#and brown countertops. light and bright basement

[francinesoleil]

Galley Home Bar in Calgary

[lovelylogans]

the himbo chronicles

part i | part ii

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: kissing, underage drinking, kissing with consent while under the influence, please let me know if i’ve missed anything else!

pairings: roman/logan, offscreen patton/virgil

word count: 8,877

notes: i simply could not resist writing about these good good boys for a moment longer. i love them. this work takes place in the late summer/early fall between logan’s freshman and sophomore year of college, or almost four years after the main storyline. if you need a quick rundown of the characters (i know seven new characters might be a lot to digest!) here’s a quick guide to each of the boys. please enjoy! 

⁂

one had a certain expectation when it came to many college-aged boys living in the same house together. partying. general revelry. chaos. messy surroundings. the loud blaring of video games. more than just a touch of hedonism, certainly. 

logan sanders is a rather atypical college-aged boy. in his past reveries when considering college, he'd thought of the libraries he'd spend hours in, the books he'd pore over, the professors that would come to mentor him. perhaps the occasional errant thought of a party he'd be dragged to, but then his brain had moved to college newspapers and their framing on pieces when it came to excessive drinking and how to interview fraternity presidents concerning their unsettling hazing rituals. 

during his senior year, a fair amount of his fretting had transitioned into how to handle the distance from his father, patton, and pseudo-father, virgil, back home in sideshire, which proved itself solved quite handily; yale is close enough that it's not even a notably long drive. the other worrisome part, though, were how to visit his long-term boyfriend, roman, who was no longer even in the same state. but they'd made it work, over the past year, and logan is currently sitting in an armchair he'd dragged over to the front window of the house, trying and miserably failing to pay attention to some of his class reading.

once he'd gotten to college, though, those social expectations for the rest of his peers had certainly been proven, if simply by virtue of examining the rest of his classmates. his life, however, seems ill-contented to have left it at that; he can safely say that his social circle is not entirely like he'd expected his college friends to be.

for instance, as he hears the creaking of the old wood floors behind him—

"if you start making fun of me for waiting by the window for roman again i will take points from your good noodle chart," logan threatens, and adam scampers off with barely-contained snickering.

he had not expected to have to say that sentence during his college years at all.

there's a hastily-stifled laugh, and logan swivels around to see jordan, who is certainly paying very studious attention to his own class reading.

logan's eyes narrow at him. 

"you usually study in the kitchen," logan says, just barely keeping an accusing tone out of his voice.

"more natural light in here," jordan says, nodding to the window, his lip caught between his teeth.

logan scowls.

"...okay," jordan relents, "and—"

"i knew it."

"c'mon, none of us have met him before!" jordan protests, even as logan is calculating the chances of being able to kick jordan out of here. they are not particularly good; he can hear andrew, derek, and edward loudly talking about their SQUH-SQUH-SQUH SQUAT CHALLEEEEEENGE! in the living room, which is open to the kitchen. the counting of the squats they can do is very noisy, not even factoring in the trash-talk.

"privacy would be appreciated," logan says.

"in this house?" jordan says skeptically, which is a fair point; there are nine of them crammed into five rooms. logan's room is technically a single only by virtue of it being an attic that can barely fit a lofted bed with a desk and a dresser warring for space underneath. logan is fairly certain that janus's shared room with matthew in the basement was never intended for long-term human habitation, either.

"i knew i should have met him at the station," logan says, ruffling the pages of his book. 

"is logan talking about us?" matthew shouts from the living room. his feet pound against the hardwood as he poked his red head around the corner, his eyes going as teasingly pleading as jordan's. "you're not gonna make us miss meeting our step-daddy, are you, mom?"

the "mom" thing is somewhat new, too, and also an aspect of college life that logan had not foreseen. perhaps logan should have seen it coming when he started instituting a chore chart and a chart for good behavior with plastic dinosaur toys as rewards. for reasons that elude him, the boys named it the "good noodle" chart.

he had mostly started the chart after what might have been a joke from janus, in retrospect, but he certainly isn't going to stop now, not when it's been proven to be so effective. 

what he says instead of respond to matthew's question is "have you finished the dishes?"

matthew hesitates, looking back over his shoulder to the countertops.

"...yyeesss...?"

logan arches an eyebrow at him. "if i walk in there, will there be dishes in the sink?"

matthew attempts to model his eyes after jordan, widening them and trying to look innocent. he isn't as gifted at it.

"it would be a shame if you had to be demoted on the good noodle chart because you didn't finish your chores and—" he glances at a notecard— "chirped me about roman."

a pause.

"was that accurate?" logan says. "is it 'chirped?'"

"cory!" matthew bellows over his shoulder.

"yeah?" cory shouts back. 

"hockey trash-talk is chirping, right?"

"yeah!"

"thank you!" matthew shouts back and turns to face logan. "yeah, it's chirping."

"hockey," logan mutters, scrawling this onto the notecard. the influx of sports-related slang to his notecards is another unforeseen aspect of college life. "it's hockey-specific, that's what i was missing."

a beat.

"the sooner you can get them done you can pass it to the next person on the chart. do the dishes," logan adds severely, and matthew stumps off to the kitchen, grumbling something under his breath that sounds a lot like “ugh, mom.”

say what one will about the good noodle chart—it certainly is a successful motivator.

perhaps the plastic bag full of dozens of mini bubble-wands that the boys saw logan receive in the mail this week is doing more of the persuasion rather than the necessity of the chores, or logan himself, but it works.

“logan?”

“hmm?” logan says, distracted by wondering if derek vacuumed the living room or if he dragged around a dining chair make lines in the carpet again.

jordan, grinning, nods to the window, and logan whips his head around just in time to see a taxi pull into the driveway.

the sudden surge of excitement and happiness and eagerness is enough to make him stand up, because roman is right there, logan can distantly see him in a red shirt in the back of the taxi. logan hastily tosses his book onto the nearest table and goes for the front door as quickly as he can without running outright.

by the time he is near enough to roman to see the details of how he’s styled his hair that day, a piece of lint on his shoulder, the way he’s slung his bag on his shoulder, he’s paying the taxi driver. 

he turns around to face logan, and logan loses his breath.

god he’s so handsome.

logan doesn’t know if it’s a month’s absence, or if roman has indeed grown more beautiful by the day, but roman is so lovely. his skin glows in the late summer sun, grinning at logan wide and bright, and logan can’t stand there and drink in the sight of him, chronicling every single miniscule difference that he can, because roman grabs logan in a hug, pulling him close.

logan wraps his arms around roman as tight as he can, burying his face into roman’s shoulder and inhaling; the familiar scent of his cologne, his floral body wash, the gel he uses in his hair.

“i missed you,” roman whispers, breath warm against logan’s ear.

“me too,” logan mumbles, squeezing him tighter. usually, roman hugs him even tighter back, but today, he falters.

“um.”

logan pulls back enough to see the quizzical look on roman’s face. roman nods at something behind him.

“i think we have a bit of an audience.”

logan glances back over his shoulder in time to see all seven of the boys—plus a peek of janus in the back, surely egging on the chaos—jostling for the best view at the window where logan had just been keeping vigil.

“it’s not too late to call the taxi back and go somewhere private,” logan says, turning to face roman again. “i could show you the library.”

roman grins at him. “are you kidding? i’ve wanted to see if you were exaggerating about them for ages.”

logan scoffs. “as if i’m the one prone to exaggeration in this relationship.”

roman’s grin widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “fuck, i’ve missed you so bad.”

what else can logan do but pull roman in by the waist and kiss him?

even muffled by the closed door and the thick glass of the window, logan can hear the boys hooting and hollering and yelling “GET IT, MOM!!!” and “ow OW!” and roman laughs against logan’s lips.

logan smiles into the kiss, and he thinks that roman’s weekend visit probably couldn’t have gotten off to a better start if he’d tried.

⁂

the first thing that someone says when logan and roman walk into the front door is “what the FUCK, mom, you didn’t tell us he was HOT!”

roman swivels to face logan, offended.

“of course i think he’s hot,” logan says, bemused. “i’m dating him. he’s obviously my type.”

“yeah, but,” adam says, and he gestures to roman’s body at whole. “he’s fucking hot, though.”

there’s a rumbling of agreement from the other boys—sans janus, who has obviously met roman before—and roman immediately preens at the attention.

because roman is undoubtedly hot. his brown skin is glowing—logan has seen him wearing facemasks on their video calls enough times that he knows it’s not incidentally clear, perfect skin—and he’s maybe not quite as bulkily built as, say, derek, who can pick up logan and janus simultaneously without breaking a sweat, but roman is strong by virtue of his profession and it shows. 

“thanks,” roman says, grinning.

“i mean,” adam adds hastily, “all respect to you and logan, i mean this in, like, the bros-appreciating-bros way, not the i’m trying to steal your man way.”

“i figured,” logan says dryly, considering that adam, notably lacking in a sense of impulse control, has never offered any romantic inclination towards men before.

“well, roman, this is—everyone,” logan says, and points at each housemate as he says their name.

“adam rothschild—”

“hi,” adam adds belatedly. 

“—matthew van doren—”

“'sup,” matthew says, with an upward nod of his red head.

“—cory hollingsworth—”

cory flashes a peace sign from where he stands beside janus.

“—jordan arlington—”

“nice to meet you, man, logan’s been looking forward to this for fuckin’ ever,” jordan says.

logan, refusing to blush, continues with, “edward morton—”

“shalom, bro,” he says.

“—andrew de loughrey—”

“hey, dude.”

“—derek carmichael, and you remember janus, of course.”

“nice to finally meet you all,” roman says, an arm wrapped comfortably around logan’s waist.

“you’re fucking yoked, bro,” derek says, appreciative. “what does your leg day look like? your quads are insane.”

“thanks, man,” roman says, extending a denim-clad leg with all of his typical grace. his legs are insane, to be fair. “part of the job—has logan mentioned i’m a ballet dancer?”

there’s a chorus of agreement, and so as they relocate, unspoken, to the living room. all of the other boys listen to some of the exercises roman discusses, and roman offers demonstrations of barre warm-ups upon request, his hand on the kitchen island, to great enthusiasm.

logan probably should have guessed that hearing about the workout regimen of a ballet dancer would go a long way in convincing this house full of “jocks” that roman was worthy of their adoptive, same-age mother. he’s pleased that by the time this line of conversation is winding down, it has been proven to be a very effective icebreaker.

even if he is a little grumpy to lose the warmth of roman’s hand where it had been resting on his knee.

however, once that conversation does trail off, logan gets to his feet.

“how about i take you on a tour of the house? i can show you my room.”

“ooh, mom, get it,” andrew says, to great whooping and a wolf-whistle which elicits more laughter from the other boys.

“remember, house rule, sock on the doorknob!” says someone who can surely only be adam.

“i’m making a bad noodle chart now,” logan says, attempting to fight the blush that’s surely creeping onto his face, “all of you have been demoted to the bad noodle chart.”

roman reaches out and takes logan’s hand. “you actually have a noodle chart? i thought you were kidding.”

“i am not kidding,” logan says sourly, directing a glare toward the boys.

jordan, mercifully, provides a very handy distraction by order of shouting out “MARIO KART TOURNAMENT I CALL ROSALINA,” which immediately descends into chaos as the boys fight over who gets peach, or yoshi, or else fighting over their “lucky” switch controllers.

janus meets eyes with logan, rolls his eyes, and promptly siddles his way into one of the four coveted spots to play as wario. somehow janus never has to engage in this arguing, even though logan, the house mother, has to fight with the boys to get to play with isabelle—

whatever. it’s fine. as adam launches himself at jordan to literally wrestle him to the ground for the honor of playing as rosalina, logan takes advantage of this to slip further into the kitchen with roman.

“we could probably make a getaway attempt now, it would be an ideal time,” logan says, a touch anxious; this is roman’s first time meeting the boys, and logan knows better than most people that being in the (boys-and-janus-dubbed) himbo house can be overwhelming. 

“no way,” roman says warmly, squeezing logan’s hand, and logan’s heart flutters in its chest. “show me the rest of the house, c’mon.”

logan shows roman the good noodle chart in its place of pride in the kitchen, taking a moment to detract a gold star sticker from adam for tackling jordan, writing unnecessary violence (mario kart) on the line beneath specifically meant for the reason for the latest detraction in red dry-erase marker. 

he adds a star for jordan without writing exactly why.

roman takes a moment to survey the chart and immediately barks with laughter at the bottom line.

“don’t,” logan grumbles.

“but c’mon!” roman says, delightedly pointing at the section of the chart that has special microscope stickers instead of gold stars.

it says logan workaholism 

and then, in different handwriting and a different colored marker, (and drunk shenanigans). 

“yes, well, you’ve seen the chart now,” logan says evasively, tugging roman along, and roman follows with a smile on his face that’s a bit too big for logan’s liking.

logan hadn’t even been on the chart. but no, he listened to adam’s recommendation for a drink one time (he should have realized that would turn out to be a horrible idea) and now he was on the good noodle chart, specifically so they could detract a sticker. he shouldn’t be on the chart, he runs it!

he still has the most stickers of anyone, though, so there.

logan shows roman their kitchen, which is more well-stocked than one would expect a stereotypical a college kitchen to be. there’s two mini-fridges so that edward can keep kosher. within the normal fridge, and in the cabinets, there’s an overwhelming supply of protein bars, shakes, and powders, in addition to plenty of fruits and vegetables. 

he slips with roman up the stairs, unnoticed by everyone screaming at the four lucky players of the first leg of the mario kart tournament. from a glance at their ridiculously oversized flat screen, janus seems to be swiftly overtaking the lead due to taking advantage of a secret passage.

logan gestures vaguely to the rooms leading off the landing, telling roman who occupied which, as well as the communal bathrooms, but as there are no common spaces on either of the floors that roman has not already seen, he essentially leads roman straight up to the attic.

his room.

he tentatively opens the door for roman to look in and behold it, which roman immediately does.

logan’s lofted bed is crammed against the wall that divides the attic at the apex of the roof, as the opposite wall slants with the angle of the roof. everything is lit by the window opposite the door; logan debates flicking on the overhead light, and decides against it. the afternoon sun does just fine.

logan’s bed is made, his indigo duvet tucked neatly over his white sheets. his desk is pushed beneath the bed, with his laptop, a notebook, and a mug from remy’s café full of pens resting on it, the shelves above the desk that the boys had helped logan install nearly toppling under the weight of all their books. logan’s backpack sits in his desk chair, logan’s dresser shut. the rest of the floorspace is overtaken by a comfy rug and a pitiful excuse for a beanbag chair, which roman promptly sits on, wiggling to get comfortable.

“i like it,” he proclaims. “it’s cozy.”

logan tries to smile at him. the room is cramped and logan knows it.

all the other occupants of the house come from, to put it in plain terms, the same world of wealth and status that his grandparents occupy. as a matter of fact, his grandparents had been incredibly pleased that logan’s roommates had been “up to snuff,” a roundabout way of saying they’re of an appropriate caliber for our ivy-leaguer grandson.

logan knows that it was no coincidence that his roommates offered him his “cozy” room and therefore a lower amount for rent, all of them reasoning that as he had the smallest and least convenient room and if he was not there to supervise the house would surely explode, as part of this offer was surely due to the fact that they knew that his budget did not stretch as far as theirs did. 

for one, he is the only roommate with a job. for another, he is the only one who knows how to budget. 

well, janus would likely be able to figure it out, but he’s never needed to, which is the point.

derek hadn’t even recognized what “those little slips of paper” in logan’s hands were when logan attempted to discreetly coupon during a grocery outing.

educating them on what coupons were was... an experience, to be sure.

logan’s musings are interrupted when roman takes hold of his hand and gently tugs at logan. logan obligingly sinks onto the ground to join him, settling practically on roman’s lap.

“hey,” roman says, voice husky.

“hi,” logan says, in a tone that strikes him as strangely shy.

roman reaches out and makes a grabby hand, to which logan rolls his eyes and settles more decisively on roman’s lap, unable to keep the smile off his face, which roman can surely see, given the way that logan is now directly facing him.

“better?”

“much, thank you,” roman says graciously, settling his hands at logan’s waist and gently squeezing. 

“i must agree,” logan says, resting his hands on roman’s shoulders and squeezing back. roman offers him a slanted smile.

“love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss,” roman says, pausing to pick logan’s hand off his shoulder and press a kiss to his palm, achingly soft, “what loneliness-in-motion, toward your company!”

“you can’t just quote neruda off the bat, it isn’t fair,” logan complains, despite the fact that his heart has been sent aflutter, but he is cut off when roman’s lips meet his.

oh, how logan’s missed this. he’s familiar with the pressure of roman’s lips against his, the warmth and breadth of roman’s hands wrapping around him, the way logan’s hands fit perfectly on roman’s shoulders, and missing it has been like an ache.

languid, unhurried afternoons in the summers by the town’s lake; inexperienced hands slipping up shirts in their childhood bedrooms; illicit kisses in the gazebo when they were both meant to be at home; his memories seemed to pale in comparison to having the real thing, right now. roman’s heartbeat and the rush of logan’s pulse in his own ears and the sweet, perfect slide of their mouths. they break to breathe, staying forehead-to-forehead.

“but you and i, love,” logan murmurs, “we are together, from our clothes down to our roots: in the autumn, in water, in hips, until we are together—only you, only me.”

“you skipped a few lines,” roman teases.

“i editorialized,” logan says. “taltal is not particularly applicable to our situation, is it?”

“and i suppose it isn’t raining,” roman says, mock-thoughtfully. logan smiles and leans in for more.

roman responds, sliding his hands down logan’s back and eventually coming to grip at logan’s thighs, and logan arches into the touch—

—"ow!”

—and logan leans back, careful to avoid the slant of the roof he’d just hit his head against, putting a hand on where his head throbs in complaint.

“oh, i’m sorry!” roman says frantically. “i’m so sorry, c’mere, c’mere, let me look—”

“it was just a bump, it’s not so bad,” logan says, but he squirms and twists so that roman can see the point of impact.

roman cautiously runs his fingers through logan’s hair, paying close attention, and gently presses his fingers down. logan winces.

“tender?”

“a bit.”

“i’m sorry,” roman repeats, now running his fingers through logan’s hair, careful to keep his touch light.

“i hit my head getting out of bed and getting up from my desk for a full week before i got used to the angle,” logan says with a shrug. “kissing you is the most pleasurable way this could have happened.”

“well, now, still don’t like that clever little brain of yours getting bumped around,” roman says, frowning. 

logan points to where, at this angle, roman can see the protective pool noodle secured to protect himself from hitting his head against his bed while standing up from the bed. janus had cut it for him with an exacto knife. logan is unsure where janus keeps this exacto knife. he hopes it’s hidden somewhere safe; sharp implements were just asking for trouble in this household.

“better now,” logan says, then, when roman’s still frowning, “i’m used to it, really. and besides, i’m the second-shortest in the house; no one else would take this room. well, janus would be the only other person who wouldn’t be constantly hitting his head, but i think he prefers the basement.”

“like an evil lair,” roman grumbles.

“precisely what he said,” logan says dryly. “can you imagine derek in here?”

they both take a moment to imagine derek, who stands at six feet and seven inches tall, slouched over at most points of the room.

“yeah, that’d be a bit of a tight squeeze,” roman acknowledges. 

“besides,” logan says. “there are plenty of ways to be comfortable.”

he adjusts to sit on the comfy, fluffy rug—bought specifically for floor-sitting in mind—and pulls roman along. roman, getting the idea, moves the beanbag to use as a pillow, and lies back against it. logan curls up on the ground with him, resting his head over roman’s heart.

roman takes a moment to switch to scratching his fingernails against logan’s scalp, and logan tries not to shudder with pleasure too obviously.

“i like it in here,” logan says. “i like that i can go out of the window to sit on the roof, if i wanted. i like that i have the clearest view of the night sky. i like that i have a single room. and—”

he points to the side of the rafters that would not be visible to someone standing in the doorway of the room; only from within it are the stick-on, glow-in-the-dark stars surrounding the photographs of logan’s loved ones are visible. the one most visible from here is himself and roman eating lucy’s at the winterfest where they had their first kiss. 

“—i like that there are unique decorating ideas i could only put into function in this room.”

roman kisses logan’s head, and, with that, curled up together on logan’s bedroom floor, they start talking about everything and nothing at all, and logan’s heart feels full and fit to burst with happiness.

⁂

look. matt’s fully aware that he’s cynical about love. it’s a bit hard not to when, growing up, his primary example of love was his dad and his revolving door of brides. 

he’s pretty sure he’s on stepmom number eight, by now, he isn’t really sure, he hasn’t met the latest one. 

(dad scheduled the wedding during peak crew season and matt’s dad, a yale alum himself, is all proud about him being on the team of the first rowing club formed at an american college. so matt didn’t go and his dad might have just assumed he had a regatta then. whatever. matt isn’t too fussed about it, seriously. he thinks her name might be tina? tara? fuck, he should probably work that out before thanksgiving break, shouldn’t he.)

(wait. goddammit. the last girlfriend was trisha. did he end up marrying trisha? he thought his dad dumped trisha because trisha got pissed at him for doing something in a dream of hers. fuck he seriously needs to do some googling before thanksgiving break.)

(wait. shit. it was tori who did the dream thing, because she was super into the astrology-dream-palm reading deal and she’d tried to figure out matt’s birth chart, so now he can flex that he knows he’s a leo sun taurus moon sagittarius rising to the girls he tries to pick up. that happened years ago, god damn it, who the fuck is his dad married to right now?!)

ANYWAYS. he doesn’t really have an optimistic view of love, especially at their age. so back when he’d first been getting to know logan, he’d been pretty surprised to hear that logan had a long-term boyfriend. logan didn’t really seem like the stereotypical college kid clinging to their high school sweetheart, like, at all. 

there had been a girl on his floor freshman year who woke up half the dorm during her kicking-and-screaming fight with her high school boyfriend that she’d tried to long-distance with and ended up dumping after a month. he’d kind of been expecting to hear that logan was going to break up with his boyfriend, because, like, how many childhood sweethearts actually make it?

but no, no screaming fights for logan—honestly, matt’s pretty sure if he heard logan actually yell it would be the scariest thing ever—and now the boyfriend is here.

who is, like, not exactly what matt had expected? he’d thought roman would maybe be a copy of logan, someone else crazy smart and crazy dedicated to school, and, in the kindest way possible, a major nerd. 

roman seems... cool.

like, first of all, he’d immediately understood and talked training routines with the rest of the house, which, like, respect to logan, who goes on runs and keeps his shit pretty tight, but he isn’t exactly the most gym-rat kind of dude. 

roman’s routine sounded really interesting. matt’s got pretty good legs himself—you kind of have to, to be on the rowing team—but roman’s calves and quads and glutes look unreal. man could probably beat them all in a squat challenge tournament without breaking a sweat. 

also, logan keeps himself looking like a eighteen-year-old tax accountant, with his polo and tie, but roman is dressed, like, suave. casual enough, sure,but his short-sleeved button down shirt looked like it was made of silk or satin or some fancy shit like that. it’s unbuttoned to show off the gold necklace he’s wearing. he’s wearing dark jeans at the exact right place on his waist.

logan has not exactly stepped into “going out” clothes, except for like combing his hair and wearing blue jeans. they’re going the pub that logan invariably picks on the rare nights he goes out with the rest of them—a coffee shop by day, a bar by night, and very unfancy.

logan is absently fixing roman’s collar so it sits straight as roman examines himself in his phone’s camera to check out his reflection. he flashes a smile toward logan in thanks. 

logan smiles at him, something in his eyes going soft that matt’s never seen him do before, and—

and, okay, if anyone he knows is smart enough to figure out how love works this early on, it would probably be logan.

⁂

"you sure, bro?” andrew says, leaning against the open car door, not yet sliding into edward’s bmw. “’cause i can dd this time, i think it’s my turn anyway—”

edward’s already shaking his head. “shabbat’s tomorrow, dude. gotta get up early to go to temple anyway, gramps would derail the whole service if i turned up hungover.”

andrew shrugs. “if you’re sure,” he says, and at last he slides into the car that is absolutely filled up with people over the legal capacity. 

usually, logan picks a fit about this, talking about things like seatbelts, but right now he’s perched on his boyfriend’s lap and doesn’t seem to mind at all.

janus, sitting beside them in the very back, is eyeing them like he’s ready to start elbowing them if they get too lovey. which like. logan, getting lovey? unlikely.

(however, the seven of them have made a pact to be as obnoxious as possible if the boyfriend gets too lovey. they didn’t include janus on this, because apparently janus and roman had a brief rivalry Thing in high school and it would probably piss logan off if they started fighting, but anyways. bros take care of bros.)

“are ya ready, kids?” edward asks as he starts the car.

“aye aye, captain!” the other six of his bros and, a little surprisingly, roman, call back. logan looks confused at this, as he usually does, and janus rolls his eyes, as he usually does.

“to the pub!” edward declares, and so they’re off as cory and jordan frantically play rock-paper-scissors to see who gets the aux cord.

jordan wins and as such immediately puts on his playlist, a few of the boys starting to sing along to nicki minaj—oh, sick, it’s the pump-up playlist. hell yeah, that means that beyoncé is coming up. edward fucking loves beyoncé.

edward peeks into the rearview mirror, and he sees roman pressing his face into logan’s shoulder, like he’s hugging him, and logan smiles, looking very pleased.

and as edward drives on, everyone joining in when “love on top” comes on, even over the raucous performance of ther rest of his bros, he could swear he hears roman’s voice, floating up to the driver’s seat even from where he’s singing in logan’s ear.

“baby it’s you, you’re the one i love, you’re the one i need...”

damn, edward thinks to himself, impressed. he’s got a good voice.

logan’s cheeks go a little bit pink, and he smiles, ducking his chin; roman takes a moment from singing into his ear to kiss him on the cheek.

also, that’s cute as fuck.

⁂

“shots?” cory demands. “shots, shots, shots?”

“we just got here,” logan says, usually the sole voice of reason and also being boring, but he doesn’t seem to be standing as firm as usual. that might have something to do with his boyfriend, who has an arm going over his shoulder, saying “hell yeah, dude!”

“getting shots my treat!” cory says, and he rushes into the scrum in front of the bar before logan can protest and try to pay for himself.

janus catches his elbow and allows himself to be pulled along with him, which is cool. janus is probably cory’s closest non-sports friend ever, because he and jan are, one, roommates, but two, kids adopted from other countries as symbols of their white parents’ supposed generosity (he’s chinese, janus is haitian, they handshake meme over white people misunderstanding the culture and history of their countries of origin) so they tend to get each other’s deal more often than other people in the house.

they’re already planning their “oh so sorry we’re busyyy” excuse and activities so they don’t have to go home over thanksgiving break. 

cory leans down to talk into janus’ ear—it’s a friday night, so it’s as busy as it gets here—and practically shouts, “how long have they been dating again?”

“four years,” janus says back; cory has no idea how, but janus can always be heard in any crowd, he never has to shout. 

“are they, like,” cory says. “i mean. are they like. i dunno what i’m even asking. is their relationship, like, nice, i guess?”

janus arches an eyebrow back. “do you happen to remember my previous relationship?”

mm, yeah. asher fleming, resoundingly shady, but very willing to dole out the cash whenever janus so much as pouted at him. which janus seemed to like, so good for him, cory guesses, even though asher fleming was sketchy as fuck, in his opinion. dude could rest in fucking pieces.

“what about that makes you think i am a good person to ask.”

cory opens his mouth, closes it. opens it again.

“hey, what can i get started for you?”

oh thank god. “uhh, nine—wait, ten—ten shots of vodka? boyd and blair, if you’ve got it. and open a tab,” cory adds, forking over his card.

“you got it,” the bartender says, taking it, and then pauses, taking a moment to take stock of cory.

cory flashes a smile at her. she smiles back, and turns for the bar, going to hunt down ten shot glasses and a tray, her brunette ponytail bouncing as she goes.

janus nods after her. “she’s cute.”

“yeah, but she’s working,” cory says, turning to lean back against the bar and scan the pub to see where the rest of his dudes have gone. “i’m like ninety percent sure not asking out a girl when she’s trapped at work is part of bro code.”

janus follows his lead, leaning against the bar.

“they’re adorable,” he says abrubtly, his eyes fixed on the table that the rest of their roommates have claimed, jostling each other for space.

“huh?”

“logan, when he’s with roman. they’re adorable. it’s disgusting. he gets all,” janus’ mouth twists. “sappy.”

“really?!” cory says, stunned. logan, sappy? the closest they’ve ever gotten to sappy logan is after running the full gamut of logan’s stages of drunkness.

