can chew. But it doesn’t mean it’s still not viable and worth putting the work in. 

“We still need folks in waste. You still want your burgers in the drive-thru. The folks that check you out at the grocery store or stock the shelves. What about them? They keep the world turning in ways people don’t even realize,” David returns. 

“I’m not saying I’m forgetting about them. As much as you have made strides to improve the economy, you are right, there are jobs that people overlook as menial, that are the undercurrent of how we live our lives. But I feel like everyone’s talked about being there for the underdog and then gotten nowhere with it. They need protection. But I don’t want people to think I’m not listening. It’s not like you and I don’t have a little bit of time. I can’t fix everything but I need to fix the big things. Education is huge.”

The room is silent as David places it next to his drink on the table. “I just don’t want you wading into waters that look shallower than they are. Job protection and some amount of wage stabilization is truly a much smaller goal.”

“If we’re taking platforms, I think you exiting on a win is good too. I understand the importance of not only getting jobs filled but keeping those people employed by protecting them against excessive automation while ensuring fair and livable wages. But with the win of the stimulus and the boom it’s created in the economy, I think there’s much more potential if we focus on that as your exit rather than my entrance.” 

And maybe--if Calum were to ponder long enough--the truth would come out too. Calum wants the person behind him, the kid in the back of the classroom doodling in his notebook and dreaming big to have a real chance to leap for the stars. Maybe if the silence were to settle for long enough, Calum can admit that he wants for his past self the chance to make it as that footballer, to make it in a band, to perhaps even think on a smaller scale as a teacher. 

His father speaks slowly, measuring each word out on his tongue and Calum swallows back down the truth. “You are right that there’s more momentum now for more economic pushes in the job market to stabilize. It would seem rather strange to cut the tide short. But tackling education won’t be an easy or quick task. You’ll need a lot of time to talk, as well as recruiting help on any orders and bills you want to bring to the floor for it. What are people saying about public transit? What’s happening there?”

Calum can see the wheels turning in his father’s brain. His pages snap with a crisp crackle as he flips through them. Once Calum finds the summary page, he pauses, eyes looking over words. “Hmm, it looks like some of the buses aren’t as reliable. A lot of stops are not served or delayed because of mechanical issues. I think,” Calum continues, handing the summary over to his father, “that some of this could be mitigated by some bus upgrades over a couple years. Maybe extending a route or two. I would need to look more into the railroads. I don’t think they’re too bad, but some of those tracks are getting older. There might be a couple people mentioning high speed rails for longer distances.”

Calum hadn’t really wanted to tackle public transit at his first initiative. He wanted to work on it slowly and bring it to the Summit floor. There were areas and countries with much better train and bus systems that he wanted to learn from before touching the matter. 

“High speed rails means cross country, which means a lot more diplomacy,” David counters.  “You’ll need to make friends with a lot of folks to not only get it up and running but maintain it. But it is a job sector and if we do get it up, it can help.”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know enough to take public transit on as a platform issue. I think we can work on upgrading buses if need be and routes. But the high speed rail is going to require an entire committee.” Calum’s not backing down. He just don’t think he or his father are in any sort of position to tackle anything big. 

The exhale David gives is heavy. “It will. But it begs the question, does this fit inside the momentum we have or not?”

“Getting operating buses helps folks get around. Perhaps, it’s a budget question for now. How much money do the repairs cost? Is it more cost effective to get new buses? That sort of thing. Our new fiscal year just started a few months back, in September, so maybe it’s tabled until May.”

David reaches for his drink. He doesn’t quite take a sip, just rests his lips to the rim of the glass. “Now, you are right. It is a budget question for right now. We’ll need the director of transportation to get back to us with short term and long term goals.”

Calum nods before speaking, “We can do phases, I think. Long term goals that will be my platform to take on and/or to continue. Short term goals that can be tackled while you’re still at the helm and that way it looks like a continuation.”

David grins, placing the glass back down to the coaster. “You do realize it’s my job to be worried about you. It’s not your job to worry about me.”

“Some might say that it’s becoming my job to worry a little bit about you. The tables turn after a while.”

David nods, a small smile still gently etched into his face. “Perhaps they do. But not yet. Though, I must agree. It’s a rather sound arrangement. We should look into doing phases. But the big thing will be the time frame.”

Calum’s ears start to ring--the worry and anxiety come flooding back like an assault to his senses. There’d never be enough time. He knows that. Yet, the conversation has been going well so far. They’d been able to talk about what matters were important and in what order. Now it’s all unraveling. The veil’s dropping yet again. 

“What are you thinking?” Calum asks. It’ll hurt like hell, but it’ll be easier to get an idea of where his father is. And by extension, his mother too. The band aid doesn’t hurt any less when it’s his father taking it off, but Calum doesn’t have to worry so much about the anticipation of the pain when someone else is doing it. He just has to brace for when it comes, because it always will. Asking his dad about the anticipated timeline means all Calum has to do is ride the wave when the answer crumples him. All he has to do is brace. 

“Two years? Maybe three? It’ll be fast no matter what, but I think having a cap will help.”

His heart drops. His stomach flips. If an esophagus could shrivel up and die Calum is sure his just did. Three years is generous. But two feels much too short. But there’s no real room for negotiation. He can’t ask for more. “I can work with three,” Calum agrees. His heart hammers against his chest. The veins of his neck thumping against the thin skin. 

“Three it is then.”

It’s uneven, wobbly, but Calum nods and casts his gaze back down to the papers in front of him. The blank ink means nothing, carries no shape of the letters they’re meant to be making. The whiteness of the printer paper burns his eyes just a little. Three years and then everything would change. Not that things aren't changing all the time. The seconds carry the tide of time and they stop for no one. 

But in three years, everything for Calum would change. He’d be on his own, settled into a Cabinet of his own assemblage. It would be Calum’s face on initiatives. It would be Calum’s name on the line for everything that transpired--whether it was his direct doing or a consequence of someone or something else. It’d all go in three years. It’ll all happen faster than Calum can blink. Faster than he can brush his teeth it feels. 

“Three years,” Calum whispers to you. 

You’re perched on the corner of his bed, tying up the laces on your sneakers. Calum asked you about visiting the aquarium a couple days before he and his father met. You’d offer to wait until after the conversation to go to ensure that either it was a celebration or a pick me up depending on how it turned out. Calum won’t lie, he’s grateful for your forward thinking. Having the day to spend not focused on things work related and allow himself to digest the changes even subconsciously is more deeply appreciated. 

The realization still hasn’t settled. It probably won’t for a little bit. But Calum still’s not sure if he’s inside his own body. The kiss to his cheek helps. The press of your body into his makes him feel a smidge more grounded. 

“Three years is a long time,” you offer. “It’ll feel short, but it is sizable. You can earn degrees in that amount of time.”

