#one of my favourite scenes. his self satisfied smug face is just too good

[xiaohuayaos]

🤯<< Xiao Run

[lazywonderlvnd]

Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly. 

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him. 

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it. 

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

*

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning. 

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences. 

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I���d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils. 

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

*

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

*

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather. 

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

 At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

[inviberu]

til death do us part

Shino thought it was easier to say it in his own words instead of the ones that were put into his mouth forcefully by some other wizards.

There wasn’t a day in his life where Shino felt himself become this troubled—save for that one time he had a realization dawn to him which was heavily related to his worry about not being able to stay by Heath’s side if he wasn’t powerful enough—and frankly put it, he hadn’t pushed away the idea of asking his fellow wizards just yet even after many failures. First, he tried asking Heath for help. Though it ended quickly with Heath clutching his stomach, trying to suppress his laughter and Shino walking away out of annoyance.

Second attempt was with Nero and Faust who were enjoying an afternoon together out in the courtyard much to Shino’s surprise. When Shino asked them for help, Faust was surprised beyond belief before letting out a tired sigh and Nero merely looked as if he’s a mom that’s given up with her child’s ridiculous antics—that didn’t mean he didn’t find whatever he was asking for a tiny bit hilarious though. Shino, upset, walked away from the scene as well when he found out that the two old men did nothing to assist him with his quest.

Third attempt was when he bumped into the ancient Northern twins in the hallway when they were on their way to their room from the lobby. He asked them a seemingly simple question and yet they went off on a tangent for an answer, which Shino found extremely boring and unhelpful so he just walked away in the end without hearing the end of it. Snow and White got a bit upset with him for walking away just like that, especially after they switched to their adult form just to answer his unusual question.

Fourth attempt was his most successful one by far, which was with Shylock. Shino looked for him inside his bar and asked him for help, to which Shylock happily indulged him and gave him an answer that sort of satisfied Shino. Although he was still a bit hesitant, he decided to go with Shylock’s answer for the final thing he’s working on—not noticing the underlying tone of deviousness in his smile. Shino ought to remember, Western wizards loved a good show, and Shylock was the epitome of a Western wizard.

Shino felt his nervousness wash away and instead got replaced by an enormous amount of confidence that seemed unfitting for someone of his stature—short and small. His hair was slicked back and he was dressed in formal attire from head to toe in contrast to his everyday look where he was definitely more casual. Shino, himself, did not know what exactly he was doing but he decided to go through with it anyway since it was Shylock’s advice. And he knew that Shylock was way better than him when it came to matters such as this.

A proposal to you—is what he was planning.

He panicked a little bit after realizing he had no expertise in that area and that he just really wanted to marry you, terribly so. When he asked Heath for help, he almost sent the young lord rolling across the stairs out of laughter. Heath found it ridiculous—hilarious, even. Shino took it as a sign to leave Heath alone as he was of no help at all. Nero and Faust just sighed at him when he asked them how to propose to someone, telling him he should just be himself. Which Shino paid little attention to, thinking that it was fruitless advice from a bunch of old geezers. The twins were more than happy to help but they started sputtering out gibberish not long after. Shino concluded that those womanizers would be of no help.

Shylock, though, gave him a bit of solid advice. Which he followed and leads us to where Shino is today. Dolled up and with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, it was out of character for him. Anyone could tell that much but when you caught sight of him waiting for you outside, you decided to give him the benefit of doubt. Though when you approached him, there was a little bit of a problem. He was speaking weirdly, very unlike the Shino you came to know and love. Though it wasn’t necessarily a bad kind of weird, it was leaning more so on the funnier side. He cleared his throat.

“O beloved of mine, won’t you grant me a few minutes of your time? You see… I’ve been thinking—” Before he could finish, you couldn’t let out a chuckle. One that Shino couldn’t let go off easily. A simple chuckle was enough for him to feel the embarrassment rush to his face and wondered if in your eyes, he was just a fool not worthy to be taken seriously.

“Shino, why are you talking that way-?”

“Forget it,” he reverted back to his old self. His usual rudeness surfaced when his mind suddenly started taking a turn for the worse. “It’s nothing important anyways.”

Before you could let out another word, he summoned his broom and quickly fled from your sight, where you may never see the look on his face as he suddenly felt regretful. You couldn’t tell what exactly just happened but you knew this much—you felt as if you’ve done something to make him feel bad.

A figure in the air, riding on a broom, let out a puff of smoke after taking a drag from his pipe. An amused expression settling on his face mixed with a little bit of a troubled one, as if he just saw his favourite show getting cancelled right in front of him.

“Oh dear, will we be seeing the finale tonight? Or will the show simply stop here? Maybe a little push is due to apologize to dear Shino.”

You wondered if you did something to severely upset Shino, it wasn’t as if you’d never gotten into any arguments with him but this time you’ve done little to nothing at all! You considered if he got upset after your chuckle—which you thought was harmless—but the more you think about it, the more plausible it seemed. But why would he get hurt over something like that? It looked as if he was playing a silly prank on you. Unless… That wasn’t a prank at all and he had something serious to say to you.

The longer you realized, the more terrible you felt during the dead hours of the night. You paced back and forth in your room, wondering if Shino is awake or in his room right now because there was nothing more you wanted than to immediately rush to him and apologize. He must’ve felt horrible, and you only realized it now.

Making up your mind, you grabbed your coat and made your way to your door to go to his room until you heard a loud thud near your room window. There was only one person that would knock on your window during this time of the night—Shino! You quickly turned around and expected the Eastern wizard to greet you, and you were right this time. His hair went back to its usual messy look and his formal clothes were replaced with the ones he usually wears everyday.

And there were still a handful of hand picked flowers in his hand—your favourite this time, roses. You immediately rushed towards the window and slid it open, your hands outstretched towards the scenery and the cold yet gentle breeze that caressed your face. Before you knew it, Shino let go of his broom and threw himself into your arms, the strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks and his arms wrapped tightly around your torso with his head placed atop your shoulder to hide his embarrassingly red face. The flowers he was holding almost falling to the floor with how loose his grip suddenly grew.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him and opened your mouth to apologize before he could say anything: “I’m sorry!”

But as if he couldn’t hear a word you said, he pulled away and looked at you straight in the eyes. For a moment, you wondered if he was mad at you but the long hug and the blush on his cheeks was enough to tell you otherwise. You felt yourself growing more embarrassed as well when he suddenly shoved the flowers towards you. Before you could open your mouth to ask, he suddenly blurted out:

“I want to eat the pie you make for the rest of my life.” Your eyes widened, and you felt yourself wanting to laugh again. You looked away, shoulders trembling.

“... You’re laughing again,” he pouted. You shook your head, tears almost falling from the corner of your eyes.

“No, no. It’s just that I thought saying something like that felt super fitting for someone like you.” You paused to calm down, clutching the flowers he gave you close to your chest. “Will you still want to eat the pie I make even if it’s burnt?”

“Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t burn it,” Shino shot you a gentle smile. Under the moonlight, you wondered if your eyes were just playing tricks on you and this was all just a sweet spell someone cast over you. Though, there was no use in denying the fact that Shino’s sweet and genuine smile illuminated by the moonlight was something you want to etch into your memories for centuries to come.

“As much as I want to say yes, isn’t it a bit too early for us?”

“I don’t think so, no? I’m not going to wait for your answer for more years when I already know you’re going to say yes to me in the end. So why not just agree now?”

“Wow, you already think that my answer will stay the same for the years to come.”

“I don’t just think so. I know it, I know you the best. You can’t resist my charm now, and you still won’t be able to in the future.” He took hold of your chin and leaned dangerously close, to the point where you could feel his breathing close to you. You closed your eyes, expecting him to kiss you but was met with laughter instead.

“Pfft-! Did you really think I was going to kiss you?” He let out a chuckle, “consider this as revenge for laughing at me earlier.”

“H-Hey! I was not expecting anything at all, and I didn’t laugh at you. I just chuckled, that's all!” You quickly got defensive, not wanting to admit you were expecting him to kiss you.

“Are you sure?” His tone was smug and teasing, something you loved about him no matter how infuriating it is. “You still haven’t answered me, by the way. Will you pledge to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“An eternity seems long… and to think I’m considering spending it with you, of all people.”

“I know you love me.”

“Yes, yes. You already know my answer don’t you, Shino? It’s an eternity I don’t mind spending with you. Though I don’t know if Faust will allow us-!” You could barely finish your sentence when Shino crashed his lips against yours into a passionate kiss. His raw emotions coursing through him and you felt yourself getting lost in it as well, the words you held back from each other suddenly spilling like a waterfall that’s been blocked for decades through kisses. Your fingers tangled in his hair and Shino found it hard to pull back—had it not been for your need of oxygen, he would’ve never let you go.

“Let me finish my sentence first!” You exclaimed, lightly hitting his arm, breathless.

“Sorry, I got a bit excited.” He admitted like a defeated puppy but the smug look on his face made you want to smack his pretty face instead. “I just couldn’t help it when I realized that we’ll be together… til death do us part.”

