#cw: bad fishing practices

[sleepyfan-blog]

Netted

Author’s Note:this is mer-nadesir’s debut! I hope you enjoy the fic :D

Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel 

Warnings: injuries, blood mention, poor fishing practices

Summary: You find an astartes caught up in a hooked fishing net, and help him get free.

You hear a low, warning hiss from the tangled mass of netting and hooks that washed up on your favorite beach. Something large and upset struggled within the taut metal cording and was bleeding red blood, the hissing intensifying as the wickedly sharp hooks bit into midnight blue flesh. Was it smart for you to approach this frantic, injured creature as it struggled? Probably not, but there was something very human sounding in the pained sounds that left the being.

“Woah… Hey… Just stay still and I'll get you out of this.” You call out to the being, hoping that your soothing tone of voice would help convey your intentions, if whatever this is didn't understand English.

A large eye the color of a moonless and starless night glares at you suspiciously from a gap in the netting as dagger-sharp teeth gnawed at of the entangling knots as his large head whipped sharply from one side to the other, desperately trying to get himself free “Why help? Strangers.” the astartes growled out.

“Because you need help and are in pain. Will you let me come closer to help you out of the net? Or is there someone I can contact who you do trust to get you out of this?” You asked, keeping your voice even and calm, making sure not to make any sudden movements, so as to not further distress the trapped astartes.

The large mer struggled in the net as a low and pained growl rumbled in his chest. “... My shiver is far from here. I am… Was scouting when this happened.” He stares hard at you, midnight black eyes trying to pierce through your soul. “... If you deliberately hurt me, I will come for you. There is nowhere in this world, or in any other, that I won't be able to track you down and bring you to swift and bloody vengeance.”

This was far from the first time you’d been threatened by an injured and likely anxious astartes, and it was unlikely to be the last, considering the fact that you worked in emergency medicine. “I will do my best not to hurt you on purpose without warning. If I am moving something that is likely to cause you pain, like removing the hooks imbedded into your skin and muscle, I will warn you beforehand. Deal?” You knew better than to say so that he could brace for pain - nor did you have any pain reliever on hand that would work fast enough that wouldn’t be flushed from the Astartes’ system before it could hope to have any effect on him. You’d intended on going for a moonlit stroll down your favorite beach and hadn’t anticipated meeting an astartes in physical and medical distress.

The large, midnight blue astartes stared at you for several long moments before accepting with a rough “Reasonable. I agree.”

You nod, making careful and deliberate movements toward him, telegraphing what you were doing, so as to reduce the likelihood of accidentally startling the mer. Once you reach his side you look up at him, knife in hand, waiting for his agreement for you to start cutting through the netting.

“... Begin.” He huffed after several seconds, though there was a tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips. He seemed to be grateful that you were being so careful of his potential boundaries.

You nod and carefully begin to cut away at the netting binding him in place. Every so often you give him a moment or two of warning before carefully unhooking and pulling out the metal hooks imbedded into his flesh.Once you have his arms free, you offer the knife to him hilt first, silently offering to let him continue to free himself. 

To your surprise the midnight blue astartes shakes his head and says “Continue. Your hands smaller. Better able to get hooks and knots… Doing well.”

You smile a little at his praise and continue to work on freeing the trapped astartes. All told it took you a couple of hours to ensure that every bit of rope and hook was out. You’re grateful for your medical training, which allows you to switch off the part of your brain that is absolutely delighted at the thought of being able to touch an astartes this much. Many of them large, well-muscled and handsome, and this midnight blue and dark red astartes is strikingly handsome, even bloodied and clearly exhausted. “Do you feel any lingering pain anywhere?” You ask as you resist the temptation to run your hands along his chest and tail - for purely professional reasons - some of the hooks were small. 

“Some, but I am healing… Thank you, for helping me.” The Night lord rumbled, cupping you chin with one of his large hands, pitch black eyes shining with mischief. He tilts your chin up and kisses you, his lips chapped but warm.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #my writing #night lord oc #oc: nadesir #x reader #adeptus astartes x reader #cw: injuries #cw: blood #cw: bad fishing practices #mermay 2024 #Celestial Seas AU

[boiledegghole]

welcome to kosh's hell! enjoy your stay <3

this is fanart of 'exercises in gratitude (The Barclay Street Flood)'! love that fic. it's by @redeyedsheepskull! me and my friends fucking loved the "corpse chapter"

alternate colorations behind the cut, tw for eyestrain

the original edition! i create my work in black and white before i convert them to the fun gameboy colors (internally referred to as "gayboy colors")

the blood sea edition! named after the titular blood sea in iron lung. teehee

seablood edition! this one is red... again!

duskdawn edition! fucking Ornge

cherub edition! i thought it would be funny if i did a cherub-themed edition. rip king

coldwater edition! this one kinda slays...

floundering edition! based off of his species as stated in barclay street flood

yellowfin tuna! based off of his species as told to me by the author at one point (assumably a prototype edition)

kosh's hell edition! i Really wanted to name one kosh's hell

fish prototype! i actually ended up scrapping most of this body (i only have one layer to work with and it didn't hit right), but i kept the head!

#boiledegg art #barclay street flood #i guess its technically splatoon but i feel kinda bad putting it in the main splatoon tag #i actually had a ton of fun making this one... the rot #i seriously popped off. ive been practicing drawing fish for a while now. i slayed #tw gore #tw body horror #cw gore #cw body horror #tw eyestrain #ditherpunk

[moonstruckme]

hi bae, can i pls request reader who’s recovering from eating problems and is gaining a bit of weight and gets insecure with poly marauders but they just find her more attractive cause of it

fighting demons rn

🫶🏻🫶🏻

Hi sweetheart, apologies for the wait! I was hunting your demons with a crossbow. Thanks for requesting <3

cw: implied past disordered eating, body image issues

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Your favorite high waisted jeans used to sit just so on your hips, practically hanging off your hip bones. Now, they hug your waist, which you try to reason is where they were always meant to be, but it feels so wrong on your body. Everything about your body feels wrong. You jam your fingers in the waistband, and there’s little give. You’re beginning to wonder if you should even bother with these, when you know you’ll eat and they’ll start to bite into your midsection like a punishment. But they’re your favorite jeans.

James comes through on his way to the bathroom with a careless “Hi, lovie,” and you drop your hands from where they’ve been pinching critically at your waist. 

“Hi,” you echo halfheartedly. 

James pauses, pivoting slightly to give you a curious look. You have an out here, you know. You could fake a smile or feign confusion, and he’d let it go. Perhaps he’d be keeping a closer eye on you today, but James will never push the issue if you don’t feel like talking. 

Maybe it’s the option that makes you think it might be nice to externalize. 

“I’ve gained weight,” you say plainly. There. 

James’ eyebrows shoot up, more surprised at the abruptness of your complaint than the complaint itself. “Well, I should hope so. You’ve been doing really well lately.” 

“It’s just,” you sigh, “my jeans don’t fit.” 

He gives you a quick look-over, then an odd sort of smile. “They look great to me. Do they not feel right?” 

You feel your mouth quirk to the side. A dissatisfied pinch. “They used to feel different.” 

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” he says, going into the bathroom. You hear the satisfying schwick of his deodorant cap sliding off. “Do they still sell those same ones?”

You give a tentative nod as he emerges from the bathroom again, and he shrugs at you, a funny scrunch at the bridge of his nose. 

“Then get them in a bigger size.” 

Not what you want to hear. Not necessarily his fault, either. James doesn’t get it. How could he? The only time James’ doesn’t look like it was drawn into a superhero comic is the few weeks of off-season where he doesn’t train as hard and gets a bit of pudge around his middle. And even then, it’s a very lovable pudge. James Potter wouldn’t know insecurity if it slept in his bed every night. (Which it does. You do.) 

“That’s not the point,” you say, and despite your best intentions your voice comes out with a petulant edge. “I just—I liked how these ones looked on me before. Don’t you think I look…different?” 

The scrunch migrates from the bridge of his nose to just above it, an unhappy notch between his brows. “Well, yeah. But I mean, I like it.” 

You give him a deadpan look. 

“I’m being honest.” James holds up his hands. “Really, sweetheart, I didn’t want to—I know talking about your body can be an issue for you, so I didn’t want to bring it up, but you’ve been looking fantastic lately.” 

You’re quiet, stuck. You aren’t sure what you’d wanted out of this anymore (validation, maybe?) but you’re not going to get it this way. You only feel bad for putting James in this position. He’s your boyfriend and a good one, he only ever had one way out of this. 

“Sorry,” you say, wrapping your arms around your torso, “I didn’t mean to fish for compliments.” 

“Hey.” He steps into your space, hooking his fingers through your belt loops to turn you towards him. “You’re not asking for anything I don’t want to give. You look amazing, I mean it.” Your eyes fall to his chest and he stoops to follow them, dark brows rising incredulously. “What, you don’t believe me?” 

You sigh. “I’m sorry I brought it up, okay? Can we not—”

“Nope.” James lets go of one of your belt loops but keeps a firm hold on the other. “Sorry, no longer an option.” He begins tugging you out of the room. Your hips follow disloyally, and though you wrap your hands around his wrist, he holds fast. 

“James, come on.” You give a little resistance, but he drags you doggedly onward. You could tear out away if you commit to it, but these really are your favorite jeans, and James is just as likely to take your belt loop with him. 

In the living room, Sirius is mending a pair of James’ trousers while Remus does the crossword, which involves him reading the clues aloud and Sirius firing off unrelated and too-long words until Remus gets it himself. Remus hears your protest first, brows rising as James conducts you into the room. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, somewhat warily. 

“She doesn’t believe me when I tell her she’s lovely,” James says, like Can you believe it? Remus blinks and Sirius’ eyes flit up from his work, one brow quirking.

“That’s not what I said,” you defend. 

He releases you, and you step away, crossing your arms over your midsection. “Go on, then.” James sounds truly encouraging, though dubious. “Tell us how lovely you are, angel.” 

You roll your eyes. It’s difficult not to feel frivolous when they put you on the spot like this. “I was only saying that I don’t like the fit of my jeans now.” 

If you hadn’t had Sirius’ full attention already, you do now. He sets down James’ trousers, beckoning you forward, “C’mere, let’s see.” 

You go to stand between his legs, dread coiled like a snake around your ribcage that only squeezes tighter at the unflinching intensity of Sirius’ gaze as he analyzes your face. 

You look down to escape it, sticking your thumb into the waistband of your jeans. “Look, they’ve gotten small—”

“I can see for myself,” he says softly, moving your hand out of the way and replacing your thumb with his own slender fingers. They’re cool against your abdomen. He slides them around to the side of your waist, tugging experimentally at the denim. “Gorgeous, these fit great. This is exactly where you’d usually want them to be. What’s the issue?” 

“It’s just—they don’t—” You feel more and more ridiculous by the second, and you can’t figure out if you’re frustrated with yourself or them for that. “They used to sit lower, and now I—I just feel like I look weird.”  

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” James insists, seating himself on the coffee table and setting his elbows on his knees. Sirius nudges your ankle with his foot, silent encouragement to sit between him and Remus. You comply. “You don’t look weird, sweetheart, you’re—listen, you’ve always been beautiful, but lately, it’s like—you’re just, you’re stunning.” 

You shrink from the compliment, face humiliatingly warm. “Thanks, Jamie, but you have to say that.” 

“No, he’s right,” Remus chimes in. He sounds so matter-of-fact, as if he’s simply recounting how traffic was on the way home from work today. “You don’t look the same as you did before, true, but it’s not a bad change. You’re just not used to seeing yourself healthy, is all.” 

“Exactly.” James throws up his palms, relieved. 

You consider this. It was warped perspective that had gotten you into this mess. Maybe you’re still not seeing things clearly quite yet. 

Sirius wraps a hand around the inside of your thigh, tugging it over one of his. “Babe, if these jeans are evidence of anything, it’s that you’re finally growing into the size you were always supposed to be. If you eventually have to get a larger pair, then fine. It still won’t mean anything about you. You’re exactly right, understand?” 

You nod, feeling thoroughly chastened, and Sirius grins. His fingertips dig into your thigh as he leans over to kiss your cheek. 

“Honestly, I don’t know how you can’t see it,” James says, looking pleased to have some validation from the other boys. “You’re radiant, lovie, your skin is glowing, you look happier—really, you’ve never been more lovely.” 

“It helps that we know you’re doing better, too,” Remus says, a bit quieter. “Frailty doesn’t suit you, dove. It’s…I love you no matter what, but it does make it easier when you’re kind to yourself. Feels more like we’re on the same team.” 

“Thanks,” you say softly, then once more for good measure. “Thanks, guys.” 

“Told you already,” James says, “you’re not asking for anything we don’t want to give.” 

“You liked it when these jeans fit a bit saggier, showed more skin, yeah?” Sirius asks. You nod with a shrug. It doesn’t feel quite so important now. “We can do that. We’ll get you the same ones, if you want, or another pair that might sit a bit better on your hips.” He gives your thigh a squeeze through your jeans. “Gotta show off this bod, right, babydoll?”

#poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x fem!reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders x y/n #poly!marauders x self insert #poly!marauders fanfiction #poly!marauders fanfic #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders hurt/comfort #poly!marauders angst #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders drabble #poly!marauders scenario #poly!marauders one shot #poly!marauders oneshot #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #hp marauders

[moongumi]

⁀➷ ∵  ❝ the feeling of hatred ❞

⟶ neteyam x fem!na'vi!reader

⟶ cw. drabble of sorts ⭒ enemies⭒secret romance⭒ slight nsfw ⭒ cursing ⭒ pining

⟶ note. not proofread sorry!! written outta pure indulgence. i labelled it 18+ just incase and it includes slight nsfw!

⭒ hate is a strong word. neteyam has never felt hatred before, it is a feeling that is easy to confuse with another–another many want to feel, to believe in

⭒ its the faces he makes when he sees you, the feeling in his chest–it tightens and burns. his eyes sharp and piercing as if it could cut through you.

⭒ you giggle and laugh, your coral blue and wide eyes, the skin of your face folds as your laughter echoes through his skin. hair as wild as the outer reef, flowing in the rough winds. all of that, changes into a twisted arrogance.

⭒ you didn't do anything when ao'nung and his friends went up to kiri. merely a bystander. you'd roll your eyes and kick the sand, hoping it was over quickly to get on with your day.

⭒ lo'ak couldn't help it, he had to stand up for her. and that made neteyam step in.

"back off," neteyam's fingers press into ao'nung's chest, "now."

ao'nung makes a move to back off, trying to get his friends to go with. neteyam's eyes catch a glimpse of you, scoffing and rolling your eyes again. lips between your teeth, your eyes staring at him with a cocky expression–you wiggled your brows, mocking him–holding up a finger mouthing his words.

⭒ lo'ak showed ao'nung the cool thing his fingers could do, it ends in a brawl that neteyam had to join. he wasn't going to standby and watch his baby bro get beaten by a group of bullies.

⭒ you stand by kiri, watching boys beat eachother up–yanking tails and ears.

"you should do something." kiri says, shrugging her shoulders. her face couldn't hide the fact that she was enjoying it.

you sighed, "yea, probably."

you were older than a lot of them. the same age as neteyam and ao'nung, therefore bigger than most too. you stepped into the fight pulling off ao'nungs friends from lo'ak before your eyes fell onto neteyam on top of rotxo, completely wrecking him.

grunting you jump onto his back, tackling him over his head onto the ground. grabbing his wrists you attempt to pin him to the ground but of course, he's also strong. "get off me."

"no."

his head hits your lip, busting it open as you fell back–you could feel blood trailing off your face. you touch your lip, and curse, "fuck you." a fist in your hand, neteyam tries to stand but gets a heavy punch into the side of his face.

you jump into him, throwing another punch completely knocking the wind out of him. he drops to the ground on his back, his hands grabbing onto your wrists as your body falls atop of his–straddling him.

his eyes widened at the blood, smeared over your top lip and the crack, the plumped bruised split skin.

your hands grabbed at his necklace, the collar like leather–pulling him closer. "don't start a fight, you cannot finish, forest boy." with that, you shoved him back with a fuming look, leaving him in shock.

⭒ he didn't mean to hurt you obviously, somehow he felt really bad about it. as his father scolds lo'ak and practically is proud of him for leaving ao'nung and you much worse than him–physically. neteyam is much bigger than the both of you, it was a given.

⭒ it's the way during the first meal of the day he sees you, walking by him with your lip cut–blood dried but still bruised and swollen. his heart pumps seeing you, for whatever reason.

⭒ you were always estranged, cold since they came here. only really speaking to kiri, or tsireya–even with ao'nung you only seemed to follow him around. maybe you were dating or something.

⭒ he sneers at the thought of that.

⭒ it was when you came back on your ilu, over your back fish tied together as you've just been hunting with your usual friends. he makes a point to run into you, just to say something–anything.

"ouch," you hissed, glaring at him as he basically runs into you as if he was blind. "there is a lot of ground, why must you walk so close to me." you flinch from him as if you didn't want him to even graze you.

neteyam couldn't help but look away trying to hold back his grin. it was the way you walked with a heavy step, angrily, annoyed with his presence but still, seemed so cute and harmless. what is he thinking?

"sorry, look i just wanted to apologize for, uhm–your face."

you shrugged, not even meeting his eyes, "okay, sure." you're blunt. you don't even attempt to apologize for the bruises on his face, they're large and noticeable, the skin of his cheek raw and his neck had burn marks from how hard you pulled on his necklace.

⭒ why is it that he is always around, these couple days you've probably seen him way too many times. it was definitely not a coincidence anymore.

"what are you doing?"

he jumps, comes out form behind the coconut tree as ao'nung look over at the commotion and laughs seeing neteyam step out. he whispers things to his friends, you can't even overhear it.

"nothing."

you roll your eyes, looking back at ao'nung, "i'm going, got things to do. i'll see you later." walking past the stiffened forest boy your tail taps him on the way past. his head snaps towards you, noticing how you looked back at him ever so slightly as if giving him a hint.

⭒ he didn't realise there was a place this pretty, into the forest. it looks close to home, lakes and rivers run through–the trees were much shorter but the density of the forest gave him that warm feeling.

⭒ he should've really seen what you were doing, your eyes taking peaks at him. he can't see your expression, was it playful or mischievous. were you planning on taking him to his death?

