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hungermakesmonsters · 4 months

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(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eight

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Mention of periods (don't worry, we're not doing Saltburn), smutty behaviour, use of toys. More sickening cuteness. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5k

A/N : It's not exactly a cliffhanger but I get the feeling people won't like where it ends... Oh also spoilers for Jane Eyre (but it's 170 years old so I'm assuming people know the twist?)

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eight

The gentle touch of his fingers on your cheek woke you and, for a few seconds, you weren’t sure where you were. Billy was crouched in front of you, smiling softly. Your eyes threatened to close again, feeling exhausted and like all of it was just a dream.

“Hey,” he muttered softly, his fingers still tenderly caressing your cheek. “Are you okay?”

Finally, you managed to wake yourself up enough to realise that you weren’t dreaming, and that you’d fallen asleep on the sofa beneath the yellow blanket Billy had bought for you.

“I’m fine, just tired,” you told him, slowly sitting up.

Billy remained crouched in front of you, tenderly cupping your cheek and looking almost concerned.

“Did you draw too much blood again?”

“No, it's not that. I did that hours ago. I'm just really tired.”

“Just tired?” He pressed the back of his cold hand to your forehead, checking your temperature.

“And my head hurts a little.”

“When is, uh -” he hesitated, almost looking uncharacteristically embarrassed, “- when is your next period due?”

Your cheeks warmed with both the realisation and the fact that Billy had figured it out before you. That was why you felt so awful. “Soon, I think? I-I lost track of the days after I moved in,” you explained, “and I've never been very, uh… regular…”

Thankfully, Billy just nodded and sat himself beside you, an arm around you pulling you into his side.

“Do you need to go lay down?”

“No I - I want to spend time with you,” you told him, resting your head on his shoulder. “We didn't really get to finish talking last night…”

“Was there something else you wanted to say or ask?” Billy asked softly, shifting a little so you could get comfortable against him.

You stayed silent for a few moments, thinking over all of the things you wanted to ask, wondering what you had the right to ask. “What causes it? What makes you feel like everything is... too much? I’ve only ever seen a vampire lose control from hunger...”

“Sometimes it’s hunger,” he offered reluctantly, “other times it’s just... I don’t know. Even before I was turned, I was never any good at controlling my emotions. And, now, I feel like I’m constantly fighting myself. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m drowning. Everything about you; your scent, the taste of your blood, the way your heart races... it’s a lot to try and ignore.”

Although the words were spoken to you, about you, you knew better than to read too much into them. It was the constant proximity, he probably felt that way around any human after enough time. It wasn’t because he felt anything for you.

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” he admitted, waiting for a beat before asking; “why did you apologise? I lost control but you apologised.”

“Because I -” you stopped yourself before the lie managed to leave your lips. It hadn’t been your fault, as difficult as it was for you to accept that fact, you knew it was true. “Because I’ve always been made to feel like it’s my fault when bad things happen to me. The night we met, you asked me what I was running from, and that’s part of it; I was raised to feel ashamed and believe I deserved everything bad that happened to me.”

You heard him inhale sharply before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He was silent a moment before speaking again.

“Who left you?” He asked softly. You lifted your head, frowning. “Last night when you asked why I was leaving you it just… you sounded hurt, like someone had left you before…”

“My sister,” you answered, “she left home when she was eighteen and my parents disowned her because of it. She said she'd come back for me, but she never did.”

“Why did she leave?”

“My parents wanted her to marry a guy she didn’t want to marry.”

“Is that why you left?” He asked and immediately seemed to regret it when your gaze dropped. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

A moment later, you snuggled back into his side and closed your eyes. “How long until you have to go to work?”

“I can stay another twenty minutes,” he told you softly, slipping his arm around you. He was silent for a few minutes, before letting out a slow exhale. “I’m not going to be able to see you for a few days, it’s not safe for me to be around you while you’re...”

He didn’t have to say it for you to understand and, as much as you wanted to argue with him, you knew it wouldn’t be fair to try and force the issue. Now that you had some idea of how he felt and how much of a struggle it was for him to be around you sometimes, you knew Billy needed space.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

You stayed that way for another twenty-five minutes until you gently reminded Billy that he was going to be late for work. He didn’t seem to want to leave you and it made your heart ache to think about why that might be. Though, rationally, you understood that it wasn’t you; he was just tired. You were finally starting to understand just how difficult and exhausting it was for him just to get through a day.

He gave you a soft kiss and told you that he’d see you again soon.

The next morning when you woke up cramping and feeling terrible, until you found that he’d left a gift basket in your kitchen, filled with things you might need over the coming days; painkillers, chocolates, a new smart-watch with a cycle tracking app, a heating-pad, various toiletries and a large teddy bear with a note pinned to his chest.

I thought you and Bill the Beagle might want some company.

Take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon.

Butterflies filled your stomach at the thoughtfulness of the gifts and, later that afternoon, when you left blood for him, you couldn’t resist leaving him a note of your own.

Thank you for your considerate gifts. William the Bear is a wonderful addition to my growing stuffie collection and the chocolates were lovely. Hope you have a good night at work.

xoxo

The next day you felt even worse but, again, you were pleasantly surprised when you managed to drag yourself to the kitchen to get breakfast and some coffee. There was another box of chocolates and another note waiting for you.

William is a terrible name for a bear. I didn’t expect you to get through the chocolates so quickly, remind me to stock up next month. I hope you’ve not been watching Black Sails without me.

Take care

And, of course - of course - you had to reply, leaving your note with his blood again.

I happen to like the name William. I think it suits him. He looks like a William. I hope you’re not trying to shame me for enjoying the chocolates, truffles and caramels are my weakness. Don’t worry, I’ve not been watching anything without you, I’ve been reading. You were right, Jane Eyre was a very apt choice.

xoxo

His notes became your reason to get up in the morning, though they were a bittersweet reminder of his noticeable absence in your life. It filled you with a strange yearning and an uncomfortable sadness to think about him out there on his own. But that was a silly thought. You didn’t know anything about his life outside of the penthouse, about his work or his friends, maybe he wasn’t even noticing your absence.

(Or maybe he felt it just as much as you did.)

Okay, I have to ask; what does a William look like? Of course I’d never shame you for enjoying the chocolates, but now you’ve told me your weakness I might have to use it to my advantage. I hope you’re enjoying Jane Eyre more than you enjoyed Dorian Gray.

I hope you’re not feeling too bad. I miss our talks.

Your heart stuttered as you read and reread those four little words; I miss our talks. He missed you. Maybe not quite in the same way that you were missing him but, still, it made you long for him even more.

Well, in my experience Williams tend to be cute and cuddly, even though they look a little dark and brooding at first glance. Oh no! Please don’t use my weakness for chocolate truffles against me!!! (The extra exclamation marks are so you read that in a sarcastic tone.) Yes, I think I like Jane Eyre more than Dorian Gray - Mr Rochester kind of reminds me of you.

I’m feeling a bit better today, I should be fine in a couple of days. I miss spending time with you too. I hope you’re not too lonely without me around.

xoxo

You doodled a little picture of the teddy bear he’d given you on the corner of the note but gave him a grumpy looking face and a tag that read ‘my name is William’.

There was a strange feeling of embarrassment when you left the note and you almost changed your mind about it halfway back to your room, and you spent the rest of the evening wondering if it was a little too much.

So, the next morning, you felt a little reluctant to go into the kitchen, and had to take a deep breath before reading his note.

Dark and brooding?? I think you might have to elaborate, but I’ll let you save that for when I see you next. I hope that there will come a point in the book where Mr Rochester doesn’t remind you of me quite so much (I don’t know where you’re up to and I don’t want to spoil it).

I’m glad you’re feeling better. The penthouse isn’t the same without you. It’s strange, you’ve only been here a couple of months yet and it already feels empty without you. I miss you.

P.S. Is the doodle supposed to be me or the stuffie?

It felt like your head was spinning as you read, reread, and read again.

He missed you.

Billy missed you.

You spent half the day writing and rewriting your note to him, in one attempt confessing your feelings, in another acting completely blaise about his confession. Nothing you came up with felt right but the thought of not replying seemed worse.

I see what you mean about Mr Rochester... though I don’t know if I can completely rule out the possibility of you having a strange woman tucked away somewhere in the penthouse. It would certainly explain where all of the chocolates have been going.

I miss you too. I know what you mean, I feel the same way, like I’ve been here longer. But I suppose that’s how things feel when you get close to someone. Hope to see you tomorrow.

xoxo

P.S. I’ll never tell. An artist never reveals her secrets.

There was no end to your relief the next morning when you woke up finally feeling better, knowing that you’d be able to see Billy again. Part of you expected not to find a note, but there it was, waiting for you on your kitchen table, just like the others had been.

I can think of a less mysterious explanation for the disappearance of your chocolates, little hummingbird.

I’m not used to missing people. I’m not used to being close to them either. Some days I feel like my whole life has turned upside down since I met you. I can’t wait to see you again.

P.S. I think it’s magicians that never reveal their secrets, not artists.

Again, he left you searching for deeper meaning in every word, your heart aching for a man who seemed so lonely and alone, a man who didn’t deserve that life at all.

After breakfast you showered and washed your hair, wanting to look your best when you saw him again.

Slowly but surely, over the course of the day, your nerves started to eat away at you; what were you going to say to him? Were you going to pretend that the notes hadn’t happened and that their contents was just idle talk to help the other feel less alone?

You couldn’t sit still as you waited, counting down the hours before sunset, perched on the edge of the sofa and watching his door. The moment it started to open, you were on your feet.

Before he had the chance to even realise that you were there, you’d cleared the distance between you, throwing your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. Billy let out a breath but, for the life of you, you couldn’t tell if it was a sigh of relief or simply because you were squeezing the air from his lungs.

“Hey,” he muttered, his arm slipping around you and holding you almost as tight as you were holding him.

A minute or two passed, neither of you moving or saying anything, until he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and your grip on him started to loosen. You didn’t pull away, but gave yourself enough space to look up at him, smiling shyly as your cheeks started to warm.

“Hi.”

“Hi, hummingbird.”

Neither of you seemed to know what to do or where you were supposed to go from there so, again, you both fell silent, still holding each other. Finally, you dared to reach for him, placing your hand on his cheek. His eyes closed and he leaned into your touch, and butterflies began to swarm in your stomach. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you lifted onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

It was a soft, chaste kiss, nothing at all compared to some of the kisses that you’d shared, but you felt his lips pull into a smile against yours before his eyes finally opened again.

“I missed you,” he admitted in little more than a whisper.

His hand moved to rest on your neck and you found yourself glad of his cold touch after what seemed like so long without it.

“I missed you too,” you confessed, “I - I missed you more than I probably should have.”

If Billy understood what you were trying to tell him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he just shook his head and smiled before kissing you again.

You sank against him letting him deepen the kiss and turn it into something else, something new. Normally when he kissed you it felt explosive and desperate, like he was laying claim to you, but this kiss was tender and filled with longing, like he was savouring being with you again. It stole the breath from your lungs.

“I missed you,” he muttered again.

“You already said that.”

“I know, I just -” his head shook, and he let out a huffed laugh, “- this has felt like one of the longest weeks of my life.”

“Have you been okay? Was it -” you hesitated, not sure you wanted to ask the question, “- was it easier without me around?”

Billy pulled back a little, frowning. “Why would it be easier?”

“The other night, you said you feel like you’re drowning when you’re with me,” you shrugged a little, letting your gaze drop for a moment.

Before the notes, you’d assumed that everyone made him feel that way, that it was just part of being a vampire for him. But, now, after his last note and after that kiss, part of you longed for him to admit that it was more, that it was you, that he felt something for you, that he cared.

“I was wrong,” he told you, waiting until you looked up again to continue, “I feel like I’m drowning without you.”

“Oh.” Whatever you’d expected, it hadn’t been that.

“It’s a lot. I know it’s a lot -”

“No,” you shook your head, “no, it’s not.”

“I wish I could’ve met you in another life. I wish it wasn’t like this.”

The words caused your chest to ache, understand what he was saying and why because you felt the same way; the situation was a mess and all either of you could do was make the best of it.

There was more you could say - more you wanted to say - but it didn’t feel like the right time, and it wasn’t fair for you to try and push anything when you had every intention of leaving him once you’d finished your year. So, instead, you pressed yourself against him and hugged him tight.

Once you’d managed to pull away from each other, you spent the next hour sitting with him on the sofa, talking while he drank, trading gentle touches and kisses until he needed to leave. You followed him to the elevator, not sure if he was keeping hold of your hand or if it was the other way around.

It took a couple of weeks for things to start to return to some sort of normal between you.

Karen noticed the first time she saw you, mentioning that you seemed distracted as you walked through Central Park together (thankfully with no sign of Madani in sight), but she didn’t bring it up until you were sitting together a week later, having lunch in a little coffee shop.

“Is everything alright with you and Billy?” She asked, deciding to just go for it.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you answered. And it was fine. You were happy. You just could stop thinking about what he’d said to you and how you wished that things could be just a little bit different so you could both be happy.

“I know Billy’s my friend and you don’t really know me all that well, but you can talk to me if something’s bothering you. Or if he’s done something to bother you.”

There was something in her voice, something knowing that you really didn’t like. But how could she know what was going on with you and Billy, when you didn’t even know yourself?

“Everything’s fine, honestly. It’s great, actually. We’ve been really getting on lately; we’ve been hanging out talking about books and I’ve been making him watch Black Sail on Netflix,” you told her.

Karen nodded, though it didn’t look like she believed you, but she let it drop, leaving you with the sneaking suspicion that she knew a little more about the way Billy was than she wanted to let on.

Your quiet evenings with Billy slowly started to become a little more physical again, though neither of you seemed in a rush to try and push for sex again. Instead, most evenings he’d end up with his head between your thighs, or you’d slip your hand into his pants while you made out. And, even though you found yourself longing for more, you didn’t want to push him. No, you wanted to take things slowly, wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t get overwhelmed again before you took that next step.

Time seemed to fly by and it wasn’t long before the whole penthouse was being turned upside down in anticipation of Billy’s big party; live music, caterers, decorators and, of course, more blood than you felt comfortable seeing in one place. The whole place was transformed over the course of three days and, when the night finally came, you felt almost sick with nerves.

Even Billy had a strange energy about him, checking and double checking every little thing, including a security team from his company whose presence he seemed reluctant to explain to you. You watched from the sofa as he led them around the apartment, explaining where he wanted them and which areas of the penthouse were off-limits. He introduced you to one of them, a human man called Curtis who would be spending the night near the door to your quarters if you needed any help during the night (and, again, Billy didn’t explain what that meant).

A couple of hours before the guests were due to arrive, you went to shower and draw blood before doing your hair and makeup, and getting changed into your dress and shoes. For a few minutes you found yourself staring at your reflection, hoping to find some of the confidence you’d had that night in the dressing room with Billy.

When you stepped out into the penthouse, it only took a moment for his eyes to find you, his jaw threatening to drop as he took in the sight of you. His appearance had the same effect on you; his well tailored tux had you biting your lip.

“Wow, Russo, you really know how to pick them,” Curtis called across the penthouse, earning himself a withering look from Billy and causing your cheeks to heat.

Billy made his way towards you, not bothering to hide the way his eyes were taking in every inch of you. When he reached you, he placed a hand on your hip and kissed your cheek.

“I got you a present,” he told you, using his hand to start guiding you towards the library, pausing momentarily to tell Curtis and his team that they could go take a break before the party started.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as he led you into the library and towards the seldom used desk by the window. Waiting for you were three boxes, each beautifully wrapped in silver paper and tied with black ribbon. Without thought, you found yourself gripping Billy’s arm as your legs threatened to turn to jello beneath you.

He smiled softly, picking up the first box and handing it to you.

“Open it,” he instructed, managing to sound as excited as you felt about this whole exchange.

It felt wrong to destroy the immaculate wrapping, so you took your time, carefully untying the ribbon and peeling open the paper to get at the box. You removed the lid and there, in amongst black tissue paper was an ornate black and silver mask.

“It’s for the party tonight,” he told you when you looked at him for clarification, “we wear the masks until midnight and then take them off. It’s supposed to symbolise vampires being seen by society, but really it’s just an excuse to have fun while no one knows who you are.”

You laughed, head shaking. “Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

But he didn’t give you time to linger, gently taking the box and mask from your hand before offering you the next present, seeming to get more eager with each passing second. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

Your breath caught as you opened the second box. It was a beautiful choker style necklace with diamanté detailing - at least, you assumed that it was diamanté because you couldn’t even start to imagine how much it would have cost if they were real diamonds. For a few seconds you were lost for words.

“Here, let me,” he offered, pulling the necklace from the box before you even had the chance to answer him. Billy stepped behind you, gently draping it around your neck and fastening it for you.

Your fingers immediately reached up to touch it; it felt a little heavy around your neck and you’d never had a choker style necklace before, but the feel of it would be a constant reminder of Billy and you loved that.

“Thank you, Billy,” you finally managed, turning and wrapping your arms around him before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“There’s one more.” He reached for the last present but seemed a little more reluctant to hand it to you.

And once you’d opened it, you understood why.

“Oh...” said somewhere between shock and confusion.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, especially not after the mask and the choker, but a new sex toy certainly wasn’t it. Your cheeks heated as you looked at the box, trying to make sense of it, the words discreet and remote play only confused you more.

“I want you to wear this for the party,” he told you, a hint of nervousness in his voice, “if you want to, I mean. If it’s too much, I get it. I just - I thought we could have some fun. And there’s going to be so many people, I guess I want to know you’ll spend the night thinking about me...”

Your cheeks continued to burn, part horrified by the notion, but a much larger part couldn’t help but find the idea interesting, arousing even. And, after everything that had happened between you, part of you was still longing for more.

“You want me to spend the night thinking about you?” You asked quietly.

“More than anything,” he answered in little more than a whisper, like he knew it was something he shouldn’t say.

It felt like your heart leapt into your throat for a few seconds and you struggled to swallow around it. All you could think about was that night a couple of weeks ago, how he told you it felt like he was drowning when he wasn’t with you, and you knew that you couldn’t say no to him. (You didn’t want to say no to him.)

“Okay,” you finally answered, “how do I...?”

“Let me,” he offered, perhaps a little too eagerly, taking the box from your hand, muttering something about how he’d cleaned it and charged it ready before wrapping it.

You bit your lip, watching as he pulled the purple silicone toy out of the box, knowing that he could hear your heart pounding. Then he kissed you, slipping his tongue between your lips and enjoying you for a few moments. When he pulled back he began to trace your lips with the tip of the toy before slipping it into your mouth, causing your cheeks to burn hotter.

You watched him suck his fingers, leaving them glistening with saliva before dropping to his knees and slipping them beneath your dress and into your panties. His free hand nudged your knee and you parted your trembling legs a little further while his fingers stirred between your folds, wetting you before slowly slipping into you.

You moaned softly as his fingers slowly started to pump inside you, twisting and bending, easily finding that special spot.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, feeling like your legs were going to give out. Another soft moan escaped you when he looked up at you, holding your gaze as his fingers filled you, over and over. You clenched around him as he licked his lips, knowing that he was imagining the taste of your arousal on his tongue.

“You can come whenever you need to,” he told you, smiling up at you like he was in awe of you.

“Billy...” you moaned, your voice muffled by the toy in your mouth, hating how close you were to falling apart.

Your walls clenched and tightened around his fingers again, but you were already so wet that you couldn’t hold onto him or make him slow. There was something about all of this that seemed so obscene, so dirty, and it just made you want it ever more. His fingers hit that sweet spot one more time and it was enough to push you over the edge. Your legs started to tremble and your thighs pressed together, trying to keep his fingers inside you.

And, all the while, Billy smiled up at you.

A needy whine slipped out when he pulled away his hand, but you soon fell silent when he took the toy from your mouth. Your eyes fixed on the bookshelf behind Billy as he inserted the toy, suddenly feeling embarrassed despite everything you’d just let him do. Once he was done, he straightened your panties and made sure your dress was perfect.

Shifting your weight between your legs, you tried to get used to the feeling of the toy while Billy stood up and took out his phone.

“Let’s give it a little test,” he said with an almost mischievous grin on his lips that caused you thighs to clench. Something told you he was going to enjoy this. A lot.

A sudden whimper was pulled from you as the toy started to vibrate.

Billy’s grin grew as his finger swiped on his phone, causing the vibrations to intensify. As good as it felt, a mixture of shame and concern threatened to ruin the moment.

“What?” Billy asked, stopping the vibrations the moment he noticed your discomfort. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” you answered shyly, a little embarrassed by just how much you wanted to, “It’s just... what if someone realises?”

He offered a soft smile, placing a hand on your cheek.

“They won’t,” he told you with confidence. “It’ll be too noisy for anyone to hear it, and you’ll be good; you won’t come until we’re alone together and I give you permission.”

His thumb tenderly caressed your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you, his tongue slipping between your lips and wiping away any misgivings you might have had. You wanted to do this. You wanted to give Billy the comfort of knowing that you were thinking about him all night. And you wanted to do it for yourself too. You’d wanted to have new experiences and this was definitely new for you.

“Come on,” he said, slipping his hand into yours, “let’s go have a glass of wine and wait for the guests to arrive. It’s going to be a long night...”

Chapter Nine

End Note : So, originally, this chapter and the party were going all be one chapter, but then I got carried away with the cute notes between reader and Billy. That means next week will be a whole chapter of party shenanigans.

As always, thanks for reading/commenting/liking/reblogging, hope you're enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Have a great weekend!

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weepingfromacedartree · 10 months

Text

Ten Milestones: Living Together

Hi friends! New chapter up for anyone interested

CW: alcohol consumption // COVID // toxic family dynamics // mentions of illicit drug use

Living Together

Contrary to what Colin may claim, Penelope honestly doesn’t want to argue every one of these points. Though she may have found this game tedious at best and nonsense at worst when they first started playing about an hour ago, her opinion on the matter has since shifted.

She likes this game. She’s rooting for their shared victory. She wants to go through each one of these milestones and discover that they’ve already done all the dirty work of dating — that they’re ready to get married.

She wants them to win so desperately that she has willingly pushed past many of the technicalities and shortcomings of the previous milestones. So when Colin reads the next one aloud, she has to remind herself that there is only so much you can stretch the truth before you break it completely.

“Number Seven: Living Together. Cohabitation is arguably the best compatibility test for a relationship. Living in a shared space with your partner will undoubtedly bring out parts of yourselves that remain hidden when spending so much time apart — bad habits, quirks, routines, secrets, and more. Seeing if you can stand living in such close proximity to your partner is essential in determining if you two can share a life together.”

With a disappointed half-laugh caught in the back of her throat, Penelope says, “I suppose we should have seen this one coming.”

At her words, Colin lifts one confused brow.

“Everyone says you can’t really know a person until you’ve lived with them,” she goes on to explain, more confused than disappointed now.

Why isn’t he —

“It’s a good thing I lived with you and still want to marry you.”

She tilts her head at his words. Not in confusion — she instantly knows what he is referring to.

“That was basically a sleepover.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Three Years Earlier: March 11th, 2020

Relationship Status: Cohabitants

꙳

Day 0

“When does your flight leave, dear?”

“In about two hours,” Colin mumbles into his phone, nearly choking on a piece of apple strudel in the process.

He’s eating breakfast on the edge of his already-made bed. As he finishes swallowing, he glances around the hotel room he’s inhabited for the past six weeks. It’s very quaint. Refurbished furnishings that are meant to look original. A small kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. Beige features, everywhere the light touches.

Colin was supposed to remain in this quaint, beige, uninviting room for seven weeks total, but something came up.

“I’m about to check out, then I’ll head over to the airport.”

“Oh. Good.”

Violet’s voice is stilted and soft. So soft, that Colin can practically hear his mother’s hands wringing together through the phone.