Shylock took a drag from his pipe, the scent of alcohol still lingering in the air as a gentle expression took over his face, as if he accomplished something great—and he wasn’t the whole reason why a huge mess occurred in the first place.

“All’s well that ends well… Huh? I do hope dear Shino doesn’t bear a grudge against me. Eastern wizards aren’t exactly known for forgetting grudges easily.” He smiled, knowing that Shino would thank him later on. They both got what they wanted, after all. Shino and his quest for true love and Shylock with his desire for something interesting.

[seanfalco]

Catch me in the Club | Klaus Hargreeves x Reader

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Pairing: Klaus Hargreeves x Reader (same as from Playing with Fire) Word Count: 1844 Warnings: Swearing, Suggestive dialogue

a/n: So this is completely self-indulgent and honestly ridiculous, but ever since seeing the new season 2 promotional posters and learning more about the plot, plus reading this post about Klaus running a strip joint in the comics (which who knows if it’ll even be part of the show or not), I couldn’t get this scene out of my head.  Basically just an excuse to write my Reader and Klaus being 60s’ fashion icons and the shameless flirts that they are.  Also titles are harddd.  Don’t laugh at me lol.

—

Pride might not be the first emotion one would connect with the idea of a strip club, but damn if you weren’t proud of what you’d built — you and Klaus, together.

Finding yourselves stranded in the middle of Dallas in the year 1960 after jumping back in time, you’d come out on the other side very much alone, only Klaus’s hand still clasped in yours; the rest of the Hargreeves nowhere to be found.  Thinking them dead, the two of you eventually settled down, making a new life for yourselves, deciding if you were stuck there then you might as well at least make the best of it.

As you emerged from the back dressing room to walk the main floor, you bobbed your head to the music blaring over the speakers, singing snatches of the lyrics under your breath as your gaze swept the room -- at least you’d been stranded in an era with good music, you thought.  

In the hazy light several topless dancers gyrated and twirled effortlessly around their poles as patrons watched hungrily from the bar, some nursing beers while others stared transfixed, completely forgetting the drinks growing warm in front of them.  You had to admit, there was a certain elegance to the way they moved, and you often found yourself staring, probably more often than you would admit; picking up certain moves to make use of in the bedroom later -- Klaus never complaining.

Speaking of which, you spotted Klaus behind the large circular bar filling the center of the room and you ambled toward him, catching his eye before leaning flirtatiously over the smooth shiny surface.

“Hey you,” you greeted, grinning up at him as he met you with a roguish grin of his own.

You had to admit that the 60s’ surprisingly suited him.  He’d let his hair grow long; his silky brunette curls artfully framing his thin face as they cascaded down, brushing his shoulders.  You probably spent about half your time running your fingers through it, relishing just how soft it was and the appreciative sighs it coaxed from Klaus’s lips as he practically melted under your touch.  

The long teal and cream coloured Nehru jacket he wore today was one of your favourites; his fashion sense just as eclectic and eye catching in the past as it was in the future and the pair of you had swiftly become connoisseurs of a strange mix of hippy and mod fashion which on anyone else would probably just look like a hot mess, but for some reason it worked for you.

The one thing you couldn’t stand was staring you right in the face at the moment and you tugged on it with a frown as you batted your lashes at your boyfriend.  For some ungodly reason you still couldn’t fathom why Klaus had decided to trade in his dashing goatee for the long scraggly abomination that currently decorated his chin and though you tolerated it as best you could, you never missed an opportunity to remind him of your displeasure toward it.

“Hey you, yourself,” Klaus replied with a chuckle, leaning in closer, gazing at you dreamily.

“How goes the front of house?” You asked, slipping up to sit on the bar next to him, planting your hands behind you and leaning back to gaze around the room.

“Oh, the usual,” he mused, “just a lot of horny guys watching some half naked women dance for them.”  You snorted in response, glancing over at him.  “Everything alright backstage?” 

“Just a little drama, nothing I couldn’t take care of,” you answered and Klaus nodded.

“The same old drama?” he asked. 

“The same,” you said, rolling your eyes.  Two of the women were notorious for not getting along, and while you attempted to keep them apart as often as possible they were both drama queens and liked to start shit over the pettiest things.

“Soooo,” Klaus prompted, his hand slipping toward your bare leg; crossed over your knee, your foot bouncing idly.  “Are we still on for dinner later tonight?”  

When his finger traced along the length of your thigh from the hem of your miniskirt down to your knee you glanced down, your lips twitching.

“Of course,” you replied, pointedly taking his hand from your leg with a teasing smirk and turning it to trace the ‘hello’ tattooed on his palm with your finger.  “Is there anything in particular you’re craving for dessert?” 

You could practically feel the shiver as it ran through Klaus and your smirk widened.  

“I think you know exactly what I’m craving,” he purred in your ear, returning the favour as a thrill ran through you as well, warmth and want filling you.  

Unfortunately there were still several hours left til your little date, and you were now feeling incredibly impatient.

Opening your mouth to make a suggestive retort the sound of raised voices caught your attention and your eyes quickly sought out the source of the disturbance, cutting you off.  Across the bar a rather rowdy patron had stood, grabbing one of the strippers and yanking her toward him, attempting to cop a feel.  Without missing a beat you jumped down from the bar, your face a thunderhead as you stalked across the room.

“Hey!” you snapped, stepping between the man and the dancer, murder in your eyes.  “There is a strict no touching policy in place here.  So get your hands off.”

The man swayed, obviously drunk, his eyes sliding from the woman behind you to you, his gaze lazily traveling downward before finally coming back to your face before he released his grasp on the performer.

”Touch any of my employees again and you’ll regret it,” you growled, your voice lowering dangerously as you met his gaze.  As you confronted him the woman quickly slipped away, hurrying to the back room to compose herself.

“Oh, and what are you gunna do about it, missy?  Throw me out?  I’ll just come back tomorrow,” the smug bastard slurred, laughing raucously, glancing over at his buddies.  Crossing his arms over his chest he turned back around, leering at you.

Having caught up to you, Klaus appeared, sweeping in to stand at your shoulder, silently offering you backup in case you needed it.

“No,” you replied, no trace of amusement in your voice as you glared the man down, “first I’ll break your hand, then I’ll throw you out myself.”

“Oooh, real scary!” he laughed, glancing over his shoulder for support from his friends.  “I’d like to see you try, girly.”

His laughter cut off with a yelp as you snatched his wrist, twisting til you felt resistance, the man’s surprise turning to a panicked whine and his eyes locked on Klaus at your shoulder.

“Hey man, w-what the fuck?  C-control your woman, why don’tcha!” he cried, trying to pull away from your grasp, but you only wrenched harder.

Klaus looked from the man to you, a small smile playing at his lips and he shrugged lightly.  “That’s not really how it works around here,” he explained, the look in his emerald eyes decidedly proud.  “She’s the boss and what she says goes, so unless you uh, want the use of your hand, which ooh that looks painful,” he exclaimed, his brows drawing down in faux concern as he covered his mouth sarcastically with his hand, “then I suggest you do as the fraulein says.”

The man gaped at Klaus, his mouth moving soundlessly, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you.

Lifting your eyebrows impatiently you gave his wrist one more yank before he was cracking.  “Alright, alright!” he cried, his voice climbing in pitch, “I’ll go!”

“See that you do, and if you try to come back, you’ll find we won’t be as welcoming.”  With a tight smile you released him and he instantly stumbled back, pulling his arm tight against his chest, cradling it as he backed away.  

“You and your girlfriend are fucking crazy, man!” he exclaimed before stumbling for the door, bumping blindly into several other patrons on his way and weaving through the two bouncers who were now looking your way.  Turning your fiery gaze on the man’s group of friends they quickly turned back to the bar, their shoulders hunched as if to say they wanted none of their fellow’s problems.

Clapping your hands as if satisfied you turned to Klaus, finding an awe filled grin on his face.  

“I love it when you threaten people, [Y/N], it’s so hot,” he murmured, reaching for your arm and pulling you close.

“Oh?  You like that, huh?” you asked wryly, cocking an eyebrow up at him.  “Too bad we’re on the clock right now.”

Klaus shrugged.  “Y’know, I really don’t care,” he mused, leaning in for a kiss, hooking his finger under your chin to tilt your face up.

When you pulled back you frowned slightly.  “Klaus, you know I love you, but… when the fuck are you gunna lose that God awful thing?” you huffed, tugging once more on his long beard.

“Aw, but you love me more than you hate my beard,” he pointed out, his lips twisting cheekily.  “I’d say that's a real testament to our relationship, you know?”

“Mhmm, and one of these mornings you’re gunna wake up to the damned thing cut off,” you replied, turning to walk back to the office.

“H-hey!  Hey hey hey,” Klaus exclaimed hastily, hurrying to catch up to you, your airy fringed kimono billowing out behind you in your haste before he caught your wrist, yanking you around and back toward him, catching you in his arms to hold you in place.