“bet you fifty bucks logan initiates pda within ten minutes,” janus says.

“i’ll take that bet,” cory says immediately.

as he approaches the table with the tray of shots, logan reaches over to squeeze roman’s hand and then just hold it on the table. he realizes what he’s started to realize every time he makes a bet against janus, which is that he probably shouldn’t have made a bet against janus. cory literally never wins.

⁂

"hey, man, they made this wrong,” andrew lies cheerfully, setting the glass in front of logan. “you like peach schnapps, right?”

this is a thing he and the other dudes like to do, and logan gets into a snit when they do, but c’mon. andrew has literally unlimited access to cash, why shouldn’t he use it to spoil his friends?

and then logan usually says something about taking care of himself, but like, it’s covering your drinks, dude, it’s not a big deal.

logan gives him a look, a i know what you’re doing here look, a i am about to throw a fit because you paid for me look, but before he can say anything roman breaks into the conversation.

“oh, damn, i was gonna pay for logan’s next drink,” he says, sounding a little disappointed that he couldn’t treat logan to his drink of choice. “how much was that? i’ll cover it and you can get my next one, l, like we’re on a date.”

andrew, skeptical, waits, because this kind of tactic doesn’t work with logan, but—

logan relaxes back into the seat, turning his eyes to andrew.

“oh,” andrew says, and turns to crane at the menu. “uh, since it’s wells night, five or six bucks should cover it.”

“nice,” roman says peaceably, and forks over a ten. “just to cover my bases for my next drink on the tab—hey, who opened that, anyway, and what’s their venmo? i wanna be sure i have it so i can pay my share in the morning.”

“cory did—i’ll pull it up,” logan says, taking roman’s phone from his hand and searching for cory’s venmo profile.

huh. crisis averted.

andrew gives roman a thumbs-up over logan’s head, and roman grins back at him.

⁂

look. there are certain stages of drunkenness, right.

derek could be called a party—what was that word janus said? cone-is-sour?—connoisseur. like, he knows these things, okay. he knows that people have certain telltale signs of what they do when they start getting drunker.

for him, he gets all overheated and red-cheeked first, then he kind of stops having the concept of volume control, then everything sounds like the funniest thing in the world, there’s a bit about hugging his bros and singing along to whatever song the bar’s playing super loudly thrown in there most nights, and then he gets really sleepy, and after that his memory gets blurry. easy, simple way to tell how drunk he’s getting.

logan’s stages of drunkness are... pretty wild. like, holy hell is logan a lightweight. he got, like, very past tipsy after drinking two wine coolers once. they’ve all kind of taken it upon themselves to improve his drinking tolerance, gradually.

anyways. derek thinks he’s got logan’s stages figured out by now, along with the rest of the dudes, and the stages are as follows:

rambling when he talks

Science!

I Love My Friends

wandering off, most likely to fall asleep in a weirdass location

it turns out there might be a stage 1.5, but this stage might only be unlocked when his boyfriend is here.

stage 1.5 of logan drunkness is cuddly.

they’ve been playing the “who can pay for the most drinks for everyone but mostly for logan” game, which means that they’ve been mixing their alcohol (careful to steer clear of beer, though, ‘cause that could turn to beer before liquor during the next round, beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer, you’re in the clear, derek knows his fuckin’ booze) and trying drinks of what everyone else is trying, seeing if they can come up with a new favorite drinks combo before the night ends.

with one hand, logan’s currently stirring his plastic straw in a cocktail called a bramble. with the other, he’s got his arm flung across roman’s shoulders, occasionally adjusting his stance, and any time he catches anyone’s eyes during a conversation he beams, like, this is my boyfriend, isn’t this so great?!

and, like, look. he knows it’s basically dude code to kind of haze each other a little bit, whenever a new significant other comes around, just to make sure they’re up to snuff, but c’mon.

their uptight, workaholic house mom, drinking on a friday night like he doesn’t have a care in the world? practically unheard of.

derek’s pretty sure he can pin the sudden lack of tension in logan’s shoulders and jaw on the man that logan is currently staring at. roman is telling a story about a drag show he and his girl friends went to see in new york, and logan’s looking at him like roman hung all the stars in the sky, grinning whenever roman looks over at him.

like. come on. how is derek meant to haze that. it’s too fuckin’ cute.

⁂

logan is putting in an order for waters at the bar because while the boys are good at remembering to hydrate for sports reasons, no one ever remembers to hydrate for drinking reasons. a hand gently touches his waist, and, with a whiff of familiar cologne, roman slides in next to him at the bar.

“hey,” logan says, a little too aware that this is the closest they’ll get to a private conversation for the rest of the night.

“hey,” roman echoes, loose and easy with alcohol. something low in logan’s belly thrums pleasantly at the sound.

“check-in?” logan requests. “i know that this can be a—a lot.”

to put it delicately.

roman grins at him. “your friends are cool, this bar is cool. you’re cool. i love you so much.”

logan, who would later put this decision down to being plied with alcohol, pulls roman in by the collar and kisses him hard.

roman seems surprised, just for a moment, before he responds in kind, pulling logan in at the waist and kissing him back, equally enthusiastic.

his boyfriend is visiting, he’s making out with him in a bar like a normal college kid would make out with a significant other, and everything seems wonderful.

roman, looking thoroughly kissed, handles the ribbing and joking the boys start as soon as they get back to the table with good humor, grinning at logan like it’s a private joke between the two of them.

god, logan’s so in love with him.

⁂

"hey, babe?” roman says.

logan hums around his straw, looking at roman with half-lidded eyes. fuck he’s so hot.

roman shakes himself a little, trying to focus, before he asks, “on a scale of one to ten, how chill would the guys be if i suggested we go somewhere we can dance?”

logan swallows, and roman’s eyes follow the of his bobbing adam’s apple.

“probably very chill about it,” he says dryly. 

roman smiles. “and how would you feel about going somewhere to dance with me?”

logan bites his lip, but still smiling.

“probably very enthusiastic about it,” logan says quietly.

roman grins at him. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

with a swiftness that probably belies how eager roman is at the very concept of holding logan close in his arms, roman calls out to derek, “hey, dude, is there a good club around here? i kinda wanna see y’all dance.”

derek puffs out his chest. 

“oh, bro, you are not ready,” he says gleefully. 

adam leans across the table.

“hey, wait, you’re, like, a professional dancer, right? maybe you can teach us a routine!”

oh, now roman has the perfect routine in mind.

⁂

adam has been known to get down at a party, okay. he’s a pretty decent dancer. his party trick is being able to swing around on poles installed into frat basements for “structural integrity.”

but, like, adam also knows that a literal professional probably has some tips, so he’d asked, right, which has now turned into—

“okay, again, from the start, ready?” roman asks, standing at the front of the group. janus and logan are at the edge of the room. adam’s pretty sure janus is recording this on his phone.

they’re also, like, in the center of most of the club’s attention, but roman seems very cool with it. which, likes, makes sense; dancing professionally, crowds come with the territory. the other six of his roommates are standing in loose lines, spaced out so they don’t kick each other in the heads.

“five, six, seven, eight,” roman starts, then, over the sound of six dudes who are all over six feet tall jump-kick then drop rapidly into what roman called a grand plié, which you would probably do slower for a stretch but this is CHOREO, sings, “now from the top, make it drop—”

⁂

logan, after trying so hard not to laugh at the sight of his boyfriend teaching tiktok dance choreography to what, ostensibly, looked like a group of typical frat boys, is attempting to catch his breath and hydrate at the bar. 

well. dehydrate, technically. a vodka soda is certainly working to dehydrate him.

“hey,” roman pants, appearing from the crowd, flushed, with at least two more buttons popped than he’d had when they entered. “hot over there—can i—?”

before he can ask, logan offers his vodka soda, and roman says “thanks” before he gulps down a good portion of it, fanning himself.

“i love dancing,” he says happily.

“i know, dearest,” logan says, perhaps not as dryly as he would if they were not both intoxicated.

“oh! and i love this song!” roman says brightly, as the dj transitions into a new song. 

logan smiles at him; the song is not a recent release, and logan thinks he might be able to place it.

“dance with me?” roman says, his eyes pleading. logan finds himself helpless to resist, and so he drains the rest of his drink.

roman smirks at him and takes hold of logan’s tie, gently leading him to a corner of the dance floor, rather than in the midst of the scrum of it, which logan appreciates; while he is perfectly willing to dance with roman, he is not so adept as to not make a fool of himself in the case of any impromptu dance circles.

there is, logan realizes once he listens to the lyrics, perhaps another motive of roman’s for dragging them into a less populated corner.

i’m telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe, but you keep frontin’, say what you’re gonna do to me, but i ain’t see nothing...

roman’s hands slide from logan’s tie to wrapping around logan’s shoulders, pulling logan so that they’re pressed up against each other, and logan grips roman’s hips, which are shifting sinuously to the beat.

“couldn’t dance like this at the chilton winter formal, could we?” roman says lowly into logan’s ear, and logan snickers.

“not unless we wanted to be lectured by mr. gardiner, no.”

“ugh, he was a fucker, i still haven’t forgiven him for being so strict about your math quizzes,” roman says, scowling. then, with a laugh, “no drawing lots to see who gets breathalyzed, no snooty rich kids to judge us—”

“i’m still surrounded by rich kids.”

“yeah, but your rich kids seem nice,” roman says thoughtfully. “‘cept for janus.”

“he’d take that as a compliment.”

“why did i bring up janus when i’m trying to grind on you,” roman mutters to no one in particular, and he then proceeds to handily distract logan by pressing impossibly closer. 

roman’s hands slide up logan’s shoulders to briefly cup logan’s face, then slide back down to squeeze his shoulders, using the movement to roll his hips against him, and logan’s world narrows down to the heat of roman’s body, the scent of roman’s sweat and cologne, the beat of the song thrumming through to his very bones.

roman twists in his hands, leaning forward, then standing back upright to lean against logan, swaying his hips all the whlie. he reaches a hand lazily back, dragging it down logan’s face before cradling logan’s jaw.

logan twirls roman back to face him again, his grip on roman’s hips tight and possessive, and logan leans in to devour roman in a kiss. he can feel the pounding of hearts against his chest, and they’re so close he’s uncertain whose pulse is whose.

⁂

“—I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHO TALK BEHIND MY BACK ‘CUZ A BITCH KNEW BETTER THAN TO LET ME HEAR!” jordan screams at the top of his lungs, along with the rest of his bros. all ten of them have piled back into edward’s car, and roman has taken over the aux, which is actually a phenomenal move, he has put on banger after banger. 

edward—the sole sober one in the car—is grinning to himself even as he turns into his parking spot near their house.

they all groan when he turns off the car, and therefore turns off the music.

“yeah, yeah,” edward says, good-natured. “everyone out, i wanna go to bed!”

everyone pours from the car, logan stumbling slightly when he jumps down from the suv.

“i’ve got you, my love,” roman says grandly, and squats before logan. logan snorts, slightly, but then proceeds to clamber onto roman’s back, accepting his piggy-back ride.

“onward!” roman declares, and jordan grins a bit, shaking his head, before he jogs ahead so he can open the front door for them. he watches logan giggle and mash his face into the side of roman’s neck, and he watches roman’s face glow.

the rest of the dudes kind of split off, from there. edward, true to his word, goes to bed; adam, derek, cory, and and andrew sit in front of the tv to start up a drunken game of mario kart; matt pours himself a glass of water and starts chugging it; jordan goes to grab his own water bottle from his room, because he has dish duty next and he doesn’t want to give himself too much trouble.

by the time he’s changed into more comfortable clothes and gotten his water, he runs into roman on the stairs.

“oh! hey, dude,” he says. 

“hey,” roman says. “uh, hey, do you guys have spare blankets and pillows and stuff, and where do you keep them? i figured i’d probably crash on the floor or the couch or something.”

jordan surveys him.

“yeah?” he says, in a tone that’s carefully neutral. they continue down the stairs together.

“yeah,” roman says casually. “uh—i know he’d wanna cuddle, but we’re both a bit drunk, so. got him some water, got him into bed, he fell asleep pretty quick.” 

jordan knows it’s the bare fucking minimum to take care of your drunk significant other, but he feels his respect for roman rise, even just a little bit. that’s a bro move.

“yeah, man,” jordan says. “uh—we’ve got blankets down in the living room, but some of the dudes are playing mario kart, so you might have a while to wait to free up the couch.”

roman brightens.

“oh, sick. does anyone play peach?”

jordan snorts. “you’re gonna have to fight someone for it.”

“bring it on,” roman says.

⁂

roman hums to himself, quietly, as he ascends the stairs. he has to take a couple minutes to juggle the plates in his hands to be able to open the door, but he succeeds eventually.

“rise and shine, nerdo,” roman sings, careful not to be too loud.

he sees logan stir, and, before roman can say anything in warning—

thump.

“fuck!” logan snarls, flopping back in bed with a hand to his forehead, glaring up at the ceiling that has grievously injured him.

“oh, baby,” roman says, setting down his plate on logan’s desk before he rises on tip-toes so he can see logan’s face. “lemme see.”

logan groans and pulls his pillow over his head.

“still a morning person, i see,” roman teases, before he nudges a plastic water bottle into the bed. “drink that, baby, it’ll make you feel better.”

“nerdo isn’t your best work,” logan grumbles, muffled by the pillow.

“yeah, well, i stayed up until three with the dudes playing mario kart,” roman says dryly. “birdo, nerdo?”

logan peeks out in time to grab the water bottle, squirm as upright as he can, and proceed to chug it as mechanically as possible.

“how’d you sleep?” logan says, once he’s drained about half of it.

“eh, fine,” roman says. “the couch is pretty comfy.”

logan frowns.

“it was couch or floor,” roman says, before logan can say anything. “i think we could maybe squeeze to fit up there, and considering we were, y’know—”

“i get it,” logan says.

“i was gonna make you a big breakfast, but,” roman says and hands over a plate with two pieces of toast sliced into triangles and slathered with crofter’s. “figured you’d like this better.”

logan smiles, taking the plate, and then leans wildly out of his bed in order to cup roman’s face and kiss him good morning.

the kiss is good. it’s very good. but—

“your breath stinks,” roman says, and logan chucks a pillow at him.

“you aren’t exactly a morning rose, either,” logan grumbles, and roman snorts, taking a bite of his own crofter’s with great fervor.

over their breakfast—logan in the bed, roman on the beanbag—they talk about their plans for the rest of the weekend; going on a walk around campus, going to see logan’s favorite spot in the library, getting tacos from the best little spot in town for lunch.

“granted,” logan says thoughtfully, “i have these ideas in place today, but we’ll see how the boys interfere with it.”

“i’d be fine if they did,” roman says.

“yeah?” logan says.

“yeah,” roman says. he grins up at logan. “wanna explain why they kept calling me step-daddy when i was making us toast?”

logan flops back on the bed with a groan, and, even with all of his theatrics, roman can tell logan’s very pleased that his boyfriend and his friends get along.

(they absolutely get along. roman has already promised to record a dance tutorial for them to “dancing queen” next.)

⁂

notes: major thank yous to @teacupfulofstarshine and @airiervessel for helping me flesh out the boys! songs in the order they’re mentioned: “love on top” by beyoncé, “wap” by cardi b. ft. megan thee stallion, “buttons” by the pussycat dolls, “thot shit” by megan thee stallion, “dancing queen” by abba.

[rune-writes]

A Father’s Determination

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Word count: 2145

Rating: Gen

Summary: As he tucks her in for the night, Barret recalls the day Marlene was born, and how he vowed to protect her when he found her in the burning wreckage of his home.

Note: A bit late, but happy birthday, Barret!!

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

Marlene dozed off beside him, her short cropped brown hair falling over her face as her small arm slipped from the countertop, her head bumping against Barret’s leather bracers. He caught her just in time, supporting her small body with his arm propped over her small back. Tifa chuckled from the other side of the bar. 

“Want me to tuck her to bed?” she asked over her shoulder as she wiped a glass clean and placed it in the cupboard next to the TV. She turned around on her feet with a small smile on her face, then nodded to somewhere behind his back. “They might still want you around.”

By “they”, Tifa meant his team. A group of ragtags who, for better or worse, had joined him on his quest to destroy Shinra. Wedge and Jessie were hollering nonsense on their table while Biggs munched on a pizza, his eyes regarding his friends with quiet amusement. Barret shook his head and stood from his barstool, gently picking his daughter up with his left arm while avoiding any sudden movement that could wake her up. 

“Nah, I’ll do it,” he said. He spared his comrades a quick glance. Their faces were pink from the glasses of liquor spread across their table. Jessie was on her feet, using her pizza slice as a microphone as she sang—in a slurred and incoherent way. An off-key tone made Biggs and Wedge burst into laughter, but Jessie ignored them and continued her singing. Barret gave a soft, amused scoff. “Let them be. They deserve a bit of winding down after all the hard work they’ve put in.”

“I’ll make sure they get home safe after I close up shop.”

Barret nodded his thanks. He went to the pinball machine with Marlene safely tucked against his shoulder. Tifa followed him from behind, moving past the wooden swing door separating the bar and kitchen from the rest of the restaurant. She helped pull the lever at the bottom of the machine. The hidden elevator gave a little jolt as the score display on the machine rolled into ‘777777’. 

“Have a good rest, Barret.” 

Barret replied with a quiet grunt. 

The elevator took them to the secret basement they’d built underneath Seventh Heaven. On any other day, it served as the base for their Avalanche operations. A map of Midgar hung on one side of the room while papers and books were stacked neatly against the concrete wall. The usually chaotic place had been clean on their return, the only things out of place now were their fake identity tags still strewn across the large table. Barret made a mental note to return them to their box. He shouldn’t let Tifa do all the cleaning. 

He strode over to the wooden door next to his punching bag then pushed his free shoulder against it. It swung open with a creak, leading to a short hallway with a door on both sides: a small bathroom to the left and his bedroom to the right. 

The room to the right was dark, lit only by the lone hallway lamp shining through the doorway. Barret made his way to his daughter’s bed, careful on his steps so the wood stayed silent. He pulled her blanket aside and moved to set her down, but just as he bent down, Marlene squirmed. 

“Ssh…” he whispered to her ear. “Sleep, baby girl.” 

He heard her sigh then felt her clutch loosening. Patting her back, Barret cradled the back of her head as he laid her down on her bed, pulling the blanket over her small body and tucking her in. 

Marlene shifted under her blanket, her lips pulled into a frown as her brows furrowed in search for a more comfortable position. Barret gave her shoulder gentle pats. His deep, rumbling voice fell into a now-familiar lullaby. 

Daddy! She’d called him that night after he returned from the upper plate. It had already been past her bedtime, yet she was still there, leaping off the stairs of Seventh Heaven, her grin bright enough to light up the entire Slums. Daddy, welcome home!

Had it been four years since Corel burned down and he found her in the ruins of Dyne’s home? Marlene settled onto her side, her hand slipping beneath her pillow as her chest rose and fell in a deep, rhythmic breathing. The irritable lines disappeared from her angelic face. 

Barret caressed his daughter’s face as his face broke into a small, wistful smile. He still remembered the day Eleanor gave birth to a daughter—the little bundle wrapped in a pink floral blanket. 

***

“I’m a father!” Dyne shouted in front of his house where Barret had waited for the good news, his voice loud enough to alert the entire village. He ran down the stairs, then hugged Barret with all his might, despite Barret being twice the size he was. “I’m a father, Barret!”

Barret could never find the word to describe the immense joy he’d seen on his friend’s face: the happy tears rolling down his cheeks and the euphoric grin plastered across his face. It was contagious, enough to make even a childless man like him cry with happiness. 

Dyne brought him in, up the stairs and into the little cottage serving as his and Eleanor’s home. Barret's wife, Myrna, was coming out of Eleanor’s room, a bundle in a pink blanket nestled between her arms. She looked up at their approach and told them to keep quiet. Barret had to walk on tiptoes for fear the wood might creak under his heavier weight.

“She was looking for you,” she said at Dyne’s inquiring gaze. Myrna folded the blanket around the baby’s face, then shifted her arms enough for Barret and Dyne to see the newborn. Her lips parted into the most tender smile. “Eleanor wanted you to see your baby girl.”

A girl. Barret peeked into the blanket and saw the cutest baby he had ever seen. Her eyes shut tight, the baby struggled against her blanket bindings as she smacked her lips in search for something to latch on.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Dyne’s voice was gentle, laced with a mixture of pride and joy and a hint of disbelief. Barret smiled. 

“Have you named her?”  he asked. 

“Marlene.” The answer was instant, as though it had been brimming behind his lips, waiting for someone to ask. “Her name’s Marlene.”

Marlene...

Barret gazed at the round-faced newborn. Her cheeks were chubby and soft. The tuft of brownish hair on her head felt smooth against his rough fingers. Marlene squirmed under his touch, the beginning of a cry erupting from her mouth.

“Ssh…” Myrna cooed, pulling the baby away to rock her in her arms. “You’ll see your Mommy soon.”

But Marlene cried, in the ear-splitting way a baby cried for her mother. Dyne asked to hold her instead, carefully holding Marlene’s head as Myrna transferred her into his arms. His deep voice hummed a soft, lilting lullaby.

Barret recognized the song. The elders said it could make any children go to sleep. His own mother had sung it to him when he was a boy on nights when it had been hard to fall asleep. Barret watched in awe as Marlene’s cries grew quiet, as though entranced by her father’s voice filling the hall.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a knack for dealing with kids,” Barret said. 

Dyne laughed. “You don’t need to sing well, Barret,” he replied. “Just well enough for your child, from the bottom of your heart.”

Barret hadn’t expected such a serious answer, yet his friend had looked so sincere when he spoke that Barret found himself at a loss for words. Marlene’s cries ended, and when Dyne looked up, his beam was so bright it could have lit up the entire room. 

“See?”

He did see. 

The door to Eleanor’s room clicked open and out came the midwife. “You can see her now,” she said. She stepped aside to let Dyne in. Dyne’s smile grew, and he spared Barret and Myrna a quick glance before disappearing behind the door, carrying Marlene with him. 

Silence descended, broken by a muffled delighted squeal coming from inside the room and a baby’s cry following it, cut short as Marlene finally suckled on her mother’s breast. Beside him, Myrna exhaled a deep sigh. A small smile caressed her lips. 

“I want one.”

It was a murmur, so quiet that she had probably meant to speak to herself, but it reached Barret’s ears, and he glanced down at his wife. She had her thin arms folded over her chest. The doctor had deemed her body too frail to carry a child. Barret drew her to his side and squeezed her shoulder in comfort. 

He wanted one too.

***

A faint knock on the door jerked him out of his reverie. His throat had closed up. Tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed pricked his eyes, and he blinked them away. Barret looked over his shoulder and found Tifa standing by the door, one hand folded and poised to knock. 

“I wanted to check up on her,” she said in explanation. 

The look on her face told him she’d spotted the tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat then stood up. Tifa's eyes followed him, but Barret only crossed the hall and entered the bathroom, turning on the tap on the sink and splashing cold water over his face. 

“She wanted to wait until you got home.” Her voice drifted in from the hall. Barret turned off the tap. “She wouldn’t listen when I told her it’s past her bedtime.” 

He moved to the nearby towel rack to wipe his face, then exhaled a quiet breath as he set the towel down. “I know." His murmur echoed against the cold tiles. It sounded loud in his ears. 

Barret closed the door behind him, then leaned against his bedroom's doorway. Marlene looked so peaceful in her sleep. The pink floral baby blanket he'd kept since that day was now held close to her chest. 

When Corel burned down and he lost his childhood friend to the abyss, Barret had rushed home only to find his village in a wreckage. He couldn’t find his wife. He couldn’t find Eleanor. With one arm bleeding and incapacitated, Barret had looked at the ruins of his house with crushing despair, until a single cry pierced his ear. It had come from the rubble of the house next to his. 

Barret had rushed over broken tiles and fallen beams, his boots scraping against concrete and wood. He’d found the crib still whole, nestled between two beams supporting each other in an angle, as though the gods themselves had given mercy to the little baby within it. Marlene had wailed and screamed, her arms flailing and fighting against her blanket as she cried for a mother that wasn’t there. 

Choking back on his tears, he’d gingerly picked up the two-month-old with one hand and held her to his chest, shushing her and rocking her and whispering soothing words to her ear. But Marlene wouldn’t quiet down. Her cries had attracted the attention of the surviving villagers, but none of them was her mother. The lullaby Dyne had always hummed to lull her to sleep came to mind, and Barret had tried singing it himself, even as his voice broke and tears streamed down his face. 

I’m here, he’d wanted to say. Daddy’s here. 

“Barret?” 

Tifa's soft call brought his mind back to the present. The concern in her eyes almost made him choke. 

Barret cleared his throat again. “It’s late. You’re not getting back?”

Her gaze pierced him, as though she could see right through his heart. He had never told anyone the details of his past, but that wasn’t anything new. Everyone in the slums had a story or two to tell. He had never asked Tifa what brought her to Midgar himself. 

But then Tifa’s eyes hardened, her jaws set. “We’ll get back at them,” she said. It was a quiet statement, not a question. The response shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, but still he looked at her as though she’d spoken in an alien tongue. Because Tifa had never taken an active part in their operations. Yet now, in a brief moment of weakness, she’d seen his heart and seemed to have erased any doubt from her mind. 

Barret stared at her for one moment longer. Ever since the day they killed his family and made Marlene an orphan, there had only been one goal pulsing in his mind—one lone ray of light guiding him out of his tunnel of darkness. He would destroy Shinra, even if it was the last thing he did. 

Barret’s face broke into a hard, determined grin. 

“‘Course we will.”

~ END ~

[mayve-hems]

New Perspective | Dad!Calum

Type: IMAGINE | ONE SHOT | MULTI CHAPTER

Summary: After leaving for four years, Calum returns back to his friends and he has a big surprise: he has a three-year-old daughter, but he refuses to admit it. Until, he falls in love with his little girl, and learns he can’t live without her and her sassy mom either.

Word Count: 15.0k

Note: If you would like to request a one-shot / imagine / story prompt / blurb / HC then I am accepting requests currently and I would love to take them! 

Warnings: Calum is honestly kind of a dick in the beginning and Eve just doesn’t wear a shirt sometimes

Moodboard

-

“As’in” Melody slurred, stomping her left, light-up Sketcher on top of the eye-level stool in front of Ashton. Ashton flinched from the loud noise, scooting back on the kitchen floor just a smidge. “Cooler ‘an you.”

“Of course you are, Mel,” smiled Ashton. He dug his ring-clad fingers gently into Melody’s sides. The brown-haired girl, with one foot on a step stool and the other, bare, foot holding her balance upon the floor burst into a fit of giggles. Laughing with her shoulders digging into her ears and arms struggling to get Ashton to release his grip. “Who said you could wear my dinosaur pajamas?”

“Mine, you - you jerk!” Melody stuttered. Her Uncle Luke stuck his hands underneath her arms and pulled her body from the ground. “Hey!”

“I was saving you from the tickles,” said Luke. “I could put-”

“No!” screamed Melody. She stuck the foot with a shoe on into Ashton’s face. “Off.” She commanded. Ashton rolled his eyes and unstrapped the velcro.

“Was dance practice fun?” Luke asked, pulling his niece’s whole body away from the shoe. With Ashton’s hand holding onto the rubbery bottom, it slid off easily. Melody nodded her head and struggled up the too large countertop. “Did you learn anything?”

Melody gained her stability and stood up straight. With high countertops, she seems to be an inch taller than Luke. “I can do a roll!” Melody stuck her hands straight in the air, preparing for a somersault.

Luke, Ashton, Calum, and Michael had been planning to build a house together since they were in grade school. A custom-built one with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a Gameroom, an upstairs and a downstairs living room, a large kitchen, and a workout room built into a large shed just outside of the house, and a fully furnished, soundproof basement. Evita “Eve” Sanchez, a girl with luscious long black curls and dark freckles became their best friend and included on their house plans too. Only, Calum didn’t officially go through with the agreed plans and left the state after paying his part of the house, before it was finished.

“No!” Luke yelled, catching Melody before she started a somersault off the counter. “Let’s not do that. I don’t want Mommy to get mad at me.”

Calum’s bedroom was finished, and several arguments ensued between Michael and Eve over whether or not Melody’s nursery should’ve taken over her fathers’ room. Michael got his way, and Eve didn’t turn the barely-furnished room into a nursery. She bit her tongue every time she passed the empty room.

“Did you feed all of your animals, Mel?” Ashton asked, standing up from the floor. Melody gave him a single, hard nod. “Both dogs and your cat?” Melody nodded again. “Your ferrets and your lizard?”