While true, this is much more than a degree--than some piece of paper to prove that he can be taught. But Calum understands what you’re saying. That a lot can happen in three years. That three years isn’t the infinite loop he’d been hoping for, but it was a gracious amount of time. Calum hums at your comment. “I think I’m just glad he’s letting me platform on education.”

“It’s a pretty big sector. A lot to undertake.”

Calum hears what you’re not saying. The question you’re really getting at is: Do you think you can do it without getting overwhelmed? Calum slides his hand into yours, threading his fingers through yours. “I plan to make some changes to the Cabinet and build a committee before making any solid stances. I have opinions but I do know I’ll need help along the way.”

“Good.” It leaves you softly, behind it Calum hears the relief and the care you have for him. 

“All set?” he questions. 

You nod. “Yeah.”

“And you’re sure about this--such a public facing date?”

You sigh at the question. Calum’s sure it’s annoying. He’d wanted to visit, just to watch the animals and clear his head. But it never surpasses his awareness that people will be watching once they realize it’s the both of you out. “I’m sure. It’s not like social media isn’t still blown to smithereens thanks to New Year's Eve,” you return. 

New Year’s Eve--it feels like a decade ago, but it’s only been a few weeks. The kiss at the end of the countdown had been inadvertently captured by someone attending. The picture originated from someone’s significant other as they attempted to snap a selfie to ring in the New Year. In the background, you and Calum were snapped, wrapped up in the kiss. It only took mere hours before the zoomed in cropped photos popped up on every blog and gossip site in existence. 

“We have a track record. At least we’re consistent,” Calum laughs, sliding his wallet into his back pocket and grabbing his keys as well. 

“The ice cream incident shouldn’t even count. But it is quite incriminating,” you grin, back pressed into the bedroom door. You hold the door open for him, and Calum, fully assembled himself, nods for you to carry on in front of him. 

“I think it has to count,” he laughs. 

You huff. “It doesn’t have to. But I think not counting it only proves a point that we probably shouldn’t try to prove.”

“Which is?” Calum whispers against your ear as you two wait for the elevator. 

“That we’re bad at keeping our hands to ourselves,” you snort, reaching back to palm him through his jeans. 

The pressure is fairly light, but the squeeze as the doors slide open make Calum’s spine tense and tingle. God, he loves it when you get handsy. Though he liked the comfort of you, liked it when the two of you were doing separate things together, Calum will always be a little weak in the knees with the physical affection. 

“We’re terrible at it,” Calum agrees as he corners you in the elevator. The doors are still gaping wide as he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. “This damn thing could tell so many stories about us.”

“I’m sure security gets an eye full.”

“Nothing wrong with a little show.” It isn’t an unpleasant thought that swirls in his brain. Calum was sure there were cameras for safety reasons but it doesn’t make him as uncomfortable as he thought it might to think about the fact that someone out there was watching and has most likely caught the two of you in pretty compromising positions. 

You snort before sealing your lips around Calum’s. Your voice vibrates over his jaw and down his throat as you speak, “Want to give another one?”

The question makes Calum’s stomach knot. Desire churns in his stomach. The levels are ringing above you. There’s not enough time. You both know it. It’s running the risk of the doors opening with every second that. Calum’s counting. There’s not enough time even if he were to say yes. The elevator drops, takes a small bounce and then the doors open. “Next time,” Calum whispers against your lips. 

“Holding you to it.”

Calum’s holding himself to it too. But he keeps that to himself, slipping his hand into yours and leading you out of the elevator. The hallways are quiet. It’s nothing shocking given it’s a Saturday morning. Breakfast’s long done at this hour, and now in the interim, he imagines there’s a bit of breathing room for most of the staff. 

“Be careful driving,” you warn as the two of you step outside into the chilled morning air. February’s chill isn’t as bone deep as December or January but it gives no real break or hint of the dawning spring. Calum prays for a warmer March. “They’re doing construction off the Lafayette exit, about a mile from the aquarium. I had to pull over the other day and make sure I didn’t have a nail in my tire.”

Calum takes a look at your sedan parked next to his SUV. The front tires look good, well inflated. He nods at the warning nonetheless. “Will do. Thanks for that. Do you know what they’re working on?”

“I think it’s some apartments? I couldn’t really get a good look at the sign. Teagan was less of a help because she said I was going too fast. At a whopping 30 miles an hour because of heavy traffic.”

Calum snorts at the twinge of annoyance in your voice. “Hey, that is fast. Give her some slack.”

“I think she was too distracted by her new ballet shoes, so perhaps it is a bit too much to ask her to pay attention to a boring sign. Teagan does say thanks again about the shoes.”

“She’s welcome.” Calum overheard Teagan’s rant about the floor of the dance studio snagging her shoes when she called you a couple weeks back. He hadn’t meant to be spying that hard, but he noticed you checking your bank account in the midst of the conversation, he knew that you were trying to see if you had the cash to help replace them. Given recent increases to your rent, things were a little tighter than usual so Calum offered to help fund a sibling trip. His only stipulation is that you’d set the limit on the cost so as to not feel like you were taking advantage of anyone’s position. The offer was met with only light resistance. 

“Is Charlie still going out for the team next season?” Calum asks, fingers pressing at the screen to change the radio station. Once he’s happy, he starts off towards the gates. The dip out of the parking lot bounces the truck only a smidge before it evens out the road off the property. 

“I think so. Sounds like his plan. He’s a little sad he didn’t get much play time this season.”

“He’s got an arm on him though. He’ll get more time if he keeps at it.”

“Don’t know if he’s interested in pitching though. I think he likes playing outfield. He gets to be a little more active.”

“Coach won’t ever risk injury to his arm. Not with the way Charlie can pitch,” Calum counters. Not that Calum doesn’t understand Charlie’s desire to play a different position. But Calum knows that with what the coach sees in Charlie, it’s a smarter bet to reduce as much risk for injury as possible. 

“You’re not wrong, but I’m biased. Charlie should be able to play outfield.”

Calum laughs, resting a hand on your knee after merging up onto the highway. “I’ll be sure to add: was always honest to your obituary.”

“If you don’t, you will be haunted.”

“I will happily be haunted by you, should I fail to include that in your obit.”

The drive falls into a relative silence, occasionally only broken by the ads from the radio station. Calum laughs when you sing along to the jingles. It’s clear you’ve heard them plenty of times now. “Is this the classic rock station?” you ask as Calum pulls to a stop at a red light right off the Lafayette exit. 

He’s caught. He knows it. Your car’s always tuned into this station and you never deviate, unless you have Teagan and Charlie in the car. But in the absence of them your car radio is always tuned into classic rock. It took Calum a few tries to land on the right one one afternoon, but once he was positive he’d tuned the setting correctly, he made sure to keep it on for you when you rode with him. 