“I promise I’ll trim my beard once we get home tonight, okay?” Klaus relented sincerely.  “Will that make you happy, [Y/N]?” he asked, staring down at you with those damn effective puppy dog eyes of his.

“Have I told you yet today how much I love you?” you asked, a smile cracking through.

“Hmmm, I do seem to recall, vaguely, you saying something to that effect this morning, while we were in bed,” he mused, “but I’d love to hear it again, if you please,” he said hopefully.

Resting your arms around his shoulders you grinned up at him, your foul mood instantly evaporating and you were past caring who saw -- it wasn’t as if your employees and regulars weren’t used to this sort of thing by now anyways.

“Klaus, I love you, you wonderful, wonderful man.  Now, we really need to get back to work.”

The silly grin that lit up his face at your words was more than worth it and he laid a quick peck to your lips before pulling away reluctantly.

“Yes, [Y/N], I am your willing slaveee!” he called, bowing to you with a flourish.  “Until later,” he drawled, waggling his eyebrows at you suggestively before he swanned off, and you shook your head fondly as you watched him, biting your lip to keep from grinning too much before you too turned to get back to work as well.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Grisly, Grim and a Fucking Delight: Feedback Review

TRIGGER WARNING: Torture, rape, daytime radio DJs. Don’t blame me, that’s just what’s in the movie.

Wow. Wow and a half. Wow and a half between two slices of thick white whoa. What a fucking movie. I’d say something like ‘they don’t make ‘em like that any more’, but they clearly do, because Feedback only came out a few years ago. I am astonished that I didn’t hear about it until tonight. You see, I was looking for an epic, slow-burn thriller to watch with my girlfriend and glamorous assistant, and I came across this little British movie about a radio talk-show host getting trapped in his studio when a bunch of masked psychos invade the premises. “Neat!” I thought upon reading the synopsis and watching the advert. “It’s Diehard but without schlubby, sarcastic Brits instead of overblown yanks.” As it turns out, I was wrong. Feedback is not an enjoyable but ultimately inconsequential gas pocket of a movie: it’s actually one of the most tense, conceptually horrifying and incendiary pieces of cinema- nay, Cinema with a capital C- that I’ve ever had the good fortune to witness. The more I think about it, the more impressed and enamoured I become. Unfortunately, in order to explain why, I’m going to have to spoil the whole freaking thing. For those of you who actually watch movies based on my recommendations (which would be, maybe, like two of you?) I’ll give you a nice non-spoilery recommendation right now: the acting is on-point, the plot is serpentine but not in a pretentious way, every prop and narrative element is used to maximum effect, the atmosphere gets tenser and tenser without ever letting you catch your breath and it’s exactly as long as it needs to be: there’s nothing missing and not an ounce of spare meat on it. It’s a lean, nasty predator of a movie and, if you let it, it will pin you down and rip out your jugular. I’ve only ever described one other movie as ‘transcendent’- a little psychological horror called The Perfection. Well, Feedback gets that exact same sticker but for completely different reasons. If you’re going to watch it- and you should- stop reading this review right now and go do it. It’s amazing.

And now for the spoilers. Consider this more of an analysis than a review. You see, the film reveals early on that the masked psychos invading the studio aren’t just randos with a political or philosophical axe to grind. They have beef with the radio host (whose name is Jarvis, incidentally. You don’t see enough Jarvises, either in real life or in movies. It’s a fun name and grossly underused, but I digress). You see, they think Jarvis’s friend raped a woman, killed another woman and beat the shit out of her boyfriend… and they think Jarvis knows all about it and may even have been involved. They force Jarvis to extract a confession from his friend early on and then kill him live on air, meaning that the rest of the film is devoted to a battle of wills between them and Jarvis as they try to force him to admit complicity, again live on air. Along the way, it’s also revealed that they aren’t just crusaders: they’re survivors of the incident and relatives thereof. Now, from the moment all these pieces were in place, I watched with an expectation of being disappointed. You see, I thought I knew what I was watching: Jarvis is visually and linguistically coded as am older slightly privileged but spiky elitist, so in most movies made after 2010 he’d automatically have been the bad guy (fuck me but do ageing white movie directors love to pretend they’re ‘woke’), while the people attacking him are visually and linguistically coded as youngish (except in one case) and victims, meaning that, in most movies, they would automatically be the good guys (hey, everyone loves an underdog, right?). I assumed I was watching one of those films. You know the ones I mean. One of those oh-so-clever ones that gets you to connect with and root for a character then reveals that he’s a shit-bag and punishes him and- by extension- you the viewer for taking his side. That was clever once, but I’ve now seen it on at least eight separate occasions, and it’s become trite. It’s particularly irksome because the victim-coded characters always get a free pass for their own shenanigans: they can murder, torture, brutalise and dehumanise but it’s always okay because something bad once happened to them. Frankly, I thought that’s what I was in for. Luckily. I was super wrong. That’s like regular wrong, only sexier and with sharper graphics.

You see, Feedback is way too smart to go for a black-and-white good-victims-versus-evil-central-character narrative. Instead, it’s a film about dehumanisation… or is it? You’ll see what I mean. In order to force Jarvis to admit complicity, his assailants don’t just fuck with him and his friend: they straight-up murder an innocent bystander and threaten to murder someone close to the protagonist. They hurt and do terrible things to Jarvis and the people around him, using torture methods that would make fucking ISIS throw up its hands and go ‘steady on, bruv’. They have a version of events that they’re convinced of but have only one unreliable character’s word for and Jarvis has a version of events that they refuse, point-blank, to believe. Jarvis’s story does begin to alter, but it’s never really apparent if he’s actually done something or if he’s just saying he has in order to keep the people around him (and himself) alive. Meanwhile, the ringleader of the little troop trying to extract a confession from Jarvis might be victim, but it also becomes apparent that she’s an unhinged psychopath intent on spilling as much blood as possible for her own personal sense of satisfaction and has as much interest in justice as a black hole has in the history of the stars it swallows up. Hooray! Some fucking moral ambiguity in a movie! I thought the entire industry had just forgotten how to fucking do that!

Much to my delight, Feedback doesn’t stop there. Merely by forcing the audience to make up their own minds about what they think happened and who’s actions are most justified, Feedback is already introducing a level of sophistication alien to modern cinema. But then it goes one step further by also subverting narrative expectations. You see, in a bleak, introspective, what-monsters-are-we-all flick like this, you expect the antagonists’ plan to succeed: you expect the last shot to be of the protagonist broken by the moral blankness of his reality, sitting in the wreckage of his life, unsure of whether he deserves what has happened to him or not. And that would have been a perfectly acceptable way to end this movie. But it doesn’t end like that. Because Jarvis is that rarest of things: a competent and determined dude. He’s not a superhuman. He doesn’t have special training. The flick doesn’t turn into an action movie or anything ridiculous. Jarvis just refuses to accept the bullshit happening to him and systematically works through every possible strategy to extricate himself without caving and admitting culpability that he doesn’t feel. He tries reasoned negotiation. He tries subduing one of the assailants temporarily and using them as a bargaining chip (the minimum necessary force approach), he tries escape and, finally, when all else fails, he uses a combination of psychology, surprise and familiarity with his environment to fight back with lethal force. It’s a considered, intelligent approach and, because his assailants aren’t organised terrorists just ordinary people who may (or may not) have a legit grievance with him, it succeeds and- to cut a long story short- he kills all of them in incredibly satisfying ways. There’s a bit involving a smug, I-can-be-as-evil-as-I-like-because-I’m-a-victim character getting skewered with a pair of scissors that instantly outranks anything in the Saw or Friday the 13th franchises as one of my all-time favourite movie kills (outright all-time favourite still goes to that bit in John Wick 3 with the really creative use of a library book, but that’s off topic).

During the climatic scenes of the movie, Jarvis screams his confession, but- as I said- it might only be a tool to distract his attackers and gain the upper hand while preserving the lives of the people he cares about. Equally, though, it might not. There’s a coldness to the character at the end of the film that wasn’t there at the beginning. Has he just been changed by the trauma of recent events, or are we seeing the facade drop away to reveal the true face of ruthless monster? And here lies the film’s final genius: not only doesn’t it answer this question (ambiguity for the win!) it also seems to suggest that the answer might not matter. Jarvis didn’t prevail because he was innocent- though he might be. His attackers didn’t fail because they became as bad as the thing they sought to fight (though they did). Victory and defeat aren’t defined by moral superiority. The film doesn’t assign winners and loser based on ethical or philosophical standpoint. Jarvis wins because he knows what the fuck he’s doing and his attackers are a bunch of overemotional quarter-wits with a half-baked plan that they can’t even stick to because they get too worked up. Survival, Feedback reminds us, has everything to do with being good at things, and fuck all to do with just being good. At every turn, the film tries to convince us that it has a moral point to make. Characters talk endlessly about truth and lies, justice and injustice… but in the end, it’s all smoke and mirrors. The film doesn’t have a central moral thesis (or, if it does, it’s a profoundly nihilistic one). Its real subjects are survival and will. It’s a study of what happens when two packets of brutal, remorseless determination meet eachother coming in opposite directions. It’s a dissection of the self-preservation instinct and its only real moral is ‘don’t fuck with a smart, grimly determined guy on his home turf if all you have to bring to the table is a short fuse and a big hammer’. Maybe that shouldn’t be refreshing, but in a cinematic landscape where every movie is determined to plant its flag on one side or the other of the political or ethical spectrum, it really fucking is. The fact that it gets you to think about ethical issues and who you believe on route elevates it, but the core of the film- the thing that makes it solid- is that refreshing element of nihilism. Breathe it in, folks: we don’t get many movies like this very often.