“Mommy fed Norber’!”

“So Norbert was the only animal Mommy fed? If I go ask-”

“-Well . . . Phin and Ferb too.”

“That’s it? Norbert, Phineas, and Ferb?”

Melody bowed her head in shame. “Well . . .”

“If you don’t start feeding your mass abundance of pets, Mel, you know Mommy will get rid of them!” lied Luke. Melody, just like her father, has taken a liking for pets of all kinds. Melody isn’t allowed at the pet store very often because she’ll convince somebody into getting a new animal - lately, she’s been adding to the downstairs aquarium. “How about you give your ferrets some treats, and make sure Norbert has water?”

“Yes, Uncle, Lu’,” Melody sighed. Luke put her on her feet and pushed her towards the living room. She walked from the counter, towards Norbert The Leopard Gecko. Her favorite pets have to be Phineas and Ferb, twin ferrets. Their large cage sits in the downstairs living room for everyone to play with. Originally, Melody wanted their cage in her shared bedroom. Eve quickly said no.

“You aren’t supposed to tell a kid things like that, Hemmings,” a familiar voice said. Luke turned around from watching Melody. The blond didn’t want to believe who was standing in his kitchen, with arms crossed over his chest and a smirk like he’s the fucking leader. “Especially an animal lover like her. She’s got a heart like her daddy’s right? Dog lover and names on Petunia?”

“You think-” Luke started, flabbergasted at Calum’s accusations.

“-Don’t,” Ashton groaned. He faced the intruder that ran away only four years before. “What are you doing here?”

Calum let out a loud breath. “It’s my house too, right? Unless my bedroom was turned into a playground for - what’s her name? Melody?” His black combat boots his loudly, approaching Ashton and Luke quickly. His finger drug itself along the countertop then led a journey to his eyes. At least the house was clean. “So, who’s the mom?”

“Excuse me?” asked Luke.

“The kid - who’s her mom? Is it Evita? I bet you ten bucks y’all fucked and-”

“-Obviously she’s Eve, dumbass,” Luke bit down on his lip. He didn’t know if it was his right to inform Calum that - Guess what! - he had a kid after escaping the state.

“Never thought you’d get with her,” Calum flashed a look of betrayal on his gorgeous face. “What about the Bro Code?”

“I didn’t get with Eve-”

A loud cry cut off Luke’s explanation. He flipped around to see a chair collapsed on the ground, and Melody clutching her right arm close to her body. Luke and Ashton quickly bolted to their niece to see what happened.

“Help!” Melody screamed through tears. Michael and Eve joined Luke and Ashton within moments. Eve, just barely out of the shower, sat her daughter on top of her fluffy robe and asked what was wrong. “Hurts,” Melody cried and pointed toward her dominant hand.

“What happened?” asked Eve. Calum peered through the doorway at the cluster of adults servicing a three-year-old alien activist and Disney lover. Surprise overtook Calum when he watched how Eve messed with Melody’s arm. Within four years, Eve’s hair seemed to have darkened from chocolate brown to jet black and pink still wasn’t her color. Calum made out dark ink all along exposed skin.

“Norber’ want water,” Melody started before letting out a loud wail when Eve attempted to straighten Melody’s arm. “I want to give him ‘dat bottle, an’ I fell!”

“Luke, can you get her shoes on? I’ll put some clothes on and take her to the hospital.” Eve sighed. Calum was surprised at how sure she sounded, not hesitating to be stern in a time of need. Eve’s older sister broke her hand, and Eve completely freaked out and fainted on Calum. That wasn’t an enjoyable experience for him. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Michael swept the small girl off the floor, giving affirmations that she’d be okay. He set her down on the counter and handed her mother his own jacket after she’d ran down the stairs in just a hoodie and a bra. “We have a visitor.” Michael griped, clenching his jaw hard. “What do we do?”

Eve looked at Calum watching Luke put Eve’s shoes back on. He seemed uncomfortable. “Fuck it, my kid just broke her arm and I couldn’t care less about him.” Eve wrapped Melody’s favorite blanket around her shoulders and picked her back up. “Calum, your daughter just broke her arm, want to come to the hospital with us?”

“Wh-what?” Calum sputtered. He shook his head, trying to hide his bulging, scared eyes.

-

“Where’s Michael?” Calum asked as he took a journey through the kitchen. He stopped behind the girl with a bright blue cast, chewing something that looked like a lazy attempt at pizza. He grimaced.

“Guitar!” Melody said before taking another bite. Tortilla, pizza sauce, and cheese piled together and microwaved on high for a single minute- that’s Melody and Michael’s favorite meals. Besides chicken strips, of course.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That means he’s in the basement practicing with the guys,” explained Eve. She barely looked up from her load of dishes at her confused face. “What? Can’t she explain where they are?”

Calum looked disgusted. “Why can’t she just say they’re in the basement? Is she delayed?”

“She’s three, give her a fucking break before I break you,” Eve shoved a plate into the dishwasher and finally looked up at Calum. She couldn’t help that he still looked hot; messy curls, tan skin, and bright brown eyes. It was destined that Melody is the cutest kid in the world.

“What is she even eating?”

“Lunch.”

“That is not a meal,” said Calum. “That’s something you feed a child that won’t eat anything besides chicken strips and pizza.”

Eve locked eyes with Calum. Staring straight into his ripped soul. “Exactly.”

Calum scratched the side of his head with the tip of his middle finger. “Can you lead me to the basement?”

Eve smirked. “You should know the house, Cal,” she laughed. “You helped design it. Oh, wait, you-”

“-Yes!” Calum screamed. “I get it! I left! Just . . . fucking lead me to the basement please.”

“Fine,” Eve picked Melody up from the enjoyment of cheap pizza. Melody protested a little bit, but the pain in her arm came ‘round and she stopped. “Wanna’ give Uncle Mike some pizza?” Melody nodded her head and grabbed the plate with her good hand. “Let’s go/”

Melody, Eve, and Calum rounded the corner toward the back door and walked through the laundry room to find basement steps. With Melody on her his, and Calum sadly right behind her, Eve descended down the steps. Michael looked up from his controller and took the plate from Melody and shoved it into Luke’s chest, then took Melody in his arms.

“How’s the hand, Mel?” asked Michael. He kissed the big ‘CLIFFORD’ signature underneath her wrist.

“Hurts.”

“Well, of course, it’s going to hurt, you fell off a chair,” Melody scowled at her uncle. “What’re you guys doing down here?” he asked, dismissing Melody’s continuous sass. He placed her back on the floor.

“Just seeing what the house looks like,” Calum said, looking around the furnished basement. It’s large; larger than he’d remembered. There’s a bathroom behind the wooden staircase, a man cave to the left and a room with tons of band equipment to the right inside of a soundproof studio. Just in front of the stairs was Melody’s playroom. Calum had never seen so much pink. “Pretty nice. How do you guys pay for all of this?”

“Jobs, Cal,” Luke snapped. The youngest of the adults rolled his eyes. “Are you going to get one?” 

“Wait, you guys have jobs? Why aren’t you working right now?”

“I’m a YouTuber,” Michael pointed to a section of the playroom with a backdrop and a nice camera, along with a gaming computer. “I can do whatever the fuck I want to.”

“Bet the rest of you don’t have jobs like that,” Calum shrugged, pointing to the rest of them. Melody already escaped to her dolls and barbies. “Probably mooch off all his money like the lowlifes you are.”

“Actually,” Luke snapped again. “I’m a teacher, and Eve is a tattoo artist.” Calum’s eyes went wide. Eve began to show off her ink to Calum. One really intrigued him; a feather on her left arm that dissolved into tiny fragments that formed ‘MELODY ANN’ on Eve’s wrist. There seems to be enough space for more children too. “Ashton works at KFC.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Calum pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Nah, dude, I’m a museum tour guide,” replied Ashton.

Calum snorted. “Nice one.”

“I’m serious.”

 “Bone library, huh?” Calum laughed at his joke. His fingers reached for little toes right underneath Eve’s eat, tattooed in a seemingly-painful way. “What’s what one?” Eve pulled her shirt up just a little bit to reveal the tattoo she sat hours for. The design was as if Melody walked from the front of Eve’s left hip bone, to her back, up to Eve’s right shoulder blade and ended with Melody’s footprint right behind Eve’s ear. Though, she only had the right foot, as if she were waiting for another child to come along and step on her. “Are those actual feet? Like prints from when Melody was born?”

“Taken right from her birth certificate,”

Calum wanted to undress Eve and analyze all the ink beneath her skin. He wanted to know the story behind the entire canvas she’d printed on her back, sternum, legs, and arms. It would take a couple of hours to learn about three years' worth of tattoos. When Calum left, she had a single tattoo of five tally marks on her finger. Each mark was dedicated to her friend group.

“You think I could get a job? Who’s the owner of the shop?” Calum asked. Eve pulled her shirt back down and laughed loudly. “What?”

“I’m the owner, asshole,” said Eve. “You can’t even draw a stick figure. Unless you’re buying, don’t come to my shop.”

“You’re a bitch,”

“I know,”

“Cut the shit, what are you doing here?” Michael asked when Eve and Ashton walked away to play with Melody. Calum ruffles the front of Michael’s blue hair. “Seriously. Why did you just randomly show up?”

“Did some stupid things,” Calum laughed. “Turns out sometimes you have to pay to perform. Dropped out of high school, so music is all I got.”

“Then what are you going to do for a job?” Luke asked, stepping up close to Calum. Michael and Luke were trying to intimidate him, make him see how stupid he is for leaving everything behind one day, leave without a warning, and show up randomly. He’ll never get off scot-free while living with them. “We’ve got people to support. A house to live in. You’re going to have to pay bills.” 

 “You’re joking,” Calum chuckled. Luke and Michael didn’t break their stares off the man. “I don’t have a way to get a job. I’m not good at anything. Can’t I just watch Eve’s kid and be okay?”

“You don’t get paid for watching your own child,” Michael replied in a low voice. “I don’t care if you helped design the place. It’s time to pay bills.”

Calum locked eyes with Michael. “She’s not my kid.” He pulled the curls falling into his eyes back and combed through the dark locks with his fingers. Their intimidation wasn’t working on him. “Guess I’ll have to get a job. Ain’t got nowhere else to go.”

-

Calum shivered underneath the orange tip of a washable marker. Its cold sensation ent socks through his arms, resulting in goosebumps and for Melody to color outside of the tattoo lines. He looked down where Melody sighed and takes in the sight; Melody, with eyebrows scrunched up and her little tongue poking through her teeth, and a marker sitting between her fingers. She was very focused.

Calum notices that their hair curls the same way, and their hair color is the same shade. He catches a curl, twirling it around his digits. A knot sticks around Calum’s finger, catching skinny strands along one of his rings.

Melody yipped. “Hey!” she whined, pulling her head far away from Calum. She rubbed the spot Calum assaulted and acted as if she were to cry. Melody’s dark lip begins to quiver and she burst into a fit of sobs. “Mommy!”

Eve ran into the kitchen, halfway through braiding her hair back for work. “What’s going on?” Eve asked, staring straight at Calum. Quickly, Eve wraps her arms around Melody. Melody laid her head against Eve’s chest. “What’s wrong baby?”

Calum looked down at his hands. “I was messing with her, and I accidentally pulled her hair a little bit,” he answered. Melody continued to cry. “I . . . I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Eve answered for Melody. Melody calmed her loud fries and looked back at her father. “It was just an accident. Can you tell him that you’re alright?”

Melody shook her head. “Not ‘right-”

“-Melody Ann, you are perfectly fine. Can you tell him that?”

Melody shook her head again. “Go to work with no?” Eve shook her head as a reply. One occasion, just a few months before Calum showed up, Melody walked into Eve’s tattooing shop for her birthday and got her very own Crayola tattoo of a sunflower on her right thigh. Since that day, she’d used all efforts to get another. “Pwease?”

As they say, you get addicted to the feeling of tattoos.

“I thought you wanted Calum to watch you?”

Melody had requested that ‘Uncle Calum’ put her to bed while Eve was working. Calum disagreed, argued with Eve about how Melody isn’t his kid and Eve needs to find her own babysitter. Calum continued to argue with Eve until Melody’s big brown eyes looked up at his, and she held a handful of markers underneath his nose. She sat next to him on the counter and asked if they could play tattoos. Calum was confused until she began to color in Mali Koa’s bird.

“No!” Melody screamed. “Hurt me!”

“Mel,” Calum whispered. He felt terrible. “It was just an accident.” He’d never had such a feeling of guilt, even the day he ran from New Jersey to New York on the small promise of a successful music career. He’d been promised by an agency that if he left New Jersey, he’d have a good life filled with wealth and fame, as long as he left home quick. His parents told him if he left, to never come back. “I’ll never do it again. I promise.”

“Promise?” Melody stuck her pinky out for Calum to wrap with his own. Calum gave her a stern nod and hooked their fingers together. “Good Uncle Cal.”

Eve’s face dropped. Uncle? Eve wants to break all habits Melody developed around Calum. Telling people he’s her uncle, even calling him Uncle Calum. Eve wants to tell Melody to call him an asshole, a fucking jerk, a liar, and most importantly, Dad. Calum was only comfortable with Uncle Calum. Eve turned around when he’d said that the day after Melody broke her arm, told Calum to ‘choke on her dick’ and stomped away.

“Face masks?” Melody asked, forgetting she’d just been crying. She drug her pointer finger along her face in areas you’d put on a face mask. “Yes?”

“I’m not doing a face mask,” stated Calum. “Never.”

“Liar,” Eve snorted. “You did them with me all the time when we were teenagers.”

“We did a lot of stupid things when we were teenagers, Eve. I’m not doing face masks.”

“Did I just hear Calum reference how bad he is at sex and facemasks?” Luke called, walking through the laundry room. He offered up his arms for Melody to enter and had a pouncing three-year-old in his arms. She thwacked the side of his face with her cast. “Ouch. Jeez.”

Melody got close to Luke’s ear to whisper. “What’s sex?” she asked. Luke looked towards Calum and Eve for an answer but Calum hid his face. Tiny fingers pointed at the pair. “Sex.”

“Well, tech-”

“-Hemmings!” Eve interrupted. Luke’s face flashed terror of the five-foot-nothing girl. “You want to do a face mask with Uncle Lu?”

“Blue one!”

Luke stared down at the floor. The last time Melody, Luke, Michael, and Ashton had done the blue face masks - Melody’s favorite color - they all ended up with blue splotches spread on their faces for a few days afterward. Luke refused to show his bare face in public and stole a whole bottle of Eve’s dark foundation just be able to go to work. Michael slathered his face in blue paint for a YouTube video and played Fortnite. Their lives are very different.

However much Luke wanted to please Melody, he doesn’t want to wear foundation several shades too dark for his complexion. He took his phone out and texted Michael to grab Eve’s golden mask out of his bedroom. He may have stolen it from her. She’ll never know.

“I’m not putting that shit on my face, Eve,” whined Calum.

“You don’t have to,” Luke smiled. “You can leave, or go to your room, or do something that’s not bothering us.”

“You’re seriously just doing face masks?”

Luke smiled a little bit wider. “We let Mel pick out a movie she’d like to see,”

“I can do that, just not face masks,”

“It’s an all or nothing package, bro,”

Calum offered Luke a very disgusted look. “Fuck that.” He hauled himself off the countertop to stand. “Have fun being a girl, Luke. Let me know how the gender reassignment surgery goes.” Luke bit his tongue to not have a witty comeback filled with several choice words.

“Lil’ Sanchez!” Michael called from the staircase. Melody almost fell from Luke’s arms to see Michael. “Heard you wanted the good kush!”

“Michael!” Eve drew out, ready to fight everyone. Luke and Calum constantly arguing, Calum being an asshole, and Michael teaching Melody words he shouldn’t be. Ashton is the only one she can stand.

“Sup dude!” Melody held out her fist and Michael bumped it softly. “Good stuff.”

“Which one do you want, kid?” Michael held up a grey tube he’d also stolen from Eve. The front of it read Clay Mask, but Michael couldn’t stand the scent of the paste. It was too late to give it back to Eve without her noticing. In his opposite hand, he showed off a round tube of golden gel. “Good smelling stuff or Luke’s knockoffs?”

“Blue.” Melody stated.

“Good stuff or knockoffs?”

“Blue.”

They were in for a long argument against a three-year-old.

-

Calum was surprised he didn’t see Eve quickly, inside of her tattoo parlor. He thought the name of a shop would have something to do with Melody, but he’d about had a heart attack when the large neon sign read ‘FIVE SECONDS OF SUMMER TATTOOING’. He walked in immediately and requested the first appointment they had open.

“Man, our artists are busy for the night. You’ll have to find somewhere else,” Jason, Eve’s apprentice, said looking over the schedules for each artist. Except for Eve. All four basic artists were booked with large projects for the night drunks and fucked up stoners. Eve had space next to her name, though, twenty minutes into the future.

“Why can’t Eve do it?” Calum questioned, pointing over the counter at Eve’s full first name written in fancy cursive. He wasn’t used to seeing it written so perfectly. Usually, she writes ‘Eve’ with a light hand and lowercase letters.

“Evita? Man, she’s real good and doesn’t do most people.” Jason shook his head. He looked tired, tripping balls, or just done with Calum. “You have to get special approval from her. She doesn’t put up with anyone’s shit.”

“Ask her then,”

“What? Man, no. She won’t listen to me. How would I even ask?”

“Well, first you walk up to her and say ‘Eve, you’ve got a customer that’ll take your shitty tattoos and will pay fucking cash and a tip. Now tattoo him.’ It’s easy.”

“I think if I say that to her, I’ll be fired,”

Calum sighed and ran a hand through his dark curls. One caught on his ring and pulled like he’d done to Melody just hours early. He thought to himself how weird it was they had the same curls, hair color, and facial features. “Just get Eve.”

“I don’t-”

“-Do it and I’ll tip you.”

Jason turned around in the uncomfortable spinning chair and stood up. 5 Seconds Of Summer tattooing took over an old tattoo shop and a bar, erasing of all the alcohol and vomit stains on the floor and disposing of all barstools and tables. Eve put in a couple of couches in the front of the shop for people that waited, had a bathroom on both sides of the shop, and turned the bar portion into a piercing area. Calum looked around the teal walls at anatomic sketches and cartoon characters drawings. He was very impressed.

“Evita!” Jason screamed. Calum dropped a twenty on the desk.

“I get it,” Eve stammered loudly. “I’m Mexican! But you don’t have to constantly call me Evita like an asshole Jason!” Red burned her cheeks and ears at such anger. To Calum, Evita was triggering to Eve after four years of him calling her it. He was fully convinced she’d explode when her eyes landed on him. “You have blue on your face, dumbass.”

Calum wiped his face and noticed no residue on his finger. “Your daughter got Michael to put on blue shit,” Calum sighed. “Roped me into it too.” Michael, Ashton, Luke, and Melody watched two minutes of The Nightmare Before Christmas, disregarding February creeping upon them before Melody ran to Calum’s room and rasped on the wood. He asked her what she wanted, with his attitude faltering. Melody pointed to the blue cream on her face, and Calum reluctantly agreed with a groan and learned that he’s becoming wrapped around her finger.

“She’s your daughter too,” Eve said. “What do you want?”

“A tattoo,” Calum crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Feel like I’m due for one that’s not Crayola.”

“I’m busy,”

“No, you’re not,” Eve looked a little defeated. “We can go for drinks instead. Get drunk, fuck, and you’ll get pregnant and claim Luke’s kid is mine again.” Calum smirked harder than before. Eve resisted punching that smirk off his face.

“Come on!” Eve stammered again, dragging Calum to her office with walls of perfect drawings. “You need to fucking stop!” Eve said the moment she locked the door. Their relationship seemed loveless and dangling off the edge of a crumbling cliff. They’re covering anger at themselves with arguments. Eve’s angry Calum left four years before; Calum’s angry he left too. Their feelings are repressed, but unlike Calum, Eve wanted those feelings back and to know what it’s like to be loved.

“Stop what, Evita?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Eve hit her hand on the wooden door and a stinging pain shot down her arm. She didn’t stop. The brunette took all of her anger out on a hard door, tempting the bones in her hand. “You lost the right to call me that the day you left! You lost the right to call me that the day you came up with the thought that Melody is Luke’s daughter!” Eve turned to face Calum. Hot tears full of rage were beginning to gather. “If she was Luke’s daughter, why does she have dark hair? Curls? Why isn’t she pale?”

“You’re dark,” Calum snapped back. “You have curly hair.”

“Melody barely took after me! She took after you, you fucking asshole!” Eve wanted to hit Calum, take the rest of her burning rage out on him. She kept her hands to herself. “She’s supposed to be Melody Hood, not Sanchez. She’s supposed to be calling you Dad, not Uncle Calum! She looks just like your fucking sister, Calum! Stop denying her!”

“I’ll stop denying her the day you admit you fucked Luke.”

“I’ve never fucked Luke!”

“Everybody knows you did, Eve! Why else would you have kept your daughter a secret from me?”

“Because you fucking left,” Eve’s voice dropped low, scarily. She’s shorter than Calum by a foot, but he was scared he would get his ass beat. She could tear him to shreds; rip his confidence up one leg and down the other. “You left without a fucking word! Changed your phone number, abandoned any way we had to contact you!”

“I was doing what I needed to do!”

“Then why are you back? Why didn’t your dream go perfectly? Why aren’t you living happily in New York? Do you just want to torment me?”

“Everything failed, Eve! It’s not like I wanted to come back! I had nothing!”

“Then leave.”

“What?”

“If you didn’t want to be here, then leave. I’ll give you some fucking money. Get out, stay away from your daughter and this ‘Uncle Calum’ bullshit. Tell her that you’re her dad and I’m not the reason she’s never met him!”

“Eve-” Calum tried to say.

“Do you want to be here?”

“I . . . I don’t-”

“Yes or no. Decide right now. Do you want to be here?”

Calum swallowed his thick pride. “Yes.”

“Then man up and quit being everything you vowed you wouldn’t.”

“Get a DNA test.”

“What?” Eve looked down at her bruising hands, suddenly feeling the worst ache from them she’d felt in a long time.

“Get a DNA test. If it comes back that she’s mine, then I’ll be her dad. If I’m right, and she’s Luke’s, then shut your fucking mouth and quit being a bitch about everything. Deal?”

Eve squinted. “Go fuck yourself.”

-

Calum didn’t get a tattoo from Eve that night and took the first opening from a different artist in the same shop. Shay Ramsey, a regular that Eve tattoed a lot, walked into the parlor right after Eve finished cleaning her hands up and showed Eve a sketch she wanted. Eve studied the design and quickly fell in love with the way it had been originally sketched. She stayed up until dawn, tattooing a Medusa staring at a loaded bow pointing towards Shay’s neck. Underneath the bow were Medusa’s snakes with cracks and flowers sprouting from them.

Eve rang Ashton for a coffee and food run after the sun was fully up, explaining that she was working. Ashton pulled on joggers and a hoodie, put Melody in her car seat, and made the drive into town just for her.

“How’s it looking?” Shay asked, looking at the wall right in front of her. Medusa was split in half, which was the hardest part for Eve. Medusa didn’t have a nose bridge or a cupid's bow, to make room for a quote of Shay’s spine. ‘Daughters of the witches you couldn’t burn’ was tattooed in cursive, leading into the arrow.

“I think I’m going crazy, but a relaxed crazy. You know?”

“Makes sense,” Shay laughed a little bit, trying to not move her back from Eve’s needle. Eve only does large and time-consuming projects she knows will tip and sit well. “Miss your baby girl yet?”

“Man,” Eve laughed, turning to dip the needle in ink. “I do. She was with her uncles last night and they did the blue facemasks again.”

Shay laughed again. “You ‘gotta tell them not to do that again. How’s her arm?”

Eve rubbed the sleep from her eyes for a brief moment with the side of her arm. She just had to finish up shading Medusa, and she’d be finished. It would take forever, though. “Good. She’s getting out of the cast in a few weeks. She no longer feels comfortable feeding Norberty by herself.”

“How many animals does that child have now?”

Eve thought for a moment. “Two ferrets, a cat, a lizard, several fish, and she’s claiming Petunia, Michael’s dog, Ashton’s hedgehog, and Calum Hood.” Melody claims all of the animals, but she doesn’t take care of any of them. Though she’s three, so everyone lets her get away with it most of the time.

“Woah, wait. Calum Hood? He’s back?”

“Been here about a month. Spent all of his money, came back to live in the house and is a giant pain in my ass.” Eve shook her head. How dare he just leave her? She’s still not over four years of mourning and fear over raising their child by themselves.

“You two were perfect in high school. What happened?”

“I’m not even sure we liked each other in high school,” Eve wiped the sketch from Shay’s skin. The tattoo was progressing like a snail, but amazingly. “That’s a lie. He was the best thing in my life. Then, he gave me another Best Thing In My LIfe and he’s still sitting a close second.”

“You have to tell him that.”

“No thank you,” Eve watched the shop door open after Ashton unlocked it. “How about a break?” Shay nodded her head. Eve made her way towards Ashton and snatched the brown bag from his hands. “Did you get me food?” She slipped him some money for compensation. Eve grabbed a doughnut out of the bag. “Thank you so much.”

Just like Calum’s face, Ashton and Melody had faces stained with blue. Eve had to laugh a little bit. “Tell Uncle Luke to throw that stuff out, yeah?”

“No!” Melody shook her head. Ashton had thrown it away after he looked at the blue marks for a second time, depositing it in the location it was born from. Trash. “I had strawberries and ‘nanas.”

“You have strawberries and bananas?” Eve repeated back. She began feasting on her donut and sipping on frozen coffee. It tasted like perfection. “Did you save me any?”

Melody shook her head again, rustling her bed head. Ashton only slid a pair of jeans and a jacket on the little girl. Eve didn’t blame him for not dressing her up that much, that’s her job. “Uncle Cal made ‘em.”

“Calum made you strawberry banana pancakes? He hates those,”

“Yeah, but they were fucking good,” Ashton laughed. “Somehow, he knew they’re Melody’s favorite.”

Eve was very surprised.

-

Staring at the seemingly bored man standing in her bedroom doorway, Eve wondered if she should just kick him out. The thought of welcoming him inside of her bedroom made her feel warm and comfortable, she just wasn’t sure if it was the best idea. Calum hadn’t been in her bedroom at all, even when he showed back up and started taking care of Melody. He’d hold her until she slept, then Luke, the seemingly quietest person ever, would carry her up to her room.

It was personal, a barrier from the lives they used to love to the ones they’re entertaining now. Before escaping New Jersey, Calum snuck into Eve’s room, kissed her, and they laid together until she was well asleep. What eve doesn’t know about that night is that it took everything in Calum to leave her. He didn’t want to move hours away, but he had to. Calum remembers preparing to sneak back out and just watching her chest go up and down with shallow breaths. Everything in his body hurt.

After a few seconds of staring, Calum brushed his hair from his face. “We should go drinking tonight.”

“No,”

“Why?”

“I haven’t been drinking since before Melody was born,”

That didn’t stop Calum from convincing her into taking shots of tequila at a bar with their friends. Melody was staying at her grandparents for a few days. Eve could do whatever she wanted.

“Woah, slow down there Sparky!” Calum called, grabbing Eves shot out of her hands. “I think we should go home.”

“You’re just a party pooper,” Eve slurred, barely able to keep herself up. She slumped over a little bit, causing Calum to catch her. “See. I’m fine.”

While Eve isn’t the tallest person, she still manages to have long legs. On the few occasions, she’d get drunk at parties during teenage adolescence, and also go home to have sex all night with Calum, she’d learned how to not trip over her own feet and break her legs. After spraining her ankle walking from a party to Calum's house, she drilled herself to no longer trip over her feet like a newborn foal.

Calum was impressed she managed to keep that ability after several years of not drinking. Calum wrapped his arm around her for support and they stumbled towards the door, Calum getting in the way of where Eve was stepping.

“We should get tacos, Cally!”

A sharp pain overtook Calums' left side. Eve called Calum ‘Cally’ when they were teenagers. It was her favorite nickname for him because only she could call him that. On one occasion that Luke tried to call Calum ‘Cally’, Luke almost ended up with a shiner. Calum and Eve had nicknames for each other that only they could say.

“Yeah,” Calum whispered through a scratchy throat. “I don’t think there’s a place to get them.”

“Then let’s go home and make tacos!”

Calum rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he unlocked the car door and helped Eve inside. She smiled at him and blew him a kiss before he ran to the other side of the car. “Ready to go home?”

“Yes,” Eve smiled wider.

