#( i have ten hours shifts six days a week and i have too much time to just spiral )

[clochanamarc]

a bit of a negative rant below the cut:

ngl i'm highkey tempted to just do a hiatus until this job is finished, but in the same breath, idk when this job will be finished, yk? we might be done by june 12, we might be done by the end of this week, we might be done at the end of june, like nobody knows a thing. and i'm reading and writing and stuff but like. mm. idk. i think i'm finding it a lot tougher this time than i usually do. i might buy the lads some biscuits tomorrow.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Spring challenge.

Sprung

Prompt: Spring | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Struggling to Make Ends Meet, Light Angst, Sacrifice, Love, Making a Life Together

"Steve, please," Eddie says, and Steve stills.

"I thought you were asleep?" Steve whispers in the dark, and Eddie's not sure why Steve's trying to be quiet at this point. They're both awake now. Steve's made sure of that.

"I was," Eddie huffs out, annoyed, because he had been. But Steve's constant flopping around has ruined that. Steve's become the world's shittest sleeper lately, and that's not exactly ideal in a bed partner.

"Sorry," Steve says, stilling, "I'll try to stop moving around."

Eddie just mutters something that he hopes passes as a thanks, and rolls back over. He has to get up at six, and he fucking needs his four hours. That's not too much to ask for, goddamnit. 

Steve's still for a few minutes, but then rolls over in his sleep, again, and the whole bed shifts and shakes. Again. Eddie's had enough, and snags his pillow off the bed, padding down the hallway to crash on the couch. He's exhausted. He can't do this tonight. He can't.

He still wakes up tired, because it was too cold in the living room. Their shitty radiators either don't work, or boil you. No middle ground. Fucking shithole. But it's the best they can do for now, since they're barely keeping their heads above water, as is. Working just to live. It's been hard. Harder than Eddie expected, and he grew up with fucking hard. 

He'd hoped they'd be past that now, hoped he'd finally catch a goddamn break.

Of course not.

It's the Munson curse. 

And now Eddie's in a bad mood, even as Steve's pouring coffee into Wayne's old thermos for him, packing Eddie's metal lunchbox, to keep him going on the jobsite all day. 

"Thanks," Eddie says, taking it, and Steve just nods silently, clearly aware Eddie's in a mood this morning.

Eddie worries they're circling the drain, from circumstances alone. It's not a love problem, it's a life problem, and that makes it worse.

And before long, Eddie realizes he broke the seal, having introduced a new wedge between them. Now that the couch is in play, they aren't even sleeping in the same bed most nights anymore. Steve will go, or he will, and now they're sleeping apart more nights a week than they sleep together. Maybe they're getting more rest, but they're also growing even further apart. 

Today, Eddie's coffee and lunch are on the counter, but Steve's already in the shower, and their ten minutes together in the morning are gone.

Just like that.

Eddie grabs his work boots from the closet, flopping down on Steve's side of the bed to put them on, and he's suddenly assaulted, poked right in the ass by whatever Steve's left laying on the mattress. 

Standing up, he's sliding his hand over the bed in the dark to see what the fuck he sat on. Nothing. He yanks the sheets back, and there's still nothing, so he strips it further.

It's a spring. 

And it's threatening to fully poke through, probably right where Steve's back rests. Goddammit. No wonder Steve can't fucking hold still at night. He's being tortured, Eddie thinks, as he presses his hand against the spring, feeling it bite into his hand. 

A rogue mattress spring.

That's what's divided them, broke them down. 

Eddie sits back down, lets the spring dig into his ass, and holds his head in hands. He's not gonna cry. He doesn't have time. He has to go to work. But goddamn this. 

He's still sitting there when Steve comes in and is rifling through the closet, "You okay?"

"No," Eddie says.

Steve walks over and puts the back of his hand on Eddie's forehead and Eddie laughs, wetly. 

"You don't feel hot," Steve declares. 

"No, I don't," Eddie mutters, because damn, he fucking doesn't feel hot at all. He feels broken down and worn out. 

He reaches up and catches Steve's hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing it. 

"I'm sorry about the mattress. I didn't know," Eddie says, looking up at him.

"It's okay, I'm used to it," Steve says, and he rubs his fingers against the top of Eddie's head.

"You shouldn't have to be," Eddie says, dejected. 

Steve Harrington chose him, loves him, and Eddie can't even give him a bed to sleep on that isn't trying to pierce his spleen every night.

They can't afford a new one, not right now, and Eddie hates that he can't fix this. 

"We'll flip it," Eddie offers.

"Then it'll have the crater on your side again," Steve says with a laugh. And yeah, Eddie'd forgotten they flipped it last year, after his side started breaking down. Sucking him inward, like a gate into the Upside Down.

That doesn't matter.

"Well, that's gotta be better than this," Eddie admits, bouncing a little. Anything would be better than this torture device.

Steve kneels between Eddie's open thighs, "It's okay, Eddie."

It's not. 

"I'm sorry I was being a jerk. I didn't know," Eddie says.

"I know you didn't," Steve answers, "I didn't want you to worry."

Eddie brushes Steve's hair off his forehead, "I'm still sorry. I love you. You know that, right?"

Steve grins, and it's blinding, "Always. Work now, worry about the mattress later."

Eddie nods, smiles, and when Steve moves from between his knees, Eddie leans over and laces up his boots. Ready to start another day.

That evening, when Eddie pulls into the driveway, Wayne's truck is parked behind Steve's car. Eddie hadn't realized Wayne was coming, and grins. This day just got way better.

Eddie plows into the house, and finds Steve in the bedroom, a pair of needle nose pliers dug into a small hole they've cut in the mattress, trying to bend the spring back into its original position. Wayne's standing there, talking Steve through the temporary fix, until they can afford something better.

It's gonna be okay, Eddie realizes. They're just a little bent out of shape right now. A little sprung. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Twenty-One

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : R - back to their smutty selves

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Nothing massive, just some smutty behaviour in public and a brief visit to Billy's mother in the care home. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~4.7k

A/N : After last week, we're back to more slightly fun times with reader and Billy. This is set around a couple of weeks after the last part!

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | CHAPTER NINETEEN | CHAPTER TWENTY

Chapter Twenty-One

It wasn’t easy. Nothing about going back to Billy after everything that had happened was easy, and you both seemed to understand that something had shifted in your relationship. There were no more lies between you, no more walls to hide behind. When you’d told him the truth about Scott, you’d let him see a part of yourself that only one other person knew, and when Billy told you about Frank, about how he’d always traded his brother for a lavish lifestyle, he’d let you see how flawed he really was.

The honeymoon period of your relationship was over and, now, you were privy to the darkest parts of each other.

Only a year ago, that level of intimacy with another person would have terrified you, but now, knowing that he loved you despite your mistakes, made you feel closer to him than ever. And, in turn, knowing more about the things that hurt him, the things that made him hate and second guess himself, made you feel like you could actually support him when he needed you, instead of pretending like everything in his life was perfect.

The conversation about you moving in came up again and, of course, you said yes. Karen came through with the offer of a job with The Bulletin. And, suddenly, you felt like you had purpose again, like you were actually living your life instead of just existing. Karen even wanted to take you on a girls weekend to Mexico to celebrate.

But the new frankness in your relationship did cause a few little bumps, but they were things that you knew couldn’t be rushed; like Billy’s panic attacks. He still wouldn’t talk about them though, thankfully, he hadn’t had any that you knew of since your photography show.

And, on the topic of the show - well, let's just say you and Billy had words a couple of days after the show when almost half the photos that had been sold turned up at the penthouse. But, as much as you might have wanted to be annoyed about it, when he told you that he’d bought them so that he’d always have something to remember you by, you knew you couldn’t stay mad. And you had to admit that you’d never really been comfortable with the thought of anyone else owning that photo of him.

Little by little, he opened himself up to you, but never more so than he agreed to let you meet his mother. Though agreed might have been too strong of a word for it.

“I’m going to be late to Karen’s party tomorrow,” he told you as you sat down to dinner together.

“That’s okay, I can wait for you,” you shrugged, assuming that work would be keeping him late. 

“No, it’s fine, you should just go ahead. I don’t know how long I’m going to be.”

“I’m sure Anvil won’t go bankrupt if you decide to finish an hour early on a friday,” you joked.

“It’s not a work thing,” he confessed, awkwardly dropping his gaze for a moment. You didn’t ask, you just gave him a moment, letting him decide if he wanted to tell you. And he did. “I go to see my mom on the last friday of every month, just to make sure everything’s -”

He trailed off into a sigh before offering you something of a shrug. That one little gesture told you everything; he wasn’t going because he wanted to, he was going out of some sense of obligation.

“I’ll go with you,” you told him the words coming out before you could even stop to really think about it.

“No, you’d just be waiting in the car, you might as well just -”

“No, I mean, I want to meet your mom.”

“What?” It was hard to tell if he was more shocked or confused.

It took you a moment to find the words to explain it to him. “For better or worse, she’s your family Billy and I want to get to know every part of you.”

Billy hadn’t been happy exactly, but he did relent and give in to you, and the next day, after work, the pair of you drove to the little home where his mother lived.

First impressions were not great, and you could understand why the PI had had such a low opinion of where Billy was choosing to keep his mother. A part of you did feel bad as he led you through the dingy, sterile corridors, the sounds of other residents echoing all around you.

You gripped Billy’s hand a little tighter and, when he gave you a concerned look, you explained to him that it reminded you of a hospital and that you hated hospitals.

A couple of the nurses offered muttered hellos as you and Billy passed them before stopping at a door labelled Carla Russo. He looked at you for a second before taking a breath and opening the door.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but what you found on the other side of that door certainly wasn’t it. Over the months you’d known about Billy’s abandonment, you’d built up this picture of a malevolent, uncaring and selfish woman. You’d pictured her as a monster, but the bedridden woman in front of you was the opposite of what you’d imagined. You felt almost bad for her, seeing what years of substance abuse had done to her.

Billy introduced you but you barely heard it, barely noticed much of anything until he let go of your hand and made his way around her bed to softly kiss her forehead. His mother didn’t react, but your attention was more concerned with Billy; with the stiff way he carried himself and the way he seemed to be forcing back a frown. 

He spoke with his mother for a few minutes, as if she’d asked to hear about his day and how his work was going, while you took a seat. You half-listened, just watching Billy and trying to imagine a happy scene, one where his mother acknowledged him and smiled at his achievements, rather than staring vacantly at the ceiling.

When his attention finally returned to you, it was to tell you that he needed to go speak with her doctor, asking you if you’d be alright waiting there on your own or if you wanted to go wait in the car.  You told him you’d stay, that you’d wait with his mother.

The minutes ticked by and you remained seated and silent, watching the figure on the bed as she just laid there, until something compelled you to stand, to move closer. 

You looked down at her with all the sympathy you could muster, seeing a woman who should have still had so much of her life in front of her. As much as you wanted to hate her, all you really felt was pity, but not because of the state that she was in.

“You should know that your son’s a good man,” you told her, even though she gave no indication that she was listening or even realised that you were there, “he’s kind and funny,  and so full of love. And he’s all of those things in spite of you. I don’t know how hard it was for you to leave him like that, but I pity you - not because you’re like this but because you gave up your chance to know him like I do. You gave up the chance to know what it’s like to be loved by him.”

If she could hear or understand what you were saying, she didn’t show it, but you weren’t quite done.

“He’s been through so much on his own, but he’s not alone anymore; he’s got me now, and I’m never going to abandon him like you did. You didn’t love or protect your son when he needed you most, but I’m never going to give up on him. I’m going to love him the way that he deserves to be loved.” The words tumbled from your lips and, somehow, you felt better for having said them, even if Carla Russo showed no signs of understanding you.

A moment later, Billy was back, telling you that he was ready to leave. You both gave his mother a terse goodbye before Billy took you by the hand and started leading you away. He didn’t say anything, as you stepped outside and started down the street towards the car. For a time you didn’t even think anything of how tightly he was holding your hand - you just assumed that he was feeling a little vulnerable after everything you’d just witnessed.

That is, until he pulled you off the sidewalk and into an alleyway.

Before you could ask what he was doing, Billy was kissing you, pressing you back against a wall with a familiar urgency. And, once you felt his erection pressed against you, any questions you might have had about what he was doing were rendered moot; he needed something from you and couldn’t even wait until you were back at the car to get it.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you, one hand pulling at the fastenings of his pants while the other held you securely until you thought to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. The kiss broke as one hand slipped beneath your dress to pull your panties aside and the other pressed two fingers between your lips.

“Wet them,” He instructed, already sounding breathless.

You did as he asked without question, licking and sucking his fingers, lathering them with saliva. Once they were coated, he slipped the fingers between your thighs and used them to prime your entrance. While he did that, he took a moment to spit on his own hand before fisting his cock, trying to lubricate it. 

His fingers pulled out of you, and you cried against his lips as his hips slammed into yours, filling you with every hard inch of him in one rough thrust. Despite his best efforts, you still weren’t wet enough, still weren’t ready for him, but you knew that this was more about Billy and what he needed than anything else. And, as he started to fuck you, your body quickly caught up, slickening around his cock and aiding his movements.

You fisted his hair, holding on for dear life and trying to ignore the scrape of brickwork against your lower back as Billy fucked you, taking everything that he needed from you. The quick and rough jerks of his hips told you that he wouldn’t last long, but you knew you wouldn’t either at this pace. And, honestly, the thought of doing this outside, in some filthy alleyway where anyone might stumble across you, thrilled you more than you ever thought it would.

He grunted against your lips and you did your best to swallow down every sound he made, even as his cock started to pulse inside you and you felt him start to come. You didn’t hesitate before reaching between your bodies and starting to rub your swollen clit while he emptied himself inside you. It only took a few moments more for you to find your own sweet release, your body trembling, your walls squeezing around him, before you both finally stilled.

He stayed inside you, his eyes finding yours, and you could tell his mind was racing, though you weren’t sure why. Your grip on his hair loosened and you slowly started to run your fingers through his locks, trying to set it to rights.

“Did you mean it?” He asked quietly and, for a moment, you weren’t sure what he meant. “What you said to her - did you mean it?”

“You heard that?”

“Every word.”

“Of course I meant it,” you told him as your lips pulled into a smile. “You’re mine, Billy. And I’m yours.”

“Forever,” he added before leaning in to kiss you again.

But the sounds of people on the street had him quickly pulling out and putting you down. You let out a groan at the feeling of emptiness and grimaced at the feeling of his cum starting to trickle down your thighs. Billy offered you his handkerchief and you did your best to clean yourself up while he did up his pants and kept a lookout. 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to sit through this whole birthday dinner thing knowing you’re full of my cum,” he muttered, in a half-joking and half-serious tone that caused your cheeks to heat. 

“Then you should have finished in my mouth instead,” you answered back quietly and the look Billy shot you had you almost bracing yourself to go again. For a few. Long seconds you held his gaze until he finally relented and let out a laugh.

“Maybe I’ll find us another alley once we’re done with dinner.” He smirked, holding out his hand to you.

“Is that a threat, or a promise?” You asked, grabbing his hand and holding tight as you started walking back to the Wraith.

It felt like his mood had lifted and he seemed more relaxed than he had when you’d first arrived to visit his mother. And you were glad, you were happy that you’d gone with him, and that he’d heard every word you’d said to Carla Russo. More than that, you were glad that he’d believed it.

When you finally made it to the restaurant, half an hour later than planned, Karen was first to stand to greet you both. And, as expected, you were the last ones there. Everyone else was already seated, each with a drink and the complimentary breadsticks were long gone. While she came to greet you, Billy did the rounds to greet his friends. 

“Glad to see you finally managed to pull yourself out of Billy’s bed,” she smirked, and your cheeks immediately started to warm.

“That’s not - we weren’t -” you tried to argue.

“Please,” Karen laughed, “you look like you’ve just had your brains fucked out.”

Your hands quickly moved, nervously trying to smooth down your dress and hair, which just made Karen laugh more.

“I don’t mean like that, I mean -” she paused for a moment to look at you and think of the perfect word, “- it’s like you’ve got a glow or something.”

Your eyes went wide at the connotations of that word. “Karen, glow is really not a word I want to hear.”

“Why not? You’re using protection, aren’t you?” She asked and your cheeks continued to get warmer.

“I’m on birth control, but we...” you took an awkward breath and shook your head. “Look, it doesn’t matter, it’s not... that. We just - I dunno, we got a little bit closer today. Billy trusted me with something important and one thing kinda just led to another...” 

“Uh-huh,” she kept smirking. “So things have been good since you decided to give it another go?” You nodded and Karen threw a glance in Billy’s direction. “Well, whatever it is you two have been up to, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.”

Your gaze followed her and, a moment after you started looking, Billy was staring right back at you, a disarming smile on his lips. Karen uttered something about finally being able to order and shooed you in the direction of Billy and the two empty seats that had been saved for you both at the end of the table. And, honestly, you were glad to get away from her.