[mego42]

207 Discussion Q’s

shout out and thank you to @pynkhues for putting these together even though she wasn’t gonna be here this week

1. What was your favourite scene of the episode? Tell us why!

obvs the dubby but underrated fav is Ruby and Jane in the closet, idk exactly why but I am starved for the families interacting with each other content (screw the timeline, the most unrealistic aspect of this show is that they aren’t constantly in and out of each other’s houses with ben and sara continually being called on to babysit) so this little snippet makes me levitate

2. Was there any scene that missed the mark for you? And if so, how?

the annie and noah scenes for sure. I mostly feel betrayed bc I really liked them the first time I watched (i have a lot of built in affection for sam huntington let me live) and now I’m like BEGONE FOUL BETRAYER and feel pre-emptive fatigue over annie’s taste in men and how that’s not going to get better any time soon

3. I know time does not exist in the Good Girls universe (or in reality anymore), but let’s start with a timeline question! The implication of the opening montage is that a bit of time has past since Beth strongarmed the partnership with Rio at the end of 2.06. How long do you think it’s been? And more importantly, what do you think these early days of their partnership looked like?

I tend to lean towards at least 2 months, maybe more based on:

the number of shoeboxes and how many times Beth’s shown making a closet deposit

how lived in their annoyance over Beth’s dividing her time and Rio pushing back feels

the implication (at least how i read it) that Rio’s annoyance stems from having to track Beth down which presumably implies they’d grumbled their way into a semi-functional working relationship prior (supported by their ease with each other in 208) and if the montage has only been a month, that would be a maximum of 4 meetings and I don’t particularly think that’s enough time for them to get over being extremely prickly with each other

the fact that Beth goes to Rio for help when Jane’s missing (again, to me implies a longer period of time to get over some of their antagonism than a max of 4 meets)

I imagine their initial partnership went something like Beth being a smug brat about forcing her way in, Rio being deliberately unhelpful and trying to force her to admit she’s in over her head (while still keeping enough of an eye on things that his money isn’t jeopardized), Beth stubbornly refusing to and finding ways to rise to the occasion, Rio being grudgingly impressed, Beth being annoyed with herself for how pleased she is over that. Lather, rinse, repeat until they’ve worn a cantankerous but bizarrely comfortable groove into each other.

meanwhile, Mick, Annie and Ruby are absolutely disgusted by everything happening in front of their eyes.

4. The first scene between Ruby and Turner in this episode is a really dynamic one! It’s pretty clear that Ruby’s afraid of Turner, but what do you think Turner thinks of Ruby?

I think he sees a big cartoon canister labeled "Beth Boland Bait"

5. Taking the kids to the drop was a pretty big mistake! What do you think Beth should’ve done in this instance? Do you think saying no again to Rio was an option?

CALLED BEN OR SARA FOR A BABYSITTING ASSIST. For fucks’ sake.

And yeah, I think she could’ve said no to Rio but he would’ve kept her cut of that drop and, even worse, would’ve been able to hold the fact that she didn’t deliver that one time over her head forever more.

6. The krav maga teacher offers some sage advice telling Dean to not order the hit and instead just divorce his wife, haha. Do you think that he thought the baby hitmen would come through for Dean? Or do you think he was deliberately setting Dean up to get robbed?

I choose to believe the krav maga teacher knew exactly what kind of an idiot Dean was and set him up because the dude clearly had at least two brain cells to rub together and anyone with two brain cells to rub together would never get tangled up in a murder plot with Dean standing on the street corner telling random bystanders in detail how he wants to kill the guy that fucked his wife what do you mean established means and motive Boland.

7. During Ben and Annie’s tense conversation, Ben tells Annie that she’s hard to keep track of - she’s parent mom, cool mom, sketchy mom. In a lot of ways, this feels like a parallel to Ruby talking to Beth in the last episode and calling her ‘drug Beth, gun Beth, human trafficking Beth’. What do you make of this? And how do you think it relates to the show’s themes?

I defer to @foxmagpie’s answer because I like it a lot. 

8. The scene with the girls in the house! Tell me all your thoughts please!!!

I love this scene a lot

Beth’s channeling Rio in general but also specifically in 201 you will never ever change my mind

Sometimes I lie awake at night wishing Rio had seen it

Prayer circle that he sees a version of it in s4

Can you imagine the nightmare level of boner he would get? The sheer narcissism!!

Ruby’s obvious wish for new friends is The Most Valid

I really love the main drug den guy, I love Blake Shields’s energy, it makes the scene crackle, and I wish they’d bring him back purely bc he’s gr9

9. Annie meets Noah in this episode! What do you think of their introduction to one another? And how would you rate Noah on the scale of ‘Garbage Annie Love Interests’?

at least he’s not her therapist I guess

10. Beth has two pivotal and emotionally revealing fights this episode - one with Dean and the other with Rio. How do these fights compare? And what do you think they tell us about her respective relationship with them?

UUUNNNNNFFFFFFFF

I L O V E how hard the show goes on Dean’s obsession with Beth and Rio as the primary source of his angst

the fact that he’s trying to rope Stan into murder while looking for Jane who isn’t even MISSING but Dean had NO IDEA bc instead of giving a shit he went straight to HOW CAN THIS BE THAT GUY’S FAULT

I love how clearly they delineate that it isn’t about Beth but specifically about someone else ~*~taking~*~ Beth from him and how emasculated that makes him feel (something something something the storyline opens with the krav maga guy choking him out and then telling him to divorce her and Dean being like I reject your rational and logical solution bc it doesn’t punish the man who touched my property, idk i have a half baked thought there but i can’t pull it out of my brain)

and then it’s all underscored how little Dean’s worried about Beth and her safety by him bringing her work up specifically as a gotcha (which, unless I’m forgetting something, is p much the only context Dean ever brings it up in besides maybe the sit down fight but that’s again, about Beth acting out vs genuine concern)

Meanwhile, this is contrasted with:

Beth flipping tf out at the mere suggestion Rio would ever hurt her children, showing how deeply and instinctively she trusts him in regards to her children aka what’s been established as her Most Important Priority over and over (in the same breath that she rips into Dean for losing Jane in the first place)

which is doubled down on her immediately going to Rio for help

and he is FURIOUS at her, but the thing he leans hard on isn’t how she could have jeopardized the business deal (aka his money, what’s been established as his Most Important Priority over and over) but how she jeopardized herself and how badly she can fuck up if she doesn’t take this seriously

putting himself in a vulnerable position (presumably burning a connect, letting on that Beth means something to him beyond business) to look out for Beth’s emotional well-being

And then, just to drive it home a little further, @sothischickshe pointed out the Beth and Rio fight over Beth’s self preservation is directly paralleled with Stan freaking out at Ruby over the IA stuff because he’s worried about her and I had to go and stare at a blank wall for a few minutes to calm down.

anyway, draw your own conclusions.

11. Ruby takes Jane being missing as an opportunity to try and find evidence on Beth for Turner and, in the process, finds Jane too. How do you think this scene captures Ruby’s moral dilemma? And do you think it’s a satisfying turning point in the Ruby-Turner arc?

I struggle a lot with the Turner and Ruby plot specifically because I HATE that Turner’s ruthlessly leaning on Ruby as the weak link but I’m also ferociously attracted to him so I’m less bothered by it than I feel like I should be so mostly I just try not to think about any of it.

Idk, I see it in some ways as a continuation of Ruby’s fight with Beth and Annie in s1 where Annie said she isn’t blood. They put Ruby on the outside but when push comes to shove, Ruby still puts the two of them above her own family. As far as I’m concerned, Annie still owes Ruby a massive apology for that. Beth I let off the hook a little because by the end of the season she’s ready to turn herself in to make it all go away for all of them (I think, unless I’m misremembering, which is entirely possible bc I don’t think I’ve ever rewatched all of 213)

12. RIO GETS BETH THE DUBBY!! That’s it, that’s the question. Please discuss.

I think a lot about how the gesture is so baldly honest neither one of them can face it either at all (Rio) or without taking a shot first (Beth) which, now that I’ve typed it out, is also an interesting flip of their general MO bc under normal circumstances I’d put Rio down as the one that, of the two of them, is more willing to face stuff whereas Beth’s the one that hides from it.