The ride was short for the pair. The bar was a while away from the house, but with a flirty Eve in the car with him, Calum drove over the speed limit before he did something he’d regret soon. Eve sobered up a little bit on the ride and began to remember some of her anger towards Calum. In all honesty, she wanted a kiss from him too.

“How was drinking?” Ashton asked. Eve gave him two thumbs up. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“I don’t even remember why I went drinking,” Eve laughed. Calum pulled her toward the kitchen. “Tacos!” Eve screamed, gathering the ingredients. She pulled meat from the fridge they’d cooked earlier in the night, along with tortillas, and everything you can imagine going on a taco.

“Wanna watch a movie downstairs while we eat?” Calum asked. Oddly, he didn’t want to separate from Eve. He wanted to stay with her, protect her, lay with her, and watch bad TV shows together. Calum misses how he and Eve used to be.

“We can watch it in my room.” Eve shrugged. She grabbed her plate of a soft taco packed inside of a splitting shell and lead Calum to her room.

Melody had left some toys behind, leaving them scattered on the floor. Eve shoved them toward Melody’s messy bed and set her plate on the side table. Calum felt uncomfortable walking into the room as if it were his own, sitting down on the bed like he used to. Eve always sat toward the end so she could see the TV better, but Calum always sat behind her. He laughed when she chose The Jonas Brothers.

“You still watch that?” Calum asked. He took a bite of his cold taco.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Me,”

“Well you’re stupid,” Eve said. She watched the show intently, taking bites of her food every so often. Calum didn’t watch TV, instead he watched Eve break down a wall he wished was never there and let him inside of her. She wasn’t mad at him, she wasn’t trying to pick a fight or argue with Calum. She just sat there, eating and watched a Disney show like her life depended on it. Until she fell back into teenage habits and scooted back to sit in Calum’s lap.

“Comfy?” Calum asked, offering up a small laugh. Eve rested her head on Calum’s shoulder, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like Old Spice and memories. “Are you going to lay like this for a while?”

“Obviously,”

“But I’m cold!”

“We are laying on a blanket, Calum, learn to use your head,” Eve sighed and tore away from her comfortable position to pull the blankets tucked corners out. First, she got underneath the blue duvet, then sat on Calum so he could be warm too. “Better?” Eve asked, returning to her position.

“Much.”

Calum wasn’t cold. He just wanted to get Eve off of him, but he didn’t know how to say it. He wants Eve off his body so he didn’t feel the fire of her skin touching his, the sight of her small body laid on top of him, or the smell of orchid shampoo filling his nostrils. Calum wanted to forget everything; Melody, coming back to New Jersey, Eve, how he still loves Eve with all of his heart.

“Calum?” Eve broke Calum’s concentration on the window behind the TV. Calum looked down at her and wanted to keep her body in that position forever. “You okay?”

Calum cleared his throat. No. He’s not okay. He’s falling even further for someone he never got over. “Yeah. You?”

Eve looked up. Calum couldn’t help but gape at Eve. “Kiss?” Eve tilted her head back for a kiss. Just like when they were teenagers. Calum hesitated for just a moment. “W-wait. I’m sorry. Just-” Eve hid her face in her hands. Embarrassment flooded her body.

She’d forgotten about everything. Calum seemed to do that to her. She forgot about how she’s supposed to be mad at him, about how he left without saying anything. Calum giggled and reached for her hands.

“Evita,” Calum smiled. It was funny to him - her red cheeks and ears were magnificent.

Eve declined his laughter. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why? It’s your name. Evita Ma-”

“No!” Eve cries. “Stop it!”

“Why do you hate it so much? You used to love being called Evita,”

Eve looked at Calum. Calum thought she was going to fall over and cry. “You used to call me Evita. Only you!”

“And?”

“You call me Eve now,” Eve brushed her hair away from her face. The messy bun she’d tried to do during the car ride was falling in small strands. She felt like she couldn’t see. “Just Eve. I only let you call me Evita, and then-”

“-And then I left and you felt that it was tied to me.”

Eve nodded her head. “Michael tried to joke around and call me Evita one day and I started to cry. Could've been pregnancy hormones or something, but you came back and now it’s like it’s all in the past and-”

“Eve, shh, calm down,” Calum grabbed Eve’s hands before she had a chance to hurt something. Her fists clenched hard and he was forced to undo them. “Listen. I’m here right now, and I’m not going to leave. No matter how much I say I just want to leave, I’m not going to leave. I’m here for you, for Melody, for . . . for everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Of course.” Calum didn’t realize how tense Eve was until he said that. Her body relaxed as if she’d finished working out or something. She just fell into him and he felt well. “How are you feeling?”

Eve looked up at Calum. “Kiss?”

Calum barely pressed his lips to Eve’s, giving her what both of them wanted. His lips began to feel numb, ripped apart by electricity he only felt with Eve. Neither of them let go. Eve snaked her hand around to the back of Calum’s neck, deepening their kiss. Calum slid his cold hand up the back of Eve’s hoodie. She shivered.

“Your hands are very cold,” Eve whispered, crumbling away from Calum’s lips. Calum nodded his head. January has made their entire lives freezing. “So are mine.” Eve clapped her hands on an area of skin Calum’s collar revealed.

“Yes they are, Eve,” said Calum. They both giggled a little bit. Eve watched Calum, but Calum watched her lips. She bit down on her bottom, kiss-ridden lip. Calum couldn’t stop watching. Eve kissed him again.

Calum loved the feeling of Eve’s lips on his, Eve sitting on top of him in a non-sexual manner - but let’s be real he’d love it either way. They weren’t angry at each other, just happy and acting like teenagers they used to be. Calum’s heart broke a little bit, though, realizing that Eve wouldn’t remember a single thing when she’d wake up the next morning.

She’d just remember drinking.

-

“I’m going to pick up Melody, anybody need anything?” Eve questioned, walking through the kitchen to grab her car keys. She plucks them off the hook and wraps her lanyard around her finger.

“It’s snowing, Eve,” said Ashton. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re so overprotective,” Eve groaned. “I have to pick my daughter up from her grandmothers’ house. Does anybody need anything?”

“You’re not going,”

“Yes I am, Ashton. Would you like anything while I am out?”

“I’ll go with her,” Calum sighed, reaching for a jacket. He pulled it over his head and let the hood settle on top of his curls. “Might as well have somebody else with you. Right?”

“I guess,” Eve snapped. “Let’s go or we’ll be late.”

The cold wind hit them like a ton of bricks. Eve was suddenly well aware of how underdressed she was, and how she should buy a snowsuit. She got into her silver SUV and turned the heat on immediately. It also blasted cold air.

“Cold?” Calum asked with a small chuckle. He pulled his jacket back off, leaving him in just a long-sleeved shirt. “Here,” He said. Eve took his hoodie and slipped it on. It smelled like heaven and even while he only wore it for just a small period, it was warm.

Eve took it off before entering her moms' house, though. She gave it back to Calum so her mother didn’t question why the Hood emblem is on her breast. The short girl became cold and wanted it back.

“Mel!” Eve called before hearing the sound of Melody stumbling down the stairs. “Don’t break another bone!” Melody ran right up to Eve and hugged her legs tightly. “Ready?”

Melody shook her head. “No.”

“Why?”

“It’s cold.”

“Want my jacket, kid?” Calum asked. Melody nodded her head, and for a second time, Calum peeled it off his body. “Arms up.” Melody put her arms to the sky and Calum helped her put it on. It pooled at her feet.

“I swear if she breaks another bone-” Eve started.

“-She’s not going to break another bone, Eve,” Calum laughed. “I can just carry her- see.” He lifted Melody off the floor and onto his hip. “Comfy, kid?” Melody nodded her head. Calum laughed again.

Catalina Sanchez, Eve’s mom, walked into the kitchen and started to swoon. She looked different from the last time Calum had seen her; black hair turned grey, wrinkles embedded themselves in her forehead and underneath her eyes, and she seemed to have lost a lot of weight. “Calum!” She called, opening her arms up bringing him into a hug. “I heard you were back from this little munchkin,” Catalina poked Melody’s belly.

“Sure am, Mom,” Calum replied.

Catalina is the mom of every person she comes in contact with. All of Eve’s friends, all of her sister Emerson’s friends. Ashton, Calum, Michael, and Luke were always allowed around her house to relax, live, eat, or for emotional support. Everyone calls her Mom, besides her grandchild.

“How long? Are you leaving again? Please tell me you aren’t leaving again Mister Calum H-”

“I’m not planning on leaving again, don’t worry,”

“Good. This little girl is happy to have you. She talked about you for about two days straight,”

Calum felt a pang of happiness in his heart. Did Melody talk about him? Bragged about Calum? Calum had never had anything like that before. He smiled wider than he could imagine.

Catalina turned to her daughter. “Now, Eve, I swear you need to get Melody’s speech impediment figured out-”

Eve groaned. “She doesn’t have a speech impediment, mom, she’s just being a kid.”

“Are you sure? She can’t say, Ashton. Melody say-”

“Mom!” said Eve. “Would you stop? Please? My daughter is perfectly fine and is just barely three!”

Catalina pointed her finger sternly at Eve. “Don’t talk to me that way, young lady. If she still can’t say Ashton when she turns four, then she has a speech impediment.” Eve rolled her eyes. “Calum, how about you go warm up the car? I need to talk to my daughter.”

Calum took the cue to go away and headed out the back door. “How was your stay at grandmas?”

“Good!” Melody squealed. “We had chicken!”

“Chicken? No way!”

Calum opened the door of the SUV but stopped when he noticed all the snow accumulating. There was no way they’d get home safely with all the snow. He cursed, but quietly so Melody wouldn’t hear him.

“‘s wrong?” Melody asked. She looked around, trying to figure out the problem Calum was having. If Calum set her down on the ground, snow would reach above her ankles, almost to her knees. The snow wasn’t the only thing falling from the sky, but also hail the size of golf balls and painful sleet.

Calum’s head was turning into the clouds above him. There’s no way that this is happening to him. No way! “We’re going to have to stay here, Kid.”

“Sleepover!” Melody squealed.

-

Calum almost had a heart attack. Eve’s bed seemed to be more comfortable than he could remember, but when she walked from the hallway, into her old bedroom, he couldn’t believe the outfit she’d worn. A large shirt - that used to be his - and he wasn’t sure if there was anything underneath. He glanced away, staring at the floor instead of the beautiful princess closing the bedroom door.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this? I can go to sleep on the couch if you’re not.” Calum said with a bit of pitch in his voice. He looked at the window he’d crawled out of the night he left New Jersey. He felt like shit.

“It’s fine,” Eve shrugged. After she moved in with Luke, Ashton, and Michael, she changed almost nothing about her old room. The dresser still sat crooked near the closet door, a small TV was still sitting on top of it, but Calum wasn’t sure if it’d work. Eve sat down on the bed next to Calum. “Are you okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Calum said. He cleared his throat. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because . . . okay, that’s it, I’m going to sleep on the couch.”

Calum grabbed Eve’s arm before she could stand up from the bed and pulled her close to him. “I’m fine, okay? I promise. It’s like when we were younger and-”

“-We fucked practically every night.”

“Well, not exactly,” Calum chuckled. He offered a small smile to Eve, which she took with an eye roll. “When all of us would sleepover. Luke would always sleep on the floor with Michael and Ashton, and after they were asleep I’d crawl up to bed with you.”

“They had no clue about us for like . . .”

“Four months,” Calum said. Eve smiled. She couldn’t remember that small detail, but Calum could. She wondered how much more he could remember about their relationship. “Remember Ashton screaming after the basketball game?”

Eve hid her blushing face with her hands. Giggles slipped through her fingers. “I remember that. You busted open your lip or something and whined every time I put the cleaner on it. I had to kiss you like every five seconds and-”

“And Ashton walked in and screamed at the top of his lungs,”

Eve laughed even harder. “You threatened to tie him down and fill his lungs with orange soda.”

“I had to make sure he wouldn’t tell anybody!”

Eve brushed her long hair from her face and looked at him. Her ears and cheeks were red, but not like a few days before. “He still told Michael two minutes later.”

“How was I to know that he had his phone on him, Eve!”

“Remember when Luke found out? He walked straight here and told my mom-”

“-And she said ‘You’re late’!”

They both tumbled backward from laughter. Luke had walked straight from his house a few blocks away just to tell Catalina, but Catalina already knew. She felt bad for saying that, so she made him his favorite meal. Luke ate it quickly, thanked her, and went to Calum’s mom to spoil the news for her.

“Man, I miss being a teenager,” Eve sighed. She was nineteen when Melody was born. Her life went from studying modern art to being a badass mom with tattoos and ignoring everyone's opinions about her life. “No responsibilities. Get to live life. Don’t have to worry about which Disney movie to watch next.”

“Since when is it movies? We watched The Jonas Brothers, Eve,”

“We did what?!” Eve yelled. “The other day we watched The Jonas Brothers? Are you sure you just didn’t see the TV that well and we were-”

“Eve, the TV is right in front of your bed. I know which show we were watching,”

Eve looked down and began playing with her fingers. Calum was in her room? They watched her guilty pleasure together, and Calum didn’t complain until some stupid show was played? “What else happened?”

Calum didn’t want to reply. He didn’t want Eve to know about them kissing, or how she confessed why she hates Evita, or how he said he wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted to leave her hanging just a little while he came to terms with Melody. It was taking longer than it should’ve and he was even mad at himself. “Nothing important.”

“You sure?”

Calum pretended to think. “100-percent.”

“Really?” Eve asked. “I may have forgotten most of the night but I remember one thing.”

Calum’s heart began beating fast. He didn’t know what she remembered, and he was suddenly worried. He didn’t want Eve’s hopes up, and all of a sudden he had to dip because he can’t take the idea of having a child. “What do you remember?”

Eve scooted closer to Calum. “Your hands were really cold.”

Calum laughed. “They were.” Eve and Calum locked eyes. “Do you remember anything else?”

Eve shook her head. “That’s what alcohol does to me.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?” Suddenly, Calum was desperate to kiss Eve again. He missed the electricity flowing through his body. But eve shook her head. She didn’t remember the kiss a single bit. Calum wanted to remind her. “Nothing else?”

“Why? What happened?”

Calum’s eyes flicked to Eve’s lips. Just a peck, a small brush, or even a kiss on the cheek. He needed some sort of contact. “Can’t tell you.” Calum locked eyes with Eve for just a moment, then looked away at something else. The closet door seemed like the perfect place to look, but it also messed with his head.

A few times that Calum would stay the night with Eve, Luke or Ashton would show up unannounced and Calum would have to hide, half-dressed, in Eve’s tiny closet. Even worse were times that they tried to stay for a while and Eve had to drag them upstairs to play video games just so Calum could pretend he just showed up.

 Eve followed Calum’s eyes to the closet door. “Want something else to wear?”

“Huh?” Calum looked down at his jeans. “Oh, uh, no?”

“I still have your clothes, Cal, I’m not offering you a frilly dress. I’m offering you something comfortable to sleep in.”

“Sure,” Calum sighed. Eve stood up to dig through her dresser drawers. Most of the clothes Calum had left without, she kept at the new house, rather than the one she lived in once before. A lot of times, they made great maternity clothes.

“Here,” Eve said, continuing to dig through her drawers. She’d expected she left more clothes, but in reality, she left almost none of Calum’s. Calum took the grey joggers out of her hands. They were tied for her tiny waist. He pulled the knot apart. “I don’t think I have any shirts except-” Eve looked down at the shirt she’d been wearing. “Let me look in my closet.”

But the closet was almost bare. Just a few shirts that Eve bought while pregnant, that fit so large they were oversized with an eight-pound baby in her stomach. She’d never choose to sleep in those, however. They had been itchy and uncomfortable. Imagine sleeping in something like that.

“I don’t have a shirt,” Eve shrugged. “Sucks to be you.”

Calum rolled his eyes. “I have my shirt, and my jacket, brat. I think I can suffice.”

Eve shrugged again, but dramatically. “No, I don’t think you will. You should take it off.”

“Is Evita Sanchez telling me to take off my shirt?” Calum laughed. Maybe she did remember the kiss and wanted it to happen again as much as he did.

“You’ll never know,” Eve laughed and stuck her tongue out just a little bit. She looked just like her eighteen-year-old self when she did that. Calum was swooning again. She scrunched her nose up a bit and Calum had to laugh.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“What’s underneath that shirt?”

“Dare,”

“Take off that shirt.”

“What makes you think you get to see what’s underneath my shirt, Calum Hood?” Eve crossed her arms. Normally, she’d just tell him, as she’d do with the guys. But normally, she’s wearing actual clothes instead of just panties.

Calum bit his lip and drug his eyes from the floor to her long, tan legs, up to her hips, which happened to be covered by the shirt. His eyes continued trailing up her body, noticing an inconsistency with what she normally wears. “You’re a tease.”

Eve rolled her eyes dramatically. “I am not a tease.”

“You’re not a tease?” Calum stood up from Eve’s bed. “Not a single bit?” He pressed his body to hers, his hands dragging up the back of her bare legs. Eve shivered. “Are my hands cold?”

The drunken night started coming back; they made out on her bed, and she enjoyed it. She was happy to be kissing her high school boyfriend again and feeling his hands on her body. “Maybe.” Eve sputtered out.

Calum seductively smirked. “Are you okay, Evita?”

“I’m fine,” Eve lied. “Your hands are just cold.”

Calum let go on Eve, setting backward to grab the joggers off the bed. “Maybe we should just go to sleep, then. I can warm up, then.” He walked out of the room to change in the bathroom. Eve’s body slumped against the closet door, and she slid until she was sitting on the floor.

She’s fucking up her life anymore, but she doesn’t care.

-

Only a few days after the encounter with Calum at Catalina’s house, Eve woke up to an empty bed, and an empty room. Normally, Melody crawls into bed with Eve or at least wakes Eve up in the morning, but Eve was surprised and concerned when the room was empty. She shot up, looking at the time when it hit her that Melody wasn’t with her. Just barely dawn, and her baby isn’t with her.

Quickly, she ran out of her room, to Luke’s right next door, then to Michael’s on the opposite side. She wasn’t with either of them or Ashton. Melody and Ashton have a bond for the love of sleep and making loud noises. But all three of her roommates were asleep. There was one place she hadn’t checked yet; Calum’s room.

She knew in her heart that the possibility that Melody was in Calum's room was low, especially since Calum sleeps late, and Melody wakes up early. Calum probably went to sleep just not long ago, passing out after a video game binge. Reluctantly, she pushed his door open just an inch.

The room was a disaster with clothes strewn everywhere, and blankets scattered in odd directions. However, Melody was there. Asleep on Calum’s bare chest, snoring just a bit. Eve wanted to capture the moment and relish in the captivating sight she was looking at. Like father like daughter, asleep with The Little Mermaid playing in the background, surrounded by thousands of blankets and pillows.

Eve smiled and walked back to her bedroom.

-

Melody jabbed her finger into Eve’s throat. “What’s that say?”

“It says angel,” Eve replied for the thousandth time.

“What’s that one?” Melody pointed to both of Eve’s shoulders.

“That one is the sun, and that one is the moon,” Eve said.

“Why?”

“Because I liked it,”

“Why?”

“Because you are the sun and the moon?”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you go bug Uncle Calum about his tattoos?”

“Yours is cooler.” Melody traced the crescent moon and the clouds it covered. “Pretty,” Melody switched to the sun on Eve’s right shoulder. “I get one?”

“You’re too young, Mel,” Eve reached for markers Melody left on the coffee table. “You want a washable one?” Melody nodded her head quickly and tore off her shirt. “What do you want?”

“That,” Melody pointed to snakehead just peaking above Eve’s sports bra, in between her boobs. “Pwease?” Eve reluctantly nodded her head and pulled the cap off the black marker.

Her snake is intricate, with geometric patterns along its back and realistic shading. Eve sketched out a simple cartoon snake on Melody’s sternum. Melody didn’t stop smiling until Eve pulled the marker off her skin.

“More? Pwease?”

“No,” Eve laughed, grabbing Melody’s arms to sit her up fully. “You don’t need to be covered in ink yet.” Melody giggled her normal giggle and stared down at her body. “Do you like it?”

“Just like yours!” She waved her cast toward her mom’s chest. “Show them?”

“You want to show your Uncles?” Eve could barely ask the question before Melody bolted toward the kitchen, almost falling on her face. She has her fathers’ athletic abilities, even just at three. Eve followed behind, but slower. “Melody has something to show you,” Eve said, entering the kitchen of men.

They looked up from their odd positions, eating different types of breakfast, not surprised that Melody is running around barely clothed again. In the 5 Seconds Of Summer household, wearing shirts is more uncommon than being practically naked. It’s an unwritten rule in being confident with your body.

Calum set down his cereal bowl on top of a notebook. Eve wanted to know what he was writing, and why it had so many scribbles. “What is it, Kid?” He looked past the snake drawn on her chest.

“Look!” Melody pointed at the snake, and the group of grown men called ‘Wow’ and ‘No way is that real?’

Calum pushed away his notebook and crouched to Melody’s level to look at the snake closer. “Is this real? I’ll kick your butt if you got a tattoo!” Melody giggled at him. “I’m serious! Is it real?”

“No!” Melody giggled. “Mommy’s ta’too!”

“It’s mommy's tattoo!?” Ashton exclaimed, joining Calum. “Are you sure? I’ve never seen this on her.”

“Yeah, Eve, why don’t you show us your tattoo,” Calum chuckled. His brown eyes meet with her silvers and she had to break away. “Don’t be a party pooper, Evita.” Calum stood up and walked to Eve so he could press his finger to the snakes head. “I wanna’ see it.”

“Yeah, man, I’ve never seen it,” Luke laughed. He shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth, ignoring painful glares Eve sends him. “Eve,” Luke drags out loudly. “We wanna see!”

“I will fight every single one of you, don’t test me,” Eve answered. She looked around Calum and pointed at his notebook. “I’ll show you the tattoo if you tell me what you’re writing.”

Calum looked down, then up, toward his notebook, back at Eve, at Melody, then at his hands. It was a hard decision. “Suck my dick, Sanchez,” Eve winked at Calum. Calum winked back. “Boys, I guess we won't get to see the tattoo.”

“I seen it!” Melody yells. She reaches up the drag down the top of Eve’s sports bra. Eve barely caught the fabric before she flashed a room full of guys. “Show ‘em!”

“No, Mel,” Eve giggled. “They don’t get to see it.”

“Fine,” Melody huffed and stomped her little butt back to the TV. Eve looked around the corner to make sure she safely made it to the couch.

“So what is in your notebook?” Eve asked Calum, passing him. Luke tore the bowl away from the paper and hid the notebook underneath his shirt. “All of you are going to hide it from me, aren’t you?”

They all collectively nodded their heads. “It’s personal, Eve,” Calum said, grabbing for his notebook. “You can know when it’s finished. Otherwise-”

“At least tell me what it’s about. Please?” Eve covered her chest with both of her arms. “I’ll show you the tattoos. All of them.”

“Really?”

“No,” Eve reached for the rough notebook again. “Please just let me see it!”

Calum held it above his head, where she couldn’t reach. “No way. You can know when it’s finished!”

“Fine,” Eve snapped. “Next time you let my kid lay with you, tell me first, please.”

Calum nodded his head. “Now show the tattoo or leave, Evita.”

Eve turned on her heel and headed toward her daughter.

-

Calum recognized the sound of Eve’s knock. He waltzed to the door, opened it, and stared eye to eye with Eve. He moved his eyebrows up and down. Eve wasn’t amused.

“Yes, Evita?” Calum asked. Eve barely got a peek into his room, looking around at the torn up sheets of paper littering his bed and floor. The notebook he’d carried like a baby the past few days were seemingly getting smaller and smaller. Eve just wanted to know what he was doing with it - but he won’t tell her.

“It’s time to cuddle,” Eve ducked underneath Calum’s arm and walked into his room like any other day. She brushed the ripped paper off the bed and pulled the most recently-tucked-in blanket off his mattress and settled underneath it.

“Well hello to you too,” Calum let the door latch before pouncing onto the mattress. He straddled Eve’s body with his legs. “Guess whos’ on top?”

“Get off of me playboy,” Eve laughed. The small girl had to use all of her might to push Calum’s body off of hers.

Calum landed flat on his back next to her. “Look who’s sneaking into whos room now, huh?”

Eve poked Calum’s side. He flinched a little bit. “If there wasn’t a sleeping three-year-old in my room, you’d probably sneak into mine too.”

“Never. Absolutely never.” Calum smiles at Eve, and Eve smiles right back at him. “If I show you what’s in my notebook will you show me the snake tattoo?” Eve let out a loud bellow.

“Good try, Hood,” Eve pulled the hair tie from her long, dark braid and her mane fell in loose curls on Calum’s bed. To Calum, she looked beautiful whether or not she was showing the tattoo. “You’ll never ever get to see it.”

“Damn,” Calum swears with a snap of his fingers. “How many tattoos do you have?”

“As I said, too many,” Eve smiles wide, remembering the days she got most of her tattoos. After Calum left, Eve couldn’t get a tattoo until after Melody was born, and that’s when she elected Melody’s footprint to be right behind her ear. After a couple of months, though, she continued the trail down her back in the tattoo Melody is most fascinated with.

Eve got a snake tattooed between her boobs on a dare. Her, Ashton, and Michael were out being stupid late one night, so they started playing the dumb game. It took a couple of rounds to get Eve convinced into a tattoo, but she showed up to Addictions Tattoo Shop. She ended up buying that shop, renamed it, and painted it to her desire. Catalina almost killed her.

“Explain some of them to me,” whispered Calum. He glanced at her. “Honestly. Explain some of them to me.”

“Well I obviously have Mel’s feet, and-”

“-No,” Calum shook his head a little bit. “I express myself through music, you express yourself through art. Explain to me some of them people can’t see.”

“On my rib, I have ‘still breathing’ tattooed with a semicolon. Does that count?”

“Kind of,” Calum turned fully to tug up Eve’s shirt. He forgot her habit of wearing only underwear underneath. He just wanted to see the ink embedded in her skin and it’s a whimsical dance around her body. Just above her hip bone, Calum traced a large lotus flower with paint splatters curling toward the inside of her thigh and around to her back. Eve giggled a little bit. “What does this one mean?”

“I got bored and wanted to try a new technique. Turned out pretty good, right?”

Calum continued to trace, along to tattoos scattered around her stomach. “It did.” Eve was right, she has ‘still breathing;’ tattooed on her left rib in cursive, but a dinosaur on a skateboard smoking a cigarette on the opposite rib. He traced that tattoo and Eve shivered. His hands always seemed to be cold. “What’s this one?” Eve was about to answer when he tore her shirt up a little bit more, revealing moon phases and tiny stars underneath her breasts, curving with the way her body was built. “How’d you come up with this one?”

“My mom was always told me to look at the moon every night, and I’d find comfort in everything,”

“Deep,” Calum tug her shirt up a little more, expecting that Eve would try to fight him about being a pervert. She didn’t, though, thus Calum pushed it up to her armpits and admired Eve’s body. “Nice tattoos.”

“Right?”

Her torso curved perfectly for her liking, and she still had some meat on her bones. Eve was seemingly skinny, but healthy, and like she wouldn’t eat a salad to impress a guy. She didn’t have an overly large chest, the perfect size for Calum to like. During their teenage years, Eve was uncomfortable with Calum seeing her body all the time. She’d hide from him and wear overly large clothes because she was uncomfortable.

Calum pressed a kiss to the bottom of her sternum, right underneath her rips, on the warm, ticklish skin. He pressed the area right above it, then until the shirt was bunched up. He kissed the front of Eve’s neck and on the tattoo that said ‘angel’ in a fancy font. Behind her ear, Calum smirked when she let out a breathy capture of his name.

“You should get more tattoos like that,” Calum stated, tracing his finger around the snakes coiled tail. He didn’t let his finger stop on the tip, but drug it down her body to the waistband of her panties and over to the lotus flower on her hip. “I like them.” He rubbed his finger into her hip bones, digging down just a little bit. “Do you like them?”

“They’re cool,” Eve replied. She grabbed his shoulders to pull his body into hers. She felt his shirt press into her bare torso, and more. Feeling overly nervous, Eve pressed her lips to Calum’s. Something she’s wanted for so long, to remember it for days to come. Calum rubbed Eve’s jaw with his thumb, sneaking his fingers into her curls right behind her ear. “Wait - wait, we can’t.” Eve pulled away from Calum, wiggled to remove her body from underneath his and to pull down her shirt again.

“Wh-” Calum tried to ask.