⭒ night falls, the bioluminescence shines. his skin and yours freckled with bright lights.

his breathing gets heavier. you turn to him, hand out and all. he's reluctant, you can tell. "i'm not going to kill you, that would be a waste."

he didn't completely understand what you meant of course, but places his much larger hands in yours. the warmth of it embracing your own as you tightened your grip, pushing through the vegetation revealing a quiet pool of spring water.

you look back at him, your eyes. neteyam has never seen such a look, something different shifted in your eyes. you let him go, dropping towards the edge of the pool, before stepping in–the water reaches over your breast bone, covering half your chest.

your eyebrows quirked, motioning for him. neteyam chuckles, jumping in rather quickly, his hips are submerged in the water–mostly. he's much taller than you, much taller.

you swallowed, taking your bottom lip between your lips. "neteyam–"

"why do you hate me?"

your gaze softens, "i don't, i thought our rival was mutual, merely fun. am i wrong?"

he lets out an amused breath, closing the distance between you. getting comfortable you rest, dropping to your knees into the clear water as it reflects the beauty of the night sky, nature and him.

he was no doubt the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

"fun, you think this is fun?" his voice, deepens.

you hum, "i do, doesn't it feel fun, neteyam?"

as close as you got now, your breathing is heavy. his nose brushes against your own. his eyes are sharp, unwavering glued to yours. his fingers trickle upwards, feeling the soft skin on your arms, shoulder and neck. he takes your cheek in his hand, grasping the back of your neck with his fingers as he pulls you even closer, "–it is fun."

you gasp, lips pry apart, heart beating out of your chest. your palms rest on his chest, feeling the same soft vibrations in his chest, confirming your feelings were mutual.

"sorry about your cheek and neck," you spoke, eyes darting towards the marks.

neteyam gulps, eyes looking at the cut on your lip. he nods as the colours in his eyes darken, his lips part closing in the gap, "would this hurt?"

"i don't know–" you whispered, "we can find out." a breath was taken before it was stolen. his lips press boldly against your own. moulding and pressing roughly into you. his hands touch whatever skin he could find, resting on your hip pulling them against his own.

you crane your neck to deepen the kiss. it never started slow, it was hungry, lusting--devouring. you managed to only pull away for one breath before he takes you again, mercilessly. it's wet, you could feel the soreness on your lips but you didn't care. his taste was intoxicating, a sweet nectar that you were prohibited to have but manage to steal. a dirty secret, maybe that's why it felt so good.

his tail flicks under the water, wrapping itself around your leg. he finally pulls away, eyes heavy-lidded as your own. he sees your lip, the cut opened up–he winces slightly as he touches it gently, "sorry, i didn't mean to–"

"i like it–" you interrupt, pressing another kiss to his lips, "we should do it again, sometimes."

© moongumi 2023. all rights reserved, do not copy and publish my writing anywhere else.

#☾ ⟶ moon writes #neteyam x reader #neteyam angst #neteyam smut #neteyam x navi reader #avatar x reader #avatar fic #neteyam fic #drabble

[devildomwriter]

Believe In What Your Heart is Saying | Leviathan x Reader

.6K Words | GN! Reader | CW: none

Leviathan struggled to calm his heart as he paced his floor, occasionally bumping against the jellyfish lights as he did so.

Henry watched from the aquarium concerned. Leviathan didn’t usually get like this over anything other than his anime and idols and this time Leviathan mouthed the same thing over and over again. The red shade on his face didn’t dim no matter how many times he practiced.

“___, will you, b-b-be, be-b-b-be! Aaaack I can’t say it! Why can’t I say it!?” Leviathan bemoaned and turned to Henry. He placed his hand against the tank and asked Henry for help but the fish did not know how to respond.

Leviathan nodded. “You’re right! I’m too pathetic. They’ll just say no, so why bother?”

Henry blew bubbles at Leviathan trying to communicate he’d said no such thing and Leviathan continued to belittle himself until the clock struck eight and he jumped to his feet, panicking.

“I-is it already time!?” He gasped and quickly requested the password.

“The Christmas password is Ruri’s Santa uniform is the cutest in the worlds!” You called from the other side of the door.

Leviathan swallowed the knot in his throat and opened the door with a shaking hand. He had to keep it together, he couldn’t let you notice anything was different.

But when he saw you in your cute Christmas sweater with a bucket of popcorn to share with him, his blush deepened.

“What’s up with you, Levi? You’re redder than Rudolph’s nose.”

Leviathan laughed awkwardly at your Christmas reference and gestured to the beanbags in front of his TV.

“L-let’s sit down n-now.”

You raised a brow at him curiously, knowing he was acting oddly but agreed. You sat down on the beanbag and Leviathan rushed to grab a throw blanket for you. He wrapped it around you and you beamed up at him.

“Thanks! You’re the sweetest.”

“Wh-huh? Like lol…no j-just…being a good host!”

Leviathan sat down next to you but not as closely as usual.

“What happened with you? Did I finally lose to Ruri-Chan?”

“Huh!? What? Like that’s even possible you’re a million times cuter than Ruri!”

You weren’t expecting that direct of an answer and blushed. As soon as Levi realized what he’d said his face turned even redder than it had been all day.

Henry watched in anticipation from the aquarium as Levi hid in his sweater and tried stuttering an excuse.

“Wh-wh-what I meant was—“

“You’re cute too Levi!” You exclaimed.

“C-cute…?” He didn’t seem too enthused at being called cute although he was still blushing.

“Yes. And handsome.” You said matter of factly.

“Huh! N-no way. Not some gross normie otaku like me!”

You shook your head and glared at him and he gulped in surprise.

“Stop putting yourself down. Are you saying I’m a bad judge?”

He looked shocked and shook his head. “N-no. Everything you do and say is perfect.”

“We’ll I wouldn’t go that far…”

“Oh no, did I say something stupid? Ugh!”

Levi tried to back away but you didn’t let him and wrapped your arms around him. “Don’t worry. You didn’t say anything wrong. Now come on. We’re watching Christmas movies, aren’t we? I’ve been really excited about this.”

“M-me too. I’ve been excited too…B-Because…” he whispered the last part too quietly for you to hear so you leaned in face close to his.

Leviathan blinked in surprise. Assuming you’d heard him confess his feelings, he leaned in to meet your lips.

You were surprised he’d be so bold and realized what he must’ve said as he cupped your cheek with his hand. You blushed and grinned into the gentle touch of your lips.

The kiss was a little awkward but it meant everything to you. He finally pulled away, red and you’re face matched his. You weren’t expecting him to finally confess, it caught you by surprise.

“Hey, Levi…”

“Y-yeah?”

“Tell me again.”

“What? Like, do you want me to want me to have a heart attack? Lol.”

You shook your head and batted your eyes teasingly. His demon form slipped out in his excitement and nodded.

“Then I’ll tell you as many times as you want! I-I love you!”

#obey me drabble #obey me leviathan #obey me 25 days of christmas #25 days of obey me christmas #leviathan x reader #omswd leviathan x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me x reader

[angelkissiies]

california dreamin

abby anderson x reader & lev

cw : fluff, mentions of trauma, slight angst, abby and reader have a pre existing relationship and have practically adopted lev.

wc : 1.6k

The California heat was unforgiving, sending heavy rays of sun onto your back as you sat on the deck, looking out into the vast ocean that surrounded you. From your spot, you could make out the beginnings of the shoreline, the idea of having your feet back on solid ground giving you hope- but also sending a sharp pang of anxiety into your stomach. Though you knew the WLF and that girl were long gone, the fear they instilled in you remained. You found yourself rounding every corner expecting them to be there, expecting the freedom you all had created to be squished yet again. It made you ill, the thought of going back.

“You okay?” Lev asked, nudging your leg with his elbow lightly. He was still pulling apart the twine, fingers moving out of memory from all the times he'd done this exact thing back in Seattle. He’d been adamant about his fading belief in the prophet, though it was still a part of him he held dear to him- feeling as if it connected him more to Yara, even now.

You nodded, quickly, shaking the thoughts from your head as you glanced down at the pile of wood shavings that had begun to accumulate under your knife. You’d been whittling some twigs you’d found on your last excursion on land, making them more uniform for your craft project at hand. “Yeah, all good. Just thinking.” You hummed, shooting him a convincing smile. You tried to keep your worries to yourself, reading somewhere that sometimes babies can pick up on their parent's emotions. No, Lev was not a baby. No, you weren't his parent- but surely it worked the same way right?

He snorted, shaking his head as he focused back in on the twine, pulling the strings into smaller- more manipulable pieces.

“What?” You asked, turning to him, a faux serious expression resting on your face.

Lev shrugged, glancing over at you. “You’re just a bad liar. I know you’re scared, (y/n).” He said simply as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“Who’s scared?” Abby popped up, pushing the door closed with her foot as her hands were full of plates containing the fish you all had managed to catch earlier- she’d taken it upon herself to cook considering you and Lev had managed to catch more fish than her.

You shook your head, scooting over to make more room for her, brushing the wood shavings off of the side of the boat before she noticed them. She was big on trying to keep the place clean, considering you had so many more weeks before you were even close to Santa barbara. “Nobody,” You began, making a point to stick your tongue out at Lev, who scrunched his nose in response. “That looks really good, Abs!”

Abby set the plates down in front of the three of you, silently praying the wind kept behaving- not wanting to have another incident. (That being when the wind picked up one night the three of you were having dinner and lev’s fish flew right off of his plate and back into the water. He almost cried.) “Okay, fine, keep your secrets.” She teased, her usually sandy blonde hair glowing a much lighter color from the constant abuse from the sun. It suited her, in your opinion.

You clicked your knife closed, tucking it into your pocket before picking your fork up- pulling apart the fish on your plate. It had taken some time, honestly a lot of time, before you’d gotten your appetite back. After weeks of living off of Seattle rain, nuts, and fear- you’d lost the ability to feel hungry, the idea of eating sending you right back into that survival headspace. You somehow had begun associating the most normal human need with the trauma you’d endured, the two going hand in hand when you thought about it more- which you tried not to do. “Any luck with that radio?” You posed the question, nodding back into the main cabin just down the stairs. When you’d gotten the boat from the aquarium, it looked like Owen had begun working on the radio, leading you to think maybe you all could figure out a way to finish his work. It would make contacting the fireflies much easier.

She shook her head, taking a sip from her water bottle. “No, I think it's too busted to work. The wiring is all fried, looks like it is from a power surge or something.” She explained, her soft gaze coming to land on you. Throughout this whole trip, she’d wanted to give up. It took everything in her to not turn back around and just give herself back to the only life she’d really gotten to know, the grief she battled was enough to eat her alive. The only way she’d made it this far was by leaning on you, opening herself up to your unwavering support, because no matter how strong she prided herself on being- it didn't keep the nightmares away as you could. She’d found solace in your arms.

“Well, I mean, that's okay. We’ll still find them.” You smiled up at her, finding yourself losing the air in your lungs as you finally got a second to take her in. Yes, you’d seen her before now- but it was different. In the slight shade from the sail, she seemed to be glowing. Her hair was sun-bleached, freckles dark on her cheeks, skin tinted slightly pink from the heat. It was a new Abby, one you’d gotten the pleasure of calling your own. She’d shed her old skin, coming back as a completely new person as she tried to heal through her trauma, aiming at creating a new life for you all. “How long do you think it’ll be before we get there?”

Lev interrupted before Abby had a second to respond, “No more firefly talk while we eat, gonna make me have an attack of panic.” He huffed, stuffing another forkful of fish in his mouth as he eyed the two of you.

“A panic attack, Lev.” You chuckled, giving him a soft nod to agree to his demands. He hated having to talk about the future, constantly wondering if you all would live to see that day. While you and Abby tried to avoid talking about the subject, there were times when it felt necessary. Now, it wasn’t- so you left it at that.

“That's what I said.”

Abby laughed, her eyes crinkling as she looked towards the boy affectionately, he’d been the beginning of all of this. A revolution of her life, sending her on the right track towards her future, which in every right was being here with you two. She really couldn’t see herself being anywhere else with anyone else. Every day she wished Yara could see him, how much he’d grown in such a short time, how strong he was. All traits he got from her. “How’s crafting going?” She hummed, nodding down to the shavings you’d missed.

Lev was noticeably piqued at the question, pushing his empty plate aside gently before moving to show her the pile of twine he’d collected from just stripping the fibers apart. “Look!” He spoke quickly, dipping into his pocket to collect the symbol he’d completed earlier. “It’s holding up really well, considering the twigs aren’t very bendy.”

She smiled, plucking the prophet’s symbol from his open palm gently. It always intrigued her, and she found herself almost opening up to the idea of letting Lev tell her of the prophets writing. Though, admittedly, she wasn’t the religious type. Her father always preferred to raise her on logic and science. “This looks really great, actually.” She praised, running her thumb over the smooth curve of the wood. She glanced over at you, seeing how your legs were covered in tiny shavings, before chuckling. “Can I help?”

He nodded, pulling another bunch of twine from his other pocket, and holding it out for her to take. It was like he could hold just about anything in his little cargo short pockets, once pulling a frog from them- much to Abby's dismay. Though, in his defense, he didn’t know she was scared of frogs. “(y/n)’s good at whittling, so you can help me.” He explained, taking the symbol and placing it back in his pocket.

You finished off your food in a hurry, the familiar resistance growing in your stomach, if you didn’t get it down now- you feared it would come back up later. You recovered quickly, making it seem like you just wanted to get back to whittling. “I think I’m average at whittling, plus, these sticks are tiny. Only so much damage you can do.” You joked, pulling your knife from your pocket as you got back to work on the stick you were working on. It was significantly larger than the others, seeing as you were aiming to make it bigger.

“Don’t undersell yourself,” Abby tutted, eyes narrowing as she gave you a once over. Her hand outstretched to grab your plate, stacking it with Levs before putting her own on top. It was a bad habit you had, making your skills seem less than they were, she’d noticed it back at the stadium but through the weeks of sailing, it had only gotten worse. She’d begun to think it stemmed from a fear of disappointing them, and not living up to the nonexistent standards they held. “It looks perfect, pretty.”

“Yuck.” Lev faux gagged, side-eying the two of you as he laughed lightly.

You reached over to playfully punch him on the shoulder, taking the attention off of your embarrassingly red cheeks. “Get over it!”

“You guys are so gross.”

“Lev, are you being homophobic?”

“Don’t say that to him, Abby!”

“Home-of-phobic?”

#abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby anderson x you #abby anderson ff #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #tlou abby #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #lev and yara #lev tlou #yara tlou #tlou ff #tlou #tlou2 #tlou part 2 #tlou masterlist

[v0rewhxre]

QUICK SHORT THOUGHTS (MDNI)

If you remember how back in the One Direction Days, everyone would create those short blurbs about each of the boys? Well here's one with the Bad Omens boys!

MDNI!!!! 18+++++++

CW: SMUTTTTTT: f masturbation, mentions of male masturbation, dom/sub talk, talks of p in v, talks of rope play, talks of handcuffs, some fluffyness (Let me know if I missed any!)

This is my first go at writing something smutty in a long long time so go easy on me :)

How each boy would interact while you masturbated in front of them:

Noah: Noah is a little bit devious when it comes to allowing you to masturbate. On one hand, he LOVES that you feel sexually free enough to masturbate in front of him. He loves the confidence you have in doing it, despite the sheepish smiles you give him when you catch his eyes. That man STARES right at what you're doing with your pussy. When he's in a sub mood, you make him beg to look at your throbbing pussy. And boy does he whimperrrrr when you finally allow him. When he's more dominant he'll tell you what to do. He punishes you by rubbing his own cock, which he knows you get slightly jealous of. Why does he need to use his hand when he has you. It becomes a competition, who moans the loudest, who is going to cum first. It turns into Noah pulling you to the edge of the bed and fucking you doggy style. After you both finish, he helps you with aftercare which turns into him munching on you for a bit.

Folio: Folio is a very sweet boy, and he is submissive to your every will. You have him handcuffed and tied up, forcing him to watch as you ride your dildo in front of him. "You wish this was your cock love, right?" "Could you make me feel this good, love?". He politely says, "yes ma'am" with quick nods. His cock is so angry and hard, bobbing with every moan you let slip. He has tears streaming down his face, watching as you enjoy your toy more than he thinks you enjoy him... which isn't correct. Eventually, you guilty conscious takes over and you decide to make love to Folio instead. Riding him slow and sensually, kissing away his tears when you finally let him cum. You press your forehead against his as you finally allow yourself to finish. Once you're done , you'd both get in the bath and goof around with the fishing rod you bought him (which is a toy that is made for 3 year olds for the bathtub).

Jolly: Jolly is a little selfish, he loves the idea that you would want to get off in front of him but why is he not involved more. He wonders if your vibrator feels better than his fingers on your clit, he also wonders how often you do this when he's not there. When you close your eyes, you better be thinking of him. He often breaks the 'don't touch, only look' rule by slowly creeping his hands to your caress your thighs. Eventually he is sitting so closely that your butt is in his lap. He is slowly rubbing his tip all around your over-stimulated and over-wet slit, he can't help but join in. He doesn't even let you cum by yourself, he's fucking the shit outta you. You both finish at the same time, ending the night lounging around naked playing guitar together.

Nicholas: Let's be real Nicholas is a LOVER, but he also has quite a dominant side about him. He would lovingly watch you, not watch you play with your pussy or the way you use your toy, but intently stare into your eyes which drives you CRAZY (in many ways)! "Nicky look at how wet I am!" "Nicky, look at how well I play with my pussy". But he wouldn't, he would just stare at you with love which honestly made everything feel much more intense. He would watch you cum, and then fuck you slowly and punishingly afterwards. He would edge you until you were practically screaming, begging for some type of release. Only when he was ready to cum would he allow you to go over the edge with him. You both end up a sweaty mess with tangled hair. You would both fall asleep in each other's arms, Nicholas' lips pressed into the top of your head.

