#i technically uninvited her to something | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

Text

Younger Gods: I

Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader (unnamed)

Dream is protective of his ravens after Jessamy, and he's still bad at listening. The reader finds this out the hard way.

Warnings: extremely mild gore/injury to animal, language, Dream is his own warning

A/N: Playing a little fast and loose with dream physics, but we're just here for a good time, right? I read the comics an age ago, and thought I might as well pop back into the fandom for a quick swim after falling in love all over again via Netflix. Aiming for 5 chapters, but we'll see where this takes us.

*Remember, to like is kind but to comment/repost is divine.

**If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know in the comments!

Chapter 1: Just don't bite me

“How did you get here?”

She stared at the injured raven hopping across her garden like it might open its beak and speak. Give her some answers. It’s eye fixed on her, pinning her even as it fought gravity and pain, flapping with a wing bent the wrong way.

Glossy black feathers hid the blood it left on the long grass. If it didn’t move like something hurt, didn’t struggle to hold up its broken wing, she’d never guess it had crashed into her little world by accident. Which brought her back to the question.

It fluffed the feathers around its neck in an attempt to look bigger, croaking as it shuffled farther away. Soft thunder purred in the clouds, and the steady rain dripped from the tip of the raven’s beak. She held up her hands. Sank low on her heels, as near to the raven’s level as she could reach without falling flat on her belly. If that’s what it took to earn its trust, though, she’d get a little muddy.

For all that it was uninvited, the bird was her guest now, and if she didn’t take care of it, it could never leave. Maybe it would haunt her. Maybe she’d just feel guilty as hell.

“You’re hurt.”

The raven twitched, its head tilting three different ways, studying her expression from varied angles, like it would reveal malicious intent in the right light. He could look all he wanted, but she needed to get him out of the rain.

She started unwinding the thick, knit scar from around her neck, speaking low in an effort to keep the bird calm. “I have something that can help. It’s just a salve, but you’ll heal much faster, and I’m sure you’d like to be on your way as soon as possible. But I’m going to take you inside first, so you can get warm and dry. The rain never really stops.”

Prepared with the folded cloth, she crept forward a few steps, giving the bird time to move away. When it didn’t, she closed the distance and muttered, “Just don’t bite me, okay?”

“No promises, witch,” the raven said.

Her hands stilled an inch away from his feathers. So, he was magic. Magic and rude as fuck.

She spluttered, “I’m not a witch.”

“Yeah?” The raven looked up at the clouds and down at her cottage. “Well, this place is weird. And so are you.”

“It was the best I could do.” She carefully wrapped the scarf around him, mindful of the bad wing – and the beak. “Sorry it doesn’t live up to your standards.”

Her first guest, and all he could do was insult all her hard work. He scoffed but held still in his swaddling as she pulled up to her chest and tramped back inside.

It wasn’t her fault it rained all time. Well, technically it was, actually, but she liked it. The water looked beautiful running down the windows, and the cozy fire glowed bright enough to warm a soul when the trees rustled in the wind. With rain hushing over the roof and a whisper of distant thunder to keep her company, she never felt lonely.

Tasteless corvid.

She set him down by the fireplace while she chose a good blanket to craft a makeshift nest. Only when she’d stripped off the scarf and moved him to the softer resting place did she tug off her own drenched sweater, shivering until she found a good replacement. Her wet hair clung to her neck as she pulled a sweater three sizes too big over her head. The sleeves dangled past her fingers, and she shoved them up past her elbows in thoughtless habit.

The bird hadn’t taken his eyes off her, but he still mustered enough faith to thank her. Sort of.

“This is… nice.”

It sounded like an olive branch, so she took it as one. The one room cottage was her haven. Even if it looked small and worn, she found it warm and soft, kind in the way a home ought to be.

“I like to think so.”

She moved to the workbench under the window that looked out to the garden, where she’d been sitting when the raven dropped out of the clouds with an all too human cry. Her fingertips ghosted over herbs and pots and potions as she looked for the little vial she wanted. She only finished it a week ago. It would take three months to make another. But that was alright. No one else really needed it.

When she knelt beside the bird, vial open and ready to drip over his injuries, he clacked his beak at her.

“Not a witch, huh?”

The wing felt so fragile in her hand. She couldn’t let him distract her. “My mother was. I’m… weird.”

“You can say that again.”

“This might hurt.”

“What do you -?” He broke off in a sharp caw, instinctively jerking away as she pulled his bones straight.

“Sorry, sorry. The worst is over now, I promise.”

He had a wonderfully colorful vocabulary for a raven, and he shouted a few rainbows while she wrapped his wing in the best position to heal. The white gauze practically glowed against his onyx plumage, and he looked just a little more pitiable.

“Sorry,” she repeated.

The bird shook himself, stretching and folding his good wing three times to push away the pain.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Fucking damn. Teach me to pay attention. Kids and their fucking rocks.” He’d been staring into the fire as he recovered his equilibrium, but once he could pause his cursing, the bird looked back at his host.

“Name’s Matthew. What do I call you, weird girl who isn’t a witch?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

“I was asking for your name, lady.”

“I don’t have one I can give you.”

“That’s not helpful.” He looked around the room, probably on the hunt for something to critique, and although his beak opened, it snapped shut again when he looked back over his shoulder. He stared at her in the firelight, but not at her face. “What happened to your neck, lady?”

Her hand flew up to cover the scars, a landscape of smooth, raised, and sunken marks ringing her throat. She’d forgotten when she took off the scarf. Horror and humiliation twisted in her stomach, and she was wildly aware of being ugly and vulnerable in the same breath. Instead of answering, she rushed back to her closet, pulling out an even longer knit piece than the one she’d wrapped the bird – Matthew – in outside.

He picked up on the subtext, deflating a little and pointedly changing the subject.

“How long will this magic potion of yours take? I need to get back to the Dreaming. My boss is waiting for me.”

The scarf’s tail dropped from numb fingers, one loop short of her goal, left to trail on the ground as she wondered how the fuck her day could get any worse.

“The Dreaming?”

“Yeah. Know of many other realms with talking ravens, lady?”

“No,” she admitted, cursing herself in the privacy of her own thoughts. “It will take a couple days for you to fly again, I think.”

“That’s no good.” Matthew pecked at his bandages, and she rushed over.

“Stop that. You’ll make it worse.”

“Can’t fly with this,” he said, mouth full of gauze.

“You can’t fly without them, either,” she said gently.

Giving up with an enormous sigh, the raven wriggled down into the blanket and glowered through the window at the continuous rain. A little bolt of lighting reflected in his gleaming eye, like an idea sparking to life.

“Your weird little house is pretty close, you know,” he said. “To the Dreaming, I mean. I bet you could walk there.”

“It takes a day to walk in or out.”

“Why?”

“Because I made it that way.”

“Oh, you’re definitely weird.” He paused, like he was finally noticing the blanket nest and the empty vial glittering by the warm flames. When he spoke again, he sounded the slightest bit contrite. “Weird but nice. And I still need your help.”

“I don’t want to go to the Dreaming, Matthew.” She couldn’t bring her voice to carry more than a whisper. She was so afraid of her dreams she didn’t even sleep anymore. Not much. Walking into the fertile fields of the Dream Lord’s imagination…

“You don’t have to go in,” the raven insisted. “Just get me to the gates and I’ll be someone else’s problem. I promise.”

She couldn’t answer. She really didn’t dare. The laws of hospitality urged her to pick up the bird and carry him wherever he wanted to go, and he made it all sound so reasonable, so easy. Just a stroll and a hand over to a friendly face eager to welcome him back. It wasn’t, though. Oh, the walk was fine. She came and went from her hideaway world all the time, but her heart thrummed in terror to even think of the Dreaming. Was she really so close? Her home didn’t feel as safe as it had that morning. The security of the cozy storm left something wanting now. None of this was designed to keep other entities out. It was just… out of the way. On the other hand, if she left the bird – one of Dream’s ravens! – here to recover and his master came for him, it would never be a sanctuary ever again.

Maybe… if she was quick…

“I’ll –” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’ll try. I’ll walk you to the gates.”

“Thank you.” At least he sounded like he meant it. Lack of gratitude wouldn’t change her mind at this point, but she appreciated it. Walking twelve hours with a rude bird muttering under his breath didn’t sound like the fun kind of adventure.

None of this sounded like the fun kind of adventure.

Fun adventures involved late night diners and questionable life choices after two bottles of wine.

“My master needs me,” Matthew said, like he still needed to prove his point.

That was fine. That was great. Dream would be missing his raven soon. She was tempted to take a faster mode of travel, but she wasn’t sure what that would do to the raven, so she hurried to gather everything she’d need for the walk instead. Tall rainboots, a hooded jacket, and two shawls. She wrapped one around Matthew to keep him warm and tied the other around herself like a sling. With the bird nestled close to her natural warmth, she charged back into the rain. She didn’t even take the time to bank the fire.

Matthew, apparently, decided her rush was entirely for his benefit. “Thanks for this. I mean it.”

She paused at the edge of the garden, standing in the gap in the stone wall as she studied the horizon, looking for something to tell her where to go.

“Which way to the Dreaming?”

Matthew fidgeted and jerked his beak at a random point. “There. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, you know?”

She didn’t know or she wouldn’t have asked, but her breath was better saved for walking. Nearly running, she sped through the emerald green grass and low white flowers in the verdant moss. She didn’t look. Didn’t appreciate. Didn’t stop to touch, or pick, or smell. If she had the stamina to run the twelve hours, she would.

Pattering rain sounded louder inside her hood, and the sky broiled with clouds promising a real storm.

Maybe he could hear her heart pounding by his ear, or he finally realized she was moving awfully quickly for someone who didn’t want to go on this trip in the first place. Whatever his inspiration, Matthew dragged their conversation back from the dead to persuade her she’d made the right choice as she forded a narrow stream.

“You don’t have to be afraid of Dream,” he said. “If he’s upset, it will be with me. You’re doing me a favor.” He paused, struck by a new through that almost immediately spewed out his beak. “You’re not old enemies or something, are you?”

“No. I’ve never met him. I’d rather not meet him today.”

Matthew croaked. “Why not?”

Sometimes the truth was the simplest path to peace, and she’d like the bird to shut up for a while. “I have bad dreams. I don’t want to get any closer to them. Thanks.”

“You know, he could do something about that.”

“I don’t like favors.”

“But I’d argue he owes you one.”

“I’d argue that I don’t care.”

More croaking, this time accompanied by rustling from his safely bound wings. She remembered ravens were in the business of knowing things, watching and listening until they could deliver a secret whole and unbroken to their master. Her cagey replies must bother him on some deeper level.

“So why are you doing this? You clearly don’t want to.”