“We can’t, Calum,” Eve covered her eyes with her fingers and dug her nails into her hair. She wanted Calum back more than she ever had. Calum was the love of her life, her first real boyfriend, the father of her child. If anything were to happen, they’d complicate everything, in Eve’s head. They’d hurt Melody, and she’d get mad about being deceived for over a month about ‘Uncle Calum’. “We’ll fuck everything up, and-”

“Eve-”

Eve stumbled to his door. She turned back to look at him. She loves Calum. Her heart hurt when he left, and when he came back. She wasn’t angry that he was back, but he was angry that he left without saying anything. Eve wants to hate him, to forget about Calum all together, leave behind a life she always wanted.

“Eve!” Calum called when Eve reached for the doorknob. She wasn’t thinking with her head, just what she thought everyone was wanting.

“I . . . I think I need to move somewhere with just Melody . . . no one else.” Then she left his room and locked herself inside her own.

-

“Where’s Eve?” Calum pushed, running into the soundproof room in the basement. He didn’t see her at all, not even when he walked into her bedroom. He could find Melody in the room with Ashton, Michael, and Luke, holding a tiny tambourine, but he couldn’t find her mother. “Have you guys seen Eve? At all?”

“No, what’s up?” asked Luke. He pulled his guitar off his body and placed it on the rack.

“I need to find Eve. Something stupid happened last night and-”

“Oh God, please tell me she’s not pregnant again,” Michael jokes, pointing at Calum’s dick. “Learn to keep that in your pants, please. We need exactly one Melody.” Calum let his arms fall to his sides. He couldn’t even joke around with his friends. He needed to find Eve! “Cal, are you okay?”

“I have to find Eve!” Calum screamed. Desperation filled his tone and strangled everyone around him. Quickly, they all figured out how badly Calum needed to find Eve. “Have you seen her?”

“I . . . I think she’d in the workout room. Have you checked there?”

Calum takes a deep breath. That’s the only area around their property he hasn’t checked. His long legs took him up the stairs, out the back door, and down the stone pathway to a large shed full of equipment. Loud music filled his ears. The music he wouldn’t have expected - Drag Me Down by One Direction. It was obvious that Eve was there.

He knocked once, but to no avail, he didn’t get a reply. She’s distracted. She’s working out, not waiting for knocks on the door and men professing their love to her. Calum opens the door and spots her in the far corner doing yoga.

One Direction and yoga. That’s Eve for you.

Her eyes look in the mirror, reflecting the open door. She dropped to the mat beneath her and stood up. “Get out.” Calum was surprised she wasn’t stern, but rather trying to convince herself that she wanted Calum away. “Get out!”

“You have to stay, Eve,”

“Good to know,” Eve picked a jacket off the floor and pulled it over her sports bra. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Your opinion doesn’t matter. I’ll do what’s best for me and my daughter.”

“But it’s not what’s best for Melody!” Calum bit down on his tongue. It was coming. He knew what was coming; a broken voice and shaky hands. A bolt of electricity shot through him. “She needs to be here- with her mom, her dad, and all three of her uncles.”

Eve was surprised, taken aback, concerned at what Calum had said. Her voice went low. “What?” 

“Please, Eve,” Calum wanted to get on his knees and beg. After Eve left his room, he sat up for hours, thinking about Melody and Eve, how much he wanted them around. He came to terms with Melody - a very scary thing - and finally stopped denying it. Calum Thomas Hood has a beautiful daughter with brown eyes and curly dark hair, named Melody. “Please don’t take my daughter from me. Melody means everything to me, and I can’t . . . I can’t let either of you leave.” 

“This isn’t going to work, Calum.” Eve crossed her arms. She didn’t want to believe what he was saying. “You can’t just use her as an excuse when you want me to do something! You can’t use my daughter as a pawn!”

“I’m . . . I’m not, Eve,” hot tears began to fall down Calum’s cheeks. He was so passionate, wanting Melody and Eve to stay, keeping his daughter close, and coming to terms with everything he didn’t want to. “Melody means more than everything combined. I want my daughter! You can’t just move out because of me! If anything, I’ll move out - find somewhere else to live and leave both of you alone. I’ll visit Melody, I’ll make a complete effort to be the dad I should have been for so many years!”

“I think that’s passed, Calum,” Eve knocked her shoulder against Calum when she walked into the cold February air. Calum watched her walk away, down the stone path with all of their handprints stuck into rocks and colored with spray paint. She ignored his pleads for her to listen. Calum wants to change her mind, for her to stay. But Eve has to decide what she needs.

Calum walked slowly back to the soundproof room. He broke the seal of sound, ripping open the door. He didn’t close it behind him. His best friends were playing a song for his daughter - one that they called Airplanes, that Calum had written. To him, it didn’t sound weird without his bass or singing, but to everyone else, they were uncomfortable. Calum flicked off the amps Michael and Luke were connected to, cutting off all the sound except Ashton.

“What the fuck?” Michael screamed, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Shove off,” Calum muttered, searching for his guitar. He picked it by the neck and carried it to Melody. He sat with his legs crisscrossed, right in front of her. “Mel,”

“Ya?” Melody replied with a large smile on her face.

“I wrote you a song. Do you want to hear it?”

Melody nodded her head quickly. “Duh!”

Calum wrote the song for all of them. For Luke’s carefree voice, Michael’s perfect guitar strums, Ashton’s drumming, and Calum’s bass. Yeah, they did alternative parts where Michael or Calum sang, and Luke just played guitar and so on, but those were Calum’s favorite parts. He couldn’t take it; Calum planned on singing for Melody as a present when the song was furnished, cleaned up, and memorized properly. He knew all of the singing parts, all of the guitar's parts. He could do it by himself.

He started strumming. Without Ashton’s drumming, it was bizarre. He kept strumming. “I don’t even like you, why’d you want to go and make me feel this way?” He scrunched his nose up and leaned close to Melody so she knew he was joking. Melody giggled in reply. “I don’t understand what’s happened, I keep saying things I never say.”

Luke, Michael, and Ashton were surprised. When they were puny highschoolers, playing talent shows and basement concerts, Calum never wanted to perform by himself. Even with just their family surrounding them, he wouldn’t sing by himself. On one occasion, Eve got him to sing a little bit of a song she liked, but he quit after stumbling over the lyrics. Singing by himself isn’t his thing, but he can’t express everything with everyone else.

“I can feel you watching even when you’re nowhere to be seen, I can feel you touching even when you’re far away from me,” Calum had to smile wide when Melody poked the tip of his nose in response. “Tell me where you’re hiding your voodoo doll, ‘cause I can’t control myself. I don’t want to stay, I wanna’ run away, but I’m trapped under your spell.”

Calum slowed down his strumming and pointed to the areas he described. “And it hurts in my head and my heart and my chest, and I’m having trouble catching my breath.” Melody replicated Calum’s movements until he picked up strumming again. “Won’t you please stop loving me to death?”

“No!” Melody squeaked.

Calum felt more love for his daughter. “I don’t even see my friends no more, ‘cause I keep hanging out with you. I don’t know how you kept me up all night, or how I got this tattoo,” Calum held out his right wrist, with a pocket watch sitting in a bed of flowers tattooed from the night he argued with Eve. He told the artist to choose a random time for the clock hands, and he ended up with the exact time Melody was born forever on his body. “I can feel you watching, even when you’re nowhere to be seen. I can feel you touching even when you’re far away from me. Tell me where you’re hiding your voodoo doll, ‘cause I can’t control myself,” Melody stared in awe at Calum. “I don’t wanna stay, I wanna’ run away, but I’m trapped under your spell, and it hurts in my head and my heart and my chest,”

Melody did the same moves as Calum; pointing at her right temple, right above her left breast, and on her sternum. She didn’t dare take her eyes off of Calum, though.

“And I’m having trouble catching my breath, won’t you please stop loving me to death?” Again, Melody told him no. “Every time I see you, suddenly my heart begins to race, every time I leave, I don’t know why my heart begins to break.” Melody poked Calum’s nose again, so he’d smile. “Tell me where you’re hiding your voodoo doll, ‘cause I can’t control myself, I don’t wanna stay, I wanna’ run away, but I’m trapped under your spell. And it hurts in my head and my heart and my chest, and I’m having trouble catching my breath. Won’t you please stop loving me to death?”

“Never,” Melody smiled. Calum finished the last cords and placed the guitar on the floor next to him. Melody crawled into his lap so she could wrap her arms around his neck in a hug. His large hands patted her small back. “T’ank you!”

“Of course,” Calum patted her back again. All of his friends were amazed at what he’d done. What he didn’t know was Eve had walked down to the music room to tell everyone to close the door, and videoed the entire song. Especially capturing a photo of the two hugging at the end. “Melody, what if I told you I was your daddy?”

Luke’s eyes became wider than saucers; Michael’s mouth dropped to the floor; Ashton dropped his drumsticks from their constant twirls. Eve, standing just outside of the room, covered her mouth with her sleeve. She was beginning to cry.

“Daddy?” Melody asked, letting go and cocking her head. “You’re my daddy?”

Calum nodded his head. His eyes were beginning to become glossy. “I’m your daddy. And those weirdos staring at us - they’re still you’re uncles.”

“I call you daddy?”

“You can call me whatever you want, baby girl,”

Melody hugged Calum tight again. “Daddy!”

-

“Calum! Calum! Calum!” Eve screamed, running out of her room with messy, static hair all over the place, and wearing only a shirt. She bangs on his door, letting him relish in privacy and a surprise wake up call. “Calum!” She screamed again. By that point, Michael, Luke, and Ashton were all awake, running out of their rooms to see what all the commotion was about. Ashton scooped Melody off the floor. “Calum Hood!” Eve screamed once more, ready to bang on his door even more, but she can’t because he pulls the door open with wide eyes and a petrified face. “Calum!”

“What do you want?” Calum asks angrily. Eve shoved her phone into his bare chest. He grabs it and stares at the screen. A video with his name, and a few comments, and . . . Calum’s eyes go wide. “Is this legit?”

“What’s going on?” Luke asked, reaching for the phone. Calum hands it to him, staring at the floor with saucer-sized eyes. Ashton reaches for the phone, but Luke pulls it further towards him to study the screen. “Eve posted the video of Calum singing to Melody on Instagram and-”

“-One-point-five million views,” Calum says with a blank voice. Absolutely stunned. “Overnight.”

-

Ashton checked the time on his watch. “We have five minutes,” Calum took in a shaky deep breath. “Now, we just have to find Melody.” She moved her little legs underneath Calum’s hoodie, that he was also wearing. Her head popped up, hitting Calum in the jaw. “There she is!”

“Don’t you think you should leave daddy alone?” Eve asked with a large smile on his face. “He’s going on stage soon, and I don’t think you want to be on stage while it’s really loud, right?”

Melody began to pout. “But I want daddy!”

“I know you want daddy, but he has to go on stage and sing your song,”

Melody turned her head to look at her father. Calum smiled at her, but she just rolled her eyes. “Make it good, Daddy,”

“I always do, don’t I?”

“Sometimes,” Melody sighed.

Successfully, everyone convinced Melody away from Daddy Calum’s hoodie, as long as she got to wear it. Calum took it off, put it over her head of curls and helped her fit her arms into the holes. He tucked long locks behind her ear and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“You’re the reason I’m here, baby girl,” Calum smiled. He got famous over the video of him singing to Melody, and after posting a few videos of his new band, 5 Seconds Of Summer, singing, they were asked to go on tour. Calum had only his daughter to thank for his song inspiration and joy. She sparked his failed career, with just a simple smile. “Are you ready to go on stage?”

“More than ever!” Melody pounded fists above her head. Calum tickled her armpits and sides, causing his daughter to erupt in giggles. “Remember,” She said through laughter. “It’s Melody, not Mel. I’m famous.”

“Whatever you say, Mel,”

He tickled her again.

A song started their journey on stage- the classic What I Like About You played with an extra-long guitar riff at the beginning, with lights and fire when Luke said the first lyric. The group danced on stage with their guitars, and Ashton hit the drums with such passion, Eve was afraid he’d break them. They quickly turned to their newest song, Valentine, that Calum wrote for Eve. Eve and Melody stood in the wings of the stage, waiting for the end of the song.

Then the time came.

“And we also have some special people to thank for this awesome career!” Calum said into the microphone, pointing in the direction of Eve and Melody. “First up, my oldest daughter, Miss Melody Hood! Can we get a round of applause for her?” Melody swaggered on stage with a little smirk. She’s Calum’s twin. Melody waved her hand and made the motion to be held, but Calum shook his head. “I got a guitar on me, dear, I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t supposed to tell a kid things like that, Hood,” Luke replied. He reached for Calum’s bass, to hold for the time Melody wanted to be in his arms. “Especially when she loves her daddy so very much.”

Calum shook his head and took off his bass. Melody immediately jumped into his arms, wrapping hers around his sweaty body. “Okay and now we have some other people to introduce.” Calum gestured towards Eve. “My other muse, my wife Eve Hood, and our unborn daughter Liberty Hood.”

Eve smiled when Calum hugged her too. This was everything she ever wanted. Calum, Melody, Liberty, and the feeling of being needed. 

[gukptune]

baby boy → jungkook

↠ Pairing: jungkook x reader

↠ Genre: sub!jungkook, smut, slice of life

↠ Warnings: explicit language, dirty talk, baby talk, sub jk, switch reader, masturbation, fingering, timid/shy jk, sexual exploration

∴ Plot Summary: Jungkook’s never been one that expresses his emotions very well, but in a moment of awakening, it reveals a lot more about him that he would’ve expected. Finding that for the first time he was attracted to someone in a different way, wanting her to do all sorts of things to him, things he was used to doing to other people.

∷ Words: 5.1k+

∵ a/n: a teeny bit of smut here just to set the tone~

SERIES INDEX: baby boy

        — part one

        — part two

SERIES MASTERLIST

Late into the night, you wouldn’t normally be imagining yourself moping around in an idle kitchen staring into a cluster of bodies squeezing together, trying their best to escape the weather that had forced them all inside. Highly, unexpected and a rather large buzzkill for all the attendees, some soaking wet from the pour and many, including you cringing from the humid, muddy smell people were treading inside the house.

Yet, no one had thought about joining you inside the kitchen, though the living room was spacious, you would’ve assumed someone would try to wash the dirt off their feet in here. You couldn’t even believe the sight of teenagers rubbing their dirty feet against the expensive carpets, god, who even wore shoes in the house, not you.

Well, at this point the party was dead and buried. A few brainless couldn’t get that through their skulls, trying their hardest to lighten the mood and open some music. Of course there were dead drunks recovering on the few couches and floor.

But of course, the man of the house himself pushes through the crowd with his bright and charismatic face, gathering all the attention he needed.

“Everyone, everyone, let’s all settle in okay, we’ll just play a few games and wait for the storm to get past before you all head home,” Jimin suggests, knowing that everyone was going to be pissed that they’d have to walk home in the rain or figure out a way home.

He clearly knew the party was done, but he was kind enough to let the crowd loiter in his home for the how many hours it was going to take for the storm to finish. You looked out behind you, through the window at the sight of massive droplets of rain, trees fighting against the wind, it was loud and sort of scary. You were never a big fan of wind, thunder was fine but something about how wind would literally blow you away and of course all the shit flying all over the place causing a ruckus.

Park-superstar-Jimin, sweet talks the crowd enough to get them on their asses to play typical board games and drink to their heart’s content. But of course, his constant head turning told you he wasn’t exactly done with his satisfaction mission.

You leaned against the countertop, finishing up your tiny can of coke, you snagged out of his fridge. Seeing you murmuring to yourself, his grin stretches out, excusing himself like the gentlemen he is and making his way towards you with a look of mischief.

“Aren’t you just a happy camper?” He exclaims, looking you up and down stopping at the coke can in your hand before his eyebrow arched, he should know by now that you don’t drink yet he always forgets to get you something to drink in this house during parties apart from water.

You tilted your head as your eyebrows curved at him. Silently asking him what he was here to get, he hasn’t exactly ran into you the entire party, you weren’t even one for parties yet you came because he asked and you’re a good friend.

He pouts, nudging his shoulder into yours before saying, “Come on I know I forgot again but! We’re all in the den, come on, you don’t wanna be around all these people.”

That was true, most of these people you didn’t know, a mixture of some students from your school and Jimin’s old school. He was truly a social butterfly. Jimin and you had a rather strange start to your friendship.

Jimin moved during the second semester of your sophomore year, from a public school to a private one. He was quite upset about it, his parents made him move schools because they were moving homes to get closer to their parent’s work place. But a big factor was also how his mother would get shit talked by her book club for having a child in public school when they could clearly afford putting him in a public one.

Jimin loves his friends and always kept them by his side, only during summer of that year did you and him get close through your similar interest in volleyball, having to practice together in the same gym you’d always be in eachother’s space. Finally, you’d both stay back late and practice by yourselves, finding that in the end it was better to practice together and started hanging out casually. You were both similar in traits and character, yet he was truly an extrovert whilst you really wouldn’t put yourself in either category.

“Who’s down there?” You asked, pulling the tab off the coke can before putting the can in his recycle bin. 

Jimin pulled his lips between his teeth, tapping his toes, you could tell he didn’t want to tell you. He was nervous to, “Uhm, a bunch of my best bros? But hey! Some of your girl friends are down there, though Namjoon may have just taken them upstairs?”

The sheer look on Jimin’s face warns you enough. You took it, nodding and pushing past him to get to the ‘den’ as Jimin would call it, knowing that it would be better than being stuck up here with these people.

As soon as you reached the basement room, of which was completely filled with Jimin’s favourite things. Especially, games and his music stuff, since he tries to keep the noise down here mainly to not disturb his parents whenever they’re home, you could kind of remember some of the familiar faces from Jimin’s old school since he always tends to invite them around for his parties.

But then again it had been nearly an entire summer and well you couldn’t exactly place the name to the face.

“Oh, would you look at that, she’s finally made her presence known,” an irritating voice echoed through your ears. Of course, you’d never be able to hide from his goof for too long.

“Taehyung, you’ve finally got a haircut,” you smiled, teasing him as his face twisted into a smile.

“God, I missed you too.” He pulls you into a rather suffocating hug, squeezing you hard. Your eyebrows furrow as you looked over his shoulder at the view, a bunch of his friends sprawled over the couch and bean bag chairs playing a game.

A singular soul caught your eye as his eyes caught yours, hands covering a controller. His attention completely not on that game but you, cocking your eyebrow taking him by surprise he snapping him out of his gaze. His lack of attention made his character die, and the controller vibrate loudly against his hands. Making his friends laugh at him for losing. His eyes leaving yours quickly as he makes up excuses for his lost.

But yet again your attention was taken back towards the brunette in front of your face.

“You know, Jimin does not stop talking about you,” Taehyung teases, knowingly that Jimin’s crush on you was obvious yet it wasn’t going to happen. 

You sighed, pulling away from him, “And I’ve told him many times, I’m not into pretty boys.”

“Does that include me?” Taehyung laughed.

You shrugged, “Maybe.”

He chuckles lightly, before looking behind you and breaking into an overdramatic fit.

“That’s so funny! Oh my god, I’m glad you missed me,” he says loudly, you looked around confused, before seeing Jimin strolling down the stairs with drinks.

His mouth agape with shock, “You said you missed him? You didn’t even miss me!”

As Jimin pretty much throws a tantrum at Taehyung you slip past, making way towards a vacant spot on the couch. Plopping yourself on it you watched the large screen, seeing a rather intense fight going on.

“Suck it, Kook! You’ve lost your fire dude!” A dark haired boy, who looked older than most of us. You’ve seen him a couple times but never caught his name. At this point you looked over to the boy that he spoke to, Kook? Must’ve been a nickname.

“Oh shut up! I’m beating you now!”

They sure love Mortal Combat, though it wasn’t a game you were interested in. He seemed tense now that you were a a metre away from him, his eye wavering towards you every now and then. Jimin seemed to have calmed down, making his way to sit next to you. He waved you to move from the right of the couch, you complied hopping towards the centre of the couch extremely close to that boy.

“Are you guys done? I want to play Overcooked,” Jimin mumbled, taking a sip of his drink.

The boys groaned, nodding as one of them handed Jimin the controller and got off his seat to change the disk.

“Jungkook, move in,” Jimin said, leaning over you to tap on the small space between you and the boy, Jungkook. Jungkook furrowed his eyebrow, confused, allowing Jimin to continue, “Hoseok will sit there, we’ll play teams.”

Jungkook seemed to have let out a deep sigh, he didn’t argue which you assumed meant he was younger than Jimin. He seemed uncomfortable being thigh to thigh with you.

Hoseok quickly popped back onto the couch grabbing two extra controllers and handing one to Jungkook, who stared at the pair in his hands, “Give it to ____.” Hoseok nudged Jungkook, who jumped nodding and handing it to you.

“Here,” He muttered, keeping his voice down.

You took it from him, nonchalantly trying your best to ignore him. His hands were hot when it graced against your skin. He was wearing a dark purple sweater that nearly covered his entire hands.

As the game starts up Jimin speaks up, “Right, Hobi and JK against me and _____, alright?”

Clearly, he was going to team with you. Jungkook lets out a cough which made you turn to look at him, his fluffy brown hair falling over his forehead. You could barely actually look at his face from how dark the room was, the only light coming from some lamps and the tv screen. With the four of you on the main couch and a few others around, Jimin jumps in excitement as the game begins.

“When did I even agree to play?” You questioned, finally realising you’re going to actually have to play.

“Since you took the controller,” Hoseok quipped, readying up.

You scoffed, “I hate games like this.”

You turned to the side to crack your back, your leg brushing up against both males by your side but one took it strangely. Jungkook’s breath hitches when your knee slides up his thigh. You were confused to say the least, leaning towards him trying to see his expression, of which he looks away pretending to talk to Hoseok. God, did Jimin have strange friends.

As we picked our characters and get into the game, you got serious. You’ve literally just said you hated games like this but the reason was mainly because you’d fight with your teammates, hard. Overcooked was not a family-friendly game when you’ve got loud potty-mouths playing, you’ve in for an a ride.

“Quickly, Jungkook! I need a bun! No, a bun not cheese!”

“_____, three bananas, quickly!”

“Jimin, shut up!”

“Uh, Hobi, I can’t find the oven!”

You all butt heads, enemies and friends, screaming at the top of their lungs as a few friends made their way home, it was probably late into the night. A few closer friends of Jimin left, and a few of yours.

“Yes!” Jimin yelled, “And of course, victory goes to the most beautiful duo!” 

He leans over your lap to mock his friends, making baby noises. You push him off your lap as he goes over to Hoseok and teases him, leaving you to stare towards that direction, seeing Jungkook pulling on his sweater awkwardly. At this point you would’ve thought you’d be comfortable with each  other now but, he seemed to have not thought the same. 

“What’s with you?” Your voice seemed to have taken him by surprise, he jumps turning towards you but not meeting your eyes, crossing his arms he said, “Nothing.”

At least he answered, you didn’t really understand why he was so shy towards you, or scared. He had nothing to be scared of, he was much bigger and taller than you. You always found yourself to be quite an outspoken person who sticks up for herself but not a scary one, otherwise how could softy Park Jimin be friends with you never-mind have an actual crush on you. Jungkook, was a muscular tough looking boy with a broody personality. You weren’t going to argue that he wasn’t hot, because he was ever attractive in all ways, face, body, personality- very much so your type.

“Right, your awkwardness towards me totally is nothing, thank you for that,” you jabbed, rolling your eyes as you got up.

He immediately dropped his arms and looked up towards you, his shoulders dropping as well. You side-eyed him, still wanting to see his reaction. Dropping the controller on your seat you stretched, “I’m tired, I’ll head home.”

Jimin’s ear perked before he widened his eyes, “No, it’s late just stay here.”

You looked around at the space, remembering how you guys used to have sleepovers but that was with your classmates but his own friends.

“Uh―I don’t know, Jimin,” You mumbled. Jungkook crossing his legs looking the other way.

“Come on! We’re all staying, I know you don’t know my friends but this is a great opportunity, please?” Jimin pouts, giving you a cute look as he makes paws with his fists and start nudging his head against you. You sighed, thinking about it. It would’ve taken you a while to get a home and they seemed nice.

“Okay,” you agreed, watching as Jimin’s face brightened with joy. He jumps up and down with happiness.

“Yay! Let’s get the mattresses out and settle in,” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows, making a few of his friends cheer.

A reasonable amount of time had passed and the couches had been pushed to the sides of the room, a few people sleeping on them. 

Your choice of layout was indeed interesting, the tv screen was ahead of your ‘bed’. On your left against the wall was Jin, on a couch, already dead asleep. At the end of his bed was Namjoon and one of your girl friend cuddling up, the pair came down only a few minutes ago.

Below them on your left was Jungkook, having an entire mattress for himself, he was on his phone scrolling through instagram. You laid centre of the room, Jimin on the same mattress as you- since he was the closest friend you had apart from the girls who well, wanted the chance to warm up to the boys. On your right was Yoongi and a girl you didn’t know, sleeping soundly, whilst Namjoon and your friend were whispering cutely to each other.

Taehyung and Hoseok were at the back of the room, a few inches from your head playing a game, headphones in to keep it down for those already asleep. Jimin was still upstairs, probably either kicking people out of the house or changing. He gave you a shirt to wear, since you were already wearing a skirt you merely kept the undershorts on with the shirt.

Now with only the beaming light from the television, you looked over to your left at Jungkook. Who kept a large space on his right, seemingly keeping a large distance from you. You sighed loudly, looking towards him again, he hasn’t paid any attention to you. It seemed to have all been on his phone. He turns over on his left, the light of his phone dimmed down now.

Jimin slips back into the room quietly, pulling up your blanket and getting in, you turned over to him raising your eyebrow slightly, silently asking him what’s up.

“Everyone’s gone, the place is a teeny bit messed up, it’s also still raining,” he whispers. Stretching over his pillow before puffing it and laying his head on it.

You nod, noticing him stare mindlessly into your eyes.

“Well, goodnight,” he smiled, turning over and seemingly sleeping. You blinked, comprehending what had just happened. Smiling to yourself as you pulled the covers over your face, knowing that Park Jimin truly was a good guy.

Yet, your mind raced back to the boy behind you. Turning over you saw him in the same position. Taehyung and Hoseok had turned off the game at the point and gotten to sleep, Jungkook on the other hand still had his phone on. You grew curious, quietly pulling the sheets over you hoping Jimin had sort of fallen asleep now. You moved onto Jungkook’s mattress that was connected to your own, peering over to see him watching a rather explicit video.

The colour of the screen was enough to tell you what he was watching, he didn’t even bother to full screen it. Which made you wonder if he was doing something under the blanket right now. You got as close to him as you could without him noticing, his ears were reddened and his breathing shallow, leaning in you whispered, “Aren’t you shameless.”

Your breath against the shell of his ear made him jump, a hand coming to cover his own mouth as he takes deep breaths before replying, “What―I thought―”

“Have you been watching porn since we laid out the beds?” You teased, slipping into his blanket from behind him and placing your chin on his shoulder. He stiffens, his eyes darting left to right nervously.

“No―no,” Jungkook said, before he closes his phone and turns onto his back, pushing you back slightly from his weight.

Laying on your side with your hand holding your head upright you looked into his eyes, for the first time. He blinks finally looking directly at you too, “Nothing’s wrong with watching it but gosh, doing it when all your friends were around. What if your pop a boner, were you going to masturbate right here?”

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed, his lips quivering answering your question. With that, your lips curved into a smirk. Your eyes narrowing with mischief, “Do you have a boner right now?”

He swallows hard, not responding, merely blinking back at you. You wanted to test the theory you had before, feeling an odd sense of dominance over him.

“I asked you a question, Kookie, answer it.” Your voice grovelled in a whisper, trying your best to not get noticed by anyone.

He nods quickly, “Yea, I have a boner.” He looks away, trying his hardest to not catch your gaze. He was melting under you.

“Jungkook―” You lead, your voice lowering.

His features softened, “Yea?”

It wasn’t like you never took notice of him, Jungkook, you never knew his name but you knew he’d always try to avoid you at every event. There were only two explanations you could think of right now, either he hates you or he likes you. You took this opportunity to ask him a bold question.

“Do you like me?”

You asked a bold question, one that would tell you what you can or can’t do in this moment. He stares back at you, a shy smile growing on his lips, “Uhm, yea, I do―”

“Oh,” You grinned, pushing up against him, “Since when?”

“Since a few years ago,” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

A few years ago was when Jimin moved to your school, that few years ago was the first time you ‘met’ his friends at his birthday party. Jungkook liked you from the first time he set eyes on you, it felt strangely pure.