#noah sebastian #jolly karlsson #nick folio #nicholas ruffilo #bad omens #why am i like this

[yongislong]

intimate moments + 127

wc/genre: 2,010k... fluff, domestic, angsty?? suggestive? mayhaphs. established relationships with nonidol!127. not proofread oof

cw/note: no cws i dont think but lmk! ty for requesting anon! requests are always open btw hehe! but YUUPP yknow what time it is my first 127 headcannons muahaha so here we go :> mark and haechan are in the dreamies post. i used and and like a lot im SORRY LMFAO but tysm for the support :") i was surprised people liked my other stuff sm! im quite insecure about the way i wrote bc.. i write how i talk haha, its kind of a mess. i wish i could make my posts a lot cuter and stuff but school is tiring, i appreciate all of your love lately though, this was all for myself and first bc i was going through it but im glad people enjoy it! sorry this is so long i just wanted to let yall know a bit more abt me! :D

taeil… cooking: GOD im having taeil brainrot bc he was on that baby show, and him ripping that crab with his bare hands.... sickening. bc UGH he is such husband material. imagining you both in the kitchen cooking and he's genuinely such a menace and you cant hear the music you suggested to play, anymore bc his smooching noises are so LOUD and suddenly the homemade pho you were both attempting to make while wearing matching aprons is on the verge of being forgotten lol. you finally give in after much name calling from him and let him press your cheeks together to give you a wet, loud smooch on your forehead. theres something about cooking to taeil thats so personal and adult-y to him. like oh my god here you both are, sitting in your VERY cute shared apartment, sharing a very nice bowl of noodles as the roses he planted now lay in a small mint green vase on your tiny dining room table. its something about the domesticity of working on something together, enjoying yourselves while doing it AND getting to eat the end product of said hard work, that he finds incredibly fullfilling. sitting across the love of his life. another thing he likes to do is prop his feet next to your right thigh on your chair and you do the same. you guys have your legs resting on each others chairs under the table. sometimes he pulls on the skin of your calf and when you complain you haven't shaven he rolls his eyes and seems to swat your words out of the air in front of him. long story short he just watches you ramble on about your day at work, until he stares for too long and hasn't realized you're practically shaking the life out of him because he never answered your questions about whether or not he gave brina and brita their fish food

johnny... sharing a book: johnny pegs me as someone who's super patient! maybe he's not bc... parasocial relationships LOL but in his interactions with everyone else, like that one jcc where mark doesn't want frozen yogurt and he was so nice abt it! but similarly to renjun, its nice to share something in bed but also both be consuming the same content yknow? he also seems to me like the type of guy who, likes to finish something before moving on to the next big thing WHICH means.... you spending about 5 months going through the entire percy jackson series PFTT. but its SOO GOOD and you both get so into it and after you finish the first two books you immediately both skip lectures or work the next day just to watch the movies and you both lose your minds at how bad they are TT. but yes its such a nice time to unwind! he loves having you lay between his legs, head on his collarbone as his arms circle around your torso to lay the book on your hipbone. he always waits for you to finish before he turns the page ofc! he also bought a little reading light that can be clipped on the the binding of the outside of the book and illuminate the pages in case reading went on a lot longer than expected. the bookmark that holds your place in the story was a polaroid picture of you sleeping HOWEVER it got replaced to a picture of you looking thru a glass of wine and it makes your face look all warped and funny lol. johnny always smiles when he sees it so its a good way to begin reading time hehe. kinda obvious but his body heat + his room + the smell of his lingering cologne on his sheets is chefs kiss, extra points if the apartment still smells like coffee from this morning OR the bottle of red wine he opened that sits on the nightstand </3

taeyong... customizing clothes together: GODDDD ya'll would be the most well dressed couple ever dude. yong is so creative, and i sense that he would want his partner to share his same taste at least when it comes to clothes and art! this isn't something you both do often bc... life lol but it started when you were cleaning out your shared closet. both sprawled on the floor, as you begin complaining about how you've both found pieces of clothing that you felt guilty about throwing away. then! yong suggests going to the craft/vintage store to see if theres any way to up-cycle what you've found. so thats how you spend the summer weekend. sat on the plush fuchsia rug in your living room, surrounded by denim, fabric squares, 80s brooches, lace, ribbon, etc etc as you spend the humid and sticky afternoon binging nana while you both sit in creative/comfortable silence, gluing and pining and sewing things to various articles of clothing. its SO cozy, funk music plays from the mini speaker you guys co-own and at the end of the task, you give each other a private fashion show styling your new clothes! he adores watching you pretend to model and eggs you on sm "y/n you need to consider doing this for real, everything looks good on you its not fair," this day is something that you both remember for a while. there were shared childhood stories, insecurities, dreams and you both were so much more vulnerable because there was something to distract yourselves with. the night ends in an absolute destruction of your living room floor, but accompanied with a cuddle session in his bed, the sounds from the ceiling fan and his heart beat almost make you sleepy, almost missing his whispered compliments and soft neck kisses.

yuta... hair: ok i know this is super vague but as a fellow scorpio who loves doing things to their hair, theres nothing more i want in life than someone to be able to do those things with! like ugh late night hair salon time with yuta, yup. this goes along so well with trust as well. i mean he's letting you cut, dye and style his hair and vice versa. i feel like he'd be with someone who's more edgy and this would be such a raw moment for you as a couple LIKE you're changing each other's appearances and its a time of patience. listening is extremely important as well and whenever you go through a new hair phase, sitting down at the sink and soaking up what the other has to say and practically baring their souls out while the bleach is very much stinging the top of his scalp is really fascinating LMAO, needless to say you guys aren't the typical couple, but it works. the amount of understanding and empathy you've both adopted for one another is lovely! and not to mention is super cute when yuta crinkles his nose, his teeth peeking out just a bit from the opening of his lips, because he absolutely needed a blonde wolf cut and hair is very much getting all over his face. in moments like this he doesn't think he would trade your adorable and super hot according to him concentration face. ALSOOO angsy, hot, jrock inspired couple photos are a must and yes, everyone on campus is jealous.

doyoung... driving: CORNYY BOOO yes ik, but guys? him driving, in that domestic ass button up and black thick rimmed glasses. he needs to be in jail bc he absolutely would be that bf to throw rocks at your window even though, yes you live together and yes its an apartment complex but, he wants you to feel that super giddy like, puppy bunny love again and he almost brought a boombox to play to play head over heels by tears for fears but... too much according to jaehyun lol. so anyways he loves late night drives with you. or any drives really! his favorites are a combination of picking you up late night from work and getting to hear all the drama whilst you guys eay in-n-out in the parking lot. and listen, im not trying to push the doyoung medical student agenda but... i 100% am and his reasoning for these late nights is because he's soooo busy! he feels guilty he doesn't take you out to nicer places and you always have to reassure him that anywhere he goes with you, is automatically a win in your books. its moments like these where he really grasps how lucky he is. oh wow.... you really do love him and it FREAKS him out in the best way. every night always ends sappy bc he's so GROSS geez. he's such a romantic in a way you would never expect. he's not cheesy or arrogant about loving you, and he never considers it something he has to do either. he just fully, truly and honestly wants to worship the ground you walk on. DON'T even get me started on drive-in movies omg. basically his cherry red car is your safe space lol </3

jaehyun... record swapping: tha music man muahaha. my heart tells me you both met in a vintage record store AHH, he saw you and his heart physically ached like when you see a pretty person in public, yeah but x 100 like he got the wind knocked out of him and he fucking drops, the stack of chet baker records he had on hand and his ears look like red bell peppers and he wants to crawl away until you rush over not like run but brisk walking? lol as you help him pick up all the vinyls he dropped.you noticed in between the pile of 50s music he had a limited edition vinyl of on of your favorite bands and that had you whipping your head up and noticing how soft he looked all flushed and dimples peaking out from the thin line on his lips. definition of he fell first but you fell harder ESPECIALLY on ya'll's second/third date. he invited you over to his house and requested you to bring your best albums. AND GODDDD the date was... truly when you fell harder for him. you spent the night swapping albums aka baring your souls and sitting on his kitchen counter as he paces back and forth in front of you as he goes on a tangent about his favorite artist. its like the world slows down and you both leave that date with a new record from the other and a notion that you were definitely falling in love with each other

jungwoo... bubble baths: GAAHHH TT. tell me, that jungwoo wouldn't adore relaxing with a full on bubble bath with you. and i'm talking like bubblegum flavored soap, bath bombs, dried flowers, candles, mood lighting???? its too good. after the first couple of times you've done it, he learns your habits and favorite smells as well as the right way to position you in the tub bc he takes up sm of it LOL. and if you're both tall... you make it work! hehe. but DUDE once he learns how to juggle this intimate activity LMFAO he buys stuff specifically for your sunday reset bubble baths OMG, like that board that stands across the tub just so he can set his laptop on it. yes its just bc he wants to watch disney movies and real house wives while unwinding haha. he's so sweet though, being all pretty with his skin a little glowy because of the steam coming from the water, his eyebrows brush up from when he swiped water on his eyes and his eyes twinkling once he stacks a bunch of bubbles on your head in a makeshift crown. he likes to give u bubbly shoulder kisses BOOOOOOO yes im jealous bc he's perfect and OFC he picks out the perfect pjs and warms them up in the dryer and sits you on the bathroom counter just so he can do your skincare for you </3

#nct fluff #nct blurb #nct reactions #nct soft blurbs #nct icons #nct soft hours #nct college au #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 moodboard #nct dream headcanons #nct 127 soft hours #nct 127 headcanons #nct headcanons #nct johnny #jungwoo #taeil #nct taeyong #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct fic #jaehyun fluff #taeyong fluff #taeil fluff #doyoung fluff #yuta fluff #johnny fluff #nct 127 x y/n #nct 127 x reader

[the-trinket-witch]

PlayfulLand Theories before the event starts!

Everybody's excited for the New Twst Halloween Event coming to the JP servers, right? I am too. These bones been rattlin' since I found out. And my brain has been rotting with theories and predictions. Are they baseless? Likely. I would like to say I've seen enough of a pattern in this game to see a familiar plot coming down the pipe. Call it grasping at straws or pareidolia, but I'm having fun turning this all in my brain. Everybody in the Brainrot Buggie, we're making wild guesses and throwing shit at the wall to see what is right. 

(SPOILERS FOR TWST PLAYFULLAND EVENT, TWST CH. 6, BLACK BUTLER: BOOK OF CIRCUS. CW for Child Abuse, manipulation/loss of physical faculties, and general body horror)

Biggest takeaway from this theory dump: Fellow and Gidel aren't the main antagonists of this event. 

"But Trinket, they're the face of the event! How are they not the Big Bads?" I hear you wonder. It's because they weren't the Main Antagonists in their own source material. These two were:

Stromboli and The Coachman.

Assuming anyone reading has already watched the 1940 film, will note these two are connected to Honest John and Gideon/The Fox and Cat by their financial dealings. The Coachman in specific pays the Two for them to round up boys to bring to Pleasure Island to meet their fates. In most iterations of Pinnochio, Mangiafuoco/Stromboli and The Coachman are two separate entities. One adaptation, though, combines them. And while I will not delude myself to think it was an inspiration for the potential 'Actual Big Bad', an idea came to mind when thinking of the character from the 1996 The Adventures of Pinnochio, Lorenzini. A couple ideas, actually…

But before I get to that, where else in Toboso-sensei's work have we seen Charismatic Gingers in Circus Settings who are the bait-and-switch 'face' of a story arc?

That's right:

Joker. 

I guess not really 'bait and switch', but a lot of emphasis was put on him as a character when Book of Circus first came out. But then he and the rest of the Circus troupe began mentioning a man they called Father. Baron Kelvin. 

Before his obsession sparked for Ciel, he was a philanthropist who could have been considered a good man. But in the state we meet him in for the first time in BoC, he's a completely changed man obsessed with becoming physically appealing to Phantomhive, to the detriment of the children who had and would come under his 'care'. Their bones became the ceramic used to give prostheses to the rest of the circus. 

What if we're gearing up to have a similar figure 'pulling the strings' in this coming event? An amalgamation of Stromboli/The Coachman/Baron Kelvin…and Monstro the Whale? 

"Why Monstro? We already have a reference with Azul's cafe!"

Remember Lorenzini that I mentioned earlier?

He's also a combination of The Puppetmaster, Coachman, and Whale.  What if this Combination character… was a Whale merman? A merman looking for a different way to stay human, in a sense 'Become a Real Boy'? What if his transition to humanity has him stuck in one location out of the way? What if this is all a trap to sap the life/magic out of these boys so he can shirk his mer form for permanent legs? While it could be a stretch to say this is the case, lemme see if I can coherently explain…

@thecosmicjackalope posed the notion that the extraneous went characters might in some way be foils/parallels to the Overblot Gang. So far we have Idia getting a parallel with Rollo (two siblings dealing with the grief over the death of their brother), what if this is an event paralleling Azul and his dynamic with The Tweels? 

Shady fish men with (possible) varying degrees of disgust with their mer forms

Equally fishy business practices

Employ more physically capable individuals to do his 'legwork'

Plan(ned) on having the student body of NRC under their thumb of servitude

Employ magical tactics to entice and bind those they want into their grasp.

On top of all of this, what if his magic extends to both Fellow and Gidel? What if those two are just a regular fox and cat given sentience to do a whale's dirty work? Would they turn back after being defeated? That would explain the motivation, outside of just 'I'm getting paid handsomely to bring these boys in and not ask questions'. Even if this part is all thrown out the window, the idea that a shady Ringmaster lording over Playfulland just won't leave me. So then, what else can I guess about this event? (NOTE: THESE ARE ALL QUESTIONS AND THEORIES, not posed by much/any evidence)

The costumes/masks might specifically be used to control the boys. In a way similar to The Beast and the trees of Over the Garden Wall, thanks to @squidwen for the notion, maybe the masks progressively creep up on the NRC boys both subduing them, and eventually sapping them of life/magic? What if the incentive for the boys to act 'like jackasses' is how the mask takes root/grows? What if the end result (the host losing their life/stores of magic) their bones turn to wood?  What if the park is literally built of the Bones of Fairgoers Past?

Something I already began to theorize about when the announced SSRs came out was: why those three were picked.

Ortho we know shares A LOT of parallels/references to Pinocchio already. It's basically a given that he'd be a part of this. He is naive and fresh, so he could very well follow wanderlust wherever (by whoever) inspires it.  But why Kalim and Ace? Ideas for each:

Kalim:

He's a trusting person (played as 'To his own detriment')

A bit of a party animal

One to go with the flow, isn't quick to realize he's in deep shit til it's too late

Ace:

Brutally honest

Brother worked at a theme park. (Possible enticement to bring him in, on the promise of finding him somehow?)

One of the biggest liars of the cast-couple that with his immaturity and quick willingness to shirk responsibility, he's a prime candidate to pick off to someplace that promises leisure and fun away from school.

All three of the SSR boys are technically prime folk to lure off to the equivalent of Pleasure Island. Kalim with his weak will and shortsightedness, Ortho with his lack of experience both as a bot and now as a legit person, and Ace again because he has the most maturing to make for this arc. If anybody becomes a literal donkey in all of this: I can see it most likely being Ace. 

Assuming the rest of the Event Cast are only there on the premise of having drawn the short straw and not able to go to the Glorious Masquerade, I don't have any other theories for them. (Though I gotta say I'm digging the much more blatant Mad Hatter Ref in Trey's design.) A gameplay theory I had is that maybe we have to fight them to 'cut them loose', with eventually Ortho, Kalim and Ace being the 'final' bosses of the event, who defend the Puppetmaster in one final stand. 

For a TL:DR:

It's Book of Circus 2: Electric Boogaloo if it was written by Neal Shusterman (of Full Tilt fame). A Fishman wants to be a Real Boy, masks are terrifying, and Ace is an immature clown who's gonna get a lotta folks put in danger.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst theory #twst playful land #twst event #fellow honest #twst gidel

[pipipyuni]

hii! could i request a lo’ak x fem!metkayina!reader who like just absolutely LOVES his hands. like, will just hold his pinky whenever he feels bad about it, and genuinely just thinks it is the coolest thing? (bit strange ik but anyways 😇) <33

With These Hands, I'll Give you the World

wc: 1105

gender: fem

cw(s): none! all fluff

pairing: lo'ak x metkayina!reader

an: shimmy shimmy yay shimmy yay shimmy ya--anyway, i love lo'ak!!

content can be read below the cut!

All Lo’ak wanted to do was help out a little around the village, really. What he wasn’t expecting was to run into you, the pretty daughter of a fairly well-respected fisherman, much less for you to ask for his help.

He’d seen you around before, sure, but he never really got the chance to actually, well, talk to you before. Between his swimming lessons and other misadventures, he hadn’t found much time to explore the village.

So when he finds you struggling to pull in what seems to be a fishing net, he can’t help but want to offer his assistance.

“Need some help there?”

Your head jerks toward him, eyes wide with shock as your mouth hangs open dumbly. With flattened ears and a downcast gaze, you offer him a small nod, moving over to make some room beside you on the net.

He finds the evident blush on your cheeks adorable despite his own cheeks being set ablaze. It’s only when you turn to him questioningly does he clear his throat and turn his gaze back to the heavy net.

Three tugs is all it takes for the two of you to pull the net from the water. It’s full of flopping fish and the occasional seaweed, but your eyes sparkle with joy nonetheless.

“Thank you so much!” Your smile is blinding, rendering Lo’ak almost speechless if not for the small choked hum of agreement that falls pathetically from his throat. He raises one of his hands to bashfully rub the nape of his neck–a habit he picked up from Neteyam in their younger years.

Your gaze follows his hand, and you gasp once your eyes land on the extra finger. He freezes at the sound of your gasp, trailing your line of sight back to his hand. He can feel his jaw clench as shame bubbles deep within his gut. 

He didn’t choose to be born different, and if he did have the choice, he sure as hell wouldn’t have chosen to have extra fingers of all things.

Though, he can’t help but feel sad at the thought of losing yet another potential friend.

Stupid fucking pinky. What kind of name is that anyway?! Who in their right mind–

“No wonder you’re so strong!”

What…? He snaps his scowl away from the sand only to find you beaming and practically shaking from excitement. Your eyes are so wide with curiosity and bright that he feels as though even a thousand suns pale in comparison.

“That’s so cool! Sometimes I wish I had an extra finger… It would help with weaving, I think? I don’t know. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Do you weave? I like weaving, it’s relaxing! Especially nets, they’re my favorite. They’re just so easy–oh, Great Mother, am I rambling again? Father says I have a problem with talking too much when I’m excited.”

Upon noticing his silence, you bring your hands to your mouth in order to stop yourself from uttering another word. 

Oh no, had you offended him?! That wasn’t your intention, truly. How inconsiderate of you! The poor boy has probably heard enough about his hands, and there you go, most likely furthering his insecurity!

Through your admittedly dramatized inner monologue, you fail to notice the slow flick of his tail, or how his ears flatten against the side of his head, coated with the same purple hue that dusts his cheeks. 

“You think they’re cool?” His voice is barely above a whisper as if he’s afraid to ask–like his ears had lied to him, or something of the sort. There’s a glimmer in his eyes that you can’t quite place.

Infatuation? Adoration? 

Regardless, you nod fervently, smiling brightly despite your flushed and strained cheeks. Lo’ak watches your reactions carefully, the shame in his gut blooming into something lighter—something that catches his throat and clenches his heart painfully.

Cute. The thought returns at full force at the sight of your smile. His mouth parts, a small smile unintentionally tugging at the ends of his lips. He brings his hand from behind his neck, flipping between his palm and the back of his hand.

“Yeah…I guess it is.”

Your giggle is a symphony to his ears, and for once, Lo’ak feels seen as more than the boy with demon blood, or Toruk Makto’s son.

Before you part, the net of fish carefully thrown over your shoulder, Lo’ak catches your free wrist.

“I, uh, never caught your name,” he unintentionally tightens his grip around your wrist as he waits with a bated breath.

“[Name]… My name is [Name].”

—

Bonus:

Alone, and in the safety of his family’s marui, Lo’ak finds himself staring longingly at his pinky fingers. 

