Vienna

the minten backyard in vancouver smells like cut grass and sunscreen and something warm on the grill, and the air is thick with the particular kind of noise that only happens when an entire family descends on a house all at once — overlapping conversations, someone’s kid screaming in the best way, the clatter of plates being passed hand to hand across the long folding table that trevor and fraser’s uncle had dragged out from the garage earlier this morning. it’s gorgeous out. the kind of afternoon that feels almost unfairly beautiful, the sky a deep cloudless blue above the cedar fence, the backyard strung with little fairy lights that won’t really come on until the evening but are pretty anyway, woven through the branches of the big maple at the back of the yard.

and fraser has barely been able to breathe for the last three hours.

it’s not that the family gathering is overwhelming — it isn’t, not really, this is home, these are the people he’s grown up with, his aunts who pinch his cheeks even now, his grandparents settled comfortably in the good patio chairs chantal dragged out especially for them, his cousins who he hasn’t seen since christmas running around with the younger kids and occasionally crashing into the table. it’s all exactly as it always is. familiar and warm and a little loud and exactly right.

but you’re here.

you’re here and you’re wearing that yellow dress.

he’d watched you pull it on this morning in the soft light of his childhood bedroom, the fabric flowy and long, skimming the floor when you moved, little delicate straps at the shoulders. it’s a gentle, pretty yellow, like something out of an old painting, and with your hair the way you’d done it and your glasses on and the way the light was coming in through the curtains — he’d stood in the doorway holding both your coffees and forgotten entirely what he was doing. you’d turned and found him staring and laughed, taking your mug from his hand and asking what, and he’d said nothing, nothing, you just look really good, and you’d smiled into your coffee like you were trying to hide it.

he hadn’t been able to stop looking at you since.

the thing is — he tries to explain it to himself sometimes, quietly, in the in-between moments. tries to put words to what it is about you that makes him feel like he’s been turned inside out. it’s not just that you’re beautiful, though you are, god, you are, especially in that yellow dress in the afternoon sun. it’s something else. it’s the way you walked into his parents’ house the first time and hugged his mum like you’d known her for years. it’s the way you remember everything — every detail his brother mentions in passing, every story his dad tells twice over. it’s the way you fit here. the way you always, somehow, fit.

he’s been watching you all afternoon.

he told himself he’d stop. made a whole internal promise about it, actually, because bryce had caught him staring across the yard at you laughing at something his aunt had said, and had bumped his shoulder and gone, you’re so down bad it’s embarrassing, and fraser had said shut up, but he’d also known it was completely, absolutely true.

he is. he is so far gone on you it isn’t even a little bit funny.

and then the baby happened.

his cousin maya — twenty-four and four months postpartum, moving careful and a little tired around the edges, her husband close by — had brought the baby over to the main table about an hour into lunch, this tiny little thing wrapped in a white blanket with pink ducks on it, all scrunched face and small fists, and the whole family had descended immediately the way families do, everyone wanting a hold, everyone cooing. the baby, isla, had been passed around about four times before she’d started to fuss — that low, escalating fuss that means i’m done with all of you — and then maya had held her out vaguely in your direction because you’d been sitting closest, and said, do you want to try? just to see?

and you’d taken her. you’d settled her into the crook of your arm like you’d done it a thousand times, adjusted her head with this easy careful confidence, and isla had just — stopped. blinked. looked up at you with those dark unfocused eyes.

and then she’d gone quiet.

maya had actually laughed, a little exhausted and a little relieved. fraser had watched the whole thing from three seats down and felt something shift very quietly in his chest.

that was forty minutes ago. isla hasn’t left your arms since. twice someone’s tried to take her — maya herself, once, and fraser’s grandma, who has decades of baby-holding experience and approached the whole thing with the confidence of a woman who has seen everything — and both times isla had gone rigid and red-faced, tiny mouth opening in outrage, and both times you’d pulled her back close and started rocking and she’d gone quiet again within seconds. you’d apologized to maya, who had waved you off and said no, please, keep her, i’m eating my first full meal in three weeks.

and so you’ve been moving around the backyard with isla tucked against you ever since, one hand supporting her head, the other at her back, rocking very slightly with every step. you’ve been talking to her in that voice — that soft, high, gentle baby voice that fraser has never heard come out of you before today and is now going to be thinking about for the rest of his life — telling her things. look at that tree, see the leaves? and, you’re being so so good, aren’t you, yeah you are, you’re the best girl. and isla keeps looking up at you with those wide eyes like you’re the most fascinating thing she’s ever encountered, which is fair, fraser thinks. he understands completely.

he’s been doing the same thing all afternoon.

he’s standing now near the edge of the patio with a half-drunk glass of lemonade, having excused himself from a conversation with his uncle about the bruins’ cap situation — he was barely paying attention anyway — and he’s just. watching you. you’re walking slowly along the grass, bouncing very gently, and you’ve got your nose tipped down toward isla’s face and you’re saying something he can’t hear from here, and isla’s little fist has closed around your finger. you’re smiling. that full, real smile, the one that reaches your eyes and creases the corners of them. the afternoon sun is doing something to the yellow fabric of your dress, making it almost luminous, and your glasses are catching the light too, and fraser thinks, genuinely and without any particular destination, that he is the luckiest person on this entire earth.

his mum appears at his elbow.

“you’re staring,” chantal says, very pleasantly.

“i know,” fraser says. he doesn’t look away from you.

chantal makes a soft sound, warm and knowing. she wraps her hand briefly around his arm. “she’s wonderful, fraser.”

“yeah,” he says. it comes out quieter than he means it to. “i know.”

chantal squeezes his arm and drifts away back toward the table, and fraser stays where he is, watching you carry his cousin’s baby across the sun-lit grass of his parents’ backyard in your yellow dress, and he thinks he might actually be in danger of embarrassing himself.

there’s something about it. there’s something about watching you here, in this specific place, with these specific people, doing this specific thing, that is hitting him somewhere very deep and very soft, somewhere he hadn’t entirely known was there until just now. he’s thought about you in a lot of contexts over the past eleven months. thought about you constantly, actually, thought about you in the library with your highlighters and your textbooks and your slightly chaotic organization system, thought about you in his apartment eating cereal at midnight, thought about you curled up in his bed with his old world juniors hoodie on, glasses pushed up on your nose, squinting at whatever was on your phone. he knows the shape of you in about a hundred different versions now.

but this.

this is something new.

you look up from isla and find him across the yard, and your face does this thing — this immediate, involuntary, soft thing — and you lift one hand in a little wave, careful not to disturb the baby, and fraser’s chest does something complicated. he raises his lemonade at you. you roll your eyes at him, fond, the way you always do when he’s being too much, and then you look back down at isla and start moving toward him.

he watches you come across the grass. he watches the way the dress moves when you walk, the way you’re still rocking ever so slightly even in motion, the way isla’s fist is still loosely curled around your finger and you’re letting her hold on like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he puts his lemonade down on the patio table.

you stop in front of him. you’re smiling, and isla is awake and calm against your chest, looking up at the two of you with those dark, considering eyes.

“hey,” you say, softly, voice still carrying that gentle quality it’s had all afternoon, like you’ve been talking to the baby so long it’s leaked into everything else.

“hey,” fraser says. and then: “how is she?”

“perfect,” you say, immediately and with great conviction, and you glance down at isla with this expression on your face that does something to fraser’s ribcage. “she’s so perfect, frase. look at her little—” you pause to tap one gentle finger against the side of isla’s tiny fist. “look at her hands.”

fraser looks at her hands. “yeah,” he says. “she’s really small.”

“she’s barely four months old,” you say, like this is extraordinary, like you’ve only just understood what four months old means and the information is overwhelming. “she’s so little.”

“you’re really good with her,” fraser says. it comes out with more feeling than he intends, a little unguarded, and you look up at him and your eyes go soft.

“she just likes me,” you say, and shrug, and look back down at isla.

fraser watches you for a second. the way your thumb is moving in small slow circles against the baby’s back. the total ease of it, the confidence, like this is just something you do, like you’ve always done this.

he loves you so much it’s insane.

you turn so that you’re angled slightly toward fraser, adjusting isla so she’s facing out a little more. you tip your head down toward the baby.

“hey, little one,” you say, in the baby voice, soft and warm and a little sing-song. “hey, sweet girl, look — look who that is.” you reach out and take isla’s tiny hand between your fingers, and you wave it. you wave her little hand toward fraser. “that’s uncle fraser,” you tell her, very seriously. “can you say hi to uncle fraser? yeah? hi uncle fraser.”

fraser blinks.

“isn’t he the best uncle in the world?” you’re saying, still in that voice, still moving isla’s little hand back and forth in the gentlest wave. “yeah he is. he really really is. oh yes he is, sweet girl. he is the absolute best.” you pause. isla makes a small sound, something content and bubbly, not quite a laugh but close, and you make a face at her that fraser can only describe as delight. “he plays hockey,” you tell her, very gravely. “which is very impressive. you should be very proud of him. we’re very proud of him, right? yes we are.”

“you’re narrating my whole life to a newborn,” fraser says.

“she’s interested,” you say, without looking up. isla grabs at your finger again and you let her take it. “see? she’s listening.” you glance up at him then, bright-eyed, glasses catching the light, and there’s something in your expression that is so — so full, so warm, that fraser has to look away for a second and then look back because he can’t not look at you. “she wants you to say hi,” you say.

“hi, isla,” fraser says, obediently, a little helplessly.

and then isla — she looks toward his voice. she turns her tiny head, unfocused gaze drifting toward him, and she makes that sound again, that bubbling almost-laugh, and her little fist opens and closes.

“oh my god,” you breathe. “fraser, she—”

“i see her,” he says. his voice has gone very soft.

you’re grinning now, wide and open, the fullest version of your smile, and you’re looking between fraser and isla like you can’t decide which one to watch, like both of them are equally wonderful and you’re not sure where to put your eyes. “she likes you,” you say. “she’s saying hi.”

“hi, sweetheart,” fraser says again, softer this time, and he reaches out and very carefully, very gently, lets the tip of his finger brush against isla’s tiny open hand. her fingers close around it instantly, reflexive, and fraser makes a sound that he will deny if asked about it later.

“see?” you say. your voice is very fond.

he looks up at you. you’re watching him with this expression — soft and warm and a little knowing, like you can see exactly what’s happening inside him and you find it very sweet and you’re going to let him feel it. you’re still rocking very slightly. the sun is in your hair.

“my sweet girl,” he says, quiet, almost without thinking, and he’s looking at you when he says it, not at isla, and you know that, you know exactly where it’s directed, because your smile changes. softens at the edges. goes from bright to something more private.

“hi,” you say again, softer this time, just to him.

“hi,” he says back.

isla makes another sound between you, and you both look down at her, and then back up at each other, and fraser takes a breath and thinks, i am going to marry you. it lands in his chest quiet and certain and completely unannounced, not like a thought he’s having for the first time but like a thought he’s been having for so long it’s become fact. i am going to marry you someday. and it’s going to be the best thing that has ever happened to me.

he doesn’t say it. he’s not quite there yet, not in the middle of his parents’ backyard on a tuesday afternoon with half his family ten feet away. but he feels it. god, he feels it.

instead he steps in close and tips his head down and presses his lips to your temple, slow and soft, and you lean into it a little, automatic, and isla’s little fist is still loosely curled around both your fingers and his, all three of them connected in that small warm point of contact.

“thank you for coming,” he says, against your hair.

“frase,” you say. like he’s being silly.

“i mean it,” he says. “thank you for being here. for — all of this.” he pulls back just enough to look at you. “my whole family is obsessed with you, you know. my grandma asked me three times if you were going to be at christmas.”

you laugh, the real one, quiet and surprised. “she did not.”

“she absolutely did.” he reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, careful, gentle, and your eyes track the movement and then come back to his. “and bryce has texted me twice today saying don’t mess this up.”