[writinginstardust]

Naughty and Nice

Pairing: Tyler Jones x Finian de Karran de Seel

Prompt(s):  “Please tell me you aren’t searching my room for where I’ve hidden the presents” and “You look like this ginger bread man” and “You made gingerbread zombies?”

Warnings: suggestive stuff

A/N: Thanks to whoever requested these prompts! Love a bit of dumb fluff, especially when it’s with these boys. Fin is a little shit but what else is new, huh?

Word Count: 1518

*

Tyler smiled as he put the finishing touches on what was practically an army of gingerbread men he'd spent the morning baking. Setting the tube of icing down at last, he admired his handiwork, smile soon slipping into a grimace at the mess he'd managed to create. Yeah, baking clearly wasn't his strong suit. He'd tried though, and that was what counted.

Several limbs had broken off and out of curiosity Tyler picked one up and popped it in his mouth. And maybe they didn't look great but they sure tasted amazing. He couldn't wait to see what Fin thought. After all, it was mostly for him that he'd bothered making them. 

Thinking of Fin, where was he? Tyler couldn't help wondering. He hadn't seen him since breakfast and the peace and quiet that came with a lack of his presence was starting to get disconcerting. 

Licking icing off his fingers, Tyler left the kitchen and went to look for his strangely elusive boyfriend. He wasn't in the living room or his bedroom but there were clear signs everywhere that he was around, where though? 

A thud and a muffled curse had Tyler's head whipping in the direction of his bedroom door which had been left slightly ajar. He walked towards it and pushed gently, taking in the scene before him in increments as the door slowly swung open. It took a moment to process what he was seeing and locate Fin amidst the chaos inside. Apparently he’d decided that with Tyler busy, it was the perfect time to go snooping for his Christmas presents. An exasperated sigh slipped out as Tyler leaned in the doorway and watched for a few moments.

"Please tell me you aren't searching my room for where I've hidden the presents." Fin looked up at him, stared for a moment, before letting his eyes wander around the mess he'd created, clearly stalling and trying to figure out an excuse. He looked back to Tyler again who was waiting patiently with a raised brow.

"No," he said slowly but simply, not offering any explanation for what he was doing. It was such an obvious lie but the audacity of it forced a chuckle out of Tyler.

"So what are you doing then?" He asked, playing along.

"None of your business." Fin went back to his searching.

"Fin!"

"What?" He looked back over his shoulder briefly but didn't stop going through Tyler's things.

"Get out!" Fin paused, looked at him, and considered.

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll let you have a gingerbread man?" He was on his feet in an instant. The recipe Tyler had got ahold of was an old family one that Fin had fallen in love with last year and had been looking forward to trying again since Tyler had mentioned it. There was no way he was going to pass that up after Tyler had told him he wasn't allowed any until everyone else arrived that evening.

“I want two.”

“Fine. But you’re clearing this mess up too.”

“You need to sweeten the deal a bit for that.” Rolling his eyes, Tyler took a couple of steps into the room and pulled Fin towards him, capturing his lips as the boy was caught off-guard. It was the easiest and most effective way of getting Fin to agree and be quiet. Coincidentally, it was also Tyler’s favourite way.

"That sweet enough for you?" He asked after pulling away.

"Yep." He popped the p, grinning smugly.

"Come on then." Taking his hand, Tyler tugged Fin from the room and down the hall to the kitchen.

The smell of Christmas spice permeated the air and Fin breathed it in greedily, mouth practically watering. He frowned, however, when he saw the source of it.

“You made gingerbread zombies?” He shot Tyler a questioning look, unsure if the strangely shaped cookies were deliberate or if Tyler was just terrible at baking. A light blush adorned the boy's cheeks and he smiled sheepishly.

“It wasn’t exactly intentional.”

“So you just suck at baking then?” He nodded. “Wow. We’ve finally found something you can’t do.”

“At least I didn’t burn them.”

“That is something at least. Let’s hope they don’t taste as bad as they look.” He popped a broken-off arm into his mouth and immediately had to eat his words. They might look a mess but maker, they tasted divine. 

“They’re good right?” Tyler asked, smile turning self-satisfied now. Fin nodded, mouth full and unable to do anything but moan softly at the taste. “Want to take back your insults now?” Fin shook his head and swallowed.

“I both love and hate you right now, you smug bastard."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." He chuckled fondly before gesturing to the tray of still-warm treats. "Go ahead and pick your gingerbread men."

Fin looked back down at the cooling rack, inspecting its offering and deciding which to choose. Finally he found one that looked a little more human than the rest. Not by much though. It was still the most attractive of the men on offer however and Tyler had given it yellow icing hair which gave Fin the perfect opportunity to tease. He picked it up and showed it to his boyfriend.

"You look like this gingerbread man."

"I let you have cookies and this is what I get?" Tyler huffed in mock offence.

"I'm kidding. You know you're the hottest piece of ass I've ever laid eyes on," Fin reassured with a wink. Tyler rolled his eyes, brushing off the compliment, only the pink tinge staining his cheeks giving away the effect it had on him. There wasn't a more lovely sight in the universe than that to Fin's mind. Tyler did his best to keep up appearances though, he didn't appreciate the way Fin could make him so flustered sometimes.

"You can't just compliment me and expect me to forgive you for that insult. Especially when you made such a mess in my room too."

"If you're looking for an apology for that, don't expect to get one anytime soon."

"Why not? I think I deserve one."

"I've already agreed to clean it up. Is that not enough?" Tyler thought for a moment, a sly smile slipping onto his face.

"No. I don't think it is actually." Fin caught on easily.

"Well then. I'll just have to make it up to you somehow."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"I've got a few ideas." They both knew exactly what he meant and didn't bother to waste further time talking. Fin dropped his cookie back onto the rack, though not before taking a quick bite and being momentarily distracted by the taste, leaving Tyler to close the distance between them instead. He connected their lips when Fin finished his mouthful and the boy kissed back enthusiastically, causing Tyler to grin against him.

"You definitely taste better than those cookies," Fin breathed after a moment. Tyler chuckled and framed Fin's face with his hands, pressing his lips against his boyfriend’s again to make him shut up. Fin wasn't complaining.

Remembering he was meant to be making things up to Tyler, he deepened the kiss and took control - something he'd been surprised Tyler allowed him to do the first time but had soon realised was what he needed. His hands slid down Tyler's toned torso and gripped his hips, pushing firmly until Tyler gave in and allowed himself to be shoved backwards into the kitchen counter and pinned there by Fin's hips.

After a minute or two of heated making out, Tyler finally dragged his mouth away to suck in a deep lungful of air, leaving Fin free to kiss down his throat. As his body flooded with oxygen once more his mind cleared and he realised that maybe this wasn't something best suited to the messy kitchen. His suspicion was confirmed when he rested a hand on the counter and managed to put it straight into a load of icing.

"Fin, if you want to continue this, we need to go somewhere else." Fin pulled his mouth away from Tyler's neck and frowned at him.

"Why?" Tyler held up his sticky, sugar coated hand and wiggled it in front of him. An evil smile formed as an idea hit him and he wiped the icing over Fin's face. The other boy stood frozen in shock for a moment before a grin split his face.

"I hope you're planning to clean that up."

"I might. If you make it up to me like you promised." 

"I can do that," Fin said with a grin, taking Tyler's hand and pulling him from the kitchen. He paused in the doorway and doubled back to steal a cookie, laughing at the exasperation on Tyler's face when he returned to him.

"Really?"

"What? They're tasty."

"Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you."

"I think we both know why." He winked and dropped a quick but filthy kiss to Tyler's lips. "But I'll happily remind you." And when they finally made it to his bedroom, Fin really did.

*

Tag Lists: (send an ask if you want to be added!)

Everything: @wonderfilledness @writingbychelle @ad-astraaaa @moderngenius94

Aurora Cycle: @aurising

[kiruuuuu]

Siegemas Day 24

Happy holidays everyone, it’s me again! I stepped in for this day :) Once again, thank you @dualrainbow​, this event is a delight 💝💝

Today, my prompt is the very first line of the fic you find below. I hope you all enjoy it, and have a wonderful time no matter what or whether you’re celebrating! ✨ (Twitch/IQ, Rating T, fluff + emotional comfort, ~2.8k words)

.

“We made… too many cookies.”

The comedic timing is impeccable, the line delivered with perfect hesitance as to imply awareness of the understatement while hiding its undoubtedly practised nature. She’s a born people person with a knack for being charmingly endearing, and IQ is absolutely and horrifically powerless.

“This is ridiculous”, she states, deadpan, not giving away how amused she is in reality – it’s not often that she opens the door to a stunning young woman with pretty cheekbones tinted pink from the cold outside, clad in a flattering deep purple coat and holding several tin boxes in gloved hands. Patterned gloves, a row of snowflakes adorning the fabric. A very familiar row of snowflakes.

“I know, and I’m really sorry, but I don’t know anyone else who’d appreciate these.” Her hair is laid in neat waves framing her pale freckled face, light make-up completing the elegant look. She could be a film star, certainly possesses the same unselfconscious attitude one would expect, even though she’s displaying embarrassment right now. Her slim figure hugged tightly by her form-fitting clothes is visible clearly despite the frankly laughable amount of cookie tins and IQ can’t help herself.