“...Lo’ak!” Kiri stands in front of him, her hands planted on her hips as exasperation paints her features. Seeing her brother finally look up from his hands, Kiri lets her hands fall limply to her side, softly sighing as she takes a seat by her brother on the floor. “I’ve been calling you for at least two minutes, skxawng.”

She looks down at her hands, inspecting them, just as Lo’ak had been doing just moments prior. There’s nothing off about them, to her, at least. With pursed lips and furrowed brows, she turns her gaze back to her brother. Once again, she finds him staring longingly, though, this time it’s out a window. 

Kiri smirks knowingly, “So, who’s the unlucky person?” She grabs his shoulders, shaking him lightly. Lo’ak brushes her hands off, a scowl pulling on his lips as he hisses at his sister. Kiri’s smirk falls into a soft smile at her brother’s sudden bashfulness, pulling at his downturned cheek, earning yet another hiss from him.

Swatting her hands away, Lo’ak blushes, “No one!”

“No one, huh?” She points outside the window at someone. At you. “Then why were you staring at her, skxawng?”

There’s a beat of silence between the two before Kiri stands, stretching her arms above her head before ruffling Lo’ak’s hair, “I was going to ask if you wanted to swim, but it’s clear you’ve got things to sort through on your own.”

“You aren’t as slick as you think, little brother.” She winks, snorting slightly at his wide eyes, “Buut, if you want my advice, I say go for it. I’m pretty sure I heard Tsireya talking to her about a crush…”

“You were eavesdropping?!”

She leaves promptly without answering his question, sticking out her tongue playfully one last time before she’s fully out the door.

Once again alone, Lo’ak stares at his hands.

…Maybe his extra fingers were a blessing in disguise.

©pyuni 2022 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site

[masterlist]

#avatar—✸ #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #atwow x reader #lo'ak #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fluff

[judasofsuburbia]

9. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” for steddie muhaha

YOU'RE FUCKING EVIL AND I HOPE THIS BROUGHT YOU AS MUCH PAIN AS IT DID ME!!!

pairing: steve and eddie. word count: 1064. cw: hospitals, drowning, head trauma. hurt/comfort bc alex is evil.

“You’re really fucking stupid, you know that?” Eddie says. 

Steve doesn’t respond.

“You could have been killed,” Eddie says. 

Steve doesn’t respond.

“I mean…I know why you did it but damn it, baby, this is why they have lifeguards,” Eddie says. 

Steve doesn’t respond. 

Eddie sighs and scoots his chair closer to the bed. He takes one of Steve’s hands in his own and tries to be mindful of the IVs punctured into his elbow. It’s cold, lifeless. Nothing about Steve is ever cold. He’s always the one running too warm. Touching an icy Steve Harrington palm feels wrong. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers. “I shouldn’t be…mad at you. But I need something to be mad at and you’re asleep so…” Eddie gives a weak, wet chuckle. 

“Well, I hope you’re asleep. I guess that’s kind of what comas are. An intense, knock your fucking lights out sleep. Maybe I should be angry at those assholes on the boat.” Eddie rubs his fingers over the bones of Steve’s hand. “You’re safe now, though. There are so many doctors and machines here to help you. They’ll…they’ll help you and I’ll be here when you wake up. I will tell you so many bad jokes and get you hospital Jell-O and maybe I can get Robin to bring some tapes from Family Video.” 

Steve doesn’t respond. 

Logically, Eddie knows he won’t. It upsets him nonetheless. He intertwines their fingers and softly pushes Steve’s down so they’ll curve against Eddie’s knuckles. He lifts the conjoined hands to his mouth and kisses them softly. Then he groans and pathetically chuckles again. 

“Oh gross, I got snot on your hand,” Eddie whispers. He finds some tissues on the bedside table and wipes it off. “Here I was trying to have a moment and I ruined it by being a blubbering little baby.”

Steve doesn’t respond. 

Eddie doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Maybe that secret little smile Steve has when he’s trying not to laugh at Eddie’s antics. Maybe a roll of his eyes. For this day to start over and none of this to be happening.

But he doesn’t get any of that.

His body is trembling now, subtly shaking Steve’s hand as well. Eddie’s staring at his face, half of it covered in various bandaids, ointments, and a big, thick gauze wrapped around his forehead. His hair trapped underneath. His lips are chapped and the bottom one is split in the corner. There’s no color to his cheeks. His summer golden tan looks dulled here. 

Eddie can hear the machines beep. He knows that means Steve is still alive. That this is the absolute best it’s gonna be for a while. It doesn’t add any comfort. 

“God damn it,” Eddie croaks.

He has to restrain himself from physically shaking Steve awake like he would if they were in his bed right now. Or Steve’s bed. And the alarm clock is droning on and on but it sits on Steve’s nightstand so Eddie can’t snooze it without crawling over him. Steve would groan and try to encase Eddie in his arms while Eddie laughed and fished his arm out to shut the horrid machine off. Eddie would end up laying on Steve’s chest, his head burrowed in Steve’s neck, and laying practically his entire weight on him. Steve says he likes this. Eddie knows he has to be crushing him. But if it means he gets forehead kisses and sleepy boyfriend mumbles then he’s not going to fight it. 

“Baby, you need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” Eddie cries. “I don’t want a world without you in it. The kids don’t want a world without you in it. Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Joyce, Hopper, god damn it, baby, please.”

Steve doesn’t respond. 

Today was supposed to be a fun day at the beach. The summer of ‘87 has been all sorts of draining because everyone (minus Erica) was working their asses off at their minimum wage jobs and begging for a day off with their friends. So, the older squad rounded up the teenagers in various cars and headed to the beach. Max was finally walking again and practically buzzing to swim in the ocean again. Steve went out with her, swimming beside her as she sat on a surfboard they rented from the shop down the way. They kept wading further and further out but Steve was on the swim team. That man can swim better than anyone. No cause for concern. 

Until Max went to stand on the board. The whole gang was cheering her on and Steve was holding up his arms for her to use as leverage if she needed it. Max’s smile was bright and shining as she got herself up and held her balance. 

Then a fucking speedboat was showing off, doing circles and circles and creating harsh waves that weren’t there before. Steve yelled at Max to sit back down but she assured him over and over that she was fine. She could handle it. Seconds later, she was knocked off the board. Max could walk, sure, but she wasn’t back to swimming. Steve dove for her immediately, wrapped her in his arms and tried to surface. The waves were relentless and the two of them just kept getting swept under.

The gang was swimming out to them, screaming and flaying even as the lifeguards waved a red flag to signal that everyone get out of the water. Steve managed in a brief second to hoist Max up onto the board to which she clung for dear life. The waves caught Steve again and he didn’t resurface for several seconds. By the time the lifeguard on the jetski got to him, he was unconscious and bleeding out the back of his head. Apparently, he hit it on the board in the tumble. Max was conscious, coughing, and throwing up water but Steve was out cold. 

Eddie holds their conjoined hands to his forehead as he bends over in an overwhelming sob. He’s mumbling “Please, please, please, please, please” to a God he’s not sure he believes in. Behind his eyelids, he’s trying to picture happy memories with Steve. Trying to project them onto the universe and plead for them to become reality again. 

In all his hysterics, he doesn’t register the slight pressure on his hand. 

Not yet opened his eyes, not yet conscious, not yet a person, Steve manages to squeeze back. 

Steve responds.

request a prompt here <3

#asks #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fics #prompt asks #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #emily writes

[moonstruckme]

Camping

summary: the wilderness favors James over you, but it does have some redeeming qualities

cw: mentions of blood, minor injury

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

Camping hadn’t sounded like such a bad idea last weekend, when James had suggested it. You aren’t a naturally outdoorsy person, but you loved the idea of getting him all to yourself for a couple of days, and what could be more romantic than frolicking through the forest together, the soft light of a campfire, and sleeping under the stars? 

Frolicking, you think sardonically, slapping your cheek in yet another attempt to nail the mosquito that has been trailing you for the past hour, slowly sucking you dry. You could not possibly have been more naive in your imaginings of what camping would entail. Your legs hurt, your supposedly practical shoes are starting to chafe on your ankles, and you’re unsure if the back of your neck is itching from bug bites (completely undeterred by the bug spray you’d applied at the car, by the way) or your ceaseless sweating. You feel tired, and sticky, and sore. 

“Oh, look!” James calls from a few paces ahead of you. “There’s a river up here.” 

You try not to resent him in times like this, but there’s something seriously unjust about how easily your boyfriend has taken to the wilderness. You suppose it simply boils down to one fact: James loves the world, and it loves him right back. A light sheen of sweat has him glistening in the sunlight, his muscled legs effortlessly navigating the landscape, and the breeze has tousled his curls just so as to make hair stylists worldwide mad with envy. He even seems to be getting a tan, whereas you’re strapped into what he calls your “sexy hat”—a beige, floppy thing with vents and a chin fastening—to avoid a sunburn. 

You push ahead on shaky legs until you’re beside James, looking at what appears to you to be more of a creek, or a stream maybe, than a river. 

“Nice,” you say, smiling with all the enthusiasm you can muster. “Wanna go for a swim?”

“Uh, absolutely,” James says, and you suspect he was only waiting for you to ask so it’d be your idea. He sets off for the water, discarding his backpack a few feet away and all but diving in. You follow more warily, not loving the idea of a fish or some other mysterious river dweller brushing up against you, but the prospect of cool, flowing water washing the dirt and sweat from your legs has you stepping out of your shoes and wading in. 

James grasps your hands to keep you from stumbling as you approach him in the middle of the stream. The water here comes up almost to the hems of your shorts, and you’re considering tossing your clothes to the shore if it means you can experience this icy relief all over your body. 

“This is fun, yeah?” James grins, and your heart contracts guiltily as you realize you may not have been as covert with your dissatisfaction as you’d thought. It’s not James’ fault the outdoors doesn’t treat you as kindly as it seems to treat him, and you have no intention of ruining what should be a perfect trip for him. 

“Yeah, it is.” You return his smile, bracing your hands on his shoulders and standing on tiptoe to kiss him. 

He returns your efforts with gusto, pressing his mouth to yours so ardently you have to take a tiny step back to keep your balance, and a sharp pain goes through your heel. 

You gasp, almost biting James’ lip as you rear back. 

“What?” he asks, instantly concerned, and you grip his shoulders tightly, hopping around awkwardly on one foot. 

“I don’t know.” Your foot stings, the water ripping at it even as you do your best to keep it motionless. “I think I stepped on something.”

James curses. “You aren’t wearing water shoes?”

“I don’t own water shoes,” you cry. 

“Okay, sorry,” he says, both of you speaking more sharply than you’d prefer. “Alright, let’s get out.” He picks you up with strong arms under your knees and shoulders, and you can easily blame it on the pain if you swoon a bit as he carries you to the rocky shore, setting you down gingerly. 

You curl your wounded foot close to you, a puddle of watery red already forming on the rock beneath you. There’s a piece of glass stuck in the skin of your heel, soft and already slightly wrinkled from the water, and it’s panic more than hurt that has invisible fingers closing in a suffocating grip around your throat. 

“You’re okay,” James says, watching you with his own barely-leashed panic swimming in his eyes. “Can I have a look?”

You nod, letting him take your ankle cautiously and bring your tender foot onto his lap. You make a small sound of protest at the blood you’re getting on his shorts, but he shushes you, gripping the protruding piece of glass between his fingernails. 

“I’m gonna take it out, okay? Then we can clean it.” He looks at you for approval, and all you can do is nod again before he’s removed the intruder from your heel and your blood is flowing even faster. You hiss at the pain and in mourning for the stain that will certainly never come out of James’ poor shorts. “Aw, I’m sorry, angel,” James coos, grabbing antiseptic spray you had no idea he’d brought from his backpack. He makes short work of cleaning and covering your wound, and even kisses your gross, river-scented foot when he’s done, though the comically small band-aid covering the cut really puts things into perspective for you. 

You’re doing your best to rally the gung-ho attitude you’ll need to get through the rest of this trip when James says, “I know it’s early, but you probably won’t be able to walk much on that for a little while. Want to go ahead and set up camp at that clearing we passed earlier?” and frankly, the idea of this ordeal being over with for the night is too good to pass up. 

“Sure,” you say, trying to feign some reluctance, and he kisses you on the forehead before hauling you up. 

You’re grateful for James’ selfless character (and his sturdy frame) as he lets you lean some of your weight on him, in addition to the not-insignificant weight of his backpack, while you limp the fifteen minutes to the clearing. He takes the tent from his pack as soon as he’s set everything down, unrolling it and placing the first stake at a corner. 

“Here,” you crawl over, taking the mallet from him. “I can do that.” 

James gives you a look like you’ve sprouted a second head. “No,” he says, taking the mallet back from you and starting to hammer in the stake himself, “you’re hurt.”

You can’t help it; you laugh. “Jamie, a cut in my foot hardly keeps me from using my arms.”

He only shakes his head at you. “You just rest, sweetheart. I’ve got it.” 

You consider protesting further, but he seems serious, and eventually you simply shrug, scooting into a patch of shade to watch him work. If your boyfriend wants to do all the hard work, far be it for you to prevent him.

And as the evening goes on, James actually does insist on doing everything for you. He sets up the tent, builds the fire, heats your dinner, and even fashions a little cushion for you to sit on out of a spare blanket. You argue that you’re not all of a sudden made of glass when he won’t let you roast your own marshmallow, but James won’t hear it, and soon you’re lying on the cool ground, using your blanket cushion to pillow your head and looking at the stars. 

“We can start back to the car as soon as we wake up tomorrow,” James says over the chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs, his head just a few inches from yours. “I’m sure you want to be in your own bed.”

“What?” You push up onto your elbow, looking down at him in disbelief. “No, I’ll be okay to walk tomorrow.” You’re fairly sure you were okay to walk today. “Don’t cut the trip short on my account.” 

James only looks at you glumly. “Sweetheart, you weren’t having any fun today. You were miserable, and then you got hurt.” His brows scrunch like even the memory is agonizing for him. “I don’t want to make it worse by having you walk on it all day tomorrow.”

You’re officially the worst girlfriend in the world. James had been looking forward to this all week, and as soon as you’d gotten here, you’d made no secret of how little you were enjoying yourself. “James, I’ll be fine,” you promise. “I was being a wimp today, and now I know what to do to make it easier for myself.” More bug spray, to start with. You sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to spoil your good time. Let me try again tomorrow, okay?” 

“You’re sure?” You can’t see James’ face, but there’s no mistaking the hope in his voice. 

“Positive. You’re so sweet for offering to go home, though.” You tilt your head up until your lips find his, the kiss short and sweet. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t want my girl to have a bad time,” James says, sitting up and pulling you with him so he can kiss you more fully. He casts a forlorn look at your foot. “My poor, injured girl.” 

You grin, bringing your unscathed leg around to straddle his lap. “Not so injured I can’t do anything,” you remind him.

James’ eyebrows rise, his lips slowly curving upward. “Oh, yeah?” he croons, pulling you closer by your waist. “I mean, if you’re sure, sweetheart. But the sexy hat is going to have to stay on."

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fluff #james potter oneshot #james potter scenario #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter x you #james potter blurb #james potter x y/n #marauders era #the marauders #hp marauders #marauders

[raz-writes-the-thing]

What's For Dinner? (Bad Samaritan Drabble)

Cale Erendreich x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Cale catches you eavesdropping on his phone call.

Fic type: fucked up. that's it that's the fic.

Cw: serious abuse happening here

Bad Samaritan: @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @madspads @merrilark @jaziona92 @iguirisu (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Cold dread seeps so far into your bones that you're not sure you'll ever be warm again. You hadn't meant to eavesdrop... you'd just been wandering past on your way to the bedroom and heard your name. As anyone would be, you were curious. Who could begrudge me that? You had thought to yourself. Cale. Cale could.

"Erm, nothing," you replied a little too hastily. As Cale's eyes slit with suspicion, you wondered to yourself if this is how you went out. The way he was looking at you said yeah. Yeah, this might be how you go out. Listening to a conversation about dinner plans for tonight with your partner.

"Are you eavesdropping on me?" Cale asked, clearly already knowing the answer. You gaped like a fish for a moment, fighting for something to say to that.

"I... might have heard my name and became naturally curious," you admitted, backing yourself into the wall as he stepped into your space, breathing down onto your cheek so softly that goosebumps raised over your skin where his breath feathered across.

"You know I don't like it when people listen in on my phone calls, darling." He practically spat the pet name at you, but you can't help the way your sex gave a little jolt at the animosity. Yes, Cale could be dangerous when he was mad, but you didn't break so easily either.

"Fucking slut, look at you," he grimaced, hand shooting out to pin you to the wall by your throat. A soft gasp became caught in your throat, unable to go anywhere as your airflow was completely cut off. "You like it when I get mad? Little whore, you've seen me frustrated. Seeing me mad? Would fucking break you."

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth and he clocks the motion immediately. His hand pulls you away from the wall before slamming you back into it. You're dazed for a second, the world spinning in front of your eyes with the added bump to the head on top of the breathlessness. You were starting to struggle now, your brain instinctively sending your body into a panic when it wasn't getting any air.

"Not so fucking funny now, is it?" Cale asked, brow raised. You hiccupped, vocal cords wheezing with the effort of trying to get anything through. "Is it?!" He shouted, squeezing just a little tighter.

Okay, so maybe it was time to start panicking now. You shook your head no in agreement, and Cale's cold, calculating eyes searched you for any hint of a lie. Black spots were creeping in hard and fast into your vision now, and you were pretty sure you were going to have a serious migraine if he ended up letting you go. If.

Moments before you passed out, he let you go. You started to sink to the floor, but Cale's strong arm kept you from completely collapsing. You sucked in air greedily, hacking on it but even that didn't stop you from filling your lungs.

When your attack died down and your cheeks slowly started to pale as the exertion started to wane, Cale let you go.

"Go get ready," he said, stepping away and moving back towards his office. "Since you know what we're fucking doing tonight."

With one hand rubbing softly at your abused throat, you obeyed, continuing on your journey to the bedroom.

Perhaps you'd get the gnocchi tonight...