“Because you were hurt. You needed help. And I don’t want your master to come looking for you here.”

He cast incredible side-eye for a creature wrapped in home-knit outerwear strapped to a stranger’s chest.

But at least he shut-up.

It was the perfect landscape for long walks. She’d designed it that way. Gently rolling hills melted into copses of trees just too small to be forests but deep enough to lose the daylight below the tangled canopy. Any other day, she’d enjoy this trek. But now she wondered if she’d ever be able to enjoy it again, knowing which direction the Dreaming lay and how close it pressed to her border.

She slogged up the hills and slipped down the muddy sides, careful not to tumble and crush the fragile bird she carried against her chest. She slipped through the woods, ignoring the sweet smell of old loam and dried leaves. When the heavy rain came down in a curtain as the crested the last hill, she pushed through that, too.

The raven stayed awake for the entire trip. She shaved a full three hours off her usual time, and she reached the end exhausted. She should’ve packed a stimulant. Maybe an energy drink. Maybe a potion. Something. She had to get herself back home after this.

A field stretched to the cusp of oblivion, a black void at the edge of the turf her mind fought not to notice. She walked to the edge, slowing until she came to the brink, and then she had no ideas.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Well, you’re not a raven,” Matthew said. “I see where we need to go. Just trust me. There’s a path a few feet to the left.”

She shuffled obediently to the side, but she still saw nothing.

“Just take a step,” the bird insisted. “I’ll guide you through it.”

She didn’t want to. Every instinct from every element of her pedigree screamed that this was a Bad Idea. Relying on blind faith and a raven’s intuition might lead her into the Dreaming, but she bet she’d have a long fall someone with wings wouldn’t consider a problem. Some little oversight would swallow her whole, and nightmare would eat her alive, or she’d be trapped in her own night terrors.

“Why don’t I just leave you here?” She could hear the panic in her wobbling pitch, and her trembling hands banished any doubt as she reached for the knot in the sling.

“I thought you didn’t want Morpheus to come looking for me in your weird little bubble realm.”

She closed her eyes. Drew a shaky breath. No, she didn’t want that, but would it be worse than voluntarily stepping into that darkness? The raven couldn’t protect her. He wouldn’t even know what was safe for her, really. He was flying on a lot of assumptions, and she didn’t want to pay the price for his optimistic naivety.

“I don’t know what the void will do to me,” she confessed. “I’ve never actually… touched it.”

“It won’t do anything,” the raven said. “And it’s so thin you won’t even notice. The Dreaming is right there.”

Fucking hell. Her hands seized air, opening and closing like she could snatch courage out of thin air. Damn it all.

She lunged into the thing she didn’t even want to look at, and for the barest moment, she felt it. Nothing. No pulse. No breath. No thought or feeling at all. A gap stretched between past and present, like she’d been snuffed out – or never began to exist in the first place.

Then her momentum carried her through in a boggling mess of physics, and she was somewhere again.

Air punched into empty lungs, and she stumbled, nearly falling to her knees as light, sound, and her own heartbeat returned.

“Whoa! Hey! Watch out for the water!”

Matthew’s shout brought her eyes down, and she saw dark waves lapping at her feet, sucking them into the black sand as the foam tried to climb up and over her rain boots. The fact that sea foam was trying to do anything clued her into the water’s threat, and she darted away with her newly-beating heart in her throat.

“Well done. You see? Not so bad. You’re fine.”

It had been one of the worst experiences in her fucked-up life, and she might’ve told him so if she had the breath. Instead, she barely managed to mutter, “I think I hate you.”

“Nah.”

She stopped to push the last of the void from her lungs, sucking in oxygen like she’d never tasted it before, and the sensation stirred several memories she couldn’t take time to stop and fight. Not on the shores of the Dreaming. Not so close to the Lord of Nightmares. She wrestled them down, threw other thoughts and needs over them like a rug over a stain. Her horrors would have to wait until she slept again, and she planned on putting that off for a long, long time.

When she felt ready and able to move again, she asked, “Where to now?”

“The gates,” he said, like he thought she was the stupid creature alive.

She looked away from her feet and finally noticed the looming doors further down the beach. Silently, she had to agree that she was, in fact, incredibly stupid. They were hard to miss, taller than a skyscraper, carved over in faces, beasts, and scenes she didn’t recognize, gleaming like aged ivory. Beautiful and awe-inspiring in the way an angel or the Milky way inspired reverence and respect. Something a little too vast for her to grasp, but towering over her regardless.

Yeah. Time to get this over with.

As she power-walked across the cold sand, shadowed by the rocks piercing out of the waves, she unknotted the sling and pulled Matthew out of his cocoon.

“This bus has come to the end of its route,” she said. “We hope you’ve enjoyed your trip.”

The raven cackled, trying to stretch his wing in spite of the way she still cradled him. “You find a sense of humor in the void?”

“No, just a sense of relief. Seriously. Watch where you’re flying next time. I won’t have another healing salve like a gave you for several months, so if you do this again, you’re fucked.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.” He was all but straining forward in her hands, eager to get home, to complete his mission and reassure his master that all was well. “You sure you don’t want to meet my master? Or Lucienne?”

It didn’t matter she didn’t know who Lucienne was. She didn’t need to meet any more dreams – or servants of dreams. “Very.”

“So, you’re just going to ding-dong-ditch Dream of the Endless?”

“Yup.”

“Suit yourself.”

The sand made it harder to keep her pace, sliding away under her heels, sapping her strength as she hurried to drop her guest off at his front door. Waves of power rolled down from the high wall, and she felt trapped against the tide of Dream’s domain and the dark ocean lapping up the shore behind her. Everything looked grand and stark. She didn’t belong with her green boots and her rain-slicked jacket. The hood had fallen back, and a damp strand decided to stick on her cheek. With her hands full of bird, she had no way to pull it off.

Cold, wet, disheveled.

Tired.

Afraid.

She was ready for this adventure to end.

“How are you going to get back through the void?” the bird asked.

She shook her head, amazed. “You just thought to ask that? Never mind. I have a shortcut.”

“What kind of shortcut? Why did we just walk for nine hours in the rain?”

She plucked at the end of the second shawl, the one she used to keep him warm on that nine-hour trip through the storm. Such gratitude.

“Because I didn’t know what it would do to you.”

“I can survive the void, lady, you think your shortcut’s tougher than that?”

How far away was the damn gate? Would this beach never end?

“All that matters,” she panted, “is that you’re going home. I’m going home.” She turned the bird in her hands so they were eye-to-eye. “And we will never have to see each other again.”

Sounding more human than ever, the bird tutted, but whatever he wanted to say was swallowed in a sudden, sharp wind.

The austere stillness consumed itself in a rage, lifting black sand and sea spray into an impenetrable haze. One second, she could see the gate. The next, she could barely see three feet in front of her. Shielding her eyes from the sand with one arm, she instinctively tucked the bird close, bending over him protectively. The grit gave the wind claws, and it lashed her bare flesh raw.

What have you done with my raven?

The question pressured her from all sides, a crushing, physical weight ringing in her ears as it forced her to cower in on herself. She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe. Matthew squawked and fluttered in her arms, flopping free with half a scarf still wrapped around him, tangled in his claws. “Sir, wait! Sir!”

The raven’s call settled the hurricane, but the overwhelming pressure remained. The lingering effect of the voice pressed against her soul like a death knell as a figure gathered itself, standing between the two travelers and the gate. The raven struggled towards the tall, dark shape, and she all but slapped herself in the face in her fight to get the dust out of her eyes, nose, and mouth.

Matthew called the newcomer sir.

She was peering up at Dream of the Endless.

He knelt to accept the bird, face dark as a nightmare. Long, pale fingers explored the broken wing. When they pulled away, a few rusty crumbs of blood clung to the pads, and eyes burning with angry stars lifted to pierce her.

He asked again, “What have you done with my raven?”

This time the voice was a voice, not a force of nature. He sounded like smoke and sand, deep and sure as the ocean at her back. That voice might scour her away like a rough patch in his perfect Dreaming, and nothing in his tone said she was welcome.

Now she felt like the raven – a little bird with a hoarse cry and hollow bones all too easy to snap.

“You hurt something of mine.” A snarl carved into his face, and even as Matthew squawked for his lord’s attention, the Dream Lord reached out.

His shadow stretched long and dark from his feet, against the light. It crept towards her, darker than the black shore, and she stumbled over her own feet as she backed away, landing hard on her hands.

“I didn’t,” she whispered. Her voice was long gone. It fled and left her to die whimpering and pathetic, the traitor. Scrambling back as the shadow approached, she shook her head. “Please, don’t.”

Cawing and flapping, Matthew shouted, “Sir, stop!”

The shadow slowed, just for an instant, and she leapt to her feet. Tears burning her eyes from fear and grit, she ran three steps back, never daring to take her eyes off the threatening Endless. She clawed into her own mind, grabbing for the half of herself she preferred to leave wandering the sky over her cottage. A rumble drew Dream’s eyes to the dark clouds gathering at the edge of the Dreaming, and she saw his eyes flick back to her just as the lightning struck.

Her summoned bolt traced down to catch her up in a flash of burning light. The crackle was almost unbearable, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Dream’s shadow was still snaking after her.

She wasn’t there when the shadow reached the place she’d stood. The lightning blast reached through her to the ground and then back up into the clouds. It took her with it.

An echoing strike deposited her in the cottage garden.

She fell to her hands and knees as the power zapped away into the sky. Mud squished up between her fingers, and she shuddered in place, too busy shaking to move. Rain rolled down her face, cleaning the salt of sweat, tears, and sea. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy after weightless, electric travel, and she bowed to the animal urge to just freeze in place for a while. She needed to think. Maybe then she could remember how to stand.

An Endless wanted her dead. Dream, no less. She had more reason than ever to stay awake. Maybe she could find a trick to avoid sleep forever.

But his raven knew where she lived, and it wasn’t a long trip.

She needed to run.

Chapter 2

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

literaturewithliz · 1 year

Note

Could I request a cute fluffy one shot for Draco malfoy accidentally falling for a muggle born hufflepuff, she likes baking and makes everyone birthday cakes if they want and he doesn’t get the hype about her and never met her but let’s say his friends asked her to make one for hi birthday and he’s just so confused and flustered

Thanks so much for the request! I love this concept so much, as a baker myself. I’m very sorry it took a hot minute, I just had no idea how I was gonna structure the fic, but then I just went with a couple of options and like how this turned out!

Draco was puzzled, to say the least.