“Mum, don’t worr—”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home early? I was just watching the news. They say cases are skyrocketing in Italy and —”

“I’m not going to Italy, mum,” he reminds her, trying his hardest to keep his tone light. He understands why she worries… But he has other, more self-serving matters on his mind. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll always worry, dear. When you have children of your own, you’ll realise truer words have never been spoken.”

Colin silently thanks god she hadn’t facetimed him. He’s not sure he would be forgiven for the eye roll he just committed.

“You make parenthood sound so delightf—”

“Have you spoken to Penelope yet today?” Violet interrupts, her voice a pleasant tone that remains fringed with worry.

He can’t help the crooked grin that breaks apart his lips.

“Yup. I just got off the phone with her. She’s about to leave, too.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The first time Colin arrived in Paris was in 2015, a few weeks before his twenty-third birthday. Like so many before him, he had entered the city with high expectations. Too high, he eventually realised.

During his weeks here, he enjoyed many of the individual aspects of the trip. The food, the art, the skyline, the wine… All of those things were good. And yet, when he ultimately left the city, he could not help but feel as though the sum of his experiences never succeeded in meeting his otherworldly expectations.

There’s a term for that feeling. “Paris Syndrome.” It isn’t exclusive to this particular city — it can apply to any place you enter into with expectations so high that they could never be met here on the ground. Colin has experienced that feeling a few times over the last four years, nine months, and two days. But during all of those trips, he did his best to prevent any disappointment from bleeding through in his articles. After all, you cannot blame a city for failing to achieve the perfection that was thrusted upon it.

When Penelope called two weeks ago to inform Colin that she was coming to Paris for work, any lingering disappointments he felt towards the city instantly vanished. When she asked if he could meet her here, his schedule instantly cleared.

Now, at twenty-seven, Colin steps through the city with new expectations. He could eat hot garbage and drink sewer water the rest of the week, and none of it would deter his mood. Not with Penelope by his side.

He’s late to meet her. Four hours late, to be exact. His flight was a mess, as was seemingly every other flight out of Václav Havel. But in spite of the initial chaos, Colin has finally arrived at his intended destination.

She doesn’t see him when he walks in. She’s sitting at the bar, legs crossed beneath her, emerald green peacoat draped over the back of her stool. She has a glass of red wine in one hand and her phone in the other. She’s wearing a black shift dress and red lipstick, the latter of which he can barely make out while she remains turned away from him. She —

She looks perfect, he thinks in those last few seconds before capturing her attention.

“Sorry, but is this seat taken?”

She turns so quickly that her red curls nearly whip him in the face. Her blue eyes are bright and round, but he barely gets the chance to look at them before she jumps off her stool and hugs him.

“Hi,” she says into his shoulder, a few seconds later. The word is barely audible; he can feel it more than he can hear it.

“Hey, Pen,” he says into her hair. It smells like honey.

“How was your flight?”

“Delayed,” he grumbles, then takes the stool beside hers. He signals for the bartender to get him whatever glass of wine Penelope had ordered for herself. “How was the train?”

“Good,” she answers, in a tone that doesn’t match her sentiment. Her eyes cast down to her phone for a split second before continuing, “The stations were pretty hectic, though. A lot of trips were cancelled at the last minute.”

Colin nods and grimaces, remembering the scene he left behind at De Gaulle. In hindsight, he should be grateful his flight took off at all.

When Penelope raises her drink to her lips and takes a rather long sip, Colin cannot help but notice the conflicted look that passes on her face through the glass.

“You don’t think it was a bad idea to —”

“No,” Colin interrupts decisively. He nods to the bartender in thanks as she hands him his drink. “Don’t worry about that. If it was dangerous for you to be here, they wouldn’t have let you on that train.”

“True,” Penelope says, still not sounding so sure of herself. But then she scrunches her nose, and the look that settles on her face afterwards is absent of worry.

“I can’t believe we’re in Paris,” she notes, smiling.

“Believe it,” Colin orders with a smile matching hers.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The night air is warm — for March, at least. Penelope is bundled up in her oversized peacoat, while Colin’s jacket sits on the bench between them. Although it certainly wasn’t intended as such, that pile of brown leather acts as a barrier between their bodies.

It’s not actually that warm, even for springtime. But Colin’s body feels warm — particularly in his chest and on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Must be the wine.

They’re sitting on the edge of the Champ de Mars, waiting with hundreds of strangers for midnight to strike and cause the tower in the distance to illuminate the darkness with twinkling lights. Penelope is talking with so much excitement that her body is practically vibrating. She’s telling him all about her article on the Notre Dame fire and her plans to visit the reconstruction efforts later in the week. Colin, in spite of his buzz from the bar and the literal, incessant buzzing originating from the phone in his back pocket, is doing his best to remain an attentive listener. Listening to Penelope speak is usually one of his favourite activities, but right now…

Right now, he finds it to be an impossibly difficult task. It’s difficult to pay attention to words spoken from such perfect red lips. Lips he would very much like to be kissing right —

“Colin?”

Clearly, he was not acting as an attentive listener, for he has no idea what question Penelope is prompting him to answer.

“Hmm?”

“Oh, I —” She laughs. “Thank you, again, for meeting me here.”

Colin shakes his head, instinctually opposed to the notion of accepting thanks for such a self-serving act. But instead of arguing with her, he simply says, “Thank you for finally taking me up on that offer to run off together.”

Penelope doesn’t argue against his words. She doesn’t say anything. She simply turns her attention forward, towards the structure in the distance, still lit with a flat yellow gleam.

Like it so often does, a comfortable silence falls between them. The thing about comfortable silences, though, is that there are always uncomfortable distractions around, threatening to break them. Like the truly incessant buzzing from Colin’s phone (undoubtedly caused by some inconsequential but extremely common argument in the Bridgerton family group chat). Or the group of teenagers walking past, moaning about something in a language Colin could only understand before his third glass of wine. Or that invisible force that keeps pulling him towards the woman he loves so dearly. Or whatever it is that appears on Penelope’s phone and draws a gasp from those perfect red lips.

“Oh my fucking god,” she whispers, ultimately breaking that comfortable silence of theirs. Her words tumble out in one hurried breath.

“What?”

Colin’s gaze travels from Penelope’s lips to her eyes. He doesn’t dare drop it, even when the faintest glimmer of twinkling lights appears in his peripheral vision.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 1

Their trip ended the very moment the word “pandemic” fell from Penelope’s lips.

In a more literal sense, it ended the next morning when they received calls from their respective bosses ordering them to return home as fast as humanly possible. Penelope received that call from Danbury. Colin received his from both Anthony and Violet.

They spent the morning on Penelope’s balcony, munching on room service pastries as they scoured the internet for tickets to London. For all his experience securing last-minute transportation, Colin felt wholly unprepared for the plight of booking passage home during a pandemic. Flights, trains, and buses everywhere were getting bought out or cancelled before he could add the tickets to his cart. It was madness.

Eventually, Penelope found two open seats on an Easyjet flight. They had less than an hour to get to the airport. Once there, they sat in a terminal for six hours due to a series of delays and rebookings.

Eventually, they boarded their plane. She sat in seat 24A, he in 31E. Due to the full flight and their unfortunate seating arrangements, Colin could not witness Penelope’s reaction to their liftoff. He didn’t know if her hands still shake when the engines rumble to life, or if her teeth clench down when the plane lifts into the air. He was not there to offer her comfort, if comfort was what she needed in that moment.

Eventually, they arrived back in London. At first, Penelope had briefly considered returning to her own flat in Hyde Park (and risk passing along potentially life-threatening germs to her roommate). In the end, though, it only took a few passing words for Colin to convince her to choose the far more responsible, CDC-advised option of quarantining in his flat for the next two weeks.

Now, they’re sitting in traffic in the backseat of a cab.

Now, he’s placing a hand over hers, silently urging her to stop picking at her own fingernails.

Now, her head is falling on his shoulder, exhausted by the events of the last 24 hours.

Now, he’s regrettably pulling her back into the realm of consciousness and out into the cold.

Now, he’s holding a door open for her.

Now, he’s carrying their luggage into a lift.

Now, they’re home.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 3

When Penelope packed her suitcase Tuesday night, she had packed for five days in Paris. For walking along the Seine and marvelling masterpieces and conducting interviews at the Notre Dame restoration. She had not packed for fourteen days in Colin’s flat.

There are exactly two sets of pyjamas that Penelope deems comfortable and appropriate enough to wear in his vicinity — everything else has been banished to her luggage, where it will remain for the rest of her stay here. Thankfully, Colin, the ever-dutiful host, offered her a variety of alternatives from his own closet upon their arrival.

His t-shirts are okay, but tend to sit too snuggly on her chest to meet the “appropriate” requirements of her self-appointed dress code. His flannels are better — loose and soft and always a nice shade of blue or green. His jumpers are her favourite, though — even if the weather creeping in from outside is slightly too warm for such attire.

(She doesn’t have much choice when it comes to bottoms. Even when rolled up three-fold, his sweatpants and pyjama bottoms are too much of a tripping hazard. She’ll be wearing basketball shorts for the remainder of her time here, it seems.)

She’s wearing his burgundy jumper today — the same one she wore yesterday. Like yesterday, she’s spent almost all of her time on the big blue couch in his living room, watching the news, distracting herself with a movie, and/or doom-scrolling on her phone. Colin has been on the other end of the couch through most of that time, but he currently happens to be in the kitchen. From the faint sounds carrying in from down the hall, she can tell that he’s putting a kettle on and has Benedict on speakerphone.

It isn’t until this very moment that Penelope realises that Colin is the best distraction of them all. As soon as he left her line of sight, her mind began to wander to everything she cannot see, but worries deeply about.

Like her three-week-old niece, Poppy. Her sisters. Her mum. Getting an unexpected call from her mum. Getting an unexpected call from her editor. Her article. Whether or not she’ll have a job by the time the world returns to normal. The world, whether or not it will ever return to normal. Hospitals. Doctors. Nurses. Children. Little Auggie and even littler Blair. Daphne. Eloise. Colin. Herself. The ever-tenuous state of their friendship. The likelihood that it will survive the next fourteen —

“Pen.”

She literally jumps from her spot, having been too consumed by her thoughts to hear Colin walk back into the room. He’s standing before her with a cup of tea in his hand and a humorous look in his eye. After passing her the mug, he asks where her head just was.

“Everywhere,” she jokes. Even if it isn’t exactly a joke.

“I —”

“Did you get any information out of your brother?” she interrupts. This is closer to a joke.

A few days before the pandemic was officially declared, Benedict saw the warning signs and fled the city to stay with a “friend” in Southampton. Beyond that, the details of his current whereabouts are unknown. (Despite his siblings’ incessant interrogations on the subject.)

“Nope.”

“What’s the current theory? New girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Colin chuckles into his mug. “The jury’s hung,” he tells her. “But whatever type of friend they are, knowing Benedict, there are benefits involved.”

Preemptively hiding the blush that is surely about to appear on her cheeks, Penelope raises her cup and takes a sip of her tea. Milk and honey, just the way she likes it.

“Well, wherever he may be, it was nice of him to lend me his room to sleep in while he’s gone.”

Colin doesn’t say anything to that, but nods his head lightly in agreement.

When a palpable quiet settles between them, Penelope realises that Colin had turned the news off while she had been lost in thought. Instinctually, her free hand wraps around the remote control sitting on the coffee table in front of them. Before she can hit the power button, though, Colin’s hand appears out of nowhere and plucks it out of her grip.

“Let’s not,” he says dismissively. He then tosses the remote onto the armchair in the back corner of the room.

“Why —”

“The news is so depressing. Let’s take a break and properly enjoy our tea.” With that, he clinks his mug against the one Penelope’s barely hanging onto.

“What difference does it make?” she asks, standing to retrieve the discarded remote. “Everything is depressing. One cup of tea isn’t going to change that.”

Usually, Penelope is not so quick to voice such blatant negativity aloud (especially in Colin’s presence), but these are unprecedented times.

Just as her pointer finger hovers over the little red button, the remote slips from her grasp once again. Standing now, Colin slides it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Though these may be unprecedented times, there is nothing in this world that could deliver Penelope the confidence (or madness) to try and retrieve it from there. Instead, she sits back down with a huff.

“Sit in silence, then?”

Lowering himself to the cushion next to hers, Colin begins to chuckle — an act Penelope deems wildly inappropriate, given its time, place, and irritated audience.

“What are you —”

“What exactly, Pen, is so depressing about your current situation?”

She looks at him wide-eyed and gaping, needing a moment to answer such an obvious, impossible question.

“In case you forgot, the world is falling ap—”

“No. I didn’t ask what’s wrong with the world. What’s so depressing about your life right now? What’s troubling you, Pen?”

She needs another moment to answer this question, but instead of staring at Colin, she turns away. She takes note of her surroundings.

She’s sitting on a big blue couch with her favourite person. She’s safe, healthy, and teetering on the edge of insanity. Knowing all the misery happening in the world outside this flat…

She shrugs. “Nothing, I suppose.”

Colin barks out a singular, disbelieving chuckle. “Well that’s not true.”

“I have empathy, Colin,” she shoots back. “I’m allowed to be upset about the state of the world, even if I’m not personally impacted.”

“What do you mean you’re not ‘impacted?’ The whole world shut down, everyone is impacted.”

“I know, but…”

It’s only after her voice trails off that Colin continues, “We were supposed to be in Paris today. Now we’re stuck in my flat and fighting over whether or not to watch the incredibly depressing news. You are allowed to be troubled, Pen.”

After a few seconds mulling over his words…

“Being stuck in a flat in London is different than — you know — dying from a mysterious illness that didn’t exist until a few months ago.”

“I know,” Colin insists, humour finally wiped clean off his face. “But you don’t have to be in active peril to be sad about your current circumstances. You selflessly refusing to moan about a missed holiday won’t resolve anyone else’s suffering.”

She doesn’t quite know what to say to that. “Are you sad about your current circumstances?” is what she eventually settles on.

He takes a moment before responding. His eyes roam, seeming to point in every direction but to her own.

“Mixed. I’m sad about our trip getting cut short so abruptly. I would prefer to be in Paris than London today. I’m happy I get to spend more time with you than originally planned.”

Resisting the urge to fester on the last part of his statement for a single second, Penelope simply says, “I thought you didn’t like Paris.”

From his spot one cushion over, Colin squints in that way that makes his blue eyes look grey.

“I don’t remember telling you that.”

“I don’t think you did,” she realises out loud. Absentmindedly, she places her mug down on the table. “But, you know… I edited every single one of your pieces back then. I suppose it just stuck out to me at the time, how it seemed less…”

She tilts her head upward, searching her brain for the right word. When she glances back to Colin, his eyes are round and blue again.

“It just, um, seemed less enthusiastic than your writing on other destinations.”

“I —”

“Not that it was any less lovely to read,” she adds with a quiet, nervous laugh. “Just different in tone.”

“Regardless…” He sighs, and the corners of his mouth tick upward just a little. “I was excited to revisit it. And to see you see it for the first time.”

“I’m sad about missing Paris, too,” she finally admits. “Even if being with you here instead of there isn’t so bad.”

Before she can process that it’s even happening, Colin is hugging her. His arms are wrapped around her back. Her lips are pressed into his shoulder. Her heart is beating so quickly that she fears he can feel it against his own chest.

“Paris will be there when this is all over,” he mumbles into her hair. “We can always go back.”

She wants to tell him how hard that future is for her to imagine. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything, answering instead with a tiny nod against his shoulder. When her nose brushes against the fabric of his t-shirt, she’s reminded of the true reason why she loves his jumpers so.

For as long as she can remember, Colin has always smelt the same. Like fresh grass, “unscented” bar soap, and the faintest hint of sweat. Like home.

That scent tends to stick around on jumpers like the one she’s been wearing for the past two days.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 5

Eyes too alert to find sleep, Colin turns his gaze from the ceiling to the alarm clock on his left. The bright red display informs him that it is just after midnight.

Turning towards the wall and away from those taunting numbers, Colin thinks over the last few days. He thinks of Penelope’s stay here. He thinks of the good — the talking, the closeness, the making up for lost time. He thinks of the not-so-good — the world outside, the worry that keeps creeping up her face, his inability to keep his desires at bay while she remains so close.

That last point weighs the heaviest on his mind. It’s the reason he’s currently awake and restless in bed.

On that night in Paris, he came so close to acting on his physical desires for Penelope. He was seconds away from kissing her in the moonlight, he realises in hindsight. He was so close to risking it all while drunk on wine and the perfect curve of her lips so close to his. Then, like a sign sent directly from God (or perhaps the CDC), the world came crashing down around them.

Now, Colin can’t risk it all. He couldn’t possibly put Penelope in that position — not when she’s forced to remain here with him for the next nine days. But having her so close to him at all times of the day…

It’s difficult. It’s good in so many ways, but it’s also difficult. There’s no escaping your feelings for someone when they are never more than a few footsteps away from you. Penelope is wearing his clothes every day and sleeping on the other side of his wall every night. Colin is growing restless, but as much sleep as he may lose over his desires…

He can’t risk it all now. As much as he wants to.

After a few more minutes turning over and over in bed, Colin lifts his head from his pillow. He hears something new emanating from the darkness.

Footsteps.

He listens as the tentative creaking noises get louder and softer, walking past his bedroom door, then away from it. Curious and alarmingly awake, Colin extricates his body from his sheets, pulls the first t-shirt he can find over his head, then heads in the same direction as those footsteps.

Penelope is in the kitchen. Her body is turned away from him and towards the kettle on the stove. The room is dark; her figure is outlined by the stove light that’s illuminating next to nothing. She must have not heard him coming, because she literally jumps around when he whispers her name from the doorway.

“Oh — Colin! Sorry,” she sputters out. She points her thumb behind her, towards the kettle. “I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to — Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” He steps across the precipice, leaning against the sink so his body stands about a metre away from Penelope’s. “I would have needed to find sleep to begin with for that to be possible.”

“Is there a lot on your mind?”

Colin doesn’t know how to answer that question truthfully. Yes, there was a lot on his mind keeping him awake tonight. No, not in the way Penelope had intended the question.

(She had not intended to ask if he had been too horny to fall asleep tonight.)

In the end, he simply shrugs and blames “the usual bout of insomnia” for his presence in this dimly-lit kitchen.

Penelope mumbles something that sounds like, “I thought that was my thing,” before turning back to her original task. As she pulls out two mugs from the cabinet, Colin clears his throat.

“What was keeping you up tonight?”

“Oh. You know…”

She doesn’t expand on her words. She keeps her eyes pointed on the kettle, patiently waiting for it to whistle. Colin lasts about 10 seconds before opening his mouth again.

“I’m glad you’re here, Pen. Even if the circumstances that forced you into my flat aren’t ideal.”

He’s not exactly sure what prompted him to say that. When Penelope finally turns to look him in the eye again, he can tell that she shares his curiosity. Before she can ask, though, he continues on.

“I feel like we’re making up for lost time. You know… After spending 90% of the last five years on separate continents.”

“Oh, Colin,” she says, and Colin cannot recall ever hearing two words uttered so sadly in his lifetime. “There is no ‘lost’ time to make up for. Not when we spent nearly every day of those five years communicating in one way or another.”

“That’s not the same,” he insists. “And after putting up with all of the emails and voicemails and other random shit I send you on a daily basis, I think this was long overdue.”

Penelope breaks their eye contact, shaking her head lightly as she turns her gaze downwards. With her voice barely above a whisper, she says, “I don’t ‘put up’ with anything.” Then, louder, “But while we’re on the subject, I did want to ask you about those emails.”

“Oh, yeah?” he needles, feeling cheekier than he has since stepping foot into this room.

“Yeah. It’s just… Between your articles and those emails, when do you have the time to actually go out into the world and gather material for them? It seems like all you do is write.”

“It’s quite simple, really. I experience the world during the day and write about it at night.”

“When do you manage to sleep, then?”

“Oh. I don’t.” He raises his arms in gesture to the darkness around them. “That’s the trick.”

Penelope’s laughter coincides with the kettle’s whistle. After handing him his mug, she takes a step back — a step further than she was just a moment ago.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about being away from home so often,” she tells him. “For me or for anyone. Travelling — that’s your passion. You’re lucky to have found it at such a young age. You should hold onto it with both hands.”

Suddenly feeling at a loss for words, Colin nods into his cup. The water is hot, and yet his sip is long.

He can’t recall a single time over the last twenty-seven years that he has ever disagreed with Penelope as strongly as he does in this very moment.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 7

“Go fish.”

“Christ, Penelope. We’re friends — could you drop the poker face, just once?”

She laughs into her remaining two cards.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

They play for a few more minutes before Penelope secures her third win of the night. When Colin flips his remaining ten cards over and discards them on the coffee table, she can’t help but notice that they’re all hearts and diamonds — red cards, only.

Standing suddenly, Colin rakes a hand through his hair and walks over to the cabinet on the other side of the room. “Let’s switch to a game that I actually have a chance at winning,” he mutters, his back turned towards her.

As he searches through a pile of board games, Penelope fishes her phone out of the couch cushions behind her. In the time it had taken for them to play three rounds of Go Fish, she had received several notifications.

One text from Eloise, asking if Colin has driven her mad yet. A few news updates with death tolls, outbreak reports, and other awful, unimaginable statistics she’s now receiving on an hourly basis. At least a dozen messages from her family group chat, the last of which came from her mum, about a minute ago.

It’s awful. Being stuck in this giant house all by myself.

“Scrabble?”

Penelope’s head whips up to find Colin presenting the big burgundy box in the air.

“Oh, um… I don’t know. Perhaps another night?”

After throwing her a sarcastic scowl, Colin puts the Scrabble box away, walks over, and plops back down on the spot on the rug opposite Penelope.

“Something wrong?” he asks her.

Without meaning to, her eyes dip down to her phone screen.

“‘No,” she lies. “It’s just… Doesn’t it feel kind of weird to be playing games right now?”

“Now? As in… The end of the world?”

“I wish you would stop calling it that.” She sighs. “But yes.”

“I quite literally cannot think of a better time to sit around playing games.”

Penelope can’t help but roll her eyes slightly, because of course he can’t.

“I don’t know.” Her gaze unconsciously drops to the phone in her lap again. “It just feels sort of… wrong. Like I can’t have a bit of fun without being reminded of how awful it is for everyone else in the world.”

When she eventually summons the strength to look up again, Colin’s face is marked by concern. His eyes bear into hers.

“I —”

“Pen, you cannot hold your own happiness hostage for the sake of others. There’s no good that can come from forcing yourself to be miserable.”

Not for the first time in her life, Penelope is struck by how good Colin is at making life seem so much simpler than it really is. But while her instincts typically lead her to either challenge his revisionist view of reality or simply brush his words away, right now, she’s tempted to believe him. She’s tempted to buy into his bullshit.

“You’re so wise for someone who just lost so badly at Go Fish.”

“Thanks, Pen.” He laughs, then picks up the deck of cards still sitting atop the table between them. “Rematch?”

Tossing her phone out of sight somewhere on the couch behind her, Penelope smiles.

“Your funeral, Bridgerton.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 9

“What are you watching?”

Penelope’s eyes dart from the TV to Colin, then back to the TV. On the screen, Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal are walking through Central Park on an orange Autumn day.

“You don’t know what movie this is?”

Plopping down on the cushion next to hers, Colin shrugs and shakes his head. Penelope can instantly tell that he isn’t being facetious, but after growing up with four sisters, she can hardly believe he can’t name this movie. (Though she may claim otherwise, even Eloise enjoys the occasional romcom.)

“You really don’t know When Harry Met Sally?”

Colin shrugs again, an eager smirk now rising on his lips.

“Should I?”

After pausing the moving, Penelope turns to give Colin her full attention. She’s about to say “Yes,” and inform him of just how ridiculous it is that he’s never seen it before. But at the last second, she hesitates.

“I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’” he echoes, clearly baffled by her sudden lack of conviction.