“bryce is texting you while he’s twelve feet away at the same table?”

“bryce has a lot of feelings,” fraser says. “we all have a lot of feelings. about you.”

you look at him for a moment. something in your expression goes a little soft and unguarded, and you adjust isla against your chest and say, “i have a lot of feelings about all of you too, you know.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” you tilt your head up. “especially you. obviously. you know that.”

“i know,” he says. “i just like hearing it.”

you shake your head at him, fond, a little exasperated. then you turn back to isla and drop your voice back into the baby register, warm and gentle. “your uncle fraser is very sentimental,” you tell her. “and very sweet. don’t tell him i said that.” you glance up at fraser. “and he’s the best uncle ever, right? because you’re the best baby ever.”

“i’m going to try,” fraser says seriously, looking at isla.

“she believes you,” you say. “look at her. she completely believes you.”

fraser looks. isla is, it must be said, looking approximately in his direction with an expression of serene indifference that is genuinely very difficult to read, but her fingers are still loosely curled around his, and he decides that counts.

“she does look pretty convinced,” he says.

you laugh again, quiet, and lean your shoulder into his arm, and he shifts to accommodate you, to put his arm around you without disturbing the baby, hand resting warm at the curve of your waist through the soft yellow fabric. the backyard hums around you. someone’s turned on some music, quiet in the background, and the smell of whatever’s on the grill has shifted to something sweeter, and two of his cousins are kicking a ball around on the far side of the yard, and his mum is laughing at something his grandma said, and his dad is watching the whole scene from the patio with a cup of coffee and an expression of deep satisfaction.

fraser stands in the middle of all of it with you leaning against his arm and his cousin’s baby holding your finger and the sun on the yellow of your dress, and he breathes.

he is so, so lucky.

“she’s going to fall asleep,” you say softly, watching isla. her eyes have gone heavy, slow-blinking. “she’s almost out.”

“do you want to sit down?”

“yeah,” you say. “somewhere quiet? the side of the yard, maybe?”

“yeah,” he says. “come on.”

he keeps his arm around you as you move. guides you with his hand at your waist, walks close, watches the way you keep rocking even while you walk, steady and instinctive. you find the wooden bench along the fence at the far edge of the yard, half in the shade of the maple tree, and you sit down carefully and fraser sits beside you, close, his knee pressing against yours. you adjust isla against your chest and she makes a small sound and then goes still again, and you put your lips to the top of her head, just for a second, feather-light.

fraser watches you. he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to.

“she really won’t go to anyone else,” he says.

“she went to maya for like two minutes earlier,” you say.

“and then screamed until she got back to you.”

“she was adjusting,” you say, with great dignity.

fraser smiles. “she loves you.”

you look up from isla. you look at him with that expression again — the soft, private one. the one just for him. “she just met me two hours ago.”

“so?” fraser shrugs. “that’s enough. people know, especially babies. they always know.”

you hold his gaze for a moment. then you look back down at isla, whose eyes are fully closed now, tiny chest rising and falling in the deep even rhythm of a baby who has decided she is done with being awake.

“she’s asleep,” you whisper.

“yeah,” he whispers back.

the backyard goes on around you, warm and full of noise, but here in the maple’s shadow it’s quieter, a little separate. fraser watches isla sleep in your arms and watches you watch her, and he thinks about what his mum said to him earlier, she’s wonderful, fraser, and he thinks about his grandma asking three times about christmas, and he thinks about bryce texting him don’t mess this up from twelve feet away. he thinks about you in his childhood bedroom this morning pulling on the yellow dress. he thinks about the way you’d walked into this house the first time, almost a year ago now, and hugged his mum without hesitation like coming home.

he reaches over and takes your free hand. holds it in his lap.

you look at your joined hands and then up at him.

“hey, honey,” he says, quiet.

“hi,” you say back.

he squeezes your hand once. doesn’t say anything else. you lean your head against his shoulder, careful not to disturb isla, and the sun moves through the maple leaves in shifting patches of gold and green, and isla sleeps on in your arms, and the minten family makes their beautiful chaos all around you, and fraser sits in it and breathes and thinks this is the best afternoon of his entire life.

he thinks that a lot, lately. best afternoon. best morning. best tuesday. it keeps updating.

you’ve been together eleven months.

he can’t wait for the next eleven. and the eleven after that. and all of the ones after that.

“you’re doing your thinking face,” you murmur, into his shoulder.

“what thinking face.”

“the one where you go very still and quiet and your jaw does the thing.”

“my jaw doesn’t do a thing.”

“fraser,” you say patiently. “your jaw absolutely does a thing.”

he tips his head down and presses his mouth to the top of yours, which makes you go quiet. you smile against his shirt.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask.

he looks at isla. looks at you. looks at the sun coming through the leaves.

“just,” he says. “this.”

you’re quiet for a moment. then: “yeah?”

“yeah.”

you settle a little further into his shoulder. “me too,” you say, very softly.

isla sleeps on. the afternoon stretches long and golden around you.

It also has your ovaries imploding and your broodiness increasing ten fold because of all the little kids running around, the various babies in their little winter suits and the number of tiny skates on the ice. You've been increasingly broody ever since your wedding like calling Kirill your husband gave your womb permission to start wanting something more on top of marriage.

It didn't help when you were watching Kirill skate around with the kids, passing to them, racing them and now cuddling and bouncing a little baby girl in his arms with the biggest grin on his face. The sort grin that made you want to give him a baby of his own to grin at.

"Oy, oy, oy," You watch with a longing gaze as Kirill bounces Zuccarrello's toddler in his arms. The little girl grabs at his curls and his cheeks and all he does is giggle and grin, like it's the funniest thing in the world.

Your eyes stick to him longing and wanting as he skates around the ice with her before reluctantly handing her back to her father who goes on and on about 'uncle Kirill' in a way that makes your chest hurt.

He's still grinning, smiling all goofy and wide, bright eyed and bushy tailed, as he skates over to you, hands catching himself on the side of the rink as he leans over the boards to speak to you.

"Heyyy, Zajka," He goes to kiss you over the boards but you stop him, hands to his chest, eyes wide and wanting.

"I want that." Your toes curl at the thought of him, a baby, your baby, a family. Him as a dad, him as a dad to your child, not someone else's. It's like something has possessed you seeing him out on the ice with the kids like that. It's not as if its the first time. Kirill loves kids, he's always acting as an honorary uncle to the children of his team mates...but something about today has hit even harder than usual and you can't keep it quiet anymore.

"You want?" He tilts his head, eyes curious, assessing like he needs to know what it is so that he can do anything in his power to give it to you.

"A baby."

"Baby? I can get. Zuccy will let you hold," He's already pushing off to go and skate away, to go grab the child.

"No." You tug him back by the arm, hands gripping his practice jersey tight, eyes imploring him to understand, "I don't want to hold her, she's sweet, but I want a baby. With you." You clarify, chest heaving despite having done absolutely no exercise because you want this so badly it has your heart thumbing against your ribcage like it wants to escape.

"You want baby....with me?" You wait almost nervous, timidly for the rejection, but there's a shift in Kirill's expression. His eyes darken, heavy lidded and wanting, tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he's already thinking about how exactly he can give you that baby.

"I can do that." It's confident, clear, assertive. There's no hesitation or doubt once Kirill has figured out exactly what you want.

"Are you...are you serious?"

"Yes, moya sladkaya, I give you baby. We have baby, soon." It's a promise, a promise sealed by him gripping your chin and tugging you forward for an open mouthed kiss that you're not entirely sure is appropriate for open practice. A kiss that has some of the guys whistling and cheering, Ekky grabbing Kirill by the back of the jersey and tugging him away.

The look Kirill sends you as he's tugged away is dark, lustful and wanting, like he wants to throw you down on the ground and fuck you right there. Downright inappropriate for open skate.

It has your heart pounding in your chest so hard...because you have very little doubt that the moment you get home he'll be on you no matter how tired he might be.

He'd been on you the moment you both got home from open practice. Big arms lifting you up and carrying you to your bedroom, practically throwing you down and tugging on your jeans, your shirt, until you were bare, wet and wanting.

Kirill was beautiful, always had been, but there was something else about him stood naked in front of you, big chest heaving, that gold cross swinging, curls free as he tugged on his cock and eyed you like you were dinner. It made your cunt clench and your clit pulse, it made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world.

"Ti moya, going to give you baby, milaya, like you want, da?" His voice is lower than normally, rumbly, dark, Russian rolling off his tongue with the sort of ease that made your toes curl.

"Fuck, please, Kirill, want your baby so bad."

He'd been firm, not rough, gentle, but not delicate as he'd leant over you, worked you open with his fingers and pressed in with his cock in deep, slow rolls of his hips that had him bottoming out, curls at the base of his cock tickling your clit.

He always filled you, made you feel it in your tummy, always had your nails digging into those broad golden shoulders of his, but this was different. The way he looked at you, the knowing he wanted to get you pregnant, it all made it ten times more intense than usual. Even the touch of his cross against your chest, metal cold against your skin just felt...more somehow.

"Blin..." Kirill's chest is already heaving against yours, hips rocking into you, rolling into you, where he has you spread as open as he can get you. He's managed to get your legs up by your shoulders in a mating press that makes your joints ache in the best sort of way.

"Ya sobirayus' podarit' tebe rebenka, milaya..." Those big hands of his are gliding up the backs of your thighs, your calves until they're pressing your own hands into the mattress, fingers interlocking with yours in the sweetest little handhold even while his cock is practically ramming into you, the pace harsh, fast, firm and steady, skin slapping against skin as your gummy walls clench around him.

"Yebat', zajka" One hand releases yours. Those thick fingers of his, rough from years of training, years of fishing and golf, slide down your stomach, find your clit and circle it. Slow. The sort of touch that is light but still makes your body writhe. A whine falling from your throat.

One of your hands slides up the back of his wide neck, curling into his hair and tugging in a way that has him groaning, swearing, head dropping back, neck elongated and close enough for you to get your lips on him. Teeth nipping at his Adam's apple.

"Please, Kirill, please...want your baby, fill me up, please..."

"I will, krasivaya devushka, got you." The fingers at your clit press firmer, his hand holding yours tightens and Kirill covers your mouth with his own. A sloppy open mouthed kiss that has you keening into it, fingers curling as he somehow seems to press deeper into you, so deep you're almost certain he's in your throat.

It's the desperate way he rolls his hips into you, the slide of his tongue in your mouth while he groans into it that has you so close, head wrenching back, chest heaving and then he's babbling Russian at you.

A low rumble you can feel in your chest, you catch a few words here and there, ones you know. Please. Baby. Fuck. Want. Need.

Each word has you climbing higher and higher until the need in you snaps, body seizing, cunt clenching around him so tight that his forehead drops to your chest with a groan. The pleasure that burns through you white hot, has you saying his name like a mantra: Kirill, Kirill, Kirill.

He follows, spilling into you, filling you up as his hips slam into yours and press, holding there as if he's worried a single drop might escape. Each pulse of his cock has your cunt clenching, milking him for all he's worth...and has Kirill pressing gentle kisses to your chest, any available stretch of skin being met by tenderness as he stays in you.

When he's done, spent, cum deep inside you, he lifts his head with a coy grin, curls wet across his forehead and large hands coming up and gently easing your legs down off your shoulders. His hands rub across your thighs, your hips at your hiss of discomfort, soothing the ache in your joints.

"We make baby. Give you baby, Milaya. Promise." He grins down at you like he's so proud of himself, and he stays there, in you, mouth dipping down to your cheek, mumbling, "Nuzhno ubedit'sya, chto eto srabotayet." as he stays in you, refusing to leave your cunt, like his cock wants to make a home there.

And you? You just look at him like you've unleashes the best and worst demon of your life.