He wasn’t puzzled by the fact that the box just outside of his dorm door had your signature on it, because cakes were kind of your claim to fame around Hogwarts. And the reason why was very clear. The immaculate silver piping along the edges of the cake could only have been done by your skilled hands. The Slytherin green icing on the base and top of the cake could have only been perfectly recreated thanks to your observant eye. And the fondant black, silver, and green Slytherin crest on the top was so obviously crafted with such care, that only you could have been the one to design it. Not to mention the artfully placed pieces of gold leaf and careful strokes of silver luster dust that seemed to make the cake shimmer.

It was perfection. So no, he was not puzzled that you had designed this cake. He was, however, puzzled by the fact that you had created this cake for him. The only time Draco could remember speaking to you before was in fourth year, after Potter had been selected for the Triwizard Tournament and Draco was so angry that he lashed out at the first person he saw after the feast. Who just so happened to be you. He had called your craft useless and uninspired. He could see the tears in your eyes after he had finished his rant, but all you had done was ask if he was alright. He spat an “I would be much more well if I never had to associate with the likes of you ever again!” and stormed off to his dorm. And you took that literally. Draco never did have to associate with you ever again, because you avoided him at all cost. He was in his sixth year now, and hadn’t heard your voice since his little rant.

So why was he receiving a cake from you? And how did you know it was his birthday?

Eventually Draco realized he must have looked like a complete idiot, just standing there looking at a cake as if it were on NASA’s Top Ten Unexplained Mysteries list. So he picked up the cake cautiously, and gently tore off the little notecard that was taped to the top of the cake box, the one that had your aforementioned signature in pretty loopy handwriting. He looked on the back of the card and found a message in the same handwriting: Happy Birthday, Draco! I don’t know much about you other than your in Slytherin, so I hope this is okay. Enjoy your special day! Best wishes, Y/N.

Draco thought this was more than alright. He loved the cake design, and if rumors were anything to go by, he would also love the taste. He was just still questioning why you had done this for him. The reason why was revealed when Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle waltzed into his room-uninvited- and stood in front of him, expectant looks on their faces. So this was why you had done this for Draco. Because his friends had paid you to. It was all making sense now. He could feel his ears redden a bit, mentally face-palming himself. What had he expected? For you to actually mean what you wrote about having a happy birthday or enjoying the cake?

Pansy cleared her throat, grabbing Draco’s attention. “Do you like it? We had that Hufflepuff girl make it. The one who’s known for her cakes? We didn’t really know what to tell her to put on it, so we just told her to put whatever she thought was best.” The truth was, Draco liked this cake more than he wanted to. He liked knowing that you had put work into something made for him, even if his friends were technically the ones who asked for it. But he didn’t want his friends to know that, so he just went with a normal amount of gratitude (normal for Draco anyways) and told his friends, “Yeah, thank you all,” and set the cake on his nightstand, where it would remain for the rest of the day.

Speaking of the rest of the day, it passed by in a blur. People exchanged respectful greetings and well wishes to him in the corridors, he went about his normal classes for the day, and went to the owlery to see if his parents had sent him anything. His mother had sent him a ring to add to his collection, and a couple of sweet treats, but he heard nothing from his father. Once again, what had he expected? It wasn’t as though Draco and his father had the warmest of relationships. He didn’t know if the lack of warmth was what made him sad, or the disappointment he got when the cycle never broke. All he knew was, he felt like he was about to cry in the owlery of all places.

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice asked from behind him. Draco flinched, startled and embarrassed that another person was seeing him this way. He regained his composure quickly, and replied with, “I’m perfectly fine.” He heard you shift from one foot to another, and turned around to see you standing there, with a small bag of owl feed in you hands. You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes trained on something to the right of him. He followed your gaze to a medium sized barn owl with a name plate reading ‘Holly’. He walked left, giving you space to walk over to it. You nodded appreciatively, still not looking at him, and went towards the barn owl.

Draco felt awkward, just standing with you in silence, and he could tell you were uncomfortable too. He also felt confused. He didn’t know you had an owl, and why he hadn’t seen you here before, especially given your owls were right next to each other. As if you could sense his confusion, you finally looked at him just for a second, and told him, “It’s not mine, I’m just doing a favor for a friend.” “Oh,” Draco replied articulately. What was he still doing here? He moved towards the door of the owlery to leave, but your voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Did you like your cake?” you asked, slightly timid. Draco felt guilty, which was unusual for him. He knew that the reason you were so uncomfortable right now was because of what he had said to you two years ago. But Draco hadn’t ever felt bad about the way he spoke to people, especially not Hufflepuffs. So why did he feel like a terrible person? “Yes, it was fine,” he replied. “I’m glad it was fine. I had been hoping it wasn’t too useless.” Draco sighed, feeling defeated. “Look, when I said those things to you, I wasn’t mad at you. I was frustrated, is all, and took it out on you. So I’m… sorry.” It seemed like you could sense how difficult it had been for Draco to apologize like that, so you simply said, “Thank you, I forgive you.”

Draco nodded, moving to leave again, when your voice piped up, stopping him once again. “Are you really okay? You look like you have a lot on your mind.” “Like I said, I’m perfectly fine, and even if I weren’t, it wouldn’t be your concern,” he replied with a low voice. “Right, sorry. But you should know, it doesn’t help to just dwell on things, you need someone or something that brings you out of your head sometimes,” you shifted again, letting your right hand lift up to pet Holly. Draco thought on that for a moment, then before he could stop himself, he asked, “Is that why you bake?”

Oh no. Your gonna think he’s a creep now. Your never going to speak to him again. You- “Yes, I suppose so,” you replied, bringing Draco out of his downward mental spiral. Then Draco just stared. He wanted to ask what was causing you so much stress, since it must have been a lot, considering you seem to bake nonstop. But he restrained himself, thinking maybe that would be going too far. But he did say thank you. Then he turned to leave again, and you didn’t stop him.

******

Thank you so much for this request! I had a lot of fun with this! I didn’t know if you wanted this to end with a kiss or something, but I didn’t really know how to end this like that, because Draco seems like the type to need time before even thinking of a relationship, let alone kissing and affection. That’s just my interpretation of him though. Once again, I’m sorry it took a while.

#draco fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco angst #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter #Harry Potter fanfiction

348 notes · View notes

hail-brod · 6 months

Text

A Chance and Beyond (1)

Next chapter: (Chapter 2)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Loki x FReader

Set after the events of Thor: Ragnarok and begins with Infinity War when the spaceship containing Thor and the other Asgardians were spared from the supposed attack of Thanos. Meaning, Loki is alive. But the threat still looms.

(Also, let's just pretend Hela didn't destroy Mjollnir :DD)

Spoilers for Loki season 2!

Warning/s: Just some cursing

WC: 3.3k

When you realized that your existence is in great trouble, you do your best to find a way to get back to where you were previously encapsulated as a time criminal. After all, they're the reason why you're fucked. But, seems like you'll be needing the Avengers' help first. And Loki's.

"What the fuck."

Was all Tony Stark could managed to say after being abruptly interrupted by a terrifyingly distorted figure appearing right in front of him, evidently disrupting the banter he was having with the so-called God of Mischief, Loki. The other avengers surrounding the two men were no different, frozen on their spot as they gather round in the sophisticated compound, loss for words at the woman who happens to appear uninvited.

You stood there breathless.

Without any second thoughts, they made their move directing a fighting stance at you, as if expecting a sudden attack. Just what you'd expect from the Earth's mightiest heroes.

Minus Loki.

Though, not without a hint of confusion delighting their faces.

After you had successful regain your balance, although still dreading the feeling of being ripped apart through time, you slowly flayed your hands up in defeat. Panting, you surveyed around.

You were in the Avengers' compound.

"What...in the hell was that?" the one who seemed to have said that was actually the only one hesitant to attack you, knuckles upfront him with an obvious unsureness as his eyes warily scanned you. Gaping, he continued. "Did I...Did I hallucinate that or...? Oh, god, am I going mad?"

"I don't believe that is the case here, Banner." boomed Thor, holding out Mjollnir threateningly. Eyes stern at your panting form.

Alright, how fortunate to see a very familiar face.

"I hope so. Or else, I might as well decide that being on a whole different planet for a whole year and being part of a godly family crisis has already altered my mind in many different ways."

"Bruce, calm down." a bearded blonde man with a shield said. Steve Rogers. You recall. "Just be thankful that isn't the case here because it certainly isn't."

You wish you could snort at the exchange but you have other matters to focus on at the moment. Though, you held Banner's terrified gaze with a wary of your own as you think for a moment who Banner is but you brush it aside.

You can't afford to dilly-dally with such questions and just preferably, avoid starting a needless fight.

With Stark now a few steps back from you, hands enclosed in his iron red gauntlet with the center of his palm alight, he eyed you suspiciously. He pointed at you, threatening to blast you on your spot. Not even sliding the chance to put out a snarky comment. "I don't know about that Cap. I think we've all gone mad."

"Shut it, Tony." the blondied woman in a black armored and leather suit remarked, eyeing the freaked out Banner. "Now's not the time."

He only gave her a stern look before returning it back to you, although not without muttering something under his breath. You can almost make out the mocking smile he had before seriously staring you down.

That's also when you perfectly noticed the raven haired God at your other side. Just like Stark, he was a few steps away. Your hands were still in the air as you didn't waste a second to slowly shift your eyes to the God who you we're just with a few hours ago.

Technically, it isn't him and also, you're not even certain if that was a few hours ago. TVA has victoriously displaced your sense of time and you have no choice but to set that aside for now.

First and foremost, let's not die in the hands of these worldly — and otherworldly — renowned superhuman Midgardian people.

"That was no sorcery." was all Loki could utter, blaring a suspicious glare at you. At this point, you can say that everyone here is glaring daggers at you with so much suspicion after just witnessing you appear uncannily right in front of their eyes. Loki's trusty daggers points at you with such intensity that you can't help but freeze on your spot entirely. You garner that moving further might just cause him to pounce on you and successfully cut your throat out.

Such a Loki trait. You consciously note. At the same time, it pricks a sense of oddness to you.

"For once, I can agree with you." this time, it was the man in a red cape. His hands projecting a some sort of fiery circular engravings — Or markings, it seems — that you were not familiar with. Although, it did felt familiar. "Who are you and why have you come here?"

Finally asking the right questions, everyone else anticipated your response.

"I'd really thought you'd ask how I did get here but, fine." your attempt at settling everything down with a little humor earned nothing. You only strained a smile. "You can put your guard down now. I doubt I can even inflict damage to any of you when I am outnumbered, don't you think?" You say with a nervous shrug.

"Wait.." Thor started. "You are an Asgardian."

Ah.

"Wait, what now?" a conflicted Banner turned to him with a frown. "Where did that come from?"

"Her clothing." it was Loki. Tilting his head, he slightly squinted at you. You can already feel their movements break from their stance but nonetheless, was still on guard. "But I wouldn't want to jump to conclusions if I were you, brother. A lie or two is easy to miss." he says that in a lowered and slick tone, eyes prying deep in your existence.