“It might be,” he offers. It’s not as coy as he wants it to be. His heart hammers into his ribs. He can feel the thrumming of his veins against the skin of his neck. 

“Did you do this because of me?”

“Possibly.” Not coy at all, Calum reprimands himself. The construction becomes more apparent the further down the street he gets. He’s praying he doesn’t get a nail in his tire. He’d just replaced the whole set after nearly failing his car’s inspection. 

“Why’d you do that?” you ask it softly in between the thumps of the kick drum of the song playing over the radio. 

“Because it’s always on in your car. Do-do you like the station? I can change it if not.”

“No, no, it’s-it’s fine. Thank you. I just-I didn’t think anyone else noticed.”

Calum’s sure you’ve given rides to folks, helped a roommate of yours out time from time, a coworker here and there. But he doesn’t think those people could or would even pay enough attention to the station. He dares even think you might not even let many others in close enough to notice. But Calum does. He always would. He’d carry each and every tiny piece of you cradled in the palms of his hand if he could. 

“I always notice,” Calum offers. 

“The car came programmed to the station.”

A confession, Calum can tell. Your voice is soft and even though he’s pulled into a parking space, you’ve not made a single move muscle. He slips the seat belt from around his torso. “So, you never changed the station?” Calum questions. 

“No. I-I hadn’t ever owned anything before. Or left like I should. I don’t know. Changing the radio station feels like something I couldn’t do, like it made it feel like the thing is actually mine. And now it just feels sort of right, so I leave it. I like the songs.”

“Well, it is signed over in your name. But I get it, I think. I hope you feel, one day, like you’re allowed to have things. You’re allowed to make things feel comfortable for you and you’re allowed to want things and to have them.”

You turn now, in the seat, facing Calum. A smile has lifted the corners of your lips as your eyes filter over his face--starting at his eyes and falling down to his chin and then returning to his eyes. “I think I’m getting there.”

The gaze is soft. It holds Calum tenderly and he knows. He knows that you’re talking about him, and the new turn in your life you’re taking. But he’s glad there’s improvement. He’s glad you want things. “Good,” he states just as softly. The kiss is soft and sweet, the press of lips with a smile. If Calum listens closely enough, he swears he might hear a love filled laughter in both his and yours chest. 

Or maybe it’s even real as you do help him curve the brim of the baseball cap. A precaution that he may not need to take, but does so regardless. “Are you sure you can even see from underneath that thing?” you ask with a snort. 

“I can see fine,” Calum retorts before he unveils a second navy blue cap as well. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to of course. But I do keep some spare in the back just in case.”

Pictures have already made their rounds. People already know. But he still gives you the option. He’s not sure if you’ll take it. Things seemed to have calmed, even if it turns out to only be momentarily. But he doesn’t want you to feel like you’re doing this alone. The picnic at the park was one thing. The dinner was another. Some of the previous outings were more spontaneous than others. But now it’s a growing reality. Now it’s real and it would be put through the gauntlet. 

“Are you embarrassed to wear one by yourself?” you tease but take the outstretched cap. 

“No, not in the slightest.”

“Doesn’t it seem a little backwards?” you ask. 

“Maybe,” Calum agrees. He only suggested the cap to you in case you’re worried. “Some days a cap just makes more sense to me than others to me, I guess.”

“Would those days coincide with days you don’t want to be bothered by others out in public?”

He shrugs. Maybe it’s not exactly when he doesn’t want to be bothered, but he has a feeling given the recent pictures from new years should he be more visible it might cause more of a scene. “Something like that.”

You give a nod, hands cupping the brim of the cap and gently pushing it into more of a rounded shape. “Am I in the ballpark?”

Calum exhales his laughter though it’s not a fully humorous moment. “Sometimes it just helps, when I need to stay under the radar as much as possible. Don’t know how many more public dates will be as interruption free as they’ve been.”

You slip the cap on over your head, tugging it down low to your brows. “This is my hat now, just so you know. So the next time you need a low visible day this one is off the rotation list.”

The smile is small but Calum nods. “Noted. It looks better on you anyway.”

“Your check’s in the mail, love. Thanks.”

Inside of the aquarium, there’s the quiet whisper of voices. A few parents with young children stroll by and the kids babble, but it’s a hush over the visitors. Calum pulls the tickets out from his pockets for them to be scanned and once through the interior of the reservation desks, Calum tucks you into his side. You hold the map, though the place is truly a bit of a loop, you snag a physical map all the same, a pen clicking in your fingers. He’s not sure why you might’ve had a pen on you, but he’s not shocked. 

“Anything that we must see?” you ask, angling the map closer to him. 

“Sharks for sure.” You put a small star next to the spot on the map. The blue ink of your pen barely stands out against the blue and green of the map, but stands out just enough to be clear as an addition to the paper. “You?” Calum asks. 

“Otters,” you return. “Looks like it’s in the secondary building though. So there’s a brief outdoor excursion.”

“I don’t think I’ll freeze,” Calum teases. “Any special exhibits?”

“It looks like there’s something on the trails, but it might be a bit too cold to be on trails for a beach bunny like you.”

Calum laughs at the tease. “We can always come back. But not all of us are born for the snow.”

“I never said I was born for it. I just like it.” Your correction comes with a light jab at his ribs from your elbow, but it barely connects in the end. 

Calum slips the pen from your grasp and presses his left palm underneath the section of the map that the otters are notated on. He places a star on the dot with enough pressure for it to show up but soft enough to keep the paper from ripping. The two additional marks are vastly different from each other, even though they’re both meant to convey the same thing. Your marking is a bit more of an asterisk and his being the five point rendition of a star. But all the same those stars encase their respective dots to signal required stops along the way. 

“And we’ll make sure to hit the gift shop at the end, okay?” Calum promises. “I need a new design for the collection.”

“Collection?” you ask, taking your pen back and pocketing it in your jacket. 

“Mum and I collect keychains when we visit places. It’s been a few years since I’ve last visited this aquarium so I figured they’d have at least one new design.”

“How-how long have you been doing that?”

Calum shrugs, unsure of when the tradition truly started for his mother. “Ever since I was young from what I can remember.”

You fold the map back up but don’t pocket it. “Huh. That’s cute.” 

There feels like there’s maybe more behind that sentence but it never comes. So Calum doesn’t push it, even with the question burning his tongue to ask if you’ve collected anything to commemorate all the places you’ve been. It’s not that he doesn’t care to know the answer. Calum just knows better. You haven’t really been to many places, even if you did yearn for it. “Do you want to start collecting something? For us? Or for yourself too. Whatever you prefer.”

Your response is slow, but it’s clear you’re digesting the thought. “Oh, I’m not sure. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Think on it some more,” he offers, slipping his arm from around your shoulders down to your free left hand. “We’ve got a couple of hours to kill and if you’re not sure by the time we get to the giftshop, we can still come back.”