“You alright?” Billy asked, seeming to notice your embarrassment as you took your seat at his side.

“I’m fine, Karen was just being Karen,” you told him and Billy nodded, even though he had no idea what you meant.

Food was ordered and you enjoyed sitting back and watching Billy interact with his friends, happy that he seemed to be so happy. But his attention always returned to you eventually. By the time you’d all finished eating, everyone had had more than enough to drink to start getting a little louder, joking and laughing with each other.

Billy leaned towards you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before whispering in your ear. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, thinking back to the first time he’d uttered those words; the party, the bathroom, the way he’d kissed you, and the way he’d made you come for the first time. You bit your lip for a moment, earning a grin from him as he pulled back a fraction. Your eyes flitted down the table, noticing how everyone else seemed absorbed in whatever story Curtis was telling. Billy’s eyes didn’t stray from you.

His hand found your bare knee, causing you to inhale sharply - and that just made Billy grin more. His fingers moved slowly, ghosting up your thigh and taking the fabric of your dress with them while your legs instinctively started to part for him. You knew you were playing with fire and that this couldn’t go much further, but that didn’t stop you from shifting forward in your seat and making sure the table cloth hid what you were doing.

The further up your thigh his hand got, the more you knew you needed to tell him to stop; you needed to be the voice of reason because you were certain that any thought of common sense had long since abandoned Billy. 

His name was called from the other end of the table and you almost breathed a sigh of relief as he turned from you and started talking to his friends. Almost. Even though he wasn’t looking at you, his hand kept moving, higher and higher.

You reached for your wine glass and tried to take a drink to keep yourself from moaning as his fingers finally pressed against your wet panties. The warmth of his fingers bled through the wet fabric and all you could think about was how you wanted so much more. Despite being sat at a table with twelve other people, you wanted to feel him inside of you.

“Right?” Billy spoke suddenly, looking at you with a big grin on his face, pulling you into the conversation, even though the only thing you could think about was his hand between your legs and how needy you suddenly felt.

You nodded, even though you had no idea what they were talking about. Everyone laughed and Billy continued talking, his fingers still pressing against you, slowly rubbing, driving you more and more insane with every passing moment.

When he finally dared to slip beneath the fabric and run his fingers through your arousal, you closed your legs. As much as you wanted it, you knew that you couldn’t; not there, not like that. But Billy’s hand remained, his fingers still teasing you as your thighs squeezed around his hand, and you knew you’d have to do something before you gave in to what you both so obviously wanted. 

Leaning towards him, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, while your hand gently pulled his from between your legs. You whispered in his ear; “not here.”

You stood and excused yourself, heading for the bathroom, slipping inside and leaving the door unlocked behind you. Less than a minute later, Billy was with you, locking the door and pressing you back against it.

“I can’t believe you were going to try to make me come on your fingers in front of all your friends,” you tried to feign annoyance but the way he kissed you, left you with only one thought in mind.

“You should’ve told me you were so wet, sweetheart,” he groaned against your lips, “your panties are soaked.”

“Some of that is your fault,” you told him as your hand started to tug at the zipper of his pants.

“We’re gonna have to be quick,” he told you, letting out another groan as your hand reached into his pants to pull out his already semi-hard cock, “I think Karen already knows what we’re doing in here.”

“Less talking, more kissing,” you told him and Billy was glad to oblige, kissing you deeply while your hand stroked his cock.

You expected him to lift you up but, instead, you felt a gentle pressure on your hip, his hand urging you downwards. Eagerly, you dropped to your knees, your hand still running over his shaft. For a moment, you looked up at him, wanting nothing more than to tease and drive him crazy, but you knew that you didn’t have time for that.

Wrapping your lips around the thick tip of his cock, your hand continued to pump the shaft, feeling him getting harder and harder, and when he started to leak, your tongue greedily lapped it up.

He groaned your name, fisting your hair and bucking his hips forward, trapping you between him and the door as he thrust more of his cock between your lips. You gladly obliged him, pressing forwards and starting to give him what he wanted, listening to his barely contained grunts and groans. As he pushed closer, you found yourself trapped in place, with your head pressed back against the door as he took over completely. His hand stayed in your hair, holding you in place as he started to thrust in and out of your mouth, slowly at first and then a little quicker.

Your eyes stayed on his watching as, piece by piece, he seemed to start losing his mind. There was always something so real and so raw about moments like this with Billy, where you knew he was being driven by nothing but instinct and need. He needed you and, fuck, it felt good to be needed.

“Fuck,” he growled as you pressed your tongue against the underside of his shaft, drawing your cheeks in and sucking as he moved, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

As his breathing got heavier and heavier, you braced yourself for his climax but, rather than coming, Billy suddenly pulled out of your mouth. 

His hands pulled you up by your arms and, before you knew what he was doing, he’d manoeuvred you around the tiny bathroom and bent you over the sink. Your eyes found his in the mirror as he pulled up your dress and tore your panties. You bit your lip to stifle the moan that wanted to tear from you as his cock filled you.

With one hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder, Billy didn’t waste any time before he started to fuck you. Every time he thrust into you, you found your thighs knocking into the sink - it would probably leave bruises, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything except Billy and the way he was making you feel.

But the way he was fucking you made it impossible to stay quiet, and you knew you were one loud moan away from everyong in the restaurant outside knowing exactly what you were doing. So, you took his hand from your shoulder and pulled it over your mouth. And Billy’s reaction in the mirror sent a thrill straight to your core. And, with his hand muffling your gasps of pleasure, his thrusts only got faster, rougher, giving you both what you so desperately needed. 

You hand stayed pressed over his against your lips, making it feel like some tender and intimate thing and, for you and Billy, you supposed that was exactly what it was. This was who you were; two people so in loved, so stuck on each other that you couldn’t even make it through a whole meal with friends without wanting to fuck each others brains out. And perhaps that should have embarrassed you, but it didn’t. 

You were so happy. So in love.

Billy leaned over you, his lips on your neck for a moment before finding your ear and muttering that one little word that was guaranteed to send you over the edge.

“Mine.”

That one little word felt like it set off fireworks inside you, your body trembling as his hand pressed tighter against your mouth muffling the moans of pleasure that tried to escape as your body trembled. Billy came a moment later, pressing his lips back to your neck to dampen his own growls and groans, his hips still moving slowly, making sure to draw out the moment for both of you.

When he finally pulled out, it took you a moment to stand back up, reaching for some tissue to try to clean yourself up. Smoothing your dress down, you laughed as Billy picked up the tattered remains of your panties from the floor and placed them in his pocket.

“When I move in with you, am I going to find a drawer full of all the panties you’ve ripped off me?” You joked, reaching for him and brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face.

“It’s the second drawer in my nightstand, but it’s nowhere near  full. Yet.” Billy grinned, and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking, and you knew you’d have to check once you got back to the penthouse.

You checked your make-up in the mirror and made sure you didn’t look like you’d just been fucked by your boyfriend over the bathroom sink, before letting out a sigh. You didn’t want to go back out to the others, you wanted to stay with Billy, but it had already been almost ten minutes and they’d probably all already figured out what you’d been doing.

“I’ll go back out now,” you told him, slipping past him to reach the door, “you should wait another couple of minutes - pretend you got a call or something.”

Billy nodded and agreed, and you gave him one last little look before slipping out of the bathroom and returning to the table.

A few people had left in your absence, and everyone seemed to have moved further up the table to be closer to Karen, so you took the empty seat at her side, even though it put you a little closer to Frank than you would have liked. 

Karen gave you a look and you knew that she knew exactly what you’d just been doing. Everyone kept talking for a moment until one topic ended and Curtis moved the spotlight to you.

“Karen was just telling us how you two are going on a long weekend to Mexico, you sure you don’t want some company.” Curtis joked.

“It’s a girls only weekend,” Karen answered.

“How’d you get Bill on board with that, anyway?” Frank asked, and everyone was gracious enough to ignore the way you almost flinched when he spoke to you.

“Get me on board with what?” Billy asked, as he sat behind you, making a show of putting his phone down as if he’d just been on a call.

You let out a sigh and shook your head.

“You didn’t tell him yet?” Karen asked and you turned to see Billy looking less than happy about having no idea why he was suddenly the centre of attention. 

“Tell me what?” He was looking straight at you, and you hated that you were going to have to have this conversation straight after everything that had just happened between you.

“Me and Karen are going on a girls weekend to Mexico to celebrate my job with The Bulletin. I was going to tell you last night, but...” you didn’t have to say it, Billy knew that you’d both been a little distracted by thoughts of you meeting his mother.

“Oh, okay,” he shrugged like it was nothing, and you had to hold back a sigh of relief.

Tense moment averted, the conversation continued and your hand found his on the table, giving it a tight squeeze as a silent thank you. You’d talk about it later, you’d explain to him how you wanted a little break from the city and - well, it was only going to be for three nights, and once you got back you’d be ready to move in with him. But, thankfully, as far as you could tell Billy was fine with it. So, instead of worrying, you just enjoyed the rest of the evening, waiting until you could go home with Billy.

Chapter Twenty-Two

END NOTES :  So, after some drama they're back to their normal selves. I know the last few chapters have been a little bit heavy, so hopefully this one is more of a fun read. Also sorry it's a little later than usual, I got busier than expected this week.

As always, thanks for reading , and a big thanks to those who follow, like, comment and reblog! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know it’s not working for everyone - if it’s not working and you don’t want to miss a chapter, I post every Friday around 7:30pm gmt)

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[lemoncrushh]

Tattooed Heart - Part III

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 5k+

STORY PAGE

Working the breakfast shift had its advantages. While it was the busiest time of the day at the cafe, you were grateful that it took your mind off other things - like Harry Styles for one. You were excited about your date with him that evening, but you were also nervous as hell. Working nights at Zelda’s hadn’t left you much time for a social life. In fact, the last date you’d been on had been nearly six months ago, and while the guy had been nice, and the evening had been pleasant enough, there had been no sparks or chemistry between you, and you never ended up seeing him again. Shae called you a social hermit, claiming you worked too much and needed to have more fun. But the truth was, you just hadn’t met anyone that you felt was worth your time.

Another thing that was good about having the breakfast shift, was that you had time for a quick nap before you had to start getting ready. Exhausted, you wondered how you would have made it through to the evening if you hadn’t had the extra time for a snooze. Your feet were killing you, your back ached, and you were pretty sure you smelled of coffee and maple syrup. Opting for sleep before a shower, you crawled into bed, out like a light.

You woke up to the buzz of your phone. Picking it up, you noticed you’d been asleep for two hours. But it was the text that sent your heart aflutter.

Hope you had a great day at work. I’m looking forward to tonight.

Smiling at the phone, you wondered again how and why this man already had this effect on you. Just a week ago you despised him. The mere thought of him would have had your blood boiling. But here you were, about to spend an evening in his presence. And it thrilled you.

Thanks, work was hectic but good. Just took a nice long nap. I’m excited about tonight as well : ).

Setting your phone down as you rose from the bed, you quickly heard another buzz.

Excited! Phew, I’m so glad. I was worried you’d change your mind and cancel.

Of course not.

Good : ). See you at 7.

You took a long, thorough shower, making sure to get every crevice. You used your good shampoo, the one you’d bought at the salon weeks ago that smelled like coconut. As you lathered, you thought of Harry’s previous text. The one where he had been worried you’d cancel. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to have any insecurities. If you had canceled, he probably would have just gone about his day, maybe even have asked out someone else. But you had to admit, it felt a little nice knowing he was relieved you hadn’t.

Stepping out of the shower, you dried off and applied your favorite lotion, making sure to use a little extra in the areas where you’d shaved. You weren’t sure exactly why you were making such an effort. While you weren’t against the idea of sleeping with someone on the first date, you didn’t always do it. And there was never a guarantee. However, this guy…

You had just stepped into your shoes and were putting on your earrings when your phone announced another text.

On my way. Should be there in ten.

How long had you been daydreaming? Was it time for him already?

Running a brush through your hair one last time, and making sure your makeup looked alright, you walked out into the living room where Shae surprised you.

“Hey, look at you!” she exclaimed. “I love that dress!”

“Hi, I um…didn’t know you were home.”

“Only just. About to hop in the shower.”

“A date?” you asked.

“Yup. Brian’s picking me up in thirty minutes. Looks like you have one, too.”

The color rising in your face, you gave a quick shrug. You hadn’t planned on telling Shae about Harry. At least not yet. If things didn’t go well, you’d just have more reason to talk bad about him later. But if things went well…you figured Shae would want all the juicy details. And you weren’t in the mood for the prelude discussion.

“Awesome!” cheered Shae before embracing you. “You deserve a night out. Who is it? Someone from the cafe?”

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

“Oh, that’s so cute! See, things are working out for you!”

You gave a sheepish grin and a nod. Looking down at her phone, Shae squeaked.

“Shit, I gotta go shower! If you leave before I’m done, have a great night!”

Shae had barely shut her door and you heard the shower going when the doorbell rang. You breathed a heavy sigh at the close call. Which was probably a good idea because as soon as you pulled open the door, your breath caught in your throat again.

“Hi,” he grinned. Damn if he didn’t look good.

“Hi.”

“You look great.”

“Thanks, so do you,” you smiled, unable to tear your gaze from him. “I’d um…invite you in, but my roommate’s in the shower, and her date is gonna be here any minute.”

While you weren’t sure why that mattered, you didn’t wanna make things more awkward. Plus it was a good excuse to leave.

“No worries,” said Harry. “We should probably get going anyway. We have reservations.”

“Oh. Perfect.”

Grabbing your purse from the counter, you shut the door behind you, following Harry out to his car. When he opened the passenger side door for you, you noticed how good he smelled. This time it wasn’t the clean, soapy smell like at the cafe, but rather a nice, notably expensive cologne. You felt your mouth water as you climbed into the car.

“So, this restaurant,” you said once you were down the road, “is it by reservation only?”

“Mm, not particularly,” shrugged Harry. “I just happen to know the chef. So I got us a special table.”

“Ohh. Well…I feel special then.”

Harry gave you a sexy grin, sending chills down every extremity. Stopped at a red light, his eyes ran down your body and back up to your face. Suddenly self-aware, you licked your lips and swallowed hard. When the light turned green and Harry hit the accelerator, you looked out the side window and blew out a breath.

The restaurant was a quaint little building off a side street. Harry parked in the small parking lot in the back, quickly jogging around the front of the car to open your door. You thanked him as you climbed out, getting another whiff of his yummy cologne.

You felt his hand on your back as you entered the restaurant, the hostess greeting you. When Harry gave his name, she guided you both through the restaurant to a table in the back. Taking a seat, your eyes scanned the room, the warm lighting and Tuscan atmosphere, the instrumental jazz playing lightly. Within seconds, a man appeared, asking for your drink order. Harry leaned toward you, asking if you liked wine.

“Yes,” you smiled. “Whatever kind you like is fine with me.”

Harry then looked at the waiter, a nervous chuckle rising from his throat. “Whatever you recommend.”

“Certainly, sir. I can bring you a sample if you like.”

“Sounds great.”

When the waiter left, you raised your brows at Harry.

“Not as much a wine connoisseur as a tequila one?” You couldn’t help the jab.

Color rising in his face, he looked down at the table, then back at you.

“I dunno shit about tequila, either, Y/N. I admitted I was an asshole that night, okay?”

“So nothing was real? It was all fake? Was it even your birthday?”

“Oh, it was my birthday. And I had been seeing Nicolette. But everything else was phony. Or…fake as you said.”

“Even your friends?”

Harry chuckled. “They were probably the fakest part. I wouldn’t exactly call them my friends.”

“More like…acquaintances?” you asked.

“No, more like…I’d just met them that night.”

Your jaw dropped, and hadn’t it been for the waiter returning with your wine samples, you’d have pressed the subject further. But instead, you graciously accepted the wine, tasting it. It went down smoothly, and you nodded.

“This is delicious.”

Giving you a wink, Harry agreed and asked the waiter for full glasses. You watched as he poured the red liquid into your glass, announcing he’d be back momentarily to take your order. Once he was out of earshot again, Harry looked at you.

“How do you feel about Spaghetti Bolognaise?”

“Not sure I’ve had it,” you replied. “But sounds incredible.”

“It is. Carlo makes the best.”

“Carlo? From the tattoo shop?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth curled up into a lopsided grin. “You remember.”

“Well, I…” you cleared your throat, fingering the napkin in your lap, “I heard you say his name last night.”

“Yeah, he’s a faithful client of mine. And an amazing chef.”

“I see,” you nodded. “So, Harry…may I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything. It just depends on the question as to whether or not I’ll answer.”

“Fair enough,” you smirked. Leaning forward, you folded your hands in front of you. “Why did you go to Zelda’s that night?”

“I told you, it-”

“No, I know it was your birthday,” you interjected. “I mean…why Zelda’s? And why with those people? You obviously make a decent living. You have people who like and respect you, like Carlo. Why did you feel the need to be someone else?”