#cale erendreich x reader #cale erendreich x you #bad samaritan fic #bad samaritan fanfiction #cale erendreich fic #cale erendreich fanfiction #david tennant #cale #cale erendreich fanfic #bad samaritan fanfic #cale erendreich x y/n

[steventhusiast]

more autistic steve with ARFID (avoidant restrictive food intake disorder) projection time BUT this time a less hopeless and sad day for steve because i have had a good two days :] CW disordered eating

part 1 / part 2

-

since steve’s current period of bad with ARFID started and he told eddie about it, eddie started a nightly routine for them. every night when they get into bed and lay there on their sides, facing each other, eddie does a little check in. it’s always the same question: how do you feel about today?

it makes steve feel different things every time eddie asks it. sometimes it brings instant tears to his eyes because the day was so hard and he feels defeated. sometimes it makes him avert his eyes and pick at the sheets because he’s embarrassed about how his eating habits impacted the day. sometimes it makes his jaw clench in anger because he’s frustrated with himself and the fact that his boyfriend has to act as his god damn therapist every evening. it usually rotates between those emotions.

but today? today it brings a new emotion forward. fear.

because today has been strangely good. he reached his goals of eating a full breakfast, lunch and dinner. and the thing he’s most proud of is his dinner and the hours after.

recently, his dinner meals have been substituted for safe foods; cheese sandwiches, an apple, a packet of chips and chocolate bars. he feels guilty for rejecting whatever eddie’s cooked every time, but the thought of putting a spaghetti noodle or piece of cooked fish in his mouth makes him anxious at the best of times and nauseous at the worst. tonight though, he had felt hungry. the meal being cooked sounded appetising, and he ate it.

sure, it took him longer than a typical person would take to eat a meal. and sure, it was still a very safe version of a real dinner meal (breaded chicken strips and french fries). and sure, he had to distract himself a bit with the TV while he ate. but he ate. the whole. thing. the smile on eddie’s face as steve ate had made him feel so proud of himself, and the anxiety he’s been feeling recently during meal times had been suspiciously quiet. easy to ignore.

after a meal is usually the worst parts of the day for steve. he hates the sensation of being full, and feeling the food sitting there in his stomach, hates the knowledge that it’s going to sit there for hours while it digests. and sure he still got anxious tonight, but not debilitatingly so. there was no pacing back and forth, no self-harmful stims. he managed to just sit with eddie and cuddle him quietly while he practiced his breathing and watched what was on the TV.

so, eddie as usual asks his nightly question.

“how do you feel about today, lovely?”

steve hesitates and mills over what he really wants to say.

“..good.” he settles on, but feels dread pool in his gut as he says it. eddie raises an eyebrow in response.

“you don’t sound sure.”

“today was good. it’s just..” steve trails off, not knowing how to put his thoughts into words.

“what if tomorrow’s not?”

“what do you mean, baby?” eddie props himself up on one elbow as he speaks, brows becoming furrowed as he puts all his attention on steve.

“you were so proud of me today, for eating well. what if i wake up tomorrow and food feels harder again? i- i want to get better so bad and i’m scared that today was just a fluke or something.” he doesn’t fully think through his words as he talks, he just lets them spill directly from his brain.

eddie looks at him for a few seconds as he thinks.

“well, if tomorrow isn’t as good as today, we’ll still get through it, we’ll still try with meal times, and we’ll still go to bed just like this.” eddie says like it’s the most simple thing in the world.

steve makes a slightly confused noise. how does that answer his question?

“baby, all you can do is keep going for me. you’re gonna have good days, and bad days, and in between days. and i’m gonna be here for all of them, okay? i’m proud of you every day for different things.”

steve looks away from his boyfriend.

“it’s scary to not know.. i want this to be.. over. i miss enjoying food all the time.”

eddie gently reaches out and lays a hand on steve’s cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly.

“i know. we’re a team though, right? today was good, and instead of being scared tomorrow will be bad, let’s try and be hopeful it’ll be good again.” he says.

steve lets himself be guided back to looking at eddie’s face, and sees a wholly earnest expression there. he nods, takes a deep breath, and offers a smile.

he can try this whole hopeful thing.

#me but if i wasnt scared to jinx things by having hopeful thoughts 💀 #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #autistic steve harrington #steddie drabble #mywriting #cw disordered eating

[saltydumplings]

SALTYYYYYYY I MISS MY HORNY JAIL FRIEND. WRITE ME SOMETHING THAT WILL GET US BOTH LIFE SENTENCES SVP <3333333

Request #8

ALRIGHT EVERYONE, EPIC HAS DECLARED TONIGHT AS HORNY NIGHT - PREPARE TO GO TO JAIL.

Cw: SUGGESTIVE

The hero really didn't know why they'd kept them.

They also didn't know why they'd kept them in the second drawer of their bedside table.

Work had been...long today. The hero was tired but not exactly sleepy tired: they wanted to relax - have a little downtime to themself - and that was fine. There was nothing wrong with that - nothing wrong with it at all!

The hero bit their lip as they came to sit on the edge of their bed, letting their hand reach down to open the second drawer and barely getting a glimpse of what they knew was inside before slamming it shut again, a heavy blush lining their cheeks. They got back up and paced about the room, sat back down again and then got back up again and closed the bedroom door which had been left open. A little anxiously, they stared about the room before them - studying the space carefully.

Safe to say, when you were constantly fighting an opponent who could turn themself invisible you got a little...paranoid. The villain had no true reason to come to their house - let alone know where they lived - and yet the hero could never stop their thoughts from panicking over the prospect of being followed. A few seconds passed and they eventually resorted to spreading their arms out, walking about their bedroom and pretty much swinging loosely at any free space around them. It looked stupid, they knew that; it also wasn't very practical, they knew that too. But it made them feel a little better to an extent so they did it all the same, finally stopping with a sigh once they were content and returning to their place on the bed. Their eyes turned back towards the drawer.

Why couldn't they just watch a movie? Read a book perhaps?

No: their stupid mind had come up with this idea and now refused to give it up - practically plaguing them with the thought of it all day.

Slowly, the hero pulled open the drawer and tried to ignore the heat that instantly rose to their face as they pulled out the pair of black leather cuffs, setting them down beside them before also fishing out the key for them.

Yep, this was stupid alright...stupid, stupid, stupid--

They swung their legs up onto the bed and sat at its centre, hands a little fidgetty as they stared down at the item before them. The cuffs were power-suppressors, designed specifically for use on the hero by the villain themself. The other had tried to ambush them one night - clearly planning to take them captive - but, unfortunately for them, the hero hadn't been as alone as they'd thought. A brief scrap later and the villain had been forced to flee, leaving both the cuffs and the key to them behind. At first the hero had decided to keep them for research purposes: they'd planned on handing them over to the scientist and seeing what they found.

They never handed them over.

The hero's eyes darted about the room again and suddenly everything felt a little hot - their hands fumbling to undo the first few buttons of their shirt though it hardly seemed to help. It was simply curiosity, that was all. The villain was always so flirtatious and the hero couldn't be blamed - not really - when the thought had practically been put into their head intentionally. Yes, this was absolutely all the villain's doing and was in no way an actual interest of the hero's at all - nope. It was a trap, an obvious one that the other had laid out and the hero was certainly not stupid enough to even think about falling for it...

They put their left wrist into one of the cuffs and clipped it shut.

Fuck.

The hero felt something shift inside of them immediately - their power feeling strangely fuzzy now. The cuff was softer on their skin than they'd thought it would be though, and honestly the overall sensation of it wasn't half bad.

Yes.

Yes, this was...interesting.

Okay, so maybe they'd been exaggerating when they said it was a trap: they were just too damn embarrassed to acknowledge what was obviously a kink they had and had been using the excuse of the villain to try and stop themself from exploring. It was just what it looked like: a pair of power-suppressing cuffs that the villain had dropped by accident and likely didn't even know that the hero had kept. Why would the hero have kept them? No - there was no way the villain could have ever anticipated this.

The hero locked in their other wrist and gasped a little as they felt their power leave them entirely - a strange emptiness and a feeling of being exposed left in its place. It excited them.

What if the villain had caught them that night? What would have happened? What did the other have planned?

Okay, okay, so maybe it wasn't just a kink either. Thoughts of the villain were spilling into the hero's head and they couldn't hide from the fact that it only seemed to excite them more - they didn't think they'd blushed so hard in their life and yet here they were, by themself, no more than a pair of leather cuffs and the image of the villain hiding in their room, watching them, making them more heated than anything else ever had.

Was this normal? Probably not. But the hero decided that since they'd already gone this far they might as well just push it a little further, eyes scanning across the room once again before reaching for the key and unlocking the one cuff, repositioning themself so they were kneeling instead. They put their hands behind their back and clicked the cuffs back into place, dropping the key down to their side so it was still within reach.

It took them a few seconds to get over their thoughts on how weird it was before finally relaxing into it, letting their eyes shut as they let a scenario play out in their head: the villain had caught them. The hero imagined how the other might grin down at them with that sharp smile, telling them just how pretty they looked like this - so perfect. They imagined the villain vanishing from their sight, teasing them with small touches that they couldn't predict, invisible hands trailing up their thighs and waist, tracing lines across their chest whilst soft kisses were placed against the back of their neck, the villain's lips--

In front of them, the bed seemed to dip slightly.

The hero startled, eyes fluttering open to look at the empty space before them - gaze turning downwards and their head cocking to the side as they stared down at the sheets. They looked...strange. Had they been like that before? There was something in the way some of creases seemed almost flattened down, as if some kind of weight was resting on top of them.

...No.

The hero suddenly let out a yelp as hot breath ghosted over their face, immediately falling backwards in their surprise before moving about in a panic - awkwardly scrambling to try and find the key with their hands still bound behind their back.

Where was it? It should have been right there - the hero remembered leaving it on the bed so where the hell was it?!

They managed to get back onto their knees and glanced about, looking for something small and silver amoung their sheets only to spy it halfway across the room, resting on top of their dresser. Well, that wasn't where it was supposed to be at all! The hero went to move to the edge of the bed only to find themself held back, their entire frame freezing as they felt hands wrapping tightly around their waist - the sudden heat of another body pressed against their back.

A pause.

When the villain finally came to speak, the hero felt that they might just pass out from the embarrassment of it all.

"Huh...so that's what happened to my cuffs."

#writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain #hero x villain #hero #villain

[weepingfromacedartree]

Ten Milestones: Travelling Together

Hi friends!!!

New chapter up for anyone interested! (It's a big one.)

CW: alcohol // drinking to excess

In an instant, Penelope knows that this one will be good. (Or even more likely — bad.)

Colin’s smile gleams with the reflection of his phone screen. He’s practically giddy when he recites the text in front of him. 

“Number Five: Travelling Together. Nothing tests a relationship quite like taking it out of its typical environment. Just like marriage, there will be many highs and lows on your first trip as a couple. For as fun and exciting as a vacation may be, there are a million things that could go wrong during your time away from home. A holiday away with your partner will test how you handle communication, problem-solving, compromise, and more. If you are with the right person, even the most disastrous trips will be worth it.” 

At those last few words, Penelope cannot help but laugh. 

“Too bad I’m dating a seasoned traveller who always handles our holiday plans perfectly. If only something went wrong on one of our trips; now, we’ll never know how we react to disaster abroad.” 

“Yeah.” Colin rolls his eyes, giddiness already abandoned. “If only.” 

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

Five Years Earlier: June 6th, 2018

Relationship Status: Not Dating

꙳

Day 0

Over the course of the last three years, finding Colin Bridgerton in a London pub has become an exceedingly rare feat. He spent most of that time in cities with different time zones than this one, and even his brief trips home left him little time for leisurely activities. This particular break from his travels, though longer than usual, has been as busy as ever. 

He arrived back in London on April 7th. He was actually meant to remain in New York for two more weeks, but changed his plans at the last minute. This choice was fueled by a variety of reasons, one of the most salient being his fears of missing his first nephew’s birth, had he come early. In the end, Auggie showed up two days late, but Colin couldn’t complain about having the extra time at home. 

The last two months were busy. Colin and Benedict found a flat together in Bloomsbury. (Colin needed somewhere other than his mum’s place to stay during his trips home. Benedict needed out of a toxic roommates-with-benefits situation he had found himself in.) Francesca graduated from Edinburgh. Penelope completed her postgraduate degree at UCL. Colin signed a freelance contract with a local travel magazine. Simon announced his upcoming Parliament campaign. Hyacinth starred in a surprisingly bloody musical production of Carrie. Just last night, Anthony informed Colin and Benedict of his plans to propose to his girlfriend Kate later this summer. (Gregory had been excluded from that conversation due to his abysmal track record at keeping secrets.)

Life in London has been so busy these last two months that this particular trip to the pub had to be rescheduled three times. But they’re here now, and Colin supposes that’s all that matters. 

“I don’t have to get a beer, do I?” 

Penelope is standing right beside him, and yet she has to practically scream in order to be heard. For noon on a Wednesday, the pub is surprisingly packed. 

Colin looks around, taking in the pub’s antique style and limited selection of bottles and taps on the back wall.

“Honestly? I don’t know. Even water might be out of the question.” 

Penelope doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, she pulls a face expressing her disappointment. A distinctive “V” forms in the centre of her forehead, at which Colin can only laugh. 

“Why would you choose this place if you loathe the taste of beer? We’re celebrating you, in case you forgot.”

Penelope keeps her eyes trained forward, as though she’s searching for something in the darkest corner of this room. With a deadly serious tone, she tells him, “They have the best fish and chips in Mayfair. If I go thirsty, so be it.” 

Colin laughs again, but nods in agreement. She has a point.

While away on his travels, he misses his family and friends more than anything else. He would be lying if he said proper fish and chips wasn’t a close third. 

Penelope opens her mouth to say something else, but shuts it when she sees the hostess re-emerge before them. She beckons them to follow her, then leads them to a particularly dimly lit booth in the back of the room. 

“What can I get ya both to drink?”

Penelope opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Colin clears his throat.

“Do you have anything other than beer available? Sorry — I know. I just loathe the taste of it. It always tastes like grass to —” 

His words stop short when the tip of Penelope’s trainer collides with his shin. When he looks over, he finds that her eyes are verging on vengeful; he has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from giggling. 

“We got vodka,” the waitress supplies skeptically. With knitted eyebrows, she looks to the bar over her shoulder. “I think.”

“Brilliant. Two vodka sodas, then.” 

Penelope still appears cross when he looks over to her again. Thankfully, her frown is all but abandoned by the time the waitress returns with their drinks. 

“To UCL.” He raises his glass. “And to those determined and lucky enough to survive it.” 

After huffing out a single laugh, Penelope rolls her eyes. 

“I graduated. I didn’t survive the Great War.” Before he can think up another quip, she taps her glass against his. “But thank you.”

“So, now that you’re free from the constraints of higher education… Any plans for the summer?” 

Penelope shrugs, raising her glass to her lips. 

“Not really. Just figuring out what to do next, now that uni’s over.”

“Next?” Colin echoes, genuinely confused. “What happened to working at Danbury’s magazine?” 

“That’s not a done deal.” She shrugs again. “My final interview was yesterday, and I haven’t heard back from them yet. If I don’t get it —”

“You will. Obviously.”

Penelope picks up her glass, and Colin watches as her eyes roll from over the top of it. She takes a sip that drains about half her cup. 

“Not necessar—” 

“Pen, they would be mental not to hire you. The job is yours for the taking.” 

Something new passes on Penelope’s face for a moment. Doubt, maybe. Or maybe it’s curiosity. In a brighter light, maybe Colin would be able to read her better. 

“And what makes you so confident in that conclusion?”

“Because you’re accomplished, brilliant, and perfect for the job.” He takes a sip of his own drink, short and syrupy sweet. “Plus, you’ve known the CEO since you were born. That always helps.” 

Penelope snorts in spite of herself. 

“I pray nepotism is not the determining factor in their decision.” 

“We both know you’re more than qualified. Does it matter what the determining factor is in a foregone conclusion?”

Penelope answers his question with nothing more than a simple shrug. 

“And what of your plans for the summer?” she asks in a shameless attempt to change the subject. To take the spotlight off herself. “It’s unlike you to stay grounded at home this long.” 

“Disappointed in the sudden lack of content on my blog?” 

That statement was meant to be lighthearted, but when spoken aloud, Colin can’t help but detect an edge of bitterness to his own voice. If Penelope hears it too, she doesn’t let on. She laughs. 

“No. As much as I love your updates, I can’t say I’m ‘disappointed’ in having you home a little longer than usual. I just thought you would be restless by now.” 

“A bit. But you know… That’s inevitable.”

Penelope’s face shifts again. Even in the shadows, Colin can tell she does not know what he means. 

“After three years of doing it nonstop, I’ve come to realise that the best parts of travel are the coming and the going. Arriving in a new location is always exciting and full of a million different possibilities, but inevitably that excitement fades away. No matter how fulfilling your experiences are in that place, there will always, inevitably come a time when you’re ready to leave. When you’re reminded that the place you’re in isn’t home — that your time there is up. Then you return home, and it’s refreshing and comfortable, and then it’s not. Life gets tedious and you grow restless and that inevitable cycle starts anew.”

Colin looks down at his drink, already growing watery due to the surplus of ice cubes in the cocktail. When he looks back up at Penelope, her eyes have grown even softer than usual. 

“But I have spent far too much time away from home these past few years. I can stand a bit of restlessness for a little while longer.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Especially if it means having these sorts of conversations with you in a pub instead of over voicemail.”

Penelope doesn’t say anything in response to that. Her lips twist into a sort of smile, scrunched together and pulled to the side. When her lips finally part, she asks, “So when are you going again?” 

Colin grimaces, suddenly struck by the fact that the date of his next flight is not all too far away. And due to the new contract, he couldn’t delay it even if he wanted to. 

“About two weeks. Venice first, then I’ll be travelling around Italy for the rest of the summer.” 

“That sounds exciting,” Penelope offers. There’s a far less complicated, albeit noticeably reserved smile on her lips. 

“Yeah. Of course.”

It grows quiet between them for a second longer than Colin deems comfortable. He jerks his head to the side, glancing around the increasingly overcrowded pub. Though the room around them remains quite loud, he can clearly hear the growl of his own stomach above the chaos.

“Where the bloody hell is our food?” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Thirteen minutes later, two orders of fish and chips arrive at their table in the back of the pub. One minute after that, Penelope nearly chokes on a piece of beer-battered haddock when her phone starts buzzing in her pocket. Seven minutes after that, she hangs up and looks over to Colin. His smile is even bigger than hers. 

“I fucking told you, Featherington.” 

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, an unconscious attempt to wipe the grin off her face. Her happiness is so overwhelming that it feels as though it’s pouring out of her. 

“When do you start?” 

“Two weeks,” she barely manages to get out between taut lips. 

“That’s —” Colin lets out a shaky, happy breath. “We should celebrate,” he tells her after a moment. 

Penelope barely registers his words before letting out another laugh and raising her empty glass. 

“We’re already celebrating, in case you forgot.” 

Colin raises his own drink (also empty and awaiting a refill) and clinks it against the one aloft in her hand. 

“In case you forgot, we’re celebrating your graduation. Landing your dream job deserves its own celebration.” 

Finally, Penelope’s smile begins to drop. Her eyes dart to the bar on the other side of the room.

“We already ordered another round. We can make another toa—”

“No, Pen. A proper celebration.”

“Wha—”

“You’re the newest columnist at Queenmaker Magazine. This is amazing — fucking massive, Pen! We should do something big to honour it.”