“Okay.” A little bit of disbelief settles behind the word, like maybe you’re still trying to figure out what it even means to want to start a collection. But Calum doesn’t take it personally and instead carries on, fingers threading through yours. The good thing is that there is time. So much of it lived, but there’s so much of it still to come. He would not be bothered in the slightest if the remaining hours and days are spent with you doubling back to aquariums, not if it means in the end you get so much more out of it. 

The fish exhibits are all near the front. The tanks filling up walls, glass bottom arches above your heads. It’s a leisurely stroll the two of you take on. There are pauses to point out fish with interesting color combinations. There’s giggles and laughter as you two point out turtles in the midst of a feeding time squabble. There’s no clear indication on what caused it, but you two watch as the turtles stare each other down for a moment--a battle of wills ensuing. 

“How much do you want to bet they’re siblings?” Calum whispers to you. 

“I don’t think we’d have to bet much,” you laugh. 

The dispute is easily settled as more food is handed out to the offended turtle. And the two of you carry on. It’s an even slower pace than Calum assumed, you pause to watch the tank where the stingrays swim around other patrons of the aquarium. It’s a wading pool at most but you watch the brave souls and the creatures that float through the water as well.  “Want to give it a go?” Calum asks. 

“No, I’m good. They’re just interesting creatures. Sorry.”

“No, no need to apologize. We can stay as long as you want.” 

A kid laughs behind you two. Calum hears the slight thud of feet stumping and the giggles before a deeper voice calls out. “Be careful, bud.” The thumps don’t quiet, just slow in pace and soon the slight squeak of wheels passing behind the two of you. Calum turns and spots the stroller passing by but up ahead the small toddler struts up to another small display in the room--Calum suspects it’s a freshwater exhibit. Calum knows he’s watching a little too long but the sight warms his chest and he’s glad that small moments like this exist in the universe. 

“That’s us if we were sharks, of course,” you tease, pointing into the far left corner of the tank. There are two sharks huddling close to each other. A third one swims over a few seconds later and joins in the pile. 

It’s a disgustingly cute tease and Calum swears his chest might burst at the toothy grin you beam over to him. “Have I said I love you today?” he asks. 

“Not in those exact words today,” you return. 

And it’s not that you two don’t have a habit of saying. It’s not that Calum’s scared of saying it. It’s perhaps just the fact that there’s so many other ways to say it between the two of you. I love you’s can sound a lot like,  I don’t want you to worry twice or Think about it more. But nothing sounds quite like, “I love you.” Calum squeezes at your hand as he says it. 

“I love you too.”

The shark tank is vast. Even as Calum walks on, to continue on to other exhibits, he watches inside of the tank and spots more sharks than he could see from just a foot in his previous spot. It’s as if each new angle provides a new view into the tank. Though he’d been sort of leading the excursion it’s his moment to stop and watch, in awe of the creatures in front of him. They don’t look so menacing here and now. Calum’s not fooled by that--he knows should he find himself in open water he’d be frightened by the possibilities. 

That’s what’s scary. The possibilities come and the possibilities that have passed him by. In open waters or behind those doors with his dad there were possibilities that Calum knew about and those they didn’t know about. He doesn’t want becoming King to change him at his core. Calum still always wants to be Calum at the end of the day. He wants to be himself. But he’d be a fool to think that the change in title wouldn’t come with its own challenges. He’d be a fool to not anticipate the crashing wave of reality. 

“Oop, let’s be careful so we don’t run into the lovely couple.”

Calum turns to the voice and sees a mother steering a stroller. Inside is a baby, possibly only a few months old. The baby is bundled up tight in a hat, jacket, and blanket. Just under the mother’s hands are a set of smaller fists holding tightly to the handles of the stroller. Calum smiles as they pass and she smiles in return too. 

“I can push,” a small voice protests. 

“Yes, and you’re doing so well. But we were just a little wobbly for a second. You got it from here straight on back inside,” she encourages. 

“Have you thought about kids?” 

The question comes gently from you. You’re a couple steps ahead of him as Calum paused to watch the family proceed on towards the doors that you and him just exited. Calum turns now, the slight bit of loose gravel under his sneakers scratches at the concrete with the movement. “What do you mean?” Calum asks. 

“Kids. Have you thought about whether you'd want them or not?”

Calum can’t say he hadn’t thought about kids ever. But he too is worried. Have you ever thought about them? “I have before. I think I’d like to be a dad.”

“I think you’d make a good dad,” you agree, smiling as you tug Calum in a smidge closer. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re too busy watching families than you are watching animals.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you know me.” He doesn’t want to say more. Doesn’t want to make you feel like you have to agree with him, though he would love it. 

“You’re talented. You can watch babies and animals, yes I know. But, if-if you ever want to talk more about it, I’m here.”

An invitation. Did it mean that you thought about it too? Or did it mean that you were just noticing? That you wanted Calum to feel safe enough to broach those topics even if they scared you? While the aquarium’s not the best backdrop, Calum’s grateful for the option. “Is this your way of saying the teasing New Year’s Eve proposals are more than teases?”

You scoff, smiling all the while. “That was no jest. I like living life with you. But I only have so much patience. If one more child walks past squealing about otters before I can see them, I’ll leave you in the cold.”

“Alright, alright, alright. I can take a hint. Let’s go see your otters, okay?” Perhaps, that can be a stand in for I like living life with you too.  

_____________________

Your yellow legal pad confession is answered on white notebook paper. The perforated edges tell you Diana took the precious time to hold the pages taut enough only to tear along the edges and not leave behind the scraggly ends. Her penmanship is as sharp as ever. “I was told to hand deliver it,” Melvin states. 

You look up from the trifolded pages--plural you can tell by the thickness, but how many pages you don’t know. You can’t quite get your fingers to peel the stack open. “Must she one on up,” you try as a tease. You’d stamped yours, put her address as the forwarding and your as the return. And someway, her response to you came back by hand. Only your name written across the top of the white envelope. The flap had been tucked inside but not sealed, as if she never planned to ever send it through the postal service. 

Melvin chuckles, knuckles tapping at the wood of the bar. “I think it’s less about upstaging here. But I’ll admit, I’m biased.”

The printer behind you spits up more drink tickets. You hear the whizz of the paper feeding through the machine. You put the pages back inside the envelope and slip it all into your back pocket. “Perhaps,” you return. “Be thinking about what you want to order please. The dinner rush will be coming in the next half hour.”

“We’re not scared of a dinner rush,” Teagan boasts.

“But I am,” you laugh, pulling the three white tickets from the machine. 

Melvin asked if he could stop by the restaurant, said he’d passed it by but hadn’t stopped by to eat because he didn’t know your schedule and didn’t want to intrude. The question shook your phone earlier in the week and when you replied that he was more than welcome to visit, you’d even obliged with your schedule for the week. Thus landing you here, with your family behind you--Charlie and Teagan fussing over the laminated menus and what they wanted and you with the letter from Diana in your back pocket. 

Melvin conveniently did not mention having anything for you until he was settling into the barstool across from you. You wouldn’t hold that against him. Maybe he’d only gotten the weekend before. You’ll never really know because you’ll never ask. It doesn’t matter when Melvin acquired the letter. It matters much more that Diana had replied. You pour in the tequila, watching it skate down the ice in your shaker. What would she even say?

“Tequila Sunrise, Mule, and Martini,” you call out, watching a server come in and pluck up each of the drinks as you call them out for her table. You’re not really paying attention to your face, much more focused on if anyone else has approached the bar--thankfully not--and what you’re going to do about this letter in your pocket. 

“We’re ready,” Charlie calls out and you look back over your shoulder, holding your fingers at the ready for the next drink ticket you can hear whizzing through. 

“I’ll be there in just a minute.”

He gives you a thumbs up and you turn back to see thankfully it’s a rather easy order. As you pull down on the level for the craft beer, you watch for the head on it. Slow and steady you remind yourself. But you’re not sure if it’s a reminder for the beer or for the letter. With that drink picked up, you slide back down to Teagan, Charlie, and Melvin. “Alright, what are we doing today?”

Teagan rattles off her order of chicken parm with a side of mac ‘n’ cheese. Charlie opts to try the vegetable stir fry with a side of fries and Melvin goes with one of the grassfed burgers with the mashed potatoes. “Excellent choices,” you return. Part of it is habit, but it slips anyway as you collect the menus. 

“So you do this all day?” Teagan asks. You swipe into the register and put in their orders. 

“Every day I’m here,” you laugh. 

Just as you get the last of the order in, your name’s called out. You turn to find Harley at the edge of the bar.  “I need some help at table 18. They’re being unruly about this menu update. I don’t know what else to do. I’m trying to reassure them, but it’s going nowhere.”

You nod. “Yeah, I got you.” 

You slip out from behind the bar and follow slightly behind Harley as she tries to recount the disgruntled customer about the update back to the normal menu. There was a holiday menu that came in two weeks before Thanksgiving and was only in rotation until the second Sunday in January. It was advertised as such and you know because it was standard practice now that servers--and by extension you-- were trained to make customers aware of the limited time frame. You roll your eyes at the news, but you know that customers will be customers. As you approach the table you can see the huffy face of the suspected displeased guest.

“Evening,” you start as you approach. Harley falls behind you but you settle squarely at the end of the table. “I’ve heard there’s been a bit of a commotion about the menu. What’s the exact problem?”

“A commotion, I hope you don’t talk to all your patrons like that. This menu is entirely wrong,” the older gentleman taps at the laminated  menu on the table. Beside him, you assume it’s wife and across from him are two older teens--they might even be in their early twenties. They’re slinking down in the leather seats and you think if they could, they’d disappear in a heart beat. His wife on the other hand appears to hold no sympathies for children or for the staff as he holds her chin up at you. 

“Do you intend to dine at Forrest?” you ask. 

“What-what are you saying?” he huffs. 

“Did you intend to eat dinner today at the restaurant called Forrest?” 

The two teens snicker a little. You can tell they’re attempting to swallow them down, pressing them deep into their bellies so as to not actually laugh. But they fail in some regards. The shocked laughter leaves them in squeezes. The older man puffs up his chest. “I’ll have you know I am an important person in this community.”

You wonder if there’s a guidebook on how to be the most obnoxious customer ever given the number of times you’ve heard a line like that. If such a book does exist, an updated edition is in order. “I don’t doubt it, sir. Now, explain to me how this menu is wrong? We’ve established that you did in fact intend to dine at Forrest. From where I am standing, all four menus have our name and logo on them. You should see on the first two pages, appetizers, soups, salads, and chicken entrees, pages 3 and 4 are seafood, beef, vegetarian and the kid’s menu. Pages 5 and 6 show you desserts and drinks. Would you like to quiz me on a particular dish? To verify the fact that we are in the correct restaurant?”

“I’ll have your job. You will not speak to me that way,” the man spits. His face turns red as he speaks. He wags his shaky finger at you like it’s supposed to mean something. All the while his wife chastises her children for the laughter, but dares not say a word at you. 

“Then take it,” you retort. You even go so far as to take a step back from the table and point towards the bar. “And with it, you should know there’s a family at the bar waiting for their meals. Drink tickets are undoubtedly spitting up from the machine that I’ve had to walk away from. Harley,” you start, throwing your thumb over your shoulder to her, “your server here, has a section and a half by herself because we had someone call in sick today.”

You point behind the dividing partition that their table is nestled into you, back towards the kitchen. “The entire kitchen’s preparing for the dinner rush as we speak. There are breaks that haven’t been taken yet, so please don’t forget about scheduling those in as well. You can have my job. If you can handle it. But you don’t want the barely above minimum wage job I have. You want to fight over a menu. So let’s focus on that. What’s wrong about this menu?” You tap at the menu just as he has, rapidly with a distinct click of the metal tips hitting the wooden table. His type isn’t new to you. But his inability to get to his own fucking point has irritated you. 

“I keep telling you it’s wrong! I was just in here at Christmas and it was a totally different selection!” he shouts. 

“Ah,” you smile. “Now we can get somewhere. The menu you saw at Christmas was seasonal. We only served it until the second Sunday of January, which has passed. By over a month, sir. You can try us again next year for the holiday menu again if you enjoyed it that much. And please, do share that in your feedback too. We’d be happy to keep the seasonal menus coming if we know there’s a desire for it. But you will not raise your voice at me or any of my servers today or on any other visit of yours to this establishment. If you cannot keep your composure, I will ask you to leave.”

“I’ve come here to spend money, do business! I’m important around here.”

“Sir,” you start, moving back closer to the table. The smile you had earlier is long gone. “Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn. Now, you have two options here, since you continue to shout: you can either stay, order off the menu that is indeed correct as the seasonal one is no longer served, and keep your attitude in check or you can leave and take your money elsewhere.”

“Where is your manager? I want to speak with your manager. I told this young lady here earlier to get me the manager and clearly she can’t listen. The manager, please,” he huffs. 

“I am the manager.” If it weren’t liable to get you written up, you’d laugh in his face. But you don’t. With Turner’s early departure due to her feeling ill and vomiting in the bathroom stall, you were the only one closing tonight. 

“I-But-” he sputters, jaw opening and closing like words should be coming out but none are coming to him. You only watch as the man chokes on reality that he’s at the end of the line for his tirade. There’s such a deep satisfaction at sight of his deflating jaws. 