Harry let out a breath through his nose as he fumbled with his napkin, then took a sip of wine.

“Basically…it was a business deal gone bad. And I regret every bit of that night.”

“Are we ready to order?”

Startled, you looked up at the waiter who had seemed to pop up out of nowhere. You were grateful when Harry ordered for the both of you. You were speechless, Harry’s words rolling around in your brain.

“Y/N,” Harry addressed you when the waiter left. “I know I apologized already, the best way I knew how. But you have to know that I felt so horrible afterward, and I still do.”

“I don’t understand. What does a business deal have to do with me? Did they dare you to treat me that way or something?”

“No, not directly,” he shook his head. “It was…just an attitude that had developed…um, I guess I picked it up from hanging out with them.”

“But you said you’d just met them that night.”

“I had. But we’d been drinking since Happy Hour.”

Just then, a figure emerged from behind Harry, carrying two large dishes.

“Harry, my good man!”

“Carlo!”

You watched as Carlo set one of the humongous dishes in front of you, the other in front of Harry. The aroma was intoxicating, and your mouth watered more when Carlo added fresh cheese to the top.

“Carlo, I was telling Y/N here that you’re the best chef in town.”

“Oh, Mr. Styles flatters me,” beamed Carlo who then extended his hand to you. “Lovely to meet you, Y/N. Please enjoy.”

Your waiter returned once more with salads and fresh bread, asking if you’d like more wine or water. When the coast was clear, you finally dug into your feast.

“I take it Carlo thinks I can eat enough for four people,” you commented with a chuckle.

“He thinks everyone can,” laughed Harry. “And trust me when I say he will only be offended if you don’t take the leftovers home with you.”

“Oh fun. A date with a to-go box.”

Harry giggled, making you lift your gaze to him. You liked how his eyes squinted when he laughed, his dimples dipping deeply in his cheeks.

“I can honestly say, love, I wouldn't be offended either. It’s a lot of food.”

“Good. Because I don’t wanna waste any of it. This is f-ing amazing.”

“Told you,” Harry winked before shoving a forkful into his mouth.

You enjoyed the delicious meal and pleasant conversation until you circled back to the night you’d met at Zelda’s. It was obvious Harry was remorseful, but you were still curious as to what had brought on the horrible attitude.

“So how did you meet those guys?” you asked. “From the tattoo shop?”

“Oh, no,” Harry shook his head and took a sip of wine. “They were connections. From my art exhibit. And…from Nicolette.”

“Oh, so your girlfriend knew them.”

Harry frowned. “I wouldn’t call her that. But yes.”

“Hmm, and you wanted to shmooze them. To…get them to buy your art?”

Harry sighed, dropping his fork and lifting his napkin to his mouth. Then resting his wrists on the table, he looked at you pointedly.

“Nicolette’s a rich girl. Like ‘daddy’s money’ rich. I met her…well it doesn’t matter how or when…but she was basically like arm candy. I’ll admit that. I’m not proud of it, but I admit it. I reckoned she could help me meet people, get my name out there. And she did. She was able to help me set up an exhibit, and it went well. Then she mentioned she had these friends from New York that were only in town for the weekend, but they might be interested in purchasing some of my art. So we met up at their hotel and had some drinks. Then we had some more. Nicolette ended up texting her friend to join us, and she showed up with another chick. And before I knew it, Nicolette had let the cat out of the bag that it was my birthday. The guys insisted we celebrate at some place better than the hotel bar. That’s how we ended up at Zelda’s.”

“But I recall one girl saying you were buying. Why did you have to buy if it was your own birthday?”

“I was trying to close a deal. Simple as that.”

“And you figured if you play the asshole show-off they’d buy your art.”

Harry sighed again, resting his head in his hands. “I’m not proud of it, okay? I was pissed out of my mind. I’m not even a big drinker. Obviously you can tell that. I haven’t even finished this glass of wine yet.”

You grinned, lifting your own glass. “Neither have I.”

When Harry gave a half smile, you leaned forward. “Harry, it’s okay. I’m not trying to make you feel worse about it. You’ve already made it up to me. I was only curious. Because…honestly, ever since you helped me get a new job, you’ve been nothing short of fantastic. And that includes this evening…so far.”

Harry’s grin widened, a little twinkle in his eye. “I’m having a fantastic time, too.”

“Just one more question,” you said, twisting the spaghetti around your fork. “Did you end up selling your art?”

“No,” Harry snorted. “Turns out they didn’t have the money. Bigger phonies than I was.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to laugh.

“Go ahead,” Harry chuckled. “I deserve it.”

“It does make me feel a little better.”

“Believe me, I learnt my lesson. I’m just sorry I hurt you in the process.”

With a tight smile, you adjusted your napkin in your lap, then pushed your hair behind your ear. “Harry. What do you think would have happened if you and I had met in a different way?”

“I dunno,” he grinned, his eyes dancing as he stared into yours. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.”

The evening air was cool, blowing a pleasant breeze across your skin that was much needed after the wine. You and Harry had ended up staying for a second glass, and as you walked to his car, you were starting to feel the small effects.

“Where to now?” Harry asked gleefully when he got behind the wheel.

“What do you mean?” you teased, knowing full well what he meant.

“Night is still young. I have nowhere to be.”

“Hmm. Can’t really go to my place.”

“Right, the roommate. Was she staying there for her date?”

You shrugged. “I never know with her.”

Harry chuckled. “Alright. We could go to mine.”

You turned in your seat to face him. “Is this how it’s gonna be, then? I forgive you, you take me out to a nice dinner, I sleep with you and I never see you again?”

“Well, you’ll still see me. I go to the cafe a lot.”

“Harry!” you playfully shoved him.

“I’m joking, Y/N! And no, that’s not how it’s gonna be. We don’t even have to go to my place. We can do whatever you want. How about a movie?”

You made a face.

“Okay, veto,” Harry chuckled. “What would you say to a walk? We could make a quick trip to my place to drop off the leftovers so they don’t spoil, then go for a nice walk. My flat isn’t far from the tattoo shop. We could stop by there if you like.”

“That actually doesn’t sound bad. It’s nice out, and I could walk off all that spaghetti I ate.”

“Alright,” Harry grinned, pulling out of the parking lot.

His apartment was in a tall building. One of those fancy ones with a garage and an elevator to take you up. He held your leftovers in one hand while his other hand held yours. He’d done it so nonchalantly too, like it was the most natural thing in the world. When you got up to the fourth floor, you’d already decided you liked how it felt.

“Let me just put these in the refrigerator,” he said when you stepped into his apartment.

“Okay. Mind if I use your restroom?”

“Of course, right there to your left.”

It was a tiny apartment, very compact, but also very clean. The only “mess” you noticed was a display of art supplies in the corner of the room as you crossed it to head to the bathroom. When you shut the door, you were greeted with a lovely painting of a moon reflecting on the beach. It was very serene. You wondered if Harry had painted it, until you noticed the HS initials in the corner.

He was leaning against his kitchen counter, looking down at his phone when you walked out. He looked up and smiled at you, shoving his phone into his back pocket.

“My turn.”

You perused his small apartment while he went to the restroom, most notably the easel in the corner you’d seen earlier. Propped on it looked to be a finished piece, though you weren’t sure. It looked to be another moon, though it was black and the background was white. The bottom of the moon appeared to be melting and at the bottom, the drops had made the shape of a heart.

“Alright, you ready?” you heard him ask, making you jump.

“Oh. Yeah,” you turned to see him. “This…this is gorgeous.”

“Oh. Thanks,” he said, stepping closer to you. “It’s not quite finished yet. It’s part of my moon series.”

“Ah, yeah, I saw the one in the bathroom. Beautiful. But…I really like this one for some reason.”

“It’s definitely more abstract than the other. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.”

“Why not? I think it’s great. It would make a cool tattoo.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe.” Then he reached his hand out to take yours.

As you strolled along the sidewalk, grateful you’d worn your flats instead of heels, you wondered why Harry had quickly dismissed your idea of the moon tattoo, but decided not to press. Maybe he was one of those artists who didn’t like their own work until it was completed.

“So how many art exhibits have you had?” you asked instead.

“Just the one so far. The gallery has some of my pieces there to sell. But I’m still trying to get my name out there.”

“How long have you been doing tattoos?”

“About…seven years?”

“Really?” you raised your brows. “Is that your favorite? Like, your true love?”

“Eh, I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “I mean, I love it. And it’s definitely a good creative outlet. And it pays the bills.”

“And you have a following,” you added.

“Yeah. But is it what I wanna do forever? Probably not. I know a lot of people kind of look down on tattoo art as not legitimate art. Just something to do ‘on the side’ or ‘until something better comes along’,” he said, using air quotes. “But it’s never been that for me. At least not until recently. The painting and drawing were usually my side projects. But now…I dunno. I reckon I’ve gotten a taste and I want more.”

“Well, for what it’s worth - which is probably not much because who the fuck am I? - I think you’re extremely talented. No matter what you choose.”

“Yeah?” he smiled at you. “Thanks, Y/N. It’s worth more than you know.”

Instinctively, you squeezed his hand, and he squeezed yours back.

“What about you?” Harry asked, surprising you.

“Me?”

“Do you have any hobbies? Anything you’re passionate about?”

“No. I’m pretty dull,” you sighed.

“I seriously doubt that.”

You laughed. “It’s true. Before I started working at Zelda’s, I used to like to read and write a lot.”

“What would you write?”

“Poems mostly. Song lyrics. An occasional short story.”

“What made you stop?”

You shrugged. “Just didn’t seem important anymore. Kinda silly.”

“Nothing about that is silly, Y/N. Did it make you happy?”

You looked up at his profile, the streetlamps casting shadows.

“Only when I had something worth writing about.”

Harry stopped then, giving you a grin. “You wanna go in?”

“Sorry?” you muttered before you realized you’d reached the tattoo shop, the closed sign in the door. “Oh. Yeah, we can do that?”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, love. I’m the owner.”

“Oh,” you blushed. “Right.”

Digging a key from his pocket, Harry unlocked the door, pushing it open. When you followed him inside, he pressed a few digits on the keypad, turning off the alarm. Finally, he switched on the lights, illuminating the lobby area.

“It’s so quiet,” you whispered.

“Yeah. But you don’t have to whisper, sweetheart,” mimicked Harry.

You giggled softly, covering your face with your hands. Once again, you couldn’t explain how or why Harry was affecting you this way. He just was.

“Would you like something to drink? Water? Soda?”

“Water’s fine.”

Harry walked around the back of the counter to the cooler where he retrieved two water bottles. Then handing you one, he gestured toward the back.

“C’mon. I’ll show you my station. I know you saw it already, but…”

“I was still paying attention, Harry,” you remarked.

“You were?”

“Yes.” You took a swig of water. “I was just being a bitch because I hated you.”

“Ouch,” Harry grimaced.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really hate you. I hated who I thought you were.”

“I see. And who do you think I am now?”

Biting your lip, you considered his inquiry as you made your way around his tattoo chair.

“Someone I’m interested in getting to know better.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice somehow two octaves lower.

“Mmhm. Someone I really hope to spend more time with.”

“I like that.”

“And someone who’s already making me feel things I didn’t think I would feel.”

Stepping closer to you, so close you were almost touching, Harry gazed into your eyes.

“What kind of things?” he asked.

You swallowed hard. “Like…how bad I want you to kiss me right now.”

With just a tilt of his head, Harry slid his hand around your neck and covered your mouth with his. His lips were soft and warm, giving gentle kisses before he slid his tongue along your bottom lip. You let out a gasp as you eagerly allowed his access, your tongue meeting his. You heard a deep groan from him as he gripped your waist with his other hand. Your own hands had a firm hold on his biceps until you lifted one hand up to his hair.

“Y/N,” he breathed as his mouth began to travel down your jaw to your neck. “You drive me fucking crazy, baby.”

“I do?”

“Yes!” he growled, his teeth nibbling on your earlobe. “Ever since that first day at the cafe. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”

Astounded, you leaned back to look at him. His eyes were dark and wild, and if you didn’t have questions, you would have kept going, letting him do whatever it was he was doing to you.

“The day you got me the job?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, his voice raspy. “I know it sounds insane. I think I was attracted to you already. But when you looked at me when I handed you your umbrella…something happened. And you’ve been on my mind ever since.”

“Really?” your face softened.

“Mmhm,” Harry nodded, his eyes darting from yours to your mouth.

“Is it crazy that you’ve been on my mind too?”

“Absolutely mad,” he murmured before his lips found yours again.

As the kiss deepened, you felt Harry’s hands travel down your back. When he reached your ass, he squeezed it, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him beneath his pants, especially with just your thin skirt and panties covering you. You moaned against his mouth, earning one from him in return. When his fingers began to tug on the fabric of your dress, you didn’t stop him, wanting nothing more than to feel him touch you. And when you felt the cold chill of his rings against your bare skin as he lifted your skirt and cupped your bum, you almost came unglued.

“Ha-Harry…” you breathed when your lips separated.

“These are nice,” he smirked, his fingers running across the back of your panties. “Lace.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Mm, I do. Too bad we don’t need them.”

His gaze turned animalistic, and you nearly moaned out loud when he licked his lips and bit his bottom one. Then grabbing the sides of your delicate garment, he slid them down your thighs, letting them drop and pool down around your ankles.

“Whatcha got under there, baby? Hmm? A pretty pussy for me?”

You merely nodded, so incredibly turned on, you couldn’t speak. His hands slid up the backs of your legs and under your dress until his fingers found what he was looking for.

“So wet for me already,” he praised you. “Love it.” Then kissing you hard, one hand slipping around the front to get better access, he began to rub your clit. “I’m gonna make you even wetter, babe.”

“Holy fuck,” you threw your head back, your knees already threatening to buckle.

“You like that, baby?”

“Yes,” you mewled.

“Do me a favor,” he instructed, pointing behind you, “and climb on that chair for me.”

“Harry…” you gasped. “We’re not…gonna…”

“Relax, sweetheart. I wanna lick you.”

If it was possible, Harry’s declaration made you soaked. With a little assistance from him, you sat on the tattoo chair. Then taking a seat in his own chair, he adjusted yours the way he wanted it before pulling you almost to the edge, causing your dress to hike up.

“Perfect,” he growled, sliding his hands up your thighs. “Now open those gorgeous legs and let them fall on either side.”

You did as he said, your bottom half completely exposed.

“Fuck, yes,” you heard him mutter before kissing your inner thigh.

You heard his chair squeak slightly as he scooted closer just before his breath blew across your pussy. Nearly coming up off the chair, you let out a whimper.

“Oh my God…please…”

“Please what, baby?”

“Put your mouth on it, Harry. I need it.”

You heard him make a sound that was a cross between a groan and a chuckle. But he didn’t oblige right away. Instead, he teased you some more with his fingers, running his thumb between your folds and back up. Then licking his pointer and middle finger, he placed them right over your clit, careful not to put too much pressure as he moved in circles.

“Harry…please…”

This time you did hear him give a sly chuckle, no doubt enjoying his play. Your thighs were already shaking and he hadn’t even used his tongue yet. Curling your toes, you whimpered more as he continued his teasing.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he complimented, his eyes on you. “I can’t wait to do more things to this gorgeous pussy. But right now…I’m gonna eat you so good.”

You cried out as soon as his mouth covered your clit, sucking gently. You felt as though you could come already, but you wanted to savor the sensation. Releasing your clit, Harry used his tongue, moving in the same gentle circular motion. Grinding your hips, you urged him to go faster, harder. But he grabbed you, holding you beneath him, continuing his petting the way he wanted.

You began panting, desperate to feel his tongue do more. Finally, seemingly reading your mind, Harry flicked his tongue against you, and you cried out his name. You reached down and grabbed at his hair, needing him more. It was then that Harry decided to include his fingers again, slipping one, then two inside, pumping slowly but just the way you wanted.

“Oh God! Harry…right there, baby. Don’t stop….”

“Not gonna. You taste so good, Y/N,” he growled against your pussy, rubbing his mouth all around it, his facial hair scratching you. “Wanna make you come so hard.”

You felt your eyes roll back in your head then as his fingers continued their magic, hitting just the right spot as his tongue devoured your juices. You cried out his name once again, your nails raking through his hair as your legs trembled. Harry continued to lick you through your orgasm until you came down. Then sliding his fingers out of your pussy, he kissed it one last time.

Your breaths were heavy, shaky and uneven. And you were pretty sure you felt a stream of sweat between your breasts. You hadn’t come like that in…a long time. Too long.

With a hum, Harry pulled you up to a sitting position. You felt like a rag doll, boneless. Harry chuckled as he wiped his chin and looked at you.

“You alright, love?”

“Fuck, yeah,” you breathed.

“Good,” he beamed at you. “You are so sexy. I’ll be right back. We’ll get you cleaned up, and then I’ll take you home.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Don’t look so disappointed, baby,” he chuckled. “It’s late. And you’re worn out.”

“Hmm,” you nodded.

Placing a hand on your face, he cupped your cheek, then pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“When’s your next day off?”

“Tuesday,” you replied with glassy eyes.

“Perfect. Only three days away. Can I see you?”

You managed a smile and a nod. “Yes, of course. Maybe I can get my tattoo then?”

Harry laughed, a sexy low laugh that sent your heart aflutter all over again. Then he leaned in to kiss you.

“Maybe. We’ll see. I have other things in mind…”

Thoughts and feedback are appreciated :).

[nalgenewhore]

so maybe if it's all you wanted

elide x lorcan, modern/coworkers/lawyers (prosecution) au, nsfw, word count: 2731

part i of pushed you head over my heels

It doesn’t surprise Elide that she’s not the last one here. Someone is always shuffling around the slightly outdated office; she takes her turn more often than not.

The strap of her bag digs into her shoulder. She shifts it higher, off the softish part, blowing out a puff of air when it just slides back. With her keys in one hand, she shuts her door with the other. 

As she walks down the hallway, she idly hums a song stuck in her head. Elide can’t remember where she heard it last, but it’s been the background track to her whole day. Her eyes flick from one empty office to the next during her exit. 

When she sees his, and the light still on, she stops all of a sudden. She doubts herself for a second, though the notion is gone in a second. 

“Hey, Salvaterre,” she knocks her knuckles against the door jamb, then leans her weight against it. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

He spent six hours in court today. Elide didn’t even expect seeing him that morning, but he came by to collect one last file box. 

“Uh…” Lorcan looks around his desk. He scrubs his eyes. “Are we the last here?”

She nods. “It’s almost ten,” she supplies. 

They’re coworkers and sort-of-friends. They’ve gone out for frequent week’s end drinks, usually with other colleagues their age. Sometimes they have coffee and talk about cases.

Elide knows the case he’s working now. And she knows he didn’t have a good day in court. 

“Damn.” He sniffs and pushes himself back from his paper-littered desk. “I didn’t realise.”

She catches the way he looks at the pathetic couch. If she doesn’t offer, he will spend the night curled up on that.  “D’you want a ride home?”

He blinks out of surprise this time. Lorcan’s hands brace against the edge of his desk. “Oh, nah, I couldn’t, like, impose…“

“C’mon, man,” she cajoles. “Let me do something nice.” A rough laugh passes from his throat. She must be tired too since the sound makes her stare a little slack-jawed at him and miss his answer. “Uh, hum?”

“I said yeah.” By this point he’s stood up to grab his bag. Lorcan pauses as he puts a bound file in his bag. “Thanks, by the way.”

Elide bobs her head. 

He shuts the lights on his way out. Side by side they make their way to the elevator in silence. 

As they ride down to the parkade, he clears his throat and comments a little awkwardly. “So, you drove?” At her little smirk because the answer is so obvious, he adds, “It’s just- I mean, you usually take the metro, too. I didn’t even know you had a car.”

She grins, “It’s a new thing, actually. I was sick of being stuck in the city on the weekends. I like to get away, y’know?” He nods. “But I think I’ll stick with the metro for my commute.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, and they’re back to the slightly too quiet elevator. 

In the garage, the click of her heels echoes off cement walls. Elide leads him to her car, a thirty-year SUV she bought second-hand from a nice old woman who hardly drove it but kept it tip-top.  

They’re silent in the car too, both dull-minded and thinking in circles around their own cases. She’s actually thinking about his case, though. She only heard snippets, hasn’t properly talked to him about it. What she’s heard is hard to swallow. 

Elide looks over at him and doesn’t know why he does it. Cases involving kids don’t ever sit right. It’s all he does, day in day out. 

Before she can think about it too much, the drive to his place ends. 

Lorcan cranes his head to look out the window. “Thanks. For the ride.”

“You’re welcome,” she quirks her lips into a smile. She asks when he’s halfway out the door, “Lorcan, are you alright?” 

He looks back at her. Strands of silky hair fall over his brow, into his eyes. “Everyone has bad days in court,” he says. 

“I know,” she replies defensively. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I’ll be ok, ‘lide. Nothing’s done yet.” He leaves, and this time Elide doesn’t stop him. 

Tipping her head back, she sighs long into the charged space. Her eyes beg to be shut; if she gives in, she might spend the night here. She knows she should move, but the longer she sits the longer she wants to stay. 

She pats her cheeks to wake up and blinks several times. 

Elide scans the area around her car to pull away, but she realises that Lorcan left his employee ID on the passenger seat. It’ll be a hassle tomorrow if he doesn’t have it; she’ll just run it up to him.

She walks up the short flight upstairs to his front door and knocks, hoping he hasn’t gone to bed yet. She shuffles her weight from foot to foot - the heels are stunning but a not-so-surprising killer. After a bit, she knocks again.

Lorcan speaks from behind opaque glass. “Lochan?” She hears him slide back the chain and unlatch the heavy deadbolt. He looks confused when he opens the door. “Yeah?”

“Hey. You forgot this,” she holds out his ID.

He realises dully and opens the door wider to free a hand from the doorknob. A bottle of dark liquor glints from the streetlight. Elide’s brows arch a bit. He notices as he takes the card. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…” she shrugs. “Nothing.”

A tired and resentful look harshens his features. “I can’t have a drink after my day?”

“When did I say that?”

He sips right from the bottle; it’s antagonistic, defiant. She lets her eyes wander to his loosened tie and unbuttoned collar. When she looks lower, his belt is undone and feet bare. If he notices her ogling, he doesn’t mention it. He says something that surprises her. “D’you want one?”

“One what?”

“A drink. I don’t really like drinking alone,” he says.

She agrees readily. The moment he stands back to let her in and her foot passes the threshold, something irrevocable between them shifts. 

Her shoulders start to ease when she slips off her heels. Even with the extra three inches, next to Lorcan she only just reaches above his pectoral muscles. The difference becomes comical. Elide follows him through the living room to his kitchen island. 

He has minimal decor and everything is in dark natural tones. It’s neat, but lived-in. 

Lorcan pours them a couple fingers each in matching glasses. Elide doesn’t drink at first, just looks at the amber liquid. 

He watches her with heavy-lidded eyes and through thick lashes. 

Again, they fall into a silent lull. They exchange glances that are meaning-laden but don’t give away what is meant. 

She thinks she can tell, though, and before today, it’s not something that has crossed her mind. Maybe a passing fancy, never a thought she lingered on. A drunken lapse of judgement in her empty bed all alone with nothing but her mind and a skilled touch.

When their glasses are empty, he pours some more. 

He’s had enough to loosen his tongue. “’lide.”

“Mm?”

“What do you want?”

Elide flicks her eyes back to him and in her difficult manner echoes, “What do you want?”

Lorcan rolls his head to stretch out his neck; he lets it hang low. “I want to shut my brain off. I want to be distracted.” His gaze pins her where she sits. “I want a fuck.” The blunt words convey confidence like there isn’t a risk, but isn’t there?

“I can be that,” she answers. 

“Can you?” A challenge.

“Do you think you’re the only one who wants a distraction?”

He puts his glass down. 

Her heartbeat ticks up with every step he makes that brings him closer to her. She’s forced to turn on the stool to face him, her head tilted up. Lorcan puts himself in her space, whatever distance that existed before like a half-eroded dream.

Elide’s swallow is the only outward expression of any nerves. 

She melts a bit when his hands cup her neck. Due to their size, his fingers creep into her loose hair and his thumbs bracket her jaw.

The touch emboldens her to touch him back, her fingers grazing up his abs before pressing against them. 

He leans down, and at first his kiss is curious. It’s choppy because they don’t know how. She runs her hand up to his neck, insists him closer. Initial awkwardness gives way for a slow and thoughtful embrace. 

Lorcan sucks on her bottom lip. Before ten minutes ago, it never drove him crazy. He leans her back against the island. She responds by grabbing his collar and tugging again, but there’s no more space.

With a soft impatient mutter, he drops his hands to her waist so he can hoist her onto the surface. Lorcan pushes the stool out of the way; the loud clatter it makes goes unheard by them both. 

Elide lets him split her legs apart, the tight material of her skirt wrenching up her thighs. 

She slides the tip of her pink tongue over his mouth. His lips part on an exhale, and his tongue meets hers. A moan slips from her; the next thing she feels is the hard wood against her back, a hand cushioning her skull. It’s an oddly sweet gesture.

Elide wrestles with the knot of his tie till it comes free. The scrap of silk falls to the floor. She runs a hand down his shirt, popping buttons along the way. Lorcan sighs against her mouth.

Something blooms in her belly, something like heat and need. It urges movement, tilts her hips against the front of his slacks. 

He’s half-hard already.

Lorcan turns his head the other way. They part long enough for her to bite his full lower lip and whisper, “So soon?”

“Shut up,” he whispers with no venom. A hand slips between them, yanking her cashmere tank out of her skirt.

Elide hooks one leg around him as he slips free each little button. She shudders when his fingers push open the shirt and touch her soft skin. They tease, like she did at first, travelling up to her chest. Her next sound gets muffled by his mouth. His hand grasps one breast, thumb finding its peak through immodest black lace mesh. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. Lorcan pulls a way, a string of saliva connecting their lips, to mark needy, biting kisses down her jaw. 

Her throat bobs, it’s a swallow as he continues the pattern down her neck. “Your fuckin’ body…” 

She laughs into the air, delirious. His mouth replaces his hand, teeth dragging the soft cups of her bra down. Elide lets out some garbled noise, squirming to push against his erection.

He yanks her down against his pelvis so she can feel all she wants. The breath she lets out shudders, wanting him everywhere. Electricity zaps her nerve endings.

“’lide,” he whispers. “D’you want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah, I want you. You want me, right?”

Lorcan nods. “Mmm, I want you.” He forces her skirt higher up so he can reach between her thighs. Even with the barrier of her panties, he feels how soaked he is. He looks down, mouth watering at the sight of light purple turned dark by her slick.

While he’s looking his fill, her hands move to his slacks. He bats them away and undoes her pout with a kiss. Lorcan frees himself, devoted to ridding them of the least amount of clothing possible.

She sucks his tongue as he slides her panties aside. He groans at the feeling of silky wet flesh, his fingers almost instantaneously covered. Next time, he thinks, he’ll get on his knees for her. 

Her hand pushes into his briefs to grasp his dick, pumping her hand as deeply as the space lets her. Elide twists her wrist, murmuring for him to get on with it. 

“Condom?” he suggests.

“Shit,” she puts her head back. “Um- well, I have an IUD. And I’m clean.”

“Me too. But I’ll get—“

She cuts him off. “I trust you.” They both use honesty like a currency. “Mean it.”

Lorcan lifts his head. The hand that played with her dislodges hers so he can pull his cock out. She fights to keep her eyes open; he slowly slides the head up and down her slit. He teases her, notching himself in her cunt. He gives it to her slowly and doesn’t know what to look at - the way her eyes roll back or the way her body opens for him.

Elide sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. She nods when he drags his hips back. Slow, at first. Lorcan watches her from above until he can’t stand how she looks. He’s discovered a new truth about the world in her, so he bows his forehead against her chest.

She moans and sighs his name.

“’lide,” he groans. Dizzy desire adds a rough edge that makes her centre throb.

Her manicured nails cut crescents into the muscle of his back. He relishes the sting they make, the lines etched into his flesh. Elide can’t believe how hot his skin is, like it’s heated. She can’t believe how full she is- that makes her giggle again because only a cock like that to go along with his size.

She rocks her hips up into his thrusts. It won’t be much longer now till she cums. Lorcan’s hand grasps her tit again, fingers trapping nipple as his teeth and tongue  return to the previously neglected peak. Elide arches her back into him, wanting more more more. 

They begin to fall at the same moment. He hits it deeper now, his pace less patterned. She pushes herself into more of him. Whatever he has to give her she’ll take. His hand leaves her chest; it finds its way to her ass and grabs tightly, yanking her tight against him so he can grind into her.

“Yes,” she hisses through her teeth. 

Her climax is there floating before her. Elide holds the back of his neck.

She’s almost silent when she cums; she’s holding her breath. It crashes into her almost by surprise, and her cunt pulses around him. She must say something when air rushes back into her lungs, but all she feels is Lorcan’s lips on her shoulder. He’s waiting to catch her after the fall. “Yeah, that’s it,” he slurs, “got you, ’lide.”

Elide cries out at the overstimulating sensation as he chases his own finish. He cums after a burst of short, hard thrusts, sweaty brow pushed into her neck. His deep groan vibrates out of his chest and against hers.

When it subsides, his arms almost give out. Lorcan braces his weight off of her, cock still throbbing inside her. 

They don’t kiss anymore, not even when they eventually part. Some of his spend drips out of her before he fixes her panties. He staggers back from her prone form and the island, his movements sluggish. 

“You good?”

She licks her lips. “Yeah. You?”

“Mm-hmm.”

No time is wasted after that. Elide stands herself up. She straightens out her shirt and skirt while he fills two glasses with water.

For being a person whose cum is still cooling inside her, it’s remarkable how distant she feels from him. She supposes it’s not the same emotion as before, but a hook-up has never felt so clinical to her, so efficient.

“It’s late,” she says, breaking the silence. She puts her empty cup on the counter.

“I’ll walk you out.”

There’s no closeness as he escorts her back the way she came. Elide puts her hand against the wall for support to slip her heels back on. If she were a bit more tired, she probably wouldn’t care about the short walk to her car.

She grimaces a bit as she stands up in her heels.

He notices it. “You good?”

“Heels.”

“Oh. Right.”

Elide flashes him a close-lipped smile. She reaches for the door, and just as it’s open, he stops her. “Elide. Thank you.”

She looks back at him. There’s only one thing he’s talking about. “You’re welcome, Lorcan.”

✵✵✵✵✵

an: so this is tentatively part i of a series i'll be calling "pushed you head over my heels" (title from solange's "lovers in the parking lot" and part i title from solange's "some things never seem to fucking work" - both songs from her 2011 album "true"). also i did lie in my last author's note saying that that fic would be my last modern au for a while....OOPS. anyway i have lots of ideas for this series and a solid plot too! theres drama, theres love, theres wounding denial + maybe some heartbreak. but when does it ever not work out?

tag list: @sassyhobbits @empress-ofbloodshed @celestialend @the-regal-warrior @shyvioletcat @icecream52 @elentiyawhitethorn @goddess-aelin @julemmaes @sunshinebingo (lmk if u want to be added/removed!)

[heyitsme1040]

Hey bestie! I just wanted to say that I love your work and the way you write Steve Harrington. Idk if you have something like this yet, but could you write something where both reader and Steve are super busy, always on opposite schedules. They are both getting kind of sick of it/sad about it until Steve does something to surprise reader :)

I hope you have a lovely day and that your writers block goes away :)

More Certain than Ever [s.h]

summary : This past month you haven’t had any time with your boyfriend. You were both used to being busy, but this was different. Finally no longer able to take it anymore, you quit your job. When Steve hears about it, he decides to ask you a serious question sooner than he planned to.  

pairings : Steve Harrington x Reader

warnings : None, just tooth rotting domestic fluff. Reader uses she/her pronouns. No use of Y/N. Dialogue heavy. Kind of dual POV.  (if I missed anything let me know!)

word count : 2,100

AO3 (x)

a/n : Thank you so much for the request! I rewrote this like three times and edited it twice, so that’s why it took a week to post.

This past month was horrible. Your manager at the movie theater had fired the girl you were usually scheduled with, so now your shifts were twice as long. Used to, you had a six hour shift early in the morning. Halfway through your shift was when Jennifer would clock in for the start of the afternoon. You'd get off at two while she worked the slow half of the evening alone. Now, however, you were handling your usual shift as well as Jennifer's all alone. Busy working from eight to eight five days a week, you were overwhelmed. You were doing too much for one person to handle at work, beyond tired when you came home, and missing your boyfriend. 

Usually you'd go to Family Video when you got off work to visit Steve on his lunch break. His schedule was less consistent than yours, but the two of you always found a way to have time to see each other. Except now that Jennifer is gone, the two of you were struggling to spend time together. Even your days off weren't lining up. When you weren't working, you were busy cleaning your apartment, trying to catch up on both chores and sleep. You were upset that you never had time to be with Steve. The two of you were trying to find ways around your conflicting schedules. 

Once home, you'd eat something simple that required minimal effort before showering. Just as you finish getting into bed, the phone you'd moved into your room would ring. You'd quickly answer, mumbling a happy greeting before being overcome by a yawn. You and Steve would talk for a bit, with you mainly managing to stay awake for twenty minutes listening to Steve's voice telling you about his day at work. Managing to say a quiet 'love you’ before fully falling asleep was an accomplishment. Come morning, you'd hear Steve's steady breaths coming down the line as your alarm was beeping. You'd wish him a good day before returning your receiver to its cradle.

Feeling just as tired as when you went to bed, you got ready for work and left for your shift. You were hating how this job had begun to make you feel. It was the start of a new week. A week to be filled with twelve hour days, an hour both to and from the theater, two hours to try and relax at home, and a restless night's sleep before repeating everything the next day? It was crushing you. You felt like if one more thing happened, you'd simply fall apart. 

"You're here!” Your manager exclaimed. "I need to talk to you.”

You gave your best customer-service smile, "Sure thing, what do you need?”

“Well, I need to adjust your hours.”

You raised your brows, surprised by what you just heard. "Okay?”

"Perfect! So for a few days you'll be coming in at six, and you'll also need to stay until ten so that I–”

"No.” You bluntly interrupt while reaching for your name tag.

Your manager’s friendly demeanor instantly faded away. "No?”

“No,” you hand her your name tag. "I quit.”

"You can't quit. I'll accept a two weeks, but–”

"That's not necessary. I quit,” you turn on your heel and walk out.

Hearing your manager shouting the start of many different sentences after you was satisfying. Walking through the doors, knowing you’d never return as anything other than a customer, was satisfying. You were excited and unsure about what to do now that you finally had some time to yourself again. With a smile, you began heading toward Family Video. 

The bell rang as you opened the door, Robin’s hair popping up above a shelf of movies as she stood, greeting you. You walked toward her, excited to see your friend. 

“Hi,” you said as you turned the corner of the aisle. 

“I thought you had to work, what are you doing here?” She exclaimed while pulling you into a tight hug. 

Your excited laughter slipped out, “I sort of did something, and now I’m no longer working at the movies.” 

“What happened?” Robin gasped, pulling you to sit behind the counter with her. 

You explained what happened this morning while she began the process of rewinding tapes. The more you spoke, the more Robin commented about how ridiculous your old manager was. You knew the way you were being treated at the movies since Jennifer was fired wasn’t great, but you didn’t realize just how bad things had gotten until you were explaining it. 

“With how long I’ve been working twice as many hours I have some time before I absolutely need to be hired. I’ll be able to apply to some jobs while being able to actually wait to hear back,” you thought aloud. “I also just paid my rent for the month, so I don’t have to worry about that either right now.”

"Oh!” Robin quickly stood. "Keith just put a sign up,  we're hiring! You could work here!”

“You think? I feel like I should mention it to Steve at least.”

Robin grabbed your shoulders and shook you slightly, “He would love it! He's been so mopey this entire month. He misses you, and he hated how overworked you've been. We'll both tell Keith how good a worker you are, and that you literally quit working at the movies. There's no way you wouldn't get it!” She rambled excitedly.

"Okay,” you put a hand up. "I'll fill out an application, and I can bring it up to Steve later today.”

Robin clapped, grabbing the clipboard of application forms. 

Steve tripped over his own feet while rushing out his house. He slammed the car door closed, cringing at how rough he was being on his baby. He had to ignore the awful feeling slamming the door caused as he was late to his shift. He was pushing the speed limit his entire drive to Family Video, prepared to apologize profusely to Robin. Only slightly haphazard in his parking, Steve shrugged on his vest while entering.

"I'm sorry,” he says while heading to the back to clock in. "My alarm clock died.”

Robin waved away his concern, "It's fine.”

"Like it's plugged in, but not on–wait. What do you mean it's fine?”

"I mean it's fine. Quiet morning, your girlfriend came in looking for you, she filled out an application, she left after a while, and the tape rewinder broke again.”

Steve stood still, trying to process everything Robin just said. "She came by? Is she okay? What happened?”

Guiding Steve to sit down, Robin rubbed his shoulder, "She's fine. Everything's alright. She quit the theater, and I suggested she apply here. She's going to talk to you about it, not wanting to step on your toes. I got her to apply anyway, then we hung out for like twenty minutes. She said she was going to head home and ‘sleep until there's no more movies.’”

"She always hated working there,” Steve mumbled.

"Yeah?”

Nodding, a soft smile creeps up. "She's not a fan of most new movies. And she hates popcorn. But she liked seeing how excited people would get after watching a movie.”

"She's a good one," Robin nudges his side. 

Steve nodded, thinking. He was getting off early today. He could go see you after so much of your lives not lining up the way it used to. 

Steve patted his pockets, making sure he had everything before grabbing the brown bag from the back seat. He took the stairs up to your apartment two at a time. Biting his lip, he knocked on your door. He heard a banging noise before your muffled shout that you were coming. His heart melted as the door opened, revealing a sleepy sight. Your hair was messier than you ever let him see, his sweatshirt was engulfing your frame, and your sleep shorts barely peeked out from the bottom of the sweatshirt. The surprise on your face made him chuckle as a wave of pink slowly flooded your cheeks.

“I brought lunch,” Steve says in a daze, focused on your sleepy appearance.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him into your apartment. You set the bag on the coffee table before hugging him. Feeling your arms around him pulled Steve from his stupor. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, gently swaying you both side to side. 

“I've missed you,” Steve whispers.

“I missed you, too. How are you?” You pull back slightly to look at him closer. “You seem tired.”

“So do you,” Steve counters.

He watches as you nod, gesturing to the couch. “I couldn’t be bothered to walk all the way to bed after double checking I locked the door.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits. “I’d try but it just wasn't happening. So I listened to your breaths. Eventually it would allow me to sleep, knowing you were right there and safe. But my alarm didn't go off today, so I was late. Robin told me how I had just missed you once I finally clocked in.”

You walked to the couch, pulling Steve to sit beside you. He tugged you into his side, leaning back against the couch. You curled into him with a hum. 

“I quit today,” you state. “Finally.”

Steve nods, “So I hear. And you applied at Family Video. What happened?”

Your shrug feels stiff against Steve's side. “I just walked in, hadn't even clocked in yet, when I was being told I was getting more hours. I was sick of it, and I just quit. I didn't even let her say anything after that really. She tried to tell me I couldn't quit, that it was for a few days, but I was done. Last time something was for a few days put me at twice my hours for the month. So I walked out as she tried to make it be my two weeks.”

Steve squeezes you tighter against his side. “I’m proud you quit. I've been worried about you.”

“I know, and I'm sorry. And I applied at Family Video when I came to see you, but it was just Robin and she talked me into it. I mean, I like the idea of us working together but don't want to be too much.”

“You could never be too much. In fact,” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, “I have an idea.” He places the box into your lap. “I know it's only been six months, and this past one has only been tired phone calls, but I want you to move in with me. I was going crazy without seeing you this entire month, and I think Robin’s tired of me complaining about how much I miss you.”

“Yes,” you kiss him. “I would love to live with you.”

Steve held you close, kissing you passionately. When you pulled away for air a yawn escaped. Steve stood, holding a hand out to help you up.

“C'mon, I think we need to finish that nap,” Steve smiled. 

You weakly protest as he pulls you up. "But the food, and we need to figure everything out, then there's–”

“Absolutely nothing that can't wait,” Steve promised while guiding you to bed. "We can eat when we wake up. We can share my room, or you can choose a room. Your lease here has been month-to-month since your original twelve-month agreement came to term. And I would love to work with you, you're more qualified than I am. Plus, Robin really wants you there too.”

You lay down, facing Steve. Your eyes scan his face intensely, trying to find any doubt. He looks sure. You think about how miserable you've been the past month. Knowing Steve felt much the same was reassuring. You'd never felt as comfortable nor certain about anything or anyone the way you do with Steve.

"Are you sure?” You timidly ask.

Steve cups your cheeks, holding your gaze. “I've never been more certain about anything.”

"Same here," you admit. "It's a plan. Sounds like you've thought about everything.”

Steve's cheeks flushed, “I was going to ask in a few months, but this past month made me want to ask you sooner. I was going to wait until you were off Friday, but then today happened. And it seemed perfect.”

You smiled, knowing how deeply Steve feels. “What else have you thought about?”

"Well…”

You and Steve fell asleep to plans of the future and many promises each of you wanted to fulfill together.

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.

©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.

[jerzwriter]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @lilyoffandoms. It's been forever since I've done one of these, but why not! :)

The next part of With Warning | Open Heart | Tobias & Casey

Sienna turned away from the door, her cautious optimism morphing into absolute glee. Grabbing Tobias's arm, she pushed him toward Casey's room so they could have some privacy. Initially, Sienna had just as many doubts about the man as the others, maybe even more, but as the bearer of all things bright, she chose to take a positive approach to the dismay of many. Now that she believed she was being proven right, she couldn't be more delighted, for more reasons than one.

"You did it!" She beamed the second the door closed behind her. "You did it! We've been trying for days... it might even be a week... but in less than an hour... you did it! I am amazed, Dr. Carrick. I am amazed."

"Thank you, I guess, but I didn't do anything spectacular, I just..."

The man was brought to silence by a defiant wave of the tiny but mighty woman's hand. "I know you're not the humble type. So do me a favor and spare me the platitudes. She's only going to be in there ten minutes tops, and I need your help in here."

"In her bedroom?"

"Yes."

Scenes from an upcoming unnamed Tobias/Casey Poly AU and the final part of A Moment in Time (Trystan/Carolina, CoP, AU) can be found below the break.

Tobias/Casey Poly AU Series - Coming soon!

Biting her lips to stifle a giggle, Casey shifted in Tobias’s arms to face him, garnering curious stares from co-workers and patients alike. She didn’t know he managed to do it; the man could sneak up behind her, push her hair away from her neck, and kiss her so seamlessly that no one so much as noticed. But she’d just turn around to face him, and a dozen spectators were waiting to feed the gossip pipeline. Though it was already too late to deter that, she took a cautious step to the side.

“You need to stop doing that,” she blushed. “I thought you wanted to keep things under wraps at work.”

Tobias shrugged with a tantalizing smirk on his lips. “I don’t recall saying any such thing. So, ready for our big night? I’ll pick you up at six?”

The afternoon sun caught his aqua eyes, and though she never thought it possible, they were now even more enticing. Forgetting about anyone and anything other than him, she grinned. “Six it is.”

He closed the distance between them, the ever-present swagger in his gait. Casey felt her skin turn to gooseflesh as his hand brushed against hers so quickly no one could see but one look at her face, and he knew his goal had been attained.

“I’m counting the minutes,” he muttered. Pointedly meeting the eyes of each gawker as he marched away.

Casey thought she was in the clear now that he was gone, but she could feel the weight of Jackie’s stare.

“Yes,” she said, eyes fixed on her work to avoid her friend’s judgemental gaze.

“What’s going on with you two.”

“What? What do you mean?”

A Moment In Time | Crimes of Passion | Trystan x Carolina - Final Chapter

Carolina's face turned to stone; an anger usually reserved for criminals she was slapping handcuffs on set in her eyes.

"I can't believe you're defending this!" She spat, quickly walking away, but Ruby was fast at her heels.

"I'm not defending it, Carolina. I'm just saying you're being incredibly unreasonable. You owe him at least..."

"Owe him?" she laughed, though she found nothing amusing at all. I don't owe anyone anything. Especially Trystan. This isn't how it works, Ruby. This isn't how it works at all!"

"Then how exactly should it work? Because from where I stand, he's doing all that he can. Right now, the onus is on you...and I'm not afraid to tell you so."

Carolina had been walking frantically, rushing toward the park's gate as if the crowd on the bustling city street would swallow her whole and provide her with the escape hatch she was desperately seeking. But her friend's words... her brutally honest words... stopped her in her tracks.

"Jesus, Ruby," she whispered, pounding a fist against her thigh. "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus! I hate it when you're right!"

A delightful glint came to Ruby's eyes, but for her friend's sake, she held back her smile. "Then you must be disappointed quite often."

Now I am copying Lily and using this as an excuse to see other WIPs! Do you have anything, @dutifullynuttywitch @thosehallowedhalls @inlocusmads @stars-are-within-me @tveitertotwrites @cariantha @liaromancewriter @genevievemd @storyofmychoices @noesapphic @aallotarenunelma @lorirwritesfanfic @aces-and-angels @aria-ashryver @moominofthevalley @angelasscribbles @mydemonsdrivealimo @trappedinfanfiction @peonierose @potionsprefect @coffeeheartaddict2 @secretaryunpaid @cadybear420 @choices-ceri

[atinylittlepain]

Firehouse Harrington - Chapter 2

fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

warnings | 18+ SMUT, angst, toxic relationship dynamic

a/n | gonna keep writing for this pathetic, sexy, messed-up man, that is all

Steve Harrington is puzzling. That’s the only conclusion she’s really reached. He’s taken her on more than a few dates, now seeing each other for a little over two months, and the stark contrast between the simply sweet gestures - always showing up with flowers, always opening doors for her, insisting on paying for her meal - and the downright nasty, bordering on violent sex sends her head reeling. She’s having a hard time discerning where he ends and where these staggeringly high walls he’s built begin. She knows he’s the last thing she needs right now. Her last year of college, grad school tentatively on the horizon. But Christ, she just can’t seem to get him out of her system.

She’s meeting him at the station tonight since his twenty-four hour shift ends at six. They’re going out for dinner. She’s learned that he doesn’t like movie theaters, concerts, or crowds in general, only tolerating bars when he’s good and drunk. She’s learned that she doesn’t like him very much when he’s drunk. So, most of their dates have been in quiet, hole in the wall restaurants, usually leading back to his uncharacteristically nice apartment. She didn’t think firefighters were exactly swimming in cash, but he seems to be quite comfortable. He had explained to her how he’s only on shift at the station three or four days out of the week, the rest of the time working at a mechanic’s shop. She knows he served, growing quickly accustomed to his dog tags dangling in front of her face, but he’s never told her anything about it. It’s difficult to get Steve to say much about himself. 

When she reaches the station, she finds the garage open, Steve just stepping down from one of the trucks, all geared up, his jacket undone to show the damp, clinging t-shirt beneath. The first thing she notices is the soot smearing across his face. She hovers just at the edge of the garage, anxiously wringing the strap of her purse, the other men too focused on getting out of their ashy uniforms to notice. Steve glances her direction before doubling back to fully take her in. He always looks her up and down when he first sees her, like he’s practically devouring her whole. It makes her squirm.

He lets out a sigh, shuffling over to her in his heavy boots. He reaches for her, but his hands flex, thinking better of it as he’s still so filthy from wherever he just was. 

“Hey, doll. I’m real sorry. We got called out this afternoon. Massive blowout in an apartment building. Can you give me like ten minutes? Just gotta get cleaned up for you and I’m all yours.” She swallows around a thickness in her throat.

“I-it’s fine. Steve, are you sure you’re ok to go out?” She reaches her hand up to tuck some of his damp hair back behind his smudged face, but he somewhat unkindly swats her hand away, she flinches.

“I’m fine. Just need to clean off. Why don’t you come wait inside, huh?” She nods, feeling both frustrated and floaty at how easily he takes control, renders her meek.

He guides her into the station. It looks like how she’d expect a house full of middle-aged men to look, comfy, lived-in, if not a bit sparse. She sits down in an armchair in what she supposes could be called the living room, watching Steve’s figure retreat up the stairs. 

She’s starting to regret the dress she wore as the other men start to filter through the station, letting their eyes linger on her bare legs a little longer than she’d like. 

“You Harrington’s girl?” An older man with a thick mustache walks up to her, sizing her up like a piece of meat. She clears her throat, trying to make herself as big as possible.

“I suppose I am, yeah, what’s it to you?” The man chuckles before letting out a low whistle.

“He better keep a close eye on you, sweet thing.” His grin makes her stomach twist unpleasantly. Another man sidles up, sitting down on the armrest of her chair. She leans into the other side, jerking away as he takes a strand of her hair between his fingers.

“What’re you going out with Harrington for, baby? Pretty little thing like you could do a whole lot better.” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest after flicking his hand away. 

“Well, I’m really sorry, gentleman. I didn’t mean to bother you, but I’m just trying to wait for my date. So if you could, you know, fuck off, I’d appreciate it.” The men both laugh at her bite. Mustache shuffles forward, bending over until he’s level with her face. She does her best to meet his gaze, unblinking.

“Harrington better teach you some manners, honey. That’s no way to be talking to men. I suggest you show us a little more respect.” He grins again, crooked, beer-stained teeth and breath that reeks of cigarettes.

“And I suggest you get the fuck out of my face.” 

“Now listen here, you little–”

“Michaels, Cahill, I see you’ve met my girl.” Both men immediately back off. Her stomach drops, knowing that Steve is not going to like what he heard one bit. He didn’t like her swearing, sure, but in the brief time they had been together, she had also learned that Steve was a violently jealous man with a very short temper. He offers his hand to her and she takes it, getting pulled into his side with his arm around her waist.

“You’ve got a real spitfire on your hands there, Harrington. Gonna have to hose that one down to handle the heat.” The two men laugh, slapping Steve on the back as they walk away, Steve’s face set in a tight smile that really looks more like a grimace. She sees the way his jaw is ticking. He pulls slightly away from her, taking her hand to lead her out of the station, a muttered “let’s go” is all she gets. What a great start to the night.

He hails them a cab outside, and when they get in, she furrows her brow at him when he gives the driver directions that are definitely not to the restaurant they were supposed to be going to. She goes to question him, but he cuts her off.

“We’re going back to mine. That ok with you, spitfire?” She swallows hard, a cold weight settling at the base of her spine. She nods, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. The hand not draped over her shoulder reaches up to grab her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“I asked you a question, bunny. And I expect an answer.” She does her best to steady her voice, but it still comes out a little shaky.

“Yes, Steve. That’s ok with me.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent, Steve’s hand coming to wrap around the swell of her thigh. She hates to admit it, but even as much as his tough guy act upsets her, it also makes something in her twist, heat already starting to build.

Even when he’s pissed, Steve is still polite. He gets out of the cab first, jogging around the side to open her door for her, holding her hand all the way up to his apartment’s floor. But once they get inside it’s a different story.

The second he closes the door, he’s got her pinned up against it, palms framing her face. Normally, she’d play along, fine with skipping the date and going straight to fucking. She liked it as much as he seemed to, the intensity. But tonight, she was exhausted, hadn’t eaten since this morning because of her stupid class schedule, running around all afternoon trying to console and advise her hopeless freshmen, and had been really looking forward to at least some quiet, simple time with Steve. Plainly put, she wasn’t having it.

She shoves lightly at his chest, huffing above his head that had already dipped to bite and suck at her neck.

“Steve, Steve. C’mon, j-just slow down a bit. There’s no need to get so f-fucking worked up.” She knows it was the exactly wrong thing to say right now, but quite frankly she’s too tired to care. He freezes in what he’s doing, letting out a low scoff before leaning back to peer at her. 

“What did I tell you about that mouth, baby? Embarrassing me in front of those pricks. Tell me, is that how you talk to all your little college boys, huh?” He’s brought one hand to rest right at the base of her throat, thumb pressing up the length of her neck.

“Wha– what are you talking about? What boys, Steve? I’ve only been seeing you. You know that.” He laughs and the edge to it makes her stomach clench.

“I don’t know, doll. With a mouth like that, I find it a little hard to believe you haven’t been whoring yourself out. Spreading your legs to whoever’s looking. Such a stupid slut.” This is new. Sure, Steve can be degrading in bed, but it’s always superficial stuff, never crossing some unconsciously agreed upon boundary. But this is starting to graze bone. She shoves him again, this time successfully dipping out from his grasp before whirling around to look at him.

“Jesus christ. You need to grow up, Steve. Quit being such a fucking tough guy for five seconds,” she scoffs lightly, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I need to sit down.” She turns to walk over to his couch but he quickly grips her wrist, pulling her back to him until her forearms are crashing into his chest.

“You don’t fucking walk away from me. You’re my girl. Mine. And when you talk to me you’ll do it with some fucking respect–”

She’s doing it before her brain can even process, arcing her free hand out and slapping him clean across the face, his head jerking to the side. He lets go of her, a look of shock dragged down his face.

“You sound just like them and it makes me sick.” She storms off down the hall towards his bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. Truthfully, she has no clue what she’s doing, or what she just did. She should have marched right out the front door, but now she’s stuck, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with her head in her hands. She can’t help the sobs that start to softly roll through her, a culmination of a terrible day.

She’s startled by soft knocks at the door.

“Baby? Baby, please come out. I’m so sorry, honey, please– will you please come out? I didn’t mean it, baby, I just– you know how I get– just still worked up from the job this afternoon, that’s all. Please, pretty baby, let me make it up to you? Please, honey.” Steve’s voice is soft, a mumbling murmur of pleas slipping under the door.

She doesn’t say anything. Wouldn’t know what to say in the first place. For now, she stays seated, counting her breaths, trying to calm down, to figure out what to do next. She can hear him let out a long sigh, and the sound of feet shuffling. It’s been maybe forty five minutes when she opens the door, finding him sitting right next to it, his back against the wall, his forehead resting on his drawn-in knees. She can’t help but notice how small he looks.

His head shoots up and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he had been crying.

“I’m sorry, baby.” She sighs, kneeling down in front of him.

“It’s ok, Steve. I-I forgive you. But you can’t get like that everytime something upsets you. What you said really hurt. You call me your girl and I am your girl, but you have to trust in what that means.” He swallows thickly, nodding, allowing her to take one of his hands in hers.

“I do trust you, pretty. It’s everyone else I don’t trust. S’just, you could have anyone. So fucking smart, and beautiful. Sometimes I don’t get why you’re with me.” She squeezes his hand, scooting a little closer to him.

“Steve, I want you. Don’t care about anyone else. But I need you to trust me when I tell you that. Need you to talk to me about what you’re feeling instead of just taking it out on me. I do want you, baby, but not enough to stick around if you keep treating me like that.” Steve nods hard at that, slowly shifting to stand up, bringing her along with him. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. Her cheek squishes right above his heartbeat.

“I’ll be better, baby. I promise. Be the kind of guy you deserve.” She sighs into his chest, letting herself relax into his arms a bit more. Steve pulls back just slightly to look down at her.

“You hungry, pretty?” She smiles, a bit sheepishly, nodding up at him.

…

They order chinese and have dinner on his couch. He feeds her bites of his lo mein and she can’t help but feel a sense of whiplash, looking at this sweet man who just a few hours ago was an angry mess. But he is sweet, just enough to put earlier this evening out of her mind. 

He takes both their finished containers and sets them down on the coffee table, turning to look at her lazily smiling at him. He clears his throat.

“I really am sorry, pretty. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Never wanna hurt you.” She reaches out to card her fingers through his hair and his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“I know, baby. I accept your apology. Just don’t do it again, yeah?” He nods, shifting on the couch until he’s pressed up against her, his arm around her shoulders. He drops a soft kiss to her lips.

“Wanna make it up to you, doll. Will you let me? Let me make you feel good?” She takes a sharp breath as his hand on her thigh starts to skirt up, her dress riding up her legs along with it. She nods, a hummed “mmhmm,” all it takes for Steve to slide down onto his knees in front of her.

He brings both palms to splay over the softness of her thighs, dragging them up and up until he finds the band of her panties. He doesn’t even have to say anything, she lifts her hips for him as if on command, letting him slide the light blue cotton down her legs, tossing them off to the side. It’s quiet, save for her broken exhales, as he guides the backs of her knees over his shoulders, shifting her hips down to the edge of the couch. He lets his lips drag along the insides of her thighs, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his simpering wake. He keeps getting frustratingly close to her cunt before dipping back to nip and suckle at her thighs. She lets out a long whine the next time he does it. He grins up at her.

“What is it, pretty? You gotta tell me what you want.” She huffs at his teasing.

“I want you, please.”

“You got me, baby. Gonna have to be more specific.” She pulls the one card she knows will stop his toying with her.

“I want your mouth, daddy. Please, daddy, need your mouth.” She can see the corners of his mouth flickering. Got him.

“Good girl. Daddy’s gonna give it to you. Anything you want, baby, just gotta ask.” He mumbles the last bit as he dips his head down, drawing a long arc through her folds with his tongue. She preens under the sudden contact.

Steve works her over with a desperate hunger, only pulling away to spit roughly at her cunt before chasing after the pooling wetness there. There’s a lewd squelching sound as he suckles on her clit, making her throw her head back in a low moan, digging her heel into his back.

“That’s it, bunny. Let daddy hear how good it feels, give it all to me.” He dips lower, fucking his tongue into her cunt and she gasps, fisting one of her hands in his hair, earning a low thrumming groan from him that burns through her core. His nose is catching her clit just right as he continues to lick into her before he draws his mouth back up, letting two fingers slide in where his tongue just was. She lets out a broken cry when he finds that spot inside her, stroking it with each thrust of his hand. He’s panting when he comes up for air.

“Want you to come on my fingers, bunny. Can you do that for daddy? Make a fucking mess of me, baby.” She whimpers, nodding frantically, her eyes scrunched shut as she rocks her hips against his face and palm, chasing a high that’s teetering dangerously close.

“Open your eyes, pretty. Want your eyes on me when you come. Be a good girl.” She does what he says, eyes blowing wide and the sight of him, hair a mess, cheeks damp with her, his pupils blown out, is enough to send her right over the edge. She cries out, hips lifting up, pulsing around his fingers before slowly melting into a breathless mess. Steve sits up on his knees, pulling her in for a kiss and she groans at the taste of herself on his tongue.

He murmurs for her to wrap her legs around him and she does, always surprised by his stolid strength when he lifts her up off the couch, carrying her to his bedroom. He lays her back on his bed, caging her in between his forearms as they meet in another kiss. He presses his hips firmly into hers and she can feel his hardness as he shunts his hips forward, dragging along her sensitive cunt.

She fumbles for the hem of his shirt before he gets the hint, peeling away from her to yank it off by the collar before unbuckling his belt. She quickly pulls her dress off over her head and when he dives back down to meet her, his mouth goes to lick over a peaked nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. She sighs, pressing her chest up towards his mouth, giving him the space to reach around and unclasp her bra before sliding it down her shoulders. He pauses for a moment, slack jawed, as he takes her in. His hand comes to her jaw before running his thumb over her bottom lip, he sighs.

“So fucking beautiful.” She takes his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it, earning a low grumbling moan from him before he takes it from her mouth with a startling pop.

He shuffles his jeans and boxers down his legs before hovering back over her, pressing the fat head of his cock through her folds. They both groan at the contact. 

“P-please don’t tease me, daddy. Need it so bad.” He scoffs at her crumpled expression.

“I know what you need, baby. Daddy’s got you, huh?” With that, he lines himself up with her entrance, pressing forward. It always has been and continues to be a stretch, a pleasure that dips into pain as he digs his hips into hers, bottoming out. She draws her nails down his back, feeling him shudder under the delicate scrapes he’s sure to be left with. He dips his face into her neck, pressing chaste kisses along her jumping tendons.

“Can I move, pretty. Are you ok?” She gasps out a “yes” and he rolls his hips experimentally, a long, digging thrust that makes her eyes roll back. He grabs onto the plush of her thigh before guiding her leg to wrap around his hip, spreading her out for him. The pace he sets is slow but harsh, punches of his hips that send her rocking up the length of the bed. They’re wrapped in the sounds of their heavy breathing, the sloppy wetness of his thrusts into her, and the headboard lightly banging against the wall.

He brings the rough pads of his fingers down to swipe across her clit and she cries out, clenching hard around him. Everytime they fuck, she’s reminded that she’s never had anyone press this deep into her, a feeling that churns her insides and sets pleasure pooling in her stomach.

“Need to feel you, baby. Need you to come on my cock. Come on, pretty, let go.” His groaned words are all it takes for that pleasure to spill over for the second time, her arms pulling him down until he’s practically laying on top of her. He continues to grind into her, fucking her through her high in a way that keeps her pleasure thrumming at an almost unbearable high. 

He presses up onto one hand, the other holding onto her hip in a way she’s sure will leave bruises. His hips are starting to stutter and she can tell he’s close.

“You’re mine, right doll? Tell me you’re mine.” She gazes up at him, dragging her fingers through his hair.

“M’all yours, daddy. All for you, baby. I’m yours.” He lets out a broken moan at her words, digging his face back into her neck.

“Fuck– say my name, baby. Say my fucking name.” “Steve, want you to come for me– p-please come for me.”

“M’close, baby– fuck– s-so close. Where do you want me?”

“Inside, wanna feel you, Steve– give it to me, baby– please, wanna feel you f-fill me up.” He lets out a warbly curse before pressing his hips into hers bruisingly as she feels his warmth start to spread inside her. He sighs into her collarbone, letting his lips dance across her skin.

They lay entangled for a few moments, listening as their breaths start to slow down. She winces as he pulls out of her, immediately feeling the way his spend drips onto the sheets. Thank god for birth control. He presses a firm kiss to her lips before getting up and stepping into the bathroom, coming back with a warm towel to clean her up.

He murmurs a sorry into the soft swell of her stomach when she hisses under his ministrations, already feeling the ache settling into her hips. He tosses the towel into his hamper, sliding on a clean pair of boxers and bringing one of his t-shirts over to her. They move silently, they’ve done this many times.

She offers him a soft smile as she slides the worn-out shirt over her head. Steve settles back into bed, pulling her to rest her chin on his chest. They share another small kiss before descending into silence. There’s nothing left to say. She wants so badly for him to have meant what he said earlier, that he’ll start to let her in a bit more. But she also knows they had a very similar conversation just last week, when they had gotten back to Steve’s place with him nursing a set of bloodied, swollen knuckles from the face of the poor guy who had tried to talk to her. Everytime, she swears that the next time he pulls something like that, she’ll leave and not look back. And everytime, he draws her right back in. There’s something in her heart for him that she’s not yet ready to press on, to speak aloud. Too afraid of what it could mean.

He falls asleep before her, the gentle rise and fall of his chest underneath her cheek. She shifts slightly to gaze up at him, one of the rare moments when his features are soft, at peace. She thinks that maybe there’s hope for Steve Harrington yet.

[noorthehood]

Until You • 04

Miguel O'Hara/Reader

Ch. 01 Here

Ch. 02 Here

Ch. 03 Here

Faster updates on Ao3!

With a glimpse of a futuristic cityscape and an encounter with a Spiderman seemingly much different from the one you’re used to, you unknowingly find yourself thrust into a web of intrigue and danger as the very fabric of space and time is warping. Who will you trust?

........………………………….…………………......................

“Eight thousand fifty six…Eight thousand fifty seven…Eight thousand fifty eight…”

The voice reverberates from the screen on Miguel’s left, each count punctuated by the sound of a ball hitting a ceiling. He closes his eyes, trying to get the tension in his back to dissipate as he takes a deep breath, hands resting flat on the desk he’s leaning onto.

“She’s been going at it since she woke up.” Miguel finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of fatigue, eyes still shut in an attempt to ease the strain.

Jessica crosses her arms and glances at the screen, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “I’m sure she’ll tire herself out eventually,” she offers, trying to sound optimistic.

“That’s what I said too.” He looks at her from over his shoulder. “Three hours ago.”

Her eyes widened.

“She lost count around the three thousand mark and decided to just start over again.” Miguel explains, a mix of disbelief and resignation in his tone. “Looks like she's determined to reach ten thousand, for reasons only she knows.”

He lowers his voice.

“She’s aware I can hear her, Jess. It’s psychological warfare.”

“Well,” Jessica mumbles, shaking her head in bemusement. “At least you only have two thousand to go.”

Approaching the screen with cautious curiosity, Jessica’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she takes in the bizarre sight before her. The live feed revealed a plain, minimally furnished room, where the young woman lay flat on the floor, engrossed in her repetitive task. With each count, she throws a small ball up towards the ceiling, only to catch it and start the cycle anew. But that was not the only thing that caught Jessica’s attention.

“Is that—”

“Paint? Yeah.” Miguel responded with a sarcastic smile, running his hands down his face, exhaustion etched on his features. “Lyla said we should give her something to pass the time with. Quickly backfired, as you can see.”

Jessica's gaze shifts back to the live feed, where every wall of the room aside from the windows were covered in a riot of colors. Abstract shapes and bold splashes of paint adorned every inch, creating a chaotic tapestry of creativity—or chaos, rather. The room, once plain and bare, had transformed into a vibrant canvas, as if a feral toddler had been let loose with tubes of acrylic paint.

“And…how long did you say she’s been in there?” She asks as the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting the ceiling continues.

“Few days. Three, four maybe.” Miguel responds before Lyla promptly interjects with a correction.

“Seven, actually. Seven too many.”

Jessica’s jaw drops, and she immediately turns to face Miguel with an incredulous frown.

“Seven days? You’ve been keeping her in that room for a whole week?” She exclaims in disbelief. “No wonder the girl’s lost her mind! Are you insane?”

“It’s not like we’re keeping her hostage, Jess, she has nowhere else to go—”

“Is her door locked?”

He stays silent for a moment, then sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Then you might as well call her your prisoner.” She scoffs.

“It’s for her own safety. I have to monitor her status while figuring out a way to get her and the other one back to wherever they came from.” Miguel continues. “I’m not doing this for the fun of it, I’m trying to help them."

Jessica adjusts her goggles and places a hand on her hip as he settles on a nearby chair. That man truly had a strange way to go about things.

“How’s the other one?” She asks with a sigh.

Miguel shakes his head.

“Still comatose. But at least she’s quiet.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on the live feed from the room where the young woman continued her repetitive task.

"You know, I've been trying to figure out what happened," He begins, his voice tinged with frustration. "I've studied the data, analyzed the machine—”

“Carmen.” Lyla chimes in.

“Yes, thank you Lyla—analyzed Carmen, reviewed all footage... But I’ve got nothing."

Jessica nodded, her gaze focused on Miguel as he continued.

"And their resistance to the glitches, even without wearing the gizmo— that’s what’s most baffling to me." Miguel explains, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Everything we knew about the interdimensional travel process suggests that without that bracelet, they should have been affected by the dimensional inconsistencies."

"But they haven’t," Jessica mused, her brows furrowing in thought. "So, what does that mean?"

Miguel slightly shrugged, his exhaustion evident in his posture. "I wish I knew. It's like they defy the rules, the very laws of the multiverse. I've never seen anything like it."

He leans forward, his gaze fixed on the screen displaying the woman in the paint-covered room.

"I've considered every possibility, every hypothesis," Miguel continued. "But nothing seems to explain their resistance to the glitches, or why the go-home machine fails to send her—and only her— back."

He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words as he stands up to face her.

“I’m at a dead-end, Jess. Seriously.” Miguel admits in a voice marked with a touch of hopelessness, like a confession of his limitations. “I need your help.”

Jessica uncrosses her arms, her expression softening as she takes in the sincerity in his plea. She knows him well enough to understand that for him to ask for help, he must be truly at his wit's end.

"What the hell do you think I can do that you haven’t been able to figure out? You’re the scientist here,” A hint of skepticism laces her words.

“I’m just a biologist, Jess. There’s only so much I can do.” Miguel retorts. “I need you to ask around, talk to people. You know that’s not my forte.”

“That I know.” Jessica sighs again as she looks up at him.

It was unlike him to show vulnerability, much less ask for help . The man was a logistician, driven by pragmatism, often making decisions based on calculated outcomes rather than emotions. His actions could sometimes lack rationality, but deep down, Jessica knew that feelings were not his strong suit. He had cultivated a reputation for prioritizing the greater good, even if it meant making difficult sacrifices—the type of man who would surrender one individual if it meant saving ten others. But something about the woman on the screen seemed to stir an uncharacteristic side of him, disrupting his usual clarity.

Was he worried ?

“Listen. I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m busy enough as is with the wedding prep and the whole Spider-Woman thing.” She preemptively raises a finger as he opens his mouth to keep him from interrupting. “ But …I’ll see what I can do. I just can’t guarantee how long it’ll take.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Miguel's lips, the tension momentarily lifting from his shoulders. "Thanks, Jess. I knew I could count on you."

She raises an eyebrow playfully as she tinkers on her gizmo, preparing to go back on the field. "Don't get too sentimental on me, now. I'm only doing this to keep you from bringing the mood down on missions with your…domestic problems."

He chuckles lightly. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

As if on cue, an interdimensional portal materializes in the middle of the spacious lab. Jess swiftly mounts her bike, her movements a testament to her expertise. With a flick of her foot, she kicks up the kickstand using the back of her heel, and the engine purrs to life.

"In return," she shouts over the cacophony of the revving engine and the ongoing interdimensional racket, "do me a favor and let that poor girl get some fresh air, alright? She's not a puzzle to be solved or a lab rat…just a woman with poor luck." Her words carry a touch of concern. "I know you mean well, but we don't want her developing Stockholm syndrome, yeah? This is supposed to be the good guys HQ, not Alcatraz ."

Miguel reluctantly nods. She has a point.

“Oh, and Miguel?” Jess puts her bike in gear and revs her engine.

He raises an eyebrow and flinches at the loud noise. “What?”

She smiles.

“Looks like she just lost count again.”

........………………………….…………………......................

A.N: A slightly shorter chapter to kick off the weekend!

Just laying some groundwork, I promise we'll be getting a lot more Miguel/YN interactions from now on.

Let me know how we feel about this update pacing (shorter chapters/faster updates or longer chapters/not-as-fast updates?)

See ya soon for more! As usual faster updates on Ao3!

Ch. 05

[writefinch]

FRIENDLY CHAT

Hey! Sorry to pull you in here before your break, we just need a quick chat. So, long story short, uh, a customer complained that you point-blank offered him a condom.

This isn't the first time. You know it's against company policy. You're only supposed to get them if the customer requests it first. Like, you're not even supposed to have them on display. I know that part is stupid, but if the regional manager checks the tapes and sees condom bowls in plain view, I'd still get written up.

No, no, absolutely not, I'm not going to write you up. I don't think it's necessary and you know it goes totally against my management style. I want to talk through your concerns.

I wanna remind you that we take all the recommended industry-standard precautions. In fact we go above them! First off, you're fully vaxxed, and that's the end of ninety percent of things to worry about, period. You've got an IUD on the company health plan, even though your T-shots probably suppress it. The customers get a physical screen in the waiting area. All us boys and girlies get tested every three weeks, twice as frequent as the industry standard.

That's already extensive, it makes you safer than the vast majority of people in our line of work. If we did any more, customers will get the wrong idea. They'll think we're an unclean brothel with unclean customers. It'd remind them too much of all the you-know-what from the past few years.

Yes, you're not wrong about that. Breakthrough infections happen, and people get sick. But you know what I'm gonna say? You're very robust, you know that? You've been here for what, eighteen months, you've been pulling long hours and beacoup extra shifts and you've barely caught a sniffle. The testosterone must be helping!

Now you might not stay this lucky forever, that's why we have six paid sick days and a flexible admin rota. Usually when you catch something it'll be a mild itch and trouble peeing. You won't even wanna rest, and yeah you won't get the full rate for paid clients, you can still get paid to do the laundry and the paperwork for a week while it clears up.

Every year I get a couple of colds from my kids and take three or four days off, and every year I always get a VD from one of the clients and spend a week washing sheets and cleaning dildos. You know what that gives me? Two or three days rolled over into vacation time!

Yes, you can get unlucky. You can get a couple of back-to-back infections. I tell every boy and girl who starts here the same thing: before they take out a loan on a new car or move out of their toxic roommate situation, make sure to get two weeks pay in a savings account. Even if you do have to dip into your rainy day fund, you know full well that there's always extra shifts to pick up around here.

Yeah, you can catch something nasty. You can have a bad reaction. We all remember how scary it was before the vaccines were available. But here's the thing: you drive to work, right? You're on the freeway twice a day. Forty-thousand people die every year in car crashes, and tens of thousands more get life-changing injuries. You don't spend every day worrying about that, right?

You just get on with it and live your life.

Look, I'm really sorry about this whole thing. You're really special to me, you know that? You're a genuine friend to me, I mean that. We get on really well, all the girls love you, you're a hit with clients and that's why I jumped on this y'know? This job is only as fun as the people here make it, and I don't want to see you written up for something that can be talked out.

Discipline here is so stupid. I'm fucking sick of the owners hassling girls, and boys, out of working here and then crying and bitching when we can't meet customer demand.

I said I'd be out of here as soon as I get my HVAC cert but if they put us all through that again I'll just quit on the spot. That's why I want to look out for you. You've helped me through some really difficult times, on shift and off. I wouldn't have been able to get through junket season without you. I'm serious, if you hadn't joined when you did, there'd be gun laws named after me.

Thanks for listening, and again, I'm sorry for even bringing this stuff up. Just promise you'll keep what I've said in mind? We've all got to look out for each other here.

Hey, once you're back from break, can I have your help with something? I've got a no-refusal client and well, all the other girls refused. What? No I don't want you to take him, c'mon man I'm not gonna let you off a written warning to guilt you into picking up my shit, honestly! No, I'm the supervisor on shift so it's up to me.

Anyway he's not into boys, even pretty ones like you, sorry. But he's a real charmer, so would you mind sticking close in case he starts throwing up or throwing hands? If I have to hit the panic button I think Sergei will throw him out of a window, and nobody needs that headache.

Thanks, I really appreciate it. We'll be in the spa room, so let me know when you're ready to play pool boy…

[seaglasscat]

UNTITLED

When I am ill I think a lot about dying.

How the piercing pain

in my head would

sink out the back of my skull,

a cool citrusy vapor

into my bedsheets.

I see my ribs concave in and watch

the sludge drip off them

& wonder if they would feel any lighter.

And what have you been

doing to manage the pain?

The doctor asks

as

I automatically push

the last of the knife

into my intestines.

Feeling warm as I imagine

the pressure seeping out

through the opening.

I laugh, Not much.

I shift on the parchment paper and feel

the cool tip of a gun on my neck

below my hair.

Pulling the trigger,

murmuring Why bother.

How could he understand

if his level ten pain hasn’t seen

inflation?

I used to buy understanding

everyday; but my ten

is now a six,

and I can’t afford a sick day.

Shuffling through the kitchenette

and into the bathroom of my studio apartment,

I realize I am alone.

My friends have sent me

messages but my vibrating

eyes can’t bare to look,

& the bile rising

in my throat demands

I don’t answer them.

Suddenly remembering for

the third time that week

how it is to forget who you are.

My orange kettle,

a beacon under the stove top light,

pulls my eye with its geometric shapes before

I close the bathroom door.

It reminded me of you.

How you offered to stay

up with me, and cook

in the late hours of the night

so I could eat too.

I knew you understood

but in that moment it was the least

interesting thing about you.

For once instead of conjuring

up a fast endorphin hit

in the form of a lethal blow,

I saw you.

And this time,

the knives were in your hands.

They pierced tomatoes, not flesh.

Yet somehow I still felt the release.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Joe Velasco: Magic Carpet Ride  

There is now a second part to this Disclosure. Both can be read as standalones.

You drop onto the couch with a huff. Exhaustion was the only emotion you could feel, echoing up your body from your toes in harsh waves. You had been working overtime at the forensic lab since you started there almost eight months ago. The scandal and retesting of forensic evidence for the last two years of narcotics and some homicide cases that involved Narcotics was almost over. Five people had been fired and prosecuted, turning on their outside accomplices, leading to big arrests. There was talk of IPB leaving soon and letting the lab get back to having its own autonomy. Not that you had ever experienced that at this lab. You had come to help following the breaking of the scandal. The stress and micromanagement had been so much that you wondered if you were crazy for accepting and then continuing to stay. But finally, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. 

“More over time?” Joe looked up from the files that he had spread over the coffee table. You groaned in response leaning back onto the couch and dropping your bag on the floor. After late night shifts you had gotten into the habit of stopping and subsequently staying the night at Joe’s house. You both often used the excuse that his apartment was just closer to the precinct and therefore more convenient. You had been doing this, non-defined, label-less relationship for just shy of five months. 

“I just feel like I can’t say no. The money and experience, it’s too good to pass up.” Joe hummed while taking a sip of his beer, analyzing your slumped form on his couch. You had yet to take off your coat or shoes and he could feel the exhaustion radiating from you. The tap of the bottle being placed back on the coffee table was the only warning you got before your legs were swung up into his lap. He unzips your boots and pulls them off setting them down neatly on the floor. His strong hands start rubbing your feet.  

“You need to learn. You’re going to burn yourself out at the rate you're going.” His hands are talented, and you lean further back against the arm of the chair.  

“If you weren’t being so nice to me, I would point out that you were up doing paperwork. But since you are, I’ll just smile and say you're right.” He paused his ministrations. 

“Really?” He was surprised that you gave in so easily. You were headstrong and liked to argue just for the sake of it sometimes. He hadn’t expected such an easy win.  

“Yeah, I’m starting to feel the effects of working so much.” His hands started moving up your calves stroking them absentmindedly. “I was thinking about it today actually. You know I’ve lived in New York for almost a year, and I haven’t even seen the touristy places. I’ve been talking about going to Coney Island since I moved here and I’m not closer to going than I was when I lived ten and half hours away.” You sigh before shaking your head at yourself. The idea that has been flashing through your mind won’t settle. “I’m going to use a sick day tomorrow. I just don’t think I have it in me to go back to the lab.” You had been working mandatory six days a week. Joe was right, you were feeling the burnout. 

“I think that is a good idea.” You reach for him, and he leans over you. You cup his cheek pulling him in for a kiss. It is slow and soft. His mouth was hot and followed the lead of your lazy kiss. It broke with a few lingering pecks on the lips. “You ready for bed baby? You look like you're falling asleep sitting up.” 

The two of you headed to the bedroom. Joe offered you a shirt to sleep in which you refused, teasing him that he is like sleeping against a furnace at night. You stripped down to just your cotton underwear and climbed into his arms reveling in the feel of his bare chest pressing against yours, your bodies tangled together. You had called the lab while getting ready for bed telling them that you wouldn’t be coming in the following morning because of food poisoning. 

Joe turned off the bedside lamp blanketing the room darkness. You had told him to wake you when he left for work, and you would head back to your apartment. You feel a kiss pressed to your temple before you're tucked under his chin. You barely have time to smile against his neck before you’ve drifted off. 

Something doesn’t feel quite right as you start to wake up the next morning. It takes you only a moment to realize what it is. Your body is no longer curled into Joe’s warm chest but the sad replacement of his pillow that only held trace amounts of his scent and body heat. The other was the sun was much higher in the sky than it should be. Had Joe not woken you up when he left for work? You found that hard to believe. Had you slept through his wake-up call, and he had given up? That also seemed unlikely but with how tired you had been last night, maybe? 

Joe walked into the bedroom, freshly showered and dressed in street clothes holding a cup of coffee. “Oh, good you’re awake, I thought I might have to wake you before you slept the entire day away.” He set his cup down sitting next to you on the bed. You sat up against the headboard watching him in confusion. He leaned over to kiss you and you made a face at the bitter taste of coffee still lingering on his lips.  

“Joe, what time is it, should you be at work?”  

“I guess your food poisoning was contagious.” The absurdity of the statement and your still half-asleep brain took a moment to process his meaning.   

“You’re playing hooky with me today?” You smile letting the covers drop from your naked chest. “You’re overdressed for the occasion.” Your greedy hands slid from his chest down towards the buckle of his belt. His hand caught yours pausing its movements on his lower stomach.  

“Sorry baby, not this time.” You tilt your head in confusion, searching his eyes. “We are already running behind, and we still have to stop at your apartment for you to get some clean clothes.” 

“Late for what?”  

“Coney Island.” You hadn’t thought much about your words last night. You had just been thinking out loud. Joe was one of the easiest people for you to talk to. While he had been sitting on the couch listening, he had felt a sense of guilt. He after all was part of the reason that you that you hadn’t been out much. You were working a lot but when you weren’t you had been hooking up with him. Sure, you went out to bars and the occasional place for food but mostly you guys spend your time in his apartment. He liked being around you, you were good company and the sex between the two of you had gone from great to better. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you. He didn’t want to tarnish a good thing by making you think that he didn’t care about what you wanted to do. You were new in New York and had mostly been willing to tag along with what he wanted to do. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he had seen most of the city quickly because he had been around doing detective work while you were stuck in a lab trying to help clean up a mess that wasn’t yours. 

        “Jose, you going to show me the world on your magic carpet?”  

You hadn’t been so giddy to get out of bed in a long time. The next hour passed in a blur, going to your apartment for a quick shower and to get changed before climbing back onto Joe’s motorcycle and speeding off for Coney Island. It was the perfect day, sunny and 75 degrees. The ride gave you some long-missed color to your cheeks and a happy thrumming through your veins.  

You guys spent all day there and Joe let you have the full experience. The arcades, the overpriced greasy fried food and then the over-sugared snacks, the attractions, the rides, and he even tried his hand at a few stall games. He had won a stuffed animal now tucked into your purse, only its bright head peeking out of the top of the bag. It was dark now and all the lights had been turned on. There was only one thing the two of you had yet to do yet. “You sure you don’t want to do the Ferris Wheel?” Joe persisted as you shoved another piece of the elephant ear in your mouth, powdered sugar staining your lips. 

“I’m afraid of heights. I know it sounds like a cute idea, but I’ll probably end up leaving a bruise on your arm.” He laughed at this before pointing at the rollercoaster that was at least twice the size with his hand that wasn’t holding your plate of fried sugar. 

“Let me get this straight, you will ride a rollercoaster that is twice as tall and way faster, but you won’t ride the Ferris Wheel. Baby, that makes no sense.”  

“I don’t have time to be afraid on the rollercoaster.” You say with a shrug. “If you want to go on I will. I was just giving you a fair warning.” He smiled brushing some sugar off your cheek, then kissed your lips sucking the sugar off them. 

“We will save that for another day then.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

When you guys get back to Joe’s apartment you are both happy and blissfully tired. The day had been long but had left you with a new energy. A readiness for what was coming your way in life. It was probably the best date that you had ever been on. It brought up questions that you had been refusing to ask yourself. You knew that Joe wasn’t seeing anyone else, or you were pretty sure at least. His work schedule might not have been as busy as yours now, but it did come into play at random moments. If he had time to see someone else, you would have to be a bit impressed. 

The way he acted with you was so intimate, and personal. You weren’t official but after a day like today, you felt like you were.  

“Hey Joe, I was thinking,” He hummed his acknowledgment from where he sat on the couch. You were about to just ask him what you guys were. Tell him you wanted a label, a defined serious relationship to build off. When his green eyes meet yours, panic fills you with what the conversation could cost you. How good things are right now. How perfect this hooky day had been and the promise of another one to come.  