Penelope looks away from him again. This time, to the phone that has been gripped in her right hand ever since she accepted her dream job. She sets it face down on the table before meeting his eye again.

“And what ‘big’ thing do you have in mind?” 

A few seconds pass before Colin answers her question. In that time, his lips form into a troubling smirk. 

“Let’s leave. Take a trip out of the city. Or better yet, the country.” 

Penelope also takes a few seconds to respond.

“What?!”

“I said, w—”

“I heard you, Colin,” she interrupts. “I just don’t understand. Didn’t you just say you want to stay rooted in London until your Venice trip?”

Colin considers her words for a few seconds, breaking her gaze to stare up at the ceiling in recollection. 

“That’s not what I said at all,” he eventually replies. “Do —”

“Colin, I —”

“— you want me to call up Danbury and tell her how unfairly her promising new journalist just misquoted —”

“I’m being seri—”

“I’m being serious, Pen! You’re willfully ignoring my po—”

“There’s no time to plan a —”

“You just told me that you have no plans for the next few weeks. You know, save for landing the job that you just landed. Now that your summer is free, you can finally —”

Penelope has argued with Colin before. Not as often as she does with Eloise, but this is far from their first dispute. Usually though, he will at least let her get a full sentence in before interrupting. Usually, he is not quite this vexing. 

“Good god, Colin! You’re leaving for Venice in two weeks. Which — in case you forgot — also happens to be the same time I start working at the magazine. Temporarily ignoring the fact that you just told me you want to stay in London in the meantime, there is no time for us to plan out — or actually go on — such an impromptu trip. It’s impossible.” 

It’s only after Penelope successfully gets all her intended words out that she realises Colin’s demeanour has completely changed. The tips of his ears are tinged red. His left hand is covering the lower half of his face. He’s barely holding in a laugh. His eyes are round and darting to the side. 

When Penelope follows his gaze, she finds that their waitress has returned. Wide-eyed, she silently sets down two glasses (a Guinness for him and another vodka soda for her), then disappears back into the crowd. Once she’s out of sight, Colin bursts out laughing and Penelope takes a generous gulp of her cocktail. 

“As I was trying to tell you,” he continues, once the laughter has left his system, “I did not say I want to remain planted in London for the next two weeks. If anything, I was torn between my desires to stay and to go.” 

Colin’s lips stop moving. It takes Penelope a few moments to realise that means he has graciously given her the floor to speak.

“I understand that,” she says slowly, as if speaking to a child. “I also understand that you decided to stay in the end. That you’ve spent too much time away from your family as it is.”

Colin laughs — short and sharp. 

“Wrong again. Given your line of work, I would expect you to pay closer attention to people’s words, Pen.”

Penelope opens her mouth, then shuts it just as quickly. If she says anything, it will undoubtedly be delivered through a scream; she doesn’t have enough alcohol in her system to justify doing so in such a public setting.

“I didn’t say anything about my family,” he reminds her. “The only person I mentioned wanting to stay in London for is you.” 

And just like that, something new rises in Penelope’s chest, swiftly killing the annoyance that burned inside of her. She doesn’t have the words to try and name it. She feels at a loss for words entirely; her lips remain paralyzed as Colin watches her in wait. 

It only takes him a few seconds to realise she has nothing to say.

“At some point in the last hour, the scales have tipped towards leaving. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe you have any plans tying you to London over the next few days. So, if I am correct and there is nothing stopping us from leaving… Let’s go.”

Penelope doesn’t think there is a single person on this planet that she knows as well as Colin Bridgerton. After all, she spent the first sixteen years of her life studying him with the same insistence and fervour that a nun does a bible. (And the last seven inspecting him with the same shame and compulsion that an addict does their vice.) And yet, there are still times when he surprises her. 

No. ‘Surprises’ isn’t the right word. She knows Colin has a talent for making the world around him appear far simpler than it really is. To bend the light in such a way that makes you see the world that way too — even if just for a moment. 

There are still times when it overwhelms her. 

“You make dropping everything and skipping town sound easy,” she eventually manages to say. 

“Because it is. Do it once and you’ll realise just how easy it is. Especially when you have an expert like me involved in the planning.” 

Something about that last sentence sparks a realisation in Penelope’s brain. 

This is a game. Or, it could be.

Penelope sits up and sets her shoulders squarely. 

“Fine. But I have a few rules.”

“Go on,” Colin encourages, clearly intrigued.

“1) I can’t be gone for the next two weeks. I need to be back by early next week. 2) I don’t want to leave the continent, so no surprise trips to Antarctica. 3) You have a max budget of £500 for transportation and housing — for each of us. If you can find something that fits my requirements, we can go on a trip together.”

Wasting not a single second, Colin whips out his phone from his back pocket. His smile gleams with the reflection of his screen. Excitedly, he mutters, “‘If’ I can meet your requirements? It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

But Penelope does know Colin. She knows he loves these sorts of challenges. That he thrives under this sort of friendly pressure. And while she could certainly afford to spend more than £500 on travel and a hotel, she’s intrigued to see what he can come up with when given such a budget. (And fears what he might come up with when given anything more.)

As Colin stares intently at his phone, Penelope feels her own demeanour start to shift. Before, she had been too distracted by the perceived impossibility of the offer to give it a second thought. But when she does…

It’s tempting. It’s almost certainly a bad idea, but it’s tempting for all the same reasons. 

Though they speak on a daily basis, Colin and Penelope have spent so little time actually together over the last seven years. Even during his hiatus at home over the last two months, they spent more time talking on a phone than they did in person. To spend a few days with Colin and only Colin…

It’s tempting. It’s almost certainly a bad idea, but —

“Booked,” Colin announces, maybe 30 seconds after picking up his phone. 

“What — already?”

“Yup. £497 each. We leave tomorrow and fly home on Monday.” 

“‘Fly?’” she echos. Unsure if she should be more excited or scared, she asks, “Where are we going, exactly?” 

“Costa Brava.” Colin says these words casually, in the same way Penelope would expect him to say “Brighton.” 

“Costa Brava… as in Catalonia?”

“No, the Costa Brava in Wales.” 

He laughs sarcastically. Triumphantly. 

“Yes, Catalonia.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 1

Penelope Featherington doesn’t have much experience with airports. She flew to Ireland a few times when she was a kid, but those trips fell off right around the time she started secondary school. She’s met or dropped off Colin at Heathrow a few times over the last three years, but rarely stepped inside on any of those occasions. She could count the total number of times she’s been in or around an airport on two hands. 

Well, usually she could. Right now, her hands are too occupied wringing together incessantly to count imaginary numbers. 

She is standing by a wall of windows, body facing the planes taxied outside. Her head is turned to the side, towards the man who dragged her here today. (Metaphorically. Literally, he got them both an Uber.) 

Colin is by the stewardess desk, talking to the two women stationed at the gate. He’s just out of earshot, so Penelope can’t tell what it is that he’s saying. But whatever it is, it’s charming. She can tell by the way both women’s lips curl as he speaks to them. 

Penelope doesn’t know why she’s so nervous. She’s flown on planes before — a decade ago, but still. 

She shouldn’t be nervous about a two-hour plane ride. She shouldn’t be nervous about a few days in paradise. She shouldn’t be nervous about how so much can change in — she checks her phone — 22 hours. 

She should be more like Colin; he’s never nervous about anything. 

“Good news,” he tells her, walking up with two freshly printed tickets. “I got us a free upgrade.”

“Really?” she asks. Although really, she should have known. He got them two roundtrip tickets at the last minute for £97 each. Suffice to say, they were not very good seats. Penelope couldn’t have cared less, but Colin…

Before he can so much as nod, she steals one of the tickets from between his fingers. She gasps.

“How the hell did you manage to turn two middle economy seats into two first class seats?!”

“Jesus Pen, calm down,” he orders through a laugh. “We’re on holiday, remember?”

Before she can let out another huff, Colin mumbles something about being a “frequent flyer,” then turns his attention to the phone in his hand. Though Penelope would love to press him further on the subject, he magically receives a phone call from his mum and steps away to take it. He only hangs up when the flight attendants announce that it is time for them to board. 

“Did your mum —”

“Come on. Don’t want to miss our flight, now do we?” 

“Wha—”

With that, Colin puts away his phone and grabs the carry-on at Penelope’s feet. 

“You don’t have to —”

“I got it, Pen,” he says nonchalantly. Then, without warning, he grabs her left hand and drags her towards the gate. 

This is far from the first time that Colin has grabbed her hand over the course of their friendship, but this specific occurrence strikes Penelope as strange. His whole demeanour suddenly seems off; she would ask him about it, if he weren’t hauling them towards the plane like it’s threatening to take off without them. 

His strange behaviour doesn’t cease as they continue forward. He practically pushes her past the flight attendant as soon as their tickets scan. His grip on her left hand only tightens as they walk down the boarding bridge. She tries to pull out of it when they step onto the plane and make their way through the cramped corner with the other flight attendants, but he just won’t let go. Through it all, she feels like a dog on a leash. 

Colin only drops her hand after they find their seats, requiring both his hands to place their baggage in the overhead bins. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Penelope hisses once they settle in. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, out of Colin’s reach. 

“Hmm?” 

He shoots her a pleasantly oblivious expression, as if he genuinely cannot fathom why she would question his behaviour. 

“You’re acting weird.” 

“No, I’m acting excited. We’re on hol—”

“Holiday,” she interrupts. “Yes, I remember.” 

“Good.” He smirks. “I was beginning to think you forgot.” 

Penelope almost makes a kidnapping joke, then remembers that she’s currently sitting in a first class cabin and thinks better of it. Instead, she pulls a book out of her purse and ignores Colin completely. She reads three pages before he starts acting weird again. 

Keeping his eyes suspiciously pointed at the front of the plane, Colin leans over and whispers, “Okay I may have lied a little bit.”

“What —”

“Well, a little to you. I lied quite a lot to the flight attendants.” 

Penelope remains quiet for a moment. She really, really doesn’t want to ask, but…

“What the hell did you do?” 

He meets her gaze again. His eyes look just as guilty as they do blue. 

Dropping his voice to a whisper, he says, “I may have implied that we’re on our honeymoon.”

For a moment, Penelope doesn’t know if she heard him right. There’s a sudden ringing in her ears, but surely —

“What?!” she practically yells. “You ‘implied’ that we’re married?!”

“Yes.” There’s a sudden edge of annoyance in his voice and in that look in his eye — a reaction Penelope cannot even begin to fathom is warranted from him under the circumstances. “Then I remembered that I’m not wearing a wedding ring and that our two random middle seats in the back of the plane might be a bit of a red flag. So —”

“You think?!” Penelope cannot help but interrupt. 

“Yes. So I clarified that we’re technically on our way to Catalonia to elope and —” 

His words stop short and his eyes cast downward. They land on her left hand. Just as one could expect from a chronically single 23-year-old, it is quite bare. 

“You don’t happen to have anything that could pass for an engagement ring, do you?”

“No, Colin. I do not happen to have an engagement ring on me. Seeing as I am not engaged!” 

Though she tries to keep her words at a relatively low volume, she can tell that the boarding passengers to their left are not allowing their argument to go unnoticed. A small child snickers at them as he walks past. 

“I’m sorry,” Colin whispers, but there’s a petulance in his voice that undermines any attempt at an actual apology. “I just wanted to see if they could switch our seats so we could sit together. I didn’t expect them to upgrade us — certainly not to first class. But apparently there was an actual newlywed couple that cancelled at the last minute. Now…”

When his voice trails off, Colin’s eyes shoot to the front of the cabin again. 

“Now I fear they’ll kick us off the plane if you don’t go along with the bit.”

Penelope, who has apparently lost all ability to whisper, shrieks: “The ‘bit?!’”

Another small child passes them in the aisle. This one looks more scared than amused.

“We’ve come this far, Pen,” Colin whispers, seemingly unperturbed by her increasing panic. “Let's not risk it all now.” 

Penelope bites down on her lip. She fears what she might say if her teeth ever unclench. 

All of this is risky behaviour — starting with his proposition at the pub and ending with this fucking “bit.” And Penelope has gone along with all of it up until now. After so many years of carefully keeping him at a distance (both physically and emotionally), she had agreed to a trip she knew would entail more time by Colin’s side than she could handle. She knew this was risky from the start. She had braced herself for disaster. But this…

This is overwhelming. Pretending to be engaged to the person she loved, let go of, then — despite her best efforts — continues to love so ardently… 

It’s too much for her to —

“Shit.” 

Colin’s whispered expletive brings Penelope out of a thought spiral of massive proportions. Her teeth unclench. Her eyes look to him, then to the spot where his are pointed. The flight attendant who had scanned their tickets at the gate is walking over with two champagne glasses in hand. 

“Shit.”

“Just follow my lead,” Colin whispers, then covers her left hand with his right. It takes everything in her to resist the urge to interlock their fingers and sink her nails in deep. 

The flight attendant congratulates them on the wedding and hands them the little plastic flutes. Penelope (who had taken Colin’s instructions to mean “just sit there and let me do the talking”) extends her right arm across her body and silently accepts the champagne. If the flight attendant notices the awkwardness of her gesture, she doesn’t let on; she’s likely too distracted by whatever charming nonsense Colin is currently feeding her to push them past any remaining red flags in their story. 

Penelope pours the entire flute down her throat before the woman disappears down the aisle. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Penelope promises through a whisper. Her words don’t have any bite left in them, though. She simply sounds tired. 

Before Colin can say anything, Penelope tunes him out with the headphones she had stashed in her purse. She doesn’t make it through the first verse before he pinches the little white cord and tugs the left bud out. 

“Why are you so mad at me?” he asks, his voice equal parts annoyance and concern. “I apologise for putting you on the spot, but I don’t see why it is such a big deal. Am I really so awful that just pretending to be my wife could warrant this level of disgust?”

Penelope’s teeth sink down on her bottom lip yet again. 

She wants to scream. She wants to point out his hypocrisy — to say it out loud. That he can announce to an entire party that he would never date her in a million years, but she can’t complain about being forced to play his pretend wife for the sake of a stranger. 

But she can’t say any of that out loud, now can she? Not without unravelling everything else — the fragile net she has spun to maintain their friendship these last few years. 

Pouring all of the willpower left in her body into a single smile…

“Don’t you mean your pretend fiancée? According to the backstory you crafted, I am not your pretend wife yet. I could still leave you at the pretend altar and live the rest of my life with a prince in the Catalonian mountainside.” 

Thankfully, her facade seems to work. Colin laughs. 

“I suppose that’s your prerogative. I don’t know how many princes are left in Catalonia these days, though.” 

“Plenty of pretend princes, though.” 

Penelope puts her headphones back in. She doesn’t hear the flight attendants’ instructions on what to do in the case of disaster. She ignores Colin’s sidelong glances when they begin to taxi. She closes her eyes when the engines rumble to life and the wheels below them pick up speed. She feels the plane lift into nothingness and tries her hardest to forget where she is. She moves her hand, intent on wrapping her fingers around the cool, silver divider between her and —

Suddenly, Colin’s hand is in hers again. Not covering it. Just holding on. 

Any anger left in Penelope melts away. She squeezes the palm in hers gently. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 2

“I never knew the ocean could be this blue. Not in real life.”

In the past 24 hours, Penelope has made some variation of this comment to Colin at least a dozen times. In fairness, the water is insanely blue here. The weather is perfect. Everywhere you look, there’s something breathtaking and unimaginable to comment on. And like he always does when they’re together, Colin hangs on to her every word. 

Right now, they’re walking along the edges of the Ruins of Empúries — a site Colin recommended they visit due to its history and beautiful views. To their left lies the ocean, as blue and breathtaking as it ever was. To their right lies the ruins — the archaeological remnants of two ancient cities. For the last hour, Colin has been playing the part of tour guide, filling the air with random pieces of trivia on the Greek and Roman settlements. 

(Thankfully, Penelope doesn’t seem to mind the noise.)

“The name comes from the word ‘emporium,’ which means ‘market.’ Before the Second Punic War, the Greek traders thrived here. They set up ports on the beaches, then sold all sorts of goods here for about 300 years.”

Penelope stops walking and pulls out her phone. She points the camera in the direction of a nearby stonewall, then chuckles.

“What?” Colin asks after a moment, desperately wanting to be let in on the joke.

“Nothing.” She places her phone back in her pocket. “It’s just crazy to think about all that time. In 200 BC, someone laid these stones down in this particular way, just so I could take a picture of them with an iPhone two thousand years later.” 

Very suddenly, a laugh hits Colin so hard that he has to place a cautionary hand on Penelope’s shoulder, so as not to risk doubling over and destroying this piece of history forever. 

“Thank god for the Greeks,” he says through a giggle. “Building such an innovative, thriving marketplace, just so Penelope Featherington could take a picture of its carcass two millennia later.”

Penelope laughs too, though hers is more embarrassed than unrestrained. 

“That came out wro—” she starts, but her words are interrupted by the sound of something high-pitched behind them.

Colin turns around. Penelope jumps. A teenage girl with hair the colour of butter stands behind them, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. 

“Oh Christ, sorry! I just —” The girl’s eyes settle on his, squinting. “Are you Colin Bridgerton?”

Thoroughly confused, Colin gives the girl a quick once over. She has pink-tinted Ray Bans resting on the crown of her head. She has a gold chain around her neck with the letter “L” dangling off it. She’s wearing a burgundy “Oakham Hall” t-shirt, which is tucked into her jean shorts. He’s searching for any little detail that might clue him in on this girl’s identity; he comes up empty. 

“Um, yes. And, sorry — who are you?” 

“No one. I mean —” She laughs. “My name is Hermione. I just meant that you don’t know me. I’m a huge fan of yours, though. I, like, love your Instagram.” 

Instantly, Colin’s eyes glance down and to the side, because of course this would happen with Penelope standing right next to him. 

Over the last three years, Colin’s work has accumulated more of a following than he could have predicted at the start. Between his blog, Instagram, and occasional freelance work, he has built somewhat of a recognizable name for himself. However, given the type of content he produces, his face is not quite so recognizable. 

Not once in three years has a fan picked him out of a crowd in public. Until now, of course.

“Lovely to meet you, Hermione.” Colin leans forward and offers his hand for her to shake. Though he is thoroughly baffled by this encounter happening in the first place, he does his best to not allow such skepticism bleed through to his voice. “It’s so nice to hear you enjoy my stuff.” 

“Oh, I do! You go to the most wonderful places and write about them so beautifully! I never get to travel. Well —” She laughs. “Except now, of course. But usually, I just live vicariously through your posts.” 

Colin, suddenly filled to the brim with an emotion he can’t quite name, does not know how to respond to the teenager’s words. His first instinct is denial, but Penelope speaks up from beside him before he can open his mouth to express such a thing. 