“Dad, please,” a voice from the other side of the table cuts in. “Even the other waitress said the menu wasn’t wrong. Either we eat here or we eat somewhere else. But you really are an embarrassment with this behavior. You’ve been rude for far too long.”

“This isn’t the same menu as before,” he persists. It’s quieter now. Like a child who’s learned that they’ve lost the fight but still won’t give it up fully. 

A hand creeps out and pulls the menu from in front of the older man. Then another hand collects the menu in front of his wife--the nails painted a bright red. “You two have done enough. He’s getting the 12 oz ribeye, medium rare with mashed potatoes. Mom’s taking the shrimp pasta with roasted sweet potatoes. I’ll have the garden burger with a side of fries and sis? What do you want?”

The older man shakes. His eyes a tad glazed but still a dimming fury behind them. “It’s-it’s wrong,” he whispers. His wife clutches at his elbow, but doesn’t move to speak. 

You turn now to the boy who’s rattled off the order. He’s looking over his shoulder to his sister. “I’ll take the fire grilled chicken with sauteed broccoli as my side,” she answers looking up at Harley. 

You collect the outstretched menus and turn to Harley. She scratches furiously at her pad. “So I have a 12 oz ribeye medium rare with mashed potatoes. Shrimp pasta with roasted sweet potatoes. A garden burger with a side of fries and fire grilled chicken with sauteed broccoli.”

Her recount earns a nod before the two of you step away. It’s not until you’re near the bar that Harley taps at your shoulder. You nod to let her know she can continue. “I’ll vouch for you. If anything comes back because of this.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need to. Just make sure their order is right and hot when they get it.” If he’s going to leave a complaint, it will not be because the order was wrong or that he waited too long to get it. He’ll have to wallow in his own stupidity and misery. 

“Yeah, yeah of course. Thanks for stepping in.” Harley adds on. 

“You’re welcome.” Behind it you nearly add that it’s your job, but you hold it back. Harley’s young and you get it. The first few run ins are rattling. Your body flashes hot and your  brain’s not sure how to keep up with what’s going on around you. You are utterly desperate, but hate how unprepared you are. She’s usually pretty well equipped to handle the picky and sometimes ridiculous quips. But occasionally the right circumstances means one is flustered and frazzled.  

“Besides, he’s an old fart anyway,” you tack on. “Who can’t listen to anyone himself. Trying to talk about someone else is laughable.”

Harley snorts. “He-yeah. Thanks, seriously.” 

“You’re welcome, seriously.” Harley punches in their order and then slips back to the kitchen. 

You leave the four collected menus behind the bar, knowing they’ll need to be wiped down when you get a spare chance. “That man seemed very mean,” Charlie notes, watching you approach. You add a bit more water to his cup. 

“Just a misunderstanding,” you tell him. The man’s old and an asshole, but his children forcing him to eat at the restaurant he threw a fit in is karma enough. You don’t need to add onto the pile. 

“Does this happen every day?” Teagan asks. “I don’t think I could work in a restaurant if so.”

“Good thing you’re going to be a doctor,” you laugh. Her drink’s hardly touched. Melvin gives a gentle head shake when he spots you eying his own glass too. So you step back to the machine where a string of tickets are waiting for you. By the time you get all the drinks fixed and waiting on their tickets, you notice PJ walking from the kitchen with three plates on his arms. 

“Oh, thanks,” you call out, noticing the plates all look like the plates for Melvin, Charlie, and Teagan. 

“No problem. We heard you were dealing with a situation. Wasn’t sure if it was still ongoing or not,” PJ states, letting you pick up the plate of chicken parm. You slide it in front of Teagan who grins in response. 

“It’s all good now. Charlie’s the veggie stir fry. He’s the burger,” you relay as PJ places the meals down. “Thanks again, PJ.”

“Any time. Just don’t forget us in the back,” he grins, eyeing some of the bottles on the wall. 

You know that look and you forever will. But you don’t fault it. Things are bound to get crazy for the next hour and a half. “I could never. Get us through the thick of it and whatever you want is on me.”

“Aye, captain,” PJ salutes before moving back towards the kitchen. A few more people slide up to the bar, so you move over to them. The blessing is that you’ve gotten used to the juggle--you’ve gotten accustomed to serving people at the bar and the drink tickets. You’ve gotten used to prioritizing and re-prioritizing again and again. By the time you really get a second to breathe, you know it’s only temporary. Teagan, Charlie, and Melvin have long finished their means by the time they say their goodbyes. But you wonder if they’ve waited longer in order to get a more proper goodbye. You take the small respite though and slip out from the bar to give them a quick hug.  

“I hope no one else is mean to you today,” Teagan offers in her hug. 

“Thanks, Teag. I hope not either.” You can’t tell if she’s saying it for her sake or for yours, but either way you take it. Charlie’s hug is quick too and when it’s over, you stand up to your full height to face Melvin. It’s awkward, him still sliding his arms into the jacket and you think you might understand the hover as an invitation. You almost take it. The shuffled step forward happens well before you bring it to your conscious awareness. 

But Melvin smiles in the end, a brief pat to your arm. “We’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Of course,” you return. “Yeah.”

You want to say more. You think you should’ve given Melvin that hug. The fact that you didn’t lingers with you well after they’re gone. Next time, you tell yourself. Next time you’ll initiate it, so he feels less like he might be invading and more like he can ask. 

By the time you’re counting tills, you don’t even realize how quickly the night’s gone. The back of the house cashed in on the offer for a drink from the bar but only managed that about an hour from closing. However, they’d done their job--gotten the place through the thick of the storm. So, you sent a few shots to the back, in exchange you might’ve gotten an extra side of fries but somehow that feels many miles behind you. It feels more like days than hours. 

The till comes up correct and you exhale. More than once you’ve been short, sometimes only by a few coins and a couple times by a few dollars. You’re happy that tonight is not a night that you have to scramble to figure out what went wrong and where. 

The chairs rest against tables. The servers have wiped menus. Silverware is wrapped. The floors are swept. You know the back of the house is a little slow as there was still a decent flow of orders up until the last half hour so you’re taking it slow with the tills to help ensure that once everyone’s ready to go, it’s all done in one final swoop. At the bar, the servers count through their tips and you can hear the flick of paper bills as people count them. 

“Hey, you remember table 18 earlier?” Harley asks as she slips in next to you. “Who wanted to fuss about the menu?”

You nod, signing off on the receipt for the till. “I do remember.”

“Got a fat tip,” she laughs. You can see a stack of bills in her hands and let out a whistle. “Whether it was the old man’s doing or not, I don’t know. But, here.” Harley slides you over two bills. A ten on top and when the air blows, you spy the twenty that’s nestled behind it as it falls. 