“Well, I love this movie, but I can’t claim to be unbiased. I grew up watching it. If I were to watch it for the first time now… I don’t know. I think I might find the premise a bit…”

She quickly glances away from Colin and towards the ceiling, searching her brain for the right word.

“Outdated.”

“Outdated?”

“Yes. And perhaps a bit… sexist.”

“Good god,” Colin laughs. “What exactly is this amazing, outdated, sexist about?”

Penelope's lips remain sealed tightly shut for a moment, simultaneously fighting off a nervous laugh and a deep red blush.

“Well…” she finally manages to get out. “Perhaps ‘sexist’ isn’t the right word. It’s about two people — Harry and Sally — who meet and eventually become friends and eventually fall in love. And it’s a great movie — really. But the film revolves around this idea that men and women can’t be friends. Which is,” she gulps, “obviously not true.”

“Why can’t women and men be friends?”

“Well, obviously they —”

“According to the movie, I meant.”

Her lips stitch shut again. She simply cannot bring herself to voice aloud the movie’s thesis statement — that sexual attraction will always get in the way. Even if that statement is outdated, sexist, and objectively not true for the average opposite sex friendship…

It’s not exactly irrelevant in this friendship.

“Instead of having me explain the plot summary to you for the next 90 minutes, why don’t we just watch it? You know — so you can form your own opinion on the matter.”

“I happen to like it when you explain the movie to me. But fine.” He sighs with great, dramatic force. “Let’s watch it.”

Exactly ninety-five minutes later, Colin agrees that while it may be a fantastic movie, the premise is bullshit.

“I mean — if you and Benedict weren’t such good friends, you might not have had a bed to sleep in this past week.”

“Yeah.” Penelope forces out a quick laugh. “I don’t know where I would be without my best friend, Benedict Bridgerton.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 10

Despite sharing this flat with Benedict for over two years, due to their respective chaotic schedules, Colin hasn’t actually spent much time living here with another human being. That’s why he didn’t realise just how thin his walls are until about ten days ago.

Now, ten days into Penelope’s extended stay here, Colin has developed an automatic response to the sound of her phone ringing. Unfortunately, he can’t always find his headphones quick enough to avoid accidentally eavesdropping on those conversations. Like when his sister rang.

“God, El. Stop being so dramatic. I swear I am here on my own free will.”

…

“Well, I’m sure his hygiene has improved since you last lived with him.”

Or Penelope’s editor.

“She licked a toilet seat? Well, that’s um — That’s certainly interesting. But I struggle to see how we can frame that as an actual piece of news.”

Or her mum.

“It’s fine. No, I —”

…

“It’s only temporary, mum. I’ll come home soon. Once it’s safe.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 12

Twelve days into lockdown, meals have taken on new meaning for Penelope — a way to mark the passage of time.

Time itself has lost nearly all meaning. Seconds last for an eternity. Hours pass by like nothing. Days bleed into one another with no substantive markers. Fridays feel like Tuesdays. Everyday feels like Tuesday, actually.

Meals are now the only markers of time that feel real to Penelope. But as the food in Colin’s fridge and pantry starts to dwindle, the separation between breakfast, lunch, and dinner are becoming blurred.

Tonight, they’re eating eggs, baked beans, and a single microwavable pizza for dinner.

“You know…” Colin mumbles, chewing incessantly on his crust (which in Penelope’s opinion, has a texture similar to that of her leather purse). “In two days, we can venture back into the land of the living and get some proper food.”

Penelope mumbles something in agreement, pushing around the beans on her plate with the prongs of her fork. Her mind is wandering elsewhere.

Do you want to be a burden, Penelope?

“Pen?”

“Hmm?” Her head whips up suddenly, eyes finally meeting Colin’s after several minutes of focusing downward.

“Is something wrong?”

Yes.

“No.”

Colin isn’t buying her bullshit. She can see it in the look he throws her now.

“I’m just —” She sighs, mulling over her own words. “Just thinking about what’s going to happen in two days, when our quarantine period is up.”

“Oh,” Colin says, shoulders visibly relaxing. “Well, Benedict isn’t coming back to the city anytime soon. And Lord knows my trip to Kyoto isn’t happening anytime soon. You can stay here as long as you like.”

Penelope opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. There was a weight on her chest before. It’s lighter now, but still overwhelming.

Filling the interim silence between them, Colin leans back in his chair and chuckles softly.

“I mean, you can go back to Hyde Park and kill the endless expanse of time sitting around doing nothing with your roommate. But wouldn’t you rather sit around here and do nothing with your best friend?”

Not ready to address the main bit, Penelope smiles, crinkles her nose, and says, “Don’t let Eloise hear you claiming yourself as my best friend. I don’t need another Bridgerton bloodbath on my hands.”

He barks out a laugh.

“We can speak freely here. She doesn’t have my flat bugged.”

“That you know of.”

“Regardless… Can you really deny my claim?”

His words are delivered casually enough, but they don’t feel that way to Penelope. Not after spending so much of her life struggling to attach those two words to Colin in her mind and in her heart. Even if she probably should.

Best friend. There’s nothing that comes after that.

Penelope scoops a fork-full of beans into her mouth.

“I would… If I didn’t know any better. You two are so competitive. And you both seem to be under the incorrect assumption that a person can only have one best friend.”

Still chewing on that pizza crust, Colin’s eyes suddenly narrow.

“You call Eloise your best friend all the time,” he says simply. He doesn’t sound quite as casual as he had a moment ago. His voice is edged with annoyance.

Penelope scoops up another fork-full of beans. She’s stalling for time, trying to think of a better excuse than, “It’s easier to call someone your best friend when you’re not also madly in love with them.” In the end, she lands on…

“You know how annoying you get about this subject? Eloise would be a thousand times more annoying if the roles were reversed.”

He shrugs at that, because while it may be a dirty excuse, it’s also 100% true.

“Regardless… The world isn’t going back to normal in two days. If you have to be stuck somewhere, selfishly, I hope it’s in this flat.”

Penelope’s eyes turn away from him again — towards the clock on the stovetop that means so little to her these days. She can feel the blush rising in her cheeks. She can feel it in her chest and in her heart. It’s hard to really accept his words, though, as her mother’s voice still echoes through her mind.

Do you want to be a burden, Penelope?

No. Of course she doesn’t.

“I don’t want to impose,” she tells him, her eyeline unable to raise any higher than the stubble on his chin.

“You wouldn’t be.”

He sounds less humorous, less charming than he had just a moment ago. His voice is serious, which — despite the very serious events unfolding in the world lately — is a rare occurrence these days.

“You could never. Not with me.”

Just like that, the subject is dropped. Neither one of them picks it up again when the official 14-day quarantine endpoint comes and goes.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 17

After getting off a nearly hour-long phone call with Benedict (an ultimately fruitless endeavour to obtain the details of his brother’s extended stay in Southampton), Colin exits his bedroom with the intention to join Penelope on the big blue couch.

She doesn’t notice him walk into the room. She’s faced away from him, back against the armrest, headphones blasting music loud enough for him to hear it from his doorway. Her laptop is resting precariously on her knees, her fingers rampantly dancing across her keyboard. She barely looks up when he plops himself on the cushion next to hers.

“Hey,” she says half-heartedly, pulling one earbud out.

“What are you working on?”

“Work.” Just as quickly as the word leaves her mouth, she shuts her laptop.

“Did you ever decide on a narrative for your Notre Dame article?”

“Oh. God no.” She laughs lightly, scrunching her nose. “That article was shelved the second that the pandemic was declared.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “But there are more important things for people to read about these days than reconstruction efforts on some old church.”

Colin scoffs. Literally.

“Did you just refer to the Cathedral of Notre Dame as ‘some old church?’”

“You know what I mean. Public concern has shifted over the last few weeks. That story isn’t exactly relevant anymore. Plus, I never even got to see the restoration efforts firsthand.”

“Okay…” Colin shuffles in his seat, raking a hand through his hair as he considers her words. “Even if it isn’t ‘relevant’ right now — what about when this is all over? That ‘old church’ survived over 800 years before this for a reason. People will always care about Notre Dame. There will always be a story to tell there.”

Penelope shrugs again. She’s wearing his green cable knit sweater, arms crossed in front of her with just the tips of her fingers peeking out of the sleeves. She’s tucked into the corner of the big blue couch, looking like she’s about to disappear into it.

“Maybe one day. But right now, it’s hard to imagine everything going back to normal.”

Colin considers her words for a few seconds.

“Well, maybe not everything will go back to how it once was, but the important things will. The things meant to last will last, even through fires and viruses and other disasters.”

From her spot in the corner, Penelope’s eyes narrow. “When did you get so wise?” she asks, only half sarcastically.

“Always have been,” he gloats, a smile overpowering his lips. “Took you long enough to notice.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 19

After several minutes (possibly hours) staring at a blank screen, Penelope shuts her laptop with a huff. She blinks several times, practically feeling the blue light still stinging her eyeballs. She scrunches her eyes shut completely, needing at least a few seconds of calming darkness.

For as long as she can remember, writing has offered Penelope an escape. Writing a story — gripping a pen in her hands and deciding what came next — offered her a sense of control in times when she felt no such thing in her real life. That control is an addiction of sorts — one most would be wise not to stake their careers around. Thankfully, Penelope’s career has yet to take away her passion for it.

She loves being a writer, but it’s hard on days like today when the words just don’t come. When both the escape and the control slip away from you, and the only thing you can blame for that loss is your own brain.

At least she has a different distraction readily available to her these days.

When she opens her eyes, she finds that Colin is still staring at his laptop screen on the other side of the couch. He isn’t doing much typing, though, so she doesn’t feel too bad about interrupting him.

“Hey.”

She nudges his bare shin with her sock-clad foot. He smiles softly as he pulls his headphones out and meets her gaze.

“Are you busy with something?”

“Too busy for you? Never.”

With that, he shuts his laptop and practically throws it onto the coffee table next to hers.

“God,” Penelope mutters under her breath, almost caught off guard by his charming ways after all these years.

“Nothing. Just… bored.”

Colin’s smile turns to a flat out smirk.

“And you want me to do something about that?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, fighting off a blush. “Can you tell me a travel story? One I haven’t heard before?”

Humming, Colin looks up to the ceiling, seemingly racking his brain to find such a thing. Then, he looks to the window. Then, to the coffee table. Then, finally, back to her.

“I don’t know if there are any, Pen. I think you’ve heard all of my stories already.”

“What about Prague? Anything you left out of your emails?”

“No,” he says softly, eyes still darting back and forth, searching for some memory to dig up. “On my way to the airport, my Uber got rear ended.”

“Yeah, I know.” Penelope breaks into a fit of giggles. “I was on the phone with you when it happened. I could hear them arguing in Czech in the background.”

Colin begins to chuckle.

“Oh, right.”

“Okay… So if I already know everything about your old trips, maybe you can tell me about your future endeavours. Any plans for when the end of the world ends?”

Penelope expects Colin to continue chuckling. She expects him to say something like “Greece” or “Kyoto.” But he doesn’t.

He frowns.

“I don’t know, honestly.” He looks away from her for a few seconds, towards the window. “I don’t see myself travelling for a while.”

Penelope nods sympathetically, suddenly annoyed with herself for asking such a silly question.

“That makes sense,” she says, voice tentative. “They said this would be all over in two weeks, but —”

“No, not because of COVID. I’ve actually been ready to pause my travels for a while.”

He says those words so casually. A few seconds pass before they fully register in Penelope’s brain. When they do, it feels as though all of the air has been sucked from her lungs.

“What?” is all she can manage to get out in her current breathless condition. Colin, for his part, remains casual.

“Japan was the last trip I had planned, and that certainly isn’t happening anymore, so…”

They sit in silence for a moment. Penelope waits for him to expand. Colin waits for her to ask him to. In the end, it’s she who loses the game of chicken.

“Why didn’t you plan anything past Japan?”

If she recalls correctly, he was supposed to remain in the country for approximately three months. She’s seen his calendar; he usually plans out his calendar a year in advance.

“Well, that trip was meant to end in June, which also happens to be the five-year mark for my travels abroad.” He shrugs innocently. “Five years seems like a good marker for change. I was thinking about maybe taking a year off travelling.”

“A year?” Penelope mutters dumbly, not really meaning to. The notion seems impossible to her. Between Eton, Cambridge, and his travels…

Colin hasn’t lived an entire year in London in over a decade. Not since he was sixteen and she was fourteen. Not since they were two completely different people.

“Yeah. I love travelling, but it’s also fucking exhausting. Especially at the rate I’ve been doing it the past five years. I…” He takes a breath. “I just need to stay put for a while. I’m sick of spending more time away from home than in it.”

When he goes quiet, Penelope nearly jumps at the chance to fill the air between them with her words. But something in Colin’s eye tells her that he’s not quite finished. That he has something else that he desperately wants to say.

“I don’t want my life to continue running parallel to the lives here at home.”

“Oh, Colin,” she says, her miserable words spilling from her mouth before she can stop them. Her mind is elsewhere, recalling something she said a lifetime ago on a night in December.

Those people who made up your entire world when you were younger are still there, but their lives aren’t intertwined with yours like they used to be. It’s more like they’re running parallel.

“I —” she starts, but Colin interrupts. His face looks lighter than it had a moment ago.

“Don’t be too sad about my indefinite return home for longer than usual, Pen. This —”

“I’m not! I —”

“— was always going to happen. A man can’t travel forever.”

“I — I know,” she sputters out. “But the — the parallel lines thing… You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself about not living in London full time. I mean — look at your family! Eloise and Francesca are both in Scotland now. Daphne practically lives in Hastings year round. Benedict spends even less time in this flat than y—”

“I know, Pen.”

Before she can say another word, Colin moves from the edge of the couch to the cushion right next to hers. She remains wedged in her corner as he raises his hand and gives her shoulder a gentle, familiar squeeze.

“It’s not like I’m never going to travel again. I just can’t keep up with the constant state of being away. I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. I want to be here. I don’t want to miss another holiday or be that uncle that Auggie and Blair only see one a year. I —”

His words stop impossibly short. He gives Penelope a long, wavering look before continuing.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?”

It takes her a moment to find her voice. Eventually, she says something that sort of sounds like, “Of course.”

He sits in the silence an extra moment, as if still debating whether or not he wants to actually share his secret aloud. It’s an unnerving site for Penelope to behold on Colin’s face, of all things. But as a lifelong expert in bullshit…

She understands.

“My dad died almost eighteen years ago. Which is really fucking weird to think about at twenty-seven, knowing that I’ve spent more than two-thirds of my life without him there. But even knowing that…”

He takes a breath.

“At every major life event — every wedding or birthday or whatever — I just keep waiting for my dad to walk through the door and join the rest of us. Like he’s supposed to.”

His lips part to let out something that sort of sounds like a laugh.

“Is that strange?”

Although she feels at a complete loss for words, Penelope pushes herself to say anything aloud. To sit in this silence would be too painful.

“No. Of course not.”

“I just — I don’t want anyone to feel that way about me. Not while I’m alive, at least.”

Penelope literally gasps. She can’t stop herself.

“Colin —”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “That was dramatic.”

“No, I — That’s not —”

Penelope shakes her head slightly, trying desperately to make sense of everything Colin told her in the last few minutes. To find the proper words to respond to them with.

“If you want to make this change for yourself, then you should do that. You should do whatever it is that makes you happy. But if it’s just for your family, or for —”

“It’s for me, Pen,” he interrupts. “Trust me. I — I’m tired of feeling homesick.”

Penelope begins to nod. She tries to muster up a smile. She uses these brief seconds of quiet to mull over his words again. To actually envision a reality where Colin isn’t away from her most of the year. She tries not to get too excited. She tries not to get too overwhelmed.

“What do you think you’ll do with all the time you usually spend travelling?”

“Ideally, I would like to get started on a book.”

Penelope smiles at this. Colin laughs.

“Sounds strange to say that out loud.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Colin.”

“Yeah?” he teases, his smirk suddenly making a reappearance. “You don’t think my plans are a bit mad?”

“A bit.” She laughs softly. “But that’s the best type.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 21

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope sees her mum’s name and picture pop up on her phone. She turns the screen over — out sight, but not out of mind — by the second buzz. Turning her attention back to the TV screen ahead, she sighs.

Before Sunrise was probably not the wisest choice of movies to watch with Colin tonight. But she had never seen it before and the plot sounded intriguing, so she was willing to put herself in the uncomfortable position of watching a romantic movie with her platonic friend. (After all, they made it through When Harry Met Sally last week relatively unscathed.) She had not expected it to be this romantic, though.

When her phone starts buzzing again, Penelope clears her throat.

“Have you ever done anything like this?”

“What?”

She nods her head towards the screen ahead. Towards the two young lovers sitting on the steps of a statue in Vienna.

“You know… Met a stranger on a train and ran off to explore a city together.”

Colin reaches forward to grab the remote control and pause the movie. When he turns to look at her, his expression is made up of disbelief.

“No,” he says, with the same tone someone would use after being asked if they’ve ever sprouted wings and flown to the moon.

“This —” He points a finger towards the screen. “— only happens in movies. If I asked a woman on her way to Paris to get off with me in Vienna, she’d have me thrown off the train.”

“My question was not that ridiculous,” Penelope contends. “You spend more time on trains than anyone else I know. You’re certainly better at making friends out of strangers than anyone else. I think this —” She shoots her index finger towards the screen. “— is the exact type of situation you would find yourself in.”

Colin shakes his head, then settles his gaze on the TV again.

“Those sorts of ‘friends’ don’t compare to the real kind. From my experience, you need to know a person a long time before you can stay up until sunrise talking about nothing together.”

Before Penelope can say anything else, Colin hits play. She doesn’t speak again for another seven minutes. Not until the lovers part and a gentle melody fills the room.

“What was Vienna like? In real life, I mean.”

“Beautiful,” he answers, after some thought. “Also very cold, but I suppose that was my fault for visiting it in December.”

“You think?” she teases.

“Yeah.” He chuckles, wiping his brow with the palm of his hand in boyish fashion. “I think I’d like to go back one day, in a warmer climate.” A beat passes before he tells her, “I think you would like Vienna.”

Penelope feels a sudden rush of longing in the core of her chest. An image of the Eiffel Tower sparkling at midnight flashes before her.

“I think I’d like to go anywhere,” she says, sounding more glum than she had intended. It isn’t until the words leave her mouth that Penelope realises just how badly her words could be taken by Colin.

“Not that I’m not enjoying —”

“Come on,” he interrupts, standing up from the couch with his hand extended towards her. Penelope can only stare at his fingers for a moment.

“What — what are you doing?”

“Come on,” he says again. This time, he doesn’t wait for her to listen or react to his words. He takes her hand into his own and pulls her to a standing position. “Let’s act like we’re in Vienna. Or Paris. Or — wherever, as long as it’s not this little flat in London.”

“I —”

Somewhere in the background, movie credits start to roll and a more upbeat song starts to play.

“Come on,” he says a final time, pulling her around the coffee table so they stand together in the middle of his rug.

They’ve danced together a few times before. It’s far from a common occurrence, and yet, they’ve picked up a sort-of routine over the years. Unlike most dance routines, there are no specific steps or choreography for them to follow — it’s the speed and distance that’s become so familiar over the years.

It starts fast — two pairs of feet finding their footing to a song they’ve never heard before. It starts disconnected — their bodies joined only by their intertwined fingers. But then Colin drops one hand and spins her around with the other, and the routine shifts.

It’s slower now — two bodies swaying together to the beat of the music. It’s less disconnected too — her chest is pressed to his abdomen, one of his arms is snaked around her back. It’s different than it used to be, when they were teenagers and this felt more like a clusterfuck than a routine to Penelope. It’s easier now. More comfortable.

It’s still silly, but that doesn’t bother her like it used to.

After several moments staring into his chest, Penelope looks up. Colin was already looking down, but he quickly shifts his gaze to the side, towards the TV.

After clearing his throat, he asks if she liked the movie.

Penelope nods.

“Yes. You were right — it’s a bit of a fantasy. But I like fantasies.”

When Colin looks back to her, he has the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.

“I liked Harry and Sally better,” he admits. “I’m not a big fan of ambiguous endings. It feels like a cop-out, leaving us wondering what happens next.”

Penelope furrows her brow, considering his words.

“I think there are times when ambiguous endings are fitting. But perhaps you should watch the next movie before you make up your mind on this story.”

“There’s a sequel?!”

Penelope cannot help but giggle.

“It’s a trilogy. Did you really not know —”

“Shh… No spoilers. I want to be surprised.”

Caught off guard by another round of giggles, Penelope unintentionally leans forward, even further into Colin’s chest. Her next words are nearly muffled by the cloth of his jumper.

“The last movie is when the zombies finally make an appearance.”

“Pen!”

They dance for another minute or two. As the music fades to nothing, Penelope swears she can hear phantom sounds of a phone buzzing. She does her best to ignore them, though, breathing in Colin’s scent one last time before letting go.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 24

Three weeks into sharing a flat with Penelope, Colin has become quite familiar with “the usual bout of insomnia.” Which, while troubling for several reasons, does have its perks.

Like all the late night tea breaks they’ve shared over the last three weeks.

When Colin hears the faint sounds of footsteps outside his door at 12:21 AM, he smiles. He pulls himself out of bed. He throws on his nearest shirt. He follows those footsteps down the hall.

Penelope must have heard him coming. There are two mugs sitting on the counter when he walks into the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, leaning against the sink.

“Nope.”

She isn’t quite looking at him. She’s staring at the kettle like she’s willing it to whine.

“Something on your mind?”

She shrugs at that. She turns to look at him for a split second. She offers him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, as if that tiny gesture will ward off the question he’s about to ask her.

(It doesn’t.)

“Pen, are you o—”

“I’m fine,” she answers prematurely. “Just the usual bout of insomnia.”

Suddenly, Colin finds himself at a loss for words. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep he’s accumulated over the last three weeks. Perhaps it’s due to him ignoring so many of his other (more physical) instincts during that time. Perhaps it’s for some reason that Colin can’t pull out of the darkness right now… But he suddenly finds himself at a loss for how to act around Penelope.

He knows she’s lying to him. He knows there is something not fine going on with her. But Colin doesn’t know if he should push her on her secret or let it be.

While he stands there silently flailing, the kettle finally begins to whine. When Penelope hands him his mug, she’s standing taller than she was a moment ago. She’s looking him in the eye again.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?” she asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

Though Colin still feels rather speechless, he somehow manages to mumble out an “Of course.”

Before she speaks again, a complicated look passes on Penelope’s face. It’s hard for him to read, with her face lit by nothing more than the tiny bulb on his stove, but it looks apprehensive — like she’s suddenly unsure of the secret she is about to confess.

“It’s just — It’s a family secret.” She laughs a little. “One I’ve never actually discussed with my family before, but…”

The mention of her family instantly raises alarm bells in Colin’s mind. In all their years of friendship, he has never known “family” to be a particularly happy subject for Penelope. But the last thing he wants to do is dissuade her from confessing what is so clearly weighing on her mind, so he tries to keep his face neutral.

“Your secrets are safe with me, Pen. Always.”

After one last moment of contemplation…

“My father didn’t actually die of a heart attack.”

What the fuck?

“Pen —”

“I mean — technically speaking, I suppose he did die of cardiac arrest. But I don’t think it’s exactly true to say someone ‘died of a heart attack’ when they also happened to have a few grams of cocaine in their system when they dropped dead.”

There are a million words currently running through Colin’s head — none of which he can string together into an appropriate response to the bombshell Penelope just handed him. But every millisecond that passes without response kills him. As his mouth hangs open, her eyes grow wider, and the silence between them gets louder, Colin feels it critical to say something. Anything. Anything but this silence.

“Did you say you’ve never discussed this with your family before?” might not have been the best thing to say… But it certainly was something.

Penelope shakes her head.

“On the morning that he died, mum told us it was a heart attack. And now that I think about it, no one’s really brought it up again in the last six years. But, um, right after he died, I overheard her whispering about it with Varley. After the funeral, I snuck into his study and found the autopsy report. And um…”

“Pen, that’s —”

“Bad. I know.” She laughs again, an awful sound. One that does not help the nausea currently building in Colin’s gut. “Saying it out loud, it sounds…”

She laughs. Again.

“Crazy.”

“It’s not crazy,” Colin says quickly. “It’s just — I don’t think that’s the sort of thing you should keep to yourself for six years. I —”

“I know,” she interjects, sounding more tired than anything else. “I think I stored it away in some hidden part of my brain for most of that time, though. It was surprisingly easy to ignore. For a while, at least.”

Colin still doesn’t quite know what the right thing to say is. But he says, “I’m glad you told me,” anyway.

They move to the big blue couch down the hall after that, sipping tea and talking about everything and nothing well into the hour of 2 AM. When he notices Penelope yawning for the third time in two minutes, he regrettably decides to wrap things up.

“Anything else you want to get off your chest? One member of the Dead Dads Club to another?”

“No.” She laughs for the final time that night. It’s so soft that it’s nearly inaudible, but at least it’s real. “You’ve done more than enough listening for one night. Thank you, Colin.”

He wants to tell her not to thank him for such a thing. He wants to tell her he would forgo sleep forever, if it meant he could stay awake listening to the sound of her voice. He wants to say so much, but before he can utter a single word, Penelope hugs him. It’s all shoulders and hands. It’s over too quick.

Without another word, Penelope disappears into Benedict’s bedroom. She shuts the door behind her.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 25

The last two days had been good.

Colin spent much of those two days waiting for Penelope’s good mood to shift suddenly. For her to frown at her phone or innocently ask if she can tell him a secret, only to reveal one of the most devastating pieces of information he has ever heard in his life just a moment later. But no.

The last two days had been good.

Colin made sourdough bread from scratch. Penelope won Scrabble twice. She also succeeded in uncovering the name of Benedict’s new friend in Southampton (Sophie). They watched Before Sunset. They watched When Harry Met Sally again, after Colin declared that he did, in fact, like that movie better.

The last two days had been good. So good, that Colin has finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. So good, that he doesn’t anticipate the utter gut punch he receives from Penelope now, at approximately 11:52 PM, when she utters eleven words into her mug.

“I’m going home, to my mum’s place, for a few days.”

For longer than he realises, Colin stands silent, tea already growing cold in the mug in his hand. Her words come back to him bit by bit.

Home.

Mum’s place.

A few days.

It’s April 5th — for the next few minutes, at least. In a few days…

“Your birthday,” Colin says dumbly, as if those three syllables provide a sensical response to what Penelope just said. Thankfully, she seems to catch his meaning.

“Yeah.” She shrugs, then forces a half-hearted smile onto her lips. “Mum and I will watch a movie or something. There will almost certainly be red wine involved. It might actually be… fun.”

Though her words reek of positivity, the look on Penelope’s face tells Colin that she posses about as much faith in that last word as he does.

(None.)

“We were gonna do that Zoom thing with my family.”

“I know,” Penelope mutters, a mix of guilt and regret flashing on her face. “We can still do that, just…”

“Just with me as one of the little faces on your screen?”

An inaudible, tragic gasp escapes her lips.

“Col—”

Belatedly hearing how needy he sounds, Colin takes a breath and rethinks his strategy.

“Sorry,” he interrupts. “I just — I know that you haven’t stayed at home in forever and I…” He takes another breath. “I don’t want you to have to go there, if you don’t want to.”

Lit by barely any light at all, Penelope’s eyes change as she keeps her gaze set on Colin. She looks sad. Almost angry. When she finally speaks, her voice is bizarrely calm.

“Philipa’s in Kent with the baby. Prudence ran off with her boyfriend in Bristol. No one else is here and…”

She takes a breath, one that threatens to break Colin’s resolve and bridge the one metre gap between them. It’s over before he can lift his left foot, though.

“I don’t want my mum to have to be alone right now. The past few weeks here have been… perfect. And I really can’t thank you enough for convincing me to stay here in the first place. But I think it’s time for me to go home.”

Penelope goes quiet, patiently looking up at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he can’t. There’s one word echoing in his mind too loudly for him to conjure up anything even remotely sensical.

Home.

For Colin’s entire life, “home” meant a lot of things. The house on Grosvenor Street. Aubrey Hall. His parents. His siblings. The light at the end of a long journey.

“Home” meant a lot of things to Colin over the years, but the word has always been inextricably linked to happiness. After growing up together, after witnessing her avoid Grosvenor Street like the plague since she left for Cheltenham, after hearing her voice crack on that last word…

It kills him, but Colin knows “happiness” is not something Penelope has ever associated with “home.”

Penelope opens her mouth to say something. Anything. Anything to just break the silence. But Colin beats her to it.

“Please, don’t thank me for stealing you away from the rest of the world the last few weeks. Whatever you do next…”

He takes a breath.

“You deserve to be where you’re happy. If that means going back to your flat in Hyde Park, staying here, staying with your mum, stealing my car and driving to Scotland to see El…”

Another breath.

“Whatever it is, I just want you to —”

“This is what I want, Colin,” she promises. “With everything that’s going on right now, I just keep thinking about my father and…”

When her voice trails off, Penelope seems to notice the mug in her hand for the first time in several minutes. She takes a sip before continuing.

“I know it’s a bloody awful thing to say out loud, but I keep thinking about what would happen if my mum dropped dead tomorrow. I think it would kill me to know that I never even tried to make things better between us.”

Colin desperately wants to ask her if Portia Featherington is really someone worth trying for, knowing all the pain she has inflicted upon her youngest daughter over the last twenty-five years. But in the end, he holds his tongue on the matter. He doesn’t know what he can say to make anything better.

“So, uh… When would you be leaving?”

Penelope shrugs, lifting her mug to her lips again. “The morning after next, I think.”

Colin looks down at the mug currently gripped in his left hand, not wanting to look straight ahead anymore. When he raises it to his lips and takes the first sip, the tea is just barely holding onto its warmth.

“Right,” he says, eyes still cast downward.

She excuses herself to find some sleep shortly after. It isn’t until Colin watches her walk out of the kitchen and into the darkened hallway that it really hits him. That, not 36 hours from now, Penelope will leave his flat. That he has no idea when she’ll be back.

He can feel that revelation sinking in, upending his nerves and wrenching his heart. If the last 25 days have taught him anything, it’s this. Penelope is home to him, and that he’s fucking tired of feeling homesick.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 27

When Colin’s eyes first open Tuesday morning, his bedroom is still shrouded in darkness. He supposes it could still be the middle of the night, but when he turns on his side and catches those red, taunting lights, they inform him that the day is about to begin.

6:16 AM.

Groaning, Colin exits his sheets. He throws on the closest set of clothes (grey sweatpants and a burgundy Cambridge sweatshirt). He exits his bedroom with the intention of running straight to the fridge. But as soon as he swings open the door, his sluggish footsteps stop short.

Penelope’s sitting on the couch with her back turned to him. She’s looking out the window in wait for the sunrise — waiting for the grey London skyline to bleed into a slightly lighter shade of grey. After a few seconds of him silently standing in his doorway, she turns her head to look at him.

She smiles.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” he echos, stepping over to where she sits on the big blue couch. He plops down on the cushion next to hers. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

They sit in silence for a little while, twiddling their thumbs and flicking their eyes between the window and each other. When the room settles into the brightness of daylight, Colin turns his full attention on Penelope.

He has resisted many instincts over the last twenty-seven days. This morning — Penelope’s last morning here — he doesn’t even consider resisting his instinct to pull her in close. His arms wrap around her back and her chin settles on his shoulder.

Unprompted, he whispers “We’re gonna be okay” into her hair, which smells of honey. He hadn’t intended for those words to come out as a question, but he can’t help but hear them as such once committed to air.

Whether it's an answer or a concurrence, Penelope immediately nods into his shoulder.

“If you want to come back, Pen… The door is always open.”

“I know,” she mumbles into his sweatshirt.

Forty-seven minutes later, Colin watches Penelope walk out of his flat, leaving him alone for the first time in weeks. Leaving him with a sinking feeling that nothing will ever change between them.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

From the other end of the rug, Colin shoots Penelope an all too familiar look. His chin is tilted downward. His eyes are squinting slightly. The edges of a smirk are creeping up his lips.

He’s priming her, about to smooth talk his way into getting exactly what he wants. He’s expecting another battle. Another argument. A debate.

He’s wrong, of course. At this current moment in time, Penelope wants nothing less than to discuss the merits of another technicality.

“It —”

“Yes, fine. It counts,” she interrupts, hoping her words don’t deceive her interests too transparently.

“Really?” Colin asks, face breaking out into a full on grin.

“Yes. I mean, when a couple actually moves in together, at least they have the option to leave during the day to get away from each other. We were stuck in an 800 square foot box together for nearly a month straight — that has to count for something.”

“I like the way you think, Featherington.”

With that, Colin picks up his phone again.

#it is currently 5:05 am #its official #this fic has driven me to the point of insanity 😛#fanfiction #bridgerton #polin #weepingfromacedartree #fanfic #ao3 #ten milestones #penelope x colin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

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ladylokilaufeyson5 · 2 years

Text

Beyond Rumours

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eleven

Summary: Y/n is a Malfoy. A Pureblood. A pretentious, blood-status-loving Slytherin. At least, those are the rumours, but since when has Remus Lupin ever really cared about rumours?

Warnings: none

Word Count: 0.8K

A/N: sorry I didn’t post, i was on holiday lol. also this is like the shortest chapter of the series so. enjoy ig

Series Masterlist

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REMUS LUPIN

Friday, 28th of October, 1997

A week later, the two Slytherins had settled in nicely. There had been a bit of a quarrel between the rest of the Gryffindor house at their arrival, but James, Sirius, and Lily were able to smooth it over easily, and a few of the younger Gryffindors had even spoken to Y/n and Regulus.

It was a Friday evening and the seven of us were lounging about the fire, doing various things. Sirius and Lily were playing a match of chess, and Peter was finishing his Charms homework. James was talking to Regulus about Quidditch, with Sirius and Peter chiming in occasionally, and Y/n had rolled her eyes at me as soon as they'd started.

A tap at the glass interrupted our peace, and we all looked over to see a white owl at the window.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Y/n groaned, throwing her head back in annoyance.

She got up from the couch and trudged over to the window, opening it and taking the letter from the owl, who flew away as soon as she was finished. She tore open the letter and sat back down next to Regulus, who eyed her warily.

"Look at this rubbish!" Y/n said with a laugh, handing the letter to Regulus.

Regulus's eyes scanned the parchment and he scoffed, shaking his head.

"They're still on about that?" Sirius asked.

Regulus jumped, as he hadn't seen Sirius get up and walk behind him so that he could read the letter. Nosy git.

"Yeah," Regulus said, handing the letter over to James after a nod of approval from Y/n.

"Still on about what?" I inquired.

James handed me the letter, pointing at the part they were talking about.

Also, have you put much more thought into the betrothal to Regulus Black? You know it would be extremely beneficial for our families, having two ties between the Blacks and the Malfoys.

The letter was from her brother, and my stomach recoiled at the thought of a betrothal between Y/n and Regulus. I recognised the feeling as jealousy, and I frowned.

"Are you?" I asked. Everyone turned to look at me. "Are you two going to get married?"

Regulus and Y/n looked at me and then each other, before bursting into near-hysterics.

"No, absolutely not!" Y/n laughed.

"Y/n is going to marry someone who loves chocolate as much as her," Regulus chuckled. Y/n shoved him, but he continued, "Y'know, during our first trip to Hogsmeade in third year, she tried to buy the entire store."

Y/n smacked his arm. "I did not!"

"You did too!" Regulus grinned. "Remember I had to carry a bag for you?"

Y/n rolled her eyes as the rest of us laughed.

"You're just like Remus," Sirius chimed. "Your life is chocolate-centred."

The others laughed and I scowled, Y/n doing the same. We both grinned at each other, however, and it made my heart do a weird jump.

"Sirius," Regulus began, causing me to break eye contact with Y/n and look at him, "what're you doing for your birthday?"

Sirius grinned and shrugged.

"I dunno. These three have something planned," he answered, grinning at James, Peter, and me.

"Every year we plan a surprise," James explained with a shrug. "Just be available for his birthday, yeah?"

Regulus rolled his eyes but nodded. My eyes strayed to Y/n again to see that she was back to reading her book.

"Remus," Lily said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts, "we have that thing?"

I furrowed my brows as everyone looked at me.

"The thing?" I asked.

"The thing," she repeated, staring at me with expectant eyes and motioning me to leave with her.

"Oh... yeah," I said hesitantly. "The thing."

Lily smiled at the group and pulled me away, leading me out of the common room and down the halls. We stopped at a window overlooking the grounds, and I turned to face the redhead.

"Uh... Lily, I'm gonna be completely honest here, I have no idea what "the thing" is–"

"You like Y/n," she announced, interrupting me.

My eyes went wide with shock.

"Marlene told you?" I exclaimed.

"Marlene knows?" Lily squawked. "I thought I was your best friend, Remus!"

I blinked at her in confusion, and I said, "Marlene didn't tell you?"

Lily shook her head. "I'm offended you told her and not me," she grumbled.

"Hey, I didn't tell her," I assured with a scoff. "She ambushed me and told me that I liked Y/n. And then I realised that I did."

"Oh," Lily said. "Well... I'm less offended. And, for what it's worth... I think she likes you too."

I sighed and rolled my eyes before resting my head against the glass. It was cold against my skin, and I couldn't help but wonder if she did – if Y/n did like me back. It would honestly be a dream come true. No one had ever liked me like that – it was always James or Sirius that girls tended to fall for. I was just their nerdy friend who liked books and chocolate.

"I wish," I muttered.

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Taglist: @1989worshipper @divinekills @cloud-9ine @l0v3do11 @peachycupotea @222brooke @asoulsreverie @lostgirlsstuff @lovinnoya @arisarise @theghostofshadows @kaicyl @eviesmith1810 @darkenwolfie @thatgirljas13 @thecraziestcrayon @mellozhi @it-was-never-meant-to-be-boys @ilovedilfs32 @cherrysugarx @summer-noir @ilovemarauders @aavenxx @lomllino @th0mas-ed1s0n @mclennon-muggle @eddiesbixch696 @that-gayyy-bitch @justreadingabooksstuff

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crazy-dog-lady-81 · 2 years

Text

No-one Trash Talks Bartley’s Girl

Kai? Kai Bartley? Is that you?”

Kai turned towards the woman who had spoken and found themself looking at a very familiar face. It took them a second to recognise their college roommate. “Oh my God. Karen! How are you? It’s great to see you. It must be, what, like five years since we last met?”

The tall neuroscientist extended their arms, inviting her former roomie in for a hug. The embrace was warm and friendly. Stepping back from it, they took a few seconds to take each other in.

“Do you have to be somewhere, or do you have time to grab a coffee? I’d love to catch up properly”, Kai asked.

Checking her watch, Karen replied that she had some time. Inviting Kai to lead the way, the pair walked down the street to a sweet little café that Kai had been to with Amelia a few times. Remembering it had always been Karen’s favourite drink in college, Kai recommended the café to her by telling Karen that it did a good cappuccino.

“Wow! I can’t believe that you remembered my order!”

When they reached the café, Kai pushed open its door and allowed Karen to step in before following her. They ordered coffees at the counter and found a table towards the back of the building. The conversation turned towards work, each eager to know what the other had been up to. Kai told Karen briefly about their work on the Parkinson’s Project.

“I’m impressed. You were always brilliant Kai, destined to do truly remarkable things. Curing Parkinson’s? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a part of the team that manages to do it”.

Ever modest, Kai blushed and looked down as the compliment washed over them. “Thank you”, they murmured softly. “So, what about you?”

Karen was also a neuroscientist. She was currently working with a large pharmaceutical company, part of a team that was developing a new drug for epilepsy.

“That’s sounds exciting. Since the problems around the use of sodium valproate in pregnancy became known, I guess it has become essential that the industry try to develop new and safer treatments”, Kai suggested.

Karen agreed. “Yeah, for sure. The drug is showing promise in animal trails but it’s still a long way from being ready for human testing.”

The waitress brought their coffees then and the interruption brought with it a change in the direction of the conversation.

“Are you and Steven still together?” Kai enquired.

“Yes, although I am still waiting for a ring. It’s been seven years! Seven years! Ah, I don’t know. Men, eh? Hope you are having better luck with Lucy.”

Kai jumped at little at the mention of their ex-girlfriend’s name. They hadn’t seen her in three and a half years, when she had broken Kai’s heart. While they had loved Lucy and had seen a future with her, Lucy had seen Kai as a sexual partner only. She had never cared for Kai romantically. Hoping that they could make Lucy love them, Kai had held on until one day they realised that they couldn’t lie to themself any longer. So, they had packed their belongings into their car and left. They hadn’t had another relationship until Amelia had walked into the lab and stolen their heart.

“Actually, I am in a new relationship. My partner Amelia is a neurosurgeon at Grey-Sloan here in Seattle. I met her through the project. We’ve been together for a year now. She’s amazing. You’d like her.”

“Wait. Do you mean Amelia Shepherd?”

“Yeah. Do you know her?”

“She’s legendary, but I wouldn’t have thought that she’d be your type. I mean, she has a reputation.”

Kai frowned. “Really? How so?”

“Well, far be it from me to gossip but I have heard that she had problems with drink and drugs. Also, that she goes through men like they’re going out of fashion. Generally, just not the sort of woman that you might want to bring home.”

Kai puffed out their cheeks and exhaled sharply. Their hands were clenched into tight, angry fists.

“You don’t know Amelia. Not at all.” Kai spoke quietly and deliberately, taking care with the selection of their words.

“She’s funny. Really witty and funny. She’s brilliant. Watching her work, how precise and delicate her touch is. It’s a thing of beauty. She’s feisty and passionate. She’ll speak her mind and not be told not to. She’s got the bluest eyes. I get lost in them every time I look into them. Her smile is contagious. She loves her people so hard. It’s infuriating but also inspiring. She’s wild and turbulent yet deep and tender. She’s so beautiful that she takes my breath away. I pinch myself all the time to make sure that I haven’t just dreamt her up.”

Karen’s face fell and she tried to stammer out an apology. “I didn’t mean to cause you any offence.”

“I am sure you didn’t, but you have. I don’t appreciate you trash taking my partner when you haven’t even met her. That will always be offensive to me.”

With that, Kai stood up, grabbed their coat, and walked out leaving a stunned Karen behind them.

Kai went straight to the hospital and found Amelia. The brunette was taken by surprise as Kai walked purposely up to her and swept her into their arms. The hospital corridor was relatively quiet but there were a few staff and family members about. It was out of character for Kai to be this demonstratively affectionate in view of others.

“Kai Bartley. There are people watching!” Amelia tried to sound stern, but she was given away by the glowing smile on her face.

“Let them look. I don’t care what anyone thinks because I love you Amelia Frances Shepherd. I don’t care about anything that has happened in your life before now. It doesn’t matter. I love you for who you are now, and I always will.”

They kissed her with a passion that took her breath away. She felt her knees go weak and her heart pounded in her chest. She kissed them back and felt them pour their soul into the kiss. When their lips parted, she rested her head against their chest and held on to them.

“That is probably the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me. You literally just swept me off my feet. There’s no way that you are ever getting rid of me now.”

Kai rested their forehead on the crown of her head and laughed into her soft brown hair. “That’s good. I mean what kind of weirdo would I look right now if you didn’t love me?”

Amelia chuckled and pulled away to look up into their green eyes. “I will be done here in about half an hour.”

“Okay. I will meet you in the lobby so I can take you home to bed.”

Amelia smirked and stole one more kiss before Kai let her go reluctantly.

The Karen’s of this world might never understand why Kai loved Amelia. They’d always be quick to judge but they’d always be wrong because she was perfectly imperfect, and Kai would never let her go.

#amelia shepherd #amelia x kai #greys anatomy #kai bartley #amelia shepard #kai x amelia #kaimelia #fightsone #er fightmaster

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justtluffythings · 1 year

Text

HOME: Book 4 - CHAPTER SEVEN

MASTERLIST

“Here you go, darling.” Madam Rosmerta smiled warmly as she placed a glass of Butterbeer on the table in front of Veronica, who had been sitting in a booth alone at the back of the Three Broomsticks since early that morning enjoying a rare moment of freedom. She hadn’t left the castle grounds in weeks as her days mostly consisted of hiding in the library or Snape’s office, and the only time she ever went outside was for Quidditch practices and matches. Last month, thanks to Veronica, Maribelle had finally managed to improve her marks enough to rejoin the team, and Emily had been working them all to death to make up for lost time. So while this meant she got to see the sun and breathe in the fresh air often, it was never a relaxing experience.

That morning, Gryffindor had a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, so Veronica had taken the opportunity to de-stress and grab a few Butterbeers, knowing she wouldn’t run into Charlie or Tonks as long as she left the pub before the game was over. As she took a sip of her drink, she let it flow through her and warm her up. She had opted for her Butterbeer hot as the weather was still chilly in March and a cool draft was let in each time the door opened. However, the warmth of the delicious drink did nothing to silence her thoughts. It didn’t feel right missing a Quidditch game; she had been to every single game in some capacity since her first year at Hogwarts, whether it was as a spectator or a player. She was always there cheering from the stands, but this year, she only attended the games she was playing in. She hadn’t watched any of the other games. She felt pathetic; while the rest of the school was gathered together enjoying their Sunday morning game, she sat alone in an empty pub wishing she could just have her best friend back. She missed him beyond words, and the constant pain she felt was becoming too much to handle.

Just then, Veronica felt something brush her arm, causing her to jump and look up into the eyes of a Weasley. When did he get here? She had been so lost in her own head that she hadn’t seen him come in or even felt him sit down beside her until his arm brushed against hers. Shouldn’t he be at the game?

“Hiya, Ronnie. I thought I might find you here.”

“Bill? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be watching your brother’s game.”

“Charlie has enough people cheering him on. He won’t notice that I’m not there. You, on the other hand… he’ll notice you aren’t there. He always notices your absence, you know?”

“He might notice, but he sure as hell doesn’t care. He’s too busy with his girlfriend to care about me anymore.”

Bill’s head fell to the side as he raised his eyebrows at her. “You don’t really believe that, Ron. He cares about you more than he’s cared about anyone. He loves you. You know that. You could never be replaced.”

“Oh yeah? It seems to me that I’ve been very easily replaced. He’s forgotten all about me.”

“Clearly it’s been a while since you’ve seen or spoken to him because if you’d seen him at all recently, you would know how much this is affecting him. He’s devastated not having you around.”

Veronica leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms as she glared at him. “Bill, can we drop this please? I know this is tough for you because he’s your brother and I’m like a sister to you, so being caught in the middle isn’t an ideal situation, but he’s your flesh and blood. You have to take his side, and I get that-”

“I’m not taking his side! I agree that dating Tonks was a stupid thing for him to do-”

“That’s not what I said! He likes her, and he’s allowed to do what he wants. I don’t own him.”

Bill rubbed his face frustratedly. “Veronica, I-

“Bill, I’ve gotta go, alright? I really don’t want to be having this conversation with you. Besides, I’m upset with 11-year-old me to begin with for even letting you trick me all those years ago into confessing my feelings for your brother; you shouldn’t even know about that. And you shouldn’t have to be caught in the middle of our little fight. So I’m sorry for doing that to you, but I really do have to go now. The game’s just finished, and I need to get out of here before Charlie and Tonks see me.”

“What? How do you know the game is finished?”

Veronica smirked as she shrugged. “I got Athena to watch the game and let me know when the snitch has been caught. I just saw her out the window.”