“I’m the same way. I’m not sure I would have made it out of uni with my sanity intact if it weren’t for his blog. Sometimes, a bit of escapism is key.” 

Hermione smiles at Penelope’s words, but as soon as she stops speaking, the girl’s eyes go wide.

“Oh! How rude of me. I just realised I never asked for your name.” 

“Oh, please,” she chuckles softly. “Don’t apologise. My name is Penelope.”

The smile returns to Hermione’s face. Her eyes dart back and forth between him and Penelope. Before she has the chance to ask… 

“Pen and I have known each other forever. She edits all of my posts, actually. So if you enjoy my stuff, you should really be thanking her. She’s more miracle worker than editor. I mean — you should see the bullshit I type up before she spins it into something readable.” 

Penelope glances up at Colin with a wry smile on her face. Through gritted teeth, she says, “I’ve never known you to be so humble.”

Colin laughs just as Hermione asks, “Oh! Do you two always travel together? I never really thought about it, but I suppose I assumed that you travel solo.” 

“No,” Colin answers. “I’m always trying to get Pen to abandon her responsibilities and run off with me somewhere, but you know…” 

When he looks down to Penelope, there’s a very confusing look on her face. 

“I, um —”

“You assumed correctly,” Penelope cuts in, setting her gaze back on the girl in front of them. “He always travels alone. This trip is an exception.” 

Before Colin can say anything else, Penelope steps away from him and towards Hermione. “I can take a picture of you two together,” she offers the girl. “If you like.” 

“That’s so nice, thank —” Hermione cuts herself off and looks back at Colin. “If that’s okay with you, of course.” 

“Yes. Of course.” 

He nods his head to indicate that Hermione should stand next to him. She does, and just as Penelope lifts the phone to take their picture, she chuckles nervously and says, “Sorry for being so weird. I live in the middle of nowhere; I never see famous people out in public like this.” 

At the same exact moment that Penelope presses down and takes their photo, Colin unwittingly pulls a face. (How else is he supposed to react to someone saying that?) Thankfully, Penelope notices and, stifling a sudden plight of laughter, continues snapping photos until she gets something acceptable. 

When Hermione receives her phone back, she seems pleased with the results. Smiling, she looks over to Colin and thanks him for the photos. Then, without a single ounce of hesitation…

“Do you want me to take one of you and your girlfriend?” 

Though that last word may be incorrect, Colin doesn’t see the point in correcting a random stranger on such minor terminology. But at the very same moment that he answers “Yes” to the question that was asked, Penelope answers “No” to the one that wasn’t. 

“We are not dating,” she clarifies at the very same moment that he says, “We would love a photo, thanks.”

Before she can say another word, Colin hands Hermione his phone and pulls Penelope into his side. 

After so many years of friendship, there are certain routines that naturally form between two people. Movements that flow between them, automatic from so much practice over time. For example, when Penelope and Colin take a picture together, his hand always goes to her side while hers always goes to his back. Always. 

Until now. 

While Colin’s hand does land on Penelope’s waist, both of hers twist together down her front. Where she usually leans into him, she stands straight. And while she technically has a smile on her face, it’s not the one he’s used to seeing in their photos together; it’s strained at the edges. 

When it’s all over, Penelope removes herself from the embrace, Hermione says goodbye, and Colin wonders what the hell just happened. He briefly considers brushing it all aside and just resuming his tour guide responsibilities, but can’t seem to find the words. 

He’s too annoyed. 

He’s been annoyed since the moment Penelope said “No.” Since she said that word in that emphatic, decisive way — as if clarifying the true nature of their relationship to a stranger was the most important thing in the world to her. As if being mistaken as his girlfriend was a fate worse than death. As if —

“So…” Penelope says suddenly, her voice noticeably lighter than it had been a moment ago. “How does it feel to be ‘famous?’”

With that, she steps back onto the path and resumes their trek forward. As he always tends to do, Colin follows close behind. 

“Don’t start with me, Featherington,” he warns, trying his hardest to match her tone of voice. 

“Oh, come on. She was sweet.” 

“I didn’t say she wasn’t sweet. She simply misspoke about the ‘famous’ bit.”

“Well —”

“I’m serious, Pen. That has literally never happened before. Not once in three years has anyone ever recognised me in public. I mean — she probably only noticed me because of you.”

Still walking right beside him, Penelope cranes her head and throws him a confused look. 

“What are you talking about? She didn’t know who I was.” 

“Well, no. But…” Smirking, Colin reaches over and flicks a strand of red hair off her shoulder. “This tends to get people’s attention. I, on the other hand, am rather unassuming. It’s —” 

Penelope scoffs, interrupting him. 

“You are not ‘unassuming.’ You’re so… tall. I find it hard to believe you go unnoticed in a crowd.” 

Colin shrugs. He tries to examine another strand of her hair, but Penelope swats his fingers away. 

“Agree to dis—”

“Regardless of how she noticed you — she still recognized you. Even though your entire Instagram feed is sunsets and food. It’s —” 

“Hey, that’s not strictly —”

“— cool that she recognized you,” she interrupts, looking up at him again. “Isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he supposes. “It’s nice to know my work has had an impact on someone. You know…” He looks down to her again. “Someone who isn’t biased because they’ve known me their entire life.”

“I can be unbiased,” she claims with little confidence in her voice. 

“You —”

“Have you decided on a narrative for your story yet?” she asks him, providing no context for the swift change in subject.

“What story?” he asks after a few seconds. 

“The Catalonia story.” 

“Oh,” he says after a few more seconds. “I’m not writing one.” 

After throwing him a bewildered look, she asks, “What wouldn’t you write a story about this place?”

“I’m on vacation. Why would I work?” 

“Well… That logic might apply to someone whose job doesn’t require them to go on vacation, but —”

“Excuse me,” he interrupts, mock offence heavy on his tongue. “My profession requires me to travel. Even travel writers need a vacation every once in a while. A break from having to spend each waking moment of my day constructing narratives and meeting deadlines and memorialising every little detail of my experiences.” 

Penelope nods sympathetically at his words, but is quick with her response.

“What about your two-month hiatus at home? Wasn’t that supposed to be your break from paradise?” 

“Yes — but this is an extension of that break. And in case you forgot, we’re only in Catalonia because of you and your accomplishments.” 

A scoff that nearly sounds like a laugh escapes her mouth. 

“I seem to recall the planning of this trip very differently than you do.” 

“Agree to disagree.”

“Getting back to the point… Don’t you owe it to your readers to write about this place? To memorialise just a little bit of paradise for those who aren’t lucky enough to experience it themselves?” 

Feet still propelling him forward, Colin takes a moment to consider her words. He thinks of Hermione. He thinks of the little black and white follower count attached to his Instagram. He thinks of his dreams. He thinks of Penelope on that night in December. 

Something to propel me forward and set me free.

“No,” he tells her. “I think that’s bullshit.” 

Penelope gapes at him, clearly caught off guard by his bluntness. 

“Pardon?”

“The more time you spend worrying about what you ‘owe’ the world, the more you risk losing sight of what matters to you. I’m elated to know that people enjoy my work, but I can’t let that pressure me into becoming a slave to my purpose. I can’t let it stop me from running off for a weekend with a friend just to enjoy myself.”

A moment passes by with no words between them. It’s not silent, though; the ocean is too loud. When Penelope finally speaks, the crashing waves nearly drown her words out.

“I thought the only reason we came here was for me. I don’t remember your enjoyment being a factor in this at all.” 

Colin can’t help but laugh. 

“Yes, well… I suppose my pleasure is an added bonus.” 

Penelope laughs, too. 

“Even then… What if you wrote something just for yourself? So twenty years from now, you can remember how the water reflects the sun here . Or how you spent an hour describing the differences between the Greek Empúries and the Roman Empúries.”

Stifling a laugh… 

“Technically, the Roman settlement was called ‘Emporiæ.’”

“Regardless,” she murmurs. “Maybe you can write a different kind of story. One that isn’t meant for anyone’s eyes, except your own. I mean — twenty years from now, wouldn’t it be nice to have a written account of this stunning place? To hold onto moments like these,” she raises her hands towards the scenery around them, “long after our feet carry us away from them?” 

Colin considers her words for a moment. A very brief moment. 

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary for this trip.” It’s only after Penelope throws him a questioning glance that he continues, “If I were alone, then sure — I might worry about forgetting certain details about this place and be tempted to jot them down. But I’m not alone. If I want to come back to this moment twenty years from now, I’ll just talk to you about it.” 

When Colin looks over to Penelope again, he finds that her cheeks are burning a bright shade of pink. He would blame the sun, if it weren't for the colour’s rather sudden appearance on her skin.

“Are you —” he starts, at the very same moment that she blurts out, “Do you ever get lonely on your trips? It just — it seems like a lot of time spent by yourself.” 

Involuntarily, Colin’s lips twist together — as if his body is preventing him from answering such a complicated question too quickly. 

In truth, he does get lonely on his travels, but that word doesn’t have the sting it once did. There’s an inherent loneliness to this job — especially for someone like Colin, who cannot focus on things like narratives and deadlines and details unless free from distraction. This particular trip has made that abundantly clear; he hadn’t even thought about writing until Penelope brought it up just a moment ago. 

For Colin, finding success over the last three years also meant finding a way to live with the loneliness. To turn it into something good. 

“Sometimes,” he finally answers. “But it’s a necessary evil. Writing, travelling, returning home — those things make the loneliness easy to live with. For now, at least.”

“For now?” Penelope echoes, suddenly sounding far away. 

Colin shrugs. 

“A man can’t travel forever.” 

Just as those words leave Colin’s lips, the two of them reach a fork in the road. They could turn to the right, towards the ocean. They could turn left, towards the ruins. They could even turn around, back to where they began. 

Penelope decides for them both in the end, her feet walking to the right. As he always tends to do, Colin follows close behind. 

Their footstops halt when the pavement meets the sand. Both sets of eyes point forward, towards the breathtakingly blue water. 

“You know, if you’re so worried about our feeble human memories being unable to do this place justice, you could always write about it. Last time I checked, you’re also —”

“No,” she interrupts. “You were right. I’ll remember this.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 3

The most difficult part of being in love with your dearest friend, Penelope has come to realise, is having to look at them. When she and Colin are apart — separated by school or a job or Penelope’s better judgement — being his friend is easy. It’s easy for her to be his friend over an email or a voicemail or even a Skype. It’s easy to keep her true feelings below the surface when their only connection is through a screen. There are times when it’s easy to trick herself into thinking friendship is not so different from (or inferior to) a romantic relationship. But when they’re separated by nothing more than a bit of air…

It’s difficult. Especially on days like today. 

Today was a beach day. They’ve been here since breakfast. Penelope spent much of that time hiding from the sun under the safety of a giant beach umbrella, unwilling to risk showing up to her first day of work with a sunburn the same shade of red as her hair. But (unsurprisingly), Colin had coaxed her out of the shadows more times than she could count today. 

Today was a test of Penelope’s strength of will. And her ability to keep her eyes trained upwards (an especially difficult task, given that her eyeline just so happens to fall directly on his bare, tan, surprisingly hairy chest). 

Now, she is back in the shadows, pretending to read a book while Colin is a little further down the beach. He’s playing volleyball with a group of strangers who just so happened to need a sixth player. He’s shirtless, just as he has been all fucking day. He’s serving the ball. He’s laughing with a teammate. He’s running a hand through his hair, his —

Fucking hell. Are his biceps larger than they were yesterday?

Shaking her head, pushing her oversized sunglasses even closer to her skull, she looks down at the book uselessly sitting open in her lap. In hindsight, The Scarlet Letter was far from an optimal choice for a beach read. But still… 

She should be able to get through a single line without her eyes wandering off to places they shouldn’t go. 

When she looks back up, she finds Colin scoring yet another point in his impromptu game. He’s laughing with that familiar, carefree refrain that always falls so naturally from his lips. He’s flexing muscles she didn’t know he had. He’s shining like gold beneath the sun’s reflection. He’s looking up towards the sky, a frown suddenly marking his otherwise pleasant face. He’s walking away from his new friends. 

He’s six metres away. Five metres. Four —

Fuck.

Once again, Penelope tilts her head down and pretends to be enthralled by the book in her lap. If Colin had noticed her staring, he doesn’t say anything about it when he closes the distance between them. 

“It looks like it’s about to rain. You want to head back to the hotel?”

Suddenly struck by just how dry her throat is, Penelope only manages to smile and nod in response. It isn’t until she and Colin are halfway back to the hotel that she realises how long it’s been since she’s said anything at all. 

“I can’t believe I slept through sunrise again this morning.”

Colin laughs in that easy, reassuring way that practically makes Penelope’s blood boil after her day under the sun. 

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he says. “Under normal circumstances, a 6 AM wake up call is difficult for an insomniac such as yourself. Taking into account that your body still thinks it’s an hour behind back in London…”

You have no idea what my body thinks, she wants to say. But she doesn’t say that. Obviously. 

“Perhaps,” she says instead. “But we have such a prime view of it from our rooms. It would be a shame not to see it with my own eyes at least once.” 

“Well, I have faith that you can manage it.” 

“Thank y—”

“And when you do, perhaps you can bang on my wall a few times so I can enjoy the sunrise too.” 

Feeling much lighter than she had just a moment ago, Penelope giggles. “Perhaps,” she says, picking up her footsteps. They remain light the rest of their trek, even when the rain inevitably pours down around them, transforming their walk into a run. 

When they arrive back at the hotel, Colin immediately turns left towards the elevators. But Penelope, suddenly brimming with a very good idea, turns right towards the reception desk. 

“Good afternoon,” she says to the woman behind the desk, an older lady with a cherry blossom tucked behind her ear. Isabella, her name tag reads.

“Hello,” the woman says brightly. “What can I help you with, dear?”

“Can I order a wake up call for tomorrow morning, please?” 

(If ten alarms can’t wake her at the crack of dawn, perhaps the terror-striking sound of a phone call will.)

“Certainly! I just need your room number.”

“Of course. It’s 301.” 

As the woman types away at her computer, Penelope turns towards Colin. He’s leaning against a pillar, a few feet back. He’s smiling. There are undoubtedly puddles forming in the soles of his sandals at this very moment, but still, he’s smiling. 

Penelope can’t help but smile back. 

“There you are,” the older woman says beneath her breath, just loud enough to bring Penelope’s eyes forward again. “So Mrs. Bridgerton, what time should I schedule your call for?” 

Penelope doesn’t register the second half of Isabella’s question, her mind suddenly overcome with the sounds of alarm bells. 

Mrs. Bridgerton.

Mrs. Bridgerton.

Mrs. Fucking. Bridgerton.

“What?!” 

The word shoots out of her mouth before she can stop it. She regrets it immediately. This kind woman doesn’t deserve such displaced aggression. That aggression should be aimed directly at the man standing behind them both. 

“I’m sorry, dear. I was saying —” 

“No, I’m sorry, truly. I just —” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m not Mrs. —” 

She takes another breath. She says a prayer. She pretends to be a normal person — one who would have no reason to crack under the sheer irony of being mistaken as Colin Bridgerton’s wife.

 “I don’t need that wake up call anymore, but thank you so much for your time. Sorry again.” 

When she turns around, Colin isn’t smiling anymore. 

“A word?” she hisses as she stomps past him on the way to the elevator. 

“Pen, what are you do—”

She stops short in the middle of the lobby. So short, in fact, that Colin nearly runs right into her. Thankfully, Penelope has a lifetime’s worth of practice getting out of other people’s way; she dodges him at the last second.

“What did you do, Colin? Did you tell them we’re on our honeymoon, like you did at the airport?” 

She tears her eyes away from his to quickly glance at the room around them. 

Their hotel is gorgeous. It used to be a historic Spanish villa, but was renovated and transformed for lodging just a few years ago. It is not the type of place you can snag for just £100 a night (especially with the views they have from their rooms upstairs). Penelope realised this fact the very moment they walked into this lobby Thursday night, but after the stressful flight and initial pretend wife debacle, Penelope had chosen to overlook it then. Suffice to say, that instinct has long since left her body. 

“Is that how you were able to get us this place for so cheap?” 

“No. I didn’t do that.” 

Colin’s eyes don’t look away from hers as he speaks. She knows that he isn’t lying, but…

“How the fuck did you, then?” 

She doesn’t yell, but she doesn’t disguise her words with a whisper, either. Colin doesn’t make any attempt to disguise his emotions, either. He’s looking down at her with a disbelieving, bitter look — as if he is the wronged party here. 

“I —”

“And why did she call me ‘Mrs. Bridgerton?’” she interrupts. Her voice is neutral in volume, but biting in its tone. 

Colin takes a breath and wipes that bitter expression off his face. (For now, at least.) 

“I know the owner,” he admits. His tone reeks of a nonchalance that Penelope feels is unwarranted, given the present circumstances. “I didn’t even make the reservation. He probably put my name down on both rooms and the receptionist got confused.” 

“You know the owner?” she asks, incredulous. 

“Family friend,” he clarifies, stunning Penelope back into silence. 

After twenty-three years of living in such close proximity to the Bridgertons, she should be used to this by now. She doesn’t need to be reminded of the family’s seemingly infinite web of connections or be surprised at their ability to pull from them to get whatever it is that they want or need. But even now, it’s difficult for her to fully grasp. 

At her silence, Colin decides to change tactics. Smirking, he continues, “I mean — how would I even pull that scheme off? We have two adjoining rooms. That would be a rather large red flag for a supposed honeymoon.” 

Much quieter than she was a moment ago (but just as vexed), Penelope tells him, “I have faith in your ability to get around such minor details. If it means getting what you want.” 

“Hey — if you didn’t want me to use any special discounts on this trip, you should have stipulated that in the rules of the game.”

After cringing at his use of the term special discounts, Penelope decides to give up. Turning her body towards the nearest elevator, she tells him she’ll “remember that for next time.” Before she can step away though, Colin stops her with a hand gripped tightly around her elbow. 

When she looks up, she finds that bitter expression has returned to his face. 

“Tell me, Pen,” he whispers, leaning in close. “Which has been the most painful blow to your ego — being mistaken as my girlfriend, my fiancée, or my wife?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Penelope feels as though she’s outside of her own body; she isn’t sure if she whispered those two words aloud or simply screamed them into the deepest caverns of her mind. It must have been the former, though. Colin’s eyes are wide. 

“Honestly, Pen? It’s a bit upsetting to know that my best friend would raise hell before allowing a random stranger to think that we might be —” 

He pauses for the briefest, longest second of Penelope’s life.

“Involved.” 

Penelope stands silent for several seconds. What is she supposed to say to that? What platonic explanation is there for that?

You’re being a hypocrite. You’re being cruel, she wants to say. But she can’t say that. Obviously. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles instead. Then, she slips her arm from his grasp. “I — I’m just in a bit of a mood. I think it’s the sun.” 