“What is it, sweetheart?” He prodded when you don’t continue. You lose your nerve and think of a pastime that would be a lot more pleasurable. It was already late at night, and you were about to make it later. You sink to your knees in front of him. 

“I was just thinking that you deserved a reward for this amazing day.” You push his shirt up licking a stripe above the waistband on his jeans. You smile when you hear the hitch in his breathing. You rub your hand over the crotch of his jeans and can already feel him starting to harden.   

“You don’t have to.”  

“I know, but I want to show you how much fun I had.” You start to undo his pants and slide them down. Despite his words, his cock was already half-hard and looking for attention. “Don’t you want me to show you, baby?” He didn’t have a chance to get words out when you took the tip into your mouth rolling your tongue around the head. He cursed shifting, forcing his cock further into your mouth. You moan around it. You tease him at first focusing on the sensitive tip sucking a caressing it with your tongue. When he’s fully hardened, and you can taste his precum you take more of him in your mouth and start bobbing your head.  

You know your jaw will hurt later but you don’t rush through it. You stay teasing until his hand has gathered up your hair in his fist and he is tugging at it, telling you to look at him. His moans start bouncing off the walls and he tries to keep himself from thrusting up to meet your lips. That’s when you take him as far as you can his tip brushing the back of your throat. He hisses and you increase your speed. You know he is close when his thighs start to tremble, and he can no longer resist the urge to thrust upward. He gives you a warning and tries to pull back, but you follow him as he comes. You swallow and continue to lick at his shaft for a minute longer. You pull back with an audible pop. He swipes his hand over the coffee table making his files and papers go flying onto the floor as he lifts you up onto it pulling your legs over his shoulders to return the favor.  

If you had been able to focus on anything, quite an impossible task with Joe’s mouth on your clit, or any time immediately after, you would have noticed that one of the papers on the floor was the answer to the question that you had been too afraid to ask.

Relationship Disclosure Form: Manhattan  

That ending was not what I wanted it to be but it’s close enough. I have a second part for this planned. I also have a couple of multiple-part series I want to write for Joe. So, keep a lookout. I’m going to keep writing self-indulgent fics unless anyone has any requests. If you like Nick Amaro, I have started writing for him too.   

[midnightkens]

TW: Sudden death of a partner, self-blame

--

The house is far too quiet.

Ken's gaze flit about the living room. A gentle breeze trickles in from the open window, and if he pays close enough attention, he hears crickets chirping from somewhere in the distance. The world keeps spinning. Bottles clink in the next yard over, and Ken scowls at the roar of laughter that follows.

How can anyone laugh right now? His world came to a screeching halt six weeks ago. He shudders and wraps his blanket tighter around himself. The blanket still smells like Ryan, but it's a cold comfort. Traces of his partner are scattered all about the room, from his running shoes by the door, a half-finished painting on its canvas, the book he was reading on the coffee table.

It's Ken's very own time capsule.

"You can move some of it," Barbie suggests gently. "He - "

"No," Ken snaps. Barbie flinches, and he squirms with guilt. He'll apologize later, when he has the energy. "I can't."

Ken closes his eyes, willing the onslaught of memories to leave him alone, but he knows it's wishful thinking. Ryan haunts his dreams, face contorted with rage, it's your fault I'm dead, why didn't you stay home, I thought you loved me?

Barbie, Gloria, and Sasha are kind enough to lie to him, but Ken wishes they would tell him the truth. It's all his fault; he already knows it, so what difference would it make? They probably talk about him, how worthless he is, how badly he fucked up. After all, they have plenty of time. They're holed up in the same house, and Ken's been cast aside, lost, adrift, and alone.

Ken buries his head in his hands. He's not being fair. They've been reaching out, trying to get him to talk, inviting him over and begging him to spend time with them. He can't make his hands reach for his phone. It's too much energy.

He doesn't matter that much anyway

"Maybe I should stay home." Ken puts his bag down and leans against the doorframe. Nervous energy buzzes through him, white-hot and angry. Ryan needs him. Why? Ken doesn't know. He only knows that he does.

Ryan swivels around in his seat and raises an eyebrow. "Ken, I'm fine. I've been looking at the screen for too long. I'm going to take some medicine, go to bed, and I'll be fine. It's a headache. Stop fretting."

Ken had gone off to work, trying to shake the uneasy feeling off. But Ryan didn't answer two, four, five and a half hours later. Six hours into his twelve hour shift, he races home, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The house was eerily silent, and Ken remembers the stairs creaking as he climbed them, getting tunnel vision as he walked down the hall and into the bedroom he shared with his husband.

A massive brain aneurysm, the doctors told him. He hadn't felt a thing.

Ken hasn't slept in his bed in weeks. Hasn't even entered the room. How is he ever supposed to go in that room again, surrounded by his clothes, his cologne, his side of the bed, empty and cold? The couch is fine. It's not the comfiest to sleep on, but that's fine.

Ken doesn't deserve comfort. He's a paramedic. He has pretty damn good instincts, instincts that were screaming at him to stay home that day, instincts that he ignored.

Ryan's dead, because he failed him. His husband's trust lay cradled in the palm of his hand, and Ken broke it. Destroyed it. He's existed for over seventy-five years. Ryan didn't even get fifty.

They didn't even get ten years together. Seven years isn't enough time for anything. They had so many plans! And it slipped through his fingers, because even years after becoming human, he's an idiot who makes the same mistakes over and over.

He never deserved Ryan anyway. It should've been him.

But it wasn't, and he just knows that his family thinks the same.

It's fine. He doesn't need them.

They can't give him what he wants, so why bother?

[sublimecatgalaxy]

can I have rafe with a reader with a broken neck 🥹😭 for legal reasons 😭

Opening requests for one person and one person only. Go send her some love folks, she needs all the support in the world right now❤️

"You're kind of a shitty nurse." I mutter, eyes screwing tightly shut as a twinge of pain shoots up the back of my neck and into the base of my skull, Rafe's careful hands shaking on either side of me as he tries to set me carefully down onto his bed.

"Ya know what-" He mutters with a playful smile, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as I bite back a smirk. "I could let go of your head right now and you'd be like a new born baby trying to lift your head up." My lips part in quiet shock at his teasing but it only makes him more proud of himself as he tucks me into his bed, pulling the blankets up onto my waist and triple checking the pillows behind me.

He had little warning, little time to prepare his room to accommodate me being this injured but I guess it came as a surprise to the both of us. He was texting Wheezie frantically in the waiting room of the ER not even three hours ago, urging her to go to the drug store to buy ice packs, pain meds and all of my favorite snacks- worried that he would have to leave me in order to find things to comfort and support me.

Forntunately for us, Wheezie loves me more than life itself.

"Mean." I mutter but he simply laughs and reaches for the remote, flicking on the TV with a deep sigh. It's been a long few days for the both of us, in and out of emergency rooms and urgent cares trying to get to the bottom of my pain following an untimely accident the other day.

Neither of us would've assumed that I'd be sent home, six hundred dollars later, in a neck brace and on bed rest for weeks.

There goes our sex life.

He's been more stressed than me, pacing the length of the emergency room while waiting for me to come back from scans, checking his phone every second to fill Wheezie in on any updates the doctors would bring us.

"You're telling me." He laughs, running his fingers through his tangly hair before reaching out to skim his fingers beneath my jaw, making sure the collar of the brace isn't digging into my chin. "You're a needy patient." He whispers with a small pout, thumb brushing against my bottom lip.

"I'm a needy person." I whisper, reaching out to him as he scoots a bit closer to me, but still too far away for my liking. "You're just sad cuz without me, you'll have to make the both of us dinner."

"I hope you're okay with take-out or mac-n-cheese that Wheezie makes then." He grins, knowing that I'll pretty much take anything he has to offer me since I'm completely at his mercy. It's not like I'm going to decline my extremely attractive boyfriend spoon feeding me kraft mac and cheese.

"This just means you get every excuse to stay home and baby the fuck out of me." There's a part of me that's actually looking forward to the time spent with him, feeling secure in the fact that he's always been the best at taking care of me. Every flu, every injury, every long night- he's there. So even though the pain is insurmountable and unbelievable, a part of me knows that I'm at least lucky to have him.

"I already do that." Tapping the tip of my nose, he shifts, spinning around so he can slide down onto the bed beside me. "Coming in." He huffs, folding his hands behind his head and (out of the corner of my eyes) I can see him tilting his head to look over at me. "Do you need anything before I get comfortable?"

"No but I'll probably think of something in ten minutes." His 'annoyed' scoff makes me snicker and I reach out blindly to grab his hand, intertwining our fingers. Even though I can't see him, I can feel his eyes on me and, for as much shit as he gives me, I know that under all that teasing that he's genuinely worried.

"Pain in my ass." He mutters through a grin.

"And you're a pain in my neck."

"Ouch, wasn't my fault that asshole t-boned you." He sighs, leaning up so I can see him, his cheeks tinged with a light blush at the thought of the accident, upset at the fact that he wasn't there to give the guy some shit for hurting me.

"You act like you're not happy that you get to keep me in bed for weeks on end." His brows raise at my insinuation, tongue sweeping out over his lips as I poke his chest. "Don't forget about the sponge baths." His eyes widen- like really widen- as a shameless giggle escapes me, feeling Rafe's hand on the side of my head, thumb brushing against my temple.

"Oh fuck- really?" He quizzes in a hushed whisper, brows furrowed cutely.

"Just saying." I watch him settle beside me once more, arm stretched out behind me and he peppers kisses to my hairline.

"Best job ever." He coos and, suddenly, all of my worries about being a potential burden or annoyance vanish in an instant at the realization that he's completely and utterly willing to spend his time taking care of me. "But seriously, I'm messing with you. You need something, you've got it. Anything." He promises, my chest aching with love, and I so desperately wish I could turn my head to give him a kiss.

"Kiss?" I ask instead, earning a playful groan from him as he leans towards me once more, carefully ducking towards me to press a simple kiss to my lips. However, he hovers, lips lingering as he pecks my lips a few more times before whispering.

"I've got plenty of those."

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[snarkymonkeyprime]

I found a thingy.

     Bilbo watched in mild amusement as five students trailed into the library, the same vacant, somewhat haunted expression on their individual faces.  He glanced at the clock.  Ah.  Nearly three.  I see that Thorin’s done his damage today.

     One of the students peeled off from the rest and approached Bilbo.

     Bilbo removed his glasses and folded them before sliding them into his front pocket.  “Yes?”

     The dwarf blinked at Bilbo and then rummaged for a piece of paper.  He pulled it out and squinted.  “Um, do you have any copies of these?”

     Bilbo already knew what books these students would be after; he’d seen a fair number over the last several years.  Every year, in fact, at this exact time.  Thorin’s final term was typically his most brutal.  Bilbo had even taken the extra step of ensuring that the library had more than enough copies of the books the students would inevitably need.

    He gestured for the paper and gave it a brief scan, confirming the contents.  “Ah.  One moment.”  He slipped toward the back and beckoned to Ori.  “Ori, Thorin’s up to his old tricks.”

    His work study winced.  “Already?”

    Bilbo chuckled.  “Apparently.  Go ahead and get that box out of storage.  I’m sure we’ll be seeing the majority of his class by day’s end.”

     As he waited for Ori to collect the spare books, Bilbo considered the prickly history professor.  He’d known Thorin for as long as the dwarf had taught at Erebor University; close to ten years now.  Taciturn and blunt, he’d not made many friends his first few years.  But he was incredibly intelligent and clever.  And quite passionate about dwarven history.  And, as illustrated by the zombified students wandering Bilbo’s library.  His reputation as a stickler for perfection the most pervasive across campus.

     Bilbo smiled as Ori lumbered back from the basement, cheeks puffed out as he shuffled down the narrow aisles toward him.  “Ah, good.  I’m thankful he only reserves this punishment for his higher-level students.  I’d hate to have to store enough for freshmen.”

     Ori set the box down with a grunt.  “He’s why I switched majors,” he admitted.

     Bilbo paused before squatting down by the box and breaking the aging cellophane tape.  “I thought you were an art major from the beginning.”  He glanced up at the dwarf as he fished out the books the student had asked for.

     “Well, sort of.  I like history, though.”  He shivered suddenly.  “Until Dr. Oakenshield.”

     Bilbo lifted an eyebrow at the reaction.  “I think Thorin is more bark than bite,” he ventured.  He rose, wincing at the pop in his knees.  He was getting too old for this, apparently.  He wagged the slim books toward Ori.  “Shouldn’t let professors like him win; feeds their ego a bit too much.”

     Ori’s eyes went wide.  “He’s so scary though,” he whispered. 

     Bilbo chuckled.  “Hardly.  More he simply has no imagination and can’t understand why others aren’t as obsessed with dwarven history as he is.”

     He approached the student at the counter; he hadn’t moved an inch and continued to stare forward in a daze.  Poor sod, Bilbo thought.  He took the student’s ID card and entered the books under his name.  “Three weeks.  If no one’s put a hold on it, you can check it out twice more, same time frame.”

     The student nodded mutely and collected the books, sliding them into his messenger bag before slinking off out of the library.

     Before long, he had four more requests for the same set of books, quickly handed to him by Ori from the back room.  By six, an hour after Ori’s shift had ended, the library was finally quiet.  While it was never loud – it was a library, after all – this was his most favorite time of day.  When no one was in the august halls of this century-old building.  He would fix himself a cup of tea and wander about, straightening books or clearing away what errant students left behind.  More than once he’d had to rouse a master’s student who’d fallen asleep studying.  Today, however, it was little more than discarded paper coffee cups and a stack of books left on one of the upstairs tables.

     Tea cup empty, he returned to the first floor to find someone at the front desk.  He cleared his throat and then brightened when he recognized him.  “Ah, Thorin.  I had some of your victims arrive earlier.”

     The dwarf frowned, blue eyes sharp.  “Must you call them that?”

     Bilbo grinned.  “You continue to murder them with tasks; what else shall I call them?”

     Thorin merely grunted.  He slid a file folder across the desk toward Bilbo as he rounded the counter.  “Can you put these packets together for me?”

     “In case you weren’t aware, I’m not your TA.”

     Thorin’s eyes narrowed.  “I am aware.  However, my TA is out sick this week.”

     Bilbo relented.  He liked Tauriel.  And given her near fanatical need for perfection herself, that she was out sick was something momentous indeed.  “Fine,” he sighed.  He opened the folder and flipped through the pages.  Ah, the dreaded final project.  “You know,” he began, wagging the folder, “you do this project every year.  Nothing changes.  Why not keep stacks in your office?”

     Another grunt as Thorin straightened his jacket.  He was wearing a black peacoat, the wool fibers glinting with a dusting of rain.  “Takes up space,” he explained.

     He nearly prodded at that but he recalled the size of Thorin’s office.  More a broom closet than anything else.  “Hmm.”  Bilbo shrugged.  “Give me a moment and I’ll set up the copier.”

     “I’m in a rush, unfortunately; can you swing by my office in the morning?”

     He took another look at Thorin.  He did seem preoccupied.  He was also dressed much sharper than he usually was.  Oh, Thorin tended to look well put together but tonight, he wore a wine-dark collared shirt beneath the peacoat, the throat of it open.  Not quite a look he wore in his class room but it certainly complimented those dark eyes and his trim, dark beard.  For once, his hair was loose and settled about his shoulders.

     He tried to remember the last time he’d not seen it in its customary knot.  After a moment, he realized he was simply staring at Thorin when the dwarf’s eyebrows began to lift in confusion.  “Oh.  Oh, certainly.”  Bilbo waved a hand at him, shooing him toward the door.  “Out, out.  I need to close up anyway.”

     Thorin gave him a brief grin and dipped his head.  “My thanks, Dr. Baggins.”

     Bilbo watched him walk off and sighed, thumbing through the packet again.  One day, he’d get Thorin to call him by his first name.  He used it so bloody rarely.  Bilbo used Thorin’s almost exclusively in an effort to get the rigid dwarf to see they were friendly and he needn’t be so formal. 

     To be fair, he rather liked that about Thorin.  Not the distance, that had always sat poorly with him.  More that Thorin was so intent on appearance and protocol that he appeared to forget how to behave normally.  He wondered, not for the first time, how the dwarf behaved on a date.

     He nearly made it to the copier when he froze. 

     Date.  Thorin looked like he was on a date.

     “Oh, bloody hell and shite,” Bilbo muttered.  He yanked on the copier lid, and it buzzed angrily as it woke.

     “Oh, quiet,” he retorted.  He slapped the first sheet of paper on the clear glass and slammed the lid down.  “You’ve nothing to complain about; you see more action in a day than I have in the last five years.”

     He covered his eyes with one hand.  “Lovely; I’m jealous of a bloody copier.”

     He punched in the requisite number of copies and stared out from his normally comfortable hidey-hole into the quiet expanse of the library, now dark from the evening sky and suddenly far too quiet.   

[weepingfromacedartree]

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.