“Keep it,” you tell her, making no move to take the bills. 

She huffs and tucks it into the pocket of your apron. “I know you’re dating the prince and all that. But you saved my ass, so let me be nice.”

“This job pays my bills just as much as it pays yours. It’s my job to save your asses when you need it.” You find the bills from the depths and hold them out to her. 

“You don’t make that much more than me being behind the bar,” Harley quips. “Turner approached me about it. I know.”

“Neither one of us gets paid enough to deal with a quarter of the shit we deal with day in and day out.” Harley laughs at the quip and takes the extended cash. It’s hesitant and you can tell she doesn’t really want to take it back. But you hold steady in your decision and she finally takes it. 

  You’re a little shocked that Turner approached Harley about the bar. But maybe she’s just getting feelers, considering you’d be leaving. You hadn’t given Turner anything definitive about your departure. Part of you was waiting for the post holidays pick up to get a little bit more cash before you called it with the restaurant. You definitely needed to make a decision sooner rather than later, but maybe one more full holiday season wouldn’t hurt either. Yet, you had to be honest with Turner, that you weren’t sure how much longer you’d stay. She was respectful about it and only asked that once you had a definitive date you only supplied her with a two weeks notice. Giving away too many details was not industry standard and this job is vastly different in terms of the political game than that of the palace kitchen. Turner’s respectful, and nice, but she still has a job to do. A restaurant to run and you’re still just an employee. 

The keys jiggle in your hands as you lock up the doors--front and back. The alarm’s set and you blow your breath into the cold night air. You watch the hot air of your breath smoke in the cold, stretching up and out only for an inch or two and then disappearing fully as the temperatures even out. You don’t even want to look at the time. You know it’s late, but closing with only one manager takes longer than usual. You’re just grateful, everyone takes it in stride. The parking lot starts to clear slowly but surely. People piling into their cars. You and PJ have a habit of waiting back to make sure that everyone gets to their car and they start fine or that everyone has a ride home. It feels silly sometimes, especially on cold nights like this when you see everyone scurrying to their cars and rides to beat the chill, when you want nothing more than the heat of your own car. Yet, the two of you persist. 

“Gonna read whatever that is in your back pocket when you get home?” PJ asks. 

You exhale deeply. “When the hell did you notice?” you ask with a dry laugh. 

“Didn’t think much of it, until I saw your name on it. Didn’t look like Turner’s handwriting or anyone else that works here. Call it intuition,” he laughs. 

“Letter from my mother. The lady who was out here that one time. Yelling.”

PJ nods. “I remember. Yeah. Got a nice little picture out of it too that was all over the news.”

“Yeah, that time.”

“Still doesn’t answer my question, now does it?” PJ laughs. 

You continue to stay quiet, spying Harley as she waits a few feet from you and PJ. You see a pair of headlights approaching. You can’t make out the car type, but you know occasionally she gets picked up by friends and sometimes a guy. But you don’t really know much about it outside of that. Not that Harley hasn’t talked about it, but you try not to listen to it much. The SUV stops just in front of her and you notice the guy that’s picked her up before. She climbs inside and throws a wave back at you and PJ. 

“Tonight, if I’m feeling masochistic. Never, if I’m lucky,” you answer watching the truck pull away. 

“I hope you like inflicting pain.”

“I hope I don’t,” you retort. You know you will read it tonight. Even if it keeps you up the whole night after the fact. The last of the cars starts up. A few cars have pulled off already. You and PJ start towards the parking lot now. 

“We’ll see who’s right come tomorrow.”

“However, unfortunate,” you huff. You know you shouldn’t smile, but you are. You two aren’t parked next to each other directly. You’re a few cars down from him. 

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” PJ calls out unlocking the doors of his car. 

“Same to you.” 

You slide into the front seat and immediately get the car turned on. The heat hits your palms and you’re grateful for the exchange of cold air into something warm. Part of you somehow wishes that maybe it could be cold enough to snow, but you know better than to wish for that. From the passenger seat, the letter stares up at you. You watch it in brief glimpses all the way to the palace. You nearly want to damn PJ for being so right. The moment you’re in the spot next to Calum’s vehicle, the gear thrown into park you reach for the envelope. Your name followed by a comma is the only address. 

I’m glad to hear from you. I’m glad you found a space to collect all your thoughts. Thank you for sharing them with me. 

I underestimate how much hurt I’ve caused. I underestimate you, I fear, in ways that I hadn’t realized. For that, I apologize. 

I do want for you, for myself, for Charlie and Teagan. I want and I want and I want. I think that’s what mothers do. We crave. In all the ways that hurt. You understand this in some ways. The way you want for your siblings, in the ways that you care for them. 

It’s maybe a cynical belief to hold--that all I’m destined for is pain. Perhaps, it’s the belief that ruined me before I ever had a name for it. I won’t lie to you. It hurts to know that we’re still in such an awkward phase. It hurts to think it might not ever heal. My therapist urges me to make peace with the possibility. It’s holding me back, she thinks. 

It hurts to say she might be right. But if one possibility exists, then so do all the others contingent and adjacent to it. I think we can get there. I just wish I knew when or how to get there. But you’ve asked for time and space. And I’ll get to that, I will. Just indulge me, please, for a little bit longer. 

I hope he treats you well, like you deserved to be treated. I hope you continue to be happy with Calum. Teagan, Charlie, and Melvin have told me a lot about him, and the relationship. You should continue wanting things, for just yourself. 

I hope your art takes off. I hope you find so much peace and happiness in it that work you never want to stop, save for old age taking the ability but never the will. I hope you paint yourself into art history books. 

I hope your current job is going well--that patrons are civil and that you’re never tight on cash. I hope that people see the work ethic in you no matter where you are. 

I hope that forgiveness is not a well run dry. I think I need to forgive myself first, much like you and my therapist and Melvin have all pointed out. But I do not know how to do that, right now, without the forgiveness from you. 

And I could be reading this all wrong, but when you said I’m afraid I’ll be the kid again begging I couldn’t help but think I’m afraid of that too. I am afraid, just like you are. I have fear just like you do. I am afraid of failing you again, after failing so many times. I’m afraid of failing myself, after failing myself so many times. 

Only time knows where we go next. Only time tells if I’m failing you, myself, or both of us. Only time knows in the end. 

I have a long way to go, it seems. I’m willing to see where time takes the both of us. For now, maybe it’s best I get serious and focus on myself, not my past failures. This doesn’t mean I want to leave you behind or that I am leaving you again. I’m not. But maybe I too should take some more time and space to reckon with the things I’ve asked for myself. 

It appears that you and Melvin have a more stable line of communication and I know I should not come back home and destabilize that or your relationship with your siblings. I won’t. That I will promise. That I can promise. 