Bill shook his head and rolled his eyes at her antics. The things she was willing to do to avoid Charlie never ceased to surprise him. “Where are you going to go? Please tell me you aren’t planning on locking yourself up in the library for the rest of the day. It’s a beautiful day today.”

“Well, I’m hoping to stop by the lake for a while. I know Charlie keeps going back every Saturday morning at our time to see if I’m there, but that’s the only time he goes. He won’t be showing up today. Plus, he’ll be busy with her, so I want to go see Squish again and enjoy the fresh air while I still can.”

“Fine, go. But let me ask you one thing first. How long are you planning on avoiding him? When is it going to end? You’re best friends…”

Veronica smiled sadly before pulling Bill into a quick hug. “I don’t think we are anymore, Bill. I’ll see you later.” And with that, she walked briskly out of the pub and down to the lake, hoping to enjoy some peace and quiet at her favorite spot. All she could wish for was to have ten minutes without thinking about Charlie. However, that was always much easier said than done.

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alpineglowx · 3 years

Text

Lagom | Pedro Pascal x Reader

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.5K

Warnings: Just fluff and some mild angst! One bed trope kind of??

Summary: Three months have flown by since you've been able to see your beloved Pedro in person, thanks to quarantine. Facetime and phone calls have never been the same as actually seeing him in person, but a surprise calls warrants more than a bit of excitement.

A/N: Lagom: not too much, not too little. just right.

***

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, sending you jolting forward. The waiter who had just brought your coffee blinked at you warmly before you shot him a small shrug.

“Sorry,” you murmured as you fished your phone from your pocket. “Just a phone call.”

You said a small thank you for the drink before quickly making your way back to your car, just as your eyes came in sight of who was calling.

“Mi amor” read the name in large white text, accompanied by a goofy picture of your boyfriend, his glasses twisted on his nose as you kissed his cheek. The picture had been taken months earlier, before quarantine had even begun and split you two apart. Life had been normal, practically perfect before... Now you were just trying to pick up the pieces.

You hesitated with your finger hovering over the phone before you finally answered, plopping down in the driver's seat of your car. It was quiet on the other end, but you couldn’t force yourself to speak first, not with the way your lip was trembling.

Pedro finally spoke. “Babe?”

Tears burst in your eyes, warmth growing in your face as you dug your fingers into your shirt sleeve.

“Hi,” you croaked, running a hand through your hair. When had you last spoken, a day, a week? You couldn’t remember exactly. The time spent apart had been long, that, you were sure of.

You had been apart when quarantine was first implemented, states away while Pedro had been filming for The Mandalorian. The strict rules had made it virtually impossible to see each other, the ones in your state and his. Hours were spent talking, sharing meals, and falling asleep together over the phone and FaceTime. It wasn’t the same, and it didn’t help ease the pain you felt when you were still so far away.

It had been three months since you had last seen him in person. Three months since you smelled him and felt his secure arms as he gave you the best hugs, three months without kissing him or holding him or just being with him. You had wanted to make it work, you made that clear to him. And he had wanted it to, to your greatest relief.

But it was difficult regardless.

“You doing alright?” He asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you managed. “Everything going okay over there?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright,” Pedro said. “I was able to see my dad last night. He was able to come over and we got dinner.”

You beamed; you just wished he could see. “Oh, honey, that’s great. I’m really happy for you. How did it go? You guys make anything?”

“Ah, you know, the typical stuff. It was good though... I needed it.”

“I know,” you said, sitting back against the headrest. “... Pedro?”

“Yes, mi amor?”

Your lip trembled again just as tears fell down your cheeks, and you inhaled heavily. “I just miss you so much.”

“I... I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

Your heart suddenly thundered in your chest. “Um, okay... I didn’t do anything, did I? You’re not breaking up with me?”

Pedro laughed on the other end, lifting your spirits. “Are you kidding me? No! Honestly, you’ve been so great. More than great, like... Gosh, you know what I mean.”

“Damn, Pedro, you’re making me blush,” you giggled, wiping tears away. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I’m coming home.”

You shot up in your seat, clutching the armrest. “What? Are-are you actually serious?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Pedro, if you’re just joking with me, I swear-“

“I’m not, I’m not!” Pedro exclaimed, and he sounded genuine. “Really, love, I’m coming back. I’m coming to see you.”

Hand over your beating heart, you pressed your back into the seat. “When?”

“I’m just getting to the airport. I should see you in what, six, seven hours? Don’t come though... just wait at your place.”

“Okay,” you say, blushing and twisting your feet together in pure excitement. “I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“Sooner that than, mi amor.”

. . . .

Hours ticked by, slower and slower until the clock finally struck 8, the time Pedro was supposed to show up. You had bit your nails raw, the ends of your hair still drying from your shower as you paced the foyer. He would be here any minute, with his sweet brown eyes and flirty grin and goofy disposition.

And suddenly...

The doorbell.

You raced forward, swinging it open so hard you could almost hear the crack of the wood breaking.

Pedro stood there, in his classic Fraggle Rock hoodie and jeans, his hair looking a little mussed, his brown eyes tired. But beautiful, he looked as beautiful as the first day you had met.

You couldn’t even move, couldn’t find the strength to form any words before he was suddenly sweeping towards you, his bags dropping and his arms coming to wrap around you. Breathless, you sank into him with a heavy sob, returning the hug as he moved to cup your head with one hand. You latched your arms around his neck as he released a sob of his own, his knees knocking into your legs as he tried to balance properly. You didn’t care if you fell, not even if it hurt. All you cared about was that Pedro was back in your arms after three long months. You could feel the way he was breathing heavily into your hair, setting your skin on fire.

“Is this real?” He breathed, a hand running up and down your spine.

“Gosh, I hope so,” you whispered before leaning back, taking his face in both of your hands to tug him down for a fierce kiss. He reciprocated immediately, fingers digging into your waist before sliding up to hug you around your neck. You could feel his mustache, the slight stubble on his chin even, rubbing on your own skin. You half-moaned, half-sobbed on his lips, too overcome with everything happening at once. He pulled away just to nuzzle into your neck, kicking the door closed behind him.

“Pedro, your bags,” you laughed, wiping at tears with your free hand.

“Oh!” Pedro exclaimed, quickly breaking away to retrieve his things from the porch. You laughed, hand on your chin as you watched him struggle before taking one of his bags in your hand, lugging it into the foyer. After he had set them down, he stood straight up again, dusting his hands on his jeans. His eyes flickered to yours hesitantly, as if he were shy. You cocked a brow, half-smiling at his strange expression.

“What?” You questioned.

His gaze traveled down to your neck and back up again. “It’s been a long time... I don’t really know what to say.”

You exhaled heavily. “Me either... How are you? How was the flight?”

He shrugged lightly. “The usual. A bit exhausting,” he said with a small eye roll, and his thumb rubbed your cheek. “But I’m better now.”

You blushed, brushing your knuckles against his hand. “Do you- do you want something to drink? Coffee, water?”

A slow smile grew on Pedro’s face, and he leaned forward, taking your hand. “Sure.”

Hand warm in his, you dragged him to the kitchen, letting him free as you dug through your cabinet, fishing out a glass. You had just turned around, nearly bumping into his chest and dropping the glass before his hand wrapped securely around the cup. He smiled widely, brown eyes warm.

“I got it, babe,” he said, taking the glass from your shaking hands and placing it on the counter behind him. His eyes glowed with something curious, something sneaky.

“What are you up to?” You asked, cocking a brow. You hadn’t seen him in three months; you wouldn’t be surprised if he kept you at an arm’s reach for the rest of the day, mouth on yours and hands tangled in your hair.

He stepped forward, making you back up until your lower back brushed the tip of the counter behind you. His hand found the lip of the granite, just resting beside your hips as he moved closer, a smirk on his lips. It had been three months of missing him, of having him this close, and it was sending fireworks up your veins.

“Pedro?” You giggled, drawing your fingers up his forearms. Goosebumps grew under your palms, raising them to grip his triceps. He felt stronger, more muscular than when he had left.

“Hm,” you mumbled. “They’re really putting you to work on that set, aren’t they?”

Something dark flashed in his eyes, and he bent forward, nose brushing against your chin as he nibbled at your skin, making you blush. He seemed hesitant, still shy, as his eyes flickered back to yours as if silently asking permission. Having him so close, his eyes inches from yours, his sweet face and even sweeter soul just within reach, made sudden tears spring to your eyes. He noticed immediately, his brows creasing as he pulled away, letting you free from his embrace against the counter.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Pedro asked, worry laced in his tone. “Are you alright?” His hand came up to your face, gently pushing your hair back behind your ear.

You swallowed hard, moving so you could touch his face, marveling at how he looked at you in pure awe.

“I just... I missed you so much,” you admitted through tears. “And I can’t believe you’re actually here, after all the craziness that’s been going on... This world is so crazy right now, love. I was so worried about not seeing you again and just imagining the rest of the year without you-“

You started to run over your words, shaky hands combing through your hair just before you noticed Pedro going to grab you wrists.

“Hey, hey, calm down, mi amor,” he said softly, turning your face to his. “I’m here, okay?”

“Everything’s so different now,” you sniffled.

“What? This-this isn’t different. We still have each other. I still care about you. I still want to be with you, babe.”

You heart soared. “I love you so much.”

His eyes practically sparkled. “I love you, too.”

Grinning softly, you leaned forward, pulling his face to yours so you could press your lips to his. You felt his shoulders sag, how he practically melted into you, letting out a pleased sigh as you kissed him. Only two seconds later his hands found your back, gently wrapping around your waist until pulling you flush to his chest. His facial hair, slightly ragged from not shaving from a few days, scratched against your chin as he tilted his head, kissing you deeper. When he pulled away, his eyes were soft, his skin flushed a light pink. You smiled widely, running your thumbs over his cheekbones, perfectly happy.

“How long are you here for?” You asked.

A soft kiss on your nose. “As long as you need me.”

Your brows creased. “What? What about shooting?”

“Finished up last week, they won’t need me back for a couple of months... I was actually wondering if...”

“... Yes?”

His fingers gently trailed down to your wrist, thumb spinning in small circles. “If I could crash here for a while? If-if you’ll have me, that is. I don’t want to intrude or anything-”

You answered him by pulling gently on the strings of his hoodie, tugging him forward for a slow, passionate kiss, one that left your legs trembling when he reciprocated.

“So... Is that a yes?” He whispered against your mouth, nipping teasingly at your lower lip.

You winked slyly. “Sure... Why not. I’ve missed you anyway. I guess I can put up with you for a while.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, drawing away from you. “Come on, let’s go sit down. I want to hear about your day.”

Everytime he had said those words to you in the past three months had been over the phone. So you gladly let him pull you into the living room, plopping down on the couch beside him. You swung you legs over his, shoulder pressing into the back of the couch as you held his hand in yours.

You talked for hours, catching up and sharing the small moments of the day. Pedro was just as sweet, as flirty and kind as he always had been, asking you about your favorite shows and new daily routine and your favorite memories as a kid. At some point, sleep had tugged at the both of you, but the last thing you remembered was a blanket being drawn over your shoulder.

When you came to, and the house was quiet and the world dark and silent outside, you pushed your head up from the pillow. You were back in your bedroom, draped under your comforter and surrounded by pillows. A single lamp was on on the opposite side of the bed, but when you pushed yourself up, Pedro was nowhere to be found.

Panic pricked at your heart, and you shoved the blankets off your legs, making your way down the hall into the kitchen.

“Pedro?” You called softly, peeking around the corner to the living room.

Pedro was stretched out on the couch, tangled under a blanket and lying on his stomach. He was obviously asleep, eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he breathed softly. Seeing him like this, asleep, was one of your favorite things. He was calm, and gentle, not worrying about the events of the day or of the problems affecting his family or you. For mere moments, he was perfectly at peace. And your heart swelled to know he hadn’t left.

Moving slowly, you padded into the living room, coming to kneel beside him on the floor. In the dim light, you pulled back the blanket on Pedro’s face just as he stirred, blinking up at you groggily.

“Hi,” you whispered, unable to keep the smile off your face.

He blinked a few times before realizing it was you, and his pupils dilated even more in the dim light. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said. “I... I thought you had left.”

His eyebrows creased slightly. “Why would you think that?”

“You weren’t in the bedroom.”

He swallowed hard. “I-I was just... Keeping our boundaries, I guess.”

You leaned back, sudden thankfulness washing over you. “Can I... Can I sleep here, too?” You asked, a shy tone creeping into your voice. “If that’s okay?”

His eyes flickered across your face for mere moments before he nodded, pulling the blanket open. You kissed his temple gently as you curled in beside him, curling your hands into his chest, making sure you were both covered by the blanket.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and felt his cheeks lift in a smile. Head tucked under his chin, one arm over your side, you closed your eyes again. Pedro breathed quietly above you, his heart beat soft against your ear. His hand moved gently up and down your back, fingers pressing into your spine.

“Love?” He said softly.

“Yes?”

“I would never leave you.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #love #established relationship #fluff #angst #pining #soft #soft pedro pascal #boyfriend #one bed #reunion #kissing #love confessions #sweet

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

How bout a ficlet of noble! reader coming home from a ball or something and finding her house on fire (obviously from servant Rhys) and Rhys comes up to her and hugs her and says they can be together now thanks!

Thank you for requesting my boy ♥ Hope you like it!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

“Milady...”

Anyone’s arms would have sufficed in bringing you comfort at that moment. With the picture of flames eating away on your childhood home burned into your mind, you turned to your butler, burying your face in his shoulder. It was only a small comfort, but part of you was still relieved that he survived. At least one person you didn’t lose. He had been serving your house since his own childhood, and you two grew up together. Rhys had been by your side on the bad days and the goods, serving you hot milk at night and held the umbrella for you on the rainy days. At least, so you thought, he was here with you while everyone else was... well. Inside.

“I can’t believe it,” you sobbed into the dark fabric of his jacket. When you left, everything had been perfect. Everyone was cheerful and waving after you as you left for the ball. But in the middle of your first dance with the Earl, you had been asked to leave immediately. They didn’t even tell you why, but when your carriage finally reached the street your home was located in, you could see the ravaging flames and the thick, ashen smoke rising from it. It was hard for your brain to understand how and why this happened, as well as why no one could stop the flames from spreading.

A voice nagged you in your grief as it called out to you, and Rhys’s hand on your shoulder squeezed you reassuringly before he received the information that should have been passed on to you. How could anyone expect that you could listen to the fatal news that your heart already knew? “No one survived,” the voice said, but how could they know? The fire was still spewing sparks, so how could they know?

“We couldn’t stop it from spreading further, but we pulled out their corpses. There’s nothing we could do for them. I’m so sorry.”

Your sobs only grew louder, revealing that you had been listening. You could feel the countless stares of bystanders and helpers, their pitiful looks and snarky thoughts they had all the same. At least you are rich. That’s what they all thought. They saw your grief and pain, but all they could think about was your status, envying you for the loss of everything you ever had. No riches would be enough for the things that you couldn’t buy back. And it was lost in such a tragic way too.

Two arms embraced you tightly, squeezing you back to reality. So lost in your thoughts, you had almost forgotten everything, but Rhys hadn’t. Nonetheless, when you looked up at him, he only wore a smile for you, his eyes dull and commiserating. “I know it’s hard,” he whispered. “But you have to keep face, Milady.”

Sniffling, the tears wouldn’t stop, even when you tried to step back from him, but contrary to what he said, Rhys wouldn’t let go. He supported you, and only now did you realize you felt like collapsing on the spot if not for his arms holding you up. Reaching for the tissue in his jacket pocket, you wiped away the ashes that had settled on your face and your ruined make-up. Hiding in Rhys’s shadow, you felt safe, even if what happened was too gruesome to calm down completely.

When he was sure you had composed yourself enough again to stand on your own, he shrugged off his jacket to hide you under it from the many gazes. While he talked to the officers and firemen, thanking them for their help and telling them he was going to have you rest at a nearby hotel, your thoughts began to spiral again as you thought about why this had to happen to you. He led you back to a carriage, his arm tightly around your waist, letting you know you weren’t alone. Neither of you cared too much about your image as you were seen so intimately, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care for the bright smile Rhys wore on his face as he helped you inside the carriage, following you.

All throughout the drive, he held your hands, just like he had when you were children and experienced a nightmare. His thumb rubbed circles on your skin, and his long fingers tangled with yours. “Rhys... I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, tears shooting back into your eyes, but he only shushed you gently, wiping them away with his thumb. He, too, lost everything that night, and here you were, distraught and selfishly grieving on your own. You lifted the back of his hand to your forehead, sobbing quietly while praying quietly for the people you both lost.

Time passed you by in a haze. You still remembered Rhys leaving briefly before helping you out of the carriage and into a room in some hotel you had never heard about. So lost in thought, it was hard to think about anything else but the fire. When Rhys came back, he found you still sitting in the same position on the bed as he had left you in. Handing you a glass of water, he admitted putting some medicine inside that would help you calm down, and at that moment, it made sense to you. You were exhausted, but you had enough strength to drink on your own, feeling drowsy the moment you set down the glass.

He helped you loosen your corset and lay down when you were already unable to lift a finger anymore, but at least Rhys never left your side anymore. You were glad for his company. For knowing that you weren’t all alone. For a while, you only stared at each other, and he held your hand, his face graced by a smile. How could he still smile after all this? In one fire, he lost everything, and now he had to take care of this miserable you.

“But I didn’t lose you. In fact, now we’ll always be together.”

Had you accidentally spoken out your thoughts? Or was he able to read you so easily? In fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you two had been so close. Ever since you grew up, your relationship had matured as well. It would have been inappropriate for you to be seen with him like you had that day if not for the tragedy.

“I did it for us. You know I would do everything for you, Milady.”

His eyes lowered to your hands, and he gently brushed over your fingers as if they were precious porcelain. His cheeks were flushed lightly as he gazed upon your ring finger, still unadorned since you didn’t have suitors to choose from. This ball should have been your chance to meet someone. “Find an earl or a duke,” your father had said, and you would have tried for your family.

“There’s no need for you to marry a stranger anymore. We can start over, just the two of us.”

“Rhys,” you wanted to say, but you couldn’t open your mouth anymore from the exhaustion you were feeling, your eyelids threatening to close any second now. “What is the meaning of this.”

“They wanted to separate us. Your father would have never approved of our love, but I know we are meant for each other! We always were!”

He was your butler, nothing more, nothing less. Even if you were close as kids, you had long started to go your own way as the only child of your family. There had never been a question about who you loved or not since you’d be married to the person from who the family would benefit most.

“I made sure nothing stands in our way.” When Rhys looked up, he appeared so enamored, even if your reflection in his eyes was pitiful. But with the last strength you had, your eyes widened as you realized what he said, a tender, almost shy giggled escaping him as he revealed the truth. Not a reaction that a butler should have after he murdered the family he served all these years. “There are no pieces of evidence left behind after that fire, I made sure of it. Now, nothing can separate us anymore.”

Bowing his head down to your hand, he kissed it gallantly, and you couldn’t remember when he learned these manners. But you were so tired. Tired and terrified, but your body could only comprehend the effects of the medicine, pulling you into a deep sleep fit for what was going to happen.

Rhys brushed away some of your hair as he admired your sleeping face. It almost felt like all these nights he spent by your bedside watching over you. Even when you didn’t need him anymore, relying on your handmaids more than your ever-loyal butler, he still checked on you even when you didn’t want to see him. You two weren’t the adorable children anymore, walking hand in hand through the gardens, but it could be like this again. Being the sole heir to everything, you two would be able to afford a new home with a pretty garden. Enough to build the family that you dreamed of when you asked him to marry you at the tender age of seven. Rhys had never forgotten these feelings, even if you seemed to have put them aside to tend to your responsibilities.

Gazing at you fondly for another second, he finally got up to pick you up from the bed. The carriage was already waiting outside, and he had given the address of the new ‘summer residence’ he had bought in your name to the officials so they could send the important documents there. The person he hired to set the fire was driving you two there. Rhys felt blessed he could stay in the carriage with you, tending to your needs while he had already assembled loyal servants of his own for the new life he wanted to build with you. And now he’d take you to the home you’d share with him, the ring already waiting for you there. Now, everything was going to be perfect, and no one would get in his way. Or else, he’d have no qualms over getting rid of that person as well.

Next time, it would be the whole town if he had to.

#Rhys #Rhys Aspen #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #OC

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stepboldlyjess · 2 years

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Finally! After a year of a lot of mental health issues, and struggling to continue this story, I bring you Chapter Seven of ‘When Will This Be Over?’ Obviously we need a quick recap so here you are:

Chapter One: Jupiter returns home from a work trip with a present for Mog. It is a dress made by a Wundersmith woven by Wunder.

Chapter Two: Jupiter takes Morrigan and Jack to the beach. After spending a lot of the day in the water, Jupiter asks the teenagers to go get snow cones from across the road. When they get there, the line is massive and Jack leaves Morrigan to go to the bathroom.

Chapter Three: Morrigan gets the snow cones and waits outside where she is taken by a strange man. She is knocked unconscious and placed into the back of a car. When she wakes up she is in a weird room on top of a single bed. She looks out the window to try and figure out where she is but she is unsuccessful. She meets Spike, her kidnapper before he knocks her unconscious again.

Chapter Four: Our story flicks back to Jack. He is in the bathroom but when he goes to exit he is stopped by an older man. The man asks about Morrigan and says she is pretty, to which Jack agrees before casually shrugging it off. The stranger continues to ask about Morrigan and wants to know how Jack would react if he ‘had his way with her’. He answers a call asking if the person on the other line ‘has her’ before exiting the bathroom. Jack follows suit but cannot find Morrigan. He runs across the road to tell his uncle that Morrigan is gone.

Chapter Five: (tw: sexual assault) Morrigan wakes up naked with a pain in between her legs. She believes it has been a week since she was taken and each day was the same. Wake up, find her dress in the corner of the room, lay on the floor, cry herself back to sleep, and wake up to food being slipped into her room. The same meal was delivered every day: a lump of mash potato, a cube of meat, and murky water. She finds out that a missing child report has been made for her, but Spike lets her know that she will never be rescued.

Chapter Six: Jupiter is struggling. He has never been more upset in his life. He doesn’t sleep much, and neither does Jack. He is constantly working to distract himself from the pain he is feeling. He is doing everything in his power to get his Mog back.

This story is available on Wattpad. It should be the first story that comes up when you search ‘When Will This Be Over?’ on the app. I would really appreciate it if you go check it out.

Anyway, here is Chapter Seven.

When Will This Be Over?

Chapter Seven

“Hawthorne and Cadence, may I please speak to you?” Miss Cheery announced on the way home from school.

It was rare for only one or two Unit members to be addressed at a time. Usually, Unit 919 was spoken to all together. Hawthorne shot a curious look at Cadence before they stood and moved over to Miss Cheery.

The last couple of days had been odd. No one had heard from Morrigan and she was nowhere to be seen today. The days where she wasn’t around weren’t the most fun and that was obvious when silence fell over the group in Hometrain and at lunch. Maybe Miss Cheery had some idea of where the black eyed girl was.

‘Miss Cheery,’ began Hawthorne as he neared his conductor. ‘Where’s Morrigan? Is she sick?’

He hadn’t noticed, but Miss Cheery was pale. Dark circles were visible under her eyes and her knuckles were white as they gripped the pillow she pushed against her stomach.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Cadence from Hawthorne’s side.

The conductor blinked a few times before opening her mouth. ‘That’s actually what I would like to talk to you about.’

Hawthorne felt his eyebrows come together. ‘Has something happened to her?’

‘I’m not sure how to tell you.’ Miss Cheery pulled at the threads of the pillow and her eyes were like lasers searching for a target in the train.

‘I’m sure it’s not that bad,’ said Cadence but the break in her voice revealed the anxiety she felt.