Translations (I do not speak Russian, if any is incorrect please let me know so I can fix it):

Moya sladkaya - sweetie

Blin - shit/crap

Ya sobirayus' podarit' tebe rebenka, milaya - Going to give you a baby, sweetie

Yebat' - fuck

Zajka - bunny/little rabbit

Ti moya - you're mine

Milaya - sweetie

krasivaya devushka - pretty girl

Commenter 1: omg did you see the way Arthur looked at y/n????? ↳ Commenter 2: Fr fr he was smitten

Commenter 3: get y/n and Arthur in a team next time Chris

Commenter 4: y/nTV is going to happen I’m calling it now!!!!!!

Just a few comments flooding in ChrisMD’s latest video, this one with yt/n’s pub golf debut:

Y/n was quite new to the content creator scene. She created a few vlogs and reaction videos here and there with little to no views, despite her efforts and good content. Her TikToks were the same. Until one day one YouTube video exploded, her subscriber count grew, alongside TikTok followers. All of a sudden one George Clarke would comment on one of her TikToks, and she slowly became good friends with him. Their friendship became more well known after guest starring on the Useless Hotline podcast. Following that, she collaborated with BambinoBecky on her own channel.

Through George and Max, y/n met ChrisMD and Arthur Hill, and that’s how she wound up on one of Chris’s pub golf videos.

There was no particular theme to this pub golf video, until the costumes came out of course. With Calfreezy as the usual referee, dressed in usual ref attire, the pairs and costumes were as follows:

Arthur TV and Chip in dog onesies, AKA ‘Bone Appetite’

ChrisMD and George in pickle costumes, AKA ‘Team Gherkings’

Y/n and Becky dressed as post-women, AKA ‘The Fe-mails’

This is y/n’s first time meeting Arthur, Cal, and Chip, but she was quite nervous about meeting the Arthur TV after he’d been so hyped up by George and Arthur Hill.

With Arthur turning up later (as usual) they didn’t get a chance to properly meet each other, aside from quick ‘hellos’ and name introductions before the filming began. If she was honest, y/n was always intrigued by Arthur, both from his content and the anecdotes she’d heard from George, Chris, and Arthur Hill. What she didn’t know was that Arthur was also very interested in meeting her, loving her content after being shown it by George and Chris on separate occasions. “You’d love her” they’d say.

When y/n and Becky pose for their team introduction in the video, y/n feels a little shy with the eyes and cameras on her in the open public, but she mentally prepared for this beforehand and perseveres. Becky has her arms folded, whereas y/n is holding some prop envelopes up whilst smiling at the camera. “That’s perfect!” Chris giggles. Stepping out of shot ready for Cal’s referee posing, y/n locks eyes with Arthur after feeling him looking, and almost immediately, Arthur diverts his gaze, embarrassed.

Chip and Arthur step in frame for their clip, Arthur’s eyes kept finding their way to y/n, which she swears she can see in the corner of her view while she chats with Becky. Y/n and Becky then turn to watch the boys, and y/n meets Arthur’s gaze again and this time, she gives him a small smile before he can look away. His eyebrows slightly raise for a brief moment before he grins back, his sweet eyes squinting. “Ready mate?” Chip suddenly asks him, snapping Arthur out of his short daze. They pose, Arthur softly smiling to the camera whilst Chip pants with his hands up T-Rex style, making Arthur laugh and shake his head. All of this gets caught in their slow-mo introduction footage, making it both charming and funny.

Arthur looks to y/n again, still chuckling, and was delighted to see that she too was laughing at Chip’s antics. ‘Good to know we have a similar sense of humour’, he thinks to himself.

“He fancies you I recon,” Becky whispers to y/n, giving her a smirk and a slight elbow nudge. Y/n turns to Becky, eyes widening.

“What- Who?” she replies. Although she knows who Becky meant, she is just baffled to hear it. Before Becky could repeat herself, Arthur and Chip join them, as George and Chris step up for their shot. Arthur steps next to y/n. Y/n scoffs at the ‘Gherkings’ as they both flex at the camera, finding their pose choice amusing despite their outfits. “Those divvies,” Arthur chuckles, adding to y/n’s amusement as he leans more towards her. She giggles and adds “Should’ve called themselves prick-les,” her comment eliciting a hearty laugh from Arthur. His elbow brushes against her upper arm as he leans back, catching her off guard as she realises how close they’re standing.

She feels her heart race as she smiles to the ground awkwardly, Arthur also looks down and takes a small step back, feeling his cheeks burn. Becky gives y/n another small nudge with her elbow as she lowly lets out an “Oi oi.”

“Guys,” Chris calls out, catching everyone’s attention, “we just have to do the one-to-one questions and then we’re ready to start!”

Chris is up first as the cameraman asks how drunk he’ll get. He gives his usual answer of saying he’ll be plastered. George is next, then Chip, then Arthur.

“Well, if we’re talking dog years, I’ll be drunk seven times sooner. Or later?” Arthur answers, giving a cheeky chuckle at the camera. Y/n overhears and smiles at his cute joke. She already thought he was cute in his videos, but seeing his behaviour in person just solidifies it.

Becky’s up next, saying she’ll smash it and proudly states that she’s a girl who can handle her drink. Y/n, not so much, realising what she’s got herself into as she steps up into shot. “How do you think you’ll fare today?” the cameraman asks.

“I’m a lightweight,” she starts, “but I’ll promise to deliver-“ then awkwardly laughs at her lame joke, hiding her face behind her prop envelope and shaking her head with embarrassment.

“Oh y/n!” Becky shouts, laughing herself, “And this is you sober, we’re screwed!” Y/n joins her teammate, whispering an awkward apology for what she just witnessed. Arthur on the other hand, finds her joke adorable. Becky puts an arm round her, about to say some reassurance before Chris calls to the group.

“Right, that’s all done,” he shouts, clasping his hands together, looking to the camera that just filmed their mini interviews, “let’s all head to the first pub.” The rest of the crew all grab their cameras and start recording as the group starts walking.

The pairs talk amongst themselves for a bit, mostly small talk while the camera crew get shots of them walking. Chris talks to one camera with George up ahead, leaving the Fe-Mails and Bone Appetite to gather together behind.

“So y/n,” Chip starts, “is this your first pub golf video?”

“Yeah it is,” y/n replies smiling, “this is my first collab out in the public too, and with this many people.” Chip and Arthur both nod. The camera man puts the camera on them, catching the conversation that follows.

“She’s a lightweight as well,” Becky chimes in, eliciting an ‘uh-oh’ from Chip. “She got tipsy on our video together and she barely drank!” Becky continues as the others chuckle.

“I remember seeing that!” Arthur adds with enthusiasm, looking to y/n as he walks his way closer to her. “I’m sorry but you’re not surviving today!”

The cameraman moves to Cal, who’s walking at the back to make sure no one falls over already or insults the crew, either action earning them a shot or a point for their team.

Knowing she’s off camera, Becky gently clasps her hand over the mic attached to her shirt collar and leans to y/n’s ear. “He definitely fancies you, Arthur does. I can tell,” she whispers with a grin. Y/n just shakes her head with a shy smile.

Chip and Arthur look behind to the girls whispering, then to each other, shrugging with confused smiles. They walk slightly further ahead and Chip looks over his shoulder at them. “The chemistry is mad already bro,” he quietly says to Arthur. Arthur looks at him and furrows his eyes in confusion.

“Those two?” he questions, leaning his head towards Chip to hear him better.

“No bro, you and y/n. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it.” He clarifies, giving Arthur a tap on his shoulder.

Before Arthur can attempt to protest, they reach the first pub. Taking seats outside, the teams sit opposite each other and Cal grabs himself a seat at the end of the table. On one side of the table is George, Arthur, and Becky; the other side dons Chris, Chip, and y/n. Y/n and Arthur are both silently thankful to not be sat together at first, as neither creator wants the other to feel any rising heat, especially after the conversations they both just had. Unfortunately for both of them, they realise they are right in each other’s line of sight, and the cameras might pick up on any awkward exchanged glances.

The pints are brought to the table by a couple of crew members, with one pint placed in front of each participant. “Right, the rules for the first game are simple,” Cal bellows to the camera facing him, “Each player must down as much of their pint as possible within 10 seconds. The pair with the most beer drank gets 1 point, the next team gets two points, and the slowest drinkers earn 3 points.” The cameramen capture shots of the creators listening to the rules and close-up shots of the beers. Cal continues: “If a player spills any drink, fall over, or pukes, they earn either an additional point or can instead take a shot as a forfeit.”

The girls go first, Becky downing her drink almost perfectly. She leaves a little foam at the bottom, and Chip and Arthur try arguing that the drink is incomplete, but Cal allows it to count as an empty drink. Y/n wraps her hand around her glass, looking to Becky as she says “I’m so sorry,” with a sheepish smile before gulping as much as she can, leaving the pint glass with about a third of beer left when her 10 seconds are up. She sets her glass down and wipes her lips, frowning and shaking her head at the bitter flavour.

“We’ve got this in the bag bro!” Arthur chuckles as he smirks to Chip, giving him a hi-five.

“Yeah, you’re shit y/n!” Chip joins in, causing the table to laugh at his sudden unnecessary comment.

“Woah, manners Chip!” George retorts.

“Rude!” Becky shouts, feigning an offended face to Chip.

“No offence y/n!” Arthur adds with a cheeky grin, locking eyes with her. She secretly adores hearing him say her name.

“None taken Arthur,” she returns with a big smile, Arthur feeling his face burn, also loving the way his name rolls off her tongue.

The dogs are next up to play. Arthur goes first, using his two handed grip and only just downing the pint in one within the time limit, leaving no foam behind. Chip hi-fives him again, shouting “Yes brother!” Arthur proudly beams, looking down at his lap before his eyes quickly dart up to y/n, seeing she’s smiling whilst still looking at his completely empty pint glass. “Here we go, bone appetite!” Chip declares as he downs his drink, leaving just a small amount at the bottom of the glass.

“Well we’ve lost then!” Becky laughs, faking anger and slamming her hands in the table. Y/n is about to protest before realising George’s turn is next and he’s a drinking machine. George confidently grasps his drink. “Ah we’re cooked!” Chip murmurs to Arthur. George effortlessly gulps his drink down with 3 seconds to spare, cockily exhaling as he slams his glass down.

Chris is up next, gesturing a cheers towards George before downing his pint. “Look at the way he grips that thaing!” Arthur calls out in a slight accent, causing Chris to jerk his head forward to giggle and spill a couple of drops of beer onto the table. “Oh! Spillage!” Arthur shouts gleefully as he points at the new stains. Cal looks to Chris with his mouth open and the camera zooms in on the table. Chip and y/n are laughing as Becky shouts “Waaay!”. Both Chris and George argue with Cal that it’s unfair for them to get penalised as Arthur made him laugh. Cal coldly looks to them both and states “Spill’s a spill Chris, do you want to take a shot or a pint.”

Chris rolls his eyes and asks for a shot. Amongst the spilling drama, Chris didn’t finish his pint, leaving it half empty and starting off the scores as:

Bone Appetite: 1 point

The Fe-Mails: 2 points

Gherkings: 3 points

As the group head off to the next pub, Arthur jogs his way up to y/n. “I’m sorry for my comment before,” he starts, smiling at the floor sheepishly, “when you finished your drink.”

“Oh that’s okay, I didn’t take offence to either of you, don’t worry!” Y/n replies, giggling quietly at his sweet apology.

“OK, good!” Arthur chuckles, feeling relieved, “I have a habit of dishing out insults when I…” he stops himself for a second, “get to know someone.” he ends, thinking on his feet.

Y/n shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, “I enjoy the banter, I’m the same.” She replies.

Arthur beams as he looks to his crush. “I see, what else do you enjoy?” They start exchanging interests, followed by facts about science, animals, anything really as they continue leading the group towards their next destination.

Behind them, Chip and Becky walk with George. “Bro’s in love” Chip says as he gestures ahead, a little too loud, but the pair at the front are in their own world and don’t hear. Becky and George agree, giggling. “I think she feels the same way,” Becky replies with a genuine smile.

Behind the trio, Cal and Chris are being filmed from behind while they talk, the angle capturing all the players in one frame.

Chip jogs forward to join Arthur and y/n. “What are you two nerds yappin’ about?” he asks them as he wraps an arm round Arthur’s shoulder.

“Nerds?!” Arthur fake cries.

Simultaneously, y/n replies with “Space,” with a grin. A crew member joins to record them, walking backwards ahead of them, capturing the three in frame.

“Nice. Y/n, you feelin’ lightheaded yet?” Chip directs towards her, leaning forwards to look past Arthur. Arthur turns his head to her too, intrigued.

“Honestly, a little,” y/n replies.

“REALLY?” Arthur exclaims. His eyes widely looking down at her, his lips curled up a little. “Goodness, you really are a lightweight!”

Y/n laughs, “Yeah, it’s bad isn’t it. I feel bad for Becky really!”

“‘Least we’re guaranteed second place ey bro?” Chip says, tightening his grip round Arthur’s shoulder.

“You’re not wrong there!” Arthur chuckles

“You boys are mean!” Y/n retorts playfully.

The group reaches the second pub. Outside there are only tables of four. Y/n and Becky sit opposite each other first. Arthur and Chip join them. This time, Arthur bravely sits beside y/n, their arms touching. Y/n looks at their arms, observing the closeness. She begins feeling wary of the cameras and doesn’t want to come across as having a schoolgirl crush (which wouldn’t be wrong). As the others take their seats and chat, Arthur notices y/n’s slight change in demeanour and bumps her gently with his arm. “You okay?” he whispers as he leans his face towards hers, hoping his quiet words reach her ear and no one else’s.

She thinks fast, “I’m all good thanks, just dreading what we’ll be put through next,” she awkwardly giggles, turning her head to look at him only to almost brush noses. She didn’t initially realise how close his face was when he whispered just before. They both go wide eyed and lean away from each other, Arthur clearing his throat and sheepishly apologising, looking to his lap with a small smile. “You’re all good” y/n quietly giggles in response, looking down too, to avoid any risk of someone seeing her definitely reddening cheeks.

“So, in this round, each team member has to feed the drink to their teammate.” The pairs glare at each other, y/n and Becky giving each other a nod. Cal continues: “One player must stand with their hands on their hips, as their teammate stands behind them, with their arms through the player’s arms,” he manhandles Chris for demonstration. Turning Chris around and forcing his hands on his hips, Cal then loops his hands through as if his arms are now Chris’s and mimes holding a drink up to Chris’s lips. This earns nods amongst the other players, followed by ‘oh’s. “They then switch,” Cal explains further, “And the team with the lowest collective time it takes to finish their drinks, gains the least amount of points.”

George and Chris go first. “Here we go, turn around darling” George smirks to Chris as he spins him by his hips. Chris giggles high pitched, flapping his arms in a fake shy manner, causing the others to laugh. They do a terrible job, Chris keeps pulling his head away from the pint glass to tell George off for pouring too fast. “Shut up and take it!” George kept replying, giving the female viewers more treats with his choice of wording. It takes them just under a minute for Chris to finish his drink.

They switch, George offering Chris a hand. When Chris looks to him confused, George says: “I thought you’d want help climbing onto the bench so you can reach around me properly.” The group chuckle, including Chris as he rolls his eyes. They do better this way around, but mostly due to George’s drinking skills.

The other teams watch on from their table. Arthur leaning past y/n slightly so he can get a good view. She can feel his breath slightly fanning on the back of her ear, but team Gherking’s entertaining performance is distracting enough for her to not get too flustered. Chip gives Becky a subtle “Oop” and when she turns back to look at him, he gestures his head towards y/n and Arthur. From their angle, the pair are sat so close. Arthur’s elbow is resting on the table, his hand sat next to y/n’s side. His upper body is twisted toward her, his chest slightly pressed to her right shoulder. Any public onlookers would assume they’re a couple. Becky looks back to Chip and rolls her eyes with a beaming smile. Their chemistry already was undeniable, although a bit of liquid confidence may be part of the reason.

Arthur and Chip are next, stepping into shot. Chip stands behind Arthur as Cal passes a pint to him. “Uh Chip, what’s that in your pocket?” Arthur jokingly asks.

“You don’t wanna know bro” Chip replies. They do a fantastic job, Chip very gently tilting the pint more and more as Arthur gulps. Already he drinks the pint twice as fast as George and Chris’s first go. They switch places.

“What’s that massive thing poking my ass?” Chip shouts, turning to y/n and giving her a subtle wink with a smirk, being careful to not get caught by any of the cameras.

“Oh my word!” Arthur calls out in shock, followed by a chuckle as he shakes his head. Y/n laughs as she leans her head down into her arms resting on the table. She’s terrified of the cameras picking up any possible redness in her face. The pair do a great job again, their tactic was slow and steady after watching George rush Chris. They did miles better.

It’s the girls’ turn, Becky taking position behind y/n first. “Give us a hum or something if I’m pouring too fast hun,” Becky instructs in her ear. Y/n nods with a determined grin. Arthur looks on at y/n’s physique, as he hadn’t been able to look before. She carries herself confidently yet she’s humble, something he finds so attractive. The pair do an amazing job and then switch places. “Y/n your ass is very soft and squishy!” Becky exclaims, patting her on the back for finishing the pint quite fast.

“This old thing?” Y/n jokingly replies, looking back to Becky and sticks her butt out slightly towards her. The drinks may be going to her head already. They both laugh as y/n giggles out an apology as Becky shakes her head. “Oh my…” Arthur quietly says to himself as he turns to Chip, being sure not to allow himself to stare, instead he locks eyes with his smirking teammate.

Y/n stands behind Becky and takes the pint from Cal. Y/n leans forward, her head just above Becky’s shoulder so she can watch Becky’s face and pour based on her expression. “Looks like she’s pouring based on Becky’s swallows, good tactic!” Cal calls out. Arthur watches on, taking into account y/n’s care to Becky. Chip leans over the table. “She’s clever and caring bro, wife her up!” Chip whispers. Arthur exhales a laugh through his nose at Chips words, he slightly shakes his head but doesn’t take his eyes off y/n.

The Fe-Mails finish the fastest, against all odds. Chris blames George for pouring too fast and George retorts by saying Chris whined too much. The scores now as follows:

Bone Apetit: 3 points

The Fe-Mails: 3 points

Gherkings: 6 points

The next pub isn’t too far away, about a four minute walk. Chris runs up ahead of George, Arthur, and Chip to reach y/n who is walking alongside Becky and Cal. “So y/n, how are you finding pub golf so far?” he asks, with a camerman walking alongside them.

“I’m really enjoying it so far thanks,“ she starts, “it’s been really fun and everyone’s so nice.”

“Oh yeah, you haven’t met some of the guys before. Cal, Arthur, and Chip right? Alongside the crew?” Chris replies.

“Oop, Chris just said your name” Chip teases Arthur quietly. Arthur looks up ahead of him to see Chris and y/n talking in front of a camera while walking. “You two are really getting on aren’t you, you and y/n?” he adds, patting Arthur on the back.

“Yeah, she’s really nice,” he smiles as he whispers, “She’s just like she is in her videos, not that I thought she wouldn’t be or anything.”

“Yeah, I’d been watching her stuff for a while and before even meeting her, I thought that you guys should meet,” George chimes in, joining Arthur’s other side. “You’re both awkward and nerdy and funny, two peas in a pod really.”

“Really?” Arthur enquires, quite loud, and the boys shush him as y/n and Chris are only a couple of metres ahead and could’ve heard.

They arrive at the third pub already, but there were no seats outside available, so they all squeeze into a round booth inside, with Cal in the middle. From left to right is Becky, Chris, Chip, Cal, George, Arthur, and y/n.

A tray full of shots gets placed on the round table. Cal explains to the camera that this round is an alphabet game where starting with Arthur, they’ll take turns clockwise naming something within a category, from A-Z. Whoever hesitates or says a word starting with the wrong letter, they need to drink a shot. A shot in this game earns a point for the team. The first round is dog breeds, matching Chip and Arthur’s costumes. It goes as follows:

Arthur: “Alsatian”

Y/n: “Bulldog”

Becky: “Chihuahua”

Chris: “Uhh… Dalmatian!”

Chip: “Errr…”

“Hesitation!” Chris and Cal both shout. Chip puts his head in his hands and groans. He picks up a shot and shouts “I can’t think of any dogs starti’ with E!”

“English bull terrier!” Arthur calls, gesturing fake-angrily, “It’s OUR theme!”

“Aw man!” Chip replies as he downs his shot. Arthur chuckles, turning to look at y/n who’s also enjoying the antics. Arthur doesn’t notice at first, but his leg is pressed against y/n’s, mostly due to George manspreading.

George turns to Arthur, “That’s handy, I couldn’t think of a dog beginning with F either,” he chuckled, shrugging.

“A Frenchie?” Y/n replied, leaning forward past Arthur.

“Yeah, a French bulldog, y/n literally said ‘bulldog’ and basically gave that to you!” Arthur laughs, as he nudges y/n.

Round two is fruit and vegetables, based on team Gherkings. Starting with Chip, the game begins:

Chip: “Avocado! Yes!”

George: “B…Banana”

Arthur: “Cantaloupe”

Y/n: “Dragon fr-“

“Brother that’s an animal!” Chip interrupts, pointing at Arthur.

“Cantaloupe?” George asks with both surprise and a smirk as the group laughs.

“You’re thinking of an antelope!” Arthur calls back.

“You’re on the same team!” Chris chortles.

“Y/n, hesitation!” Cal exclaims.

Y/n’s jaw drops, Arthur looks to her in surprise.

“That’s not fair!” Y/n retorts.

“Yeah, she started talking but Chip interrupted” Becky adds.

“To be fair, she said ‘dragon fruit’, I heard her.” Arthur claims, matter of factly as he leans back and puts a hand on y/n’s shoulder, giving it a pat.

“I didn’t hear her, did anyone else hear her besides Arthur?” Cal asks the group.

“I didn’t.” George answers, smugly, shooting a grin towards y/n.

“I did!” Becky adds.

“Well that’s bollocks,” Chris states as he crosses his arms, “if George didn’t hear it, you’re not gonna hear it from all the way over there!”

“George is lying!” “Because George is lying” y/n and Arthur exclaim at the same time.

George sarcastically presses a hand to his heart, feigning a hurt expression.

“That settles it, y/n hesitated.” Cal finalises, smacking the table like a judge with a gavel. George picks up a shot and hands it to y/n “Drink up,” he grins. She takes the shot from him as she narrows her eyes at him.

“Fine, but this means war.” she jokingly murmurs before taking the shot, disgusted by the aftertaste.

“Well done,” Arthur says, leaning back to touch her shoulder again, giving it a squeeze as he grins at her.

The third round is items you’d find in a post office. “Chip, as you interrupted y/n last round, you can start.” Cal states.

Chips stutters, “A…analytics, like sheets of analytics and data and stuff!”

“Absolutely not.” Chris says.

“Boxes!” George shouts, not taking any chances.

“I’m sorry, no.” Chris continues.

“Chris, if you continue interrupting and time wasting, you’ll need to take a shot.” Cal states. The game continues:

Arthur: “Calendar”

Y/n: “Desk!”

Becky: “Eeeeenvelopes”

Chris: “Ummm… F…”

“Hesitation!” Cal shouts, slamming the table again as the others join in shouting.

“Uh, fine!” Chris groans as he downs a shot, sticking his tongue out and shaking his head. “Bloody awful.”

“So, each team has one point each?” George questions, “Well that game was fucking pointless then!”

Cal nods, pretending to be deeply disappointed in everyone. “I was worried this would happen,” he starts, “So we have one more round!”

The cameras whip around everyone as ‘ooh’s echo throughout. The final round was for countries. “Chris, you start.”

Chris: “Argentina”

Chip: “Belgium“

George: “China”

Arthur: “Denmark”

Y/n: “England”

Becky: “… France”

Chris: “Germany”

Chip: “Hhhhhungary!”

George (laughing): “Iceland”

Arthur: “Japan”

Y/n: “Um… Kazakhstan”

Becky: “L…ondon!”

“No!” Y/n cries out, belly laughing as she puts her head in her hands. Arthur laughs along with her and pats her on the back.

“I’m sorry, I panicked!” Becky calls out, immediately grabbing a shot and drinking as Cal shouts: “Incorrect!”

“‘London’” Chris quietly says to himself as he chuckles.

“Don’t worry Becks, I thought London too,” Chip leans forward, calling to Becky who had her head on the table.

The scores at the end of this game are:

Bone Appetite: 4

The Fe-Mails: 5

Gherkings: 7

As the group stand up from the booth, the drinks are starting to get to the group’s heads. “Fuckin’ ‘ell!” Becky shouts, wobbling as she carefully steps out of the booth, Chris getting up behind her with his arms outreached ready to catch her if she falls. Y/n gets up and stumbles slightly, catching herself on the table. Arthur smiles and reaches out to her at the same time. “Woah, careful there!” he chuckles.

Heading to the next pub, Chip loses his footing off the curb, his ankle buckling as he drops to the floor. He’s totally fine and just lays there laughing as Becky and Chris immediately head over to help him up, also cackling. “Oop! Was that a fall there Chip?” Cal questions, pointing at the obviously collapsed man on the floor.

“No…” Chip replies as he’s pulled to his feet.

“Do you want a point for the team or a shot at the next pub?” Cal asks.

“Point. No, shot!” Chip shouts.

“I’m sorry but I’m gonna have to go for your first answer,” Cal states, “One extra point to Bone Appetite!” Arthur shakes his head with a small snigger as he walks beside Cal, a camera pointing at them both.

George is walking alongside y/n, at the front of the group. “Having a good time?” He asks. A little tipsy, she giggles.

“I really am, thanks for getting me on here.” She beams. George grins back.

“I’m glad. And I must say, you’ve made an astonishing first impression.” He states.

“Really?”

“Yep, I’ve seen the crew laugh at some of your jokes. Chip thinks you’re proper nice, and don’t get me started on Arthur.” George elaborates.

Y/n looks to George shyly, “What d’you mean?”

“What’s that?” Arthur asks as he darts ahead to join George and y/n, walking on the other side of her.

“Nothing bad Television, I was just telling y/n what a good impression she’s made already today with her pub golf debut.” George calmly explains. Arthur nods, looking to y/n with a sweet smile.

“You really have!” He adds, his beam so wide his eyes close. “You’ll definitely be asked to join again. If not by Chris, which would make him an idiot, but by the viewers.”

Y/n gets bashful. “Aw, thanks!” She replies.

“And I certainly want you to join again,” Arthur continues, looking y/n in the eyes with a genuine smile.

“Yeah, because you’re terrible and give us a good boost.” George adds, sporting a childish smirk before then drifting back to join the others behind them.

“He’s such an idiot sometimes, ignore him.” Arthur whispers, “His team’s losing anyway.”

Reaching the fourth pub, more shots were purchased for the players. They stand around a circular table outside as Cal announces the rules: Each player must down their shot, with their hands behind their back and only using their mouth to lift the glass. Any spills, leftover drink, or using hands earns the player’s team a point.

Chris goes first and accidentally leaves a little drink at the bottom. Chip and Arthur scream for Cal to penalise him while George squeezes his nose bridge in half-joking frustration. Cal gives team Gherkings a point for not finishing the shot. Becky’s next and completes her shot with ease. “Piece of piss!” She gloats while pointing at the camera. Chip’s next and being giggly and tipsy, he giggles mid-drink and spits the glass out. The drink spills everywhere and the shot glass bounces off the table and shatters on the floor. Arthur clasps his hands to his head, “What are you doing?” He exclaims.

“That’s two points for Bone Appetite, not just for spilling but for breaking a glass!” Cal calls. Arthur playfully shakes Chip by the shoulders with gritted teeth. Chip just giggles. Becky pumps a fist in the air and hi-fives y/n, as they both realise they’re in first place now.

George takes his shot just fine, followed by Arthur. Y/n watches Arthur’s lips around the glass, feeling a little flustered as he furrows his eyebrows in concentration. Arthur drinks his shot just fine too. Y/n’s last and also has the giggles, nervous she’ll make the same mistake as Chip. “Calm yourself babes, focus!” Becky cheers on. Y/n clasps her hands behind her lower back and leans forward, gripping the shot glass with her lips. George looks to Arthur, raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together, luckily both are out of view of the cameras. Arthur clears his throat awkwardly and locks eyes with George. “Oh grow up” Arthur quietly murmurs, rolling his eyes with a playful smile. Although he can’t deny, he’s starting to break a sweat.

Y/n lifts the glass and tilts her head back fine, but Chip then makes a fake orgasm moan which causes her to laugh. Unlike Chip however, she leans forward and the drink lands back in the shot glass, and she places it back on the table with her mouth. “What the hell Chip?” She calls out, chortling as she stood straight again.

“One point to the Fe-Mails!” Cal declares.

With that round over, the scores are:

The Fe-Mails: 6

Bone Appetite: 7

Gherkings: 8

Heads are starting to spin from the last few shots, and it shows in all the players now. Chris in particular is struggling, groaning as he walks along with the group on the way to the penultimate pub. “Chris, if you chunder you get a point for each spew!” Cal calls to him from the back of the group.

“Fuck off, we’re losing anyway!” Chris shouts back.

“Only by one point, you idiot!” George snaps at his suffering teammate. Cal looks to the camera with fake outrage.

“Did he just disrespect the ref?”, the cameraman made the camera nod. He turns back to the group and puts a hand either side of his mouth. “One point to team Gherkings for disrespecting the ref!”

The girls are also struggling, clinging onto each other as y/n’s steps in particular become gradually more wobbled as they waddle alongside George. Arthur chuckles from behind them. “Wow, you really ARE bad at this y/n!” he calls. She’s too busy concentrating on not falling over to fight back with a witty comment and just giggles.

Reaching the fifth pub, they realise there are no chairs available inside or out, so the crew go to the bar to grab the drinks while the players head back out the pub entrance and all stand on the street. Cal hands Becky and y/n a pint each. “Try not to spew this one back in the glass this time y/n!” Arthur sniggers, his liquid courage getting to him. Becky gives him a middle finger and Chip chuckles.

“Don’t start with me Arthur or I’ll spew on you!” Y/n retorts, not her best comeback but she’s beyond tipsy at this point.

“He’d probably like that,” George whispers under his breath, making Chris cackle.

This round is pretty simple, one teammate needs to feed the other as much of a pint as possible within 10 seconds. If any teammate finishes the pint before the 10 seconds, the team gets one point deducted from their score. Becky and y/n go first, Becky doing the pouring for y/n. “Just squeeze my shoulder if you want me to slow down yeah?” Becky explains, “I’ve seen the others do it before.”

Y/n nods, putting her arm around Becky and resting on her shoulder. “I’ve seen it too, good plan.” She replies. Remarkably, y/n manages almost all the pint, following Becky’s suggestion. The boys cheer her as it’s the best performance y/n has done so far. They swap places and Becky puts her arm around y/n. Watching on from the side, chip slaps Arthur’s back. “Bet you’d love to put your arm around y/n like that wouldn’t you?” He whispers. George, standing the other side chimes in, making quiet kissy noises. Arthur presses his hand to his brow bone and giggles to himself. “You guys are too much, seriously.”

“Honestly mate, she seems into you, she’d probably let you.” Chris adds, standing in front of the boys but hearing everything. He turns to look at Arthur, so he can see Chris is being genuine.

“I don’t know her that well, but for the time I’ve known her, she hasn’t radiated this much with anyone as she’s done with you.” George adds, also using a legitimate tone. Patting Arthur on the back.

Y/n tips the glass for Becky, the whole time watching her face and paying close attention to the hand on her shoulder. “Yes Becky” she quietly chants throughout the 10 seconds, but sadly Becky also doesn’t finish the whole pint in time. Next up are Bone Appetite, Chip deeply suffering as he barely downs half the pint before stopping and trying not to vomit. The boys shouting their fair shares of ‘uh oh’s, trying to make Chip feel worse. Chip doubles over and braces himself. Arthur stands beside him, “Seriously, you alright mate?” He asks calmly.

Chris stands beside y/n, a crew member filming them both. “I thought you’d be the first to go y/n,” he chuckles. Looking back over as the onesie wearers are both leaning against the wall. Y/n giggles, watching Arthur be a supportive friend and melting a little internally.

“Same here honestly” she replies, eliciting a laugh from Chris. Arthur and Chip step back into shot. Arthur pats his back lightly as Chip nods, confirming he’s okay to continue.

Chip begins pouring the drink into Arthur’s mouth. Y/n watching on as Arthur confidently gestures up with his spare arm so Chip can pour faster. Arthur remarkably finishes the pint, reducing their team’s point by one. The other players applaud, y/n is impressed, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “You’re drooling” George whispers as he leans into her and winks, he and Chris making their way in front of the camera for their turn. Arthur and Chip cross them, Chip heading inside because he needs a ‘massive slash’ and Arthur joining y/n.

Y/n is stood leaning against the wall as Arthur stands beside her, his arm reached out and hand behind her, pressed against the wall. Shuffling her feet as she watches the Gherkings have their turn, she steps back slightly and the back of her neck meets Arthur’s arm. “Oh, sorry,” she awkwardly whispers to him, letting out a small giggle. Arthur tuts with a faint smile.

“Don’t be silly!” He whispers as he moves his lips closer to her ear, reaching his hand round to squeeze her shoulder a little, before returning it back to the wall. He catches her smiling to herself as he returns his gaze back to George and Chris, and he can’t stop himself from beaming either.

George pouring into Chris’s mouth didn’t go well, only managing half the pint. When they swap however, George also manages to finish his pint. They lose a point for their team, the Fe-Mails being the only team whose score stays the same. The scores at the end of this round are:

The Fe-Mails: 6

Bone Apetit: 6

Gherkings: 7

The gang head off to the last pub, wobblier than ever. Chris and Arthur are busy keeping Chip afloat, neither of them holding themselves too well either. George has his arms around Becky and y/n, he himself being the most sober of the players. “Look at George, Arthur, and Chris. Chivalrous as ever.” Cal says to the camera with a grin. They all pile into the pub, situating at a six-seater table. Cal pulls up a stool at the end again. Chris, Arthur, and Chip head down one side of the table and Becky, y/n, and George move down the other. Y/n sits opposite Arthur, but luckily she’s already flushed from the drinks.

“Okay guys, it’s the final game of the night!” Cal begins as the cameras focus on the table. He explains the rules: each team has a cocktail pitcher that they have to pour into their glasses and drink until the pitcher is empty. Fastest drinking team wins.

Bone Appetite go first, Arthur drinking more than Chip, but they manage to finish the pitcher in under a minute. Next is Becky and y/n. Y/n sniffs the pitcher and shudders. “I don’t think I’ll keep this stuff down Becky” she chuckles, embarrassed.

“Aw, you’ll be alright, I can take more drink if you want!” Becky replies, to which y/n nods. The boys look on with excitement, The Fe-Mails essentially one man down, all except Arthur. Despite wearing a smile to fit the others, deep down he can’t help but worry for y/n, not wanting her to spew on camera in her first ChrisMD video appearance. However, Becky sticks to her promise and takes the heavier load and they complete their turn, although slightly slower than Bone Appetite. Y/n pauses for a moment, a clenched fist held to her mouth. The gang stop to watch her, making sure she doesn’t spew but after a few seconds, she composes herself. “Phew, I’m fine!” She smiles. Becky and the boys relax.

Although it doesn’t seem like Chris is holding up too well either, as George drags their pitcher to rest in between them. “Chin up dearest,” George starts, “we got a game to win.”

Chris lets out a low burp into his hand, groaning out an “Oh god” that’s barely audible. Arthur excitedly looks to Chip, then to Becky and y/n, his eyes wide and lips pursed in an ‘ooh’ shape.

They start, but George quickly takes the lead as Chris struggles. As soon as he finishes his glass, Chris makes a dash from the table, leaving George and the rest to watch on in shock. “I won’t give him a point for vomiting just yet.” Cal chuckles. George turns his attention back to the pitcher, well aware that that they’re still against the clock, and pours himself a glass to continue. Remarkably, he finishes the entire pitcher’s worth and catches up to the girls’ time but wasn’t able to beat Chip and Arthur.

With the final game over, George excuses himself to check on his teammate, and the others talk amongst themselves. As Arthur talks with Chip, he gestures his hand a little too fast, knocking a glass of half melted ice over, the cold water spilling across the table, and dripping onto y/n’s lap. “Oh no!” He cries, eyes wide open as he clasps his hands to his mouth in horror. Y/n yelps at the sudden coldness but soon laughs it off.

“Spillage!” Becky shouts, pointing from the table to y/n while staring directly at Cal.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Shit.” Arthur mumbles, “Let me get you some napkins!” He gets up and rushes away.

“Surely that doesn’t count as a spillage, the drink was all drink up- drunk up,” Chip tries reasoning with Cal.

“Nope, still a spill. A drink was spilled Chip!” Cal quips back in an authoritative but jokey tone. “One point to Bone Appetite!”

Arthur reappears at the table, retaking his seat and passing y/n a scrunched up bundle of napkins as she stands up ready to wipe herself.

“Thank you, good boy!” She giggles as she half-drunkenly leans over pats Arthur on the head, then proceeding to dab her trousers. Arthur looks super surprised at first, as Chip and Becky chortle, before breaking out into laughter himself.

“Brother I’m sorry, you got us a point but your face just then was so worth it!” Chip chuckles. Y/n sits back down, using the remainder of the napkins to dry the table. Arthur feeling all too aware that he may be blushing after being called a ‘good boy’ by the hottest girl he’s ever met, turns his head away from the table, nonchalantly saying “Where are the pickle boys?” to avoid the cameras picking up on any redness in his face. Luckily for him, they both appear from round the corner and return to the table. Sitting down and tucking their chairs in, Chris looks to Cal and bluntly says “Yeah, I threw up” with sheepish look, then he looks to the camera and sighs. George pretends to smell Chris’s bad breath and wafts his hand, then chuckles.

“One point to team Gherkings!” Cal starts, “And with that, the final scores are…” the players begin to smack their hands on the table for a drum roll. “In third place with 11 points is team Gherkings!” the other two teams clap as Chris put his hand to his chest and makes a faint bow. George puts his head down, smirking and gesturing at a very pale Chris, murmuring an “Obviously.”

“And now for first place… it’s a tie between Bone Appetite and The Fe-Mails!” Cal finishes. The table exchange a few ‘oohs’. “I thought this may happen,” Cal continues, “Therefore we have a tie breaker to determine first and second place!”

All of a sudden, two crew members approach the table with four baby Guinnesses, placing one in front of each of the tied team members.

“Oh god, I can’t drink anymore.” Chip whines, eliciting a low laugh from the table.

“I’m not sure if I can either.” Becky adds.

“Each team member will drink their baby Guinness, the faster of both teams will then compete in an arm wrestle.” Cal explains.

“Okay.” Y/n says to herself, determined, her hand ready on her small glass. She had assumed her team would’ve come last because of her, so beating George gave her some encouragement.

“Three-two-one-go!” Cal suddenly shouts very fast, hoping to throw them all off.

Chip doesn’t even move, he remains staring at his baby Guinness in defeat with his hands on his lap.

“Oh, fuck!” Becky calls out, quickly reaching for her drink and downing it. However y/n and Arthur had already finished theirs within just over a second.

Cal claps his hands together and declares: “Arthur and y/n win the race! Get ready to arm wrestle.” They lock eyes and reposition themselves ready. Both feeling a little heated from the eye contact, but they know it’ll make for good shots for the video.

“Get him, y/n!” Becky cheers.

“Don’t go easy on her Arthur!” Chip chants, patting Arthur on the back. The pair rest their elbows on the table and clasp hands, immediately feeling electricity from the contact, and hoping the spark isn’t visible on camera.

“You’re toe-ing… you’re going to do a Fe-FAIL!” Arthur stammers, the baby Guinness going straight to his head. The players laugh, including himself. Y/n cackles with her head down. Arthur squeezes her hand slightly to bring her attention back to the game. She lifts her head back up, locking eyes with him again and attempting a deadpan face. “Someone mute this TV, it-“ but she bursts out laughing before finishing her sentence. Arthur lets out a ‘pfft’ laugh, leaning his head back and squinting his eyes together.

“This is painful,” Chris chuckles, rubbing circles into his eyes with his hands.

“Indeed it is,” Cal adds, “Ready? Start on ‘go’.” The pair’s eyes meet again, y/n slightly turns her wrist to make the wrestle harder for Arthur and gives him a small squeeze. Arthur bites his lip and furrows his brows in response, staring at their connected hands. Y/n is seemingly unaware of just how strong Arthur with his sleeper build, although she’d never tell Arthur (or anyone for that matter) that she’s seen a lot of edits where he is shirtless.

“Three, two, one, go!” Cal calls. Immediately y/n seems to have the upper hand for a few seconds, Arthur’s hand mere inches from the table. Chris and Chip cheer Arthur on, telling him to pick up the slack. Meanwhile, George and Becky chant y/n’s name and smack the table in rhythm. Arthur’s face is contorted as he struggles, watching y/n as she stares at their hands. As soon as she glances back at Arthur, he suddenly smirks and slams her hand down on the table. “Oh my god!” Chip calls out, perking up and slamming his fists on the table with excitement.

“Outstanding. Arthur wins the arm wrestle, which means Bone Appetite wins this video’s pub golf with 7 points!” Cal declares gesturing to his right at the champions. Y/n’s still staring at Arthur with a wide mouth and still with her hand pinned down under Arthur’s. One cameraman zooms in to capture Chip and Arthur’s celebratory reaction, as Chip shakes Arthur’s shoulders and cheers until his voice breaks. Only then does Arthur realise he’s still holding y/n’s hand, giving her hand a couple of small squeezes again before letting go and giving Chip a hug.

Y/n smiles and pulls her hand away to applaud the winners with a smile, alongside the other players. Cal then turns to the girls. “And well done to The Fe-Mails, second place with 8 points!” He exclaims before clapping. Y/n and Becky both let out some ‘woop’s before throwing their prop envelopes in the air like confetti. Arthur and Chip then clap for them.

“Aw commiserations ladies” Chip taunts the girls, his clapping slowing but increasing in volume as he sticks out his bottom lip.

“Ah shut up you, you barely did anything!” Becky retorts.

“Yeah,” y/n joins in, pushing his baby Guinness closer to him. He fake gags and presses his head into Arthur’s neck.

“They’re bullying me Arthur!” He cries against him.

“Not gonna lie, you kind of deserved it,” Arthur replies giggling, watching y/n laugh.

The crew head outside to do their final clips, one by one they partake in the same interview they did before the pub golf games started. The question being a slight variation: ‘How did you fare today?’

Chris’s answer validates his answer at the beginning. Squeezing the bridge of his nose, he chuckles and bluntly answers: “We did shit.”

George’s answer is a stark contrast against his initial confident response. “I would’ve won if it wasn’t for that hobbit” he jokingly states with his arms crossed, his head gesturing towards his paling teammate.

Chip’s nonchalant ‘we’ll do alright I think’ from before was also very different to his new response: “We fucking smashed it, I knew we would!”

Arthur sticks to his dog theme with his answer. “We had fun and were the winners, in dog years this means we had seven times the fun… and seven times the wins” he exclaims with a big smile.

“I think we did fantastic, we would’ve won if it were me doing the arm wrestle, but we still smashed it!” Becky answers, confident as ever, pumping a fist towards the camera.

Lastly is y/n’s final answer. “I bloody loved it,” she chuckles, “I had the best time with the best people, I… had the best time!”

Chris struggles to get through the outro for the video while the others stand either side of him, smiling. The film crew stop recording and put their kits away, all heading back into the pub to have their own drinks, and the players follow them. Chris and Cal sit at a long table with their crew, whereas George, Chip, Becky, Arthur, and y/n head towards booth beside them. Arthur gestures for y/n to slide into the bench first, and he follows suit. Opposite them slides in Chip and George. “Guys my uber is here!” Becky announces. She says her goodbyes to everyone, calling y/n her partner in crime as y/n leans across the table to give her a hi-five. Arthur looks down to his lap shyly as y/n’s face was dangerously close to his during Becky’s farewell. “Have fun y/n” she says in a suggestive tone, before winking at her and leaving the pub. Y/n giggles to herself and readjusts her position.

“What was that about, why’d she say that like that?” Arthur asks y/n, his head tilted and leans closer towards y/n, narrowing his eyes with intrigue.

“Oh, that’s… nothing, she’s just being silly!” Y/n awkwardly replies, unclipping her mic from her collar to put in her pocket.

“Hmm… yeah…” Arthur murmurs, still looking at her suspiciously, but realising he’s still wearing his mic and removes his too. “I’ll give these back to Chris, do you want a drink? Anyone?” Arthur asks, directing the notion to the whole booth.

“I’ll just have a water please,” y/n answers.

“Me too,” George adds.

“If I drink anything else, I’ll fucking die.” Chip murmurs.

“Okay, three waters, I’ll be right back.” Arthur takes the mic packs and heads to Chris’s table. George leans towards y/n with his elbows on the table and his chin resting in his hands.

“Enjoyed the arm wrestle didn’t we?” He teases. Chip copies George’s pose, also awaiting y/n’s reply.

“Actually my wrist hurts now,” y/n awkwardly replies, rubbing her wrist.

“That’s not what I meant, don’t think I didn’t see you two still holding hands way after the arm wrestle was over!” George replies.

“Really?” Chip remarks, “Guess I was too busy celebrating to notice!”

Y/n eyes widen. “You don’t think the cameras picked up on it do you?” She asks awkwardly, “I’m still dealing with the y/n x Becky accusations!”

Arthur makes his way back to the table, juggling three glasses of water. He offers Chip some of his water, to which Chip declines. They chat away about the day for the next few minutes, Arthur’s arm brushing past y/n’s every so often while talking, and occasionally his leg touches hers too. George being a ‘bro’ to both Arthur and y/n, excuses himself to go to the toilets, subtly gesturing for Chip to leave too. Chip says he wants some fresh air and heads outside, leaving Arthur and y/n alone. The booth suddenly feels more intimate.

Arthur shifts on the bench so he’s facing y/n more, his right arm resting on the back of the bench, his hand by y/n’s head. She turns to face him too, her elbow resting on the table and her head on her hand. “Did you enjoy today?” He asks quietly, struggling to maintain eye contact now they’re alone and off camera. She nods, sitting up straighter but looking at her lap awkwardly.

“It was probably the best video I’ve ever been a part of, including my own” she replies with a giggle.

“Really? That fun, huh?” Arthur responds, now looking at her. She nods again.

“Was there anything in particular, or the whole day as a whole?” He queries.

“The whole day,” y/n beams. Arthur then nods, y/n looks around the pub before feeling brave. “Actually, you definitely made things more fun” She adds. Arthur’s eyes widen as he takes a sip of his water, trying to come up with something to say. Y/n follows suit, although it’s because her mouth has become extremely dry.

“What do you mean?” He questions, studying her face with a flattered grin.

“You just made me feel super comfortable, not that anyone made me UNcomfortable, but yeah. It really helped calm my nerves.” Y/n explains.

“Aw well, I’m so glad to hear that,” Arthur replies, moving his hand from the back of the bench to y/n’s shoulder and giving it a gentle jostle. “I think this was my favourite pub golf, by far,” He continues, “and that was down to you, most definitely.”

There was a cozy silence between the two. Y/n nods gleefully as she takes another sip of her water. As she sets the glass back down, she looks to Arthur to see him studying her face. His smile still visible, although more so in his eyes rather than his lips, as his gaze flutters over her features, pausing at her mouth before darting back up to her eyes. They can feel each other slowly leading in.

“Arthur, y/n,” Chris startles them with a hand tapping on the table, “uh sorry, we’re all heading off now. You coming?” Y/n checks her phone, surprised to see it’s getting late. She didn’t originally know how long these pub golf videos take, and it certainly didn’t feel like it took a whole entire day. Arthur turns back to look at y/n with an inquisitive smile. “We’re gonna head back to theirs to watch a horror movie or something, if you want to join?” He asks.

“Yeah, you can crash if you’re not busy tomorrow too, Arthur’s staying over.” Chris chimes in. Y/n of course, accepts the invitation.

Chip makes his own way home, promising to text once he’s back safe. George, Chris, Arthur, and y/n head into a taxi to travel back to the boys’ flat. Chris sits in front with the driver, chatting away with him. Whereas y/n is sandwiched in the back between Arthur and George. “Come on y/n, put us out of our misery,” George starts, his odd sentence gains him confused glances from y/n and Arthur, “who do you think you’ll be shipped most with by the viewers after this video goes live?” He continues with a cheeky grin.

“Probably Becky again.” Y/n chuckles, replying fast without much thought.

“You and Becky, ey?” George enquires, pretending to think as he looks to the ceiling of the taxi and rubs his chin before adding: “Now there’s an image.”

“Don’t be such a perve!” Arthur scolds half-heartedly. They all share a snigger.

“I recon you two.” Chris chimes in, turning in his chair and gesturing to y/n and Arthur with a genuine smile, though his voice raspy.

“Oh really?” Arthur questioned, his cheeks beginning to burn again as y/n turns to look at him. The closeness of their faces in the cramped taxi adding to the heat as they lock eyes and share giggle.

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

[PART TWO]

݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You woke up due to the soft yellow light gleaming through your dorm window, slowly opening your eyes but not after keeping them shut for a few minutes trying to get a bit extra sleep. University was exhausting you so any opportunity you had to sleep for just a little bit longer, you took.

You stretched a bit and lied there for a few moments, trying to shake the morning sleepiness so you could get your day started without dragging yourself around. You didn’t like school all that much. The parties, the noise, the drunk students stumbling around campus at night, the gossip, it never seemed to end. But you were there regardless, for an education in your career field. And it was that, only that.

And maybe a special someone.

Your childhood friend, will. The boy with the brown hair and smile that could brighten a room, he was always sweet to you and hand you’d found out you were both attending the same school, you couldn’t stop yourself from being just a bit more excited about college. Things were always good between you guys, he was sweet and from picking you up after you fell off your bike in grade school, to letting you cry on his shoulder for your first high-school breakup, you knew you had somebody you could count on.

I should totally get up.. you think to yourself

You reach to your nightstand to take your phone off the charger, you power it on and..

10:42 AM

You started at your phone screen for a moment. Your heart pounding gave you the energy boost to pop up off your soft, comfy bed and speed off to the bathroom to take a quick shower. You were only awake a few minutes after your alarm that he refused to go off, but you like to take your sweet time getting ready.

You let the hot water graze your skin for a moment, nearly falling back asleep, but you stand straight and continue showering. After 15 minutes, you step out onto the cold bathroom tile and grab a soft, warm towel to wrap yourself in. Exiting your bathroom to find an outfit to wear, you decide on a white top, some low rise jeans, a white hoodie and you make sure to bring an elastic to put your hair up after.

You brush your wet hair out and give it a quick blow dry, so you aren’t walking around with soaked hair. You finish getting ready and pack your backpack to head to class, you put your sneakers on and head out the door, the halls and student areas were fairly empty.

You had chem lab today because it was a required course, even though you hated it. But you felt a little more excited today, only because you were partnered with your little boy-next-door and the thought of working next to him had your heart skipping laps.

.

“Y/n! There you are”

You hear a breathless man shout behind you, you turn around to see a panting, slightly bent over to catch his breath, will.

“Hey will, why the hell were you running?” you question .

“I saw you.. down the hall” he said between breaths, a little steadier than he’d initially sounded though.

“I wanted to walk with you but you were so far ahead, I recognized your sweater.”

“How’d you recognize my sweater, what?”

“Because it’s mine you idiot”

You give him a confused look, “huh?”

“The f1 logo’s on the back you idiot, it’s mine. I gave it to you over the summer because I spilled water on you that time you came to my parents’ for dinner”

You giggle a little and shrug

You turn around to head to class, knowing he’ll follow. You smile to yourself knowing you have his sweatshirt on, you realize that’s why it smells different, like him

The two of you chat the rest of the way there, you enter the lab to find a note on the door from your teacher

“Please head to your respective stations and continue your work from last week, you lot are on your own today.”

“Thank god, he’s a prick I really wasn’t too keen on dealing with it today.” Will spits out.

You giggle and find your way to your table, will trailing behind you.

There's some colorful vials, goggles, and a lab coat on the table in front of you. You pick up the goggles and place them on your head. As you slide the lab coat over your arms, you turn your head to see Will struggling to get his goggles on.

"Mate, your head's too big, you need to adjust them." you say through a giggle

"right well thank you for making that clear y/n," he retorts sarcastically. "A little help would be nice"

you reach for the band of the goggles and find the buckle to adjust them. theyre still on his head and you dont realize that as your adjusting them, you ruffle around in his soft, brown hair.

"right well youve just ruined my hair but thank you." will's face turns a slight peachy shade.

"you're welcome."

"sorry sorry, thank you sweet heart" he says in a condescending way

attempting to hold back a smile, you turn your body away to reach for the instructions. Theres a bunsen burner on the table and a vile filled with a colorless and transparent liquid. Will picks up the vial and swishes it around rather carelessly.

"whats this?"

"put that down will, and dont play with it like that. It's hydrogen fluoride it'll burn you."

"yes ma'am" he retorts with slight attitude in his voice.

he pretends to throw the liquid at you, attempting to scare you. Will then gets the bright idea to take the cork off the vial and do the same motion of pretending to toss it on you.

Unfortunately, he does this just a little too hard and ends up splashing the hydorgen fluoride all over your hand

"Fuck. Damn it will i told you to stop!" you shout and whine in pain, you can feel the acid cause a flare up in your skin. you place your other hand over it in attempt to sooth your burn but it doesn't do much.

"shit, fuck im sorry, here let me help you please-"

you run out into the hall to find a water fountain, you spot one about 10 feet from the lab door and jog over to douse your hand in. Will jogs behind you and places a hand lightly on your back.

"William i told you to be careful!"

"i know im so sorry, let me help you."

he helps you wash your hand lightly in the fountain, you wince at his touch but let him because he seems to know what he's doing.

"come on then, i'll get you fixed up."

He walks you back to his dorm, you're both silent for the five minute walk it takes to get to the dorm hall. his hand remains softly on your back or shoulder for most of it. You finally make it to his room and he opens the door for you, ushering you to sit on his bed has he rustles through a drawer to find his first-aid kit.

"I always keep this in my dorm. it's usually for me though, you know for my 'responsible activities' " he says through a soft chuckle. "Never thought i'd bring it out for someone else, especially not you."

He picks your hand up and rubs a bit of neosporin on it. you feel an immediate releif after the intial shock of his cold, rough hands touchig the damaged area.

"y'alright?"

"yeah, yeah. Thank you." you sigh

he picks up a roll of gauze and wraps it around your hand. he starts at the base of your thumb and intertwines it through each of your fingers for security. hes pulling and lightly grabbing all over your arm and you can't help but get just a little bit nervous. He walks back over to grab some elastic bandage wrap "I'll wrap it again for you, some extra security so it won't come undone, scoot up"

you listen and shuffle to the edge of his bed. Before you realize it, he's standing between your legs pressed against your thighs ever so slightly. He seems laser-focused, repeating the same previous steps with some bandage wrap to ensure security. You feel your face turn a bright red and begin to get a little warm. he pulls one last time on the bandage,

"there, that should hold up well. Again, im really sorry."

He places your hand down on your thigh, mindlessly resting his hand on top of yours, barely grazing your thighs.

you look down at your hand for a moment, then look back up to will

"thank you, you really didn't have to-"

"oh stop it yes i did, i hurt you it was the least i could do" he huffs

there's a pause, it's almost too long. too tense, too quiet. his hand rests on your thigh and his legs stay pressed against yours.

"plus, it just gave me an excuse to get you alone for once." he says in a low, husk voice. you spot a slight smirk forming

your heartbeat picks up its pace at an alarming rate.

"what are you saying will..?" you barely manage to cough out

He lifts his other hand, letting the other find its way to gently cup your cheek, making you look at him. You see him pause for just a moment, he then leans in slowly, like hes giving you as much time as possible to back away. His lips connect with yours and you instantly feel your chest lighten. It feels normal, like the easiest thing in the world. you kiss back lightly, sighing into his mouth.

after a minute or so, he pulls back and places his forehead against yours. You both giggle softly.

He picks his head up and smiles at you, you give him a soft smile back as you hold eye contact. m

"god, i waited 13 years to do that. if all it took was a burn to get to kiss you i would've done it ages ago." he laughs a bit at the end of his sentence.

"oh, you ass." you give him a light kick on his leg as you're still sat on his bed.

"i'm just kidding darling. you know i'd never." he retorts. "well, not on purpose at least."

He places a soft kiss on your cheek.

"now, i'll go back and grab your things. and as an apology i'll finish the lab report. you just keep sitting there and looking pretty f'me."

you roll your eyes and give him a soft smile.

"you're smooth Lenny, now go get my stuff.

"yes ma'am!"

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In your human life, you'd been so undeserving of this type of pain. You were pure, quiet, humble. You were dainty and sweet, such a contrast to Caius himself. An angel in human form.

Now, you were locked behind thick doors of stone and silence. He hadn’t left the corridor outside your chambers since the moment your screams had started. Even Marcus, ever-emotionless, had raised a brow at his brother’s refusal to move.

Three days. Three nights. Eighty-two agonizing hours of Caius pacing like a maddened thing, listening, analyzing every faint twitch of sound behind that door. He had committed a thousand atrocities over the centuries -- but this was the first that truly felt like penance.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t speak. And though his immortal heart did not beat, it ached.

You had trusted him with your life -- with your soul -- and he had returned the favor by sentencing you to fire. Beautiful, purifying fire, yes... but fire nonetheless. And now, all he could do was wait for you to awaken -- reborn, perhaps, but changed. There was no going back.

The last time he saw you, your eyes had been glassy with tears, your hand trembling in his as your heart slowed under the weight of the venom. “Don’t leave me,” you'd whispered.

And he hadn't. Not once.

So when the stone doors creaked open -- slowly, cautiously -- Caius straightened like a statue brought to life, his breath caught in his throat.

Then he saw you.

The transformation had been nothing short of divine. Your skin gleamed like moonlight, your eyes were red and ravenous. But it was the way you stood -- tall, regal, absolutely still -- that made him falter.

Your fierce eyes finally ceased from analyzing your surroundings, clearly enamored with your newfound eye strength. They zeroed in on your mate, every inch of his skin, his red eyes, his plush pink lips and platinum hair. You inhaled his smell, a warm bliss finally hitting your cold eyes, showing him similarities to the girl you were when you were human.

His worries melted away. Even changed, you were still in love with him.

You stepped forward, for once in your life not tentatively. Your cold hand floated up, sliding onto Caius's cheek.

Caius couldn't breathe, not that he needed to. Not when your gaze held such fierce clarity -- like your eyes saw into his soul now, truly and completely. Your touch, once timid and featherlight, now carried a steadiness that shook him far more than any battlefield or rebellion ever had.

Your thumb brushed over the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, and something in your expression softened -- just a sliver, but it was you. It was the very core of your gentleness breaking through the cold steel of your rebirth.

“I remember everything,” you said softly, your voice velvet and laced with power.

It wasn’t the high-pitched, uncertain tone you used to carry. It was smooth, confident, regal. A voice meant for a queen. His queen.

Caius turned his face slightly into your palm, closing his eyes for just a breath, allowing himself this small moment of relief. You had come back to him. Not just in form, but in essence.

“I thought you wouldn’t be here,” you added after a beat, your tone flickering with a trace of old vulnerability. “I thought… the fire might take too long. That it might change me too much.”

“It did change you,” he whispered, finally letting his hands rise to cup your face in return. His thumbs rested beneath your jaw, tilting your head gently as his eyes drank you in. “But in the most magnificent of ways. You glow, my love."

Caius barely had time to marvel at the wonder that was you before your cool lips met his in a kiss that shattered centuries of restraint.

Your mouth pressed to his with all the need you’d bottled up over three days of burning agony -- and a lifetime before that. Caius responded instantly, his hands sliding from your cheeks to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was fervent, claiming, the taste of your venom still fresh and electric on your tongue. It was heat and hunger, devotion and desire -- coiling between you like a tether pulled taut by centuries of longing.

You moaned softly into the kiss, and that tiny sound unraveled something feral in him. One hand tangled in your hair, tugging gently, and your sharp gasp made him deepen the kiss, parting your lips with his own.

For someone who’d never kissed with a vampire’s strength or precision before, you were devastating. Your hands roamed over his chest, up to his shoulders, as if reacquainting yourself with every part of him -- but this time, without fragility. You didn’t have to hold back anymore.

And neither did he.

His fangs grazed your lower lip, teasing, and you pulled him impossibly closer, tongue slipping past his lips, matching his fervor with your own. There was nothing tentative now. You kissed like a queen -- bold, dangerous, in complete control.

But then --

You froze.

Your hands stilled against his chest, your body going rigid in his arms.

Caius pulled back just slightly, confusion flickering in his crimson eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, voice rough from the kiss.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even blink. Your pupils dilated, nostrils flaring as a sickeningly sweet scent hit the air -- warm, metallic, utterly intoxicating.

Blood.

Your head whipped toward the far end of the corridor, nostrils flaring as the scent grew stronger, laced with panic and fresh pain.

Down the hallway, behind a set of double doors leading to the main offices, the human secretary had sliced her hand on a piece of parchment paper. A minor, foolish accident. One drop. That’s all it took.

Your eyes darkened, jaw clenching as your newborn instincts screamed to the surface, drowning out everything else.

“She's bleeding,” you hissed, almost reverent, voice low and guttural. Your hands trembled -- not with fear, but with craving.

Caius stepped in front of you instantly, eyes sharp. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice a command born of centuries of rule. “Not her. Me.”

But you were already gone.

One blur of motion -- faster than the human eye could track -- and you’d vanished down the corridor.

Caius took off after you, a blur of platinum and black. Behind him, Aro and Marcus appeared in the hallway, faces unreadable.

“Shall we intervene?” Marcus asked quietly.

Aro smiled, almost fondly. “No. Let her show us what she is.”

When you reached the room Janine was in (a human secretary that hated you, mostly out of jealousy), your sharp eyes caught the droplet of blood falling from her finger. Caius, Aro, and Marcus stood behind you. A raspy growling exhale left your lips as Janine's wide eyes met yours.

You tilted your head, a smirk falling onto your ravenous lips as you picked up her fear. Your new confidence was evident to the Kings.

Three years of Janine's torment had made you cold. Unforgiving. Similarly to your mate.

"Funny, the situation we're in," You said, your voice low and rasped with hunger. You took a small step forward. "I used to be scared of you. Now look. You're cowering. All because of a paper cut."

You circled her, like a lion. The thin line between your restraint and hunger wavered every few seconds -- but you wanted to taunt her. You wanted her to feel what you'd felt for years. She'd made you feel inconvenient, powerless, she'd embarrassed you. You were scared of her gaze for years.

Aro smirked, watching with an almost fond interest. "This is quite the transformation," he commented softly to Caius and Marcus, his voice dripping with amusement. "I had no doubt she'd be a force to be reckoned with, but this… this is something else entirely."

"You remember the way you treated me, don't you?" you purred, your voice cruel and smooth. "The way you looked down on me? Like I was just some little girl beneath your notice. Do you remember the way you used to laugh at me? Make me feel small... insignificant?"

Janine's face paled even further, her lips trembling. She nodded, clearly understanding now the weight of her mistake.

"Name, please--"

A musical laugh slid from your lips. You slid a cold finger down her face, stopping at her pulse point. Your eyes darkened.

"No one's stopping me. No one values your life. You were cruel to me when I was fragile," you hissed, wrapping fingers around her throat. "You've worked with the Volturi for years. Do they show mercy when wronged?"

"Darling." Caius hummed, tilting his head. "Let us not play with our food, hm?"

You paused at Caius's voice, the coldness of his words settling in the air like ice. His tone was both commanding and restrained, a gentle reminder of the control he held, even as he stood just behind you. His presence was a dark anchor, pulling you back from the edge, even as your instincts screamed for more.

Aro’s amused smile flickered for a brief moment as he exchanged a glance with Marcus, both of them content to watch the drama unfold, but it was Caius who seemed to hold the reigns of the situation.

You slowly, reluctantly tightened your grip on Janine's throat, but your eyes remained locked on hers, still burning with the promise of your wrath.

Caius’s gaze was unwavering, his crimson eyes flickering with something unreadable. "It is beneath us to linger on a mere human. We've played the game long enough," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, yet there was a finality to his words that made your breath catch.

With his final assert, you pulled Janine's head sharply, exposing her neck. Then, a beautifully gruesome sight was exposed to the Kings. Your fangs extended and you dove in.

The moment your fangs sank into Janine's soft, fragile skin, the room was filled with the sickening sound of her blood spilling into your mouth. The taste was sharp, metallic, and intoxicating, but it was the fear that mixed with it that made the experience so exhilarating. The pulse beneath your lips was strong, a steady rhythm that resonated in the very depths of you.

Janine’s body jerked beneath you, her hands weakly clutching at your arm, but it was futile. Her struggles were meaningless, a mere echo of her last attempts to assert any kind of control, and you let her helplessness feed your hunger.

Behind you, you could feel the presence of the Volturi Kings -- Aro, Marcus, and Caius -- each of them silently observing the spectacle before them. Aro’s usual grin had faded, his gaze fixated on you with an intensity that was both curious and approving. Marcus stood still, his face unreadable, though his eyes hinted at something more... calculating. Caius, however, remained as steadfast as ever, his crimson eyes locked on you, unreadable, yet undeniably proud.

As your fangs tore into Janine's neck, her blood flowed faster, and you could feel the rush of power flood through your veins. You had never felt so alive, so unstoppable. The human was nothing more than a source of sustenance to you now, a mere pawn in your game of power.

Yet, even as your hunger began to fade and her life force ebbed away, there was something dark and beautiful about this moment. The vulnerability of the human woman, the sense of control you held over her, and the knowledge that you were no longer the weak, fragile being you once were. You were no longer the one cowering under her gaze.

Caius stepped closer, his voice low and commanding. "Enough," he murmured, his eyes glinting with the slightest bit of impatience.

You reluctantly pulled away, savoring the last taste of Janine's blood before letting her fall to the ground, lifeless and drained. Her body crumpled like a discarded puppet, leaving behind only the memory of her cruelty.

For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of what had just transpired hanging in the air like a heavy fog. Aro’s smile returned, this time tinged with something darker, almost satisfied.

"Truly magnificent," he remarked, his voice filled with quiet admiration. "You have embraced your power fully."

Caius’s gaze never left you, his voice just a whisper. "You are no longer the person you once were. You are powerful, so powerful. But with time, we will learn to harness this power."

You straightened, feeling the power of the moment settle over you like a cloak. Your eyes flicked from Janine’s lifeless body to the Kings before you, each of them acknowledging the transformation that had taken place, both in you and in the room.

For the first time since your transformation, you felt untouchable. But as usual, Caius grounded you. His fingers intertwined with your blood soaked ones as he walked with you down the corridor of the castle, leading you to his quarters.

When you reached them, he presented you with a bejeweled box, opening it quietly. Inside, there was an exquisite black dress, lace and silk with a corset. A blood red ruby sat in the center of the breast. Beside the the dress was a black cloak, similar to the one Caius donned. And finally, there was a glimmering necklace -- A Volturi crest, encrusted with diamonds.

"A queen must have the proper attire. Your transformation has officially made you a part of me -- my wife. It does not compare to your effervescence.. however," he hummed, a rare, gentle smile on his lips. "It is the very best attire possible. I hope you will accept it."

The words hung in the air like a delicate thread, wrapping around you in a way you hadn't expected. Caius's rare, gentle smile flickered across his face, a soft contrast to the fierce power that surrounded him. His words were not just a gift -- they were a declaration. A bond formed not only by blood but by something deeper, more eternal.

You stood there for a moment, your gaze flicking from the dress, to the necklace, and finally back to him. The offer was not just material -- it was the mark of his trust, of the position he was giving you. His wife. His queen.

Your fingers brushed lightly over the fabric of the dress, feeling its weight, its softness. The black lace shimmered faintly, as though it were alive. The blood-red ruby at its center seemed to pulse, like a heartbeat, in sync with your own.

For the first time since your transformation, you felt the full weight of what you'd become. You were not just Caius's equal in power -- you were now tied to him in the most sacred way possible. You were his queen. His partner.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your blood-soaked hands feeling lighter in his grasp. His touch was the grounding force you needed -- steady, unwavering. And yet, there was something else there too. A promise.

You then turned, placing a gentle hand on Caius's chest. Love poured into your red eyes as you leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss onto his lips.

"It is all absolutely beautiful, Caius. Truly. I couldn't ask for anything more than being your queen. For eternity."

Caius stood still as your hand rested on his chest, his crimson eyes watching yours with an intensity that spoke volumes. The world around you seemed to quiet in that moment, as though everything else faded into the background and only the two of you remained -- as it was always meant to be.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours yet again. The kiss was a powerful affirmation, full of love, respect, and something much deeper. It was a union of souls, forged through centuries and now sealed in this single, tender moment.

His hands moved to cradle your face, his fingers brushing along your jaw with a possessiveness that was unmistakable. The kiss deepened, a soft fire igniting between you both as you both sought to imprint this moment into your very beings.

When you finally pulled away, the air between you crackled with something more than just desire. There was something eternal, something unshakable.

His voice was a low growl, soft but brimming with power. "You are mine, now and forever. No one will ever be as important to me."

A faint smile curved his lips, one that was as rare and precious as the moments when he allowed his vulnerability to show. "You have everything, and you will have everything for eternity. I will never let you go." He finished.

You stepped back slightly, the glimmering necklace catching the light, the Volturi crest now a symbol of your bond. "I will always be yours, Caius," you whispered, your voice steady but laced with the same promise. "Until the world crumbles."

Caius reached forward, his hands pulling you back into his embrace, his lips finding yours once again. This time, it was more than just love. It was the sealing of your fate, the beginning of your reign together, side by side.