She invites her in.

Twitch is a waterfall, bubbling excitedly about how or why she came across certain recipes, casually throwing in a French or German word amidst the usual English, and it’s impossible for IQ to follow her but she smiles and nods anyway while relieving her visitor of her cargo and placing it gingerly on the kitchen table. So far, this last Sunday before Christmas – the fourth Advent, as it’s called in her mother tongue – had been almost serene, began with chores and continued with a quiet cup of coffee and a good book before slowly tilting over into planning and researching for her next chapter. A regular occurrence. As a result, IQ is mentally somewhere else still and needs a few minutes before she can concentrate on her unexpected guest.

“Good to see you”, she chimes in during a small pause (wouldn’t you know it, even Twitch needs to breathe), and the two of them hug as a greeting. Twitch always gives her a good squeeze, really presses the two of them together, which is one of the reasons IQ looks forward to meeting her every day: it makes her feel appreciated. No one else comes close to these embraces, not Blitz, her decade-old friend, or even her own siblings. In Twitch’s arms, she closes her eyes and finds peace for a brief second.

It might be the absence of her family which has left her this sentimental – normally, she’s too busy to analyse her friends, to scrutinise them to this amount, but today an odd sort of nostalgia and possible bout of loneliness has overtaken her. She did light four candles on her wreath, the first one almost burnt out completely from being lit on all the previous Sundays, yet instead of providing warm illumination, it caused subtle brooding. Their house was always lively around Christmas, bustling with fights, pretend fights, singing, louder singing, future plans yelled through the staircase, raucous laughter, and various songs on repeat trying to drown each other out.

Here, in her small apartment in England, the silence felt foreboding.

“I tried my hand at spéculoos, which Marius called a German staple, and let me tell you – the dough I had was a nightmare to work with, much too sticky. I wanted to roll it out and use Julien’s cookie cutters but it wouldn’t cooperate, so you now have small poop piles of what I think you call Spekulatius. It’s in the blue tin, right on top there. I also made vanilla… uh, vanilla croissants? Shaped like moons? They’re Dom’s favourites, apparently, and Gilles begged me to help him, but he got the recipe wrong and we got so many that he just gave me half. Elias really wanted pain d’épices, um, spicy bread? No, gingerbread, that was it. You guys have the best name for it, by the way, Lebkuchen, it makes it sound like you’re Frankenstein: live, cake!”

Twitch somehow manages to wander through the flat while babbling on, accepting a cup of lukewarm coffee IQ puts in her hands and instinctively helping to pick a few cookies from each box to create an inviting-looking decorative paper plate which IQ carries into the living room where they settle down, fingers curled around warmed ceramic and eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

“You need to try these, it’s actually one of James’ mum’s recipes. Poppyseed and chocolate, they turned out better than expected, but after Liza told that story about her acquaintance failing a drug test because of poppyseed bagels, people refused to eat more than one and I definitely can’t stomach all of these alone.”

She watches, expectantly, as IQ dutifully picks out one of the spotted cookies shaped like a flower and bites into the crumbly bakeware. Surprising no one, it’s delicious – if there’s anything Twitch can’t do, IQ hasn’t found it yet.

“Really good”, she agrees, allowing for Twitch’s instant beaming smile to tug the corners of her own mouth upwards while she chews. “Manu, these all look lovely. You know I’d die for good Christmas cookies, so thank you. Even though this is way too much for me.”

Her laugh is melodic and as contagious as her constant sunny mood. “You should see how many I still have at home. Elias claimed he needs to watch his figure, Julien should be watching his figure, Doc doesn’t really like sweets, and Gilles eats maybe one cookie a day. Which you know is illegal at Christmastime.”

“Still, this is a wonderful present and I’m afraid I have nothing to give in return.” IQ isn’t being entirely honest. Still testing the waters; maybe Twitch will manage to read between the lines and they can finally address it. The moment the Frenchwoman stepped over the threshold was the moment IQ decided they’d talk it through today. It’s been going on long enough.

“Not true, you gave me the gloves!” Twitch’s triumphant gotcha! expression is self-satisfied and smug and sweet. Sweeter than the cookies calling to IQ – they really do look fantastic, a variety of shapes, sizes and colours, all together smelling of spices and memories and Christmas.

“Someone had to, you kept complaining about your icy fingers.”

“And you were probably sick of warming them up.” Twitch hasn’t caught on yet, her tone is still breezy and carefree. “Have you written some more? Any new scenes for me to read? I need to know whether the captain really is dead or not.”

IQ laughs, half embarrassed and half delighted – when the news broke in Rainbow that she writes stories in her spare time, she expected an outcome way worse than what she ended up facing: Castle immediately expressed interest in reading them, no matter the topic, and once word got out that it was usually science-fiction-centric, even more people approached her out of curiosity. None of them as enthusiastic as Twitch, however, who dove into the narratives like an age old fan into new material, sparking an unknown productivity in IQ which has yet to subside. Knowing there’s at least one person who devours anything she dreams up has been fantastically motivating, and they’ve begun spinning yarn together now and then. Twitch is the only one whom she trusts enough to proofread for scientific errors or inconsistencies, and she’s helped develop a character into a much more compelling version of themselves several times.

The next hour is spent on discussing IQ’s research, involving frantic googling and article hopping on Wikipedia to help with finding the correct jargon – Twitch knows most of the technical terms in French, which doesn’t mesh well with IQ’s rusty school French, whereas her German accent makes it difficult for the other woman to understand her, so they try to meet in the middle somewhere by using English, despite the laborious process involved.

They’re on one wavelength. Always have been, from the moment they came across each other in Rainbow’s workshop, when Twitch still dyed her hair auburn and IQ barely spoke a word with the other operators: a friendly smile, an engineering-related question, a brief introduction, and they were a house on fire. Inseparable at work.

Twitch made sure it bled into their private lives as well, even if it took considerable effort. IQ never asked, but she’s sure her friend secretly celebrated that one day when she finally said yes to one of her suggestions of meeting up.

.

And it’s exactly why it hurts so fucking much to think -

.

“Manu.”

Twitch stops talking mid-sentence, probably caught off guard by her serious tone of voice. “Yes? Is everything alright?”

It might be. She hopes it will be. Her fingers stray to a loose thread peeking out of the seam of her trousers, picking at it. “We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Several years, in fact, an unimaginably long time. Not that IQ hasn’t been able to keep friendships alive for this long, but never one this close. The level of intimacy usually kept declining after a certain point, usually prompted by nothing, sometimes spatial distance, sometimes emotional. There aren’t many people who keep up with her over a long time, and even fewer she keeps up with – Blitz is a great friend, but he just doesn’t share her passions.

“And you’re one of the most generous people I know. Your first instinct when you have too many cookies is to give them away. I’ve always admired this about you.”

Twitch is listening intently. She knows something is up, yet can’t put her finger on it. Her brows are furrowed. IQ knows this from a brief glance before her gazed drops back down to her restless fingers.

“Julien and I had a conversation about you, not too long ago. And some of what he said was… unexpected.” Rustling; Twitch is beginning to fidget as well. “Unrelated to that, Dom overheard you voicing your frustration about your being single and mentioned it to me. I didn’t know you were that unhappy. You never said anything.”

She really likes you. Yeah, don’t wave me off. I’ve never seen her fawn over someone like this. You get special treatment all the time.

And then, more poignant: At this point, I’m basically ready to fuck anything that moves.

The second quote echoes in her mind as if she’d heard it herself instead of it being delivered second-hand. Both of them made her look back at the past months and re-evaluate some events. Showed them in a very different light.

Twitch is radiating anxiousness. It’s easy to pick up.

“I realise now that I’ve received a lot of special attention from you, and… I just have to wonder.” It’s harder and harder to push the words out, her throat closing up. “Wonder whether your present today is cookies and friendship, or cookies and a confession, or cookies and an expectation. Whether there’s some kind of motive attached.”

Her entire life, there’s never been anyone outside her family who understood her better. Being a woman in a male dominated field is difficult enough, especially as a competitive one, and her experiences aren’t easily conveyed to her guy colleagues – Twitch understands, of course, has faced the same obstacles and prejudices. Seeking patterns everywhere, striving for excellence, despising complacency, the overwhelming need to reverse engineer anything new or remarkable, exploring new places, wanting to always keep moving and improving – Twitch understands, has had a similar upbringing and equivalent goals.

They share almost everything at this point, have been on holidays together, mastered several projects with each other’s help, stayed up till sunrise because sleep was the inadequate alternative to exchanging ideas and pushing each other further than they’d go by themselves. Others have always tried to slow IQ down, force her to relax, take her mind off something she enjoyed chewing on, and it was infuriating.

All Twitch does is encourage her. Which paradoxically calms IQ more than any massage or empty-brained film ever could.

She doesn’t want to lose all this. Her chest hurts with the pressure of potentially losing someone this dear to her. But at the same time, she doesn’t want Twitch to get the wrong idea.