"Good preach, God of Lies, but why don't you myth brothers figure something out if she'll massacre us or join the party. Is that good or is that impossible?" Stark commands.

"That's-" Thor tries to say.

"I can do that." Oh no.

Without hesitation, Loki readies to attack you with a knowing smirk. You want to say that you expected that but in terms of fighting physically between you and him, he always precedes. Except when it comes to sorcery.

Yet, his daggers haven't spelt your doom when suddenly, you fell.

You fell and landed in a bright room enclosed with the very bright color of white. Norns, help me. At this point, I'm not even surprised if Midgardian structures could be capable of blinding me. Humans and their taste in design.

Before you could jump to assumptions whether you time-slipped again, you heard the sound of sizzling above you as you turn to look only to see a yellow ring close.

Oh. You thought. Of course. How can I forget that doctor wizard and his parlor tricks? I can do better than that.

But before you could prove it to no one in particular by trying to dematerialize a wall for your way out, which you expected to be unbreakable because, well, this is the Avengers' territory — you felt the familiar twist of your body as you closed your eyes, getting ready for what's to come. You're time-slipping. Again.

When you opened your eyes, you don't know if you should be relieved or not because you were still in the same spot.

I am seriously starting to despise this more than anything. You say in your mind, cranking your head in pain.

As if the universe has heard your impulsive thoughts for wanting to pride yourself as the better sorcerer, one episode of time-slipping has managed to avert your thoughts to a different one. There's really no point in trying to escape when you'll be thrown off eventually to a different timeline thus, relieving you off of this situation. At least you hope you'll have that kind of luck, considering that you're here imprisoned and untrusted by heroes. For the meantime, you painfully have a lot of questions.

The fact that you are time-slipping outside of TVA is making you feel wary and disoriented.

Not just that, because you're not being tossed around through time in one place like before in TVA, but because you're being tossed around in different branches of time. You can't help but overthink, a blooming panic erupts in you. If what you heard from Ouroboros was true, about the possibility of being lost to time, then maybe you can consider that that's what's occurring to you. Adding to that, how can Loki and the others track you when there's a number of branches exceeding spontaneously and you're amongst one of them — inconsistently appearing through one branch after another.

To hell with this time-slipping phenomenon.

Such thoughts have managed to waver your poised will. You don't want this. After everything that's happened, you're now overwhelmed by incomparable fear, enough to cover the pang of grief that you successfully tried to keep a hold off during the dangers you have encountered. And that causes you to resume the fear of losing something again. If before you've lost the right to exist in your own timeline, then now seems like you're losing more than you could think of.

A chance. The chance to only exist without the burden of being a criminal to time.

The Loki you met ensured you that. And you're scared to lose the hope you unconsciously held so close that he had given you.

You're scared that you're bound to be stuck in time, alone and nowhere to belong to.

You're just a displaced speck of entity in the vast timelines of universes, an error meant to be rid of.

Is this truly the ending that you deserve?

Just lost to time. For eternity.

After everything that you've been through, you think of the fact that your Nexus event was a fickle thing in the grand scheme of things. A mere sentiment, and now it's a fault that you apparently cannot undo.

Would you have regret it?

Ah. You think. That's the problem,

I don't.

For the love of Buri, what is happening?

You have already time-slipped thrice in a row now, and you're still where you stood afoot a few minutes ago.

You hitched your breathing as you relished the acquainted feeling of distortion, you exhaled in distraught. Your mind trying to run a million miles per second thinking of an explanation on the same bloody concept of time as well as your timely old friend, time-slipping. Marvelous.

But before you could sit down and relax on the cushions edging on two sides of the opposite walls which levels above your knee, you caught in the corner of your eye the wall you tried to dematerialize earlier; now fading from white to being transparent like glass.

And behind the glass wall stood your captors.

You tried to ground yourself with the wall beside you, but you pushed your body to the side so that you can at least have the decency to look like you aren't struggling so much. Because you definitely aren't.

"Good catch." remarked Stark. "We have so much going on today with Earth being threatened by a goofy alien that's apparently so much more dangerous than we could know — and now, you add more questions and trouble to that just for appearing out of nowhere like a grated spaghetti."

You almost missed the way the blonde woman rolled her eyes at Stark's words but nonetheless, you focus on what he said.

Earth being threatened by an alien.

"Do you mean to say... Thanos?" you ask. Doubtlessly aware of his feats and reputation in your timeline. Their heads perked up at the mention of the said Titan.

"You know of him?" quite surprised at the familiar voice, you turn to look at Thor.

Parting your lips with slight hesitation, you reply. "No. No, I do not. At least, not personally. He is called the Mad Titan, a galactic conqueror. Tis but a.... common knowledge where I come from."

"Which is Asgard, is it not?" Loki tauntingly says.

Oh, well.

He eyes you in victory for having caught your lie and the foolish words you had unintentionally slip. But he continued. "Or perhaps, my brother and I are mistaken to assume that you are a kin of our people. As well as considering that of your knowledge of this Mad Titan, you seem to know more than just that." you slightly stiffened, noting the lofty tone he had, slowly strutting his way forward with his hands tucked behind him. "Keep hiding your secrets but your eventual lies will get you nowhere when I'm here, imposter."

"Brother..."

"No, no, let him. It's great that we have a lie-detector in the team." Stark muses, earning an unamused head shake from Rogers.

Your gaze lingers a tad bit longer than you intended to at the raven-head, deciding whether you should even admit your unruly situation to them and potentially double their troubles a hundredfold by stating that their lives are also in danger from a timeless phenomenon and being at risk for the possible collapse of their existence altogether.

Probably not a good idea.

Moreover, you don't want to let yourself fall in the luxury of pitting yourself with fellow Asgardians and perhaps attain the old life you had when you woefully know that you have no place in any kind of reality no more. Your heart clenches at that.

But how can you possibly deny your origin and the non-sorcery distortion materialization, also called—

Your body aches and twists as you grit your teeth, shutting your eyes and reliving the ripping portion of this damned time-slip. As it ended, your breath wavers as you pant, shoulders crooked at the fleeting sensation it brought. Expecting that maybe you have been transported to another timeline, you peek one eye out.

You see the same faces and surroundings except this time, their reaction contorts to a series of pained and horrified expressions. Even Loki looked uneasy.

You exhale. "Pardon me, that must've been very unsightly." you eventually say.

"That just happened again." Banner gawks.

"Are you alright?" a stern voice asks. You turn to meet the concerned eyes of Rogers. "I assume that doesn't happen normally. Not even for Asgardians." you caught the quick glance he gave at Thor before focusing back on you.

You reply, nodding. "No, no, you're right. This is no common occurrence amongst the people of Asgard. It is simply just.... " you puff your body back up in a poised posture. "No, not simply." you let out a strained chuckle, confliction can be traced on your face. "To be painfully honest and blunt, I am lost through time and I haven't got a clue on what exactly I shall plan to do in these circumstances. Although indeed, I am an Asgardian but, from a different...let's say, reality. So rest assured because I don't plan on harming heroes I've accompanied in battle."

You were ready to receive their doubtful phrases and looks, but the sorcerer who brought you in this cage steps forward. Almost like he disapproved everything you had just mentioned.

"Time-travelling is not something to be tampered with. Unless, you're adept at the arts of time sorcery, and to be able to manipulate it without damaging our reality is rather a big feat for a sorcerer." he explains. This time, he frowns at you. "But no. Whatever's happening to you, it doesn't feel like magic."

You take in his words, holding his unrelenting stare. "You're right..."

You know Doctor Strange and his capabilities as the Sorcerer Supreme, and as you thought of the fact that he also possesses the Time Stone, maybe you can do something with his help.

Even though you know the chances of successfully using magic against a complication from TVA is way below the odds, you'd wager.

He raises a brow but before he could add more, you spoke. "Time-slipping." you pause, scanning his expression, hoping that maybe someone who knows so much about the expertise of time in terms of magic could help you discover your way back to TVA. Though, his face doesn't show any hint of knowing so you pushed further. "I've been repeatedly tossed around multiple branches of time against my will, but not because I time-traveled. For now all I can say is, I am stuck here in your reality and, well... with a distorting body."

"Great. Sure. Magic and sorcerers exist, even Gods, so why the hell would I not believe anything about time-traveling now? Tell me, Doc, is she making any sense to you?" Stark walks towards the said wizard. You slightly frowned at the tone he used. If this is how Tony Stark reacts to someone he doesn't trust just like how a particular individual mentioned to you, then you're glad that the Stark that you know favored you well.

Not that it matters anymore.

"I've never heard anything about that kind of problem. Especially now you do confirm it doesn't root from magic." the Doctor answers.

Stark hefts up his hands, looking around at everyone else, as if showing that his point has just been proven.

But from the corner of your eye, you noticed the way Loki haughtily rolls his eyes with a sigh and you perfectly know what irked him at that moment.

"As if a second-rate sorcerer could know anything more beyond the complexion of sorcery and time."

The only woman other than you sighs in slight frustration. "Oh, no. Someone please stop him."

If you weren't in a tight spot, you could've laughed at her compliant. Although, that earned her a glare from the trickster with crossed arms. For once in a while, it's nice to see Loki act so indifferently.

Strange only gave the God a pointed look before resting his eyes back on you. "Okay. If what you say is true, time-slipping as you would call it and to consider there's no magic tapping into this, what exactly do you plan on doing now?"

There it is. "I need your help."

"Are you shitting me right now?" Stark loops in.

"Even if with just your help, Doctor Strange. Please." you plead, firmly stepping closer to the glass barrier.

"How can you assure you're not just after something from us, specifically from him." Loki tips his head in Strange's direction. You know well that he caught unto your intentions as he spares a quick glance at the necklace of the said wizard.

Cocky snake.

At that, everyone stares at you sharply that if looks could kill, you'd be a dead corpse that has been stabbed with various types of weaponry magnificently forged by dwarves.

"You're not entirely wrong if you think that I'm after the Time Stone but for argument's sake, there is a reason why it is called the Time Stone." you explain, trying not to waver for being the receiving end to their eventual wrath. For a second, you thought you'd gain another yet of Loki's condescending retortions, but you're surprised that he only eyed you down impassively. Observing you.

Banner joins in. "If you admit it and put it like that then, I don't even know if you're lying or not anymore." he sits down on one of the metallic chairs by the semi-circular machinery in the middle of the room. "Even though that last part sounded dumb for an excuse; which is exactly why I'm having second thoughts."

"That's... I appreciate that — I think." you say, slightly frowning. It is dumb. You don't blame him though.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile which disappears immediately. "Yeah, no, it's fine."