Hawthorne grew impatient as Miss Cheery stayed silent. He was worried about his friend and only wanted to know the truth.

‘Please tell us what’s wrong.’

Miss Cherry looked at Hawthorne and Cadence before saying something that caused Hawthorne’s heart to drop.

‘Morrigan has been kidnapped.’

His breath caught in his throat. Colourful patterns swarmed his eyes. His legs struggled to hold his weight.

Morrigan? Kidnapped? No, that couldn’t be right. That would be the equivalent of Hawthorne falling off a dragon mid-flight. It’s unheard of.

But then again, Morrigan was a Wundersmith and he was sure there were many evil people out there who wanted to get their greedy hands on her. The only question was how did they manage it?

It seems Cadence was thinking the same.

‘How? When did this happen?’ Her voice sounded small, something Hawthorne wasn’t used to associating with her.

Miss Cheery opened and closed her mouth multiple times. Hawthorne assumed she was having an internal debate on how she should deliver the news. Finally, she spoke.

‘Last Saturday, Captain North returned home. The next day, he took Jack and Morrigan to the beach.’

This wasn’t new to Hawthorne. Morrigan had told him Jupiter was coming home on the weekend and they usually go out when the Captain is home.

‘While there,’ continued Miss Cheery, ‘Jack and Morrigan walked across the road to the snow cone shop.’ Tears were rising in her eyes and she swallowed, trying to control any sobs that were threatening to break free. However, when she spoke, her voice shook. ‘Jack went to the bathroom and when he returned, Morrigan was gone.’

As much as Hawthorne wanted to blame someone for Morrigan’s kidnapping, he knew it was impractical to blame Jack. Everyone saw how much Jack adored Morrigan, how protective he was over her. Hawthorne was sure the older boy was just as upset over the situation as he was.

Sniffles were heard from beside him and Hawthorne looked over and saw Cadence…crying? Yes, he was sure of it. Her eyes were slowly turning red and she kept swiping at her nose and cheeks. Instinctively, he placed an arm around her.

Cadence leant into his embrace, her head now resting on his chest. Hawthorne leant his head down towards her and pressed a light kiss to her hair, offering her whatever small amount of comfort he would give.

Although Morrigan had only been gone for a few days, Hawthorne couldn’t help but think about the lonely days that were to come. Unit 919 was a large group with nine members, but even with just one scholar missing, the group felt so small.

The pain had only just started, but Hawthorne already had a question brewing in his mind: when will this be over?

#nevermoor #morrigan crow #jupiter north #jack korrapati #jupidad #morrijack #When Will This Be Over?#hollowpox #wundersmith #nevermoor fanfiction

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hongism · 3 years

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the little things - c.san

↣ pairing: san x reader; poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, slight angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.3k ↣ summary: one of your favorite things to do is look at the stars with san ↣ warnings: none !

“You’re out rather early.”

You don’t turn towards the source of the voice; just hearing him speak is enough of a clue for you to know exactly who it is. Although, even if he hadn’t spoken, you’re sure you would have known from the flutter of wings that resounded before his arrival.

“The stars are prettiest right before dawn breaks,” you sigh, hugging your arms a bit tighter around your knees. Your new companion moves forward and comes to a stop beside you. He doesn’t sit down quite yet; for a while, he merely stands at your side and stares up at the same sky hanging above your heads. The time is roughly four o’clock in the morning — a late night for you and an early morning for San — but your words hold true. The glimmering stars are tucked behind fluffy and luscious clouds that seem to herald coming rain, and they shine against a midnight blue background that seems infinitely deep.

San sinks down to sit beside you at last, tossing his legs over the lip of the stone wall you’re perched on, and he sways his legs in rhythm with an unknown melody. You squeeze your knees as you press your cheek to one of them, enough to have a clear view of San’s pretty side profile against a landscape of green pine trees and shining stars.

“I thought you were out here to look at the stars,” San whispers. He glances at you out the corner of his eye. There’s no malice in his speech, just a hint of teasing, and you can’t keep your lips from quirking into a smile.

“I’m looking at you instead.”

“I should be the one looking at you, little star.” San turns his chin to face you, and his dimples flash as he grins back through the hazy moonlit night. “Our precious star,” he murmurs before reaching a hand out to trace over your forehead, slipping down to your temple then to your cheek and dragging the pads of his fingers over your skin in an unknown pattern.

“Why are you up so early?”

“Waiting for Hongjoong,” San says through a sigh. His hand retracts as quickly as it made contact, and you can’t pretend to be oblivious as to why. Things are always… harsh for San when Hongjoong is gone. It’s much worse when it’s a job like Hongjoong’s current one where the witch has to be gone for weeks at a time. Then San becomes quite volatile and hard to deal with — it only makes sense when a familiar is separate from his master for so long. Seonghwa tries to do damage control every time, tries to use techniques that normally help his own familiar Yeosang calm down, but they never work for San. Hongjoong is the only person and thing that can quell the anxieties and worries and stress that flow through San’s veins in times like these. And seeing as they are a bonded pair, it makes the connection of sharing emotional states weaker. They can’t share emotions this far apart, and that weighs heavily on San’s shoulders after being so used to sharing his heart in such a way for so long. Even if Hongjoong has a tendency to cut San off from feeling the brunt of his negative emotions, there’s still a lingering knowledge that the other is right there, just within grasp.

Not now, however.

San has gone three long weeks without even a breath of a whisper from Hongjoong.

And tonight (this morning? Today? Whatever time it may be) the witch is supposed to return. San’s nerves must be getting to him if he’s out this early because usually he would curl up in Hongjoong’s bed and await the witch there, presenting himself like a neatly wrapped present for the other to unravel with warm kisses and soft touches.

San clenches his fingers blindly around the lip of the wall.

“Tell me a story?” You inquire out of the blue. Your eyes shift to look up at the sky again. San huffs out a weak laugh.

“What kind?”

“Hm, how you and Hongjoong met?”

A risky choice, maybe, but you know how near and dear that tale is to San’s heart, and how much comfort it brings him in simply thinking of it. So it is also a very wise choice on your behalf. San’s lips twitch into the shadow of a smile.

“You’ve heard it so many times already…”

“I’ll give you something in return,” you coo, reaching out to pinch the skin around San’s elbow. He yelps like a kicked dog and offers up a deep pout that has you ready to tease him further.

“Seven kisses.”

“Seven?” You echo. Confusion slips into your tone. You can’t recall any significance to the number seven, nor can you remember whether it’s supposed to have special meaning.

“One for each time I’ve told you this story,” San murmurs, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. You scowl at the faint sensation as a laugh nearly escapes you, but you manage to bite it back enough to smile again.

“I always forgot how good a crow’s memory is.”

“Ravens remember well too, little star.”

You poke your tongue out between your lips in his direction, and San merely laughs at your expression before shifting closer to you. He loops a hand around one of yours, pulling it away from the leg you have propped up on the rock wall, then he loops his fingers through yours.

“Several hundred winters ago, this land we live in now held very different values and laws. The people were cruel and brash, only using their fists and crude weapons to handle gathering food and protecting their women and children. No one imagined there was any other way of doing things — the people knew nothing of what gentle prowess magic could offer.” San glances over at you, drawing a laugh from your lips when he makes eye contact with you. You shake your head ever so slightly.

“I didn’t mean for you to give me the version that’s in books and legends…”

San dares to giggle at that, and a moment later, he’s shifting his position so that he can rest his head against your thigh and look up at the stars like that. You have to push your other leg down to accommodate the shift, and once San is comfortably staring up at the sky with you, he begins speaking again.

“I was alone. It wasn’t something new; I was used to it at that point. Ravens don’t have the longest lifespan, and I was still a young familiar at the time. I had no owner or master. My mother’s master left our nest after she passed, leaving me with two sisters who were sick and close to death. They were too ill to shift to their human forms, so I couldn’t bring them to an apothecary or village. Ravens are seen as bad omens after all; had I brought them to a town, they would have been killed on the spot. I spent some time going between our nest and the nearest village, stealing food and medicine where I could because I couldn’t afford it. I worked some too, little odd jobs here and there, but it was a lot of delivery work. Made it easy to steal thankfully. Then… well, one day, I got too bold and tried pickpocketing a high-ranking guardsman. He was some lieutenant or something like that, I don’t remember. Too many years have passed since then. But I got caught trying to lift some coin off him in a bar, and he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out to the streets. He was planning on killing me right then and there with no trial, but some short little witch came stalking up without a care in the world and knocked the guard on his ass. He was going on and on about how rude it is to grab random people off the street like that.”

“Of course he would,” you murmur, a bit of fondness slipping into your tone. “Don’t let him catch you calling him short though.”

“Eh, he’ll survive. In any case, when the guard tried explaining that I was trying to pickpocket him, this witch extended a hand to me and asked if I needed help. I naturally said no because I didn’t think I could trust him, then took off running. I went back to my nest in the hopes of finding my sisters and telling them to get out of the area, yet when I got there, they were already gone. It had been nearly two years since my mother passed, so they were well enough to do things on their own at that point, but they’d never up and left like that without warning. I couldn’t do anything but stay and wait for their return. We’d gathered some food and supplies, so I was able to live off of it for several months before needing to depart for more again. The entire time, not once did my sisters return. They just… disappeared into thin air. I waited every day, wondered when they would come back, and some nights I would stay awake all night flying around the area in search of them.”

“That part always breaks my heart,” you whisper. Stretching a hand down, you drag your fingers along the curve of San’s cheekbones then his jaws, torn away from the stars as you look at the familiar.

“Why? Had it not happened, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I know but…”

“But Hongjoong found me,” San continues through a smile. You huff but let him finish the story, pointedly ignoring the curling grin he sends your way. “After a few months, I started noticing magical residue near my nest. And sure enough, that little witch from before was setting up camp nearby. I did nothing at first, watched him from afar for a while, then I got brave enough to try to lift a few things from his camp. That turned out to be quite the mistake because he caught me within three seconds of setting foot into that camp. And yet… instead of threatening to kill me or harming me, the little witch simply asked if I was alone. ”Are you alone? Do you have anyone with you? A master? I feel your magical energy yet it doesn’t seem normal. You must be a familiar. Where is your master?“ When I said I had no master and was on my own, the little witch was… hm, I would say he was both confused and concerned. Said it was no good for a familiar to go without a master. Without one, I would die within a few years. He suggested that I hurry along with finding one, and I explained I had absolutely no one else in my life.”

“And after that?”

San hums to himself a bit, bringing his hands up above his head as he stares at the night sky. A delicate little smile graces his pretty lips and squeezes his dimples out, but he doesn’t speak any other words for quite some time. The next voice you hear doesn’t even belong to him.

“After that, I invited San to spend some time in my care and work an honest job for me before going on his way to finding a master.”

Hongjoong.

You twist your neck towards the source of the voice, finding the witch standing a little ways away from the wall you and San are currently seated on, and he grins through the moonlit night at you. San jolts upwards at the sound of his master. The smile that splits his lips is so broad and heartwarming that it feels too intimate to look at, even for you who shares in their love for one another. It’s different for them, and you know that, even if it’s just a different strain of the same love, it’s different nonetheless. San hops off the wall in one swift move, closing the distance between his and Hongjoong’s bodies within seconds.

“As it turns out, we were…we did quite well together. And thus, here we are,” Hongjoong says as he lets San press his nose into the curve of his neck. “I’m sorry I was gone so long. Had to make a few extra stops along the way to gather some supplies. How was he?” Hongjoong directs the words to you, watching with careful yet loving eyes as you pull yourself down from the wall as well and step closer to him and San. The familiar will be like this for a while; unmoving and unresponsive as he soaks in Hongjoong’s presence again and drowns himself in the sensation of having all those feelings doubled once more. Hongjoong will try to ease the burden as much as he can for both their sake, and you’ll do what you do best: taking care of both of them when it gets to be too overwhelming. While Seonghwa and Yeosang (who don’t go a long time without each other anyway) don’t have to deal with this type of ordeal, Hongjoong and San always do. Hongjoong thinks it has something to do with how frequent his trips are, or perhaps the lingering sensation of separation anxiety that San suffers from given his past. Either way, it makes their reunions that much more emotionally taxing and intense. Even you, who has not a drop of magical ability in your body, can feel the sheer power radiating off them both right in this moment.

“You came home at the right time. He was getting antsy,” you murmur back, reaching up to comb your fingers through the long hair at the base of San’s scalp.

“Next time I’ll leave you all with a bit more of a safety net.”

“Or you could come back sooner.”

Hongjoong nearly rolls his eyes, and you catch the way he stops himself just beforehand. The annoyance in his features is nothing serious, only something because he’s heard such words a hundred times over.

“No doubt you haven’t slept yet?” He inquires, trying his best to make his way to the door of the coven’s home. San proves to be quite the obstruction, as it seems, and Hongjoong has to hoist the slightly larger man up enough to loop his legs around the smaller’s waist. Hongjoong grunts from the added weight but manages to carry San the rest of the way with no other complaints. You trail along beside them, taking care of opening the door and grabbing Hongjoong’s satchel once inside.

“Welcome home, my sweet starlight. I see our star and bird found you before I could.” Seonghwa is the first to greet the three of you upon stepping inside. You only notice Yeosang’s sleek black cat form slinking around the hearth witch’s ankles when you’re helping Hongjoong out of his shoes.

“Mm, they were waiting outside,” Hongjoong mumbles into the chaste kiss Seonghwa delivers to his lips. Seonghwa also places a sweet kiss on the back of San’s head before Hongjoong steps around the taller man, continuing to carry San as he goes.

“Mingi fell asleep in your bed last night, so don’t be surprised if you find him there,” Seonghwa calls out over his shoulder. You stretch up to your tiptoes in front of him, half-expecting the kiss that he presses to your lips a few seconds later, but the sudden appearance of Yeosang’s human form popping up on your left is much less expected. You nearly jump out of your skin, and probably would have if not for Seonghwa placing a steadying hand on your hip.

“You haven’t slept either,” Yeosang comments, nose pushing hard against your cheek. You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“No need to lecture. I’m going up with them, don’t worry.”

“I’ll come by after Jongho heads out for morning work.” Yeosang smiles a little before turning on his heel and heading back into the kitchen, no doubt where Jongho waits. Seonghwa huffs out a laugh but sends you on your way without any more conversation. You catch him slipping back into the kitchen as well just as you start climbing the stairs behind Hongjoong.

“Did San fall asleep already?” You ask after the man. You can barely see the familiar’s face from how hard he has it pressed into Hongjoong’s neck, but his eyes seem to have fallen shut at some point. He’s either basking in Hongjoong’s presence as much as he can or he’s entered a pleasant state of unconsciousness with Hongjoong’s warmth around him.

“Almost. He’s calming down some though. I’ll put him in bed with Mingi then take a bath. Care to join?”

“Such a temptress,” you snort to his back.

“I’m only joking, my dear. Keep San and Mingi company while I’m washing up for me instead? We can bathe together another day.”

“Of course darling,” you murmur, drawing a hand across his shoulders once the two of you reach his door. “Be quick though. Mingi will want some time to cuddle before he joins Jongho for yard work.”

As Seonghwa warned, Mingi is already curled up into a tight ball in the center of Hongjoong’s bed when you enter the room. It’s not hard to move his lanky limbs to the side to make room for San, and when Hongjoong eases the familiar down to the mattress, Mingi immediately takes to curling his body around the smaller man like it’s an act of pure instinct. San nuzzles into the touch, releasing a content little hum. You feel a hand brush the small of your back and jerk to look Hongjoong in the eye. Turns out, it was only a way to distract you because he captures your lips in a quick kiss that tastes a bit of honey and cinnamon. You have no time to savor the taste, however; Hongjoong pulls away just as quick and mumbles something about being quick to clean up. You bring a hand up to touch the spot where his lips just were. The smile that overtakes your face is one you can’t hold back, and now it’s your turn to be content and happy as you pull the sheets back to join Mingi and San under the covers. A large hand clamps down hard on your waist, tugging you flush against San’s chest.

“Where’s my kiss?” Mingi’s voice rises through the silence, thick and groggy from sleep. You reach around San to smack him as gently as possible on the arm.

“Go back to bed.”

“Joong home yet?”

“Mhm, he’ll be in bed in just a bit.”

“Good,” Mingi sighs. He settles back into the mattress, maintaining his hold on you around San’s body, and you twist just enough to lean over the sleeping familiar.

“Kiss,” you murmur, and Mingi rushes to meet you halfway with a cheeky grin. “Okay, now sleep. You don’t have long before you have to be up.”

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep wrapped up in that embrace, and even when Hongjoong does finally come to bed, he doesn’t stir you from sleep except for the barest sensation of lips against your forehead. You might hear him mutter some loving words to all three of you, perhaps lingering a little while longer on San because he knows the familiar needs that reassurance and comfort right now more than ever, but once he settles down and tucks your head against his chest, a wildly comfortable and deep sleep overcomes you.

#atzinc #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez fic #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #choi san x reader #san fluff #san angst #san imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez drabbles #ateez drabble #ateez scenario

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uncpanda · 3 years

Text

Sleep Tight

Prompt: Hey could you do angsty Sonny Carisi x reader where something happens and Sonny gives the reader the cold shoulder for the next few days and and reader starts getting upset and they finally forgive each other

Requested by: @icequeen2021

“I can’t do this.”

Your eyes open and you gaze clearly at your husband. You had almost managed to get to sleep, and you want to throw something at him but you resist.

“He’s fine Dom, we have the monitor on, the camera is focused on him, and he has the sock that monitors his vitals on. Please come to bed.”

“I think we need him sleeping in here for a few more weeks Y/N. It seems safer.”

You sigh. You and Sonny had been married for nearly two years now. You hadn’t even made it a month before the two of you had started talking about babies. You’d barely made it seven months into your marriage before you had found yourself pregnant.

You had both been ecstatic. You had always wanted to be a mother and Dominick had been born to be a father in your opinion. He had catered to your every need while pregnant, and watching him cradle your son, Adrian, to his bare chest right after he was born was one of the sexiest things you had ever seen.

The thing was, Adrian was now seven months old and sleeping through the night. Your pediatrician had given the greenlight to move him into his own room. And it was slowly killing Sonny. Your husband was overprotective in the extreme. No one was allowed to hold the baby without sanitizing their hands, every baby item you bought had to have at least a four star rating, and if Sonny got his way his mother would take care of the baby while the two of you work.

For the most part you let him have his way, but on this you were standing your ground. You wanted your grownup space back. At least for a little while. You and Sonny had both agreed to a large family, and you felt it was important to have a space for just the two of you in-between infants.

As a result he had been pouty for days. He’d barely spoken to you, or even kissed you when he went off to work. It had hurt your feelings . . . big time.

You scoot into a sitting position, you know this needs to end, and it needs to end now. “Dominick. . .” The use of his full name stops him in his tracks, and he looks at you. “I need you to stop.”

“Stop what? Caring about our kid?”

That has you blinking, and him wincing. You cross your arms over your chest, “You want to try that one more time?”

“I didn’t mean it like that?”

“Really? Because you’ve been acting like a toddler for days. You’re barely talking to me, and you haven’t kissed me in three days.”

You can feel the tears building, and when the first ones start to fall he rushes to you, and wraps you in his arms, “Oh doll, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

You bury your head into his chest, and take several deep breaths, “He’s down the hall Sonny, the windows are locked, we have every monitoring device possible on him short of a microchip. I need you to let it go. I need you to be my husband as well as Adrian’s dad. I need time alone with you.”

“I can do that sweetheart. I can.”

“Do you promise?”

He places a kiss on your forehead, “I promise. He can stay in his own room, I’ll just end up checking the monitor a lot.”

“I can live with that.”

There’s a moment of silence as he rubs your back, while you’re still tucked in his arms. Once you’re sure the tears are under control you say, “And if you ever leave without kissing me goodbye again, I’ll kill you and Liv and Amanda will help me hide the body.”

He laughs, “You’re the best mom ever sweetie.”

“Damn straight. I pushed our nine pound baby out without an epidural. You should fear me Dominick.”

“How about I just love ya silly instead.”

You reach up and kiss him, “Yeah, that works too.”

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny x reader #sonny carisi x you #sonny carisi imagine #dominick carisi #dominick carisi x reader #law and order svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order svu imagine #svu #svu fanfic #dad!sonny

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purpleyellow · 3 years

Text

It’s not enough

NCT 24th member / Dream 8th member

Bee’s Masterlist

“The remarkable world of Mark Lee’s mind” or, Mark rethinkgs his entire history with Bee.

a/n: I finished it!! Feel free to share your thoughts with me. Requests are open!💛 this gif is peak devastation

All Mark could think when Bee first joined the group was “Thank God for Lee Jeno”.

Noticing that while she didn’t know how to express herself in front of them, Jeno was the first to give her a sense of comfort. Mark, after getting nervous for not knowing how to be helpful, told himself that eventually, Bee would get close to him too. He had a year, after all, to become friends and grow a bond with her.

Except that a year doesn’t last that long and little girls don’t come with instructions.

He knows she cried on his last showcase with Dream. But Mark has a feeling she only did so because of the occasion. She was seeing the seven best friends she witnessed together being separated, and that’s a heartbreaking sight when you know how close they are together.

Two years later, Mark realizes that was his big mistake. It wasn’t on purpose but along the way, he isolated the girl from their original friend group, and maybe it’s what caused some sort of distance in between them.

The year following his departure was an eventful one, and the boy grew a lot, experienced a lot, and learned a lot. The best part of everything being that whenever he met with their little friend group, his spot was intact and everything was the same. Except for Bee. Mark would see how she had inevitably built her own place within the dreamies, and it had him feeling weirdly left out even though they were perfectly coexisting.

They went on being coworkers and labeling each other as friends despite the weird lack of bond, until, of course, the whole “crush” fiasco went down. Mark saw himself and the girl going from, no correlation besides being in the same friend group, to suddenly facing a crisis that revolved around her feelings and his lack of knowledge about how she works.

The image he had of her, was built on a shallow level based on how others perceived her. That’s his second mistake. Jeno, and some of his Hyungs, were almost protective over Bee. Renjun and Jaemin treated her like their personal teddy bear. Haechan, Chenle, and to some extent Jisung were not worth going over in his head, because he thought that if he joked around as they did, she would probably get offended.

So there Mark was, trying to work around, this seemingly fragile character, while finding out that she saw him as a friend more than he did to her. And that maybe all the stress he had gone through to make sure she was being “protected” was worthless and seemingly ignored. He was a bit selfish for wanting to do the right thing simply for others to notice him, but that’s how he knew things. That's how he had to build a career for himself, he needed to get recognition from others to do the things he had done. And maybe connecting everything to work was another mistake.

“What’cha thinking about?” Chenle throws his coat on top of Mark’s head after realizing the practice room wasn’t empty. Though the boy was so deep in thought he didn’t realize the idol had arrived until he announced himself.

“Just life” Mark groans while laying back on the ground, his phone left on the floor next to him. The younger boy walked to the side, taking a glance at the screen before smirking.

“And by life, do you mean someone special?” He teases and Mark's hands fly to the device, the notes app open on the words he had mindlessly typed. He knew Chenle didn’t have time to actually read everything, but the title gave away enough. “The little ballerina”

“I’m trying to see things through a different lens” The Canadian spoke looking sideways at him. Gesturing he continued “Yesterday, I tried talking to her back at the van, but to be honest I had no idea what to say. Apparently, there's no good way to approach it, but I kind of feel like there might be”

“Markie, Markie. Don’t overthink anything. What do we do when we have a schedule that we’re not particularly good at?” Chenle placed a hand behind his ear and waited for the boy to say.

“We go ahead and just do it”

“So do just that” The boy snapped, “Between you and me, Yun-hee doesn't know what she wants. At one point she's all certain about 'moving on' or whatever, yet then when you ask her for any details of what she's feeling, she completely ignores you”.

“You asked her about it?” Mark's head snaps up frowning and the boy nods. “What did she say? Does-”

“Did you not listen to what I just say? She brushed me off” Chenle rolls his eyes “But I think she still likes you if that's worth something. Maybe not the way she did back when Haechan dropped the bomb”.

“What do you mean? Like a friend?” He questions confused, decreasing the younger's patience.

“No, Mark. The same way you like her now”.

“Chenle, I already told her, and all of you, that I don't feel like that towards Bee” Mark’s tone gets more serious and the younger groans annoyed.

“You two are so slow, we literally have to put words in your mouth to get things going” Chenle speaks quicker trying to get his point across. “It's really obvious you care about Bee more than you did at the beginning of last year. And okay, let's say you don't have a little thing for her or whatever, but you do want to have some sort of relationship with her, don't you?”

“Yeah, being friends for once would be nice” Mark nods, sarcastically, and gets up from the floor. “I really just want this all to end”

Mark left the room shortly after and being honest with himself, he felt a little light-headed with everything Chenle just told him. Putting most things aside to revisit once he had a clearer mind, the boy decided to put into use the one good advice he could find in the middle of everything. When you have a particularly hard task, you just have to go ahead and do it.

So with that, his plan was built. And by plan, he means to have no prepared speech, and no questions to ask, instead figure out everything after he finally finds a way of talking to her, which has been harder than anticipated.

A couple of days later, while he went down to the sm cafe before it was time to be at the studio, Mark quite literally froze in place at the sight of a certain Stray Kids member standing near a wall.

Waving shyly at him and Renjun, Seungmin waited awkwardly to see if they would come near him.

"Bee shouldn't take much longer" Renjun caught Mark by surprise, as he approached the boy calmly "Her recording session is almost done, but we can show you the studio if you want to wait for her there"

"No, it's fine" Seungmin smiled, though a little intimidated by Mark's frown. "I'll just sit wherever if it takes too long"

"I'm sorry, you two are going out?" The laugh followed by Mark's question was a little nervous, considering he had only seen the boy a few times yet here he was waiting for Bee to be done so they could do... something?

"No, no. Bee's going to meet Moon, I'm just the intermediate" Seungmin tries to joke but Renjun is the only one laughing. Clearing his throat, he explains further "My group was nearby and we're meeting Ateez for dinner so Moon asked if I could come to pick her up"

"Yun-hee is staying over at her dorm" Renjun adds, glaring sideways at the Canadian. "A sleepover or whatever you want to call it" The three fall silent after he's done talking and Mark runs over an explanation as to why he's feeling so frustrated over this conversation.

He and Bee hadn’t properly spoken since the award show shooting. And while forced interactions were the bare minimum, the boy felt as if the distance they kept had triplicated its length. It made him feel odd to see her act normally with everyone, including a boy she hadn’t spoken to for a year. So why couldn’t they be normal as well?

"Well, I'm going ahead and get a coffee. She should be coming anytime, though being late is kind of expected at this point" The comment from Renjun makes Seungmin chuckle and both boys nod to each other. Turning to Mark, he frowns at his wondering expression "You coming?"

"I'm heading up actually, it's my turn on studio 3" He shakes his head and waves at them. The elevator doesn't seem to take much longer to arrive, which Mark thinks might be some weird doing of fate, considering as soon as he makes it to his floor, Bee is walking along the hallway. Or was, because she changes her path the moment she spots him

Acting purely on instinct might not be the smartest thing to do, the boy thinks to himself while chasing her through the building without any idea of what he wants to say once "catching" her. Maybe Kun hiding Bee in his studio and obviously lying to him was a good thing, or at least it gave him another day to think about where he wants to stand with her.

Ironically, a couple of days after, he's in fact standing in front of a door while thinking if he should or not enter and hopefully settle everything. Mark opens the door slowly, analyzing the small room with two chairs in which she's sitting on one.

“Can we talk now?” He waits for her positive to walk inside and Bee does so by simply nodding. Her eyes looked a little tired and uninterested, but the small tremor on her hands told him how present she really was. And just like the first time they met, her nervousness contaminated him, and they just sat inside the small room without looking at each other in silence.

"I, um, have been thinking about everything since that game night" Mark clears his throat and starts speaking towards the floor "And, not that you owe me anything, but I'd just like to know what happened"

Frowning, Bee quickly glances at him "What do you mean, what happened?"

"When did you start, kind of seeing me in that way. And how did it stop, I guess. It just feels like a lot happened that I'm not aware of, and it's making me look back and reconsider some stuff, I'll explain that later, just let me know what I missed"

Bee thought of how she would put things into words and twirled the ring on her finger, taking a deep breath she tried to make herself comfortable on the chair

"It started around when you came back from the SuperM tour. Or maybe before that, I'm not sure” She sighs and picks at her nails “It seemed like that boy I met was gone after you graduated, and you became this even cooler rapper, you became more confident in yourself, literally embodied SM's favorite child. I sort of became stunned, this feels really weird to say, but I couldn't really recognize you"

Mark slowly looks at Bee while she's talking and carefully listens, he feels a little more comfortable not to look away once she raises her head again. Once she stops, he nods turning his chair a little so they're more face to face.

"You feel out of it after you find out I'm still the awkward boy from before" His jokes make her shrug as opposed to the giggle he expected to hear.

"That happened, but also, you did turn me down" Bee bites her lip regretting the word choice "Not that I'm mad, or really hoped for anything, I simply didn't want to push anything or make things too weird. That's why going back to normal was such a huge thing, but it's been a really long time since then and we still don't know how to do that, I guess"

"Maybe it's because we didn't exactly have a normal, at least not the one we're trying to do right now" Mark catches her attention and she gestures for him to keep going "Thinking back to when we first met, we never got close just the two of us. The others were always around, and even then, I can't recall us sticking together or anything. That might be why you thought I was different"

"It makes sense" The girl mumbles tilting her head and frowning. If he was true, that would mean her crush had been based on this picture of him she drew on her head. And while part of it certainly was, Bee also knows that a little percentage came from his actual responsible yet boyish and kind personality she still appreciates to this day.

"I guess it does" Mark nods reading her face "We should probably find a way to work around that. Just get closer in general, I guess. Find out what our dynamic is like without blending in with the rest of the boys and ignoring each other" He speaks hopefully, but Bee fears it might not work again.

"But, what if this is it for us. We didn't naturally become friends, so maybe accountancies it's what we should stick with" She doesn't know if she meant it, or was scared of this whole 'finding out' deal and its consequences. From what she knew, Bee could easily slip back into her feelings for him and end up breaking her face again.

Yet Mark wasn't having it. He'd spent way too much time, especially lately, noticing how she was comfortable with the others, and the nice chemistry they had. He felt left out, not as in ignored, but Bee was sweet, and a little quirky which also made her funny, but still very caring, and he never denied she was pretty. He wanted to know what it’s like to be her friend like the others are. Though this moment might be the first time he questions if a friendship will be enough for him.

"Let's put an effort this time" He shakes his head dismissing her comment "We can stick around in the practice room a little longer now that our schedules mostly match. And you know, hang out together more, no running away or ignoring each other"

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Bee bounces up her leg and thinks a little bit.

"For what it's worth, we can try. We spent a good time in here and it didn't get awkward, so there’s hope" Mark giggles and she follows him "It'll make the teamwork better if you need a greater good to support your decisions"

"Okay" Bee nods making him shyly hold out a fistbump to her. Making up a quick and weird handshake, they laugh together lighting up the mood a little.

"Just a little request" The girl stops Mark as he's getting up "Let's not rush things, you know. Make it more natural than acting like we're forcefully acting as friends"

"Yeah, sure" Mark pats her head opening the door. And to everyone, especially the dreamies’, happiness, they're a little less awkward around each other.

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Tell Me When by SisterSpooky1013

For @inuendo-outuendo for the 2021 X Files Smut fanfic exchange

3982 words / Rated E / Read it here on AO3

“Scully?” he asks, and she realizes she didn’t hear the question.

“Hm?”

“Do you want the last slice of pizza?” he repeats, pointing to the nearly empty box of Canadian bacon and pineapple.

She shakes her head, taking a deep breath to ground herself in the moment. They sit on the bed in his motel room, reviewing case notes while a rerun of MASH plays on the small TV. He’s been going on about how often arson investigators are wrong about the origin of the fire, and how the way that they determine that an accelerant was used has been widely disputed. That they should not form their opinions on this case around the theory that the fire was set intentionally.

She’s been trying to listen, trying very hard, but he’s wearing that shirt. That Queen T-shirt with the hole in the armpit. It’s the one he was wearing when-

She closes her eyes tight against the memory.

“You okay?” he asks, and the genuine concern in his voice really isn’t helping.

“Yeah, I’m just tired, I think I’ll go to bed,” she replies, rising from her seat beside him.

She passes through the adjoining door between their rooms, pulling her side closed before she flops onto the bed with an exasperated exhale. It’s been over a month and she expected it to get better with time, but it’s only getting worse.

That night had been a mistake. A stupid, thoughtless mistake. She’d made the conscious decision to step close and press her fingertips into his hip bones, steadying herself against him as she pushed up on to her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth. Everything after that had been choices her body made with no concern at all for what her mind might have to say in the matter. It was like an out of body experience, her consciousness hovering above them and watching helplessly as she sated every desire she’d been suppressing for seven years and some months.

The phrase “it all happened so fast” had always struck her as cliche. And yet one second they were kissing, and the next his fingers were deep inside her, stroking her g-spot as she struggled to pull in a full breath. She blinked and his tongue was between her thighs, lapping at her as though her pussy alone could sustain his life, like he needed her more than air. She pushed gently at his head, making excuses, telling him he didn’t have to. When he pinned her hands to the bed and doubled his efforts, she came hard against his tongue, so hard she saw stars. She blinked again and now it was his cock that was inside her, slipping in and out fast and hard, knocking her rhythmically against his headboard until he wrapped his hand around her skull protectively. Blink again and she was in her car on the way home, chewing nervously on her lip as her consciousness settled back into her body. As it asked her what she had done. She might have tried to convince herself she’d imagined it, if not for the slick of his cum in her panties and the tenderness between her legs when she washed herself in the shower the next morning.

Regret. Shame. Embarrassment. Facing him again was the hardest thing she’s ever done, and she’s done some hard things. She’d knocked on his apartment door, unable to meet his eye when he answered. Unable to look at his face as she told him that it was a mistake, and how sorry she was for initiating it. He didn’t speak as she stared at his long bare toes against the hardwood, begging that they pretend it never happened. When she was finished, she forced a glance at him and his expression was neutral, open, accepting.

“Okay,” he’d said, and she left. They haven’t spoken of it since.

Peeling herself from her motel bed, she flips on the shower. Scrubbing the memory from her skin, she attempts to wash it down the drain along with the slickness that had gathered between her legs while thinking about it. She knows it was a mistake, and she knows that it can’t happen again. She knows this, and yet her body betrays her. The smell of his deodorant alone is enough to send her into a tailspin, drawing her to him like a heat seeking missile. There’s a certain way he groans when he’s frustrated that is remarkably similar to the sound he made while his lips were wrapped around her clit. She’s found herself trying to frustrate him just to hear it. She wants him again, so badly. But she can’t. She won’t.

Fully cleansed, she pulls on a T-shirt and cotton shorts. The shower did very little to quench her thirst and so she decides to try working as a distraction. She left Mulder’s room before she had a chance to review the most recent autopsy report, and she was in such a hurry to get out of there that she hadn’t even grabbed it. Moving to the adjoining door, she opens her side to see that his is slightly ajar, their standard signal that company is welcome. Pushing it open slowly, she opens her mouth to speak but stops short when she sees him.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, facing her. A towel covers his head and he’s rubbing it roughly over his hair, drying off after a shower. He is fully nude, droplets of water trailing down his belly and beading in his dark thatch of pubic hair. He’s flaccid, but still impressive, the plump mushroom tip of him resting invitingly against his scrotum. Her heart starts thrumming in her chest like a jackhammer and she slides her tongue along her lower lip, breath coming out in pants like a dog in heat. She practically salivates at the sight of him, new wetness pooling where she had just washed it away.

When she forces her eyes higher, over the ripples of his taut abdomen and the smooth plain of his chest, she finds that the towel is now draped around his neck, and he’s looking at her curiously.

Her eyes widen in surprise and shock, her mouth rooting for words. Any words. Say. Words. Dana. A tiny smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Mulder. Um, your door was open,” she finally stammers, averting her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, pulling the towel down and wrapping it around his hips. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”

She can feel her cheeks redden even further, if that’s possible.

“I just...I came to get the autopsy report,” she says, hand still on the doorknob, gaze on the floor.

He walks over to the small desk and picks up a folder before bringing it to her. He’s so close, and so fresh and smooth, and so...Mulder. He holds the folder out to her and she can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. She takes it, dropping her arm to her side, and then just stands there. It’s like he has a magnetic pull on her that she can’t break away from. Compelled by a force more powerful than her self control, she stays right where she is.

“Something else I can do for you, Scully?” he asks in a syrupy voice, and she lifts her eyes to look at his face. His irises are wide and dark, his lips slightly parted. He’s aroused.

“Mulder…” she says, but can’t quite finish the thought. She doesn’t quite need to.

He steps a little closer, invading her space, inviting her into his. He’s still holding eye contact.

“Mulder, we shouldn’t. We can’t.” She scolds her own voice for coming out so weak, so unconvincing.

“Why?” he asks in a tender whisper that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“We agreed, Mulder. We agreed that it should never have happened. That it can’t happen again.”

He sighs. “I didn’t agree to anything, Scully. You said you wanted to forget it ever happened and I respected your wishes. That doesn’t mean I feel the same way.”

She drops her gaze to somewhere around his shoulder. “We work together, Mulder. It’s unprofessional, and inappropriate, and….we can’t.”

“Okay. Like I said, if that’s what you want then I’ll respect it. Sorry for being captain obvious here, Scully, but you’re the one who’s still standing in my room,” he says before adding in a low tone, “I can’t help but wonder if you’re trying to convince me or yourself.”

She drops her eyes even lower, frustrated with herself because he’s right, and her eye catches the tent at the front of his towel. He’s hard. She swallows. She looks up at his face again and she can see his jaw working with restraint, his breaths controlled and shallow. She’s told him no and he will never, ever violate that boundary; he respects her too much. Which is a real shame because right now she wishes that he would ignore everything she’s saying and throw her onto his bed.

No such luck. She has to make a conscious choice.

Her fingers trembling, she reaches out and tentatively touches the edge of the towel at his hips. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, a stream of air rushing out of his nose. Letting the file drop to the floor, she brings her other hand to lie on his chest, feeling the quickened pace of his heartbeat under her palm and the smooth, shower-fresh warmth of his skin. His eyes are on her mouth and she opens it reflexively, inviting him inside. He’s stock still, unmoving. Wordless invitations are not sufficient. She’s verbally told him no, and now she must verbally tell him yes.

“Kiss me,” she says in a near-whisper, in someone else’s voice, with someone else’s intentions.

A tiny little groan echoes in the depths of his throat.

“I’d like to, Scully, but you just told me you didn’t want to do that. I’m not sure I can live through another morning-after regret conversation,” he says in reply, and there’s pain in his voice.

Her heart aches, knowing that she’d hurt him with her own self-judgment. She’d rejected him without meaning to.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she says softly, searching his face with her eyes. “It’s not about you, it’s me. I just...it’s not that I don’t want you. I do. But I’m afraid.”

His mouth puckers a little with emotion, maybe relief, knowing that it was never him she was running from. Knowing that she wants him.

He takes her hand from his chest, bringing it to his lips and kissing each finger tip one at a time as she watches, mesmerized. When he’s done, he places it back on his pectoral and covers it with both of his own.

“I would never hurt you, Scully,” he says with so much tenderness that tears prick at her eyes.

She nods softly. “I know,” she finally says, barely audibly.

He bends down then and kisses her, fully but sweetly. It’s a promise and an agreement, one they both commit to this time. As in all things, not knowing what the future holds but knowing that whatever it is they will get through it together.

She slips her index finger under the edge of the towel and tugs. It drops to the floor with a soft whoosh, draping around his feet. The kiss deepens, tongues gently exploring surfaces hard and soft, wet and hot. She wraps her arms around his waist, touching the skin of his bare back. Slipping her hands lower to cup his ass, she pulls him closer and they both groan when his growing erection pushes into her belly.

This isn’t happening so fast, she thinks. She is present, and consciously choosing this again and again. Choosing Mulder, choosing pleasure, choosing to let go for once.

He stoops down and slips his hands under her backside, lifting her up as her legs wrap around his hips. He takes two steps forward and her back is against the wall next to the open door between their rooms, his cock pushing against the juncture of her leg and crotch.

They kiss languidly as he thrusts gently against her, his hands snaking under her T-shirt to knead her breasts, pinching her nipples as she moans into his mouth. He’s so hard and so close, and she’s not wearing panties. The thought sends a throb to her clit. She shifts her hips around, dropping inches lower until he’s right there, the smooth head of him prodding against her opening, slipping right past the thin cotton of her shorts.

“Oh fuck,” he rumbles. “Is this okay?” he asks, needing to be sure before he goes any further.

“Yes,” she replies breathlessly, “please.”

He moans long and low, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck as he pushes and shifts, finding just the right angle until he slips inside, filling her.

Her head drops back against the wall, mouth falling open in ecstasy and relief, a single piercing cry echoing in the quiet hotel room.

He stays still for a moment, kissing her neck as his breath heaves in anticipation. When she tilts her head back down, taking his face between her palms and kissing him, he begins to slowly pump in and out. Long, deep, slow strokes. So different than before, so much less frenzied. The first time had felt like they were trying to finish before they got caught, or came to their own senses, or changed their minds. Now they take their time, kissing and stroking, touching and exploring, enjoying each sensation. The only sounds are the soft smacks of their lips, the occasional moans escaping their throats, and the wet slide of his length as he moves within her.

He pushes her shirt up to expose her breasts, dipping his head to take a peaked nipple between his lips and suckling gently as she scrapes her fingernails over his scalp in encouragement. Her back is starting to hurt from being crammed against the wall but she can’t bring herself to stop what they’re doing. Mulder must have been thinking something similar because he suddenly clutches her to him and walks them over to the bed, staying inside her all the way.

He lays her down on the edge of the bed, him standing before her, and pushes her shirt up and off, tossing it aside. Next he withdraws from her and tugs her shorts down and off her hips, his glistening hard-on bobbing in the space between them expectantly. She’s expecting him to slide back in and resume what they were doing, but instead he kneels on the floor between her legs. She looks down at him, preparing to speak. Preparing to object.

“If you don’t like this,” he interjects, “I won’t do it. But if you’re about to tell me not to bother because you think I’m just doing you a favor, you should know that this,” he pauses and drags his tongue in one long, hard stroke over her dripping sex, “is all I’ve thought about every day for the past month.”

Her eyes roll back in her head and she drops against the bed as he begins his assault, licking and lapping at her with all the devotion and enthusiasm she’s been conjuring in her own fantasies since that first night. His tongue is soft while his fingers are firm, spreading her open and dipping inside, flicking and grazing and pressing, skirting gently down over her asshole to gage her response, learning her. Two lessons in and he’s ready to graduate as an orgasm begins to tingle in her toes, building and building.

“Tell me,” he lifts his lips from her briefly to speak. “Tell me when you’re coming.”

She shudders, brought further just by the sound of his voice. She’s almost there. She feels the telltale clench that will bring her over the edge and he groans, feeling the same thing around his fingers, or his tongue. She doesn’t know what part of him is inside her but she doesn’t care. Her breath is hitching, her moans continuous, drying out her open mouth until she swallows hard, trying to gather enough saliva to effectively speak.

Swell, rising, peaking, up to the point she can go no higher, she can’t turn back, not that she wants to. It’s inevitable now.

“Oh, I’m coming,” she pants, and he growls as she falls apart, throbbing against his mouth as he continues to stroke her with his tongue. His fingers are deep inside pushing against her pulsing g-spot, making it longer, harder, better than it has ever been. After the initial explosion he continues to tease smaller waves of pleasure from her and she doesn’t think she’s ever continued to orgasm for this long. She hears a fricative sound and sees his arm pumping vigorously. He’s touching himself.

“Oh my god,” she croons, overwhelmed by sensation, by pleasure, by release.

It becomes too much and she touches the top of his head, signals him to stop, then pushes herself away from the edge of the bed and lays on the pillows at the head. He climbs up beside her, nestling into her side and kissing her face tenderly while his hardness prods her thigh.

She kisses his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue, and reaches down to stroke him firmly. He groans and bucks into her hand, and she lets her leg fall to the side, tugging on his arm until he rolls on top of her. He slips back in easily, she is so wet and ready, and they quickly resume the pace they’d enjoyed against the wall. Long, firm strokes accompanied by deep kisses and hands exploring. He lifts her leg and rests it on his shoulder, deepening his angle, and while she knows she can’t come again this soon it still feels so damn good. He’s breathing hard and his eyes are closed, his mouth falling open and his eyebrows lifting impossibly higher as he approaches his own release.

“Tell me,” she says, panting. “Tell me when you’re coming.”

His eyes shoot open and he looks at her with a ravenous expression, intense and frantic as he quickens his pace. The rhythmic slapping of their bodies as they meet is deafening, the soft nudge of his balls against her ass on each upstroke a sensation she will recall later and blush. His face crumples, the sweet agony of orgasm distorting his features into something beautiful and vulnerable.

“I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming,” he bellows, and she feels the hot spurt of him against her cervix, the throb of him against her still-sensitive walls.

She watches him raptly, mesmerized by this face that is new to her and so deeply intimate. Just when she thought she knew every expression that could inhabit his face, here is another one. Perhaps her new favorite.

He collapses, half his weight draped over her and half on the bed, and they lie there for minutes, catching their breath. Finally he stands and goes into the bathroom. She hears the tap running and he comes back with a dampened washcloth, dragging it gently between her legs. The gesture is so tender and sweet, it makes her chest ache.

He returns, turning off the light and slipping under the sheets to lie beside her, curling his lanky frame around her petite one.

“Stay,” he says in a pleading tone. He’s expecting her to say no.

“Okay,” she replies.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms.

He wakes to the unfamiliar sensation of a naked backside tucked firmly against his groin. Blinking in the darkened room, he remembers and smiles against her hair, pulling in a deep breath full of her shampoo and the smell of their sex. His arm is draped over her waist, one hand cupping a warm breast, and he can feel himself growing hard against her. His initial reaction is to be embarrassed and try to conceal it, but then he has the thought that maybe he doesn’t have to anymore. As his cock stiffens, it finds itself wedged between his leg and the bottom of her ass cheek and he instinctively thrusts his hips a little, seeking friction. She stirs and he freezes, feigning sleep. Her breathing tells him that she’s awake, maybe having the same moment of realization he did. When she wiggles her backside against him a little, he’s sure. He groans and she does it again, more firmly this time. He allows his hand to squeeze gently at the breast currently in its possession and it’s her turn to moan. He’s thrusting against her in earnest now, his length threading between her ass cheeks until he feels her hand touch the head, pressing it against her opening until he routes inside.

Hot, wet, and tight. So unbelievably tight. He pushes his face into the crook of her neck and kisses the skin there frantically, pumping at a pace he won’t be able to keep up for long. Reaching down, he grasps her knee and pulls her leg up to hitch the ankle behind his thigh, then slips his hand down to touch the place where their bodies meet. His fingers slide along the length of his own cock as it pistons in and out of her, gathering moisture, before he circles her clit with his middle finger. He experiments with different levels of pressure and patterns of movement until he finds the one that makes her clench around him as her breath hitches in her throat. They haven’t said a word, but she is pulsing and whimpering and he’s close, so close that he hopes she gets there soon or he might leave without her. Suddenly, she hisses out “oh god, oh yes, oh god,” and then he feels her grip him like a vice. The feeling of her coming around him is overwhelming and he follows her over the edge, muttering obscenities into her ear as he pours himself into her.

This time there is no towel. He falls back asleep before he’s even fully retreated from her, clutching her to him like the prize that she is. Mine, mine, mine, he wants to tell her, but he doesn’t.

It’s 6 am when he hears the beeping of her alarm through the wall, and she’s untangling herself from his arms, sticky and sweat-damp. He’s so afraid that he’ll have to see the shame in her eyes as she tells him again that he was a mistake, so he pretends to be asleep. Before she crosses the boundary back into her own space, she leans over him and kisses his sleep-still lips, lingering for a beat. He’s too cautious to let himself think that’s a good sign; once bitten twice shy and all.

Ninety minutes later she joins him in the rental car, showered and pressed and erased of any sign of their entanglement. He watches her for indications that she’s upset; avoiding eye contact, stiff posture, set jaw. He sees none of that, just regular old Scully, carefully cradling her styrofoam cup of shitty motel coffee as she settles into the passenger seat. She glances at him and worry clouds her face as she catches his pensive expression.

“You okay, Mulder?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed in that way he finds adorable.

He nods reassuringly, a small smile on his lips. “Just tired, didn’t get enough sleep,” he offers, not thinking through the implication.

“Sorry about that,” she says softly before taking a sip of her coffee, and he can see the smile she’s trying to hide behind the cup.

“Don’t be,” he returns, starting the engine as a feeling of relief and contentment washes over him. “More than worth it.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#XFSmut2021 #the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #x files #x files fanfic

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ciarawritesmarvel · 3 years

Text

four sunrises (+ the one you missed) - bucky x reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Canon-typical descriptions of Bucky’s past (mentions of violence, trauma, therapy), Endgame is discussed and the grief that comes with it, all with a fluffier ending

A/N: Hello loves! It’s been a long, long time. I’m by no means ‘back’, whatever that would mean, because I don’t know if this is a one off bout of inspiration or if it will stay with me. Fingers crossed. Regardless, I’m sending each and every one of you so much love and light and happiness. I hope you enjoy this little one shot with little pockets of fluff throughout <3

---

one

There was so much fire, it was a wonder you even noticed the sunrise. But still, your eyes were drawn past the death and the destruction and the wasteland laid bare before you and to the large semi-circular portion of the sun just peeking above the horizon. The new light signalled the start of a new day, a new era maybe, but there was little hope that came with it for now. Not with the wrecked sobs carrying through the air and to your ears from Tony’s body just a few hundred yards away. Not with people combing the battlefield for friends they can’t find. Friends they won’t find.

You keep your eyes on the rising sun and bite the inside of your cheek just enough to hurt a little.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft, hardly meant to be heard above the crying and the shouting and the crackling fires that surrounded you. Still, when you looked to your left at the sound, you found Bucky Barnes stood a little behind you, bruised and solemn. You looked back to the sun. You’d already had to deal with Steve and Thor and Bruce (new, hybrid Bruce) staring at you like you were some sort of ghost when you had ended up side by side at different points in the battle. You weren’t sure you could stand it anymore.

Then again, you had no idea whether Bucky had even been here. Had he been gone? Last you saw him, he was running ahead of you and into the fray in the heat of Wakanda. You’d lost him, lost everyone, once Thanos arrived and hurled you into the trees like you were nothing. And then, all of a sudden, you were nothing.

“Hi Bucky. You okay?” it was reflex, but you winced as soon as you said it because of course he wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. You looked back at him, seeing he had now stepped up beside you properly, “Sorry, stupid question. It’s good to see you, though.”

“And you,” he said sincerely, glancing between you and the horizon, “I’m glad you’re okay. Well, not okay, but-”

“I get it, Buck, don’t worry,” you said, just a small smile on your lips. He returned it. There wasn’t any light in his eyes, but yours were likely dim too. You were trying your best.

“Were you-” he began speaking, but stopped quickly, his eyes now trained on the sunrise instead. He couldn’t look at you, “I mean, were you...here? Or did you…”

He trailed off. It wasn’t as if he needed to continue anyway. He was asking you whether or not you had watched yourself turn to dust a few hours ago and then been woken up by a sorcerer who told you that it had actually happened five years ago. If he was asking, then it meant he’d been gone too. You hadn’t spoken to any of the others who’d been gone yet.

“No, I haven’t been here. You were gone too?”

You saw his body sag beside you in what looked like relief. You supposed perhaps there was a fear that you had been here the whole time and were still unbothered seeing him beside you. Maybe you should have hugged him by now.

“Yeah, I was...gone.”

He still hadn’t turned back to you yet. You threaded your arm through his and shuffled a little closer, a flare of pain shooting through your ankle that you’d forgotten about for an hour or so now. Even so, it was worth it just for a little contact with another human being. Bucky tensed underneath you, but you felt him ease up soon enough. You’d visited Wakanda a few times during his time there so you considered him a friend, whether or not the sentiment was returned.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumbled, hoping he’d hear you anyway. The sun was well over halfway above the horizon now, looking huge and predatory as it took up its position in the rapidly brightening sky, “Not just to you, either, but to anyone. They’ve been living this whole time and we’ve just been dropped back into their lives again. Now Nat’s gone and Tony’s…”

You trailed off, lump firmly lodged in your throat. There was an unspoken question in your rambling: Where do we go from here?

“You don’t have to say it,” he said gravely, “I don’t know either.”

You looked over your shoulder, just briefly, just because you couldn’t stop yourself. You wished you hadn’t. Before you could look for too long, Bucky’s shoulder was nudging yours and you looked back up at his face. Dark eyes. An almost imperceptible shake of his head. You understood immediately. The sunrise was better for now.

When you turned back to it, Bucky’s shoulder was right next to your head, and you were so tired, so when your temple hit the leathery material of his jacket you decide to let yourself have this one. Again you feel the muscles tense, but a few seconds later they relax, and you try to do the same.

“Maybe we stick together, at least a little. Might help us get used to whatever world we’ve come back to?”

There was a pause. Then a little weight that felt a lot like he was resting his head on your own.

It was as close to a yes as you were going to get.

---

two

“If you don’t let me in, I’ll just use my key, you know. The knocking is a courtesy, Barnes!”

You were shouting a little louder than you wanted to in an apartment complex at six in the morning where the walls were thin and the tenants were cranky, but you’d been knocking on Bucky’s door for at least five minutes now and he still hadn’t let you in. He was definitely in there. Without a doubt.

This was proven not twenty seconds later when there was a few clicking locks and the door opened just a crack. There was a sliver of Bucky’s face in view, enough to notice that he hadn’t been shaving and his eyes looked more tired than you’d ever seen him. It was hard to keep the pity from flooding your features.

“What do you want, Y/N?”

“To let me in, genius, come on! I’ve got breakfast,” you shook the bag of takeout in his eyeline and watched his face fall. You tried not to take it to heart.

“Maybe some other time,” his voice was defeated and you were lucky that you saw the door slam coming before it happened. You stuck your foot out into the gap and winced when he shut the door right on your foot. His eyes widened, and so did the door as he backtracked, “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Ignoring him, you walked inside. He was still in the middle of apologising for your foot, but stopped short when he realised it was part of your tactic all along. Resigned to his fate, he sank down onto his couch while you busied yourself in the kitchen getting plates out for the breakfast.

“I tried bringing dinner last night, but you didn’t answer,” you said nonchalantly, whether he was listening or not, “Thought I might try and get you early morning and see what your temperament was like then.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was empty, but you didn’t mind so much. He might not have been sorry for his behaviour now, but you knew he would be eventually, when he pieced himself together a little. That was enough to keep you around, along with the little moments that made it worth it. Last week, you’d forced him into a walk through a park and mentally screamed with glee when he laughed at two squirrels chasing each other.

“Don’t be, we’re here now,” you said easily, “We’re going to eat breakfast on your tiny balcony and watch the sunrise like the world’s okay - okay?”

No response.

Still, the breakfast was all set so you brought both plates out onto the balcony and balanced Bucky’s on the rail while you tucked in to yours. You’d had to wait for him to join you before and you’d happily wait for him again.

It took him seven minutes. You were counting.

He nibbled at the food to start with but soon ate a lot more ravenously. It was likely a while since he’d had anything other than the box of cereal you’d seen in his bottom cupboard. Sam texted you yesterday to ask how he was since Bucky wasn’t replying to his texts, but it was difficult to say how he was. You’d both missed five years, but he’d missed a lot more over the last century. Sometimes it was hard for him to see what he still had.

“Why are you here?”

It was a question he’d asked you before. There was only one answer.

“Because I want to be.”

There was nothing else to say. You stood and watched the sunrise over the rooftops in a swirl of pinks and oranges until every last shade melted into the brilliant blue of the daytime. Bucky watched too, and even if his mind was elsewhere, you were just glad he was here. With you. You hoped eventually it would be enough.

---

three

“We shouldn’t be here,” your whispers were harsh in the dark room and Bucky glared at you until you lowered your voice further, “We cannot be here right now.”

“If we don’t do this, nobody will,” Bucky reminded you, still glued to the window as he kept watch of the road. Technically you and Sam were meant to be resting and your watch didn’t start for another half hour, but you were nervous and awake and the silence was beginning to get to you. Sam’s soft snores from the other room were a lovely reassurance that he was safe and peaceful, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Maybe nobody should, Bucky,” you insisted, coming over to lean against the wall he stood beside so that he had to face you, “We were just starting to get somewhere back at home. You were just starting to get somewhere, you know, with the therapy and the amends and everything. Now we’re off chasing bad guys like we’re Avengers again!”

His look towards you was sharp.

“I was never an Avenger.”

You huffed out a breath at his indignance.

“You could have been,” you said, quieter still, “You should have been. But now, after everything, I don’t want to be that anymore. I quit. I quit a long time ago.”

“Then go home.”

“You really want me to?”

It was an unfair question. You knew he didn’t, but you also knew he was too proud. That he didn’t like to think about the fact that he was the sole reason you were here, risking your life again in the pursuit of a justice you’d all but given up on. Guilt was enough to poison your conversation beyond repair, if you let it.

“I don’t want you to be anywhere you don’t want to be,” he said instead, a fact rather than a real answer. A cop out. You shook your head, frustration seeping out of you as you turned your back to the wall and tilted your head back against it to stare at the ceiling. You could see Bucky’s gaze still trained on the road outside, refusing to even spare you a glance. It was infuriating.

“And I don’t want you here but we don’t always get what we want, Barnes.”

He didn’t respond right away, but you did see his eyes flicker over to you then back to the road, and it felt like a little bit of progress. It was a good few minutes before he spoke again.

“I think the therapy is helping too,” he whispered, not reacting when you rolled your head to the side to stare at him again, “But it’s not enough. Nothing ever will be. Doing stuff like this, saving peoples’ lives? That’s the closest I can get to making up for what I did.”

“It wasn’t you-”

“I know. Doesn’t matter.”

You wondered whether you would ever be able to convince the man in front of you that nothing he had ever done to hurt others was even remotely through fault of his own. Wondered if all the therapy and the coaxing and the amends would fall short of that one simple task. Guilt was enough to poison your mind beyond repair too, if you let it.

You were beyond determined not to let it.

“Matters to me,” you said, soft and forgiving, “And to Sam. And to Steve too, when he was here. Matters to a lot of people.”

There was something else on the tip of your tongue. You matter to a lot of people. It felt too vague. Not enough and yet too much for the humid European hotel room you were holed up in. Bucky was silent again, but this time you could see that he was just getting his thoughts together. You could see the faintest tremble in his hand as he held the blinds at just the right angle for his vantage point.

“Thank you.”

You...hadn’t been expecting that. It was much more usual for Bucky to show his gratitude to you and to others over the past few months. He brought by extra groceries when he got his own, squeezed your shoulder when he got up to grab drinks from his fridge, even bought you flowers that one time. It was rare of him to say it, though.

“What for?”

“Wanting to be here.”

You scoffed at that. It couldn’t be further from the truth, and yet here you were. Maybe he was onto something. You doubted you’d still be saying that in a few hours when the so-called bad guys showed up and you had to actually fight them. For now, there was a truth to his words you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

“I don’t,” you said, deadpan and teasing all at once, “Want to be here, that is. But you’re welcome anyway, I guess.”

You saw his lips turn up in a smirk or a smile, it was hard to tell from this angle with only a small square of filtered light on his face from the window. Sunlight. That meant sunrise. You moved closer to the window and manoeuvred so that you could see through the slats. Sure enough, the sky was a shade of dawn peach, even if the sun was hidden from view by the cityscape.

The last sunrise you’d seen was over six months ago and had been shared with the same man. The same silence. This one was just slightly more comfortable.

“I don’t want you to go home,” he murmured, no more than a breath of air leaving his lips, “Just, by the way.”

It was your turn to smile or smirk or whatever it was. You had already known, of course, but it was nice to hear him say it. It was a good job Sam was asleep or he’d be telling you to ‘get a room’ again.

“I know,” you said with a small nod, then your smile became a grin of pure mischief, “You want to play I-spy?”

A loud groan.

“I’m not playing I-spy with you, Y/N-”

“Why not! I won’t cheat this time, I promise-”

“You say that every time, and yet-”

“Okay, I do not say it every time you-”

“You say it every time!”

When Sam walked through from the bedroom later and found you defending your choice of the word ‘Darkness’ as Bucky sat slumped with his head in his hands, he wondered why he’d let either of you take watch in the first place.

---

four

A year. A whole year. There was a lot you could do in a year. You could build a business. Grow a herb garden in a series of ill-fitting plant pots on your balcony. Learn a new skill. Forge a new friendship. Fall in love.

You could also miss people. A lot. So much, in fact, that when the date that you lost them rolls around again, any progress you made in that last year is rendered insignificant.

Especially when you’re sitting on a park bench and they’re not sat beside you.

You missed Nat. You missed Tony. Missed Wanda and Vision and Steve and Thor. Some of them weren’t even gone, just out in the universe somewhere, yet to return. You weren’t sure they ever would. Part of you hoped they had found something wonderful, something to eclipse all the grief and the loss and make them whole again. Then they’d never have to come back and see you so different to the person they used to know.

You were vaguely aware that somebody had sat down in the space next to you now, which frustrated you more than you’d admit to anyone. You pressed the palms of your hands into the wood of the bench until the contact stung.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Bucky. Of course. Your hands relaxed without conscious thought. When you turned, there he was, looking at you with just the slightest tinge of apprehension. Like he knew he was intruding, but he did it anyway. He was growing his hair out again. It was nice.

“You know me that well?”

“This is the fourth place I came to,” he admitted, looking down at his shoes as he kicked at a particularly interesting tuft of grass, “But fourth isn’t bad, right?”

“Fourth isn’t bad,” you assured him, “But you didn’t need to come. I’m fine.”

“You’ve been out all night, Y/N,” he said gently, like he was the bearer of bad news. In fact, he was, because you had no idea it had been that long. When you looked upward and saw a murky grey instead of the pitch black that had stained the sky when you sat down, you shivered, “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“You know that’s a bad idea, especially today. We should do something else.”

“Like what?”

You gave him a withering look that he didn’t deserve, but he took it in stride. He hopped up from the bench and held out a hand to you, leaving it there when you didn’t take it right away.

“There’s a fair in town a couple of blocks away. We’re going.”

“A fair? Are you kidding?”

“Nope,” he said seriously, no room for argument in his tone. He even reached forward and grabbed your hands from the bench, pulling you up to a stand despite your groan of protest. It took a few moments to stretch out your legs before he let go, “We’re going to a fair. You’re going to crash into me on the dodgems enough times for me to want to press charges, then I’ll buy you all the cotton candy you can eat.”

“Is this really the right thing to do on the anniversa-”

“What would they want us to do? Sit on a park bench and wish they were sat here with us?”

You glared at him, but it was meek. Tony would laugh at you for doing this. Nat would roll her eyes at your sentimentality. It would just make Steve sad to see you sad. Bucky was right, even if you refused ever to utter those words in that order.

“Will you win me the biggest teddy bear we can find? Because if not, I don’t see the point of going.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he offered you his arm nonetheless and you took it as you started walking in what you could only assume was the direction of the fair. You briefly wondered how many dates he might have taken to the fair back in his day, how many had hung off his arm and grinned at him all night. None of them had been with this Bucky before though, you reminded yourself, this new rough-around-the-edges Bucky, trying-his-best Bucky. Shiny, polished 1940s Sergeant Barnes was far less your type anyway.

“You know, if I do try and win you a teddy, it’s going to look like we’re on a date.”

So clearly his train of thought had aligned with yours. Without much care for the consequences and with a courage that only came from the thought of missed chances, you slid your arm out of his and took his hand instead, sliding your fingers through his gloved ones. It was his metal hand, you could quickly tell, but you weren’t going to let him pull away when he realised which hand you’d latched onto.

“Would that be so bad?”

He looked down at you like any second now you were going to realise which hand you were holding and want to swap sides, or like you were going to throw him away and ask for a new one. You held firm. When he realised you had no intention of changing anything, you felt his hand push a little firmer against your own, his fingers slot further into place. You really wanted to pull the glove off and entangle your fingers with the metal underneath to make a point, but you decided that could wait a little longer.

“So...this is a date?”

He just had to spell it out. You’d just held his hand, but he still had to check. It was endearing honestly, so despite your reluctance to share too much, you knew you needed to be forthcoming for him to believe that this was anything real.

“I would really like it if it was, Bucky,” you said, in an attempt to be as clear as possible. You curled your other hand around his bicep and suppressed a wide grin when you saw the smile your statement had brought out of him. He was trying to keep his cool too.

You were both failing miserably.

“Well, that works out then.”

You laughed, squeezing him a little closer and relishing in the fact that he didn’t move away, but instead pulled you into his side. The shadows of the street were brighter every minute that passed, even though the actual sunrise was hidden from view by the apartment blocks and skyscrapers that surrounded you.

And if the newfound warmth you felt was from the sparks that flew each time your shoulder bumped his rather than the break of a new day, you weren’t giving anything away.

---

+the one you missed

“Bucky?”

You’d managed to get the door open with a little more effort than it should have taken. Your muscles were still sore from training the new recruits yesterday, though you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The fact that Sam had found something so perfectly suited to your skill set without the danger you had been trying to avoid was something you were still trying to repay him for.

Now, you were up on the roof and stretching out your left arm as you looked around for some sign of the man who’d called to invite you here last night and insisted that, yes, it was necessary to meet this early in the morning and no, he couldn’t tell you why.

“Over here, genius.”

You turned. There he was. A blanket was set out next to him and when one corner of it folded over in the chilling breeze, he scrambled to smooth it out again. You chuckled quietly as you made your way over to him and gestured to the little oasis he’d created for the both of you.

“What’s all this, mister?”

“Our anniversary, baby.”

It was a newfound nickname, one that still sent a thrill through you every time you heard it. The fondness laced within it was something you hadn’t even gotten used to yet, but you could see yourself wondering how you ever lived without it sometime soon.

“We’ve been together for four months, Buck, I don’t think we have an anniversary just yet,” you said, just a little nervous that you were forgetting something. Bucky looked smug enough that you thought he was more likely to be concocting a scheme instead, but you took his hand and let him lead you to sit down anyway.

“I haven’t told you what anniversary it is,” he assured you as he sat down beside you on the other cushion, pulling a picnic basket from behind him into the center of the blanket. You hoped that he wasn’t about to pull out a plate of chocolate covered strawberries, because the idea of him feeding you anything was enough to put you in stitches.

It was a pleasant surprise when he pulled out two styrofoam cups that smelled chocolatey. When he passed you one and you took an eager sip, you hummed at the hot chocolate in the cup. When he then pulled out a couple of plates and a half and half pizza that suited both of you, the elated laugh you let out was practically involuntary.

“Whatever it is, can we have this anniversary more often?”

You both laughed and although you wanted to push more on what the occasion was, Bucky plated up your pizza for you and you ended up fully distracted by the delicious food and the dashing company.

There was a comfort that came with being by Bucky’s side that you weren’t sure you’d ever found previously. A certain sense of pride came too, from knowing that you could provide some of that same comfort to Bucky in return. Sam was sick of the two of you already. Of course.

“You want to play I-spy?” you asked quietly once you’d finished eating, lying back on the blanket and tugging on Bucky’s jacket to encourage him to join you. He grumbled slightly, but he soon lay back beside you until the back of his fingers were just brushing your own. You didn’t tangle them together just yet, because the anticipation was still so sweet.

“You know I don’t.”

“What if I promise not to choose ‘darkness’?”

“Let me guess, you’re thinking of something beginning with U?”

“Oh come on- wait, how did you know?”

He rolled his head to the side to look at you and you mirrored his position, noses just an inch from each other.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft and you could feel the words against your lips, “You can’t see the universe.”

You were ready to argue your case, but Bucky’s face was just too close to your own. Letting the discussion go (only for now), you leaned in and pressed a series of chaste kisses along the underside of his jaw. You were only cut short when he became impatient, cupping your face in both hands and bringing you into a kiss that made your toes curl in your shoes.

You had to turn over onto your side properly, shuffle around on the blanket a little, but the kiss still felt pretty perfect. When he sat up, he took you with him, pushing further into you as the kiss grew heated. One of his hands was in your hair, the other wrapping around your waist under your shirt, the cold metal contrasting feverish skin sending sparks up your spine. You tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck and grinned at the groan that escaped him as he pulled back just enough to breathe.

“It’s been a year,” he panted out urgently, like he’d been waiting all night to tell you because he had been waiting all night to tell you. He’d been waiting a whole year, if he were being honest.

“A year?”

“Since I fell in love with you,” he explained simply, only continuing when you stared at him dumbfounded and didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, “That day I wouldn’t let you in and you brought me breakfast. We watched the sunrise in silence and that...that was it for me.”

You’d exchanged ‘I love you’s before, just a few weeks ago. Not that it was intended, but he had sent you a postcard while he was on a week long mission - an actual postcard, full of innocuous details about the location rather than anything mission related. A cheesy little ‘wish you were here’ at the end that made your heart swell. It was inevitable, really, when you called him three minutes after you read it and told him you loved him.

You got his voicemail, but you said it anyway, and the reaction you got from him when you were finally reunited a few days later told you that you’d made the right call.

However, him telling you exactly when he’d fallen in love with you? That was new. Unexpected. Another part of his soul laid bare before you even though you were content with the pieces he’d already shared. You had always kept them safe, tucked away in your top pocket, close to your own heart. Now you had another piece of him to carry around with you and you couldn’t feel more honoured.

“You…” it was natural to want to question it first, but you stopped short. Accepting what he’d said first time would be a much better sign of your trust, and you needed him to know how much you reciprocated everything, “You’ve been it for me for a long time.”

You were still short of breath, but there were no complaints when he pulled you in for another kiss. Softer. Slower. The heat from before now spread through to your fingers and your toes and became an overwhelming warmth instead. It was a warmth that Bucky had brought into your life ever since you’d decided to stick together amongst the death and the destruction.

Some of that warmth might have been from the sun, which was steadily rising and painting the dark sky and with a whole new colourful palette. Bucky had chosen this time in the morning specifically so that you could create a new tradition of watching the sunrise every year just like this, had planned to create something that the two of you would remember forever.

He only realised this about half an hour after the sun had fully risen but it didn’t matter. The memory was already carved in stone and outlined with gold marker in both of your minds.

---

Thank you for reading this far! <3 I’m not tagging anyone, because it’s been a long time and I’d hate to suddenly pop up in people’s mentions without any warning after so long when they may not want me there. If this has found you anyway, then I count myself super lucky to have you here, thank you!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes drabble #bucky imagine #bucky oneshot #bucky drabble #bucky fanfic #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #four sunrises

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