When silence is all she receives, she looks up to find Twitch fighting for composure – wide eyes filled with moisture and lip quivering. It’s a stab in the guts. IQ has never seen her cry.

“I don’t -”, Twitch chokes out, adding more quietly: “This isn’t -”

IQ sits next to her, reaching out but retreating when Twitch shakes her head, so all she does is take her hand. As always, her fingers are cold, so IQ closes her own around them. This isn’t at all what she intended, but she needs to know.

“Your friendship means the world”, comes a much more composed statement after a minute. “You should know this.”

She nods. She does know.

“And – and yes, if there was more, I’d be happy. Even happier than I am now. But there doesn’t need to be.” Twitch is speaking faster now, rushing the words, her melodic French accent thickening. “I’m fine with everything staying the way it is. I love being around you, no matter how, so if you’re not okay with – with anything else, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll get over it, no worries.”

“Manu. Breathe.” Seeing the other woman in a panic is a rare sight and IQ doesn’t enjoy knowing she’s the cause. “I love being around you, too. You’re my best friend, by far. But… I don’t want anything casual.”

Twitch needs a moment to digest this and IQ readies her responses: she’s had bad experiences with it in the past, and as far as she knows, arrangements like friends with benefits tend to make everything messy and awkward. Staying friends is the better option.

“Yes. Me neither.” A beat. Their eyes meet, Twitch’s still glistening.

There is an even better option, as far as IQ is concerned. And it seems to slowly dawn on the nearly perfect woman next to her.

“And… what about something not casual? But still more?”

Oh. The pressure begins to lift off her chest with every passing second, with every second that Twitch stares at her, hopeful, unsure. Slowly, she clarifies: “You mean – cookies and a confession?”

The nod is nearly imperceptible, and IQ probably almost breaks her fingers by squeezing so hard. The next thing she knows is she’s leaning forward and pressing their lips together, tasting the saltiness of perceived rejection as well as the disbelieving smile of actual acceptance, and then Twitch is laughing as well, crying in between relieved giggling, almost hysterical, and IQ joins in, and before they know it, they’re a mess on the sofa, hugging, seeking physical contact, pressing kisses to temples and hair and cheeks and lips again, wrapping arms around warm bodies.

Her heart is singing because while she so fiercely hoped, she barely dared to, was used to disappointments and therefore expected the worst, even ascribed traits to her best friend in the whole world who’d never stoop so low as to demand something from her she wasn’t ready to give. No, Twitch understands her and vice versa. Even so, it took them an embarrassingly long time to get to this point. In their shared joyousness, they barely manage to finish their sentences:

“What Dom heard me say wasn’t, I mean, I was just -”

“Yes, I figured, but it still got me thinking -”

“I was having a bad day, I’m not that frustrated -”

“Oh? That’s a shame, you know, I was actually looking forward to -”

“Monika!”, Twitch exclaims, scandalised even though they’re both aware IQ is joking, and by now they’re laughing like mad, especially because Twitch only uses her full name when she’s done something, so IQ resorts to tickling her in retaliation or maybe to distract her, and they both yelp when Twitch’s foot shoots up, gets caught on the rim of the cookie plate peeking over the coffee table’s edge, and catapults its contents everywhere. One manages to hit IQ in the face, the rest is scattered all over the floor, which sets them off again after a second of total silence.

“It’s fine, it’s fine”, Twitch gets out in between breaths, “I really do have tons more at home.” Which IQ believes her in a heartbeat.

Even though she’s pretty sure she got the lion’s share of the leftovers.

And just a second before they notice that the napkin on which the cookies were presented has caught fire, IQ thinks about how she dreaded spending Christmas at Hereford without her family – and she realises now she’ll be in great company regardless.

[another-blog-bites-the-dust]

Not her type.

Summary: While hanging around on the set of the BoRhap movie, the four boys compete to try and get your attention...not knowing they aren't exactly your type.

Warnings: A few swears nothing major

A/N: MAN THIS IS FOR ALL THE GIRLS WHO LIKE GIRLS BECAUSE IM ONE OF THOSE GIRLS AND DAMN I DO LOVE LUCY SHE IS BEAUTFUL AND SO TALENTED AND THE LACK OF LUCY X READER FICS HURT MY LITTLE BI HEART SO I HAD TO WRITE A LITTLE SOMETHING. Enjoy 💖

"Y/N! I picked you up a coffee!" Gwilym grinned and handed you the takeaway cup before being pushed out the way by Rami.

"Yeah, well, I got you a triple chocolate muffin, Y/N," he smugly smirked and he handed you the little brown paper bag.

You smiled, a little overwhelmed "Oh wow! Thanks! You really didn't have to do that."

"Hey Y/N!" Gwilym and Rami lowly growled hearing Joe's voice. "Oh!" He paused with a hand behind his back and pulled out some flowers like he was performing a magic trick. "What's this?" He handed them to you and you suddenly realised how full your hands were so held them close to you with your arm.

"Joe! They're gorgeous! Thank you!" You grinned. "I need to go and find my dad, 'scuse me!" You lightly bowed your head to and headed off.

The three boys watched you walk away before glaring at each other. "What do you think you're doing?" Gwilym snapped at the both of them. They were currently on set, about six months into filming Bohemian Rhapsody and the four boys were all competing for your attention and affection. They all had developed a crush on you.

"I'm just being the kind and generous self I am," Joe replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "I mean...flowers beats coffee and muffins any day," he smugly smirked, giving Rami the side eye.

Rami gasped "I think you'll find that flowers only bring short term delight- oh wait," he placed his finger on his chin in feigned thought "It makes so much sense now why you bought them." He teased and Joe huffed, crossing his arms. "Whereas a muffin satisfies lots of cravings."

"You're really weird, Malek..." Gwilym uttered.

"Coming from the guy that's trying to get with her while dressing like her dad?" Joe retorted. Gwilym rolled his eyes- flirting with you dressed as Brian probably wasn't the best idea he had.

"She prefers blondes," the three groaned hearing a cocky voice come out of nowhere. Ben tapped Joe's shoulder while joining the group. "Watch and learn boys- there isn't many that can resist my charm."

You arrived back on set after putting the stuff the boys got you in your dressing room and began chatting with your dad, he was discussing how much he was enjoying the whole experience. You grinned and gave him a side hug. "I'm happy you're happy, dad. I'm sure uncle Fred would have loved this too."

Brian shook his head with a small smirk "He'd be up there on that podium showing everyone up," he chuckled and then sadly smiled "I wish he could have been here to see it."

You tightly smiled and squeezed his arm "I'm sure he is," you softly whispered. "Anyway, I'll let you see the producer and catch up with you in a bit!" He nodded and you both went your separate ways. You felt someone tap you arm and you turned seeing Ben there. "Ben! Hey!"

He opened his arms and you have him a hug and a peck on the cheek, Ben stuck his tongue out at the three boys who flipped him off behind your back. "How are you?" Ben asked as he pulled back, still holding your arms with his hands.

"Good! How are you?" You asked with a grin. All the boys were so friendly and kind to you, hugging and pecking them all on the cheeks was a normal thing to do.

"I'm great," he licked his lips slightly- he knew it would be hard to resist that. "I was wondering...are you busy tonight? We could get some drinks after filming?" He suggested.

"Ah! I can't!" Ben's small, flirty smile fell. "Dad's invited me over to his for dinner!" He nodded understandingly "Hey! Why don't you come along?" His face instantly lit up. He was back in the game. "Dad won't mind!" You turned around "You all want to come around at say...seven?" Ben's smile dropped- that was not the way it was supposed to go.

Ben awkwardly chuckled "Uh...Y/N-"

"Sounds perfect!" Joe cut him off with a tight grin, pissing Ben off at how smug he was being.

"Great! See you boys then!" You chirped and left them to get organised for their scene.

Ben loudly groaned and took the boys teasing laughter on the chin. "I was so close! I'm telling you- it's me she likes the most!" He told them, full of confidence.

"In your dreams, Ben," Rami chortled. "Let's see what happens at dinner tonight, shall we?" The four boys were called to the makeup trailer while you spent most of the day hovering beside your dad.

"I invited the boys to dinner tonight- is that alright?" You asked him.

Brian blinked from behind his glasses "Course! Did you invite Lucy too?"

You laughed "Yes! That's the whole reason why we where having dinner in the first place!" You nudged his arm "Don't embarrass me in front of them all tonight."

"Hmm..." he pretended to think about it.

"No!" You laughed. "Don't!"

"I'm a dad- it's my job to embarrass you!" Brian chuckled.

You loudly groaned "Uncle Roger!" You whined, knowing he'd stick up for you. "Dad's going to embarrass me...again!"

Roger placed his arm around your shoulder "It's not too late for me to adopt you and become a Taylor!" He laughed and Brian rolled his eyes at the pair of you. "Don't you embarrass the poor girl, Bri." You smirked, victorious. "I'll come to dinner and help you out."

The two men loudly laughed as you groaned "You're both doing it right now! God! I'm going to get another coffee!" You couldn't help but smile. You spotted the four boys and sent them a small wave- they all waved back and then debated between themselves.

"She was waving at me." Gwilym said.

Rami shook his head "Nope- she waved at me!"

Joe blew a raspberry "Oh please, she was looking at me and waved."

Ben rolled his eyes "Sure thing- keep telling yourselves that. You all know she was waving at me."

•••

Gwilym knocked on the door, he was a bit early but he wanted to get to Brian's house for dinner before the rest of the boys. He had a bunch of flowers and wine in his hand and just about managed to hit his knuckles off the door, disregarding the bell. You opened it and Gwilym's face was taken over by a huge smile. "Hi, Y/N!"

"Hey, Gwil!" He bent down slightly and kissed your cheeks "Come on through!" He handed you the flowers and wine "Thank you! They're gorgeous! I'll put these with Rami's!"

Gwilym blinked "H-He-Rami is here? Already?" He asked, wondering if he had picked that up right.

"Yeah! Only arrived about ten minutes before you- Ben has been here for about twenty." 'Bastards' Gwilym thought to himself but didn't let his smile falter.

"Oh that's great," it was a good job he was an actor- he would have received an Oscar for that fake enthusiastic line alone. Gwilym walked through to the sitting room where Rami and Ben were already there chatting with Brian- they were trying to avoid eye contact with Gwil when he walked in. "Hello, boys..." he gritted out before genuinely smiling at Brian. "Hey, Brian," they shook hands before Gwil sat down.

"Gwil, darling," you placed a hand on his shoulder and looked up to you with a smile "Can I get you a drink? Beer? Wine?"

"Wine is great thanks," he tapped your hand before you went to the kitchen. Gwilym looked to the other two who were glaring at him. That didn't happen to them.

The doorbell rang just as you handed Gwilym his glass "I'll get it!" You grinned and answered it. "Hey Joe! Love the flowers!" The three boys sighed and subtly rolled their eyes. Of course he'd being you more. "I'll put them with everyone else's." Joe walked through to sitting room and just as you fetched him a drink, the door went again. The boys all furrowed their brows, they didn't know anyone else was coming.

"Hi!" They could hear Lucy's distinctive voice float into the sitting room and they all let out a collective sigh of relief- she wasn't a threat to them. "How's things?"

"Good! I love your dress! I'm so glad you could make it!" You grinned and hugged her before she took off her jacket and scarf. "I'll fix you up your favourite!" You winked "Go on through- dad's in the sitting room with the boys." You squeezed her arm and she walked into where everyone was while you went to the kitchen to make her a gin and tonic and check on dinner.

"Hi Lucy!" The five of them all greeted at the same time when she walked in.

"Hi everyone! So good to see you all!" She didn't get the chance to sit down as you called everyone to the table. The four boys pushed and nudged each other as they tried to get a seat either side of you. Brian was at the top of the table and Lucy, Joe and Gwil sat on one side while you sat on the other with Ben and Rami. You and Lucy were in the middle of the two boys which also meant that you were directly across from her. You bumped your foot against hers and she sent you a shy smile across the table. It was reassuring to her knowing you were right there if she needed you.

"So Y/N," Joe shifted in his seat "I've gotta get you to the bar for karaoke sometime!"

You laughed and so did your dad. "There's a reason why she's a writer and not a singer, Joe." Brian chortled and you shot your dad a small glare. "Nails down a chalkboard sound better than she sings..."

"Thanks, dad..." you shook your head with a small smile on your face. "But he has a point, Joey." Joe shot the boys a cocky grin as if to say 'She gave me a nickname- ha ha!' "I'm an awful singer!"

Ben cleared his throat a little "We should check out that exhibition at the," he clicked his fingers trying to think on the spot "The Shard!" He said a little too loud when he remembered. "It's really great! Gets smashing reviews and I hear the restaurant is fantastic- views over London, apparently very romantic!" The three boys rolled their eyes at Ben's blatant attempt at trying to flirt.

You grinned and nodded before turning back to Lucy and softly smiling finding her already looking at you with rosy cheeks. Her fingers were playing with the stem of her glass and her lips parted ever so slightly and then shut before she spoke- you loved watching her think about what she was trying to say. It was like watching a renowned artist paint something in front of your eyes it was such a masterpiece. All her little quirks were. "I was thinking we could see that play you've been talking about? What do you think, Y/N?"

"Sounds amazing! We should go this weekend!" You suggested and she nodded, taking a sip of her drink.

"If you want to see a show, I have a friend that's in a sold out run of 'Hamlet', Y/N. I can ask them for tickets and we could go together next week?" He felt Joe's, Rami's and Ben's eyes burn into him.

"Sure! Sounds good, I'd love to see it." You took a sip of your wine, lightly choking on it when you felt Lucy's leg brush against yours. She sent you a playful smirk from behind her glass and you couldn't help but blush- of course one of the four boys thought they had done that to you. After dinner they all had to head home, filming was starting early tomorrow and they needed their rest. You brushed your fingers up Lucy's arms giving her goosebumps- no one thought anything of it. It was a small sign of affection but it meant so much more to her. "Still up for the cinema tomorrow night?" You asked.

"Course! Wouldn't miss it for the world!" She looked over and found the boys staring at you. "They're looking again...I told you! This is the billionth time I've caught them doing it."

Your heart skipped a beat at her jealous tone, it made you slyly grin. "You have nothing to worry about." You whispered so only she heard you. "You're cute when you're jealous."

"Oh be quiet you!" She giggled and nudged you. "Can I see that top you were telling me about before we leave?" She suggestively raised her brows a little to try and make you understand what she was trying to say. She wanted a moment alone with you.

You nodded, catching on and grabbed her hand "Just showing Lucy something! She won't be a minute!" You smiled and dragged her up the stairs.

Brian quirked a brow at the four boys when they all turned to him after following you with their eyes as you hurried upstairs. "Can you be honest with us, Brian?" Rami asked and Brian gingerly nodded. "What one of us has a better chance with Y/N? I'd personally say me but-"

"Course you would," Ben cut him off "Brian, sir, I would take such good care of your daughter she were to date me."

Gwilym scoffed "Sure thing, drummer boy..."

"You all don't have a chance- we all know she likes me best. Even gave me a nickname..." Joe proudly grinned.

They all groaned "I knew you were going to bring that up!" Ben uttered.

The boys then got into a bit of a spat and it was up to Brian to break it up. "In all fairness boys...I don't think any of you are her type." They all stopped bickering and furrowed their eyebrows at the guitarist.

"Wait!" You softly giggled and pulled Lucy back towards you again by the wrist. "Lipstick..." you wiped some of your lipstick off her bottom lip with your thumb. "You suit that shade..." you grinned and stroked her face with your fingertips.

Lucy kissed your palm "Give me more then," she purred and pressed her lips to yours before slowly pulling back and then winking "I'm glad I saw that top..." she cheekily grinned and squeezed your hip slightly, you began blushing furiously. "See you tomorrow," she pecked your lips again "I'll text you when I get home." You nodded and then headed back downstairs. "You boys ready to go?"

They all hummed and flung on their coats, still wondering what Brian meant. You and your dad bid your goodbyes and you shut the door over behind them. "Oh no!" You gasped "Lucy left her scarf!"

"If you're quick you might catch them before they leave the street," Brian motioned for you to go and you hurried out the door and down the front steps.

"Guys!" You yelled out and jogged to catch up with them. They all turned around with hopeful smiles on their faces thinking one of them was in luck. "Lucy- your scarf!" Her hands went up to her bare neck and she gasped suddenly feeling the cold biting away at it. "Good job I caught you!" You smiled and wrapped it around her "Wouldn't want you getting a cold!"

"Thank you!" She sweetly smiled, lovingly gazing into your eyes. You were so taken aback by her beauty and facial features in the fluorescent orange streetlights that you forgot the boys were there. Her eyes were twinkling just as much- if not more than- the stars above. Her lips were curved just enough that her smile reached those sparkling eyes of hers. You used her scarf to pull those lips to yours- she gasped feeling the sudden contact of your warm lips on her cold ones.

She wasn't the only one that gasped. The four boys stared at the pair of you with eyes as wide as saucers and gaping mouths. "Get home safe, I love you." You murmured and then pulled back. "Bye guys! Take care! Tell me when you get home!"

You gave Lucy another peck and she hummed in delight "Bye, I love you too." She kept her eyes on you- making sure you were safely in the house before she turned and made her journey home with the four boys who were still frozen on the spot with shock. When she was a few yards ahead she turned around and raised a brow with a sly smirk on her face. "Are you guys coming or what?" They dumbly nodded and managed to utter out a 'yes' each.

Joe was then suddenly hit with a wave of realisation after they walked Lucy back home. "'Not her type'," he hit his head "I get it now!" The three others shared a glance and then laughed between themselves.

"I was right though," Ben spoke up and the three looked at him with a raised brow. "She prefers blondes."

———————–————

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