Stark looks at him incredulously, as if he truly felt betrayed. "Bruce, what the hell?"

The others quirk confusingly at the exchange before you spoke again. "But to be clear again, that wasn't an excuse. Not for deception, at least."

It actually didn't sit quite well with you that the one who usually loves to deceive is standing idly in silence when you mentioned his expertise.

But you know that calculating gaze of his.

"Fine." you bat an eye at the person who spoke. "But you are to be restrained until we deem you trustworthy. One wrong step and you might just end up somewhere other than a cell."

A weight lifts up from your chest, somehow. You eye Strange in relief, almost a hint of exhaustion engulfs your expression but you blink it away. "I am grate-"

Your body contorts and twists once again.

Next chapter: (Chapter 2)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Ko-fi?

67 notes · View notes

harlowcomehome · 1 year

Text

“Your best friends, best friend.”

A/N: Requested by @hoodharlow! I hope I did your request justice. 🫡

“Hurry up, let’s go” Veronica yelled out.

“Does she take this long for you too?” Veronica asked Jack who was sitting back on the couch.

“Always. I usually lie about the time an event starts, easier that way” he laughed.

“I’m hurrying as much as I can, what’s the rush?” You practically jumped into your dress, you couldn’t find the heels you wanted and Veronica’s unnecessary anxiety was affecting you.

“I also heard that Jackman” you pointed at him.

“Our Uber is three minutes away” Veronica groaned as you quickly grabbed the next best heels you had and put on your earrings.

You looked confused “Jack said he’d drive, why did you Uber?”

Jack was sat back on the couch, watching the two of you go crazy as he had been dressed and ready for the last fifteen minutes. “She said my car is too flashy” he laughed and you playfully rolled your eyes.

“Are you sure Katrina is okay with me coming? I don’t really know her all that well” you asked nervously, not wanting to be embarrassed if you showed up uninvited. Jack sensed your nerves, standing beside you, he zipped your dress up all the way before flashing you a subtle smile.

“Your best friend is famous, you’re definitely invited” she said matter of factly and Jack internally cringed. He still wasn’t used to that kind of thing, but he would be eventually.

You also cringed, but only at Veronicas use of the word “best friend.” She wasn’t wrong, technically you and Jack were only friends but you were hoping that someday you’d be more than that.

“Plus you’re my best friend too, it goes without saying that we are a package deal” Veronica nudged you with her elbow playfully.

She had met Katrina through a mutual friend and truthfully, you two had never really been around each other much. You had heard stories from Veronica, but other than that you really had nothing else to go off of.

The three of you sat in the UberX, you checked your makeup and teeth with your phone camera. You checked your nose for boogers, which made Jack laugh.

“You can never be too careful” you giggled and he nodded in agreement.

“Add that to your pre-show ritual, we are begging” Veronica teased and Jack smacked his lips. The two of them had always been purely platonic which you were grateful for.

The three of you got out of the car and were met by two of your mutual friends immediately. Tati and Audri were friends you had also met through Veronica, but you had actually spent time with them before.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Katrina has been driving us crazy all night. She’s been asking when Jack was coming” your friend Tati whispered.

“Why?” You asked as you felt your face get flush with jealousy.

“Why else?” Audri rolled her eyes “keep your eyes on em’ if you wanna keep him” she whispered.

You were pretty grateful for the fact that your friend group knew the way you felt about Jack, and they knew never to cross any lines with him.

“Jack! Nice of you to join us” Tati teased and gave him a side hug. Jack made sure to say all of his “hellos” before being attached to your side again.

“When you got inside you felt instantly overwhelmed by the amount of people. Veronica looked surprised by it too which made you feel a little more relieved.

“She told me it was just going to be something small” she sighed.

“She’s a liar” Audri laughed thunderously.

You looked over at Jack immediately, “if you want to leave early we can” you reassured him and he nodded with a smile.

“Oh my gosh!” You hear a high pitch voice coming your way, “is that my girl?” The same woman asks.

In little to no time you see Veronica being squeezed half to death by an unfamiliar face you only assumed to be Katrina. If she wasn’t wearing an obnoxious birthday crown you might have assumed otherwise.

“This must be Y/N!” She motions to Veronica to introduce you both.

“Y/N, Katrina, Katrina, Y/N” Veronica smiles and the two of you hug briefly.

“And this handsome man needs zero introduction! How are you, Jack?” She immediately diverts her eyes towards him.

You felt your stomach turn, Katrina was beautiful and there was no denying that. Her personality was a bit much but you weren’t sure that mattered in the grand scheme of things.

“I’m doing good! Happy birthday” Jack smiled and for a moment you watched as his eyes shifted up and down. He was checking her out in front of you, and nothing made you want to disappear more.

“Drinks?” Veronica asked as Katrina directed all of you to the open bar.

The night went on and the conversations were flowing nicely. To your surprise Jack hadn’t paid Katrina much attention. The two of you had spent most of the night having separate conversations from the group, which felt nice.

You hear the intro to “Get Low” play and all of your friends grab one another, running to the designated dance floor.

Jack stood back for a moment nursing both of your drinks. He wasn’t usually one for dancing, especially not in front of other people.

“TO THE WINDOW” the entire dance floor shouts, Jacks eyes only on you for the entire song.

Katrina eventually dragged Jack to the dance floor, watching her shake her ass on his crotch was definitely not something you wanted to see today.

He enjoyed it of course, what twenty- something year old guy wouldn’t welcome it.

Eventually he excused himself to take a call. You couldn’t tell if it was a real call or an excuse.

“So what’s his deal?” Katrina asks you out of breath, not at all stopping herself from shaking ass in his direction as he held his phone up to his face in the distance.

“His deal?” You pause, looking at her in annoyance. You didn’t mean to but you definitely wear your emotions on your face.

Tati, Veronica and Audri were all trying to overhear the conversation, but it was hard to with the loud music.

“I mean is he single?” Katrina smirked, “it doesn’t seem like he’s at all interested in you right?”

What she said hurt but the way she delivered it was worse.

“What the hell” Veronica stepped in and your other friends followed suit.

“Calm down. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just, if a guy like that wants to be more than friends he’d let you know” she shrugged.

“Katrina, did he make it obvious to you?” Veronica snarled.

“I mean his hand never left my hips, and these two have been playing friendly all night” she gestured to you.

“Dude, come on” Tati said in a frustrated tone.

“Why is everyone mad at me? She’s had her chance to make a move, right?” Katrina rolled her eyes, getting annoyed by the group. “Clearly she’s not his type, I mean in comparison, no?”

“Comparison to what exactly?” Audri asked knowing Katrina had about sixty more seconds before her face met her fist.

“She’s right, we’re just friends” you said with tears in your eyes, excusing yourself from the group.

“Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you get to be a bitch” Veronica shook her head as she attempted to follow you.

“And you talk a lot of shit for a bitch in an orange bodycon dress” Tati responded before her and Audri followed Veronica out.

You stood out front waiting for your Uber, you were embarrassed and you felt like Katrina was right. If Jack liked you back then why hadn’t he made a move, you felt stupid for being hopeful even after all this time.

You had zero idea where Jack was at the moment but you didn’t care, you just wanted to go home before something else happened.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Tati asked Jack as your friends frantically searched the party for you.

“No? What’s going on?” He asked noticeably worried, putting his phone in his pocket immediately.

Definitely a fake phone call.

“Katrina and her kind of got into it” Audri blurted out, earning a panicked glare from Tati.

“Katrina? Oh! Katrina” he laughed already seemingly forgetting about her. “Why?” He looked at the two of them, incredibly confused.

“Don’t” Tati whispered, warning Audri not to say it.

“Just go talk to her, if you see her” Tati responded quickly before grabbing Audri and leaving his sight abruptly.

Jack was curious to know why your friends had acted so weird with him, so he text you. When you didn’t answer he went outside, hoping to find you there.

You were sat on the curb waiting for your Uber when you heard someone approaching, begging to whatever higher power could hear your inner thoughts that it wasn’t Jack.

“Why’re you crying?” He asked as he sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

You didn’t say a word, just wiped your tears as you leaned against him. “Did some guy in there hurt your feelings?” He asked innocently.

“Something like that” you sniffled, checking your phone for the status of your ride.

You knew you’d regret it if you didn’t ask, “Are you going to date Katrina?”

“Why would I?” Jack asked defensively, “she’s not exactly my type.”

“What is your type then?” You asked half laughing to mask your blind hopefulness.

“You” he smiled, changing everything in that moment.

#Jack Harlow #Jack Harlow x reader #Jack Harlow imagines #Jack Harlow concepts #Jack Harlow angst #Jack Harlow blurb

241 notes · View notes

moira-mains-go-to-hell · 1 year

Text

A Little Less Conversation…

OuiHaw x AFAB Reader [Ashe x Widowmaker (Amelie Lacroix) x Reader]

Warnings: use of She/Her pronouns, suggestive content, mentions of violence, men being gross, pet names (Sugar, Mon Cuer, Cherie)

A/N: Babes, this is supposed to have a smutty part two, so if you want it, let me know.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt if you two at least act like you want to be here,” you adjusted your earrings and fixed your hair in the mirror. Tonight was the Talon Investors Gala, where you and agents alike would be wooing larger corporations to fund the organization. As the head of technological advancement and board member, you were expected to attend no matter what, but neither of your girlfriends seemed to want to go with you.

“Cherie, you know as soon as I enter the door, I will be swept away by Moira as the ‘pinnacle of her research’,” Amelie strode up next to you , adorned in a red floor length dress with a slit on each side.

“And I don’t even think I’m supposed to be there,” Ashe was sat on the bed of your hotel room, tie and shirt undone as she waited for the two of you.

“Nonsense, Moira has researchers to entertain the whole night with her life force siphoning-thingy and her little bug spray,” you finish up, giving yourself a once over before leaving the bathroom, “ and you are technically on my payroll because you traffic weapons for me to make better. You belong,” you smile and kiss the white haired woman’s cheek.

“But there are gonna be so many people,” Ashe cupped your cheek and pulled you closer.

“And if we stay here,” Amelie made her way behind you, wrapping her hands around your waist and cementing your spot between both women, “we don’t have to worry about anyone getting too close to you, mon cuer.”

“I like the sound of that,” Ashe’s hand on your cheek moved to your chin, her thumb grazing over your bottom lip.

You almost let them win when your phone wrang, the boss himself calling. Both women let go of you with a sigh as you chuckled and moved out of their grasp.

“Hello?… Yes… We are going to be there Akande, don’t fret…Oh? Ok… go get ready, stop worrying about me. Good bye,” you hung up and ran a hand through your hair.

“Since when are you on first name basis with him?” Amelie was now sitting next to Ashe, both of them finally ready to go out.

“Since I pushed Talon ahead of Vishkar and the Russians, which is why I need to go tonight, they are looking to outsource and buy me out of some of my designs,” you grabbed your coat and your gun and made your way to the door, “it would be really great if the women I love where in my corner tonight.”

“We will be Sugar, don’t you worry,” they got up and followed you out the door, “but why are you bringing the fire power?”

“Akande told me we may have uninvited guests, and don’t act like both of you aren’t packing,” you laugh as you tuck it into the top of your dress.

Amelie gave Ashe a knowing look and the cowgirl let out a light chuckle, “We’re packing something alright.”

The comment didn’t register at first, but then a blush grew from the base of your neck to your nose.

“Oh come on Cherie, as if we would pass up an opportunity to let your mind wonder.”

You had gathered yourself and entered the ballroom, looking around to all of the people in front of you. As you walked to your table you waved at associates and team members you worked with, flashing an award winning smile to everyone in your wake.

“You know, you really look like you are in your element, you positive you need us?” Ashe leant down and whispered in your ear, her hands in her coat pockets.

“Yes, because I need a reason to bail out of a conversation if I don’t like it.”

You made your way to your table, a few chairs empty but most had name plates of other board members that would be joining you or are already on the floor.

“Thank you for finally showing your face, I almost thought I’d have to come find you myself,” the Doomfist stood to greet you and shake your hand, “I see you brought Ms. Lacroix and the cowboy with you.”

“Akande, be respectful, she does business with us, she can be here,” you pat his shoulder and place your coat on the back of your chair, “I’m going get a drink and swindle Viskar out of more money than they can comprehend. Ashe, keep our Love Bug away from Moira if she happens to get loose.”

The brunette coughed at the nickname and your boss gave you an amused glance.

“Don’t worry hun, she’s not going anywhere.”

All three of them watched as you shifted effortlessly into your professional persona, entrapping people in conversation and then swiftly moving on after getting what you needed from them.

“You know she’s kind of hot when she does all that sweet talking,” Ashe sat back down after her own journey to the bar, passing one of the drinks she had to the assassin next to her.

Amelie hummed in agreement, taking a sip of her drink, “Confidence looks good on her, her brazenness almost rivals yours.”

“That will never happen, but she’s getting close.”

They both watch you as you talk up an older gentleman at a table across the room. You sat next to him, laughing at him, keeping him entertained, and then he scooted closer. It was a small movement, one that you didn’t seem to notice, but the two pairs of eyes watching, it was obvious.

“He is getting pretty chummy, ain’t he?”

“Indeed, but let’s not intervene just yet,” Amelie took Ashe’s hand into hers as they watched the rest of the interaction.

The man put his hand over yours, you quickly retracted to occupy it with your drink. You glanced around the room and made eye contact with your partners, raising your eyebrows at them before going back.

He was persistent, if not bold. Leaning further into you and putting his arm over the back of your chair. You remained composed but when your posture stiffened, the women across the room where ready to get up at any moment.

You wrapped up the conversation as he wrote on the back of a business card and handed it to you. Heading back to the table, you pulled out a notebook and a tape recorder from your pockets and placed them in front of your boss.

“Here, written and spoken promises, business cards and contact info are book marking each section, I’m out,” you sigh, picking up your jacket, “that last guy was gross.”

“You tolerate a man like that again and I will not hesitate to end him,” Amelie said the threat casually, giving a little shrug, “let us go, we have a room to get to.”

“I’m talked out for the evening. See you at the next board meeting Akande, but I need to leave,” Your girlfriends where just about ready to go when the large man grabbed your hand at the last second.

“You have one more guest to impress, then you may leave,” his voice was low, you all sat back down with different expressions of grievance on your face.

“What creep am I supposed to be meeting with now?”

“That ‘creep’ would be me,” none other than Katya Volskaya made her way over to the table, flanked by two guards.

You quickly swept the recorder and notebook up and put them back in the pockets of your romper.

“I thought you killed her?” You grit through your teeth to Amelie, giving her a confused glare.

“I missed the window of opportunity, and he,” she nodded to Akande, “saw a new opportunity for her, so we never went back.”

You let out a short lived groan before resuming your pageant ready attitude.

“Ms. Volskaya, pleasure to meet you,” you stuck your hand across the table, hers meeting yours as you gesture for her and her goons to sit.

Both of the women beside you watched in as as you commanded the table, laying out all of the plans and ideas she may be interested in and working her to get the best deal possible. Ashe was never a negotiator except for between the gang, and Amelie was just a hired gun, never in the room where it happens.

“… And what if we don’t just call the Russian forces or Overwatch and have your technology without the hassle?” Volskaya payed out the threat like a trump card, making eye contact with both you and your boss. Akande went to move but you put a hand up, stopping him.

Before you said anything you felt Ashe put a hand on your thigh, squeezing it. You looked over at both her and Amelie, Ashe giving you a look of ‘let her have it’, and Amelie wearing a small grin as she nodded back to the Russian in front if you.

“The tech I’m selling you is to protect your country and let cattle die like heros,” you fold your hands together and lean forward, “the tech I’m keeping for myself can burn down the whole cattle farm. By all means, call your special forces… you can tell their families they died because you brought a spoon to a gunfight.”

You stood, looking at Akande and smiling, “Volskaya Industries isn’t interested in working with us, remove them from the investors list-“

“Name your price,” Katya looked up at you, her hands balled on the table. Your smile grew sinister, matching the look in your eyes.

“We will be in touch, but you keep your lines open,” you wave her goodbye and grab your coat once again, your girlfriends following two steps behind as you make your way to the exit.

“Sugar, if I'd have known how hot you are when you do business I’d have made you do all my dirty work,” Ashe undid her tie as soon as you hit the door.

“Well you two are so reluctant to come with me on business trips. You’d see a lot more,” you took your earrings and heels off, moving to help Amelie with her dress.

“How about we see a lot more tonight?” Ashe’s breath felt hot as you where once again sandwiched between the two women, the cowgirl behind you holding your back to her front.

“I wouldn’t mind showing you.”

#overwatch #ashe overwatch #elizabeth caledonia ashe #widowmaker #widowmaker overwatch #ouihaw #ashe x reader overwatch #ashe x reader #ashe x fem reader #widowmaker x reader #amelie lacroix #Amelie lacroix x reader #widowmaker x fem reader #overwatch 2 #doomfist #ouihaw x reader #ouihaw x fem reader

228 notes · View notes

goddesspharo · 4 months

Note

Seems ill-advised, tbqh.

"You don't want to hear the kinds of questions I've got."

#hannix

[Send me the first sentence and a pairing and I'll write the next five.]

"You don't want to hear the kinds of questions I've got."

Natasha rolls her eyes and warns Jake not to make her regret bringing him home for Thanksgiving. She's still not sure that they're quite there yet, but it's not like she can uninvite him now. He had looked so pathetic last week when he told her that "The Seresin Family Hang-sgiving" was canceled this year because his parents needed to use up the tickets to Venice his sister had gifted them two anniversaries ago before December so he was probably going to stick around North Island and hang out at The Hard Deck with all the other lushes who had nowhere else to go. Natasha had been perfectly content to ignore how mopey he looked – after all, wasn't celebrating Thanksgiving akin to getting waterboarded for a dude who tried to stay away from carbs? – but then Bob flashed her a pointed glare like she owed Hangman something just because he'd dragged her to his family's ranch in Austin for The Fourth.

She didn't, of course, because Jake was so Rah Rah Rah about Texas that it wouldn't take much to get an invite to his hometown so he could wax poetic about Longhorns football and fried okra until the cows came home for tipping. But there was the small matter of Jake getting on top of a coffee table before the Summer Seresin Scavenger Hunt began and declaring to his entire extended family that he was "boo'd up" as if the thing that their relationship was missing up until that point was a heavy dose of mortification. Nat still hasn't forgiven Payback for expanding Hangman's musical horizons even though he's probably right that it's better than Jake donning a cowboy hat so he could make a Patsy Cline reference instead. For that alone, Natasha should've let him flounder in California while everyone else went back home, but rather than disappoint Bob and have to hear about it for the next half dozen training sessions, Natasha went against her self-preservation instincts and invited Jake to have turkey with her family in the suburbs of New Jersey.

She knew it was a bad idea the moment she asked and has only doubled down on that impression now when encountering the wild gleam in Jake's eyes as he looks around her childhood bedroom. Natasha's never been happier than at this moment that she took down the extremely embarrassing boy band posters from her walls the first time she came home from college. All that's left now is a cherry-picked altar of her accomplishments. There are honors society certificates on her walls and her diploma from Stanford, medals from swim meets and a gleaming golden soccer ball perched on top of the MVP trophy she got when their team won nationals after the favorites got disqualified on a technicality. Jake takes in the framed pictures spanning Natasha's life and photobooth strips with her friends taken at a mall kiosk when they cut class to go see Step Up. He looks mesmerized as he practically bounces on the balls of his feet while soaking up all these snippets of who she was before he met her.

The quiet gets to be too much so Nat finally relents and says, "You get one question."

Jake looks like Kevin McCallister let loose at Duncan's Toy Chest, unsure of what to do with all this newfound freedom as his eyes trail along from wall to wall before stopping at the picture of Natasha with her date at prom.

"Where's all your debate team stuff?" he finally asks.

Natasha grins. Sucker.

"I wasn't on the debate team."

"Wait a minute. You made it seem—"

"I'm just naturally gifted at arguing with you."

"Flag on play, Trace! I should get another question."

"Should've gone with a sure thing," she says with an unapologetic shrug. "I really thought you'd ask if I still had the outfit from my very brief stint as a cheerleader."

She can feel him grinning when Jake leans in, his breath hot against her ear as he asks with all the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning, "Well, do you?"

Natasha makes a mental note to kill Bob when they get home.

#ask me things #i lied when i said five sentences #population of one on this island of extremely niche interests #top gun #hannix #*#please note that i am making a thinly veiled reference to yellowjackets any time i make a reference to high school soccer

24 notes · View notes

avatarmerida · 1 year

Text

Still having brain rot for beta huntlow so here’s some Willina Grom content. Partially based on a HC from some cute art by @turquoisespace35 love these blorbos in every universe 💛💚

———

“A dance?” William’s ears perked up at the word. “Wh-what kind of dance?”

“Oh it’s just Grom,” said Augustus . “He’s a monster that lives underneath the school. The dance is more of a distraction really.”

“But there’s dancing? Like, proper dancing?” He asked. “And the dress code? Oh, please tell me that there is one!”

“I mean, it’s not technically required but everyone gets pretty dressed up.” He said. “It’s like the social event of the season.”

“Like a ball?” William said excitedly, hoping Augustus would confirm.

“Uh… I guess?”

“Oh, wonderful!” He exclaimed. “I’ve been meaning to throw one myself, but my uncle is less than convinced the idea is worth pursuing. Oh, how I envy you.”

“You can come too, if you want.” Augustus offered.

“Oh, that’s very kind of you Augustus but you’ve made it clear that your duties at the event would occupy you. No, if I’m to go I’d need to be directly asked to be someone’s escort.”

“Ooooh I see,” said Augustus with a mischievous grin. “Did you have anyone special in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know uh does… Paulina have anyone to escort her to the event?” He tried to make it seem as though she hadn’t already been on his mind, but Augustus knew better.

“Hmmm I don’t know, why don’t you ask her?”

“I mean I would, but it’s not my place,” he said. “I don’t attend Hexside therefore have no link to the event and to inquire about whom she intends to attend it with might imply that I-.”

“You wanna go with Paulina.” Augustus stated.

“I… only if she wishes me to,” he said quietly. “But yes, if she were to invite me I would happily accept. But I wouldn’t want to pressure her or make her feel badly if she wanted to go with someone else.”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure if you asked if you could go with her she would totally say yes.”

“Invite myself?” He said with a gasp. “Augustus, such informality is poor form. I should hope Paulina would expect more from me. If she were to invite me I’d want it to be of her own wishes, not out of pity or obligation.”

Augustus sighed. He knew from the way that Paulina talked about William that she definitely saw him as a part of their Grom experience, but he also knew about everything in her way. They both knew William was a good guy and that he wouldn’t be anything but kind about the subject and as much as Paulina trusted him she was still relearning to trust herself. Despite her best efforts, heartbreaking situations seemed to be drawn to Paulina.

“Hey Will, there’s something I think you should know…”

———

Grom night finally arrived and everyone from Hexisde was gathered excitedly in the gym looking their best and having a great time.

Everyone but Paulina.

She shouldn’t be surprised that Boscha sought out the ruin the night for her and how well she had managed to do it. She was embarrassed, to say the least, for the second year in a row. She knew Augustus and the others would be wondering where she was sooner or later, but for now she didn’t want to ruin their fun time or give Boscha the satisfaction of her cruelty spreading.

There was only one person she wanted to see right now. But her feet worked faster than her brain and she found herself in the castle garden before she had an explanation prepared.

“What am I doing here?” she said to herself. “I can’t just show up uninvited, and he might not even be here and even if he was he wouldn’t-.”

“Oh, Paulina, to what do I owe the pleasure?” came William’s voice from seemingly out of nowhere. The soft way he said her name broke her trance as he walked over to her, a book at her side. He must be coming from the library. She went to try and hide her appearance in the shadow of the tree but before she could move back he spoke again. “You… you look stunning.” He said breathlessly, admiring the way the green in her dress complimented her eyes. The dress looked different from what he remembered, but her loveliness only increased the closer he got, her hair was tied up with a ribbon and a vibrant flowers rested behind her ear. William set down his book to properly greet her before remembering why she looked extra captivating. “But wait, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, well I uh, well I just thought,” she struggled to say before the tears caught up with her, and her hands shot up to bury her eyes. “Oh my Titan I’m so sorry,I shouldn’t have just shown up. Y-you must be busy I don’t know why I-.”

“No! No, please don’t think I’d be anything other than happy to see you,” William rushed to say. “I just thought you’d be at the ball.”

“Well, I was but I uh, had a little wardrobe malfunction,” she said with a heartbroken laugh, gesturing to her current state. He could see now the the tattered sleeves and jagged skirt were not a choice.

“I just thought it was a new fashion trend,” he said with a small smile, still finding her to be a vision even despite the abuse the dress had gone through. “Were you the one chosen to face Grom? I thought it was the youngest Blight.”

“It was,” she said taking a deep breath. “But I had my own personal Grom. I ran into Boscha before I even went inside and she wasn’t thrilled that I decided to show up.”

William’s hand formed a fist at his side, the subject of Boscha always lit a fire within him. He wished he had the throne so he could banish the girl into the boiling sea for all she made Paulina endure.

“She did this to you?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Well, most of it,” Paulina confirmed with tears pooling her eyes. “I kinda made it worse when I tried to use my wand to fix it. I think I set a button on fire?”

“Oh my- are you okay? Did she hurt you? Why would she ever-.”

“No, no I’m okay I promise,” she assured, though the unshed tears that lingered behind her askew glasses that suggested otherwise. “I just… didn’t want to go inside like this and have everyone laugh and I didn’t wanna go home and have my dads worry and I just didn’t… wanna be alone right now. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this all on you, I should go before I-.”

“No! No, please stay,” said William. “Let me fetch my sewing supplies! I bet I can repair the rips! And we can cover the tear at the bottom with a flower and I’m sure I can locate a jacket for you to-.”

“No, please don’t! I mean, you’re so sweet but you've done enough already.” Paulina sighed sadly. “I’m just so sorry she ruined the dress you got for me.”

“How did you kn- I mean, what? I-I have neve seen that dress before I don’t even know what-.”

“Augustus ratted you out,” she said with a gentle smile. “But I would’ve figured it out anyway. Such a sweet, grand gesture is just too on brand for you.”

“Well… did you like it? I mean, before Bocha-.

“I loved it,” she said, taking his hands in hers and giving them a gentle squeeze. “I felt like a princess.”

“You don’t need a dress to look like a princess.” He said softly as he looked into her eyes. A blush took over her face as she couldn’t help but be taken back with just how quickly he had composed the sentiment and how utterly sincere it was. She suddenly felt guilty for allowing him to see his generous gift in such disarray. “Paulina I… please don’t be upset but… Augustus told me about what happened last year. How Boscha found out you wanted to ask someone and sabotaged your Gromposal and how cruelly everyone reacted. He said you didn’t even go last year and it… well, it just broke my heart. And then I saw how your eyes lit up when we walked by the shop with the dress in the window and I wanted to make sure you had the perfect Grom to make up for last year but I should’ve known a dress wouldn’t fix everything.”

“Well it was still the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me,” assured Paulina. “I just wish you could’ve seen it before it got ruined.”

He had to admit, he did too. His throat felt tight at the thought of her in the emerald vision she was meant to be in from the beginning. He wished he could’ve done more to save her evening, and he could still be her knight in shining armor now.

“Close your eyes,” he said and Paulina obliged without hesitation. She felt him place something on her head, she reached up and felt the cold metal. It was his crown. When she opened her eyes, she saw William had vanished but her appearance had been restored to how she looked prior to her run in with Bocha.

“What?” She said, hardly able to believe it as she ran to the garden’s fountain to observe her reflection in the water. It was true. The crown slid slightly off her head and when it did, a tear returned to her dress. Paulina understood. “William, is there a concealment stone in your crown?”

“Yes,” his voice confirmed from a location Paulina could not pinpoint.

“Why?”

“Um… no reason,” he said. “Just to ensure that I always look my best.”

“Are you invisible without it?” She laughed, scanning the area for where he could be hiding wanting to thank him properly.

“No, nothing like that,” he assured. “I just… don’t want you to see me without it. I’m not… my best.”

“Well, considering the way I came to see you tonight, I have no room to judge,” she chuckled. “But I promise I would never. Besides, it doesn’t matter to me what you look like, I like you no matter what.”

Willam did believe her, he knew Paulina was genuine and smart and kind and would not care about the gap in his teeth or the unruly nature of his hair or the other tiny imperfections that Belos had deemed necessary to conceal. But he had never shown his true self to anyone else and it was not a step that could be taken so casually.

Paulina could sense his hesitance in the silence and did not pressure why, that it was his business. But she didn’t want him to feel like he had to hide from her. She carefully removed her glasses and placed them in her pocket. As she placed them inside, she removed something to make room and held it behind her back.

“There,” she said. “Now I can’t see anything. Promise.”

He peeked his head from behind the tree where he had been hiding. “Really?”

“Really.” She said, seeing his blurry figure in the distance. “Test me.”

“Okay,” he said, holding up his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

She squinted. “I have no idea.”

William laughed, his heart skipping a beat at the way she scrunched her nose attempting to see. “Fair enough,” he said, walking over to her. “I can fetch a mask from inside and walk you back to the dance.”

“Would you wanna maybe… stay?”

“You mean stand guard? In case Boscha tries something else?”

“No I mean stay, like… uh, here.” Paulina said nervously, extending her arms to him. “I made this. I thought it would look nice on you.”

He saw she was holding a bright red flower, its petals silky and long. Even with his limited knowledge of floriograhphy, he knew this flower was special. He could tell she had grown it herself.

“It… matches yours,” he said breathlessly, his eyes darting to the vision of scarlet tucked safely in her hair as he took the flower from her. It was the one thing Boscha hadn’t managed to ruin.

“Oh yeah,” she smiled. “I guess it does. Well, usually when you go to Grom with someone, you wear something that matches. And I uh… thought if you wanted to, we could…”

His eyes darted to his flower back to hers and then to the matching red dusting her checks. The dots all connected and his eyes widened as he dared to ask:

“Are you… asking me to Grom?”

“Yes?” She squeaked, her eyes locked on the ground as her hands fiddled with the belt of her dress. “I know it’s last minute, but please don’t think it’s an afterthought or because of the dress it’s just that… I just didn’t think to ask you because, well I didn’t think to ask anyone. But… I wanted to and I would’ve if I…”

His face softened. “And I would’ve accepted.” William whispered. “I mean, I do accept. That is, if you still wish for me to-.”

“I do,” she said quickly. “You’re… sure it’s not beneath you? I mean, I’m sure you’ve been to way fancier events and I mean it’s just some silly-.”

“I would be honored to go anywhere with you,” William eagerly assured her, taking her hands in his. He could not get over how truly beautiful she looked. “Oh dear, it’s just that you look so… enchanting and I’m dreadfully underdressed. I’ve just finished my training and I’ve just come from the stables and now I-.”

“Well if you ask me, you could never look anything but princely.” Paulina said sweetly.

“Thank you,” he said with a blush. He was used to Paulina being kind but something about her sudden boldness flustered him. He was grateful he could not see her as he knew he could not conceal his blush.

“Besides, no one will care what you’re wearing because they’ll be distracted by your sick moves.”

“Oh, I assure you I’m not ill.”

“No,” laughed Paulina. “I’m talking about your dancing.”

“Oh.” He said, not fully understanding but comprehending enough to know Paulina was suggesting that others would find him impressive. But the only person he cared about impressing was not in that gym. He took a grand step back and extended his hand to her as he bowed. “Well then, may I have this dance?”

Paulina giggled. “I mean, yes but I was thinking we would go back to the school and dance. There’s not even any music playing out here.” She put her hand in his and upon the contact he gently pulled her to him, putting his other hand on the small of her back to hold her close. Paulina’s free hand instinctively went to his shoulder as she tried to hide how fast her heart was beating.

“Well then I shall have to tell a joke as your laughter is a symphony all its own.” He said casually and Paulina felt as though she might faint. How did he think of that so quickly? Why did it make her legs feel like jelly? Was her face as red as it felt?

“Oh, uh okay I mean if you want…” she trailed off quietly, suddenly overly aware of his gaze. She giggled again and William smiled as though she had just played his favorite song. He took the opportunity to spin her, using the momentum to show off his ability as a lead, spinning her out and then back into his arms. He begins to walk and Paulina was happily along for the ride as William led them around the garden, holding her close and counting the steps under his breath to help her keep time.

Paulina looked down at their reflection in the pond as they passed by. Even blurry it was utterly picturesque, the way the stars shimmered against the shine of his crown, the way her vibrant green dress stood out in the collection of blues the evening sky brought, if she could only see the dreamy way Willam looked at her while her attention was elsewhere.

“Wow I didn’t know you were such a great dancer,” Paulina breathed as he spun him into him again, and then eased them into a slow dance to cool down from all the spinning.

“Isn’t that why you wanted to ask me? Because you knew I was a good dancer?” William said as he pulled her in again, but this time he held her close awhile longer. Before he returned his hand to her waist, he brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. The moon was back behind him, dusting his shoulder in a gentle pale light that made Paulina feel as though she had fallen into a painting. The garden, the moonlight, and him all seemed too good to be true.

“Well it’s… one reason.” She said quietly, moving her hand up to cup the side of his face. She remembered how when they first met, he had kissed her hand. She remembered the way her heart skipped at the softness of his lips on her knuckle. Her hand beside his face returned the memory to her mind and made her think about-

“I’m afraid it’s getting late,” said Willam gently, interrupting her train of thought. “I’m not certain we’d make it back in time.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said, adjusting her grip on his neck. “I’m having a great time right here.”

“So, does your school host many events like Grom?”

“Um, well Grom is pretty unique,” said Paulina. “I mean, they have other events but thankfully they’re not as high stakes as Grom.”

“Any other ones that involve dancing?” William inquired. “Because I’d hate to think that getting to dance with you only occurs once a year.”

“Well then, we’d better make it count,” she said with a tiny smile. “Just in case.” She knew there’d be plenty of chances if she had anything to say about it, but she wanted to prolong this one as long as she could.He seemed to share the thought as he twirled her around the garden once more.

He was so close now that Paulina could see him clearly even without her glasses. He had freckles, that was the first thing Paulina noticed, dashed across his nose and cheeks like a constellation. She couldn’t understand why he would ever hide them, and she imagined how they would rise and ripple when he smiled wide. When he spoke, she could see the gap in his teeth and with all these things in place she wanted so desperately to see him smile wide. The true him was just as handsome as the William she had met, just with more little details. And his eyes were brown, a deep amber color with flakes of gold that reminded Paulina of a rusted gate that protected her tiny garden in her yard. They were warm and deep and big and… so close.

She knew he had wanted her not to, but she couldn’t help but get lost in his eyes. He didn’t seem to mind as he was equally engrossed in hers. At some point they had stopped moving, and were standing among the rose bushes holding onto each other like something out of a romantic dream. Why, if Paulina didn’t know any better she would think that-.

“Paulina, could I… would it be okay if I.. uh, may I…” His eyes darted between hers and her lips as though he was caught in a strange loop. Paulina’s mouth suddenly felt dry and she couldn’t manage a response the same way he couldn’t manage the question. But while their words failed them, something else seemed to help bring them closer together. Something buzzing in Paulina’s chest like a swarm of fire bees told her to tilt her head to the side and relax her hold on William’s neck. The same soundless thing swirling behind William’s armor like a sinkhole told him to hold her closer and close his eyes.

As his hand cupped her cheek, she had no doubt that he intended to kiss her. And she had no doubt that she intended to let him. As the space between them grew smaller, Paulina rose to her tip toes and nearly out of her shoes, eagerly hoping to make it disappear completely. The world felt like it was spinning around them.

Then it actually was.

“Woah!” they exclaimed, suddenly finding themselves creating a splash as they backed into the pond and landed in the water, losing their balance as they became blind to everything else around them.

“Oh my Titan, are you okay?” coughed William, wiping his soaked bangs from his face.

“I’m fine!” she said, her hair escaping its curls as she managed to stand up and extend her hand to him. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing damaged but my pride,” he said as he took it and allowed her to help him up. “I guess I uh… got a little distracted.”

“Me too,” she blushed.

“Are your glasses okay?” He asked frantically, remembering they were in her pocket. She pulled them out to check and was relieved to see they were as she slipped them back on.

With his crown still floating in the water, Paulina saw his true face in clarity and the warm buzzing returned to her chest. “Woah.”

“Oh!” He said timidly when he realized the truth of his current state. “I’m sorry, I look-.”

“You could never look anything but princely,” she assured.

“Heh,” he chuckled nervously. “Thank you, I thought yo- oh no! Oh no, oh no!” He said suddenly, turning his attention to the water as he began splashing and searching. “Oh I hope the water doesn’t ruin it!”

“Oh right,” she said, remembering his crown was in the water. “Oh no, I hope it’s not-.”

“Found it!” He exclaimed, holding his recovered treasure over his head. But he did not hold his crown. Instead, he held the flower she had given him. The petals were slightly wilted but otherwise the water had not damaged the plant. William held it delicately as though it was porcelain and Paulina wanted to reach out and hold him the exact same way.

“Maybe next year, we can wear matching water lilies to Grom,” she said with a smile, kneeling the the water beside him, aware but unbothered by the cold. “That way we’ll be prepared if things end up the same way.”

“Well, hopefully they won’t,” he said, trying not to think about what not ending up in the water meant. He tried to maintain his composure at the implication that she was also asking him to Grom a year in advance. “Hopefully next year we’ll actually make it to the dance and you won’t have to spend the evening in a dress that’s torn and wet.”

“Well….” She said as she brought his hand to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckle just as he had done when they first met. “It’ll be worth it if I get to dance with a handsome prince again.”

He smiled.

“Well, I’ll never say no to a dance with fair princess.”

His freckles rise and rippled just as she imagined they would. The moment might have passed for a fairy tale first kiss, but she felt confident it would return soon and would certainly not be an event that happened only once a year.

#huntlow #willina #winter toh #Willow park #Hunter toh #Paulina toh #William toh #toh #the owl house #pauliam #huntlow fanfiction #my fanfic

128 notes · View notes

weepingfromacedartree · 5 months

Text

Ten Milestones: Living Together

Hi friends! New chapter up for anyone interested

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

Living Together

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

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

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

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

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

At her words, Colin lifts one confused brow.

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

Why isn’t he —

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

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

“That was basically a sleepover.”

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

Three Years Earlier: March 11th, 2020

Relationship Status: Cohabitants

꙳

Day 0

“When does your flight leave, dear?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Good.”

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

“Mum, don’t worr—”

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

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

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

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

“You make parenthood sound so delightf—”

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, but is this seat taken?”

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

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

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

“How was your flight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

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

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

Must be the wine.

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

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

“Colin?”

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, they’re home.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pen.”

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

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

“I —”

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

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why —”

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

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

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

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

“Sit in silence, then?”

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

“What are you —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugs. “Nothing, I suppose.”

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

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

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

“I know, but…”

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

After a few seconds mulling over his words…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t remember telling you that.”

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

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

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

“I —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footsteps.

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

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

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

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

“Is there a lot on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

“What was keeping you up tonight?”

“Oh. You know…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When do you manage to sleep, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 7

“Go fish.”

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

She laughs into her remaining two cards.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Scrabble?”

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

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

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

“Something wrong?” he asks her.

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

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

“Now? As in… The end of the world?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I —”

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

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

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

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

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

“Your funeral, Bridgerton.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 9

“What are you watching?”

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

“You don’t know what movie this is?”

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

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

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

“Should I?”

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

“Outdated.”

“Outdated?”

“Yes. And perhaps a bit… sexist.”

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

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

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

“Why can’t women and men be friends?”

“Well, obviously they —”

“According to the movie, I meant.”

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

It’s not exactly irrelevant in this friendship.

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

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

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 10

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

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

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

…

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

Or Penelope’s editor.

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

Or her mum.

“It’s fine. No, I —”

…

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you want to be a burden, Penelope?

“Pen?”

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

“Is something wrong?”

Yes.

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He barks out a laugh.

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

“That you know of.”

“Regardless… Can you really deny my claim?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you want to be a burden, Penelope?

No. Of course she doesn’t.

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

“You wouldn’t be.”

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

“You could never. Not with me.”

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 17

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

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

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

“What are you working on?”

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

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

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

“That’s a shame.”

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

Colin scoffs. Literally.

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

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

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

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

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

Colin considers her words for a few seconds.

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 19

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

“Are you busy with something?”

“Too busy for you? Never.”

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

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

“Nothing. Just… bored.”

Colin’s smile turns to a flat out smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colin begins to chuckle.

“Oh, right.”

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

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

He frowns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not! I —”

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

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

“I know, Pen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She understands.

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

He takes a breath.

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

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

“Is that strange?”

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

“No. Of course not.”

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

Penelope literally gasps. She can’t stop herself.

“Colin —”

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

“No, I — That’s not —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Penelope smiles at this. Colin laughs.

“Sounds strange to say that out loud.”

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 21

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

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

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

“Have you ever done anything like this?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?” she teases.

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

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

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

“Not that I’m not enjoying —”

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

“What — what are you doing?”

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

“I —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Penelope nods.

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

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

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

Penelope furrows her brow, considering his words.

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

“There’s a sequel?!”

Penelope cannot help but giggle.

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

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

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

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

“Pen!”

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 24

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.”

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

“Something on your mind?”

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

(It doesn’t.)

“Pen, are you o—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After one last moment of contemplation…

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

What the fuck?

“Pen —”

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

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

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

Penelope shakes her head.

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

“Pen, that’s —”

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

She laughs. Again.

“Crazy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 25

The last two days had been good.

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

The last two days had been good.

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

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

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

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

Home.

Mum’s place.

A few days.

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

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

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

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

(None.)

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

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

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

An inaudible, tragic gasp escapes her lips.

“Col—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

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

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

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

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

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

He takes a breath.

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

Another breath.

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

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

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

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

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

“So, uh… When would you be leaving?”

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

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

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

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

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

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 27

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

6:16 AM.

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

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

She smiles.

“Good morning.”

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

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” she mumbles into his sweatshirt.

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

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

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

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

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

“It —”

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

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

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

“I like the way you think, Featherington.”

With that, Colin picks up his phone again.

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

16 notes · View notes