“Cute,” you said, watching his smile drop and his hand come up and cover his blushing face.

“Stop, you’re making it harder,” Jungkook whines.

You cocked your head, “Making what harder.” You laughed.

“My―my dick, uh,” He mushes his hands into his face in shame. Which was ironic because he was watching porn only a few inches away from you a few seconds ago.

“So you were all awkward around me because, you like me?” You grinned, teasing him again.

He peaked an eye through his fingers and nods, “You were also dressed really cutely.”

“Am I not dressed cutely now?” you joked, wiggling in Jimin’s old shirt.

His lips curved softly, as his hand reached out to grab the fabric of your shirt, “Isn’t this Jimin’s? You look really hot right now.”

Well, he was bold. You didn’t really feel hot but his compliment surely made your cheeks hot, hopefully since your hair covered any light from shining on your face he wouldn’t be able to see that.

“Shut up,” you said, pushing his hand back playfully.

Taking a look around you knew it had been a while and could hear many bodies snoring through their sleep. Maybe this was an opportunity for you to also do something bold.

“Hey―do you mind if I―” you pointed at this spot. Asking him if you could sleep here, he immediately nods, “Of course.”

Cozying up into the blanket, with your body glued to his you knew this was going to be real hard for him, mainly due to something else that was also hard. You wanted to play, wanted to see what he was willing to let you do.

Pretending to start falling asleep you turned over on your side throwing a leg over him. He coughs, trying to hide something. You peaked through your eyelids to see him looking down at you, probably wondering if you were actually sleeping.

You groaned from the comfiness of the pillow that was his chest, trying to get under his skin. Which worked as he breathes heavily and keeps trying to adjust his sweatpants.

Then, you brushed your leg against his crotch, feeling the extremely hard and girthy trouble that was trying to rip through the fabric.

“______, please,” Jungkook breathes out a moan.

You take this opportunity to act clueless, “Please? Please what?”

Jungkook groans in pain, “Please don’t tease me, I―god, I’m going to―”

“I don’t get it?” You batted your lashes, kneading your knee into him.

He struggles to keep himself quiet, pretty much choking on his moans. He shakes his head, as his eyebrows stitch together.

“You’re acting dumb, ______, I can’t do this―” He whines, his face twisting as if he was in pain.

You scoffed, “But, Jungkook―aren’t you a good boy?”

Now he literally chokes, blinking tears out of his eyes as his dick tenses. Cursing out and he calms himself down. So, it is true, he likes this stuff.

“You want to be a good boy but, you’re literally going to cream your pants from me just opening my mouth? That makes you a bad boy―and bad boys don’t get what they want.”

You pull your leg back, watching as he stammers and reaches for your hand, “Please, I will be a good boy, it’s just you’re so pretty and you’ve just got really plump lips and a really raspy voice―it’s just like―fuck―it looks like you just woke up from some hard fucking.”

As much as he acts like a sub, he was extremely dirty in his speech and well it turned you on. God, you were fucking wet, the way he’s talking about you and looking at you was already killing you.

To comprehend exactly what he just told you, tells you that he’s obviously had sex before and knew his ways around things. He seemed like a switch looking to try the other side, and well he was very into you. Yet, if he wanted to play this game you didn’t want him to get his prize so quickly.

“Hmm, I like the way you speak but baby boy, you need to know who’s in charge, right?” You demanded, your voice dripping with sex.

“Yes, you’re in charge,” He repeats and obliges. 

Now it was time to have some fun, you seductively placed your lips on his ear, breathing over it as your eyes closed pleasurably.

“Hmm, touch yourself, baby,” you moaned, suddenly baby had become his pet name and you knew he liked it from his immediate reaction.

Letting out a strangled groan, he pushes his hands straight into his pants and began playing with himself. You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at his speed, “Slow down, don’t want you to come too fast, right?”

“Right,” he repeats, forcing himself to rub himself slowly.

You knew he wasn’t used to being told what to do but he seemed to like it more than you thought. He went straight into his underwear, thinking of finishing right away but hell, if he wanted to be a submissive when he needs to understand what you’re in charge of what he can or can’t do.

“Listen, I’m letting you off this time, baby, but I tell you what to do and when to do it, I didn’t say to get inside your pants I merely said to touch yourself,” You explained with an authoritative tone which made Jungkook’s ears perk and himself nod quickly, “If you’re confused, then ask, don’t think for yourself, not right now.”

He looks at you directly in the eye the entire time, listening like a well trained puppy. His glimmering eyes, and parted lips telling you that he was feeling good, so good.

“Since it’s the first time, we’ll make it quick,” You said.

Laying on your back, he wonders what you’re doing from the look on his face. You don’t explain yourself, seeing his rather large hand pulling on his wet, red hot cock.

Drenching your core, and hell, you knew you wouldn’t beable to sleep without getting off. Jungkook’s hands moving at a good pace you wondered how wet his dick was, you quirked your eyebrow, rubbing your thighs together to get some sort of friction.

“Baby, could you use your other hand?” you pout, your tone still had a dominance over it.

You knew you’d need to work on it, you just wouldn’t bare being so blunt and mean to him. He just looked so cute.

Jungkook’s eyebrows showed that he was confused yet he did what you told him, struggling with his non dominant hand. You knew it would be painful, not being able to jack off as hard but that was the point.

His precum covered hand, rested palm up against your thigh. You stared at the wetness, imagining where else it could go.

You shakily took his wrist, your palm could barely encase the entire thing. He doesn’t seem to know what you’re doing, but you drag it further up towards your lips. 

Licking them before darting your tongue out to get a taste of the wetness on his fingers, at this point he realises what you’re doing and groans, eyebrows glued together as well as his eyes. Trying to only feel what’s going on.

“Oh―fuck, your mouth, uh,” hes whines, you could feel his legs shake from your side.

You chuckled, “Could you help me out?”

His eyes immediately opening, “With―with what?”

“This―” You take his hand into your mouth, wetting it further before sliding it down your bare stomach. Jimin’s shirt had rose up under your bra at this point, Jungkook’s breath hitching as he feels your soft skin against his wet fingers.

You slide them underneath your underwear, making him shake as his fingers ran over your wet slit, causing you squirm at the coldness yet moaned at the feeling of his wet hand touching you.

“Jungkook, come on, you should be touching yourself,” you ordered, taking control of his hand that was deep inside your pants, not allowing him to touch you for himself but have you guide him.

He must’ve loved the feeling of your wet lips, knowing that he did this, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his lips parted letting out quiet sounds of pleasure. He speeds up his pace, running his fist up and down his length, sloppy wet quenches low enough for only the ears of you two.

“______, you’re gonna make me cum, fuck,” he mumbles, nudging his head into the side of your head. His hot breath heating up your neck.

You bite your lip, your middle finger over his as you glide it up and down your wetness. If that was enough to get him like this you wondered what else would make him this whiney.

“Baby, keep it down.” At this point he was getting a little more vocal, he must’ve been close.

You were done teasing yourself now, taking him by surprise you thrust his fingers into you. Your hips bucking at intrusion, god even his fingers were so fucking thick.

He couldn’t keep his mouth shut now, “Fuck, shit, you’re so wet, uh and tight!”

You both chased for your highs, him having much more of a struggle with that left hand of his whilst you were nearly there.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” you said, “Cum with me.” 

Ordering him to do so, he squeezes his eyes shut as he spills out into his pants. You squeezing his fingers tight as you came. Both biting your lips to keep quiet, do you were both going to get murdered if they knew what you did in here whilst they slept. Hopefully, it wouldn’t smell like sex by the morning.

Of course you could imagine the other pairs could also be getting up to some naughty stuff but they were exclusive. Taehyung and Jimin may have Jungkook’s head knowing what just happened.

“You did so good,” you purred, patting down his ruffled hair before giving him a light kiss on the cheek, his bright red cheek.

His eyes were half shut, one eye more opened that the other as his mouth gaped for air. God, he looked so content, and fucked out from a mere masturbation session. You couldn’t imagine what he’d look like if you actually fucked him.

Pulling his hands out of you, looking back to see Jimin still asleep you sighed with relief. Pushing against the mattress to move yourself back next to Jimin. With that look on Jungkook’s face you knew he seemed confused, but mostly upset.

You wondered why, he got what he wanted right. This was also to make sure Jimin wouldn’t think something happened.

Adjusting yourself you turned away from Jungkook, getting a whiff of Jimin’s hair, which smelled like baby powder and alcohol. You nuzzled into his back, feeling him stir and turn towards you, wrapping his arms around you as you fell into a deep slumber.

c. 2019

[lostwriterworld]

Wonho | Kids

POV: Y/n

My hands gripped the sleek leather covered wheel. Houses and tree’s zoomed by as I drove, my foot gently pressing down on the gas. My right hand was taken by his, our arms resting on the center console. His thumb gently brushed against my knuckles, repeating the same movements as we got closer to our destination. The radio was playing some chill R&B music seeing as that was my favorite. It was quiet though, but it was relaxing for us. The smell of mahogany filled the car as the small car scent tree dangled on the rearview mirror.

It was these kinds of drives like these that I loved, even if we were only going a short distance. The calmness of it, with him being here. Nothing really needed to be said. I just enjoyed having him here. But I could tell he was nervous, no matter how many times I tried to reassure him. 

I pulled up to a two-story house. The flowers in the flower bed were in full bloom, brightening up the exterior. Childhood memories of me picking some of the flowers during summer flooded through my mind. A small smile played on my lips. I pulled the stick shift into park and turned off my car. I looked over at my boyfriend. 

“You ready?” I asked him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. I noticed his throat bob a bit. 

“You’re sure they’ll like me?” I let out a soft laugh, letting go of his hand. I lifted my hand to brush some of the hair out of his face before cupping his cheek. He leaned into my touch as I grazed his cheek with my thumb. His skin was so soft. 

“Wonho, they’ll love you. All they ever do when I come is ask about you. They’ve wanted to meet you for a while now. Just be yourself. There are kid’s here too, my baby cousins, so they might hang on you,” he let out a soft laugh. It was like music to my ears to hear his laugh. 

“Noted,” I smiled. We just stared at each other. His deep brown eye’s seemed to shine in the sunlight. They were captivating, alluring even. My eyes drifted down to his pink lips before they flicked back to his eyes. I noticed where his eyes were trained. I noticed him start to lean in, me following his actions.

Our lips just barely brushed over each other. He tilted his head before pressing his lips fully against mine. My eyes fluttered shut before I found myself returning the kiss. My heartbeat picked up its pace, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. We slowly pulled away, foreheads resting against each other.  

My eyes slowly opened to see his smile. A smile played on my lips as he stared into my eyes. I carefully pulled away from him, unbuckling my seatbelt. He followed my actions before we both got out of the car. Warm air wrapped around me as soon as I got out. Smoothing out my white t-shirt, I joined Wonho at the front of my Black Mercedez. His hand wrapped around mine as he let me lead him up the concrete pathway, to the oak wood porch. We reach the door. 

I gently knocked on the door, signaling our presence as we walked in. I heard loud chatter come from the basement. But I also heard chatter from the kitchen up here, the voice belonging to my mother and father. I started to lead WOnho there, our footsteps quiet as we walked along the wood floor. “Hey mom” I greeted. My parents turned as the sound of my voice, their faces lighting up. 

“Hey, sweetie!” My mom exclaimed, pulling me in for a hug. My hand slipped out of Wonho’s as he greeted my father. My mother and I pulled away. She pulled Wonho in for a hug while my dad did the same with me. My hand found Wonho’s again. He looked around the kitchen. 

It was a cute little kitchen, to me at least. White granite countertops with dark oak cabinets. Little succulents on the window sill above the steel sink. Cookie jars and mixed nut jars were in a corner of the counter, but the toaster. The microwave was placed by the fridge, which was resting against the wall.  There were counters overhead too, most likely filled with plates and glasses. In the middle of the kitchen was a small island, chairs placed around it. A fruit basket, filled with bananas and apples, were placed in the middle. 

“How come you guys aren’t downstairs?” I asked, running my free hand through my hair. 

“Your aunt wanted us to get the salad and check on the ham in the oven,” My mouth started to water. Ham sounded amazing right now. 

“Well, we can take the lasagna down,” I offered. Mom smiled. 

“Sure! Oh Wonho,” my mom started as she pulled out a glass container full of lasagna. She carefully handed it to me. I let go of Wonho’s hand and held the container. It was radiating warmth, meaning it was still fresh. My mouth continued to water. 

“Yes, ma’am?” Wonho asked. He motioned to me that he’d hold the container. I gave him a grateful smile before handing it to him. 

“I wanted to warn you that my brother, her uncle,” she pointed to me, “Is very protective of her. So you might be bombarded with questions,” Wonho nervously laughed. 

“Thank you,” 

“Mom, he’s nervous enough,” I whined. 

“Don’t be nervous,” my dad cut him, patting Wonho’s shoulder. “They’re all friendly,” Wonho’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Now you two better head down there.,” I nodded and started walking off, Wonho following behind. 

“You sure you don’t want to carry it, babe?” I asked as we headed downstairs. 

“I got it,” he reassured. The smell of fresh-baked cookies filled my nose as we reached the middle of the carpeted stairs. I groaned a bit, mouth-watering. “It smells so good,” Wonho softly said. I nodded, reaching the last step. It was much louder in the room now. 

“Y/n?” I turned my attention to my Aunt. She rushed over to me, pulling me in for a bone-crushing hug. I grunted a bit before hugging her. “Did you bring that boyfriend of y-” her sentence was cut off when she saw Wonho behind me. Her eyes bulged a bit, her mouth agape. I chuckled a bit and wrapped my arm around Wonho’s waist. 

“Meet Wonho, my boyfriend,” my face warmed up. I noticed my family started to get out of their seats and make their way to me. 

This was going to take a while. 

~

~

~

Things had settled down after I introduced Wonho. We had gone into the small living room, my uncle, brother and Wonho sitting on the couch. I sat on the white carpet floor, playing with my baby cousin, Quinn. I had her laying on her back as I played peek-a-boo with her. She giggled every time I showed my face and tried to reach her small hands to grasp my hand. Every time I saw her, it made me want kids, but I was too young for that yet. I wasn’t even married, and that was okay. 

Eventually, I let Quinn take hold of me. Her small, soft fingers attempting to wrap around my finger. She started to bring it to her mouth. I retracted my hand carefully, laughing a bit. “No no,” I told her as I lifted her up so she could stand. I held her gently She giggled as I pretended to make her dance, her chubby legs trying to take steps here and there. 

Eventually, Quinn’s mother, Melanie, had to take Quinn so she could change his diaper. I pouted a bit as I watched her go. My other cousins hadn’t arrived yet, so I was overcome with boredom. I sighed and sat up, walking over to Wonho. I carefully sat down on his lap, feeling the denim material on my legs, seeing as I was wearing shorts. I felt him wrap his strong arms around my waist and rest his chin on my shoulder. I noticed that the boys went silent once I came over.

“What were you guys talking about?” I asked. My brother smirked a bit. 

“Nothing,” he said unconvincingly. I cocked an eyebrow.

“Obviously something. You guys went quiet when I came over,” 

“We were just talking about how you’d make a good mother,” my uncle spoke. My face started to grow warm. 

“Then I told Wonho how you always wanted to have kids,” my brother added. My eyes widened a bit, causing the men to burst into fits of loud laughter. I swallowed hard and looked over at Wonho, who was smiling. His face was a bright red. It was quite adorable. 

“Sorry about them,” I mumbled. Wonho softly laughed and shook his head. 

“Don’t be, I agree with them,” A slow smile spread on my lips. “You’d make a great mother,” he placed a soft kiss on my neck. 

~

~

~

By the end of the night, more kids had come. Wonho had joined me on the floor, playing with Lily, who was only five. She obviously adored him. For the past hour, she was attached to him. Meanwhile, I had her brother, Luke. Luke had tired himself by running around me, so he fell asleep in my lap. Meanwhile, Lily was bombarding Wonho with questions, and showing him her toys. A part of me thought he’d be annoyed by now, but he was all smiles. 

I watched them, a smile spreading on my own face. Wonho had always been good with kids. He loved them. It amazed me how he never got annoyed. But it was always cute to see him interact with kids. 

A few more minutes had passed and I noticed Lily getting tired. She wasn’t moving as quickly, and her yawns were becoming more frequent. Wonho seemed to take note of it took. “Do you want to take a nap?” he asked her. She went to protest but gave in. He smiled and let her lay in his lap. I shifted Luke in my arms, carefully, and moved over to Wonho. Luke moved back to my lap. I yawned and rested my head on Wonho’s shoulder. “Do you need a nap too?” he teased. I softly giggled and nodded. “Go ahead,” I felt his head rest on top of mine. He gently intertwined our fingers.

“Lily seems to like you,” I quietly said. 

“Jealous?’ he teased. I rolled my eyes, smiling. 

“No. I’m just saying, she really liked you. I’m not very surprised,” 

“Why?” He started to graze his thumb over my knuckles again. I stared down at our hands. 

“You’re great with kids. They always love you,” I slowly lifted my head. Wonho looked over at me. “You’d make a great Dad,” his infamous smile etched itself on his face. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. It lingered even as he carefully pulled away.

“And you,” he started. “Would make a great mother,” 

[redgillan]

Missed Chances - part 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 3,845

Warnings: Language, Nudity, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Drug Use, Cliffhanger

A/N: This is so long, I’m sorry. I tried to make the descriptions fun, but idk. I added a few pics bc it was too beautiful. It took me a while to write this chapter, but I had so much research to do for this fic... yikes. I really hope you’ll like this chapter, I worked so hard on it.

Missed Chances - Masterpage

Steve woke up with a migraine, the mattress soft beneath him. His mother must have carried him up and tucked him in while he was asleep because he sure as hell wasn’t lying on the basement floor.

Soft silky sheets brushed against his naked skin and his brows immediately furrowed. He always wore pyjamas.

He tried to sit up, but soon realised that there was a weight on his left shoulder. He looked down at it and saw a mop of tousled light brown hair resting on his chest.

A woman!

His first reaction was to roll to the other side of the bed where he ended up face-to-face with another woman. A strangled cry escaped his throat, making the two women whine in their sleep.

“Mornin, daddy,” the one on his left slurred, her hand trailing up his thigh.

“Did you just call me daddy?” he asked. His voice was so low, he must have caught a cold during his birthday party.

“Isn’t that what you want, daddy?” she whispered into his ear, her hand cupping his groin.

He shirked and scrambled off the bed, taking the silky sheet with him. The two naked women sat up, concerned looks on their faces.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re naked!” Steve wrapped the sheet around his hips and gestured in their direction with his free hand.

Why did he feel like he was standing on a stepladder? His head was spinning, the room was spinning, too. He had to get out of here.

He looked around the darkened room and yelled, “MOM!”

A look of mild panic crossed the brunette’s face. She picked up her discarded dress and slipped it on. The second woman apparently had the same idea and together they quickly collected their things before they rushed out of the room.

“Wait!” Steve yelled, fumbling with the sheet as he tried to follow them.

He tripped over the trailing sheet and fell face-first onto the soft rug, accompanied by a muffled ‘oof A soft, vibrating sound made him raise his head and he watched in speechless awe as the natural light began to pour into the bedroom.

The room was large, yet simple. There was a King size bed facing floor-to-ceiling windows, offering one of the most impressive views of New York City Steve had ever seen.

Decorative pillows had been thrown to the foot of the bed. One of them even landed on a teardrop shaped settee near the door.

“Good morning, Mr Rogers,” said a sweet feminine voice with an Irish accent. Her voice seemed to come from the ceiling.

Startled, Steve sat on the floor and tugged the sheet around him while looking suspiciously around the room.

“The cook is in the elevator, he should be here any second,” the voice continued. “I’ll start the shower now. Would you like me to turn on some music?”

He had so many questions, but he couldn’t decide which one to ask first so he went with the most obvious one. “Where are you right now?”

The voice sighed. “As I’ve explained before, I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y, an artificial intelligence created by Stark Inc. I’m connected to all the devices around your apartments, including your personal and work phones and computers.”

He sat on the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to make sense of what happened. He cleared his throat, hoping to get rid of that ridiculously low voice.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I think you have the wrong Rogers. I don’t know how I ended up in this apartment, or in New York, but I’ll give you my mom’s numb-”

“I’ll ask the cook to add pain killers with your breakfast,” she cut him off, sounding amused. “Perhaps you should lay off the Norwegian liquor for awhile.”

Steve was scared to leave the room, not knowing what he’d find behind the door. He didn’t want to run into the owner, Mr Rogers.

As promised, F.R.I.D.A.Y turned on the shower and, remembering the two naked ladies in his bed, he figured he could use one.

He walked to the windows and marvelled at the view for a moment. He lived in Port Chester and rarely visited the city. On second thought, it wasn’t so bad. At least now he had a funny story to tell Bucky.

He followed the sound of running water and opened the door that led to the bathroom.

The bathroom was equally luxurious with its inlaid stone rain shower that could easily fit eight people. There was also a long vanity with double sinks and a mirror facing the shower.

Mouth agape, Steve let the sheet drop and padded to the shower.

As he passed the mirror, he caught a glimpse of a naked man and threw himself to the floor. He slowly peeked over the vanity, an excuse ready on his lips, but he realized it was just a mirror.

Frowning, he lifted his head a little and let out a small gasp as he stared at himself in the mirror.

“Oh, my god,” he swore, straightened up to his full height, “It’s me, I’m... hot!”

He didn’t look sickly anymore; he was strong and muscular and at least a foot taller. His hair was a darker shade of blond and slightly longer, too. He had a full beard and stared at it for a full minute. He’d always wondered if he’d ever grow facial hair.

“What’s happening?” he said, staring at his reflection.

He ran a hand through his hair, combing it back from his forehead. His hair seemed to naturally fall back into place, like he’d done this gesture so many times that his hair knew exactly where to go.

Yesterday was his thirteenth birthday party and today he woke up looking like a thirty-year-old man. How was it possible?

Oh, the birthday party....

I want to be an adult. I want to be thirty, I want to find love.

“No,” Steve drawled out, disbelief lacing his voice. “That’s so cool!”

It seemed completely crazy, but there was no other explanation.

He took a step back and checked himself out in the mirror. His body was, for lack of a better word, impressive. Wide shoulders, broad chest, tiny waist, massive arms and thighs...

“Tattoos?” he whined, inspecting his body closely. He had one on his left shoulder, a quote under his clavicle and another one on the right side of his chest. “Mom’s gonna kill me!”

The shower was already running, the steam fogging up the mirror. He stepped into the shower, his eyes focused on his blurry reflection.

Showering was a strange experience. He ran his hands over the hard planes of his broad chest and tight abs, discovering this new body more intimately.

His breathing hitched and he felt himself growing hard. Chancing a glance down, he saw the evidence of his arousal sticking up straight from his body. Then, suddenly, the water turned ice cold and he hurriedly leapt out of the shower stall.

“What the hell?”

“You always end your morning shower with a blast of cold water,” the A.I replied. “It increases alertness and closes up the pores.”

“Yeah? Let’s not do that again.”

“Very well, sir.”

“You can call me Steve,” he said, wrapping himself in a fluffy towel. “So, um, I live here?”

“Yes, Steve, 45 East 22nd Street, apartment 60FL. Is there anything else you need?”

“Clothes?” he replied with a shy grimace.

Following F.R.I.D.A.Y’s direction, he took a deep breath before he opened the bedroom door. He was scared to run into someone, even though the A.I. had informed him that it was just him and the cook.

He entered the walk-in closet tentatively and gasped when F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned on the lights. It was twice the size of his bedroom, with a round sofa in the middle of the room and a small staircase that led to another closet with mirrored sliding doors.

Suits, shirts, trousers, jeans, shoes; there were enough items for him to open his own store. He took his time and tried on several outfits before he found the perfect one.

“Steve,” the A.I. interrupted, “Your morning coffee has just finished brewing. Breakfast is served. I should also remind you that Mr Rumlow will be expecting you in the hall at 8 a.m.”

“Brock?” Steve squealed, suddenly excited to see a familiar face. “I’m still friends with Brock! That’s awesome!”

“Indeed, it is,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied in a monotonous voice. “Are you sober enough to find the dining room?”

He bashfully told her he had no idea where the dining room was and she provided directions again. She sounded like a real person: annoyed, sassy, amused... It was strange to think she was just a voice in the wall.

What Steve had seen so far was nothing compared to the living-slash-dining room. It looked like a page out of a magazine.

There was a large and modern dining room table for formal meals that led to a windowed eat-in kitchen with marble countertops and custom-designed cabinetry.

The living room was spacious and bright, decorated with modern artworks and furnishings. Thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, he had a 360-degree view of New York City, looking over the borough of Brooklyn.

“I could get used to that,” Steve whispered to himself.

He sat at the breakfast nook and glared at the tray of food in front of him. His breakfast consisted of a green concoction in a tall glass, a slice of grapefruit and a bowl of sliced bananas in plain yogurt. He poked the grapefruit with his spoon and screwed his face up in disgust.

“Um, ma’am,” he spoke, looking up at the ceiling. “Do you have cereal?”

“You cut out sugar from your diet,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

“That sucks!”

He ate a few spoonfuls of yogurt before he pushed the tray away. It was almost time to meet Brock downstairs so he took the elevator down to the lobby, excited to see his friend.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” a voice startled him as he stepped into the lobby.

A man, most likely in his thirties, stared down at him, incredulous. His black hair was short and styled with gel and he wore a perfectly tailored beige suit with no tie.

Steve looked down at his own clothes and frowned. He was wearing a pair of jeans with a matching jacket and a light blue shirt.

He really liked this look and it was really popular, especially after the American Music Award where Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears showed up wearing matching denim outfits.

“Denim-on-denim?” Brock said with a smirk. “Trying to bring sexy back?”

Steve cocked his head to one side. Was that a reference to something? He had no idea. “Brock? That’s really you? Whoa, you’re old!”

Rolling his eyes, Brock turned on his heel. “Fuck off, Rogers.”

Brock was on his phone when the doorman opened the door for him. Steve trailed after Brock like a lost puppy and greeted the man at the door with a polite smile. The man looked at him incredulously before his face broke into a similar friendly smile.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked as they walked to the car parked in front of the building.

“Work, dude.”

“We work together?” Steve said excitedly. “That’s awesome! Okay, what do we do?”

Brock threw him a side glance. “I knew I should have stayed last night. The party must have been wild, you look so stoned. What’d take? Cocaine? Heroin? Meth?”

“What?! No, I don’t do drugs,” Steve objected.

“Yeah, right,” Brock scoffed, “me neither.”

It only took fifteen minutes to go from his apartment to his workplace in the garment district of Manhattan. Steve looked out the tinted window as the chauffeur pulled to the curb before a large mirrored-glass building.

His bodyguard opened the door and Steve slowly climbed out of the car, his eyes widening when he saw a plaque above the double doors that read ‘STEVE ROGERS HEADQUARTERS NYC’.

“Nice outfit, sir,” his bodyguard said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks,” Steve replied, still flabbergasted.

Brock rounded the vehicle and pulled Steve aside. When Steve continued to look around in wonder, Brock grabbed his shoulders and shook him once.

“Man, you gotta pull yourself together,” he whisper-shouted. “You’re a fucking fashion designer. You can’t enter this building looking like Justin fucking Timberlake on Prozac.”

Brock glanced around to make sure no one was listening and spotted paparazzi on the opposite side of the road. He moved in front of Steve to block their view.

“Here’s what you gonna do,” he continued. “You’re going to enter this building, drink a large fucking coffee and lock yourself in your office. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything, but you owe me big fucking time.”

Steve gave him a hard look. “You say the F-word like a lot.”

Brock sighed, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face. “Man, I don’t know what you took, but next time I want in.” He pulled him into a hug and patted his back. “Stay hydrated, ‘k?”

They entered the building together. There were a lot of people in the atrium; tall, skinny models who turned their heads when they recognized Steve and employees who watched him with a mixture of fright and admiration.

They seemed to move out of his way like he was Moses parting the Red Sea. Steve was too speechless and confused to focus on them. They took the private elevator and stood in silence while the elevator made its long ascent.

“I’m a fashion designer,” Steve spoke quietly, mostly to himself.

“Yup,” Brock mumbled as he pulled out his phone and started typing a text message. “Time’s person of the year in 2012 and 2017, youngest billionaire in the world and the wet of every boys and girls on this fucking planet.”

“I must be dreaming,” Steve said slowly as he processed what Brock had just said. “Ow!” he cried when he pinched the tender skin on his neck.

“Not dreaming,” he said, “now let’s go.”

Brock walked over to a woman with long golden hair. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear. She gave him a thumbs-up and turned to Steve with a bright smile.

“Oh, my God,” Steve cringed, looking for a place to hide. His employees were busy looking busy and didn’t pay attention to them.

Brock and the woman walked back to him. “Wanda’s gonna take care of you.”

Steve took Brock aside and explained that he woke up next to this Wanda girl just a few hours ago. Brock laughed and called Steve a ‘fucking stereotype’ before he headed toward his own office. Steve turned back to Wanda with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said. “So, um, who are you again?”

“Wanda Maximoff, your assistant for the past two years,” she replied with a frown. “You really scared us this morning. Mr Rumlow said you weren’t feeling well.”

Steve replied with a casual shrug while she led him to his office. She informed him that Brock had already transferred the files he needed for the meetings and that he was free for the rest of the day.

“Clint will drive you home when you’re ready, sir.”

“Ok, cool,” he replied.

Involuntarily, she let out a loud laugh as the words passed his lips. He was always so professional and stern, definitely not the kind of boss who treated their employees like family members.

But when he was not at work, he was completely different.

Wanda had run into him in a very select bar the night before. He had danced with her, offered her fruity cocktails and she had really liked the attention. When he invited her and her friend over to his apartment, they eagerly accepted the invitation.

“Oh, by the way,” she turned back to him and handed him his personal phone, “I took your phone by mistake this morning.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the rectangular device in his hand.

She left the room, closing the double doors behind her. Steve plopped down on one of the sofas in his office and took a good look around the room. One thing was for sure, his 30 year-old self was a materialistic person.

His office was a mess, which was strange since his apartment was absolutely spotless.

There were mannequins everywhere, sketches and pieces of fabric clipped onto wooden boards for future reference. He also had a large collection of fashion magazines, sharpies, pencils, erasers, rulers and sketch pads.

He sat in the comfortable leather chair at his desk and flipped through various files. He soon realized that work was his whole life and that he probably spent more time in his office than at home.

Steve loved to draw; it was his safe place. His mother didn’t make enough money to buy him GI Joe dolls or remote controlled cars, but she always came home with pens and scraps of paper stuffed in her bag.

He was looking at some of his drawings when an alarm on his phone went off. He had never owned a phone before, but Bucky’s mother had one –a Nokia 3310- and it didn’t look like this one at all.  He managed to turn the alarm off and read the reminder.

Chez Francis, 8PM

The computer on his desk was a lot thinner than what he used to use at the public library, but he recognized the Apple logo. He was relieved to see that Google was still a thing and after a quick search, he found the restaurant located in Greenwich Village.

Since he was technically allowed to leave, he asked his chauffeur-slash-bodyguard to drive him home. Clint was a quiet guy. He seemed nice, though a bit on the scary side.

Steve learned that he owned ten apartments in the tower; the penthouse, the first five floors, which were for his employees, and four others for his guests.

Like Uncle Scrooge, Steve was swimming in money.

But something was missing.

No one had mentioned his mom, you or Bucky and it was starting to stress him out. Plus, now, he had a dinner date with a mysterious guest. He could have bailed on them, but his mother had raised him better than that.

He arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes to spare and decided to stay outside while he waited for his guest. It seemed like a lovely place; French food, but not too pretentious. He hazarded a glance inside, but the lights were dimmed.

French food and dimmed lights? This wasn’t a casual evening, it was a date. A wave of nausea hit him and for a second he thought he might throw up. If he had a girlfriend, then he was the world’s shittiest boyfriend.

He woke up that morning with two naked women, neither of them seemed to be his partner. As a kid, he’d promised himself he’d treat his partners with respect, especially after his father left his mother for another woman.

His mother was his hero, but as far as he was concerned, his father could rot in hell.

Outside the sun had set and there was a distinct chill in the air. Steve tightened his coat around himself and looked around. There was a man, not far away, busy typing away on his phone.

He was tall, probably in his late twenties, and dressed smart casual. His shoulder length hair was tied up in a bun and he was wearing a long coat above a navy blue shirt.

“Bucky?!” Steve exclaimed, recognizing his best friend.

The man looked up from his phone with a frown and met Steve’s eyes. Steve’s face split into a wide smile as he walked over to him.

“I’m so glad to see you,” he said, pulling him into a hug. Bucky’s body was stiff, but Steve was too happy to notice that. “Look at us, all grown up and stuff!”

Bucky didn’t say a word, he pulled back quickly and smiled tightly at Steve who was still beaming.

“The craziest thing happened to me today,” Steve continued, undeterred. “You’re not going to believe this. When I woke up th-”

“I’m so sorry I’m late. It’s rush hour, I had to fight my way into the train,” you said breathlessly. You had seen someone with Bucky, but you only realized who it was when you turned to him. “Steve?”

“Hi,” Steve replied, looking down at his shoes.

The last time he’d seen you, you had run away after Brock asked you if you wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with Steve. You had broken his heart that day. It might have been 17 years ago, but, to Steve, it was only yesterday.

“Are we waiting for someone else?” he asked.

Your eyes widened. “We?”

You and Bucky shared a look, the two of you had become masters in the art of silent communication. Bucky curled his arm around your waist and tucked you against his side. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

What?

No...

“Steve,” Bucky said after clearing his throat. “I don’t know who you’re meeting here, but it’s not us. We,” he paused briefly, “we haven’t seen you since high school.”

That comment made Steve’s head snap up. “High school? We’re not friends anymore?”

You were taken aback by his tone. It was pleading, almost childlike and it made your chest tighten. You had to remind yourself that this man, as nice as he was trying to be, wasn’t the sweet kid you used to know.

He was a celebrity, a billionaire and women threw themselves at his feet. He lived a scandalous life. He wasn’t your Steve.

A pretty blonde with long legs and a perfect white smile came up to them and kissed Steve on the cheek. She turned to you and Bucky and greeted you with a cheerful ‘hello’.

“Looks like you found your date,” Bucky told him watching you shake the blonde’s hand.

Steve caught the gleam of the solitaire on your ring finger. Caught off guard, he stared at you with a wounded look on his face. Bucky tightened his arm around your waist.

“You’re married.”

“Engaged,” you corrected, smiling at his date when she grabbed your hand and took a closer look at your engagement ring. She commented on how beautiful the ring was and you agreed, turning your head to smile at Bucky.

He shook his head, bashful, and kissed your temple. Steve was frozen, unable to look away and unable to close his eyes. His whole world came crashing down around him.

“We should go,” Bucky whispered into your ear as he linked his fingers with yours. He straightened up to look at Steve and his date. “It was nice seeing you. Enjoy your evening.”

“Likewise,” the woman said with a smile. “And congratulations.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Yes, congratulations.”

He watched you and Bucky enter the restaurant. A myriad of emotions washed over his face, none of them pleasant.

Be careful what you wish for...

Part 3

[frostedpetticoat]

Colonial Home gets a Farmhouse Makeover

Guest Writer: Jenn Sollitto

Jenn is the talented photographer behind Designs Hobby Photography. Visit her website here for more information.

This outdated Colonial home received a beautiful "Farmhouse-style" makeover. Family owned since 1927 this Colonial home had seen some updates over the decades. The kitchen had been last updated in 1968 and the exterior was stained brown at some point, so it was definitely time for a change.

SAMSUNG CSC

The owners first inspiration was to restore the house to its original color... white.

Before:

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After:

The second inspiration was for the home to have a welcoming farmhouse look. For the outside that meant a metal roofed farmers porch, new black trim custom windows, new black roof & gutters, custom made barn-style shutters, new front doors, and black modern light fixtures.  

The third inspiration for this homes renovation was for the entrance hall, half bath, and kitchen. It came from years of the owner collecting images of white modern farmhouse kitchens & baths.  When meeting with their contractor, they went over a plan to incorporate what they loved about those images as well as other ideas, must haves, organization, and overall functionality of the kitchen & bath. 

The updated entrance hallway welcomes you with freshly painted walls, new carpeting, and new modern light fixtures.

The owners designed the kitchen with the must haves of: white walls -cabinets - subway tile - marble style quartz countertops, shiplap ceiling with recessed lighting, custom wood shelving, farmers sink, modern black with gold light fixtures throughout home, ceramic tile barn wood flooring, custom paddock "x" cabinet siding, opening up the flow to the shiplap back hall, full panel glass doors for the basement and back door that leads to the yard & garage. 

Before:

After:

Organization that this kitchen needed and now has is the open shelving/cabinet area for dishware, silverware and food storage. The open wood shelving to store baking needs & snacks, the built-in microwave with kids snack drawer below it, and the owners favorite space is the coffee station with open shelving & chalk paint wall.  

The half bath continues with the flow of white shiplap, black ceramic tile flooring, custom wood vanity, vessel sink with farmhouse style waterfall faucet, modern mirror, and barn style light fixture. 

Before:

After:

From the welcoming farmers porch and new brick walkway, new exterior paint, new roofs (black roof & metal porch roof), custom black trim windows, custom made shutters, exterior & interior fixtures - to the painted interior halls,  renovated half bath, and renovated white modern farmhouse kitchen, and with some future updated landscaping to come, this transformation makes us say "wow"!  

Photographer: designs HOBBY photography//

Submitted via Two Bright Lights

Contractor - Busy Bee Construction, Painter-Nicks Painting Service, Cabinets-Kraftmaid, Farmers Sink - SignatureHardware.com, Kitchen Faucet - Build.com, Glass Panel Doors - Build.com, Lighting-Amazon.com-Houzz.com-Home Depot, Bathroom sink - SignatureHardware.com, Kitchen Floor - Lowes

from The Frosted Petticoat http://bit.ly/2N8QTvh via IFTTT

[jodybouchard9]

All-White Kitchens on the Way Out? 7 Design Ideas to Make Yours Look Timeless

hikesterson/iStock

A debate has been raging in the design world: Is the trendy, all-white kitchen a stark and soulless space that’s a nightmare to keep clean, or is it a stylish, sleek look with timeless appeal?

Countless design forecasts (including our own!) have sounded the death knell for the ubiquitous all-white kitchen for some time now. Designers and homeowners—once seduced by the monochromatic space’s airy brightness and sleek lines—now generally crave some color, contrast, and warmth.

“Predominantly white kitchens will always have some people who love them; however, the all-white kitchen is passé,” says Sara Chiarilli, an interior designer with Artful Conceptions in Tampa, FL. “All white everywhere is like a sterile surgical room.”

If you’re sheepishly glancing at your bleached-ivory kitchen as you read this, don’t despair: Some white is cool and classic! Just don’t overdo it. Here are some tips on using it most effectively.

1. Let it flow

Use surrounding finishes to create a cohesive look

contrastaddict/iStock

One of the best ways to make your white kitchen work is to choose complementary finishes that marry with the surrounding spaces, states Jamie Gold, a kitchen designer and author of “New Bathroom Idea Book.”

“This way, you’ll be creating a more cohesive look,” she says.

For example, if you have a nearby fireplace with marble tile in the great room, choose that look for your kitchen countertops—but update it with a low-maintenance porcelain slab, she explains.

2. Choose darker floors

Photo by Destination Living

The best way to tone down a bright white kitchen is to create contrast. If you have the funds, focus on your flooring and furniture.

“Dark wood looks beautiful against white cabinetry, especially if you continue it to other areas of your home for a more pulled-together feel,” Gold says.

And if wood isn’t to your taste (or it’s outside your budget), the same look can come from laminate, luxury vinyl, or tile.

3. Blend shades of white and gray

Photo by Jennifer Worts Design

There’s no denying that white can brighten any kitchen, particularly small ones, says Liz Toombs, president of PDR Interiors. But gradations of white are important in this space, too, so it doesn’t end up looking like a surgical ward.

“Pair your light-colored cabinets and counters with shades of white such as cream and gray—and then add a little black for dimension,” she suggests.

4. Add texture

Photo by Corynne Pless

An animal-print rug. Whitewashed brick. A rustic wood table. All of these add visual interest to an otherwise mostly white kitchen.

“You really need to incorporate texture into this room,” Chiarilli explains.

And you don’t have to spend a fortune to do so, either.

“I love to have some pop and wow with glass and ceramic accessories to add depth and show character,” Chiarilli says. “Don’t forget things like floral arrangements—these add color and texture without being drastic.”

Then, add a jute or woven area rug for some comfort and style.

5. Make appliances pop

Photo by Penguin Basements

“After 15 years of stainless-steel appliances, many homeowners are turning to colorful appliances—and white allows these hues to become accents or focal points,” says Darla DeMorrow, a home organizing expert with HeartWork Organizing. These colors would look somewhat cluttered in darker kitchens.

Manufacturers are leaning into the demand for these coveted pops of color: Try an adorably vintage refrigerator from Smeg or a nostalgic stovetop from Big Chill. Or, opt for smaller items like colorful coffee makers and brightly toned KitchenAid standing mixers.

6. Brighten your island

Photo by Thomas Davies Kitchens Along with flooring and appliances, kitchen islands can add some zing to a potentially dull white kitchen.

“Without this blue island to draw the eye into the space, there would be nothing interesting to look at,” DeMorrow notes.

“Consider gray, brown, or dark blue for your island, with white cabinets on the perimeter,” suggests Amy Bly of Great Impressions Home Staying/Interiors.

7. Pump up the backsplash and counters

Photo by Sweetwater Homes Another element that’ll hold your interest in a white kitchen is a lightly toned countertop.

“Gray-veined quartz serves to break up the white monotony, and it gives the homeowner a little grace on housekeeping because it won’t show every mark or fingerprint,” says DeMorrow.

Then, focus on swapping out that stark white backsplash.

“Subway tiles, particularly the glass ones in gray, blue shades and pale green, all work well in a white-on-white kitchen design,” Bly adds.

The post All-White Kitchens on the Way Out? 7 Design Ideas to Make Yours Look Timeless appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

[bathroomremodelingmadisonwi]

Laundry Room Ideas Add Design Flare To Traditional Workspace

Efficient laundry ideas include storage, work space and good lighting.

Your washer and drier may still be tucked into a corner of the basement but that doesn’t mean there aren’t laundry room ideas to brighten your day. Doing laundry is still a chore but with modern design your Madison WI laundry room can be bright and accessible. This functional space becomes part of daily routine with attention to detail and planning.

What are your laundry room options? Consider:

Second floor laundry facilities – some homes coupled with compact appliances are candidates for this option.

Laundry room additions – expanding space, often linked to a mud room or kitchen remodel.

A fresh look at existing space – moving appliances into closets or appropriating room in a garage.

For many, the basement is a perfect place and a natural location to expand and add amenities. For others, putting laundry facilities closer to the bedrooms or kitchen is ideal. Lifestyle and family demands weigh as heavily as architecture.

If you’re tired of carrying cloths up and down stairs – the clothes chute is an antique concept seldom found today – or you are looking toward the future, moving to the ground floor or above is the plan.

Laundry Room Ideas That Fit Your Home

Upper floors are usually jammed with small rooms – bedrooms and bathrooms. Unless one of these rooms (probably a bedroom) is not occupied, finding a place for laundry equipment isn’t likely. If one of the bedrooms is used for crafts, a play room or other non sleeping tasks it is a candidate. The benefits of a second floor laundry room include:

Close to where dirty clothes collect and clean clothes reside.

Fewer hampers or other collection points.

Less climbing stairs with baskets – both clean and soiled clothes.

Potentially easy to access existing plumbing via connection to nearby bathroom

The disadvantages include:

Noise and vibration – washers and dryers make noise. Extra insulation and motion-arresting pads help but they don’t filter out all the sound.

Leaks – there’s no guarantee a hose connection or other fixture won’t leak. Upstairs leaks damage downstairs ceiling, etc.

Venting problems – washers and dryers create heat that has to be vented from enclosed areas as well as to the outside as a dryer runs.

Convenient timing – if you want to do a load of clothes while you watch TV with the family you may still be running up and down stairs.

No matter which side of the pros vs. cons discussion you wind up on, most houses don’t accommodate an upstairs laundry room. And, most people don’t want one. They prefer a laundry room on the ground floor. Why?

A first floor laundry is where most of the other housekeeping chores take place and it’s a better place to store detergents, bleach, etc.

Access to plumbing from the kitchen or power room bathroom is easier – especially in a house with a basement.

Access to the room is convenient during the majority of the day.

Design Laundry Room Around Lifestyle

Grey laundry room with modern stainless steel washing machine and dryer brown cabinets and tile floor. Northwest USA

When it comes to washing clothes, you don’t really need a huge space. Some of the most efficient laundry room ideas are compact. Look at the layout from an efficiency standpoint and consider these four elements:

Appliances – you have choices: stack them or put them side-by-side; units that open from the top of in the front. Each needs special utility hookups – water and electricity or natural gas. Machines should be close together to facilitate transfers from one to the other.

Supplies – you have detergents, bleach, stain treatments and other care items to keep handy. Do you need closed cabinets, open shelves or a combination of both? Some front-opening appliances have optional storage drawers underneath – but these are not ideal for liquids or anything more than a few inches tall.

Baskets and hampers – clothing has to be sorted before washing and moved around during and after the process. Do you want storage for unused baskets? Or permanent hamper space as a drop-off point for dirty clothes?

Counter space – do you want a built-in countertop above cabinets or shelves? Will a stand-alone table provide attractive and versatile workspace? You need some space for folding, sorting, treating and handling clothes and supplies. Front-loading machines without pedestal drawers work well with a countertop installed above them.

A fifth element to consider is whether or not you want a basic laundry room sink. Do you need a spot to rinse things? Would a handy sink be more convenient for other demands – keeping the kitchen sink free from washing hands and filling container?

Extras Expand Laundry Room Ideas

After you’ve chosen the basic building blocks for your new laundry room, there are dozens of upgrades and add-ons to make the space even more personal. As you complete your plan, consider:

A washer box – a recessed area in the wall behind the washer holding all the water valves and connections. It’s easy to access and all the hoses are secure so they don’t get crunched between the wall and the washer.

Automatic shutoff valves – a sensor that shuts things down when it detects a leak or a burst hose.

A washer drain pan – especially ideal for a second floor installation it catches drips, spills and leaks so no moisture hits the floor. It protects flooring in the event the washer “takes a walk” via vibrations if not loaded evenly.

Vent fans – consider putting a bathroom-type vent fan in the ceiling to prevent moisture from building up. (especially if you’re incorporating a really popular options – the pet washing station)

Pet care center – owners of large dogs are opting for a bet care station. It’s a mini-shower or tub area where dirt dogs of any size get hosed down and dried off before they enter the house.

Utility sink – the old-style plastic laundry tubs that stain and wobble have given way to designer sinks with storage underneath. Common 10- or 12-inch deep stainless steel sinks are excellent choices for rinsing clothes, washing hands and filling buckets.

Drying options – There are times when using a clothes drying isn’t the best choice. You can build in options like hanging rods that double as storage for clothes yet delivered to their owners. Retractable clothes lines are another popular choice as are folding drying racks. Racks can fasten to walls, the end of cabinets or the back of a door.

 Bring Home Décor Into Your Laundry Room

Modern laundry rooms remain work stations, but they no longer suffer from lack of attention from design professionals. The design themes from the whole house are easily carried into a new laundry area.

It is true, doing laundry is never rarely exciting. It’s a chore. That’s why designers combine décor items, colors and textures to make a laundry rooms as pleasant as possible. However, design and décor cannot trump performance. In your laundry room chemicals, water and dirt tend to splash, spray and spill. Surfaces need to be ready  to accept the punishment. Hardworking floors, countertops and walls don’t have to be dull.

Among the hottest trends in the world of flooring are wood-look tiles. These “planks” are available in dozens of textures and sizes mimicking wood grains of all kinds. They stand up to wet conditions easily. Other floor options include more exotic things like cork or bamboo. Modern high-end vinyl and laminates also come in many designs – to look like everything from high-end tile to hard wood.

When it comes to adding, expanding or remaking a laundry room, efficiency is the goal. Whether it’s part of a renovation or an update consult Sims Exteriors & Remodeling at 608-825-4500. Or email us to discuss the many laundry room ideas available for your Madison WI home.

No Risk Remodeling

https://simsremodeling.net/laundry-room-ideas-add-design-flare-to-traditional-workspace/

[originaldetectivesheep]

Tales of the Missing 9 - I Never Thought It Would Happen To Me

Of all the marks in the world, there's no one easier to deceive than he who is sure he isn't deceiving himself.

I Never Thought It Would Happen To Me

Say, do you remember the old Penthouse Forum?  Oh, after you were about fifteen, you never took it serious that those were actual letters – these stories that people would write up, about sex they never had with the babysitter, with the wife from next door, the lady boss pulling a contractor into her office.  It was all made up – it had to be, because like they always said right at the beginning, you couldn't think that anything like this could ever happen to you, not in real life.  I know – when mine did, I definitely never thought it'd happen to me.

I don't go in for that castles-in-the-air stuff; when Vicki left, after the kids were all through with college and out on their own, I didn't contest it – really, it'd been coming for a while – and I didn't go out and buy myself a Firebird and hair plugs and a sugar-baby girlfriend with implants.  I'm just a regular guy: I know who I am and I like who I am, and I live my own life, not a Viagra commercial's.  I date now and then, since the divorce, and yeah, there are sometime pay "dates" – a guy's got needs – but all of that's on the level.  I'm me. I'm an old guy.  I'm not fooling anyone, least of all myself, that I'm a hot number who's going to be getting all kinds of young honeys wet and horny.  But, I mean, I'm still alive – so you can't fault me for responding when they do.

Being single and retired means I have a lot of time for hobbies, and one of my favorite hobbies is going out and browsing around at antique and second-hand places all over New England: there's a lot of them, and there's always something different, and you see a lot of really beautiful countryside in these little town that no one goes to any more – and, truth told, there's more than a few single older ladies who're shopping for more than another Shaker chair, if you catch my drift.  It's a little bit of adventure that I can do whenever I feel like it for the price of a tank of gas – something new, something interesting, to keep me going.

This particular time was a little shop down by the water in Newburyport; I love these old seaside towns, that've been everything two and three times around in three or four hundred years.  You never know what you're going to find: little twisting streets of old wood-shingled houses that've been around since the days of sailing ships, or a nice wide new promenade along the old waterfront.  And the antique shops are just as varied; you get a lot of people coming through, tourists, you know, who want to take a little bit of old New England home with them, so nothing sits.  There's competition, a lot of competition, but if you're in the right place at the right time, you can find something amazing.

As soon as I saw it, I knew that I had to have it.  If I hadn't seen the original in the Tate years and years ago, I'd've been fooled – but you don't get museum-quality English landscape artists in little Massachusetts antique shops, no matter how hard you hope.  I like these paintings – I love the peaceful stillness of these landscapes before industry took over everything, and you can make a penny or two flipping them to the right people – and I've made a study of them; this was as good a copy of a J. W. Allen as I'd ever found. I lifted the frame up out of the floor rack, holding it up to check all around for any dings or cuts in the canvas – the frame didn't matter, I could always have it reframed – and turned it to carry up to the counter.  This would be it for today; I like to think I'm a sharp bargainer, but I could tell that I wasn't getting out of this deal for less than three figures.

The old lady running the shop (old? bet she thought she had an old man giving her a hard time about this painting) was a sharp bargainer, too, and it was all I could do to get her down to a hundred fifty. As I was counting out the bills from my wallet, I heard a voice over my shoulder – a voice of silver bells and cinnamon spice.

"That's a wonderful painting," she said.  "It can't be a Gainsborough?  The color balance is just wonderful, but those clouds aren't rough enough for the likes of a Constable."

"Neither," I said, turning around with a smile, "unless I've gone and got senile, I think it's a very good copy of an Allen – Joseph William, a piece that's probably in a vault over at the Tate right now. You're also a connoisseur?"

"I try to keep up," she said, eyelashes fluttering as she came forward, next to me, tracing a hand along the knobs and scallops of the frame.  "And yes, you're right, of course – this is an Allen, this light flowing touch blending the clouds into the sunset and the way the trees suggest the heavens."  She looked up, straight into my eyes, smiling.  "If I didn't know better, I might think it could be the original itself – but one doesn't find miracles like that, even in Newburyport."

Looking at her, I wasn't so sure about that, but by god I wasn't going to say anything.  Her classic long, straight black hair set off her flawless porcelain skin perfectly, and her dark brown almond eyes seemed to hold all the secrets of the ages.  And those curves –  nothing vulgar, but she certainly hadn't grown up on rice and fish heads, no sir.  She might be thirty, or she might be fifty – too young for me by a piece but in any case mature, elegant, refined, everything about her face and figure exactly in keeping with her cultured British accent.  She was a miracle – an absolute unvarnished miracle.

"No," I said, "I shouldn't hope to have that kind of luck.  But it's always good to meet another of the – cognoscenti; someone who can understand and appreciate a passion for this kind of art.  I'm John; very pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms –"

"Therese," she said, taking the tips of my fingers on the fold of her hand, like a Regency belle accepting a dance, "likewise.  It is so good to meet a fellow admirer of the arts; you collect?"

"A little," I said, "but mostly it's the thrill of the chase. I don't quite have a great room with a picture gallery wrapped around the side, so frequently, when I can find a buyer for a piece, I'll sell it on – I hate the idea of pictures like these just rotting in someone's basement or their bank vault.  Some, though," – I nodded at the after-Allen still lying on the counter – "are just so perfect that I'd have quite a hard time letting go."

"Quite," Therese said, settling a hand on her hip as if she meant to thrust her bust that much further forward.  "Then, even a picture as wonderful as this – if the right offer came in, you might consider selling?"

"I might," I said, blinking, half-conscious of the frown on the shopkeeper's face as it started to sound like a secondary deal for a lot more money was about to develop right on her own countertop, "but I'd have to think long and hard about any offer, Therese; this is an amazing piece, and I've only just come into it today."

"Then all the more reason," she said, with a click of her heel on the floor, "since you've barely known it and can't be so invested for sentimental reasons.  I shall be curt: John, will you sell?  I know I'm being frightfully forward, but I have a deep interest in this painting, and I'm sure that I shall be able to meet any terms you choose to set."  Therese cocked her head to the side, her bold imperious look gone suddenly sultry, and she lacked only the riding crop and jodhpurs to be the dominatrix of any man's dreams.  I couldn't help taking a sudden breath – you couldn't, she just struck you like that – but I wouldn't be mastered quite so easily.

"I can understand that, I think," I started, "since the original of this made a great impression on me when I was younger, and I can claim that kind of sentimental attachment, too.  But I'm still, I think, disinclined to sell, especially as a private deal in someone else's shop – which you've got to agree isn't really the done thing."  I nicked my head at the proprietress, and Therese nodded slowly; I could feel the shopkeeper's mood softening – with luck, I'd be allowed back in this place sometime.  "I don't mind, though, continuing this conversation elsewhere," I said, taking a chance on her eyes and the shadow of a look somewhere back in them.  "Might I interest you in a cup of coffee, while we talk further about our interests in this piece?  I'm sure that we can come to a mutually agreeable understanding."

Therese immediately smiled, bright and wide, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't caught a little off guard, with how easily she accepted me. "Of course!  Certainly.  And madam, please ring these through at list – my sincerest apologies for any disruption we've caused." She handed the shopkeeper a small sheaf of watercolors, but even paying the sticker price for them wasn't enough that I didn't feel eyes like knives in my back as Therese slipped her arm through mine going out the door.

We walked like that, arm in arm, around the corner and along to the parking lot where I'd left my car, settling the Allen copy into the back seat, and then on across the lot over to the Cosi.  The streets down there are cobbled, but I didn't feel it – like I was floating on air, a foot up over the curbs and paving stones.  She made a show of flashing, fluttering eyes and tracing fingers as the barista put our orders together, and I of course gallantly paid it all.  Two bowl-full lattes lovingly worked together, hearts and vines floating in the foaming milk, were nothing next to what I had with Therese by my side – what she seemed to be signalling I might have with her or from her in the right conditions.

Therese sat down across the small, square table with just the hint of a wiggle, and slowly lifted her cup, eyes closed, savoring the aroma before taking her first sip.  "Wonderful," she said, "marvelous.  Thank you, John – thank you for everything."

"Oh, it's not that much," I said, feeling a little self-conscious if she was going to push this hard, somewhere this public.  "I ought to be apologizing to you, even – that I'm taking your time now, and that I got in on the Allen ahead of you."

"Oh, no, John, never," Therese said, setting down her cup and sliding her hand around the outside of mine.  "To find that Allen copy, and then meet a fellow-soul, and to share more time with you, and, perhaps a chance of the Allen again; today has been just marvelous. I'm so glad that I've met you.  Won't you tell me, please, of how you came to make a connection with that painting?"

"I'm afraid there's not much to tell," I said, wondering how conscious I ought to be of her slim soft hand, her fingers still tracing over my wrist, "just an old story about an American boy abroad who's not nearly as worldly-wise as he thinks he is.  I was in London in, well, the Swinging Sixties, mod suit and all, and of course I wouldn't duck into the stuffy old Tate, even to get out of the rain – double, that I wouldn't manage to get lost inside.  But, of course, I did – and because I didn't want to look like I didn't know what I was doing, I wandered and wandered up and down the halls.

"Going along, of course, I couldn't help but look, and in the presence of art, really great art, you can't just pass on by."  I gestured off-handedly with my other hand, and moved my thumb on the one she was holding, brushing along the outside of hers with an electric thrill.  "I started to not just walk, but see: and I followed what appealed to me, and I found myself at last in a corner, quiet, unbothered, only myself and a wall of Gainsboroughs, this Allen and a few others.

"It was strange – the paintings drew me in, in and on to a time and an England that was lost, and I'd never see.  I can remember so clearly thinking that: these tranquil landscapes were now all swallowed up in noise and machinery, and though the little peasants and countrymen at the borders might have lived hard lives, short lives, they were their own lives, free, never a slave to anybody's time-clock.  And in my mod suit I yearned for it – a way to get away from this mile-a-minute world and find peace, real peace, in some bit of country that hadn't been totally spoiled.

"It didn't work out that way, of course," I said with a half-smile, settling my other hand onto my coffee cup.  "I came back to the States and went right into a corporation, raced the other rats up to management and lived my expected suburban life with a wife on pills and the standard issue 2.5 children who only call on my birthday to make sure they're still in the will, but I never forgot it.  No, I never forgot it."  I shook my head.  "And when I was retired and the kids were out of school and there wasn't any reason to play the game any more, and I was single and free again, I remembered.  I like other art, and I buy other art, but what I go around to these places for, in the end, is to find something like this piece – one of those old English landscapes, and remember all over again that feeling of tremendous peace."

Therese wrapped both hands around one of mine, lifting it up over my cup, tears almost standing in her eyes.  "Oh, John, that is marvelous – simply perfect – it must be fate that's brought us here like this.  It's so like my own story – my own reasons that I'm drawn to this piece."  She squeezed tight, smiling with the true love-light, and then slowly drew back, folding her hands before her own coffee.

"You might or might not have noticed, but I'm mixed – Chinese and English; I was born in the old Hong Kong colony.  My father was an Englishman, poor gentry – the sort with a name that goes back to the Conqueror, tailor's bills years overdue, and a little country house somewhere taken over by the National Trust.  He loved Hong Kong, and he loved my mother, but I could see that he loved England, too, and though his family had been one of those Anglo-wherevers in the Army or the Foreign Service since time out of mind, he longed to return to England, the green country England of his childhood, to stay.  He used to tell me stories – doubtless ones that he'd heard as a boy, passed second and third hand from the days when his people could afford to keep their house – of fishing in little shining streams beneath a canopy of willows; of long walks across waving amber fields on long summer days, climbing stiles and resting in the shadow of a woodlot-copse, the sky as clear and blue, the clouds as clean and as daintily-swept as in any Gainsborough.  He had books of these pictures – the landscapes of that old England – and that became England for me, in the banyans and neon and concrete of Hong Kong.

"Of course, when the colony was handed over to China, there was no need for colonial administrators; we moved back – and yes, strangely, it was 'back' – to England, and settled near Birmingham.  Have you been to Birmingham?" I shook my head.  "You've heard, though, that it's much better than it was – that's nearly all one ever hears of Birmingham, how it's much better than it used to be, and it is, but if Birmingham is no longer a city of steel mills and Black Sabbath, it's still definitely not that England.  And I looked, as I grew, for those places my father loved so dearly, and even in the Lakes and the Peaks, still couldn't find them.  They were entirely gone away, and what remained was different, lesser; I thought, when I first came to America for my work, that in this larger country there might still be places like that, country lanes and green fields where the sense of time, of hurry, might be less, but it's not the same.  Even here in New England, in the little towns so close to the old, it's not quite the same: and so I have to look for my England in pictures – the same place, really, in the end from which it came."  Therese leaned forward and sighed.  

"And this Allen, to this feeling, is really just perfect – but for you, it must be perfect as well, and I couldn't be so selfish as to ask it of you again."  She smiled, a deep and gentle smile.  "It's enough to have met you – to talk like this and to get to know you.  If I might venture a liberty, I should ask that you keep the picture – and think of me when you look at it."

I returned the smile, reaching out a hand to fold over hers.  "Therese, that will be the easiest thing in the world.  I wouldn't dream of selling this painting, now that it's led me to someone like you, like this – and I don't think I'll ever be able to look at it without seeing you looking back; your eyes, your smile.  Even if we part from here, and I never see you again, I don't think I'd ever be able to forget you."

Therese fluttered her eyelashes suggestively.  "I do hope there won't be any need for that," she said.  "I do hope that I might be able to see you again – and your collection.  And certainly, there are… things of mine that I'd like to show you in return.  For this beautiful Allen today."

I nodded, throat dry.  "Yes," I managed at last, "I'd like that very much."  I lifted my coffee for a steadying sip, the bitterness jangling harder than I expected against my jumping nerves, still looking deep into her eyes.

We left the cafe not less than an hour later, arm in arm again, an hour spent with our hands wrapped around each other's like schoolchildren that packed more passion in, I'm sure, than I'd had at once since Vicki and I were just married, before the kids were born.  I was flying high, high like a Woodstock's worth of designer endorphins all the way back to the car, where Therese turned me, slipping a napkin with her number into my shirt pocket, and then reaching up to pull me down to her lips.

I could have died in that second and gone to heaven with an empty heart.  Her kiss was wonderful, perfect, ideal, exactly as it should be for a great and deep love discovered in a day and promising, insinuating, so many other, deeper, stronger, more passionate things beyond.  It was a kiss goodbye, but it was a beginning: this was a first kiss, not a last kiss, and the kisses we would exchange, the love that we'd make, in the time to come would make this kiss nothing but a kid's peck on the cheek.  I gave up and lost myself in her as she gave herself to me – barely noticed as she pulled away, still tingling on my lips, her dark eyes still staring straight down into my soul, and left with a smile and a last squeeze of my hands.  I opened the door and got into the car, barely conscious, and remember reaching down for the shifter, thinking about what a pickle I'd be in if I got stopped by a cop, and if there was a charge for DWI, Driving While Infatuated.

When I woke up, though, it was dark out, and I had cottonmouth and a stabbing pain in my temple.  I looked around, around me in the car, and missed the frame of the painting in the back seat.  I immediately stood up and got out, swaying, and opened the back door to see what had happened – if there was any trace of where it'd gone.

The painting was there: cut out of the frame and rolled up neatly on the back seat.  If it was her, then maybe some of her story was real, and she knew how important it'd be for me to have it.  The frame was broken apart and smashed in pieces: by the shadows of the dome light, I saw that one of the wooden rails was broken in the middle, cracked and fractured around a hole, about the size of the end of my thumb, bored into the back side, under where the canvas had been tacked. Whatever had been in that hole – a film canister, an ampule of something, some other ball of secrets that "Therese" was willing to go to such lengths to get her hands on – was gone, and so was she: all I had was the memory, a bright memory blotchy where the binary drug she'd put me out with – half in the coffee and half in her lipstick – was melting it away.  The memory – and the Allen copy – and the story.  And what a story!  You read these things, in Soldier of Fortune or in the James-Bond fanclub press, but you never think that something like this would ever actually happen to me.

further Tales of the Missing ...

[timothysalcido-blog]

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Looking to buy in Holdenthen don't wait on this well-maintained 3 bdrm, 1.5 bath Ranch w/2 car attached garage. Updated fully appliance kitchen w/recent cabinets, large living/dining room combo with wood laminate floors..and w-w carpet insert in living room conversation area, 3 bedrooms (2 are good sized), and 1.5 baths. Plus recent FHA furnace and hot water heater! There is a large enclosed porch overlooking the back yard – perfect for relaxing on summer evenings. Patio area and fenced-in backyard for privacy. All set in cul-de-sac neighborhood with easy access to major routes. Subj ect to Buyer finding suitable housing. Show this today!! Open House Saturday, May 17 from 11:00 – 1:00 Marcia Hastbacka, Coldwell Banker Residential Brokerage, (508) 795-7500 Agent Phone: (508) 769-6063 https://www.coldwellbankerhomes.com/ma/holden/3-mayflower-circle/pid_18470205/?utm_campaign=OLDP-Trulia&utm_source=trulia&utm_medium=oldp&utm_content=listing

33 Stoneleigh Rd, Holden, MA

*Open House: Saturday 6/17 12-2pm!* Turn-Key Holden Cape! This pristine property features an updated eat-in kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, a spacious living room filled with natural light, two first-floor bedrooms with gleaming hardwood floors, and a full bathroom. Upstairs, a private master suite offers a quiet retreat. The versatile finished basement space makes a fantastic media room or private guest room. Situated on a well-maintained, tree-lined lot, you will enjoy this property inside and out. With every item on your wishlist, you won't need to lo ok any further than 33 Stoneleigh Rd. Schedule your showing today! Christopher Brown, Keller Williams – Westborough, (508) 871-7141 Agent Phone: (508) 283-4386 http://www.kw.com/homes-for-sale/01520/MA/Holden/33–Stoneleigh-Rd/3yd-MLSPIN-72181948.html

98 Tea Party Cir #539, Holden, MA

UNDER CONSTRUCTION NOW 5 NEW HOMES! Come and see our plans for the newly redesigned “Royal” style home, features 1st floor master w/full bath, country kitchen,living room, dining room & laundry and 2 car garage. Second floor has 2 bedrooms, den & full bath. Quiet location yet close to major routes for easy access. Fafard Real Estate, Fafard Real Estate, (508) 881-6662 Agent Phone: (508) 503-1793

76 Birchwood Dr, Holden, MA

Birchwood! This is the only home currently available on the market in this desirable neighborhood. Offers commuters amazing highway access, bypassing Holden Center traffic en route to 190/290. You will not be disappointed! The kitchen is one of the many star features of this home complete with custom cherry cabinets/center island with cookandnot; top/soapstone counters/farm sink/hardwoods/peninsula with custom chairs (remain)/stainless appliancesandnot; – all included. There are hardwoods in most rooms and custom moldings/builtandnot;ins/window seats as well. Both the family room and li ving room feature convenient gas fireplaces. Four generous sized bedrooms and two full baths make up the second floor including a beautiful master bath with walk-in tile shower. Roof in excellent condition at 6yrs, the heat and hot water replaced (2006). The outside tree-lined space offers a private sanctuary featuring heated inandnot;ground pool/professional landscape design/brick patio/audio system and lighting too! Coldwell Banker Residential Brokerage, (508) 795-7500 https://www.coldwellbankerhomes.com/ma/holden/76-birchwood-dr/pid_17980625/?utm_campaign=OLDP-Trulia&utm_source=trulia&utm_medium=oldp&utm_content=listing

46 Main St, Holden, MA

Desirable Holden Location, great commuter access!! Close to 290/190, this townhouse is one of 4 units in Valley Hill Estates! Spacious 2 Bedroom, 2.5 bath condo boasts large rooms and low condo fee ($250). Newer high efficiency windows, new exterior Paint., Central Air and Central Vac. Fully applianced kitchen and washer/dryer to stay. This condo has 1534 Sq Ft of living space with additional sq footage in the finished basement ( office and laundry room). Oversized garage, unit sits on a quiet side street off of 122A. Currently tenant occupied, (lease in place until 12/31/17) Beth Donaghy, Janice Mitchell R.E., Inc, (508) 829-6315 Agent Phone: (508) 797-7565

33 Surrey Ln, Holden, MA

Classic center hall New England Cape Cod offers charm and convenience of first floor living! Gracious Living Room with bay window, Dining Room with wood trims Family Room with raised hearth fireplace and sliders to rear deck, applianced Kitchen, first floor laundry and Master Suite offer ample space and convenience for single level living! Need more room? Two spacious bedrooms are found on the second floor with full bath and finished lower level with kitchenette, full size windows and 1/4 bath help to meet your needs – Man Town, Guest Suite, Play Room or Office. Attached 1-car garage ac cessible to Family Room helps to make errands a breeze AND heated 2-car garage under access finished lower level is a bonus! Young boiler, hot water tank, electric panel, recent exterior paint and some replacement windows are in place for your convenience. Hardwood Flooring under carpets! Welcome Home! Christy Gibbs, Gibbs Realty, (508) 886-6100 Agent Phone: (508) 873-8356

43 Wilde Willow Dr, Holden, MA

This lovely New England 3 bedroom, 3 bath, expanded ranch style home, with a traditional flair, is awaiting new owners. Life is simplified with spacious one level living. Sun splashed kitchen enhanced with skylights. Wood cabinets and tile flooring, along with bar counter and center Island enhance the kitchen. Dinette area with built in china cabinet for plenty of storage. Oversized sliders lead to expansive deck. French doors lead to the living room, which offers beautiful bay window, carpeting, tongue and groove paneled wall adorned with brick fireplace and lovely crafted mantel. Gold en hardwood flooring and paddle fans in all bedrooms. Spacious master suite elicits bath with shower and tile flooring. Third bedroom with unique wood crafted built in bookcases. Recessed lighting in many rooms. Attractive finished rooms in basement with full bath allows for multitude of possibilities Tony Mallozzi, Anthony Joseph Real Estate LLC, (508) 589-6262 Agent Phone: (774) 241-9543

4 Fairchild Dr, Holden, MA

An updated open concept, two bedroom ranch in the desirable town of Holden. Walk in to an inviting and spacious living room with fireplace and hardwood floors. Updated kitchen, with granite island, and so much natural light. Cozy sunroom, great for entertaining. Two oversized bedrooms with plenty of storage. Hardwoods throughout. Full sized bath feeling like you are at the spa! Separate shower, a soaking tub, double vanity, and a heated towel bar. Two car garage is spacious and has walk up attic for storage as well as access to full basement. Garage has hot and cold water for washing yo ur cars! Beautifully landscaped and fenced in back yard is great for relaxation and entertaining! Shed for extra storage in the backyard as well. Brick walkways, and colorful gardening! Located in a quiet neighborhood with close access to major highways 190 & 290. Close to shopping, and on the Holden/Worcester Line. Move right in! Showings deferred until the Open House, June 11 from 11am-2pm! Winslow Homes, LAER Realty Partners, (508) 762-4004 Agent Phone: (978) 413-2558

141 Putnam Rd, Holden, MA

LOCATION! This beautiful 3 bedroom home is located right off Salisbury St near the Holden/Worcester line! Upstairs you will find a fireplaced living room which is open to your dining/kitchen area. Off the kitchen is a slider leading to a sunroom overlooking your private backyard. Three good size bedrooms with plenty of closet space, a 1/2 master bath and full bath complete the 1st floor. Enjoy your large finished lower level with brand new flooring as a play room/bonus room/office – used now as a playroom, TV room and bar area! Lots of extra storage in the attic! Newer roof, replacement windows, heating system, (2003) town water/sewer, vinyl siding. Easy highway access. Attached one car garage. Situated on well over a 1/2 acre lot, there is plenty of room for outdoor entertaining and activities! Electric fence installed – easy transfer! Includes ALL appliances – which are all recent, washer and dryer only 3 years old! Dawson Elementary School district! Jengillis, ERA Key Realty Services, (508) 853-0964 http://www.era.com/listingdetail/ERAVX65R4/

252 Holden St, Holden, MA

THIS HOUSE IS TO BE SOLD AS A TEAR-DOWN ONLY; PLEASE VIEW ACCORDINGLY, SELLERS WILL ONLY CONSIDER CONTIGENCIES AS A TEAR DOWN AND REBUILD. buyer agent to verify all information. Robert K. Daw Jr., Robert K. Daw Real Estate, (508) 829-3214 Agent Phone: (508) 829-3214

651 R Manning St, Holden, MA

Aprox 20 acres in desirable Holden. Abuts conservation land. Most likely suitable for a single family home not for a development of more than 1 home due to inability to satisfy access, health and safety requirements. Access most likely will be via an easement via 650 Manning Street. Details will need to be worked out with seller and or new owners. This is not a multiple housing dwelling opportunity. Do not enter property for liability and safety of the horses and people. Dogs on site. Buyer/buyers agent to do due diligence. All information deemed reliable from seller. Lisa Delia, Hottel Real Estate, (978) 369-4900 Agent Phone: (508) 340-0326

15 Chestnut Hill Rd, Holden, MA

Quiet residential area, new schools, close to all amenities. Finished basement, family room w/ fireplace, one car garage. Windows, vinyl siding & roof are 8 years new. Betterments paid. Co-Brokers Welcome. Price reduced to 254,900$ Property Owner,

18 Birch Hill Rd, Holden, MA

Just Like New! Great Curb Appeal – Don't Miss this Gorgeous Young Custom Contemporary Colonial in Holden situated at the end of a Cul-da-Sac!. Loaded with Amenities that are 6 yrs old or younger including: 9′ Ceilings, Beautiful Hardwood Flooring throughout, Lovely Neutral Tile in the Baths and Laundry Room. The Kitchen is Perfect for Entertaining opening to the Formal Gas Fireplaced Living Room and is a Cook's dream w/LOTS of upgraded Cherry Stained Birch Cabinetry, Granite Counters, Island w/built in Wine Rack and 2 Door Convection/Microwave, 5 Door Black Stainless Fridge, Kohler Cust om Sink, Dining Area w/Slider to Deck. Formal Dining Rm w/Cathedral Ceilings and Huge Picture Window let's in tons of Natural Light! First Floor Master Suite that is Amazing! The Second Floor Loft space w/Family Rm area, Full Bath and 2 Bedrooms – one can be a Second Master w/Walk in Closet and its own Sitting Area! Two Car Garage, Irrigation System, Central AC and Gas Heat and a Lush Green Private Yard! Karen Russo, Coldwell Banker Residential Brokerage, (508) 795-7500 https://www.coldwellbankerhomes.com/ma/holden/18-birch-hill-road/pid_18399855/?utm_campaign=OLDP-Trulia&utm_source=trulia&utm_medium=oldp&utm_content=listing

20 Fisher Rd, Holden, MA

Absolutely charming 3-4 bedroom, 2 bath cape! Main floor features fully applianced kitchen with ss appliances and breakfast nook, living room with hardwood floors and fireplace, formal dining room with built-ins & hardwood floors, bedroom/den and full bath with tiled shower. Second floor includes 3 more bedrooms and another full bath. Lower level has finished family room with 2nd fireplace and brand new carpet! Other updates include new interior paint throughout, updated deck and connection to public sewer! Located on just under an acre with lovely, flat corner lot on Salisbury St, mome nts to Worcester! Showings begin at open house Sunday 6/11 11:30-1:00! Kimberly McGrath, Janice Mitchell R.E., Inc, (508) 829-6315 Agent Phone: (508) 859-4407

20 Sumac Cir, Holden, MA

Welcome to desirable Fox Hill and this fully updated colonial situated at the end of a cul de sac on a private lot abutting acres of wooded common land. This delightful 12 room home has 2 kitchens, 5 bedrooms & 4.5 baths. It was transformed w/ a major addition & renovation project in 2012/13 which included the renovation of all the baths, a new main kitchen, new family room, a new master bedroom w/ two walk-in closets, a new scrumptious master bath and new garage with bonus space above. The chef's kitchen is anchored by a large island with Marvel wine fridge. Tons of character with load s of built-ins, substantial trim package w/ crown moldings throughout. Butler pantry w/ Sub-Zero fridge, Plain & Fancy cabinets & dishwasher. In-law potential w/ finished walk-out lower level which has a family room, a kitchen, full bath & additional laundry area. Economical gas heat w/ six zones, 2 decks, 3 masonry fireplaces and walk-up attic for additional play area or the ultimate teen suite. Seth Welcom, Re/Max Vision, (508) 842-3000 Agent Phone: (508) 214-4777

302 Main St, Holden, MA

INVESTORS this is a great opportunity to purchase and tear down in Holden in a residential section of Main St not far from the Worcester line. Town water, town sewer, 1/3 Acre, rectangle shaped lot with a depth of 150+ feet and street frontage of 92 feet. The current home is in poor condition and built on a slab which makes for easier demolition. House has been vacant since August 2016 and moisture has caused potential mold to grow. Roof, windows, walls, insulation, doors, kitchen & bath are in poor condition and house is not liveable. Utilities are off and Seller will not be turning th em on. Buyer responsible for smoke/carbon monoxide installation and permit if required. A License to Sell will be arranged after a fully executed Purchase and Sale Agreement (allow an extra 3 weeks for the process). Proof of funds required with offer. Property will not qualify for conventional, FHA or USDA financing in current condition. Dianne Zottoli, Holden Realty Inc., (508) 829-2857 Agent Phone: (508) 242-3022

[juliandmouton30]

Naturehumaine updates mid-century Prairie House with minimalist interiors

Montreal architecture studio Naturehumaine has transformed a local 1950s residence with a new grey exterior and pared-down interior, and a layout reduced to one bedroom to add space elsewhere.

The single-storey residence is built in the Prairie School style – made popular by architect Frank Lloyd Wright and typified by a low pitched roof, overhanging eaves, and large grouped windows.

Its owners wanted to expand the building and revitalise its appearance, so asked Naturehumaine to overhaul the entire property while maintaining its character.

The studio's interventions included swapping the cream-coloured brick exterior with new masonry, timber elements, and enlarged black-framed glazed portions.

"The existing house is partly demolished and rebuilt by reinterpreting features in a contemporary way such as a low and elongated profile, a overhanging roof and the use of masonry and wood on the facades," said Stéphane Rasselet and Marc-André Plasse, who co-founded Naturehumaine in 2004.

The windows and a garage remain in the same locations, while the front door is shifted left.

"The main window in the living room, as well as the corner window of the corner office, are now without mullions," the studio said, providing natural light and larger views outside.

A large tree has been removed in the front yard to showcase the existing chimney, dramatically changing the home's overall appearance from the street.

Grey limestone now covers the exterior, along with panels of warm-toned cedar, and the house is topped with a zinc roof to match the colour of the stone.

A fully enclosed garden and separate back terrace are among new additions to the layout. "The original surface of the ground floor was extended outwards on by an additional 1,100 square feet (102 square metres), making all the rooms much more spacious with respect to the original house," the studio said.

Upon entering is a small foyer, or vestibule, with a pale wood closet and steps leading down to a basement. The house was entirely reconfigured, with 8 foot (2.4 metre) ceilings doubling in height in a main living area.

The staircase features thin, black metal rods and a railing, similar to those in Naturehumaine's renovation of a three-storey home with a skylight in another part of Montreal.

Glazing along the top half of the entryway emphasises the home's angular lines. A 16-foot (five-metre) sloping ceiling defines a main living area, which follows the home's pitched roof.

To the right is an open-plan kitchen, dining, and living room. Cabinetry in the kitchen is either pale wood or white, with light grey floors and black countertops.

A sitting area overlooking an original fireplace is lined in dark brown wood, which carries through in the hallway and beyond.

The fireplace is coloured in grey rather than the existing brick, with light wood built-in cabinetry to its left and an enclosed garden beyond.

Off the kitchen, and towards the backyard, is a terrace that has room for another dining table. Nearby is a laundry room and small bathroom.

To the left of the entrance is an office with floor-to-ceiling cabinetry and an L-shaped desk. This side of the residence also contains the main bedroom with walk-in closet, and a large bathroom with two toilets and double sinks.

"Responding to client's desire to create spacious and bright living spaces, the ground floor layout includes minimally a single bedroom adjoining a study and full bathroom," the studio said.

Naturehumaine has completed several other renovation projects in Montreal, including a grey-and-black extension to a 1920s brick house, an angular two-storey addition on a 1860s light stone dwelling, and a white rooftop unit built onto a 1920s brick apartment building.

Photography is by Adrien Williams.

Related story

Natalie Dionne extends Montreal residence using offset black boxes

The post Naturehumaine updates mid-century Prairie House with minimalist interiors appeared first on Dezeen.

from ifttt-furniture https://www.dezeen.com/2018/01/18/naturehumaine-renovates-mid-century-modern-prairie-house-minimalist-interiors-montreal/

[jodybouchard9]

All-White Kitchens on the Way Out? 7 Design Ideas to Make Yours Look Timeless

hikesterson/iStock

A debate has been raging in the design world: Is the trendy, all-white kitchen a stark and soulless space that’s a nightmare to keep clean, or is it a stylish, sleek look with timeless appeal?

Countless design forecasts (including our own!) have sounded the death knell for the ubiquitous all-white kitchen for some time now. Designers and homeowners—once seduced by the monochromatic space’s airy brightness and sleek lines—now generally crave some color, contrast, and warmth.

“Predominantly white kitchens will always have some people who love them; however, the all-white kitchen is passé,” says Sara Chiarilli, an interior designer with Artful Conceptions in Tampa, FL. “All white everywhere is like a sterile surgical room.”

If you’re sheepishly glancing at your bleached-ivory kitchen as you read this, don’t despair: Some white is cool and classic! Just don’t overdo it. Here are some tips on using it most effectively.

1. Let it flow

Use surrounding finishes to create a cohesive look

contrastaddict/iStock

One of the best ways to make your white kitchen work is to choose complementary finishes that marry with the surrounding spaces, states Jamie Gold, a kitchen designer and author of “New Bathroom Idea Book.”

“This way, you’ll be creating a more cohesive look,” she says.

For example, if you have a nearby fireplace with marble tile in the great room, choose that look for your kitchen countertops—but update it with a low-maintenance porcelain slab, she explains.

2. Choose darker floors

Photo by Destination Living

The best way to tone down a bright white kitchen is to create contrast. If you have the funds, focus on your flooring and furniture.

“Dark wood looks beautiful against white cabinetry, especially if you continue it to other areas of your home for a more pulled-together feel,” Gold says.

And if wood isn’t to your taste (or it’s outside your budget), the same look can come from laminate, luxury vinyl, or tile.

3. Blend shades of white and gray

Photo by Jennifer Worts Design

There’s no denying that white can brighten any kitchen, particularly small ones, says Liz Toombs, president of PDR Interiors. But gradations of white are important in this space, too, so it doesn’t end up looking like a surgical ward.

“Pair your light-colored cabinets and counters with shades of white such as cream and gray—and then add a little black for dimension,” she suggests.

4. Add texture

Photo by Corynne Pless

An animal-print rug. Whitewashed brick. A rustic wood table. All of these add visual interest to an otherwise mostly white kitchen.

“You really need to incorporate texture into this room,” Chiarilli explains.

And you don’t have to spend a fortune to do so, either.

“I love to have some pop and wow with glass and ceramic accessories to add depth and show character,” Chiarilli says. “Don’t forget things like floral arrangements—these add color and texture without being drastic.”

Then, add a jute or woven area rug for some comfort and style.

5. Make appliances pop

Photo by Penguin Basements

“After 15 years of stainless-steel appliances, many homeowners are turning to colorful appliances—and white allows these hues to become accents or focal points,” says Darla DeMorrow, a home organizing expert with HeartWork Organizing. These colors would look somewhat cluttered in darker kitchens.

Manufacturers are leaning into the demand for these coveted pops of color: Try an adorably vintage refrigerator from Smeg or a nostalgic stovetop from Big Chill. Or, opt for smaller items like colorful coffee makers and brightly toned KitchenAid standing mixers.

6. Brighten your island

Photo by Thomas Davies Kitchens Along with flooring and appliances, kitchen islands can add some zing to a potentially dull white kitchen.

“Without this blue island to draw the eye into the space, there would be nothing interesting to look at,” DeMorrow notes.

“Consider gray, brown, or dark blue for your island, with white cabinets on the perimeter,” suggests Amy Bly of Great Impressions Home Staying/Interiors.

7. Pump up the backsplash and counters

Photo by Sweetwater Homes Another element that’ll hold your interest in a white kitchen is a lightly toned countertop.

“Gray-veined quartz serves to break up the white monotony, and it gives the homeowner a little grace on housekeeping because it won’t show every mark or fingerprint,” says DeMorrow.

Then, focus on swapping out that stark white backsplash.

“Subway tiles, particularly the glass ones in gray, blue shades and pale green, all work well in a white-on-white kitchen design,” Bly adds.

The post All-White Kitchens on the Way Out? 7 Design Ideas to Make Yours Look Timeless appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.