So please continue to see them. Please continue to talk to them. You can call the house anytime. You can come by the house anytime. I think it’s good for them and for you too. That house is still yours. Your room is still waiting should you ever need it. The fridge will stay stocked. Come, as you are, when you feel safe. 

The sentence chokes you, Come, as you are, when you feel safe. Had you ever felt safe with Diana? You don’t know. But you do feel safer with Melvin. You do know that Charlie and Teagan feel safe in that house. Perhaps, not all hope should be squandered. 

You flip to the next page in the stack, turning the previous page over and setting it into the passenger seat of the car. The stack is upside down in the seat so you don’t lose the order of them. 

I’ll be home, should all things go well, in the middle of March. The details are a little hazy right now. Melvin will know more when I know more. And you should know more when he does. I’m happy to give us both time. Even if it scares me. I think it is our only hope. 

You know your eyes are red and your face is puffy. You know because you cried in your car for a solid five minutes before you could get out of it. You know you look haggard because as you chug down a bottle of water from the fridge, you listen to your own rough exhale and it sounds just like you feel. You feel rubbed raw and exhausted. I think it is our only hope. But neither one of you would know for certain if time was for hope. Diana and you hover-however unfortunate- over the spectrum of time at opposite ends and never know if you two will meet in the middle. 

But she’s willing to give you the space to figure it out. And you’re willing to give her the space to figure it all out too. 

“Long day?”

You turn the sound, only noticing Calum's presence at the threshold. The kitchen lights flicker on around you. Valerie should be coming in a few hours, but the thought that she might’ve come earlier did cross your mind as you walked through the walls. You were thankful when you arrived in the dark kitchen that no one else was around. You’d let the light of the moon and your memory carry you to the fridge. Now the whole room is now lit by the flip of a switch. 

“What gave it away?” you quip, staring down into the half drank bottle. 

“You always hear me coming. Said once the walls have ears,” Calum answers. 

“Need to get the wax cleaned out.”

The slap of his slippers against the floor grows louder as he grows closer. And there in your tight press is the letter from Diana. You slide it across the counter as you speak, “She wrote back.”

Calum doesn’t take the bait. He slips his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. “Is it good or bad?” he questions in a whisper against your forehead. 

“Good, I think.” It is good. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re more positive it’s all a figment of your imagination. 

“Want me to read it and verify?”

“Please,” you answer, your lips pressed into his throat. His pulse thumps against the sensitive skin holding back your teeth. You want nothing more than to crawl into his chest. A minute reprieve from the emotional avalanche crashing over you. 

Calum presses a kiss to your forehead and gingerly pulls the letter from your hands. You turn into him, arms winding around his waist. He’s warm in the robe and you hadn’t realized how cold your body got after you cut off the car. It’s eerily silent, not even the wisp of Calum’s breath as he reads breaks through the room. It’s just the thudding of his heart in your ears. 

“It’s good, baby,” Calum whispers at the conclusion of his read. “Hopefully it means that she continues in this direction.”

Your shoulders drop. Relief rises to the roots of your hair. You’re glad you didn’t bet with PJ. He was always going to be right. You’d always be a little masochistic when it came to Diana. You’d always be a little bit hopeful that things wouldn’t be so bad between the two of you. 

"C'mon. Let's get you ready for bed, baby," Calum urges. It's gentle; he squeezes at your shoulders but doesn't move until you do.

"Thanks, love." You want him to know it's for reading the letter. It's for being there. But you stick with the plain gratitude and hope he understands the depth of it.

"Anytime."

[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

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Omega!Calum Masterlist

Calm Down, Cujo. (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke, calum/ashton M, 9k

Summary: Luke was acting so weird. But God, did he smell good.

FutureSex/LoveSounds (ao3) - Migs luke/calum, michael/luke, calum/ashton E, 47k

Summary: Luke is Med student/camboy with a crush on the Footie captain with a secret.

OR: Cake have a lot of hot sex for money whilst trying to pursue romantic relationships with other boys.

How many omegas can you fit into 5 seconds? (ao3) - Little_Marquise michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/calum M, 579k

Summary: Luke has, as the only beta in a band, always felt a bit left out. While Michael and Ashton are fighting over who will win Calums heart, Luke feels like a piece of him is missing. The delayed piece of him finally catches up with his hectic lifestyle, when he presents as an omega during their Youngblood tour and everything goes absolutely crazy. Muke and Cashton.

i belong with you, you belong with me - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) ot4, michael/calum/ashton, luke/calum T, 12k

Summary: Luke presents as an omega during their Youngblood promo. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, but the boys have his back in the end.

In this Twilight, how Dare you Speak of Grace (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine ot4 E, 16k

Summary: Michael wakes up one morning and thinks Oh, no.

He has presented. He isn’t the beta he had hoped he would be. He has always known he would never be an omega—not with the build of his body and his inability to follow even the simplest of orders—but he had hoped for beta. Instead, he presents as alpha, and nobody wants to be an uncontrollable alpha with primal desires and a propensity for destroying everyone around them.

(In which Michael presents as an alpha in a society where alphas are feared and dangerous.)

Making a Pack (ao3) - fbiagentdipper calum/ashton, michael/luke T, 33k

Summary: When Luke is put on bed rest because of problems with his heat, he needs his friends and bandmates to help see him through.

Mine (Cake 5sos) (ao3) - orphan_account luke/calum M, 2k

Summary: Calum is in heat and Luke is his alpha

Moonlit Love (ao3) - orphan_account calum/ashton E, 3k

Summary: Ashton is an immortal Alpha and Calum is his Gifted Mate.

road to happiness - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 12k

Summary: Calum and Michael get drunk one night before Ashton’s birthday, panicking about a birthday gift.

When Ashton wakes up the morning of his birthday, he really didn’t expect to find an omega standing at his door, looking terrified. Ashton had no idea that this omega would change his life.

safe and sound - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 8k

Summary: Luke has been doing good, making progress. Of course, everything goes downhill when Luke runs into one of his old alpha's who "trained him" at a celebrity event. Things go from bad to worse when Calum and Luke are taken by the same alpha's.

secrets no longer kept - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) ot4, luke/calum/ashton, michael/ashton T, 9k

Summary: Michael had only wanted to help when he decided to disguise himself as a beta. Their alpha was becoming stressed. Unfortunately for Michael, one slip up causes his mates to find out his secret. His mates react accordingly when they find out Michael’s been an omega this whole time.

wouldn't change a thing - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 5k

Summary: Luke feels guilty about Ashton being stressed all the time, and makes a decision that causes a rift between him and everyone else, but ultimately Luke gets the happy ending he deserves.

[33-81]

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

[basslinecal]

cashton moodboard but make it emo

[the5sosarchive]

5SOS posted on their IG story — Feb. 16th, 2020

[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.".

[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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