Her words reek of utter bullshit. They both know it. But at least Colin has the grace to let the issue go.

“Come on.” 

His hand quickly finds its position around her elbow once more. This time, his grip is loose. Five tentative fingers tethered to her skin. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 4

“What the hell are you doing?”

Given the notable height difference between them, Colin always has to be mindful of where his eyes land when standing right beside Penelope. But when crammed into small spaces like the elevator they’re currently sharing, his eyes inevitably start to wander. Now, they’re pointed at her phone screen. (Which is an invasion of privacy. Which is bad, but the lesser of two evils, given his current perspective in relation to his best friend’s shirt.)

She looks up at him, but only after setting a 25th alarm. 

“Tomorrow is our last morning here. I am not missing that sunrise.” 

She looks down again, resuming her all-important task. By the time they reach their destination and the elevator doors swing open, she has set at least ten more alarms. Her eyes remain locked on the screen as she steps foot into the lobby. 

They’re on the way to the hotel bar, a suggestion Colin made after an unusually tense 24 hours between them in paradise. 

Well, tense might be too strong of a term to describe the atmosphere between him and Penelope. But still, the atmosphere has been different ever since he let his ego get the better of him in the hotel lobby yesterday. Different enough to scare him. Different enough to prompt him to call in the big guns to set things right again. 

(Alcohol.) 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Two tequila shots into the night, Penelope is not having a good time. 

She had spent the entire day trying her hardest to force a smile on her face and keep her bad mood at bay until they land back on English soil. This had proved to be difficult — not just because of the insistence and intensity of said bad mood, but also because of Colin’s not-so-subtle attempts to uncover the true reason for her outburst the day before. (And the day before that.) (And the day before that.) 

His line of questioning has only become less subtle since walking into the bar. Logically, this realisation should have prompted Penelope to make one final toast then go hide in her hotel room, but… 

Alcohol has a tendency to make good ideas sound bad and bad ideas sound good. The latter is why she’s currently standing at the bar waiting for another round.

Maybe another drink will make us both forget what happened. 

“Here you go, miss.” 

On the other side of the bar, the handsome bartender slides two clear glasses with lime green liquid sloshing inside. Penelope unconsciously licks her bottom lip at the sight. 

Only after securing the glasses in each hand does she realise that she never technically paid for either drink. 

“You can put these on 301,” she shouts over the music. 

“No need,” the bartender answers in a low voice that somehow cuts clear through the chaos of the room. He winks at her. “Those are on the house.”

“Oh! Um. Thanks!” 

With that, Penelope turns on her heel. The abrupt motion causes one tiny stream of syrupy tequila to trickle down her fingers and onto the floor. 

Determined not to spill any more of her free drinks, Penelope walks to the table in the back of the bar with an abundance of caution. During the treacherous journey across the room, she keeps her eyes pointed intently on the glasses in her hands. When she finally looks up, she’s shocked by what she finds. 

In the chair beside Colin sits the most beautiful woman Penelope has ever seen with her own two eyes. The two of them are turned towards each other, talking about something Penelope can’t hear from where she stands not four feet away. She stands there awkwardly hovering above the table for a few seconds before Colin notices her return. When he does, he shoots her an aggravatingly endearing smile. 

“There she is!” He turns back to the girl on his right. “Paris, this is Penelope. Pen, this is Paris.”

God. Even her name is beautiful. 

“Lovely to meet you, Paris,” Penelope says, taking the seat directly across from her instead of the one facing Colin. 

Paris, in turn, throws her a smile that could rival Colin’s. Even in this dim corner of the bar, it manages to catch the light. 

“You as well, Penelope! Colin and I were just bonding over our most harrowing solo travel stories.” 

She’s American, her voice betrays. 

“Do you travel much?” Penelope asks after taking a long, greedy sip of her drink. 

“Not as much as I’d like to,” she admits, sighing a little. “But I had a few weeks free before my grad program starts, so I decided to say ‘fuck it’ and booked a flight over here.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope sees Colin open his mouth to say something. Before he can manage to, she leans towards their new, very beautiful friend and says, “That’s amazing. Where else have you been?” 

Over the course of the next few minutes, Penelope practically forgets about Colin and the unresolved tension between them. She’s too busy listening to their new, very beautiful, remarkably interesting, extremely funny, perfect friend Paris. (While also finishing her two free drinks.)

“Enough about me,” Penelope’s new favourite distraction eventually orders. She flicks her eyes from Colin to Penelope and back. “I meant to ask before, but how did you two meet?” 

Penelope opens her mouth to answer, but Colin beats her to it, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. Still grinning… 

“You know, that question is surprisingly hard to answer. We’ve always just known each other.” 

His response is the most infuriating string of words Penelope has ever heard uttered aloud in her life. Across the table, Paris looks as though she’s about to melt. 

“Awwww, that is so —” 

“I believe what Colin meant to say is that we grew up across the street from one another,” she interrupts, just barely able to keep her tone pleasant enough to not scare away Paris. “His sister is my best friend.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope watches as Colin’s grin finally drops. She nearly looks at him  for the first time since sitting down, but then her new friend says something that immediately dislodges the impulse from her mind.

Specifically, Paris delivers the funniest joke Penelope has ever heard in her life. 

“You two are childhood sweethearts? That is so sweet!”

Penelope snorts. Her reaction is so loud and unladylike that she fears her mother will be able to sense it all the way back home in London. 

“No! We’re —” 

She snorts again. Somewhere in the distance, she thinks she hears someone say her name like a warning, but it barely registers. 

“We are not dating,” she continues, just barely able to keep in another round of giggles. She keeps her eyes trained on Paris, who suddenly looks rather wide-eyed in her seat across from Penelope. “I mean — my god! Colin would never.” 

She hears her voice called out in the distance again, but refuses to heed its warning. She can’t stop now. She’s too close to the punchline.

“You know, he said that once. Literally. That he would never date me. Not in a million years!” 

“Pen!” 

Finally, she hears him. Her eyes snap to Colin. His face is made up of an emotion she’s never seen there before. 

Betrayal? No, that’s not —

“A word?” 

Before she can even register that he has moved from his chair, Colin stands above her. His hand is on her elbow. He’s pulling her out the nearest door. 

The breeze outside is bitter. Though the nearest beach is at least a half-kilometre away, Penelope swears she can feel little bits of the sea spraying on her cheeks. Neither of those sensations are cold enough to distract her from the warmth wrapped around her elbow. 

“What was that, Penelope?” 

“I…” she starts, with no intention of finishing the sentence. 

“What were you talking about at the end?” 

The first question had been delivered to her with fury. The second, concern. The next one that falls from his lips…

Misery. 

“What did you — what did I say? I don’t — I don’t remember…” 

All night, knowingly or not, Penelope had been using alcohol to fuel the pyre of her own misery. But seeing it reflected on Colin’s face now…

“It was nothing,” she lies. “Just forget —”

“No. Whatever it is, it is not ‘nothing.’ 

“Colin —”

“Pen, please,” he begs. “Just tell me.”

Penelope wants to summon the strength to be honest. She wants to destroy her disposition towards bullshit and tell him the truth. She’s not certain if that’s a strength she possesses, but she knows for a fact that she won’t be able to summon it with Colin tethered to her skin. 

Stepping backwards, Penelope untangles herself from his grip. She crosses her arms in front of her chest before he can attempt to take hold again.

“Honestly, Colin, it was nothing. It happened years ago — before you even left for Cambridge. At that party at Fife’s house, I overheard you talking with some of your friends. They must have seen us hanging out all night and got the wrong idea about us. They — they asked if we were dating and you told them we weren’t, that we would nev—” 

She sucks in a breath. She chances a prayer. She tries her hardest not to bullshit. 

“You were just correcting them. That’s all.” 

Colin doesn’t say anything for several seconds. He stands before her with twisted lips, like he’s desperately trying to hold something in. Then, he parts them.

“Kind of like how you were ‘just correcting’ that girl inside?” 

“Yeah,” she says, speaking 100% truthfully for the first time since they stepped outside. Honesty is hard, but his comparison is too apt to even try to deny it. 

When Colin takes a step towards her, Penelope takes another step back. The motion is enough to make her dizzy and, thus, remind her of the tequila currently sitting in the depths of her stomach. 

“Pen, I’m so sorry. I —” 

“No,” she interrupts, her voice definitive. “Don’t apologise. For anything. I was being rude inside, but you — you were just being honest that night. You didn’t even know I was there — that I could hear what you said. You —

“I hardly think that mat—”

“You should not have to apologise for simply speaking your mind.”

“That’s bullsh—”

“Colin! It was forever ago, can we please just leave it be?” She takes a breath. “Can we forget about this whole mess?” 

“How can you say that? It’s been —” 

Raising his hands into the air between them, he uses his fingers to count off imaginary numbers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six… 

“Seven years! Seven, Penelope. I can’t even remember saying it, but I —” He takes a breath. “I wish I could. If for nothing else, just to properly apologise to you for being such a dickhead.” 

“Col—”

“But you remember. And after what just happened in the bar — after what’s been happening all week — don’t you dare try and pretend like it’s nothing. If it was truly nothing, you would not be holding onto it seven years later.” 

That look — the one that appeared out of nowhere following her outburst inside — appears on his face again. The lighting is a bit brighter out here due to a nearby streetlamp, but it doesn’t make it any easier for Penelope to identify that emotion. It’s not betrayal. It’s not quite guilt. It’s —

It doesn’t matter.

Resisting the urge to drop her gaze from his, Penelope finally accepts that there are some things in life that defy definition. One of those anomalies is currently staring right through her, and there’s nothing she can say to make him see her. Bullshit or otherwise. 

“Fine. Apology accepted.” 

She turns to leave, needing the conversation to be over. But yet again, Colin’s hand wraps around her elbow.

“Can we please just talk about this like adults?”

“What is there left to say?” He opens his mouth, but she isn’t done. “You were right. I was hurt, but now I’m choosing to let it go. Seven years is far too long a time to take issue with a few words overheard at a party.”

“That is not what I meant, Pen.”

“I know. But it’s the truth.”

“Pen —”

“It’s late, Colin,” she interrupts, turning her back to him as she begins to step away. “Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?” He’s already beside her again, footsteps in line with hers. 

“Back to my room,” she huffs. “I wish to be alone.” 

“You’re not seriously suggesting I let you run off by yourself right now, are you?”

“Yes —”

“Pen, you’re drunk.” 

He certainly has a point but…

“You say that like you are not also drunk.” 

“Yeah, well…” He runs a hand through his hair, then promptly finds her elbow again. “At least I’m not as drunk as you.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

On the way back down to the bar, Colin takes the stairs. 

After ensuring that Penelope got back to her room safely, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his own bed and end this cursed day once and for all. But when he fished out his wallet to retrieve his roomkey, he realised that a different card was missing. That his credit card was sitting behind a bar downstairs, along with an unpaid tab. 

He takes the stairs slowly, step by reluctant step. His mind is elsewhere, unwittingly replaying the night over and over again. He’s trying to make sense of it all. Of any of it.

Not in a million years!

He said that once.

He doesn’t doubt it. But god — he doesn’t remember it either. He remembers that night. He remembers sitting on the roof with Penelope, then dancing with her in the back garden. He remembers laughing. He remembers drinking. He remembers being eighteen. He remembers what a massive arsehole he could turn into when surrounded by other arseholes like Fife. 

He doesn’t doubt that he said it — but he can’t quite explain it either. Lord knows he can’t justify it. The words just sounded wrong, especially when repeated back to him from Penelope’s lips. 

That he would never date me. 

Not in a million years!

Even in his own head, Colin struggles to explain why those words feel so wrong to him — why they reek of such potent bullshit. His dilemma is not made any easier by Penelope or anything she said tonight. 

Fine. Apology accepted.

The way she looked at him when those words left her lips…

It was like she disappeared. Her eyes didn’t leave his, and yet it looked as though she was suddenly staring at something far in the distance. Like she was staring through him. Like —

“Can I help you, mate?” 

Colin blinks three times, taking in his surroundings as he comes back to reality. His feet must have been on auto-pilot the last few minutes; he’s back at the bar. 

“Mate?” the smug bartender repeats. 

Not in the mood to dignify that with a response, Colin mimes a pen squiggle in the air. Thankfully, the man takes the hint and disappears down the bar to retrieve his check. Before he can return, someone on a barstool clears their throat. 

It’s the girl from before. The American. The one who sat at his table to make small talk, then unintentionally fucked up his entire night. (And possibly his entire friendship with Penelope.)

Brooklyn? No, that wasn’t it.

“So… What the fuck was that before?” she asks, her voice teetering somewhere between faux-enthusiasm and genuine annoyance. “Some weird foreplay between you and your girlfriend?” 

“No. We’re not…” 

He could finish that sentence, but he doesn’t see the point. This stranger has already received a lecture on the true nature of his and Penelope’s relationship — what else needs to be said? 

The girl rolls her eyes, dropping the fake enthusiasm entirely. 

“If you two aren’t dating, why did you tell me your ‘girlfriend Penelope’ was grabbing drinks from the bar when I first sat down?”

“No, I —”

His voice trails off again. This time, his mind is kicking into overdrive, desperately attempting to relive that moment of the night. Surely, he didn’t —

“No,” he says again, this time more sure of himself. “I said she was my ‘good friend,’ not my ‘girlfriend.’” But as the words leave his lips, Colin’s short-lived confidence crumbles. 

Good friend. Girlfriend.

The bar is loud and he’s consumed quite a bit of tequila tonight. Maybe he did misspeak. 

Good friend. Girlfriend. Good friend. Girlfriend. Good friend. Girlfriend. 

“Whatever,” the American says, pushing herself off of the barstool. “I hope you and your good friend can work out your issues.”

Colin gulps, because Lord knows that he hopes for the same. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 5

The first alarm goes off at 5:50 AM. Colin was technically asleep before it wrung out, but restlessly so. His body never fully settled into sleep that night, so it’s quick to wake when those artificial bells drift over from the wall behind him.

Another alarm starts at 5:51, then stops just as quickly. From his own bed, Colin can’t help but picture Penelope muting said alarm with her eyes scrunched shut, hungover and still 90% asleep. For the first time in what feels like ages, he smiles. 

At 5:52, another alarm rings out as Colin sits up, wide awake. He runs a hand across his face as memories and realisations from the night before come back to him with startling clarity. They fit together in his mind like evidence for a cold case he didn’t realise was a mystery until yesterday. A few more alarms ring out as he pieces everything together. 

Seven years ago, Colin left for Cambridge and Penelope left for Cheltenham and, for two years and three months thereafter, their friendship wasn’t the same. In those two years and three months, he lost the one person he could always and truly be himself around. Throughout those two years and three months, he assumed the shift between them had been an inevitable part of growing up and growing out of their younger selves. But now…

Now he can see it all clearly. 

Seven years ago, Colin invited Penelope to a party, occupied her time all night, then claimed that he would never date her in a million goddamn years. He said those words in a crowd full of people — so crowded, in fact, that he couldn’t tell that she had been there to witness it all firsthand. 

It all seems so obvious now. Of course she heard him. Of course the shift had been intentional — on one side, that is. 

At 6:05, another alarm rings. Colin barely hears it, his mind occupied by the question that had been plaguing him all week. 

Why is Pen so put off by the prospect of us being a couple? 

He knows the answer now, but it’s of no comfort to him. 

At 6:06, a new question rises to occupy that space in his mind. 

Why aren’t I put off by the prospect of Pen and I being a couple?

Perhaps that is the question he should have been asking himself from the start. At no point during any of the many misunderstandings that occurred this week had Colin ever been put off by the titles others had thrust upon them. Strangers seeing Penelope as his girlfriend, his fiancée, his wife…

None of it put him off. 

The 6:07 alarm seems to rewire his brain. More questions come to him. 

Is it normal to be enraged by the idea of dating your best friend? Is it more or less normal to find the idea… nice? 

At the 6:08 alarm, Colin asks himself another question. One he should have been asking himself for several years now. 

Is it normal to be so preoccupied by the sight of your best friend’s cleavage?

At the 6:09 alarm, long after assuming Penelope would miss her final chance at viewing the Catalonian sunrise, he hears something new from the next room over. 

“Siri, cancel all alarms.” 

After that, he hears the faintest evidence of movement from her end. Rustling sheets. Footsteps. A barely audible “Fuck.” 

By 6:10, Colin stands stiffly, inches away from their adjoining door. By 6:11, he actually knocks on it. 

It only takes a few seconds for her to swing it open. 

“Hi.” 

Penelope is looking up at him with the eyes of someone who had four shots of tequila last night. Her hair has been twisted into a long red braid down her side. She’s wearing a matching set of pink and white chequered pyjamas and slippers in the shape of little white rabbits. Colin can’t help but smile.

“Morning.” 

Without another word, she nods her head to the side, signalling for him to follow her out to the balcony. 

The sky is navy blue, save for the thin streak of maroon rising up from the edge of the world. It’s still dawn. It will be dawn for another few minutes, until the sun inevitably rises. 

Colin and Penelope stand side-by-side, hands on the railing, pinkies inches apart. Without a word spared between them, they watch as twilight bleeds into daybreak. As red turns to pink. Pink to orange. Orange to yellow. 

The sea reflects it all like a mirror. Colin sees it all with his own two eyes. 

“Is it everything you thought it would be?” 

“More.” 

When quiet falls between them again and yellow bleeds into blue, Colin can’t stop himself from asking and answering a new question. It’s the one that’s been hiding in the shadows of his mind for most of his life. 

Am I in love with Pen?

Yes, you fucking idiot. Of course you are.

The realisation doesn’t come with any amount of shock or denial. It just feels… 

Inevitable. 

This was always going to happen. He was going to reach this conclusion sooner or later. 

Tempting fate, Colin lifts his left arm and places it across Penelope’s back, hand settling gently on her shoulder. Both of her hands remain locked on the railing. 

As much as it consumes him inside, Colin cannot bring himself to voice his inevitable revelation aloud. Not after last night — after realising the pain he has obliviously inflicted on Penelope over the years. Not after this week — which had been planned in celebration and is currently teetering on disaster. Not after an entire lifetime of getting it all wrong. 

He can’t bring himself to voice his revelation aloud. Instead he asks a simpler, albeit similarly difficult question. 

“Are we going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Penelope says, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Of course.” 

Colin isn’t sure he believes her. He isn’t sure things will ever be the same.

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

“You know, Catalonia is beautiful this time of year. Perfect destination for a honeymoon.”

“Don’t skip ahead,” she orders, while also making a mental note on the topic in the back of her mind. “What’s next?”

#I thought this chapter was going to give me a hernia #right now there are THREE 10K+ chaps in this fic #and that’s three too many #bridgerton #fanfiction #polin #weepingfromacedartree #ao3 #fanfic #ten milestones #penelope x colin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton