#>:) all it took was moving a whole couch and so many boxes

[sinistersundown]

I found my kh tamagotchi!!!!!!!

[mrrharper]

Neighborhood Association

Cale put down the last box and sighed. He could now officially state that he has moved. He looked around the living room and felt proud of himself, after working tirelessly for almost a week to turn this space into a home. The same couldn’t be said about his feeling towards the place his new home was located in.

He was forced to move after the rent in his last apartment was hiked by 25%. This was more than he could handle, so he decided right then and there that the would find a cheaper place to live. He went on Zillow and it didn’t take long before he found the place he was now living in. Gorgeous building, well-kept outside, spacious inside, with a stupidly low rent. He called the landlord first thing the following day. He signed the lease a week after that.

It was only then that his friends came up to him and made him realize what was the place he was about to move into. Pinewood, an outer suburb and the only Republican stronghold in the entire metro area. This was bad news for the young gay software engineer basically addicted to the queer city life. But he had already signed all the paperwork and he decided he would make this work. Each time he felt like this might not have been the best decision he reminded himself that even with the longer commute he was saving a lot of many. Yeah, maybe the town screamed “All-American conservative suburb”, but this was the price for financial stability, Cale told himself.

Cale heard a knock on the door. He walked up to the entrance and opened it. He was surprised to see no one in front of his house, not even a single person walking along the street. Then he looked down and saw a leaflet. Oh, that’s what this was about. He picked up the piece of paper and started reading as he went back inside. “The Pinewood East Neighborhood Association welcomes you in our area. We are glad you’ve decided to find your special place within our prosperous community and invite you to become an active member. Just scan the QR code and fill the form. FIND YOUR ROLE IN PINEWOOD.” Well, that’s nice, Cale thought to himself. He sat down on the couch and scanned the code on the leaflet. The form was pretty standard, for the most part. The only unusual part was the part where he was asked about hobbies. It was not an open question and Cale was forced to choose for only a couple of options. He rolled his eyes, who designed this form? He picked “morning runs and fitness”. He did try to get into he habit of running a year ago. And a year before running it was working out. So he guessed this was the option closest to the truth. He quickly finished filling up the whole form and sent it, quickly forgetting about the whole thing.

Two days later when he came back from work and walked up to his door he saw a package. He was surprised, he didn’t remember ordering anything. But as he looked closer he confirmed that the box was addressed to him. There was just one small typo, Caleb instead of Cale, but he was used to it. He picked the package up and took it inside to his living room. He then opened the box and saw a letter on top. It turned out it was a welcome package from the neighborhood association. Cale thought it was a nice gift, but didn’t care to see what was inside the package itself. The only thing he took out was the baseball cap with the association’s logo on it. When later that day he went out to run a few errands he put it on, because it was the closest to his hand as he was leaving the house. He came back late and after getting out of his clothes he went back to bed. He forgot to take the cap off.

Caleb slowly woke up. He stood up and stretched his arms. He felt a weird ache throughout his whole body, and he didn’t know why— damn, that sesh at the gym yesterday was rough. But that ache was the sign that it was working. He turned his head and watched his arm as he flexed his biceps.

He came up to his closet for something to wear. But he only saw a few faggy shirts and some tight pants. What the fuck, he thought. But then his mind was instantly covered by a weird fog and he walked into the living room and picked up a big box standing on the floor. He opened it and took out a black compression shirt and a pair of gym shorts. He quickly put them on and immediately felt better, his muscles filling up the clothes perfectly.

Right after, Caleb looked up to see a pride flag hanging from one of the walls and a feeling of disgust filled his fog-covered head. He jumped up to the wall and grabbed the piece of fabric, then threw it on the ground. Then he came back to the box and took out a ‘thin blue line’ flag. That fit him way better and he quickly put it on the wall.

He heard his phone ring. He took his phone and answered.

“Yeah?”

“Good morning, this is Cathy form the Pinewood East Neighborhood Association. Is this Cale?”

“Ugh” Caleb grunted. Stupid woman. “It’s Caleb.”

“Oh, of course, my apologies” Cathy answered, but she didn’t sound like she was really sorry. “I’m calling to ask a few questions before we accept you as a full member”

“Sure, whatever” Caleb’s interest in the phone call was dwindling fast and he started flexing once again, watching his biceps go up and down.

“What’s your profession?” Caleb’s mind, completely covered by fog, didn’t know what to say.

“Ughhhh, soft…ware… was it… wait a minute—”

“Is it security guard, Caleb?”

“What?” He did not expect the woman to be such a psychic. “Yeah, yeah, security guard, duh.”

“Great, thank you Caleb, and one more question. There’s a group that wants to organize a Pride event in out beautiful city. How would you respond to such a proposal?”

“Hell no, we don’t want no queer near our place, isn’t that right? Bunch of degenerates” Caleb barked at the phone.

“I understand Caleb, and we agree, you’re absolutely right” The woman on the other side sounded almost… proud? “I won’t hold you any further, you have a job to go to. I’m glad you are fulfilling your role within our community. See you soon.” And then Cathy ended the call. Caleb shrugged, he wasn’t sure what was the deal with all this neighborhood shit, but why should he care? He was here for the low rent and the job that allowed him to spend half the day at the gym.

As he walked from the living room to the kitchen Caleb stopped in front of the mirror and started flexing. Damn, these guns of his looked impressive. And fuck, his chest was like a damn pillow, so sick. He watched his pecs flex in the mirror, moving under his compression shirt. These muscles were ready to smash degenerates and grab any pussy he wanted. When he was ready to leave the house, driven by instinct he went back to the box and picked up a pair of sunglasses he then immediately put on. Yeah, now he was ready to go to work and fulfill the role he was assigned in Pinewood. And brah, it felt fuckin’ great.

[piratekane]

(rated m for mature)

Ava’s room is the last sacred space in their apartment. A room that belongs to Ava, and Ava only. The living room is shared space, of course. Their breakfast bar holds both of their tea mugs: Ava’s in the shape of a bulldog holding a bone, her own a dark gray and white plaid pattern. The bathroom has a small stand with both of their toothbrushes and two face cloths on small hooks, one on each side of the sink. The face of the kitchen refrigerator is littered with pictures and ticket stubs and small post-it-note drawings they’ve both accumulated over the last few months.

We exist, Beatrice, Ava likes to tell her. If we died and someone came to pack us up, they would know we both existed here.

It’s a morbid thought, but it rotates in her mind for days afterwards. They exist. They exist together, in this shared space. There’s two of everything - a testament to a life shared between two people who found comfort in each other. Who found a home. Their shoes are by the front door, their bills are on the counter, their sweaters tangle into knots on the couch where they dare cross the line Beatrice has drawn between them.

Ava’s room is a line. She doesn’t cross it. She lets their shared existence fill every corner of the apartment except for Ava’s bedroom. She’s never crossed the threshold. Even on the day Ava moved in, she dutifully passed her boxes from the living room, marveling at the idea that one person who existed in a single dorm room for a handful of months could accumulate so many things.

She’s not sure that Ava even noticed. If she did, she didn’t say anything about it. Because she’s kind and takes Beatrice’s actions into consideration with the sort of care no one else in her life has ever shown.

But that’s par for the course. Ava is unlike anyone else in her life.

It’s why Beatrice is so careful. She’s gotten used to having this unusual, perfect thing in her life. She’s gripping it tightly with two hands, firm enough to keep it in one place but soft enough that it doesn’t break. It took her years to learn that grip and only a month with Ava to master it in a whole new way.

She should know by now, after seven months, that being careful around Ava is never careful enough.

“Blue or green?” she hears Ava call from inside her room.

Beatrice sighs, resting her pencil tip against the page she’s taking notes on. “Ava.”

Ava’s head pops around the doorframe. She’s smiling in a way a younger Beatrice would have called dashing or roguish. It’s charming. Infuriatingly so. Ava knows it—has never forgotten it since the time Camila said it out loud one night when Ava convinced them to try roller skating at some wooden rink nearby. That smile is a weapon, a carefully drawn bow whose range Beatrice can never escape from.

“Blue or green?” she repeats.

“I’m afraid I need a bit of context, Ava.”

Beatrice resists the urge to rub tiredly at the space between her eyes. Finals week is upon them. She’s prepared - has been preparing all semester - but then her Early Christian Women’s professor gave her some last minute feedback to restructure her entire research paper. It’s left her molded to the stool at the breakfast bar for the last three days, the entire top of it covered in color-coded index cards and texts she’s expressly forbid Ava from going anywhere near.

Ava pinky promised that she would listen. Beatrice would have accepted a confident “okay,” but Ava had taken it a step further, tightening her grip on Beatrice’s pinky and pulling her whole hand up to her mouth as Ava kissed her own fist, eyes on Beatrice the whole time.

“There. Now it’s really a promise.”

Beatrice thinks maybe she didn’t have enough friends growing up. Or that she didn’t have enough friends like Ava growing up. Because she’d never heard of this particular kind of promise. Shannon had made a face when Beatrice asked her about it. No, I’m not making fun of you, Shannon assured her. I just mean… Bea. Come on.

Beatrice does not come on, but the next time Ava makes her promise she won’t throw all her sources out the window and develop a list of new ones, she quickly presses her lips to the outside of her own hand, eyes darting to Ava’s face. Just as a test. Just to see if she’s doing this right.

She must have. Ava beamed for hours.

“Blue paint or green paint?” Ava expands.

“For what?”

Ava extends her arm past the doorway into Beatrice’s view. A small bucket of paint, hardly larger than a box of baking soda, dangles from her fingers.

She holds back the long-suffering sigh building in her chest. “Ava.”

“I’m painting my room.”

“You’re-” Beatrice turns, notecard on Thecla abandoned. “You’re painting your room?”

Ava frowns at her like she’s the one who just announced that she’s completing a home makeover project. “I told you this.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” Ava’s arm drops to her side, and she leans a little further around the doorway.

Beatrice shakes her head. “You most certainly did not. Because I would have remembered that.”

“You can’t remember everything I say.”

I do. The thought nearly makes its way to Beatrice’s tongue, but she bites it back. She certainly can’t admit that, though she thinks Ava would, if she was in her position. Ava has always been more free in her words, in her certainty.

“I would have remembered this,” she repeats.

Ava shakes her head. “I definitely told you I was doing this. I asked if you wanted to go pick out-”

Her forehead wrinkles into a frown that Beatrice immediately wants to smooth away. She can feel Ava’s skin under her fingertips, warm and soft. She blinks.

“Huh. Maybe I mentioned it to Mary, now that I think about it.” Her face brightens without Beatrice’s help. “I guess I’m telling you now.”

“You can’t- You can’t paint your room.”

Ava nods like she understands. “I can’t paint it alone, no. I’ll need help. Oh! A paint party!”

“No, I mean-” Beatrice takes a deep breath. “We would lose our security deposit if you paint the walls. It’s in our rental agreement.”

That doesn’t seem to bother Ava. “We can just paint it back when we move out. Or if we never do, then no one will ever know.”

If we never do. The words are like a lightning bolt in her chest. If we never do implies that Ava has thought about living with her indefinitely. That Ava has considered the possibility of a future where they're still in each other’s lives, where they’re still living in this same apartment doing the same things together. Movie nights and take out and reading while Ava watches something on TV, and talking about the few hours they spent apart and deciding where to take weekend trips and what new household decoration Ava is going to talk her into.

Their life in shared spaces, for everyone who visits to see.

Forever roommates.

The thought is too overwhelming for her to breathe properly.

“So, will you help me pick a color?” Ava continues on as if Beatrice isn’t slowly burning from the inside out. “I’m thinking green. Blue seems more like your color. Hey! We can paint your room next.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Ava, no.”

Ava either doesn’t hear her, or pays her no mind. “I got this cool mint color. It looks like mint chocolate chip ice cream!”

“Mint,” she repeats, voice strangled.

Ava beams. “It looks like our toothpaste.”

Dread washes over her, as cold as ice cream out of the freezer against her tongue. Their toothpaste is a frightfully minty green color that always catches Beatrice off guard no matter how many times a day she’s brushed her teeth, even after the ;five months since Ava started buying it. It’s a sickly green, almost. Certainly not something that should be on a wall, let alone four of them. Ava’s room would glow, practically radioactive.

“No,” she insists. “Not that color.”

“Come see it. Then you’ll understand.”

She moves without meaning to, without giving much thought to it. Ava calls like a siren, and she swims out to meet her. She gets as far as the couch before the water comes up to her chin and she stops again.

“I don’t think you should paint your room.”

Ava waves away her concern. “It’ll be fine. The whole room is just so… white. We need a little color in our lives, Bea. A little bit of… spice.”

“A little bit of spice.”

“You know. Excitement.” Ava is firmly in the doorway now, paint can hanging at her side. “We can’t live with white walls forever.”

Why not? she wants to ask. She grew up with white walls. Pristine ones. Washed down every week by their housekeeper. Sanitized. She pauses. Ava might have a point.

But their landlord would not approve of it. And Beatrice intends to stick by the rules. She opens her mouth to say so, but Ava cuts her off.

“Come here. Just have a look.” She pads forward on bare feet and curls her fingers around Beatrice’s wrist, tugging her forward gently enough that Beatrice could step back, break their connection if she needed to.

She doesn’t. Not yet.

But she gets closer and closer to Ava’s doorway, to the raised threshold that separates her from this last sacred space. Ava is stepping back over it, eyes on Beatrice, and then her toes are bumping against it and she stops. Their arms stretch between them for a moment before Ava catches up and steps forward so they hang loosely again.

Ava waits for her. Always waiting for her. It’s not fair, she thinks. It’s not fair that she’s always waiting for me.

“So, I have something to admit,” Ava says slowly, pulling her out of her head. She’s smiling sheepishly, her head ducked a little as she searches Beatrice’s face. “I might have already painted a few swatches on the wall.”

“Ava.”

“Just a few,” she rushes on. “Small ones. Like, the size of a book. A small one! I’m sorry, I just wanted to see what they looked like.” She strokes her thumb over Beatrice’s wrist. “The mint kind of looks horrible,” she admits.

Beatrice fights that never-ending sigh again. “Of course it does.”

“But the other green looks good! It’s kind of turquoise-y, actually.” Ava’s forehead wrinkles into a frown that lingers for just a second. “Greener than a normal turquoise, though. Almost like the sea. Like - okay, just look.”

Ava’s hand falls away, and she takes a step back into her room. She’s looking at the wall, eyes moving quickly over what Beatrice assumes is the paint swatches she’s done there.

She eases her weight onto the ball of her foot. The floorboard creaks under it. Ava is still looking at the wall, still studying her choices. Beatrice feels a ripple of fear race through her. It’s just a room. Their apartment is made up of rooms. But it’s Ava’s room. Opening this door, crossing this line - she’s not sure she can come back from that.

Ava meets her eyes again and tips her head in that effortlessly endearing way, a soft smile on her face that immediately ebbs the fear away. Ava crooks a finger in her direction, beckoning her forward. It’s like a piece of string loops its way around Beatrice’s wrist and it pulls.

“You’re going to like the turquoise,” Ava says just quietly enough for Beatrice to hear. Another siren’s call.

She’s a strong swimmer. She can survive this. Her toes brush the raised threshold, and then they’re curled over the other side of it as her shoulders breach the doorway. The air shifts. She feels a little lightheaded. The lights seem dimmed, lowered. She holds her breath and waits for God to strike her down, and when nothing happens, she silently exhales a thin stream of air.

She doesn’t go further than that. Her body doesn’t seem to want to move past the invisible line that goes from the ceiling down directly to the floor. Her eyes immediately go to the wall Ava was looking at.

She was correct. The mint looks horrible.

“I know,” Ava says, reading her mind. “It looked a lot better at the store. Maybe it’s the light?”

It takes Beatrice a minute to reply, almost as if the words were a trade for tipping forward into Ava’s room. “I don’t think different lighting is going to help this.”

Ava studies it for another moment before she nods decisively. “You’re right. But what about this green-turquoise?” She moves and touches her finger to the wall. It comes back with a sticky greenish color. She frowns at it. “Huh. Thought it’d dry.”

“I like it,” Beatrice allows. “But Ava-”

“I promise we’ll paint it back. I just…” Ava stops, running a hand through her hair. She leaves behind a smudge of turquoise on her forehead, disappearing into her hair. “It’ll be easy to paint back. Please, Bea?” She clasps her hand in front of her, holding them to her chest. “Pleeeease?”

They both realize she’s going to give in at the same moment. Beatrice didn’t think she had any tells, has always prided herself on being someone fully in control of their actions, emotions, and facial expressions. Lessons learned from her parents that she actually appreciated. Expressive got you in trouble, gave too much away. She spent years tightening up to prevent anyone from knowing too much.

Ava does not carry the same burden. And Ava, it appears, has learned to recognize when Beatrice is on the cusp of expressing too much, of giving in. Maybe she’s giving it away in the quick pull of the corner of her mouth. Maybe there’s something in her eyes, a flicker of acceptance. Maybe she clenches her hand into a fist, a small flex of her muscles. Maybe she shifts her weight. Maybe she blinks too many times.

Whatever it is, Ava sees it in her. And she grins, the light in the room becoming impossibly brighter.

“I want nothing to do with this,” is what she decides to say.

Ava claps her hands together. “You won’t regret this.”

“I’m sure I will.”

It doesn’t dim Ava’s smile. “When I’m done, you’ll see how much it brings this place to life. And then we talk about your room. And the living room! Oh, and wouldn’t the kitchen look so great if we painted it some kind of blue? I saw a swatch at the store that looked exactly like the water in the Blue Grotto. I want to go there one day. I always thought it would look-”

Beatrice steps back. Something that was fizzling inside of her fades, though she didn’t know it was there until she felt its absence. Ava is still going on – the bathroom would look good in pink. With black and white tiles on the floor – but Beatrice feels a sense of calm come over her, and she takes her first deep breath since she crossed the threshold.

Ava stops. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” she says sheepishly.

“It’s okay.” And it is. Beatrice doesn’t mind getting swept up in Ava’s elaborate plans. “But I’m going to go back to my homework.”

Ava flashes her a thumbs up. Her finger is still stained turquoise. “Okay. But you’re not studying for too long. We can’t have a repeat of this weekend.”

Beatrice feels her face flush. “I swore I went to bed.”

“You did. Standing in front of the refrigerator. I thought you were going to fall over.”

“I’m very disciplined.”

Ava grins. “Well, put a cap on studying tonight. When I’m done with the first coat, we’re going to get something to eat.”

She pretends to be annoyed by this, just because she likes the way Ava narrows her eyes playfully and shakes a finger at her. She’s not disappointed when Ava does exactly that before turning back to the stool she stole from the kitchen where she’s stacked two small paint cans, one open and one closed, and a paint roller.

Crossing the room back towards her homework is easier than going the distance from it to Ava’s room. She feels lighter with each step. She sits back down, her intention to focus on this paper she’s supposed to submit in two days (but feels nowhere near completion). Work, then break. As long as she works for the next hour, at least, then she can offer to buy Ava Indian food and ask her to watch a documentary about a filmmaker befriending an octopus. Cedrick, in her Study of Film elective, had suggested it to her. She doesn’t think it’ll be hard; Ava has said more than once that she thinks octopi are cute.

But as thoughts of Ava and octopi float in her head, some of the words Ava just mentioned start to register in Beatrice’ brain. Ava never mentioned the Blue Grotto before. They’re inching closer to the end of the school year and she doesn’t know Ava’s plans yet. Does she want to go backpacking across Europe? Alone? Will Beatrice have to haunt the corners of the apartment waiting for her to come back? Will Ava be different when she comes back? Will she forget about Beatrice?

Will she find a new forever-roommate in another city and leave Beatrice on her own?

Her homework is suddenly the furthest thing from her mind. She can’t focus on Eve or Thecla or their impact on the religious narrative. She can only think about the possibility of spending the summer alone - Mary and Shannon are going on a graduation trip across Spain, and Camila secured a summer internship with a tech startup company, and even Lilith found a program that allows her to travel for the few months before the start of the fall semester.

Beatrice’s big plan is to work at the campus library, splitting her time between shelving books, starting her graduation capstone project, and Ava. The practical side of her knows she should try to make that time an even three-way split, but the more she thinks about the coming months, the more adventures she keeps coming up with in her head. Things she wants to do and try with Ava, because she knows it’s on Ava’s list. They could visit the Prado Museum. Take a long weekend and travel to some seaside town where Ava could practice swimming in the waves. They could find new restaurants and new hiking trails. She’d even let Ava convince her to try roller skating. Again.

Beatrice hasn’t told her yet, but she has the whole summer mapped out. And Ava is embedded into every bullet point of that. It just hadn’t occurred to her that Ava might have her own plans. Ones that didn’t include Beatrice.

“Ow!”

Beatrice’s head snaps up. The sudden noise is followed by a heavy thud, thud and a rattle as something hits the floor. She’s up and moving before she has time to second guess herself, crossing the apartment in long strides until she’s reaching Ava’s room.

She crosses the threshold in a breath, suddenly plunged into the smell of paint and the sight of the bright lights Ava has rigged up in the center of the room. It nearly blinds her and she quickly looks at the ground.

Ava is lying on the thick, plush navy rug at the bottom of the bed, body curled in on itself as she clutches her foot. A small unopened can of paint is rolling slowly away from her towards the corner of the room. Ava groans loudly and turns her face into the rug as her whole body expands with a breath.

Beatrice drops to her knees, ignoring the dull ache that rockets up her thighs into her hips. She grabs Ava’s shoulders, turning her onto her back as her eyes scan Ava’s face for any blood or bruises. Her hands follow the same path, tucking Ava’s hair behind her ear and trailing her thumbs across the flat of Ava’s cheeks.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Ava’s eyes flutter closed, and Beatrice immediately becomes concerned about a concussion. Her fingers slide to the base of Ava’s head, and she applies a little pressure to tip it back. Ava’s still blinking up at her but as the light reflects against the honeyed color of her irises her pupils shrink. Beatrice heaves a relieved sigh. No concussion.

“Bea,” Ava groans again. She turns her face into Beatrice’s palm. “I think I broke it.”

Beatrice’s hands fall from Ava’s face and skim down her shoulders to her elbows, cupping them gently. “Let me see,” she says softly.

Ava shakes her head. “Just leave me behind.”

A rush of fondness ripples through her. She presses her fingertips into Ava’s bare arms, the sleeves of her This may be cheesy but I feel grate t-shirt brushing against the backs of Beatrice’s knuckles. “Ava,” she urges.

“No, it’s too horrible.” Ava’s grip tightens on her foot and she immediately winces.

Beatrice slides her hands down to Ava’s slowly. She curls her fingers into the spaces between Ava’s and her foot, pushing them back until she has enough room to free Ava’s foot from its self-imposed prison. There’s a bruise already forming at the base of her toes on the top of her foot, blooming across the first three toes. She ghosts her thumb across it and Ava flinches slightly.

Beatrice’s lips purse into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” Ava rolls completely onto her back, staring up at Beatrice. She’s still blinking rapidly and Beatrice is worried about a delayed concussion now.

“I think you’ve bruised it.” She presses down, gentler this time. Ava draws in a breath but doesn’t flinch away. “I don’t think anything is broken.”

Her hand drifts higher, curling around Ava’s ankle bone. It’s delicate under her fingers, the point rounded. Her other hand, still resting on Ava’s foot, goes to her other shin. There’s nothing but an expanse of smooth and warm skin under her palm.

“Good,” Ava says faintly. Her eyes go to Beatrice’s hand, lingering.

Beatrice’s eyes follow. Oh. She quickly pulls her hands away, cheeks suddenly hot.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to-”

They both pause, staring at each other. The air feels electric, goosebumps running up Beatrice’s arms. Her chest feels tight with unspoken words. She looks away first.

Ava’s hand on her own pulls her eyes back around. She looks at Beatrice for a long moment before she smiles a little. There’s something on her face that Beatrice can’t read, but it settles the rising tide of fear in her chest and she feels it ebb away into nothingness.

It’s not unusual, the sense of calm that comes with a simple look from Ava. It’s a peace that feels second nature now. It’s odd how seven months with Ava has untied almost all the knots her life created. Seven months isn’t very long - a blip on the radar, really. She’s had the same study group for longer than that. But these seven months have felt so monumental that it seems to have lasted years.

But Ava is monumental, so really, it does make sense.

Still. Her hands got ahead of her head. She touched before she thought, and now she’s kneeling on Ava’s floor with her hands hovering between their bodies, and Ava’s eyes are even more honey-colored than usual. The lights reflecting off the white walls makes her feel like she’s under a spotlight on a stage where everyone can see her, here in Ava’s room.

In Ava’s room, across the threshold. Completely across it.

A line she hasn’t crossed, a step she hasn’t taken. The room rushes in on her suddenly. She’s hyper aware of the faint chemical smell of paint, the too-bright lights, the rough fibers of the rug against her bare ankles, the way Ava’s laundry seems to be crawling out of the basket in the corner.

“I’m-”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Bea.”

“I’ll just-”

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice blinks. Ava’s hand has turned over in hers, her palm up. “Yes?”

“Help me up?”

Beatrice blinks again. “Oh. Yes.” She shifts back onto her heels and grabs Ava’s wrist, fingers spread to distribute her grasp so she doesn’t pull Ava’s wrist off her arm, and gently leads her forward. She wobbles as she rises, leaning into Beatrice for support, and Beatrice quickly winds an arm around her waist to steady her as she stands. They’re so close that Beatrice can feel the way Ava is breathing, the push of her ribs against Beatrice’s hand. She helps her to the bed carefully, cautious of the paint around them, and sits her down gently.

There’s more turquoise paint along her forehead, and dried paint on her fingers, and Beatrice wants to find a clean washcloth, wet it, and gently wash it away. She does the next best thing.

She picks up a rag next to the small container of water Ava must be using to clean the brushes and dips the corner into it, wetting it. She hands it to Ava and waits as she rubs furiously at her finger, washing the paint away.

“What happened?”

Ava sighs, eyes narrowing as she looks at the unopened paint can on the ground. It’s rolled across her room away from them. Luckily, the open can remains in place on the stool, the paintbrush hanging precariously on the edge of it.

“I went to reach for the paintbrush and knocked it off. Freaking thing landed on my foot. Obviously.”

Beatrice’s free hand goes to Ava’s foot. Her thumb sweeps across the bruise. Ava’s fingers flex against the back of Beatrice’s forearms. “You are lucky it didn’t break anything.”

Ava shudders. “Manuel, one of the guys on my floor when I lived in the dorms, he broke his foot the first month in. He had to wear a big walking boot for weeks. It was so ugly.”

“It would hardly go with your outfits,” Beatrice agrees.

“How would I even get my jeans on?” Ava frowns thoughtfully. “I’d have to walk around in my underwear all day.”

Beatrice nearly chokes on a cough, but she swallows it back down, uncomfortable in her throat. “I think… I think you could remove it to put your clothes on,” she says, her voice too light to be her own.

Ava’s face flushes unusually. “Oh, right. Of course.” She starts to smile wickedly. “Don’t want me walking around in my underwear, of course.”

Beatrice doesn’t quite hide her blush like she hid her cough. Because she has envisioned Ava walking around in her underwear before, just with one of Beatrice’s big sweaters dusting her thighs and coming down over her hands. She quickly blinks, turning the image to black in her mind. It was a passing thought, just once. She never had it again. It was unfair to Ava to even begin to form that picture in her mind. It flashes in her head like a bang now and she tightens her grip on Ava’s wrist, suddenly aware she’s still holding on.

She goes for a strangled joke. “It would prevent Lilith from coming over.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Ava latches onto it. Her eyes light up. “Consider it done.”

Beatrice immediately concerns herself with something else. Ava’s foot.

“Let me get you some ice,” she says. Her voice doesn’t waver this time. Shannon, if she knew about this, would be proud. She’d praise Beatrice’s restraint, call it admirable.

Shannon would also probably tell her that she should do something that would completely change the trajectory of her friendship with Ava. So maybe the Shannon in her mind should be a little quieter.

“I don’t think I need ice.”

Beatrice looks down at the bruise, darker now, and then gives Ava a pointed look. It has the desired effect. Ava’s cheeks pinken and she smiles sheepishly. Beatrice nods, assured in her success, and carefully extracts her hands from Ava’s foot, standing.

“I’ll be right back,” she promises. “Don’t forget the paint on your forehead”

Ava carefully taps her foot, higher than the bruise. “Not going anywhere.”

Beatrice could argue that Ava could go somewhere. It’s not broken. It’s uncomfortable, of course. She once flexed her foot at the wrong moment and kicked a pine board toes-first. The bruise remained for weeks and the slight limp from accommodating the pain had lasted a little longer than that.

But Ava wipes her forehead carelessly and falls back onto her bed, hands hanging over each side of the bed in a T-shape as her legs dangle off the end. Her shirt rides up her flat stomach revealing a sliver of skin Beatrice wants to run her fingernail over. Ava’s eyes are closed, head tipped back just enough for her chin to lift up, exposing the long unbroken line of her neck.

Beatrice looks away before another thought rushes unbidden into her mind. Her cheeks burn.

“I’ll be right back,” she repeats, unnecessarily. Ava hums on the bed.

She doesn’t linger, striding out of the room and across the apartment. She opens the freezer, welcoming the blast of cold air against her face. She takes a moment, almost forgetting why she’s standing there. But Ava calls her name from the bedroom, and Beatrice remembers quickly. The ice maker hasn’t worked in a few weeks - she makes a mental note to have Mary look at it before she calls her landlord - but Ava only found that as an excuse to buy increasingly ridiculous ice cube trays.

It takes her a minute to decide between ice cube shapes. Ava went a little crazy online, buying shark fin-shaped ones, brain-shaped ones, ones shaped like ice monsters and another set shaped like centipedes. Beatrice decides on ones shaped like rubber ducks, twisting the silicone tray so they pop out. She wraps them in a cloth quickly so her hands don’t get too cold.

Crossing the room feels like a walk she’s made a hundred times before. She knows in her mind that it’s only been twice but now that she’s opened the flood gate, her feet move her without thought. Past the books and notes she’s abandoned, the armchair, the couch. She pauses just before Ava’s bedroom, toes against the threshold.

She crosses it as easily as she exhales.

Ava is still laying on her back, an approximation of a cross as she rests with her eyes closed. Beatrice watches her chest rise and fall as she breathes in and out evenly. There’s a beauty in simplicity, she’s always thought so. Ava only strengthens that.

“Ice,” she says quietly, unsure of why she doesn’t want to say anything at all. She doesn’t want to break this moment, startle Ava and ruin the weightlessness of it.

Ava cracks one eye open, a half-smile on her face. “You’re back.”

Beatrice holds out the ice. Ava crooks a finger at her, beckoning her closer. She hesitates. Ava pushes up, resting on her elbows now.

“I think we’ve established that I don’t bite.” That smile turns wicked again. “Unless you ask nicely.”

Her fingers clench around the ice, and she feels the cold bite at her skin. But she stays still, not giving anything else away.

Ava sits up, foot dangling over the end of the bed. She rests her palms flat against the comforter before she pushes up and stands. She puts her weight down on her foot and her leg buckles almost instantly.

Beatrice doesn’t think, arms looping tightly around Ava’s waist and pulling up her. Her fingers slide into the dips of Ava’s back, the ice trapped between one of her palms and Ava’s skin. Her feet tangle with Ava’s. Their hips are nearly pressed together, almost no space between them. Ava exhales in a noisy rush, lips twisted in a grimace. Beatrice feels the hot air against her collarbone.

“Are you okay?”

Ava tilts her head back slightly. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Beatrice’s mouth flickers in a smile. “No.”

“Then we’ll just assume the answer.” Ava’s hands are wrapped tightly around her elbows and her fingers flex against the back of Beatrice’s arms. “Wow. Do you work out?”

“You know that I do.” She keeps her voice light.

Ava’s fingers dance further up her arms, under the hem of her sleeve. She squeezes again, gently. “Yeah, well knowing you do, seeing you do it, and feeling its effects are three very different things.”

Her fingers are maddening, burning hot against Beatrice’s skin. Ava rubs her thumb in a small circle over her bicep.

“Really, Bea. You could probably crush an egg with these things.”

She frowns. “Why would I want to crush an egg?”

“Well, it’d be a way to spice up breakfast.” She presses gently, dimpling the skin. “And a killer party trick.”

Beatrice fights a shiver despite the way her skin feels like it’s burning. “I don’t go to parties.”

But that’s a lie. She does when Ava invites her. She thinks of the party they went to, the spinning disco lights and the way Ava’s body pressed against hers in the hot swell of sweaty, drunken students. She thinks of Ava slumped over on their couch later, saying she’d wait for Beatrice.

That voice that sounds just like Shannon’s whispers that it means exactly what Beatrice hopes it means. She’s never been good at telling Shannon to stop, but this is easy enough to sweep under the mental rug so it remains unknown and unseen.

Truth unknown and unseen is still truth, Shannon has said before. I read that on Pintrest.

Beatrice shakes the memory from her mind and focuses on the facts in front of her: Ava. Ava, close enough to breathe in. Close enough that Beatrice could eliminate the mere inches between them and-

“I bet you’d go to more parties if you had a party trick,” Ava interrupts.

“I doubt it.” But Ava is grinning and Beatrice can’t help but smile back. “But I’m sure you could convince Mary to give it a try.”

“I mean, Mary has decent biceps, but I don’t think she could crack an egg.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Why an egg? Why not, I don’t know. A walnut.”

“A walnut. These are good goals.” Ava squeezes Beatrice’s bicep once more to emphasize her words. “Let’s start with an egg and work our way to something more advanced.”

The flex of Ava’s fingers against her skin pulls her from her next thought. It’s not that she didn’t notice the lack of space between them, it’s just that it’s rushing in on her now. It’s dizzying, the way Ava is standing so close. Beatrice tries to breathe in, but her chest pushes out until it nearly brushes Ava’s and she’s sucking all the air back into her lungs just as quickly.

Ava notices, eyes dropping down past Beatrice’s chin and neck before they dart up again, crinkling at the corners. She takes a step back, dropping to the bed again, the ice in her hand. She pulls one leg up under her, chin resting on her knee as she puts the ice against her bruising foot.

Beatrice blinks, oddly cool air rushing in where Ava’s body had been despite the humid air of their apartment as the spring pushes towards the hot summer. “You’ll need to ice that for a bit.”

Ava nods, adjusting the ice for a moment before she looks up and says, “So, first time?”

Beatrice frowns. “Administering first aid?”

“First time being in here. Properly, I mean.” Ava looks around, throwing one arm wide. “What do you think?”

Beatrice takes stock of her situation. It’s technically her third time being in here, but Ava is right. She’s in here properly now. Not just over the threshold or charging through barriers because Ava’s been injured. She crossed the line intentionally this time. And she remains, the walls of Ava’s room coming at her from each side without boxing her in.

Ava’s laundry flows from the hamper. Her bed isn’t quite made, but isn’t quite a mess. There are books stacked on the desk in a way that tells Beatrice Ava hasn’t opened them in some time. Hobbes sits next to them. A series of pictures is on the wall opposite her desk, ones of her and Ava and the rest of their friends. Beatrice’s eyes catalog each inch, committing it to memory in a place where she knows she’s going to see it for a very long time.

“You’re missing the best part,” Ava says. Her voice is quiet, like she’s afraid to startle Beatrice. She waits until Beatrice looks before she points upward.

Beatrice’s eyes follow the imaginary thread from Ava’s fingertip to the ceiling. She nearly gasps.

White-green stars dot the ceiling, filling all the space. Spider web-thin lines connect some of them, forming constellations she recognizes from the pictures Ava has shown her and the ones Ava has pointed out on rare nights when she can convince Beatrice to go out to the quad and lay on the grass to watch the night pass by. Some of them she doesn’t and she focuses on those ones, studying their shapes and trying to decide what they look like.

“Apus.” Ava’s finger moves, tracing the lines she’s drawn between the glow-in-the-dark stars. “We call it the Bird of Paradise. Derived from the Greek word apous, which means ‘footless’. There’s a story that birds of paradise were once believed to have been footless.”

“I don’t believe I know what a bird of paradise looks like,” she admits.

“My mom loved them. She’d never seen one in person, but she liked looking at pictures of them. They have these large plumes. They look so soft.” Ava sighs wistfully. “There was a nun, in the orphanage when I was first there, that called me a bird of paradise.” She pauses, eyes darting to Beatrice. “Because I was footless, you know? She reminded me of my mom. She didn’t stay long, but she was nice.”

Beatrice’s heart clenches as it always does when Ava talks about her past. But this is a softer ache, a longing to thank this woman who showed Ava a sliver of mercy.

“And that’s Grus, the crane,” Ava continues. “Originally, it was part of another constellation, Piscis Austrinus. But a Dutch astronomer defined it as its own separate constellation. Its brightest star is Al Na’ir. It’s Arabic for ‘bright one’ which feels a little on the nose.”

Beatrice studies its shape, noting the bigger star that Ava must have defined as Al Na’ir. “Why do you like this one?”

Ava thinks for a moment. “Did you know that cranes have the ability to fly over the Himalayas? They can. They can go as high as 8,000 meters. Imagine being that high up, feeling the wind in your hair.” She blinks, looking off towards the wall littered with paint swatches. “I spent so long tied to one place that the idea of being able to fly over a mountain, to graze the tip of it with a set of wings, sounded like a fairytale.”

Beatrice slides her hand over Ava’s, fingertips resting in the dips between her knuckles. “I think we could hike the Himalayas one day, if you wanted to.”

Ava looks down at their hands and blinks before her eyes meet Beatrice’s. “You think so?”

“I think you could do anything you want to do.”

Ava doesn’t blink this time, doesn’t even look away. “If I can do anything I want to do, I want to…” She pauses, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.

Beatrice waits, but the rest of Ava’s sentence doesn’t come. She clears her throat. “What do you-”

“Did you see that one?” Ava asks, interrupting her and pointing up at the ceiling.

Beatrice blinks, startled at the intensity of Ava’s voice. She searches Ava’s face but it’s unreadable, a mix of something Beatrice can’t quite put a name to. So she looks up helplessly, searching for what Ava is pointing at.

“That’s Drago.”

“The dragon,” Beatrice translates. “What’s his story?”

Ava shrugs. “He’s just fucking cool.”

A sharp laugh slips out from between her lips and Ava grins widely back at her.

“So, you like it, then.” Ava looks around her room and nods to herself. “It’s a pretty great room, isn’t it?”

“It’s very… Ava,” Beatrice allows. She’s smiling though, hoping that her words don’t sting.

“Isn’t that all I can hope for?” Ava sighs and turns her hand over so her palm presses against Beatrice’s. “But can I ask another question?”

When she breathes out, “anything”, she means it.

Ava hesitates still. “You never come in here,” she says slowly. “Why not?”

Something tightens in her chest. Words rise in her throat and she swallows them back down, a reflex more than anything else. Ava must notice something pass over her face or feel the way that Beatrice’s hand jumps in hers, because strong and warm fingers stroke up her wrist as they lock around the bone, keeping her anchored to the moment.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Ava rushes on. “I’m just… curious, I guess.” She smiles crookedly. “Does it smell in here?”

Yes. Like something deep and woodsy and so uniquely Ava.

Ava’s nose wrinkles. “Does it? Because if it does, I-”

“It doesn’t.” Beatrice’s voice is too loud. “It doesn’t,” she says, softer now.

Ava’s frown doesn’t smooth out. “Then… why?”

It’s not you, it’s me, her mind supplies. She doesn’t say that. She thinks about how to put it into words, how to unpack all the things she tidied away and put in a cedar chest, locking it tight. Nothing comes from it, just an empty explanation that won’t make sense if she says it out loud.

But Ava is her best friend. And if it doesn’t make sense, if the words don’t come out right, she’ll wait patiently for Beatrice to try again. She’ll sit here, one leg tucked up as ice melts through a washcloth and she’ll wait for Beatrice to find the right words.

I’d wait for you forever, Ava had said, lips loose with party punch. And Beatrice believed her.

Ava makes her brave. Brave enough not to make an offhand joke and turn the conversation back on the open can of paint and the paintbrush quickly drying out.

Instead, she clears her throat and straightens up, the first thing she does when an image of her parents enters her mind. And Ava doesn’t let go of her wrist, moving with her instead, ebbing and flowing with her seamlessly. Beatrice turns to face Ava, watching Ava mirror her, and she exhales out the tension building in her muscles.

“Bea, if you don’t want to-”

“I do.”

She does. Holding onto these things makes her feel heavy. And almost more than anything - but not more than wanting Ava - she wants to be lighter.

Ava shakes her head. “I’m serious.”

Beatrice grips Ava’s other hand, their arms tangled around each other. “I… I have to.”

“Okay,” Ava says softly. Her smile is the same. “Whatever you want to tell me, I want to hear.”

Ava isn’t always sledgehammer, she realizes. She thinks of her as a hammer, crashing into everything and leaving a wake of needed destruction in her wake. But Ava is also a set of picks, quietly and discreetly slipping into the lock around her. For all the stomping around she does, all the things she knocks over in her haste to get from one moment to the next, she’s also deft, hands built with finesse.

Beatrice tries to find the start. Was it Penelope Marshall? Was it the start of boarding school? Was it her parents finding her journal when she was thirteen? Was it all the time she spent with the diplomat’s daughter? Was it her fifth birthday when she cried because her parents bought her the dress with the pink frills instead of the bicycle she wanted?

“My parents…”

“I hate them.”

She doesn’t chide Ava for saying so. A deep, angry part of her hates her parents too. She smiles humorlessly. “They sent me to boarding school, as you know. When I was thirteen. Right at Christmas time. I remember it because it was my present that year. An ‘opportunity to further my education in an environment that would foster appropriate and lifelong lessons’,” she quotes. She can remember the brochure she’d been given unceremoniously, a smiling girl on the front. Even in print, Beatrice could see the hollow light in her eyes.

“Appropriate,” Ava scoffs. “Like anything they did was appropriate.”

Beatrice feels Ava’s pulse thunder under her fingers. “They said it would give me a framework for my life. Lucille Thomason had graduated from there a year before and she was going to Oxford, on her way to inheriting her mother’s social calendar. My mother always fawned over her at dinners. ‘Lucille is following the plans her mother set out for her. Lucille has accomplished so much at such a young age.’”

“Lucille sounds like a loser.”

“Lucille sounded exactly like the daughter my mother wanted.”

Ava frowns softly. “You know that you’re leagues above whoever Lucille is.”

“I didn’t think so,” she admits. “Lucille was someone to admire. Her achievements were something to strive for. She had something I so desperately wanted when I was younger: my mother’s approval. And so, when they presented the option-” She stops herself. “It wasn’t an option. But when they presented their plan, I reconciled myself with it by reminding myself that Lucille was leading a very successful life.”

“There’s more to life than success,” Ava says gently.

Beatrice smiles a little. “To you. To me. But to my parents, there is nothing more.” She takes a deep breath. “And if they were framing it as me taking an opportunity to lead a successful life, then they would forget about… the things they were discovering about me.”

Ava immediately tenses. The Beatrice she is now knows it for what it is: an attempt to contain her anger. The Beatrice she was months ago would have worried. Was Ava afraid of her? Was Ava disgusted by her? The thoughts had swirled that movie night. What if she did admit to a crush on Patricia Velasquez? Would this new person she wanted so badly to be around, without knowing why, suddenly change her mind once she found out the truth?

But Ava hadn’t. Ava won’t. Beatrice knows it with every fiber of her being. There are very few absolute truths in the world, but this is one of them.

“They read my journal, you know,” she continues. The words are coming out easily, this tiny fissure in her chest cracking open as Ava looks at her with wide and trusting eyes. “A new girl started school at the beginning of the term. Her name was Mina. Her father was in banking, I believe. She had the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my life.”

Ava scoffs lightly. “Blue eyes.”

She skims the pad of her thumb over Ava’s wrist. “One day, our hands brushed. It was something simple, innocent. She was passing me a paper, and we miscalculated the distance. I’m sure it meant nothing to her.”

“It meant something to you,” Ava guesses.

“I was thirteen. Everything meant something.” Beatrice sighs, feeling her chest rise and fall heavily. “And anything that meant something to me went into my journal. I just didn’t know that what went into my journal eventually landed in my parents’ hands.”

“So those bastards went through your private journal and read about some girl who touched your hand,” Ava hisses. “I swear, the minute I meet them, it’s fist to face. They don’t call me The Piraya for nothing, you know.”

“No one calls you that.”

“They might call me that, you don’t know. I have a whole superhero persona you don’t know about.” Ava puffs out her chest a little bit.

“The name Piraya implies you’re more of a villain than a superhero.”

“I’m a villain’s villain. How’s that?”

The trickle of despair of dragging this up again fades as Ava’s smile widens. She knows what Ava is doing. But she doesn’t stop her, grateful for the brevity and the way it makes her feel like she’s grounded in something, not floating listlessly and endlessly in her terrible memories.

“I mean it.” Ava’s voice drops, low and serious. “I’ll be their worst nightmare.”

“I’m afraid that role is already taken,” she says quietly. “Though, I don’t think they intended for it to be their daughter.” She sighs. She used to be her mother’s doll. But once she started moving her own parts, she found herself moving in the opposite direction.

“Bea,” Ava whispers. She tightens her grip on Beatrice’s wrist.

“I remember I wrote that touching her hand was as if the heavens opened up and I finally understood what song the angels were singing. We were in the middle of a poetry unit, and I fancied myself quite good at it.” She lets out a dry chuckle. “When I found them in the kitchen one night holding onto my journal I foolishly thought they had found out I was reading Emily Dickenson instead of studying for my science exam.”

Beatrice remembers coming down the stairs, flushed with the late November cold. Mina had invited her for dinner the next night, and she promised to show Beatrice the new video game she got. Beatrice didn’t care about those kinds of things, but no one else had gotten an invitation to Mina’s. Beatrice felt special.

But her parents’ faces had stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t notice her journal at first. It was made to look discreet, not to stand out. It had blended into her mother’s dark skirt, and it wasn’t until her mother raised it into the air that she saw it for what it was.

They asked her to explain herself. She wasn’t sure what they wanted her to explain, not at first. She stumbled through an apology about delaying her studying; she’d do it immediately and ask her teacher for an extra take home lesson. She scrambled through a rushed explanation about having new friends meant more opportunities for networking. With new friends, she could join a new club. It would do well on her list of extracurriculars.

It wasn’t until her mother spit out the name Mina that she had any idea of what she was supposed to be afraid of.

“What did they say?” Ava asks gently.

“They didn’t have to say much. There were questions about who Mina was. My mother had a particular talent of making something that wasn’t a swear sound like it. And she hissed Mina’s name like it was the dirtiest word she could say.”

Beatrice thinks of Mina now. Where was she? What was she doing? Beatrice never heard from her after she left. No letters, no calls. She came and went in her life so quickly, it was as if Beatrice made her up. The only sign that she had been there was the page missing from her journal, returned to her the night before she left for school.

“They demanded to know what she had done to me. What had I done to her? I was so confused. She had touched my hand. I certainly hadn’t…” Beatrice’s chest hitches at the thought. “It was a fleeting moment, but I learned that fleeting moments were the most damaging ones. That,” she says dryly. “And that locks do nothing to keep a determined person out.”

“Locks are meant to keep people out,” Ava all but hisses. She sighs, working her fingers up Beatrice’s arm to her elbow. They rest in the dip of her arm, right over the thin vein under Beatrice’s skin. “God, Bea. I’m so sorry. They were - are - horrible. No one should have had to go through that. Especially not you.”

Especially not you, Ava says. Like Beatrice is better than anyone else. Like she should exist under different rules.

“Of course you’re afraid,” Ava says quietly, speaking to herself. She raises her voice, talking to Beatrice now. “Of course you’re worried about even - Jesus, Bea. Touching a girl’s hand?” She looks down as if she’s suddenly noticing how she’s knotted herself around Beatrice’s arm. She laughs dryly. “What would they say if they saw us now?”

Ava means what if they saw me comforting you? Not what if they saw how I touch you like nothing else matters?

The answer would be the same: her mother would simply set fire to the room.

The chasm is widening now. She’s cracked the seam on these memories, and her mind is cycling through the events that followed: a new suitcase set, pink with her name on an address tag; a set of starched uniforms that felt like coarse wool against her skin; a final meal in her parents’ formal dining room, the chef-of-the-week uncaring of her dislike for persimmons; a single plane ticket pressed into her hand and a dismissive nod as a car pulled away from the airport, leaving her alone.

She tells Ava this in stilted words, as if narrating someone else’s life. But then it starts to sink in, the anger. And it spreads in her belly, burning into a rage. She feels the moment the numbness transitions to an inferno. She hears herself exhale the word alone and something snaps.

“They had no right,” she says. Even through her anger, the words surprise her.

Ava’s voice sounds hoarse, unused. “They didn’t.”

“I was a child. Their child.” Her hand clenches tightly into a fist, Ava’s hand moving with the flex of her forearm muscle. “A ‘problem’ arose and they just…” She stops. “They strung me along until I was no longer of use to them.”

“You are not a problem.” Ava's voice is low, burning hot in the rapidly closing space between them, in a tone she’s never heard before.

Beatrice almost startles, confused. She had nearly forgotten that Ava was here, so consumed in her story. But now she’s noticing her. 

Her eyes flash. The tops of her cheeks pinken slightly. She’s angry. Beatrice has seen her on more than one occasion get angry on her behalf. The mere thought of her parents seems to send her into a flurry, but the anger in her eyes now is nearly staggering.

“You’re not,” she says again, insistent to the point of almost desperation. “Beatrice, you are not a problem.”

And Beatrice, blinking, already falling, dives deeper into love with her.

-

Ava feels her cheeks go hot with a liquid anger that roils in her blood. She’s been angry before - angry at Bea’s parents, even. But this feels like pure molten rage. All of the pieces are slotting together: a young girl who just wanted to make her parents proud; who saw someone - touched someone so innocently - and felt the world shift; who didn’t understand why a cliff rose up between her and the people who were supposed to love her more than anything; who trusted so completely and had it thrown back in her face as if she was the one who somehow failed.

Ava’s fingers tighten until her fingernails cut deep half-moon shapes into her palm. She pulls the words out from between her teeth like nails scratching the floor.

“You are not a problem.”

Bea blinks. The broiling heat in her stomach softens its edge, replaced by the confusion in Bea’s eyes as she blinks again.

“You’re not,” Ava insists. She tugs Bea’s hand, pulling her closer until they’re pressed together, an almost-sweaty slide of the skin of their knees bumping together. Bea blinks a second time, mouth parting slightly. “Beatrice, you are not a problem.”

She needs Bea to believe her. She’s never needed anything more in her whole life. She could live without air. She could make it minutes without oxygen. But she can’t live with another second of Beatrice believing her parents’ poison.

She coaxes Bea another inch closer. “Do you hear me?”

Bea’s mouth parts further, something on the tip of her tongue. Ava squeezes Bea’s hand a little tighter. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Bea says faintly.

Ava isn’t satisfied. “You need to believe it. You’re not a problem. You’re-” She softens her grip, thumbs Bea’s wild pulse. “You’re-”

“Don’t say perfect,” Bea whispers, eyes slamming closed. “Please don’t say perfect.”

Ava hesitates. She was going to say perfect. She was going to say frustratingly perfect. But she can pivot. There are a million other things she can call Bea - courageous, intelligent, kind, beautiful. All things she’s told Bea before and all things she’d tell her a million times more.

“Human,” she lands on. Bea’s eyes open slowly. “You’re human, just like every single other person on this big rock orbiting in space. You live like everyone else. You laugh, you cry. You love, just like everyone else. And none of that-  not who you are or who you love, or even the special little rules you have for tea that took me forever to learn - not a single part of you is a problem.”

The space between Bea’s eyes wrinkles in thought. Ava usually holds herself back, usually just wishes to press it flat gently. But the line between them is so thin now that she doesn’t think twice about it, reaching up and resting her thumb between her brows, pushing gently until the skin relaxes.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks in a whisper. Bea holds so many of her secrets, one more won’t hurt.

Bea nods slowly.

“When I first met you, I was so… intimidated.” Bea’s eyes widen slightly and Ava nods. “I was. You seemed so… cool. Composed. Not at all affected by someone who crashed into your table with the grace of a… what did you call it?”

“A newborn foal,” Bea says lightly.

Ava grins, her smile widening when some of it reflects in Bea’s face. “A newborn foal. That’s a giraffe, right?” She doesn’t wait to be corrected. “I thought, I need to know who this is and I need to know everything about her right now or I’m going to combust.”

Bea rolls her eyes, the motion of her eyes disrupting Ava’s thumb, still on her forehead. She doesn’t drop her hand, being bold and dragging the blunt ends of her fingernails against the smooth skin just above Bea’s eyebrow.

“You’re very dramatic.”

“Did I pretend to be anything else?” Ava shakes her head when Bea opens her mouth. “Don’t answer that. Just know.” She sobers, breathing in and exhaling the most truthful thing she thinks she’s ever said in her life. “The minute I met you, I knew you were something spectacular. I knew you were going to change my life.”

A weight hangs between them now. Bea looks shy under it, her head ducking slightly. Ava’s fingers slip, nearly burying into Bea’s hair. She drops her hand back into her lap but curls it over Bea’s, not quite wanting to let go yet.

“Can I tell you a secret now?” Bea asks, eyes still on the space between them.

Ava nods without being seen. “Anything.”

“I never really felt like that.”

“Like what?” Ava frowns. “Spectacular?”

“Human.” Bea looks up. “I spent so long feeling like… an other. That feeling like a human just didn’t… I couldn’t make sense of that. It took some time.”

Ava smiles gently. “But you got there.”

“After-” Bea stops herself, pulling her lips in as if she’s trying to keep something from erupting out. Ava watches the thin stream of air work its way through her nose, and catches the slight shine of Bea’s eyes, the way they seem to sparkle as unshed tears fill them.

“Hey,” she says softly. “No. No, don’t cry.” She drops Bea’s hands, cupping Bea’s face. Her thumbs brush along the flats of Bea’s cheeks. “I don’t know what to do when pretty girls cry,” she admits.

Bea laughs, choked and watery. “Neither do I. But it never stops me from telling you that Lilith doesn’t actually hate you no matter how much of her fancy vodka you drink.”

“One time,” Ava mutters, lips pulled back in a smile as she pretends to be annoyed.

It works. Bea’s smile seems a little stronger. “Ava,” she says quietly.

Ava strokes down a line of freckles absentmindedly. “Yeah?”

“Can I tell you another secret?”

“You can tell me you’re responsible for bringing down the Vatican, for all I care.”

Bea doesn’t laugh, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth instead. Ava wants to press down against the smooth skin but she stops herself before her thumb drifts that low. That perfect, soft-looking skin, a breath away. She focuses, pulling herself back into the moment.

Bea’s voice is nearly a whisper when she says, “Someone thought I was spectacular once.”

“Just once?”

Another silence. Ava tightens her jaw. Listen, don’t talk. She can do that. She can be still. It’s something Bea has taught her - just be still. Just wait. It will come to you when you stay in one place. So, she’s been waiting, patient against every urge within her to jump up and down and scream.

Sometimes, these feelings for Bea are so big in her chest that she feels like she’s going to explode into a hundred stars. She pictures herself shattering as the unspoken words build in her until they can’t go anywhere but out. But Bea is something to wait for. Bea is someone Ava doesn’t mind standing still for. She knows it’s there. She knows the feelings aren’t just her and that Bea needs to find her way forward. Ava just needs to be the flashlight in the distance, waiting for Bea to find her.

“At least, I thought she thought I was spectacular,” Bea continues, almost as if she didn’t hear Ava. “She said-  well, she said something close enough to it.”

Ava can feel another piece of the puzzle slotting into place. Another brick that makes up Bea’s nearly-impenetrable walls. For every one Ava manages to crack and loosen, another suddenly rises in its place. But she feels like this time, it falls and nothing slots into place.

She doesn’t stop herself from touching a freckle this time, tapping out a song she heard years ago before her hands drop again. “Was she pretty?”

She’s clumsy on a good day. Boisterous on others. But Bea is doing that thing again, learning how to run without knowing how to walk. And Ava is practicing. She’s trying so hard. She stays so still that Bea could almost imagine her gone.

“People are pretty in different ways,” Bea finally says. It’s a very diplomatic answer, something so very Bea that Ava breaks her stillness to smile. “All the other girls wanted to be her. I remember someone saying that her hair was so shiny, she must brush it a hundred times on each side before bed.”

Ava can’t help herself. “Is that why your hair is always so perfect? Are you secretly combing it until your wrist hurts?”

“A brush through wouldn’t kill you, Ava.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Bea’s growing smile flickers out. “I suppose it didn’t matter if she was conventionally pretty. I…” Ava watches the way she shores herself up against an invisible storm. “I thought she was beautiful.”

“What was her name?” she asks quietly.

“Penelope Marshall.” Bea says it like a prayer.

“Penelope.” Ava suddenly creates an image in her mind. A girl with wide brown eyes, bronze skin, a perfect smile of perfect teeth, a button nose, long and shiny hair.

Bea swallows and Ava feels the click of her jaw under her palms. “She was in my year, her room just down the hall from me. We were partners in Latin.”

“I bet she copied all her answers off your test.”

“Maybe once or twice,” she admits. “She certainly did not always do her homework on time. But Sister Magdalene liked her and simply turned a blind eye every so often.”

Bea’s cheeks are warming. Ava can see it in the way they pinken.

“It’s silly, but… I remember the first time she smiled at me. I had conjugated the verb, sum, to be, in the pluperfect subjunctive. She had been trying for the better part of an hour, but the switch from esse to fui for the tenses was always confusing to her.” Bea smiles slightly. “When I gave her the answer, she smiled at me and it felt like…”

“Like the world kind of tilted off its axis?”

Bea looks surprised. “Yes. Exactly that.”

“I’m familiar with the feeling.”

Because she is. So, so, deeply familiar with the feeling. The first time she saw Bea, that first smile she got as she bumbled her way through cleaning up the few drops of tea that spilled, the world went sideways and it hasn’t completely righted itself since.

“It’s peculiar, that feeling. It sticks with you, doesn’t it?” Bea looks down. “I used to dream about it,” she admits.

“That’s normal, Bea,” she says gently.

Bea looks up again. “Is it? Because it didn’t feel normal. It felt… other. Strange. Like a rock in the pit of my stomach. Penelope would touch my arm over our Latin text, and I could see my parents poring over my journal, looking for any otherness that might exist between us.”

“She made you happy, though.”

“I thought I made her happy as well.”

Ava doesn’t need Bea to tell her the rest. She can imagine how it went: touches as they broke down a dead language, sitting with their shoulders brushing at meals, giggling as they studied in what Ava assumes must have been a massive and cold library. She can imagine the small strands of Bea’s hair slipping from her bun across her cheeks and Penelope pushing them back behind her ear with quick fingers.

Ava lets herself be selfish and do that same thing now. Bea’s face turns slightly into her hand. Not enough that she probably even notices.

“When did she kiss you?”

Bea looks surprised again and Ava’s hand falls away. “How did you-”

“A good guess,” she lies. Because she knows that having Bea there and not kissing her is God’s strongest battle. She has been a good soldier.

She’s not sure how much longer she can be good.

“A few months into the semester.” Bea’s voice goes taut. “She invited me to study for her biology test. On the recommendation of our teacher, she told me. I imagined it was a lie; she had the same grades as I did.” Her cheeks pinken. “We were reviewing the different biological features of various aquatic animals and she…”

“She kissed you over the cod?” Ava says, voice a little strangled.

Bea meets her eyes. “It was my first kiss. Everyone I knew had theirs already, but I thought that if this is what I was waiting for, it was worth it.”

“The best things are worth waiting for.”

“I’d read about whirlwind romances in novels. Girls in the dormitories talked about it. Boyfriends they had back home that they saw on holiday weekends. But it was nothing like kissing behind locked doors. It couldn’t be. No one else could be experiencing what I did. It was so uniquely ours. Do you know what I mean?”

She does. It means closed doors. It means secrets. Bea reads it on her face because she can see something close to shame bloom across Bea’s cheeks.

“It was just for us,” Bea confirms. “A secret not even my parents, kilometers away, would learn of.”

Ava has never been one for secrets. She doesn’t like the way they taste in her mouth. You’re keeping your own, a voice like Mary’s reminds her. But that secret isn’t really a secret, is it? Because Mary knows. And Shannon knows because Mary knows. And her favorite barista, Lucy, knows it. JC knows it. The belayer at the rock climbing place and the guy at the one party she dragged Bea to and Lilith and Camila - they all know.

Bea knows too. Ava feels the truth of that in every crevice of her heart. Bea knows. Bea isn’t going to do anything about it - she feels that truth too. But the list of people Ava is hiding this from is shorter than the list of people who know it.

“You loved her.”

Bea’s smile is sad, far away. “First kiss, first love. I was convinced we would graduate and run away together. She would lie in my bed propped up on one arm talking about Paris and Rome and the places we could travel as soon as we got away from school. I’d felt so futureless when I arrived, but now I could imagine a million possibilities.”

Ava thinks of making a joke. Something about Bea jet-setting across all of Europe with a pretty girl, exactly the kind of lifestyle she deserved. But she knows this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

“She told me she loved me. More than anyone she loved in her life. She said we were young, but it doesn’t matter. You just feel love louder, she would tell me. I…” Bea takes a deep breath. “Mina may have been the first girl to touch my hand, but Penelope…”

Bea goes quiet long enough that Ava nudges her hand gently. “She…”

Bea’s eyes clear a little. “She touched me in other places. In other ways.”

Ava guesses the next part of this story too. “You wanted to tell someone and she wanted you guys to stay a secret.”

Bea laughs, short and sharp. “I wish it had been that simple. I wish I had been enough to stay a secret. Instead… She must have learned my parents’ trick. When someone becomes unseemly, when it becomes ugly and unwelcome, you simply… strike it from the record. Forget it ever existed. Send it away to boarding school and hope for the best. Or-or pick a new Latin partner and create an ocean that feels uncrossable.”

“Bea,” Ava says quietly.

“I could have accepted it was all done. An ending. I’m sure I could have. But instead I was…” She shakes her head. “Have you ever had someone you thought you were in love with look at you and tell you that none of it mattered? That it was girls being girls and that whispered promises in the corners of classrooms were never more than just a game? A joke?”

“Bea.”

But Bea has a haunted look in her eyes, like she’s somewhere else than Ava’s bedroom with its overflowing laundry and rumpled comforter and the paint swatches on the wall. Ava imagines she’s back in a girls dormitory standing in front of a pretty girl who is cutting her down to bits.

“She told me that none of it was real. It was wrong. It was just something to do. She wasn’t like that,” Bea says, voice just as haunted. “She promised that she wouldn’t tell, because she didn’t want people to think there was anything wrong with her.” An empty laugh, sardonic and hollow in a way that Ava’s never heard, escapes Bea’s lips. “Don’t worry, she said, I wouldn’t want people to think there was something wrong with you, either. I suppose in some twisted way, she still cared.”

The thing about Ava is that she’s always capable of more than she thinks she is. They said she’d never walked; now she runs across campus after Mary. They said she’d never be smart enough to go to university; now she’s in the front row of all her classes, her scholarship enough to make sure she doesn’t need to worry about her degree. They said she’d never make friends; now she has six of them who make every single day something more than she ever hoped.

They said she’d never fall in love; now she has Bea.

And when she doesn’t think she can go a little further, push a little harder, she thinks of Sister Frances and the way she told Ava that she’d never be capable of anything.

But she’s capable of this: setting everyone on fire who ever hurt Bea.

Her anger unleashes like a wildfire, and it swells in her chest so brightly that for a moment she can’t breathe. She can’t see straight. She’s imagining Penelope again but all of the softness is gone and she’s a cutting monster knocking Bea to the ground. She tightens her hand into a fist so tightly that sharp pinpricks echo in her palm from her fingernails.

She doesn’t realize she’s nearly growling until Bea’s fingers are working hers apart, smoothing them flat.

“Ava, it’s alright.”

“It’s not.” Her voice sounds stretched thin. “She’s not.”

“She’s gone.”

“But she’s still here.” Ava shakes her head insistently. “She’s still stuck in here.” She presses a single finger over Bea’s heart. “She still has all this space to be cruel. And when I meet her - not if. I’m going to find her - I’m going to make her suffer. I’m going to-”

“You can’t go on a one-woman crusade because someone hurt my feelings.”

Ava stares. “Hurt your- Bea, she didn’t hurt your feelings. She broke them.”

Bea straightens up slightly. “I’m not broken.”

Ava softens instantly, like someone turning out a light. “No. No, you’re not Bea. Of course you aren’t. There’s nothing wrong with you.” She ducks her head, catches Bea’s eyes, and smiles a little. “You’re incredible. You are spectacular. I promise you that.”

Bea exhales. “I’m embarrassed to say someone had such a hold on me.”

“That’s not embarrassing. That’s human.” Ava raises a cautious hand to Bea’s cheek again. “That’s wonderfully, perfectly human.”

“She just…” Bea takes a deep breath. Ava’s hand slips to her jawline. “My whole world ended in a single minute. Everything I did after that felt… fraught. I couldn’t trust her, couldn’t trust anything anymore. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if she was going to change her mind and tell someone how different, how terrible I was. She made me… nervous.”

She made me… nervous, Ava thinks.

Ava feels the soft skin between her eyes wrinkle as she works the words over in her mind. Of course Penelope made Bea nervous. Of course she made Bea doubt everything - every friendship, every interaction. Of course she held so much power over the way Bea engaged in the world. Of course she-

Oh.

Bea, who doesn’t linger too long when she’s looking at Ava. Bea, whose cheeks go pink when Ava dusts a hand down her bare shoulder. Beatrice, who is always the gentleman, always the one to hold back when they seem to be teetering on this invisible line of why aren’t we.

Of course Bea is going to be scared of what their friendship could become. Because she had this happen. She put her whole heart into something only to be told how wrong it was when it was over, how wrong she was, and that none of it was real.

Ava has been wondering why Bea is so afraid of what they could be. She thought if she proved herself, if she stayed when she could have run, then Bea would understand. She thought Bea would look at her and see someone worthy enough of falling in love with. She thought, some nights when the stars on the ceiling just weren’t enough light, that there was something wrong with her. Something that Bea wasn’t telling her because she was too nice to let Ava down so cruelly.

But it’s not her. It’s not Bea. It’s all the ghosts of Bea’s past stacked up against an ‘Enter’ door that are stopping Bea from pulling it open. It’s all these things outside of Ava’s control that’s holding them back.

It all comes together so neatly in her mind. Bea is not going to make the first move. She never was. She’s been leading Ava to this place, but she can’t make the final step. She’s loading the gun but she can’t pull the trigger. She’s putting this in Ava’s hands and hoping that Ava doesn’t break it in two.

Ava’s clumsy on a good day. Boisterous on others. But she’s also been practicing so hard at being still and maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Maybe Bea needs her to move, to run ahead and give in first.

Ava takes a deep breath, feeling it expand in her chest. It’s loud, roaring in her ears. Bea looks at her curiously. Maybe she doesn’t know that Ava has put it all together. Maybe she’s just as confused as Ava was a second ago. But Bea is smart. No, she’s not just smart, she’s Ava-smart. And she can read Ava like one of the dog-eared books littering their breakfast bar.

“Bea.” Her voice is remarkably steady.

Remarkable, because her whole body feels like it’s moving, vibrating at a frequency unable to be heard by the human ear. She catches Bea’s wrist in her fingers, locking them tightly around the delicate bone.

Bea is still, eyes dropping down to where their skin meets. “Yes?”

“Beatrice.”

Her hand is the thing shaking now as it rises up between them and slowly presses to Bea’s cheek, fingernails curling around her jaw. She feels it move as Bea swallows, hears the slight click of it as the silence magnifies. Bea’s eyes widen and she nearly pulls away, Ava’s hand on her face the only thing stopping her.

“Ava, I…”

Ava imagined their first kiss. She’s dreamed of it almost from the moment she met Bea, already wondering what it would be like before she knew who Bea really was - before she knew how good it was going to be. But she read something somewhere about how knowing someone enhanced the experience of loving them. How something steeped in history made the love richer. And the history she has with Bea may be short, but it is rich. Bea knows all her secrets and now she knows all of Bea’s.

So, fucking kiss her, a voice like Mary’s demands.

And isn’t Mary always telling her she has to listen better?

She only closes her eyes just before their lips touch. She wants to see Bea’s face and is rewarded with the fluttering of delicate eyelashes, the slight parting of Bea’s lips, the quiet hitch of her breath and the way her throat bobs as she tries to hold it back. Her hand slips to the back of Bea’s neck, pulling just until her top lip brushes Bea’s bottom one.

Her eyes slip closed as Bea’s bottom lip slips between hers and they’re kissing. They’re kissing. Bea is warm and soft and still. She stays there, intent in the way her mouth clings to Bea’s. I’m here. I’m kissing you. I’m choosing you. And you’re spectacular.

Bea shudders, her whole body coming alive, and she surges forward as Ava starts to pull away. The air goes out of her lungs and she tips backwards a little and she panics, unwilling to break apart now that Bea is kissing her back. But Bea’s hand goes past her, holding her up as she exhales against Ava’s mouth.

They’re so close together, their knees knocking. Bea’s mouth presses hot against hers, closed mouths clinging to each other. She can’t believe it, can’t believe they’re finally kissing and Bea isn’t running - she’s closer as Ava’s shoulders fall back against the bed, Bea’s hand curled around her shoulder as she settles against Ava’s side. Her free hand has found the hem of Ava’s shirt and her knuckles are brushing against the sensitive skin above Ava’s navel, steady and warm.

It’s Bea who takes the hesitant step forward, her lips parting just enough that Ava’s slide, and then Ava can feel Bea breathing as she kisses a little harder, mouths open against each other. It’s Bea who takes a less hesitant step again, the tip of her tongue ghosting along Ava’s bottom lip.

Ava pulled down the last brick, but Bea was a roaring river behind the dam and she kisses like she’s been uncorked. Her fingernails dig into the soft flesh beneath Ava’s shoulder, her knuckles press into Ava’s stomach, and she kisses with reckless abandon.

“Bea,” Ava whispers between kisses. She’s never been one for religion but maybe she’s been worshipping the wrong gods. Maybe this is who she should have been praying to all along.

Bea hums pleasantly against her mouth. She’s bolder now, kisses a little more frenzied. Ava understands. She tightens her hand at the base of Bea’s neck, pulls her closer. Her other hand slides down the flat of Bea’s stomach and curls around her hip bone, thumb stroking over the soft fabric of her sweatpants.

She thought kissing Bea would be amazing but she was wrong. It’s life-altering. She can see everything shifting to accommodate the way Bea’s lips press, hot and open-mouthed, against her own. She’s going to be completely altered after this, her life now in two separate parts: Before Kissing Bea and After Kissing Bea.

Bea’s hum burns into a low moan as Ava’s fingers dig more insistently into the dip of her hip. Ava is addicted now. She kisses harder, body starting to move as she rolls, a leg going over Bea’s until she’s bracketing Bea’s hips. She slides her mouth along Bea’s jaw to just below her ear, following the way Bea pants at the sensation of her teeth against smooth skin.

She needs to be closer. She needs nothing between them. She sits up, holding her weight as she works her fingers in her shirt and lifts it high and off her shoulders. She tosses it onto the corner, adding to the laundry pile, and sits above Bea in her bra with the flamingos on it, her chest heaving in anticipation.

Bea stares up at her, her face flushed and her lips bruised. Hesitant hands go to Ava’s waist, fingers flexing experimentally as they settle just above the hem of her shorts.

“Hi,” Ava whispers.

Bea nods, the line of her throat bobbing. Ava watches as her eyes track down her body, shoulders down to the sliver of skin just above her shorts. It takes her a minute to look back up and meet Ava’s eyes.

“Is this-?”

“Yes,” Bea interrupts. Her fingers feel purposeful now, like she’s burning her fingerprints into Ava’s skin. “I… I want this.”

A niggling thought works its way into Ava’s mind. Just a breath of hesitation. “You’re sure?”

Bea sits up, hands sliding to the small of her back. She blinks, eyes wide but focused. “Ava, I’ve wanted this for…”

“So long,” Ava finishes.

“So long.” Bea’s eyes flutter and she leans forward, mouth brushing over Ava’s collarbone. She feels her eyelashes against her throat. “Are you sure you want me?”

Me, she says unspoken. Me out of everyone else you could have.

Ava puts two strong fingers under Bea’s chin, lifts her face up until their eyes meet. I’ve never wanted anything more sounds too small. But it’s the only way she can think to say it. And when she does, Bea’s smile brightens the room.

Bea presses her lips to the pulse thudding in Ava’s neck, gentle teeth scraping against the skin. Ava breathes in sharply at the feeling of it, of Bea’s fingers working steadily up her back until they’re hesitantly touching the clasp of Ava’s bra. Ava is brave enough for both of them. She reaches back and loosens it, the fabric falling away from her chest. She tosses that away too.

Ava hisses softly when Bea’s fingers skate up her stomach to cup her breast. Her hand is burning, and Ava pushes into it so she can feel herself on fire. It only grows hotter when Bea kisses her collarbone again, teeth a little more insistent as she makes her way down to her own hand.

Ava pulls at the bottom of Bea’s shirt, freeing it from where she’s sitting on it, and pulls gracelessly until it’s over her head and somewhere by the door. She traces the lines of Bea’s navy bra until she finds the clasp and undoes it, flinging it away.

“I’m not going to make a joke about your boobs,” she whispers into Bea’s temple. Her tongue swirls over sensitive skin at Ava’s chest. “But just know that I really want to.”

Bea lifts her head. “I appreciate your restraint.”

“Saint Ava, they call me,” she babbles. “Patron Saint of-”

Her words are swallowed up in a gasp as Bea presses a hand down purposefully down on her waist. It sends a shiver through her and pulls a little bit of a moan from the hollow of her throat, Bea’s eyes widening slightly in surprise.

Ava tucks some of the loose strands framing Bea’s face back behind her ear, cheeks just a little red. “Before we… Before we do anything else, you need to know that I’m not going to be normal about this. Like, at all.”

Bea walks two fingers up her side, using ribs like steps. She moves them across her chest, brushing against her nipple. Ava shivers again. “I don’t know that I’m much interested in normal,” she admits.

Ava arches into her touch. “I’d hope not, considering how much you’re into me.”

She pauses, breath caught in her lungs as she waits for Bea’s reaction. Bea looks up with wide, imploring eyes. She searches for something on Ava’s face, and Ava hopes beyond hope that she finds it.

Not because she needs Bea’s hand to keep doing what it’s doing. Not because she wants to slip her fingers beneath Bea’s waistband. Not because she wants to hover over Bea and nose down the long stretch of what she’s sure is perfect skin from her chest to her belly button.

Because she wants all those things. But she also wants Bea to know she’s safe. That it’s okay to want her. That Ava is going to be someone she can trust, that Ava won’t treat her like something that’s going to break but will hold her gently regardless.

It feels big, to say that. But Bea is right there, a fingertip away, with her lips bruised and her hair starting to tangle around Ava’s fingers, and she thinks: I’m never going to come back from this. I’ll never be the same. What she feels is undeniable and real, the most real thing she has ever known and she would never, ever want to go back, even if she could.

“I am,” Bea finally says, voice a breathless whisper.

“A lot?” Ava asks, a sliver of neediness in her words.

Bea nods, unblinking. “A lot, yes.”

Ava makes a show of breathing a sigh of relief, a relieved smile on her face. “Well, that’s embarrassing for you.”

“Ava.”

Ava buries her reply in a kiss, fingers curling around Bea’s shoulders as she slowly inches her backward onto the bed until Ava is a shadow hovering above her. She wonders what the hollow of Bea’s throat tastes like, and she smiles into the kiss as she realizes she doesn’t need to ask. She breaks away from Bea’s mouth, kissing over the point of her chin and the underside of her jaw and down to the dip of her throat, teeth nipping at sensitive skin as Bea’s breath hitches. She can feel fingers flex at her waist and then tighten more purposefully.

Sensitive neck, she catalogs. She wants to make a list, grow it until she knows all of the places that cause Bea to make that breathless noise.

Bea’s fingers are insistent at her neck, drawing her back up until they’re kissing, harder than they have before. Bea kisses with lips and teeth, her tongue soothing away the nips, while one hand works its way to Ava’s waistband, curling into the thick denim fabric of her jeans.

She would have been satisfied with some heavy making out. Her skin is already burning where Bea’s bare chest is pressed against hers. She can live with this. But Bea doesn’t seem to be able to live with just this. Ava feels the back of her knuckles against her stomach as Bea pops the button of her jeans and works down the zipper. It’s so loud in the silence.

Ava kisses her way down Bea’s throat again then goes lower, tongue leading the way as she flicks the tip of it over a pebbled nipple. There it is again, that breathless noise. The fingers at her waistband freeze, tighten around the denim, and then release. Ava’s hand goes to Bea’s other breast, and she feels it press into her palm as Bea arches her back slightly.

Ava dares to go lower, kissing over the swell of Bea’s breast and down to her navel. She slides back on Bea’s legs, her fingertips light against Bea’s skin above her hip bones.

“Ava,” Bea breathes. She reaches down, hands reaching for Ava’s chin. Ava kisses the center of Bea’s palm as strong fingers curl around her jaw. “Ava.”

She doesn’t know what Bea’s trying to say, but she doesn’t need to. She can feel the heat radiating off Bea, the anticipation. She hooks two fingers in the waistband of Bea’s study-sweatpants, the ones she wears on all-nighters where she’s going to fall asleep sitting up, and starts to work them down a little as Bea’s hips lift off the bed.

She rests her forehead in the dip of Bea’s hip. She’s never believed in a God, but she does believe there’s a higher power out in the cosmos, and they’ve suddenly found her worthy of this gift: Bea stretched out across the sea of her comforter with her eyes closed and her chin tipped into the air as her chest rises and falls with increasingly harder breathes and her hips arching just slightly until Ava feels her against her forehead.

Because shit, this is holy.

A hand snakes its way into her hair, blunt fingernails scratching against her scalp. She can feel them trembling slightly. Ava wants to feel the whole of Bea tremble. She kisses down as she pulls Bea’s sweats down until they’re past the top of her thighs to her knees.

This feels like a moment they can’t come back from. And looking up at Bea, at the way those dark eyes stare into hers and the hand in her hair tightens slightly, she doesn’t want to come back from it. She wants to never, ever come back from this. She only wants what happens on past this moment.

She works Bea’s underwear down until they’re on the floor with her sweatpants in a tangled heap, and she noses her way lower until it’s nothing but heat and something slick against her tongue. Bea keens, hips lifting high off the bed, and Ava presses down hard against them with flat palms, keeping Bea down in one place.

The hand tightens in her hair, Bea’s knees tighten around her shoulders, trapping her in this crystalline moment. She rolls into it, tongue working more steadily as she feels Bea’s hips start to roll in response. She dips lower and soars higher, an unknown melody working into her mind and guiding her as Bea lets a sigh loosen from her throat.

Her hand climbs until she feels Bea’s breast against her palm, and she works her fingers over sensitive skin. Bea’s hand traps hers in place, palm burning. She can feel Bea’s legs start to tremble, and she licks a little more precisely, a little more purposefully.

She swirls, she drives forward and pulls away. She finds a rhythm until Bea’s whole body starts to tighten into an invisible line, pulled taut by an some unseen string. Ava doesn’t stop, even as Bea’s legs tighten around her. Even as that hand in her hair pulls a little harder. Even as Bea’s breathing swells into a hard pant and she lets out a strangled cry of Ava’s name.

She doesn’t stop until Bea’s body melts into loose muscles, until Bea’s hand goes slack in her hair. Everything is hot against her skin. Her tongue eases away, laving up and over Bea’s hip to her navel and charting a slow course to the center of her chest until she’s back at the hollow of Bea’s throat, teeth nipping as she feels Bea’s chest rise and fall rapidly against her own.

Bea draws another ragged breath, a hand up over her red face.

Ava pulls it away and kisses Bea hard, their mouths sliding together. Bea’s fingers curl around her throat, holding her in place when Ava tries to pull away. A tongue dips behind her teeth. Bea inhales sharply, stealing the air from Ava’s lungs.

Bea, still panting softly, hooks a leg under her and twists, rolling until Ava is on her back, and Bea is hovering over her, eyes dark and flashing.

The air punches its way out of Ava’s throat. If she’s cataloging the things that turn her on, this has just gone to the top of the list, right after the way Bea tastes and the feeling of her mouth sliding against hers.

“Bea.” Her voice is strangled and warped between them.

But Bea doesn’t answer her. She works her fingers purposefully down Ava’s front, sliding beneath her waistband without fanfare, without hesitation. Ava’s legs part with a half-breath, the other part of it stuck in her throat.

Then it’s nothing but an overwhelming sensation and the soft sound of Bea panting in her ear as Ava feels the world start to tighten around her. Bea’s breath is replaced by a white static, and there’s a fullness in her that she knows she’s going to be chasing for a while. Her hips lift and fall, a rhythm she knows without having to think about it. She rides it out, settles into it like she’s known it all her life and then-

And then-

Then she’s soaring, hips off the bed and her whole body shaking as she tries to focus on the rhythm again, the whole dance gone from her mind as it’s replaced by fireworks exploding, one after another. She can feel Bea’s hand on her, in her, and nothing else. She’s disconnected from reality except for where Bea is touching her. Floating weightlessly in an in-between where nothing but this feeling and Bea, hot against her side, exist.

She crashes back down, the world slamming back into her head as her legs clench, Bea’s hand between them. Strong fingers slide away and stroke across her thighs before they go up and curl around her side. Her breath comes hard, her pulse pounding in her head. She squeezes her eyes tightly, afraid to open them and see that the whole world has been turned upside down.

She wouldn’t care if it was, is the problem. She wouldn’t care if she suddenly found herself light years away where there was no oxygen in the solar system. As long as Bea is next to her, she doesn’t care.

She opens her eyes slowly and turns her head, finding Bea looking back at her with liquid pools for eyes.

“Hi,” she breathes, the word sticking in her throat.

Bea smiles softly. “Hi.”

“That was…” She inhales raggedly. “It’s never been like that.”

Because I’ve never been in love, she doesn’t say out loud.

Bea is biting on her bottom lip, eyes searching Ava’s face. “Me either,” she finally says.

Ava hums, content and boneless. “We are so doing that again. Soon,” she promises. “When I can feel my legs, it’s over for you.”

Bea laughs a little. “Okay, Ava.”

Ava lets her eyes close again and when she opens them, Bea is still looking at her. It doesn’t unsettle her. She lets Bea drink her in, and she lets her own eyes follow the lithe line of Bea’s body.

“Boobs,” Ava sighs. She curls one hand around Bea’s breast, no intention in the movement.

Bea wiggles around as if it tickles slightly, but she just settles more tightly against Ava’s side.

“I’m going to be insufferable,” she warns.

“So I can expect more jokes about my boobs.” Bea walks two fingers up her side and across her chest, pressing over where her heart is. “What else?”

Ava inhales shakily. “Anything else you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” she promises. “Whenever you want. I’ll be a court jester for you, babe.”

Bea’s face pinkens at the name, but she holds Ava’s gaze for another moment before she rests her head between Ava’s shoulder and neck. “I do find you marginally funny,” she admits lightly.

Ava grins, the smile lazy. “See? You need to tell more people how funny I am. Mary doesn’t believe it.”

The blush doesn’t fall from Bea’s face. “Please don’t talk about Mary while we’re naked.”

“Why not? She’ll think it’s hilarious.” But Ava stretches her neck and kisses Bea’s temple. “But okay. Just this time.”

“I appreciate it,” Bea murmurs. It’s familiar, the exasperation, but it’s tinted with this whole new feeling. A new depth. “Ava?”

“Hmmm,” Ava hums, sleep pressing against her body.

“I can tell you later.” Fingers brush hair off her damp forehead. “Close your eyes for a little bit.”

“Just a little,” she agrees. “And then I’m making you stir fry.”

Warm lips press against the hollow of her throat, humming an okay against her skin. Bea settles against her side as a warm and welcome weight.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she knows she goes quietly and calmly, and that Bea is still there, still pressed against her side, molded to her like she was never meant to be anywhere else.

-

She wakes up to the smell of paint. Her eyes take a minute to adjust to the light in the corner but she pushes up on her elbow, the comforter over her sliding down to her waist. She blinks as Bea comes into focus.

“You’re painting?”

Bea turns. She’s barefoot, in her underwear again, and one of Ava’s cropped t-shirts that has a white cat in red shadows and I’m not cute I’m purr evil written on it. It hangs a little higher on her and Ava can see the swell of her breasts through it.

She’s the most beautiful woman Ava has ever seen.

And she’s blushing. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Ava sits up more fully, stretching her arms above her head. She watches, a slightly smirk on her face, as Bea’s eyes drop to her chest. But she doesn’t push. There’s time to tease Bea about staring at her boobs. All the time in the world, really.

“How long was I asleep?” She looks at the wall. Bea has nearly finished the whole thing.

“Not long.” Bea puts the paint can down on the stool, balancing the paintbrush on the edge of it. “But you looked…”

“Like a dead fish?” She’s aware of the way she sleeps, limbs thrown about and head rolling back. Years of being unable to move makes it so she never stops now, even sleeping.

“Peaceful,” Bea finishes. She’s hesitating, torn between wanting to do something and worrying about doing it.

So, Ava takes the lead, leaning in until she’s kissing Bea. She feels Bea sigh into it and knows it was the right move, that it’s what Bea wanted to do. She wants Bea to know she can do this whenever she wants. Bea kisses back almost instantly, sliding into an already-familiar rhythm.

She pulls away, a smile on her face. “Hi.”

Bea is a little breathless when she says hi back.

“I thought we weren’t painting.”

Bea looks back at the wall, most of it covered already. “You were right. About leaving our mark on this place. Someone needs to know we were here.”

“If we ever move out.”

Bea smiles. “If we ever move out.”

Ava pulls her legs up under her and Bea’s hand into her lap. “The only place I plan on moving is into your room. Or you can move in here, since we’re already decorating.”

“Oh?” Bea says. Her voice seems tight, like she’s holding something back.

A wiggle of doubt worms its way into her mind. “I mean, if you want to. No pressure. I’m more than happy to stay here and we can pretend like-”

“I don’t want to pretend,” Bea interrupts. She seems surprised by the firmness in her words and she sucks in her lips for a second before she shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure if you- I know you just kissed me but maybe that was you letting me down and-”

“Bea.” Ava waits until Bea’s mouth snaps closed. “I don’t want to pretend. I’ve been waiting months to kiss you, and unless you tell me otherwise, I plan on kissing you at least a hundred times a day.”

Some of the tension drains from Bea’s shoulders. “A hundred.”

“Give or take another hundred.” Ava grins. “One kiss for every time I’ve thought about kissing you the last seven months. Spread out, of course. Otherwise we’d probably be stuck in this apartment for days, just kissing.” She narrows her eyes playfully. “That might not be the worst thing to happen, though.”

“I’d miss finals,” Bea points out.

“Do you really need to pass them? Aren’t you teaching the classes at this point?”

Bea rolls her eyes, fond and exasperated. “Ava.”

“Bea.” She rolls her eyes back. “Fine. If you won’t lock yourself away to make out with me for days on end, what else are you willing to offer me?”

Bea is quiet for a long moment, her hand twisting in Ava’s as she thinks of something. Ava can see it pressing against her teeth, can practically feel the tension of whatever Bea wants to say radiating off her and lighting up the whole room. Ava waits it out patiently, knowing that whatever Bea has to say will be worth it.

She stays still. She waits. Bea has a way of bringing out all of the things in her that no one else has bothered to look for before. And after another minute, Bea looks up.

“Me.”

Ava’s heart clenches in her chest. “You.”

“I’m willing to offer me. Just… me. If you’re willing to accept.”

Ava turns Bea’s hand over in hers and presses two fingers to the thudding bundle of nerves at the base of her wrist. Bea looks down at where they meet and her eyes stay locked there for a moment while Ava watches her.

“If you think there’s anything just about you, then you don’t know the Beatrice I know,” Ava finally says. “Because I’ve never thought there was anything just about you. You always leave the light on for me. And you never make me do the dishes alone. And you don’t mind mushrooms on your pizza. You keep soda in the apartment and you always vacuum when I’m not home.”

A funny smile graces Bea’s face. “I think that makes me good for you.”

“The best,” she agrees. Her smile softens. “I’ve never thought there’s anything just about you. You’re incredibly kind, trustworthy. You’re humble - maybe too humble,” she jokes. “And considerate. And insanely intelligent. Hilarious. My best friend.” She pauses. “And I’m pretty sure you’re the love of my life.”

Bea inhales sharply.

“I know that’s, like, a lot. And I don’t need you to say it back, because I’m not trying to pressure you. But saying it all has lifted some kind of weight off my chest. Like, I didn’t know I was suffocating under not saying anything but I guess that I was,” she babbles. “But honestly, you don’t need to-”

“Ava,” Bea says patiently. She waits until Ava snaps her mouth shut and mimes zipping it closed. “My parents…”

“I’ll kill them,” Ava says cheerfully, looking guilty when Bea’s eyes cut to her. She closes her mouth again.

“My parents made me believe that love had to be earned. That if I wanted it, I had to work for it.” She takes a breath, astonishingly steady. “But you’ve never done that. You’ve never made me work for it. You’ve just… given it. It’s who you are.”

Ava’s smile wavers a little. “Because you don’t need to deserve love.”

“I didn’t know that before you.” Bea shakes her head. “I’ve had to unlearn a lot of things since meeting you. Like that. Like how to not be afraid. Like how to eat pizza. All these things that were so ingrained in who I was that I didn’t think I’d ever know anything different.” She reaches up and cups Ava’s cheek. “You changed all of that for me.”

She thinks Bea is saying I love you. She thinks Bea is saying You’re the love of my life, too.

And then Bea, spectacular Bea, looks into her eyes and says exactly that. “I love you. I’ve loved you since you spilled tea on my very important notes, and I’ve fallen in love with you every day since.”

Ava feels relief flood through her like a dam breaking. “That’s good. That’s really, really good. Because it would be embarrassing to be sitting here naked telling you how much I love you if you’re not going to say it back.”

Bea shakes her head but she’s smiling. “Ava.”

“Beatrice.” Ava curls a finger under Bea’s chin and beckons her forehead. She kisses her slowly and sweetly before she pulls back. “Kiss one of a hundred today.”

A blush spreads across Bea’s face. “You’re not really going to count, are you?”

“I’m going to keep a tally, that’s how serious I am.” She kisses Bea again. “Number two.”

Bae rolls her eyes and when Ava kisses her a third time, she opens her mouth, tongue brushing Ava’s bottom lip. It leaves her breathless when Bea pulls back.

“If I knew getting you in my room would have ended up like this, I would have tried a lot harder,” she says, eyes still closed.

Bea’s lips press against her cheek, then under her eye. “I wasn’t ready for that,” Bea whispers against her skin.

Ava doesn’t open her eyes. “I know you weren’t.”

Bea’s forehead rests against hers. “I am now.”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I won’t stop loving you.”

Bea’s breath ghosts across her mouth. “I am. I’ve never been ready for anything more in my life.”

“Not even your finals? Because you’re really ready for those, even if you think you aren’t.” She feels Bea start to argue more than she sees it, eyes still closed. “I’ve never met anyone who studies as much as you study. Seriously, you’re a beast when it comes to notecards and colored highlighters and-”

She does stop this time as Bea’s lips press against her. She hums, sinking into it. “Oh,” she says when Bea ebbs away. She finally opens her eyes.

Bea is smiling, beautiful and wide. “More than my finals. If only because I’m still not convinced of Thecla’s real contribution to modern religions.”

“I don’t know who Thecla is, but she’s never been less relevant to my interests right now.” Ava twists a strand of Bea’s hair, resting on her cheek, around her finger. “She could be Jesus’ mother for all I care.”

“She’s not-”

“I know she’s not.” Ava grins. “But I like the way you look when I say something wrong.” She presses her finger to the space between Bea’s eyes. “Like you’re not sure if you want to lecture me or kiss me. For the record, I’m very much in favor of the second option.”

Bea’s lips pull up in a slight smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ava breathes in deeply, letting the air fill her lungs as she stretches her arms over her head, noting the way Bea’s eyes follow the lift of her chest. She smiles to herself. Maybe Bea is a boob-girl. She’ll have to weaponize that knowledge for later. 

“I think I promised you stir fry.”

Bea opens her mouth to argue.

“And I’m hungry,” Ava says over her. “And can be trusted with a knife. So, I will be making you stir fry, because it’s the one thing I’m good at. And I want to impress you.”

Bea’s smile is fond, and Ava thinks back to the first time she saw it, how it was aimed at Camila and how she wished one day it would be a smile for her. And now here she is, Bea in her shirt and an I love you between them and a smile that is reserved just for her.

“So let me make you stir fry and you can come sit and study some more. In my shirt. Which, by the way, is very sexy.” She winks.

Bea rolls her eyes. “Mine was quite tangled up in the comforter, and this was just the most easily accessible.”

“You have a bedroom about a hundred feet away,” Ava feels the need to point out. Bea’s eyes narrow and Ava grins. “But for the record, I really like seeing you in it.”

Bea blushes a little but stands and opens Ava’s drawer, pulling out a pair of underwear - Ava’s favorite, yellow with pineapples on them - and then a big t-shirt she stole from Mary that has a pug with a pair of aviators on printed across the front. She hands them to Ava.

“No pants?” she asks as she pushes the comforter down and wriggles into her underwear. She pulls the t-shirt on, huffing her hair out of her face.

“No pants,” Bea says simply.

Oh. Okay. She grins and stands up, curling her hands around Bea’s waist and pulling her in. “This is going to be so good. I know it.”

Bea smiles, swaying slightly with her when Ava starts to go back and forth on her feet. “I know it too.” She presses her lips to Ava’s forehead and speaks against it. “Thank you, Ava,” she breathes.

Ava frowns. “For what?”

Bea pulls back and tucks a strand of Ava’s hair back behind her ear. “For waiting for me to be ready.”

“Of course I waited. I love you,” she says easily.

Bea’s smile widens. “I know.”

Ava beams back at her, feeling like everything has slotted into place so neatly. She never wants this moment to break, never wants it to go away. She wants to remain forever in this room with Bea in her arms and the rest of the world somewhere else doing whatever it is they’re doing. All that matters is this moment, these kisses between them, the possibility of what the next moment brings.

She can’t wait.

[skrrts]

Home Is ✧ hongjoong version (oneshot)

✧ gn!reader x kim hongjoong ✧ genre: non-idol, slice of life, fluff, romance ✧ word count: 1,1k

You have found the love of your life, and now the two of you are ready for the next step in your relationship: moving together. Neither of you can wait to finally be able to spend every day together but it's out of the question ... the whole progress looks a lot more casual and aesthetical on social media than it actually is. Chaos. In the middle of the chaos that is moving in, Hongjoong wants you to enjoy this. Moving shouldn't only be an exhausting memory but something you enjoy. He makes you take a break & you make something for your new home together.

a/n: this wraps up my friday mini series for September. thanks a lot to everyone who has been reading along. i figured concluding it with hongjoong is a fun idea, he's definitely enjoying the progress and it takes all longer but is more fun.

The entire apartment was a mess. Unopened and half-emptied boxes were everywhere, items scattered over the floor, or just placed on top of stored furniture in between made-up couches and a mattress that served as a bed. When Hongjoong and you decided to move together, everything seemed perfect until it wasn't. The promised renovation took longer than scheduled and instead of having time to paint walls and slowly set up furniture, two apartments needed to be emptied for the new tenants within just a few days. Now bedroom and living room were shoved into the atelier so that you could slowly work on painting the walls.

Your mood had taken a toll and you admired your boyfriend, who still looked prettily cute and content while you had no idea where to start or finish for the day. You were thankful for his encouragement for you to go and pick up your dinner for the night, walks always calmed your mind. By the time you came back, you were already feeling better.

You were met by the familiar smell of fresh paintings. Honestly, back in high school you never expected to fall in love with a painter but here you were, in your first shared apartment that also included an atelier.

Hongjoong had moved a few of the boxes together, a plastic tablecloth on top with a large variety of colors prepared from bright to neon and pastels. There were cups of water, pencils and a small pile of canvases.

"This doesn't look like dinner," you teased, his smile growing instantly as he got up to kiss you. "I thought, since we ordered salad anyway, it could wait.- It was a stressful weekend and you deserve some relaxation and fun." Says the one having the time of his life painting the walls in the most stunning gradients by hand.

"Is that so?" you smiled, placing the food aside so he could tug you into a hug, foreheads resting together: "I also really wanted to do something special so we always would remember this first time together."

Hongjoong always was like this, excited and optimistic, trying to make the most out of anything and always looking out to cheer you up. One of the many qualities why you fell for him.

"That sounds perfect," you whispered, a final kiss was placed before he led you over and you sat down on one side of the table. "Now then, what should we paint?"

He was smiling his cute smile, the one that showed he was really excited about doing this with you, making a special memory together. "Anything! Well, I want to put it in the small spot in the living room. You know, the one where you noted we still haven't picked anything. And no, you aren't allowed to worry, just have fun. Pick any color you want! Those are my leftovers and I really need to finish them so we also do something good."

Hongjoong was very dedicated to his art, the joy of painting but also not to waste anything. He was very content to use every last drop of paint before buying a new one.

"Alright, let's do this," you chuckled. It felt a little surreal how you were sitting in such a mess but you tried to focus. The image that came to mind first was how your living room would look like when all was set up. There was a tiny balcony and you got a new couch, some messy curtains with a pattern Hongjoong chose, and bold pillows.

It was nice to imagine what the result would be, like recharging the stress of the past few days. Once you decided what to go for, the rest was easy. You were the type to get lost in whatever you were doing. Making a few rough sketches then trying colors on spare paper.

For a while, it seemed Hongjoong was doing the same but by the time you were half way done, the soft click of his camera made you look up, blushing.

"Hey!"

he chuckled sweetly, looking innocent as he rushed to place the phone back down on the table. "Couldn't resist, you are just so cute when you are all lost in progressing."

He was right but you were still pouting: "Sush! You should rather finish your painting." Hongjoong smirked, showing you his already completed free-style art, it was beautiful but you got shy because it was a version of you, here and now.

"Cheating," you mumbled, your cheeks just more red as you cleared your throat. "How about you help me then?" Hongjoong smiled brightly, it was one of the happiest looks you had seen him with and he stood up, sitting behind you, partly pulling you onto his lap.

"I can't wait, our home. Our own little happy place," he whispered, pressing a kiss on your cheek before taking a spare pencil and helping you finish your painting. By the time you finished, you couldn't deny how relaxed you felt.

Hongjoong's arms curled around your waist as you relaxed back against him, your eyes closed when he just held you like that. "This is nice," you admitted. I feel, living with you really won't ever be boring."

Your boyfriend chuckled: "Well, it surely will be a little chaotic but I am your favorite chaos after all."

So silly!

Hongjoong bit his lip, he looked at you and when your gazes met, there was no denying there were many more thoughts but those were kept for another day.

"Dating, moving together... don't care where exactly the journey will take us but meeting you, it has been my best adventure... And always will be my favorite."

You poked his cheek but smiled: "And now you are all sappy. Feel my heartbeat? Always all wild for you."

The man grinned as he finally slowly stood up, your eyes wandered over the mess that was just in every part of your new home. "Quite a bit of work to do," he sighed, pushing brown hair back: "But for today, I think we did enough. Let me put our artwork aside and clean up, then we can eat."

You gave him a quick nod, wiggling your hands covered in dried paint. "I will clean those."

Hongjoong nodded and started to carefully put the painting tool in a bowl to clean it, as you stopped in the door, you looked at him, adoring, loving.

You really were lucky, chaos or not. This home was your dream come true, always wishing to move together with whoever the love of your life would be and you did quite a good pull with this one, right?

"Joong, you know... after we ate, maybe we should properly test out our big new bathtub," you grinned. His cheeks flushed when he looked up, mumbling something.

This time you laughed: "Leave it to me, I will prepare it."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes as the two of you smiled at one another. Now, you were both home.

[mushroomates]

merry headcanons

as a child, he sincerely believed he could talk to cats. this ended at age 13.

can do cartwheels. pippin cannot. this is brought up in arguments more frequently that imagined

has a filter, contrary to some of what he says. he also acts as pippins filter

possesses an uncanny ability to sniff out weed. can tell the quality of such by smell alone. can also tell you where it may have come from, and how it was grown

has a small patch of cannabis growing in a back room of his estate. it used to be a sunroom but is now a greenhouse/weed lab.

merry religiously documents it’s growth, soil conditions, exposure to light, and most importantly: potentness

unfortunately this has manifested in a very strong but unpleasant tasting plant. this sort is hearty, can grow under any conditions, but really just tastes/smells. absolutely awful.

he did try and recruit sam into helping him until sam realized what was going on and wanted “no business in such a practice”

uses samples saved from the whole Saruman takedown and propagates what he can. also keeps some for comparison. he is very organized with this and has a whole spreadsheet he references frequently

merry also likes to know where everything is at all times. he’s not super weird about it but everything does have its place and he will know if you move it

got into furniture making. makes. questionable, ‘innovative’ ‘contemporary’ and ‘unique’ pieces

in reality it’s because he likes to make chairs that specifically make people want to leave because of how uncomfortable they are

like. he loves his family. but sometimes they get the squeaky chair. there’s a table with one leg slightly smaller than the rest that makes everyone uneasy. a couch that is just too low to the ground and cushy, so that you sink in but your legs are cramped. there’s a chair with the back curved slightly too steep, so when someone sits in it their posture is terrible. it also has a shorter than normal seat so you can’t scoot forward either

it’s not torture. people can endure it. it’s just mean to make sure no one does for very long.

this set is strategically in the foyer, so if he likes you well enough you’re granted entity into the living room with normal furniture. which is very tastefully decorated and has framed artwork of his many nieces and nephews.

he absolutely adores the littlest members of the shire and will spoil them however he can

draws maps of the most absurd things. just. maps that no one even asked for but are delightfully absurd

“directions to bagend, avoiding all dogs, aunts, sheep and red mail boxes” “brandybuck estate, but only the trees” “every pub in the shire, and who to avoid on your way back from a good time”

and, famously, “pippins brain”

this is a circle, and in it, two singular dots

one saying “pipe weed” and the other “bad ideas”

there use to be a third dot, that said “lack of cart wheels” but that has been a angerly scribbled out (culprit is still a ‘mystery’ )

decent navigational skills

of course, no one listens to him.

judges the annual pie contest

is actually. really good at it. has a very defined palette dispute the copious amount of weed he smokes

“is that rubarb? it adds a wonderful complexity to the strawberry and pistachio- though, i’d recommend not using molasses next time instead try brown sugar.”

like. merry. why do you know these things.

also judges the pie EATING contest. this is because there is a scandalous amount of cheating and he was part of a huge pie-in-the-trousers bust and now sits in the jury as an esteemed member

pippin thinks he’s a traitor to the cause. this is because pippin was a primary perpetrator in said pie-in-the-trousers bust.

has two pet rabbits. by pets i mean fellow members of the “raiding farmer maggots crops” club, who he saved from a few rodent traps and took home

merrys morals, to recap, does not allow him to permit pie-crimes, but he is totally okay with casual thievery

did not have the heart to said rabbits as they were cut from the same cloth. he let them out the back yard once he got home and they just. kind of. stayed

their names are gandalf and gandalf because ones gray and ones white. many hobbits have been taking after that and also naming their animals gandalf. this of course pisses gandalf off to no end.

is a great babysitter. mature enough to not get into trouble but still has a childish sense of adventure, and lots of stories

he is the trusted fun uncle. pippin being the reckless fun uncle.

he acts stories out more than tells them to the kids, as his way with words is not so great as his way with sound effects.

also makes his own sock puppets and will occasionally put on small shows for the kiddos during family gatherings. fan favorites are “merry takes down the witch-king” “the march of the ents” and “the hobbit who couldn’t cartwheel” (the last ends with the hobbit simply learns to accept that everyone has different talents- something not true to life because pippin still hasn’t accepted this)

is high key very smart. doesn’t do a lot with this. he prefers to enjoy the simple things in life, and has found that so long as he makes sure he and his are looked after, life can be very easy.

that being said. he is not as care free as he’d like to be

is very prepared and well organized. has rations for days and a go-bag, even in his later years. everyone mocked him for years but it took him maybe ten minutes to grab everything and join up with frodo and sam. he also has extra go-bags, which is why it only took pippin 15 minutes (an extra five because pippin lost his bag about two seconds after merry gave it to him)

merry got the “anxiety” hobbit gene that manifests in being (only slightly) a prepper. there’s cans of beans and fruit as well as bottled water hidden in the cellar of the brandy-buck estate. enough food to last nearly five years, but for a hobbit, three.

this gives him peace of mind, as he knows he is prepared for whatever life gives him

he also knows he has braved many things before and anything that may come now will be significantly less of a hardship

he will never have to face down another witch-king, or more importantly, go without second breakfast

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Dolce

Chapter Twenty One

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Word Count: 1787

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, minor backstory, they're idiots your honor, unbeta'd

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. Apart from being sick, I second and third and quintuple guessed myself on this chapter and then thoroughly ignored the difficult parts and just let them have a conversation on their own. That's it, it's just a phone call. xoxo Stu

Forgive me @lastactiontricia <3

Series Masterlist

You stood in your kitchen staring at the food in the fridge. It wasn’t much, but you had options.You just hated them all at that moment. You closed the door and slogged over to the pantry. It was the Friday night after Dean’s birthday and you wanted nothing to do with your phone or work or anything social media related. 

So you had turned off your ringer and left it to charge. 

You grabbed a bag of microwave popcorn out of the box and ripped off the plastic wrap. It was a poor excuse for dinner, but it at least would tide you over while you decided what you actually wanted to eat. Then you poured yourself a glass of wine, a sweet white because you were not a snob about it. No matter how many trips to Napa people took you on, you really weren’t going to spend an arm and a leg on a bottle that you only half-heartedly appreciated.

Once it was ready, you took the puffed up bag of popcorn with you to the living room because what was the point of making another dish? And decidedly resorted to turning on the tv.

The thing about streaming shows is that even though your attention wavered, the consistency of the characters on the screen made you feel less alone. You got through six episodes before you realized you never made anything for dinner. And at that point, it was too late to start. You stomped around trying to remember where you left your phone only to find a missed call from Dean and a dozen random texts from other people.

You double checked you didn’t have any voicemails and scrolled down to order delivery. Once dinner was finally sorted, you poured yourself the last of the bottle of wine and called Dean back.

The phone rang in your ear as you sat in the corner of your couch, criss-cross applesauce while turning on the next episode on mute. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Trouble, hey!”

“You rang?” You took a sip. Wherever he was was loud, but you could hear him moving through the buzz of passing conversation and cutlery.

“Yeah, you got a minute?”

“The night is my oyster, what’s up?” You leaned forward and set your glass on the coffee table, stretching back and settling in for whatever fire you were going to have to put out next.

The sounds surrounding Dean ended abruptly and he exhaled. “Not much, just grabbing drinks with some people from the label with Bela. You know, schmoozing the uppity ups.”

“Oh— good luck with that.” You shifted onto one hip and hugged your knee. “Tell her she has to pick where we’re getting brunch because the place I wanted is closed for remodeling—- and that she’s paying.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “I’ll fucking cover it, okay? Anything else you need me to tell her? Cuz I could go back in there and just hand her the phone if you want—”

“Nope— no, sorry. It’s fine. You okay?” Something in his voice was setting off a proximity alarm in your head, not full blown panic mode, but enough to let you know something had appeared on the horizon. 

“Yeah, ‘m good. It’s just not my kind of thing—- Bela’s great at these things— I just stand there wishing I could be anywhere else.”

“I’m surprised you even showed up— especially with rehearsals starting Monday.” You grabbed your wine again, waiting Dean out.

“Gotta play nice— you said so,” Dean teased, you could hear the soft hum of his smugness before he shifted gears. “Listen— that whole thing with Cas and the birthday bus— and the whole day actually—”

“Are you really gonna start bitching about that now? Dean, it is so not the time— don’t you have someone’s ass to kiss?”

“What?! I’m not— would you let me finish?! Jesus. I was trying to thank you!--- Don’t know why, now, but yeah.”

You bit your lips and perked up, straightening your back and wagging your head a little back and forth. “Oh? By all means— continue.”

“Yeah, okay, smart ass.”

You cackled and let him stew a bit.

“It was seriously the best, okay? Like, top five of all time.” Dean switched ears and you tried not to squee with the idea of making him so happy he’d been thinking about it for days. That he had to call you to tell you— even as an excuse to escape a less than stellar social situation. Everything seemed to sparkle on your skin, but that could have been the Reisling. “And about dragging Cas out— that was an unexpected gift. So, yeah, thank you— for all your trouble.”

You groaned.

“Oh come on! That one wasn’t that bad.” Dean pretended to be affronted and you pretended to be annoyed.

“Sure.”

He sniggered. “It was good to see him. It’d been too damn long.”

“Seriously. We had lunch and just getting to hang out with him made everything better.”

“Yeah.” Dean was thinking and you let him.

The television was frozen on the prompt screen, judging you for still watching, but you ignored it. You finished your wine and looked at the last drops through the curved glass, distracted by the reflection of your empty living room.

“You think he’s doing alright? I mean— he’s got a freakin’ kid. That’s got to have been a total mindfuck— you know?”

Naturally, Dean was worried about how Cas was, not about harboring grudges or blaming him for the rift between them. At least not out loud.

“I cannot imagine— and luckily we don’t have to worry about anyone trying to pull that again.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Fuckin’ Lisa, I almost forgot about that. That was like the first big thing you had to bury when you started.”

You sat up and climbed onto your knees, like getting taller would help make your point. “Oh, I know! God that was such an uphill battle, even when she pretended to play nice. I still get the heebie jeebies when I pass her yoga studio on the way to Charlie’s.”

Dean chuckled. “Man— the things we do for fame. We are paying you, right?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Okay, good, probably should be more though, especially with all the Bela stuff.”

“Dean— I make well over the industry standard percentage with you guys. Plus, you barely even charge me rent. I’m doing fine.”

“Whatever—- still, want you to know your hard work is appreciated.”

You settled back down and picked at the seam of your leggings. “That is the weirdest way you could have said thank you, I hope you know.”

“Fuck off— Thank you, okay? THANK YOU. Should I spell it out? Maybe say it in Spanish?”

“Claro.”

“Como se dice ‘bite me’, huh?”

“Muérdeme.”

“Uhhh—- yeah, not gonna try that one while I’m standing in an alley alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “You should probably go back inside. People are waiting on you.”

“They barely even looked up when I stepped away— Bela’d message me if it was a problem.”

“Deeeeeean.”

“Trouuubbbllllle,” the way his voice rumbled with your nickname made it hard to remember you were even wearing clothes.

You climbed off the couch and decided to put your glass in the dishwasher for something to do. He wasn’t going back into the restaurant, but he wasn’t exactly keeping you from anything either.

“Why’d you call if you were out anyway?”

“Heh— I called you to talk me into going through with it.”

Oops. “Well good job on getting there on your own.”

“I was already halfway to Bela’s anyway. Paps perked up real fast when we rolled up. Gonna have to switch out Baby for a rental one of these days. Don't like the way they hone in on her.”

You rolled your eyes. “Probably a good idea, especially if you need privacy.”

“Not really the point of this little arrangement is it?”

“Okay, but still, be safe.”

“With my car? Always.”

You smiled to yourself when there was a knock at your door.

“Somebody there?” You hadn’t realized he could hear it over the line.

“Just dinner.” You beelined through the living room, suddenly starving. You pinched your phone between your shoulder and your cheek as you unlocked the front door. 

“So, what? Just another night in for you? Lemme guess, messy bun and no bra, maybe some leggings?”

You made sure everything was in the bag where the driver left it and dragged it back to the kitchen for a plate. “Is this you asking me what I’m wearing?”

“Maybe.”

You stopped short, and had to lift the bag up onto the counter a second time to keep it from becoming one with the floor. “Ha, ha.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’m gonna do anything here. Just making conversation.”

You ground your teeth, anger spiking from this sudden turn into teasing. “Yeah, well, when it’s the closest thing to a come on I’ve had in months— it feels a little bit more than that.”

You feel the penny drop.

“Dry spell, huh? I was wondering about that.”

“Oh shut it. You’ve got a fairytale fake girlfriend and I’ve got a band to keep relevant, neither of us is really out there mingling.”

Dean cleared his throat. “You can take time off—- if you need, you know that right? Hell, find somebody’s discarded boyfriend backstage and burn off some steam or something. ‘S one of the perks of a tour.---- But take care of yourself first, alright?”

You look up at the ceiling at the rows of spotlights Dean installed, once upon a time, that framed the island and sighed. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you— like— ever again.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll have a sleepover and braid Sam’s hair.”

You sputtered and then went back to dishing up your food.

“Muérdeme, Dean. Then we’d have to listen to all the kinky shit him and Madison are into, no thank you.”

“Touche.”

You heard Dean’s phone buzz with a notification. The metaphorical clock struck twelve.

“That’s Bela, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Okay, well, it’s been fun.”

You inhaled and sent him off, “go get ‘em, champ.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks again for the birthday shenanigans. I’ll see you next week?”

“I’ll be at rehearsal, but I’ve got calls and stuff scheduled throughout the day.”

“Sounds good. Have a good one.”

“You too.”

Something lingered between you in the silence and before you could say something you’d regret, you finally ended the call. It almost felt like he was waiting you out, making sure not to be the one that hung up first.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

[rockermybuddie]

A night out

Eddie Diaz x Fem!reader

A/n: writting this because i cant stop fantasizing about this man so maybe if i write everything down my brain will calm itself.

Summary: The last time you had sex was over two years ago with your ex-boyfriend. Sure you pleasure yourself pretty much every night but its not the same as an actual human.

In desperate need you decide to go out to a bar and see what you can find.

Little did you know who you will end the night with.

Tw: Alcohol, Smut

—————

You walk into your apartment building and hit the button to the elevator. Thank goodness theres no one else because you are ready to get to your apartment, for personal reasons.

Everything at work got on your nerves today no matter what. The ticking of the clock, people having too loud of a keyboard so all you heard was typing all around you, accidentally knocking over a cup of water on your desk.

Everything was just too much.

As soon as you opened your door you threw your bag on the kitchen counter and walked to the bathroom to take a shower.

Accidentally hitting the corner of the table, just perfectly at your hip you let out a curse but also a small whine.

“Ugh, whatever.” You mumble as you pleasure yourself on the tables corner.

After a day like today you need something to distract yourself.

——-

Once you took your shower you put on some comfortable clothes and made dinner.

Its only 7pm so the night is still young and you dont have work tomorrow.

You sat on the couch watching some rom-com that was already playing as you find yourself rolling your eyes and switching the channel when the two characters started having sex.

Really? Jealous of two Tv show characters getting more than you? Pathetic.

Your eyes moved down to the time on the cable box and it read 7:45pm. The bar right down the street opens in fifteen minutes.

“Fuck it.” You say getting up from the spot on the couch.

You put your dirty plate in the sink and walk into the bedroom opening the closet door.

“Hmmmm” you hum as you look at your options.

Need something that wont flash anyone when you dance but need something that shows just enough but too much because you dont want people to know how desperate you are.

“This will work.” You aay to yourself as you change into the sparkly red spaghetti strapped dress.

It covers your whole body, just stopping to the middle of your thighs. Shows off your soft shoulders and the top of your boobs sit just right.

With a quick curl of the end of your hair and some quick makeup you’re out the door at 8:10pm.

——-

When you arrive at the bar theres not too many people there yet, a group in each corner and few stragglers at the bar.

You take a seat at the bar and order yourself a drink as you wait for whoever basically.

Its going on ten now and you’re about ready to just get up and go back home when someone walks up next to you to order a drink.

“Whiskey, neat please.” The deep voice says.

You look over to your right and see a strong arm resting on the bar top. You move your eyes up and see a clean shaven face and soft brown hair just falling a little to the side on top.

The man looks over at you and just that sent a shiver of heat through your body. The deep brown eyes glancing at you.

You look at the navy blue shirt hes wearing and see that it says LAFD.

“Are you a firefighter?” You ask him, stupidly but you need something to make a conversation.

“I am.” He says, you can tell his eyes glance down at your chest but quickly makes their way back up to your face. “Heres your drink sir.” The bartender slid his drink across the counter to him.

Your mind and mouth fight with each other, hes about to leave say something but dont say something stupid.

“Do you want to have sex?” You blurt out. Shit. Maybe you have drank too much too soon.

Your mouth won the fight with your brain.

The man froze, drink halfway to his mouth just staring at? The wall? The floor? You?

“I-i-i-i’m sorry. I think i’ve had too much to drink.” You say extremely embarrassed, you know your cheeks are flushed you can feel it.

The man downs his drink and asks for another. Still not answering your question but maybe its better if he doesn’t answer it.

Actually its probably for the best he doesn’t answer it.

When he gets his new drink he gives you a nod and walks away quickly.

You watch as he joins a group of people, three men and three women. Probably other firefighters and he’s probably telling them what just happened.

You quickly get up an rush to the bathroom, you can feel eyes on you and its making you feel worse than you already do.

——-

As you wash your hands taking a look at yourself in the mirror you cant help but think of how much of mess you are right now.

In life and right now.

You touch up your make up before leaving the bathroom, with still a little bit of hope still left in you you’re not ready to give up the goal of the night just yet.

Even though its probably best if you just go home and pleasure yourself after asking a man, a freaking firefighter, to have sex with you when he hadn’t even had a drink yet.

As you open the bathroom door while putting your lipstick back in your purse you bump into a soft wall.

“Sorry” you apologize without looking at the said wall.

When your alcohol filled brain processes what just happened you realize walls aren’t soft. You turn around and see the man from the bar standing there.

“Oh. Its you.” You say, crap. “Sorry that sounded mean. You probably think i-” you begin to go on about something, you dont even know but was cut off when the man closed the distance between you all and kissed you.

“Whats your name?” You break away to ask. “Eddie.” He replies quickly as he pushes you back against the wall.

His mouth adventuring yours as his hands slide up your side.

“Lets go to my place its just down the street.” You say grabbing his hand before it reaches its destination.

You grab his hand and drag him out of the bar behind you. You hear someone yell “get it Eddie!” Assuming it was one of the other firefighters he was with.

———-

As the two of you awkwardly waited for the elevator you could feel yourself already wet and in need of this man inside you.

“How long does this elevator take?” Eddie asked, hes half tempted to pick you up over his shoulder and carry you up the stairs.

“Usually not this long.” You answer noticing it is taking longer than usual. “What floor do you live on?” He asks.

“Third-ah!” You let out when he all of a sudden lifts you up with ease over his shoulder and opens the door to stairs taking two at a time.

Hes a firefighter he does this all the time.

When he opened the door you heard the ding of the elevator but this, this was hot.

“Apartment 12B3” you tell him. He turns so you can unlock the door.

When the door opens he turns around cautious not to bump you into the wall. He shuts the door with his foot.

“Found it!” Eddies says when he finds your bedroom. He makes it there in three big steps and kicks the door shut as he lays you on the bed.

You shimmy your way up on the bed as Eddie takes off his shirt. Your eyes glued to his broad shoulders, his strong chest, his abs, oh god his abs.

Your weakness when it comes to men.

“You’re so…. Strong.” You say as he places each hand on the bed next to you.

“And you’re beautiful sweetheart.” His voice his deep and gentle. A soft hand travels up your side as his mouth devours yours.

Eddies hand slips underneath your dress as he lifts it up off over you revealing your body to him.

He looks at your breasts as they lay perfectly plump like a pillow, the curves of your hips and the small pump of your belly.

He couldn’t wait to get inside of you.

One hand placed on the bed for balance as his other hand explores your body as his mouth makes its way around your neck and boobs.

His fingers slip into your underwear as he pulls them down and you kick your ankles as the underwear hits the floor.

“You’re so wet.” Eddie says as his fingers explore your folds.

A small whimped escapes your mouth as he inserts one of his fingers into you.

Eddie smiles as he watches your eyes flutter shut and your hips react everytime he moves his finger in you.

“You want another sweetheart?” He asks. Not being able to talk you shake your head yes.

Eddie inserts another finger in you as he takes off his pants. You hear his pants hit the floor as he takes in one of your breasts into his mouth.

“Eddie.” You run your fingers through his hair, its soft and silky.

Eddie looks up at you making direct eye contact with you as he takes his fingers out of you and licks them off one by one.

“You taste amazing sweetheart.” He says. He moves to where he’s hovering over you.

You can see the bulge in his under, you can feel it as he lowers himself as he takes your mouth back into his.

The two of you make out with the tease of him against you. You move your hands from his back to his boxers.

He doesn’t stop you, he wants this just as bad as you do. He helps you take them off the rest of the way as they get tossed to the side.

He looks at you as asking if this okay, with a simple nod and soft smile his head moves down giving you a softer kiss as his hips move down closer to yours.

You feel the tip of him then feel him whole inside of you. A small moan escapes as you claw at his back. Eddie thrusts his hips against you at a nice steady pace.

“Damn it… you feel so good.” Eddies grunts out against your lips. “Faster.” You beg.

Eddie starts moving faster as he puts a hand on too of your head to help keep you in place.

You feel yourself finish as he pulls out and finishes on your belly.

“Good job sweetheart, we finished together.” Eddie says. “Wheres your towels?” He asks.

You point your finger towards your bathroom as watch as he walks over to grab a towel.

Eddie wipes you off and cleans himself off.

He climbs into bed next to you as you melt your way into his arms.

“Aftercare.” You mumble.

Soon you are in the warmth of your bed and Eddies strong firefighter arms.

This is what you needed.

Now will this happen again? You hope so.

————

A/n: i hope you liked the story. I don’t do much character x reader like this so forgive me if its not good lol. Might make more i dont know.

I did a quick glance over for any mistypes so apologies if i mississ any!

[heartofwritiing]

i loved your latest fic! could you do maybe contentcreator!reader and wilbur maybe going on their first date? or maybe helping her move into her new flat after permanently moving to Brighton as mentioned in your fic? tysm!

By the Sea

paring: cc!wilbur x fem!cc!reader

summary: you move to brighton, and wilbur helps you move into your new apartment. a part two to this work :)

authors note: sorry this took me soo long to get out, i hope you like it anon! i have barely any motivation to write, this was kinda thrown together. i’m not sure what to do :/

happy valentine’s day lovely followers :) 💌

warnings: not much just fluff, reader is an overthinker, short, super unedited!

Bringing up the last of the boxes up to your new apartment, you drop the box in your arms on top of another with an exasperated sigh. You were finally done climbing up three flights of stairs and could catch your breath.

You would have to remind yourself next time to find a place on the ground floor with availability, because this was insane.

You didn’t even want to imagine carrying groceries up every week now. Thank god for delivery apps…

Moving to Brighton was a plan months in the making. Countless visits to check out apartments in your price range, searching different parts of town you liked better than others took trial and error.

Eventually, you had found a perfect place not too far from your best friend Wilbur's place, who had been with you every step of the way through this whole process.

Wilbur was one of the reasons you were moving to another country in the first place. He had convinced you after your first visit last year to move in after you made a comment about wanting to move to the town by the sea after only visiting once.

Which was crazy, so you waited a year before making such a big decision. Speaking off;

You can hear grunting and panting coming from down the hall and you completely forget about your best friend who was helping you move in. Wilbur comes around the corner of the hall carrying the very last box in his lanky arms with a bead of sweat running down from his forehead.

His curls sticking to his skin showed he had worked up just as much of a sweat as you and you feel guilty making him carry some of your heavier things. He kicks your front door closed with his foot and places it on the kitchen counter with a thud.

As he makes his way to the couch, taking off his sweater you catch his shirt riding up to reveal skin before he fixes it. A blush rises to your cheeks and quickly spreads. Thankfully, he didn't notice you staring when he flops down next to you and sighs with his head thrown back against the couch cushions.

"Remind me to hire movers next time." you laugh, still out of breath.

Wilbur turns his head to you.

"You sure know how to make a guy break a sweat, darling," he hums.

A blush rises on your cheeks at the implication of his words. He laughs with a crinkle around his eyes with a mischievous grin.

You're looking forward to more moments like these with him. Butterflies flutter around your tummy knowing that you’ll have so many more.

You can't help the guilt creeping up for making him carry all these cardboard boxes with your life held inside. Thinking maybe he thought you were taking advantage of him.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this, how can I make it up to you?"

Wilbur frowns, takes your hand resting by your side, and laces your fingers together with his. You had only been here a week, but over time you visited, Wilbur had gotten bolder with his touches.

Hand-holding wasn't new to you both, since that first night you'd met in person it had become second nature after admitting your feelings. You both had become accustomed to it quickly, opting to grab the other's hand in stressful situations or just as a comfort and reassurance.

"You didn't drag me into anything, If I didn't wanna help you I wouldn't have," he promised. "You don't have to make anything up to me."

“but-“

“Nope, I won’t allow you to feel guilty over this.” Wilbur reaches his free hand up to boop your nose.

With a pout set over your lips, knowing you weren't in the mood to argue with him further. You scoot closer to him and lean your head on his shoulder to peer up at him and admire his side profile.

The shape of his nose was adorable from this angle, coming to a soft point that made you wanna kiss it.

Your gaze trailed down to the stubble around his jaw and before you even thought about it, you instinctively reached your free hand up to feel the slight scratch against your finger tips.

Wilbur didn’t swat your hand away, only turned his head so you had better access to move your nails to scratch lightly.

"But I wanna make it up to you," you say under your breath. Not sure if he heard you, your eyes met his again in question.

There’s a look in his eyes that tells you he wants to tell you what he wants. You would do anything for him. Without hesitance. Which sounded insane in your head.

Wilbur scoots down so he’s level with your face, and your suddenly so aware how close he is. Your knees touching and your hands still tangled together.

“tell you what? how about you let me take you out on a date?” he asks smoothly. “Then we’ll call it even, darling.”

You don’t know what to say. You weren’t expecting him to offer to take you on a date. A real date with your best friend. A night out together where you wouldn’t be surrounded by your other friends.

You swear you catch his eyes flicker down to your lips for a second. It would be bold of you to lean forward and kiss him right now, so you hesitate leaning forward.

Oh how you’ve wanted to since you first saw him last year, but you couldn’t. It would’ve ruined everything. If only you knew how much he wanted it too.

A date with him sounded wonderful but, you were too tired to even think about getting yourself all dressed up to go out tonight.

“how bout we order pizza, stay in and watch youtube videos for tonight.” you suggested.

“I’d say you got yourself a deal.”

taglist: @trashcanduck @ax-y10 @mysticalsoot @idontreallyexistyet

@loonalvjy @toastyliltoasts41

[alotofpockets]

Lockscreen | Elizabeth Olsen

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Reader

Prompt: “Am I your lockscreen?” - "You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Warnings: Lizzie gets nervous and anxious to go on stage & reader gets a bit embarrased on TV.

masterlist | marvel masterlist | Words: 1400

You were promoting your new movie with your costar Elizabeth Olsen on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. He hadn't told either of you what you were going to do, but he said it was going to be a new game. 

Being in separate dressing rooms for each of your teams to make you TV ready, meant you were texting Lizzie to calm her down. You had done enough interviews with the woman to know she always got a bit anxious before going on stage. To you interviews came a bit more natural, and you planned to make Lizzie feel as at ease as you could help her to be.

When the crew called out 5 minutes until you had to be on stage, you walked to the stage entrance. Where Lizzie met you with her arms wide open for a hug. Another thing that really helped calm her nerves and anxiety, so you gladly walked into her arms and gave her a tight hug. 

"Ready?" You whisper into her ear, not wanting to let go until she was. When she let you know she was ready you took a step back, "You're going to do great Liz, and remember I will be right by your side the whole time. Plus, Jimmy always has fun games. Remember when you did the musical beers?" Lizzie rolls her eyes and jokingly pushed you back, "Yes, y/n, I remember the whole internet going crazy over me failing to take the cup before Sebastian.

Your plan worked. Distracting Lizzie by making her think of a funny memory, her thoughts were now totally not on the topic of going on stage in a second and she seemed a lot more at ease. 

"Please welcome Elizabeth Olsen and y/n y/l/n to the stage!" You heard Jimmy say before the crowd erupted in cheers. A crew member turned on your microphone boxes and led you onto the stage. You were both waving to the crowd before sitting down on the couch. 

Jimmy asks the both of you some questions about the upcoming movie and how it was filming together. After you shared that you had become great friends with Lizzie on set, Jimmy made his segway to the game. "Let's see if these two have anything to hide in an all new game I'd like to call 'Show Me Your Phone'." 

During the short commercial break Jimmy led you over to the table they set up for the game as he quickly explained how the game worked. The crew counted down until the cameras were rolling again. "Hi and welcome back to The Tonight Show, as you can see Elizabeth and y/n are ready to share the insides of their phones. I told neither one of them we were playing this game until I told you, so they wouldn't delete anything." 

Jimmy explained the game to the audience and said he'll go first. He pressed the button to get a category. "Let your opponent choose any voice recording of their choice to play out loud." He hands his phone over while explaining why he has so many recordings on his phone, "I record me singing a lot, it isn't any good, just some good old' karaoke." You pick on to play and move on to the next person.

You press the button and Jimmy reads the question you landed on out loud, "Show us the last picture that you took." You open your gallery and place your phone on the holder showing the last picture you took. It was a picture of last night's sunset and with it you explained your love for the colors of the sunsetting.

When you're done explaining, Lizzie presses the button to get her category. "Oehhh." Jimmy says, you can see the excitement on his face. "Show us the last text that you received." 

Lizzie opens her messages and places her phone on the stand just like you did. You see your name at the top of the screen and smile. "It's a message from y/n. She said, 'You're going to do great, and I'll be right by your side to ease any sudden worries.' I was nervous before going on stage, so she was calming my nerves when we were both getting ready in our dressing rooms." 

You heard a series of aww's coming from the audience. Lizzie turned to them and said, "Yeah isn't she the sweetest?" You felt yourself blushing a little, thankfully you were wearing enough stage makeup so no one would notice. 

Jimmy goes next and has to show his last Google search. You all laugh as the question pops up on the screen. "What is a regular bedtime for an 9-year-old?" Jimmy explains as the laughter dies down, "So, Frances and Winnie, my kids, believe they should stay up way later than Nancy and I agreed upon. But our kids didn't agree with our time, so we had to turn to Google. Because of course Google is more believable than your own parents." 

You laugh with the crowds and ask "Did Google agree with you and Nancy?" Jimmy shakes his head, "Nope, Google said they have to go to bed earlier. So, now they believe that I edited Google."

It was your turn to press the button again. "Let your opponent’s post a random picture from your camera roll and post it to Instagram." You hand your phone over and say, "Please go easy on me." Which only gives you an evil laugh from Jimmy. The both of them go through some of your pictures and decide on a funny behind the scenes picture of the movie where you and some of the casts faces are covered in whipped cream, they post it and put the phone on the stand to show the audience. "Can you tell us a bit more about this picture?" Jimmy asks.

You smile fondly at the memory. "Yeah, so, this is on set and it was the first week we started filming. We thought it would be funny to do a who knows who better type of challenge, where we had to answer questions about each other correctly and if we got it wrong we got a plate of whipped cream to the face. As you can see, I wasn't very good at the game."

Your phone goes to the screensaver as it has been on for a minute and the crowd aww's again. You hadn't noticed what happened until Lizzie said “Am I your lockscreen?” 

You try to grab your phone quickly, but you were too slow, it was already in Lizzie's hands. "You weren’t supposed to see that.” you say, now with noticeable blushing cheeks. Lizzie notices that you look embarrassed and immediately gives you your phone back. “Hey, it’s okay. Why don’t you check my lockscreen?” She says as she hands you her phone. You smile when you see yourself as the background of her phone as well.

Jimmy has been silent during the whole interaction but his staff was alerting him they had to stop recording. “I’d say that was a successful first run of this game. Thank you to y/n and Elizabeth for participating, but I don’t think they’re with us in this conversation anymore. Have a good night everyone and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

With that the camera’s cut and you’re both walked off the stage by the crew. This time you’re not going to separate dressing rooms, you both went into Lizzie’s and talked more about the lockscreens. You each had a picture of each other that was taken on the same day. Last week you went on a hike together, the background on your phone was Lizzie smiling once you reached the top of the mountain and the picture she had on her phone was of you smiling with your glass raised at the restaurant you had lunch at when you reached the bottom of the mountain again.

“So, hiking and lunch, can we say that that was our first date?” You look up at her with a smile. “Yes.” Is all you’re able to get out, as you’re so excited. You had never thought an interview on The Tonight Show would end up in this. “Can I maybe kiss you?” You lean in as you say, “Also yes.” You’re both smiling into the kiss. A kiss that was perfect in every way.

~

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[sejarcus-archive]

Some fluffy modern Sejarcus scenarios and headcanons, that have been on my mind:

(Premise: in these Sejanus is not an early bird at all, cause so many cute scenarios can be born from that)

Their morning cuddles usually end with Marcus trying to get up to start the day and Sejanus not letting him go, wrapping one arm around his chest and leaving repeated kisses on his shoulder, while mumbling to please stay in bed a little longer.

After Marcus is done applying moisturizer on his own face, he asks Sejanus to face him and delicately applies it on his, too, but he can’t help himself and keeps leaning in to give him quick kisses, before pulling away to actually look at what he’s doing.

Sejanus takes charge of the cooking most of the time, seeing that he’s a bit more experienced and really enjoys it, as well, but in the morning he’s always too tired to function, so preparing breakfast is a task that falls on Marcus. He really doesn’t mind, he’s good at it too, and while he’s not as passionate about it as Sejanus, he has no problem cooking. The real problem arises on days when Sejanus manages to get up from bed at the same time as him, ‘cause while he’s trying to get everything ready, he clings to him from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist, resting his head against his shoulder, and following Marcus’s every step around the kitchen, making it so difficult for him to move and heightening the probability of either of them getting burned on the stove or the hot pans. But saying that it bothers him would be a blatant lie.

(This is just me trying to spread the koala Sejanus agenda)

Sejanus mostly follows his ma’s recipes that he grew up with, but sometimes he likes to venture out of his comfort zone and experiment with combining ingredients in new ways. He has a lot of fun doing it, but is always scared that Marcus won’t like the dishes he makes. But Marcus always responds so enthusiastically to them, praising how good they are and asking him so many questions on how he made them, what ingredients he used, how he achieved those textures and flavors. Sejanus still gets butterflies at Marcus’s sweetness and thoughtfulness, even after years of being with him; Marcus gets butterflies at seeing Sejanus so happy and talking with his eyes all sparkly and a smile so big, but still somewhat timid at the praises and attention.

Marcus does some sort of manual labor job, which makes it so his back and shoulders are often sore. Sejanus takes it upon himself to help him, by giving him massages most nights before bed, even when Marcus tells him he doesn’t have to, that he’s fine. But Sejanus loves how both his body and whole demeanor start to relax under his touch, it makes him feel good in turn, knowing he’s helping Marcus feel better. Plus he loves physical touch too much to let an occasion for it slip by, and Marcus is the same, so he doesn’t really insist on not needing it.

Marcus gives Sejanus massages too. He works as a nurse and has to stand for hours during his shifts. When they're both home in the evening, Marcus takes Sejanus’s feet on his lap while they sit on the couch, and massages them as he listens to him vent about his day.

For a while Marcus worked at a job in which he had to bring his lunch from home. Sejanus took charge of the meal prepping and packing, insisting that it helps him destress. He would put a little note with each lunch, reminding Marcus he loves him, or wishing him a good day, or writing little inside jokes and scribbling doodles on them. Each one felt like a warm hug to the heart for Marcus. He kept them all and put them inside a little wooden box that now sits in his night stand’s drawer.

Sejanus gets a slight pout when he’s upset. It’s not that noticeable if you don’t pay attention, and he himself isn’t aware of it. Marcus, on the other hand, is extremely aware of it and one little look at Sejanus is enough for him to know he’s upset. He finds it very cute, and thinks that if Sejanus was to ever look up at him with his huge eyes and that slight pout, and ask him to cut his own hand off, he would do it with zero hesitation.

Marcus’s absolute favorite jacket is a vintage leather jacket that fits him like a glove. Sejanus’s brain short circuits every time he wears it (he wears it a lot).

They fight for hours over who has to make the phone calls, ‘cause neither of them wants to. Somehow, 99% of the time, Marcus is the one giving up first and doing it.

Marcus genuinely thinks Sejanus is the funniest person on the planet (he is). Everyone could tell he was into him, because of how hard he laughed at his jokes. Similarly to this, Sejanus only ever gets super giggly around Marcus, and everyone could tell he liked him because of that.

Sejanus likes to sit on Marcus’s lap any chance he gets. They are that couple at a party. You turn around and you see them sitting at the edge of an otherwise empty couch, Sejanus on Marcus’s lap, with his arms around his neck, and they just keep whispering stuff to each other and chuckling and kissing. Marcus loves whenever Sejanus sits on his lap, ‘cause he can wrap his arms around him and hold him so easily, which is his favorite thing in the world.

And since we’re on the topic of Marcus holding Sejanus, I’m gonna add here three headcanons that I had shared in the tags of a post on sejanusarchive some time ago:

Marcus can’t help himself from hugging Sejanus whenever they’re in the same room, and he accompanies each hug with a very essential and mandatory kiss on the head.

Sometimes, when Sejanus is feeling tired or lazy, he uses his tall, strong boyfriend privileges, and asks Marcus to carry him. Marcus pretends to be annoyed by the request, to tease him, but the fond smile on his lips, that he didn’t quite manage to conceal, gives away the fact that he’s actually very amused and endeared by it.

Contrary to Sejanus, Marcus is an early bird. In the morning he is super active, waking up and getting ready for the day with no problem and in no time, but having to help a very sleepy Sejanus get ready faster or else he’ll be late. At night the roles are reversed. When 9pm rolls around, Marcus is already falling asleep, fighting with everything in himself to keep his eyes open, while Sejanus is the most energized he’s felt all day, and just keeps yapping and yapping to poor Marcus, who really wants to pay attention to what he’s saying and is trying very hard to, but his brain won’t let him.

Sometimes when they cuddle, Sejanus climbs on top of Marcus to lay completely on him like a baby otter does with their mother, and jokes about sleeping like that the entire night. Obviously he doesn’t, ‘cause it would be too uncomfortable for both of them after a while, especially for Marcus, but he can still dream for a couple of minutes.

When Sejanus was a child, he used to watch romcoms with his ma all the time. From them, he learned that gifting flowers is one of the most romantic gestures out there, so he grew up internalizing that. On his first date with Marcus he felt shy and nervous, and didn’t know how the flowers could have been perceived by him, so he didn’t bring him any. But on the second date, with the confidence of how well the first one had gone and how sweet and gentle Marcus was, he brought him the most beautiful bouquet ever, with flowers in all shapes and sizes, and colors of the rainbow. Marcus was incredibly surprised and flustered; no one had ever gifted him flowers before, and he had to fight the urge to get down on one knee and ask Sejanus to marry him then and there. After years together, Sejanus still brings him bouquets of them every once in a while. Marcus still feels like he could explode with love each time.

[junnieverse]

BEST PART (PART TWO) ➳ P. JONGSEONG

➙ synopsis: after a trip down memory lane and a 'coincidental' run in with your ex after moving back home, you thought you would be able to move on but sparks seemingly started flying once again between you and jay.

pairing: park jongseong x gn!reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers to exes to lovers (again) au

word count: 1.3k

request: " I almost cried reading Best Part, may I request a part 2 with a happy ending?? "

warnings: not proofread

a/n: I had initially wanted to leave this as a oneshot with a bittersweet ending but because you so kindly asked, here it is anon, enjoy :)

a/n (2): please be sure to read part one [ here ]

You were finally back home after being overseas and for the past two weeks you've been settling back in into your new apartment and catching up with your friends and family.

It felt great to be back and seeing everyone you love in person again but after the day of your trip going through your box of keepsakes, you would catch yourself thinking about Jay once in awhile wondering how and where he was.

Although a big part of you also knew maybe it was best not to see him because you wanted to, no, needed to move on from him and start a new page in your book called life.

Your new apartment still needed some decorating with a personal touch and you thought adding a few vinyl pieces could make your space feel more like home.

Walking into the old music shop you had been introduced to by Jay in the past, you kindly greet the store owner in the front and begin to browse through the various vinyls picking out some you wanted to get.

The store bell rung alerting the owner and you, seeing as you were currently the only customer, that someone else had come in.

You had obviously paid no mind to this simply paying attention to this box of vinyls looking for a new album.

"(Y/n)... is that you?"

Turning your head you immediately recognise the voice you'd missed but also wanted to forget for the longest time.

"Jay... h-hi." you say weakly as your voice cracked.

It felt as thought your entire world was crashing down and in that moment you were just holding back tears and wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

"How've you been, it's great to see you again. When did you get back?" he asks calmly trying to make small talk but little did you know his heart was beating uncontrollably fast.

"Uhm yeah haha. I've been good I guess. Got back about two weeks ago so I've just been settling in." you tell him wanting to run away.

"It was nice to see you too but I have to uhh... unpack some of my other things back home." you excuse yourself avoiding eye contact with him fiddling with your fingers nervously.

Just as you turned around to leave to go pay for the vinyls you picked out, Jay stops you gently grabbing your wrist and you notice a particularly familiar bracelet on his wrist.

"I hope it's okay if I message you again if you don't mind... maybe we can catch up over a coffee sometime." he suggests letting go of your arm and scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"Y-you still have my number..?" you ask him suprised by this.

"Yeah. I kept them... you know just in case." he said smiling sheepishly.

"Oh uhm, okay then, you can text me. I'll see you soon then."

Your heart and mind were both racing at this point.

You didn't know whether it was the right move to let Jay back into your life but having met him here again has to be some sort of sign right?

Fate?

And the bracelet you made him, not only had you both broken up but he was still wearing it too...

You plop down onto your couch, after arriving home, letting out a deep sigh trying to figure out how your life suddenly took an entire 180.

Jay did in fact text you that night and talking to him again brought back so many emotions you'd tried so hard to let go of.

You felt like a giddy high schooler experiencing her first love all over again.

You both had agreed to meet at a cafe not far from where you lived the following Saturday and you were quite nervous.

Seeing Jay again after so long only proved to you that you were still undoubtedly in love with him and you were secretly hoping he was too.

Walking into the cafe that afternoon, you catch Jay sitting across a table near the window looking beautiful as the sun hit him at the best angle making his skin glisten.

"Hey Jay." you greet him about to sit down but before that he abruptly pulls you in for a hug.

You feel yourself melting in his embrace taking a whiff of the vanilla scent you missed still proceeding to hug him back despite how awkward you felt.

"It's great to see you again, thank you for agreeing to this." he says pulling away first as he pulled out your chair to let you sit as you thanked him taking your seat.

"Wow, this place sure has changed, felt like just yesterday we were here on one of our dates." you say looking around admiring the new interior of the place as you reminisced about the past.

"Yeah, it feels good to be back here with you, it didn't feel the same coming alone." he admits shyly as a waiter suddenly places your drinks and food down.

"Why am I not suprised, you still remember my go-to order." you say trying to hide your smile as Jay chuckles.

"I wanted to make a good impression. Although I was worries maybe it might have changed, glad it didn't." he says feeling relieved watching you enjoy your food.

"So how was it studying overseas, anything memorable?" he asks trying to make conversation.

You were glad Jay was able to make you feel comfortable, it felt like talking to an old friend and catching up.

You both then exchanged stories of what has been going on for these past two years you'd been away from each other and yet, you hadn't picked up any romance in his story.

"So you didn't meet anyone while I was gone..?" you ask clearing your throat.

"I wasn't really interested in anyone. Plus I'm still I love with y-" he stops himself realising what he just said as your eyes widen.

"I-I'm so sorry, uh, I don't want to put you in a difficult position. I completely get it if you've moved on-" he rambles and you stop him trying to calm him down by laying your hand on his across the table.

"It's okay Jay, I feel the same way." you admit as his ears turn red and he had the biggest smile on his face.

It felt so relieving being able to finally get that out to him and even better to know he felt the same way.

You both then spent the entire day catching up more and visiting old places you'd go to making new memories there.

"Thank you for today, I had a great time." you tell Jay as you stop in front of your door both your hands in his as you gently sway them.

"Wait uhm, I actually have something for you." he says gently rubbing your hands with the pad of his thumb letting go briefly handing you the small letter from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Oh, thank you." you accept the letting wondering what it was.

"But open it only once you're inside and I've left." he says smiling shyly.

"Okay Jay, goodnight." you tell him nodding in understanding.

Letting go of his hands, not really wanting to though, you decide to make the first move planting a short peck on his cheek leaving Jay in awe as you went inside.

You look at the letter once more opening it and reading it's content feeling yourself about to burst into tears.

At the end of the letter it read:

'Day 01: I love your presence, no matter how much time passes, I still feel myself loving you more and more and now we can finally start over together.'

He still remembered the letters, you thought to yourself with the biggest smile.

Maybe things would work out just fine.

[mayullla]

Hello! Can i request 🌷 + 🦋 platonic yandere with pantalone?

Title: White bunny

Character: Pantalone (Genshin Impact) Summary: Your mother the wife of the Harbinger tried to hide you away from her husband. But it can only last for so long. Warning/tags: Platonic Yandere, Child!reader, Fem!reader, you are the daughter of Pantalone

[ - A little present~! Event - Closed - ]

"You shouldn't move so much when I am braiding your hair dear. We do not want to ruin it now do we?" You flinched at his words, hugging the snow-white bunny he had given you, hiding your face as if it were a way to hide from him. It never did.

His touch was foreign as he took the tiny strands he had missed and tucked them back into your braids, placing snow-like accessories and pins decorating them. Heavy you thought, you wanted to complain but no words came out. He always liked to play with your hair, forcing you to stay still calling it a status as his daughter. After all, how could the poor maintain such luxurious soft hair?

Your father never cared for you for a long time. To you, it was always your mother till he decided to come into the picture when you bumped into him one day. A marriage arranged by benefits between two businessmen, your mother married the harbinger not out of love but what there was to gain. Profits.

It was unsurprising that there was no affection between her and the Harbinger. When he sent her away after he found out that you were inside her womb nobody said anything. To him, you and your mother were a nuisance to his work and sending you far away to one of the villages would make it easy for him. So long as you have a home, food to eat and warmth from the cold snow that should be enough no?

Your mother loved you, loved you so much. That you almost had a normal childhood in the lonely mansion with her with few servants working there to watch over you two. You always wondered who your father was for the vague compliments that your mother gave you about your father did not satisfy your curiosity.

So when a random man came to your home while your mother was away and introduced himself as your father, you were excited. You asked him many questions and he patiently listened and answer them. You thought that he was a nice man but something that you have always been curious about was where was he this whole time?

He told you that he did visit sometimes but because of how busy his schedule was he didn't have time to stay for too long and that whenever he does you would be gone as your mother told him that you went out to play. It was obvious to him that your mother was trying to hide you from him, but while you were his daughter he didn't have an interest in you.

She was still cautious though... she didn't want you to gain his interest.

The sounds of boxes falling to the floor surprised you as you turn to your back and saw your mother shocked face. "Mom! Dad is here!!" You yelled jumping from the couch you ran to her for a hug. You didn't understand what was happening when your mother grabbed you by the hand aggressively pulling you to her protective holding you almost like a mother bear protecting her cubs.

"Mom?-" "Why are you here?" Your mother's hostile voice surprised you as you looked at her face, her beautiful face had a hostile glare towards the man that was in the room.

"Can a father not visit to finally see his daughter? You have been desperately trying to hide her away from me for so long now."

You looked at the person who was your dad, the smile on his face never left his face even when your mother tried to aggressively get him out of the house. She didn't have the power to do so, but he himself left the house peacefully and your mother stayed right by your side as if afraid that you would disappear all of the sudden.

For a long time, she held you in her arms, whispering to you that you will be alright and that she will protect you but it seems that she could not hear your voice.

You didn't understand what happened then but maybe when you are older you would...

You thought that was the end of it, unsure of what happened as you looked at your distraught mother. Time passed and you thought that everything returned to normal well time fatui soldiers barge into the house grabbing you from your mother's arms.

The screens and shouts, as your mother cried your name. You tried to hit the person who was carrying you away from your mother but your small fist didn't hurt the soldier at all.

"Your mother was greedy, she should have known that she could not keep you forever." The man that you meet more than a month ago was smiling at you, taking your hand gently trying to take you away from the dark corner of the room that you were locked in.

"I bought a little gift for my lovely daughter. A white bunny."

[lost-girl-2021]

Maybe you could describe Quaritch's pov of seeing Spider for the first time after so many years?

Warning: I’m terrible at writing POV’s from parents. Like, the closest I’ve come to a parental experience is when I was a babysitter (and that did not last long). So, I’ve done my best. Also, since it’s from his POV, I’m calling him Miles instead of Quaritch, since it’s his first name.

Miles Junior— or did he just go by Miles? MJ? Junior? —was more of a goal than a person over the years. He’d been so fucking tiny when he’d gone to prison.

It had been over a decade since he’d seen the boy. The first thing he wanted to do when he got out was go find him. And then, he’d find that bastard Sully and get payback for the years he’d spent locked up. He hadn’t really made a decision on how to do it— make an anonymous report to CPS? Maybe he’d find a way to make his wife think he was cheating? He couldn’t do anything too risky, but he’d fully intended on getting revenge for all the time he’d missed out on.

But, Junior came first. He’d done all the tedious work— parenting classes, a steady paycheck. The apartment he’d gotten in the city was looked over what felt like a half-dozen times. But, he’d done it all. He’d gotten a job as soon as he was out, working with half of his old squad as overglorified mall cops for this big company called the RDA. The pay was good, even if wasn’t allowed a weapon and most of it involved driving around scientists and vans full of equipment. It took an entire year, but his restrictions dropped the longer he was out of prison and every day felt like a step closer to Junior.

The day he finally got to see the kid? He was a fucking wreck. Sweaty, white-knuckling the steering wheel the whole drive over. He lived with a foster family right outside the city. The neighborhood was nice, but the house itself was plain. The grass overgrown, flowers dried out. Neglected. Miles kept drifting back to the tiny apartment Paz and him had in the city. All of it was boxed up and collecting dust in a storage locker, like it had been for years. And his kid had moved on without any of it.

He was trying to shake his nerves as he waited outside the door, taking in a deep breath. Miles, Miles, Miles— the kid was all he could think about. And then—

Jake fucking Sully stood in the doorway. Miles wanted to scream, to tackle him. He wanted to punch his way inside, see what the fuck was going on. Some kind of set up?

But, no, because halfway hidden behind a couch, there he was. Blond hair messier and longer than Miles had ever let his own grow, darker than it was when he was a baby. He was tiny— maybe it was the baggy clothes or the sheer amount of hair that made him seem so small.

Miles had been preparing for this day for years.

And then, as soon as he saw his kid?

He couldn’t even move. It was . . . it was indescribable. He could barely believe that this— this teenager was his baby. Miles had been staring at a picture of one-year-old Miles Junior (perfect, light curls, cheeks chubby and red) for over a decade.

His eyes were the same. Wide and brown and filled with curiosity.

His boy. His son.

[countrymusiclover]

10 - Erik and JFK

Part 11

Battle of Heart and Mind

Tag list - ask to be added (in my ask box please) @aintinacage @hiraethrhapsody @mostlymarvelgirl @importantgalaxyrunaway

Leaving from the place I was moments ago I heard the three make voices now in the office downstairs. Entering the room Hank stood by the desk, Logan remained near the doorway and Charles was laying on the couch drink in his hands. “We need your help, Charles.”

“Need his help how exactly?” I came and sat down beside him on the couch seeing him finish what content he had in that glass.

Logan turns his head to me. “Bring the X-Men together. Stop Raven from killing Trask which starts the war.”

“So you’re saying they took her power and what…weaponized it?” Charles got up from the couch pouring himself another drink.

Logan nodded. “Yup.”

Charles plopped down in his desk chair downing some alcohol. His demeanor and physical appearance wasn't what I recalled it to be. Hank and I had tried our best to pull him out of the dark but he's just fallen over the edge now. "Now what exactly does Raven and Addi have to do with all this...saying that I...that we choose to believe what you are saying is true."

"In the beginning, the sentinels were just targeting mutants. Then they began targeting everyone. They began identifying the genetics in non-mutants...who would eventually have mutant children and grandchildren. Many of the humans tried to help us but it was a slaughter. Leaving only the worst of humanity in charge. I've been in a lot of wars but I've never seen anything like this. And it all starts with her and Raven." Logan began explaining looking between the three of us where I could see his whole body stiften at the horrible memories he must have been having.

“Raven won't listen to me.” Charles chuckled dryly looking over in my direction thinking back on Cuba. “Her heart and soul belong to someone else now.”

Logan put a hand on his hip throwing his other hand away from his side. “I know. That's why we're gonna need Magneto too.”

“Erik, you know where he is right?” Hank asked the man from the future who said nothing.

Charles got up from the chair stomping around the table and out the door. “He's where he belongs!”

“Charles!” I called his name forcing myself to my feet regaining my balance for a moment.

Logan tilted his head. “What the hell happened to him? Am I going crazy or are you two together or something?”

“We were…until the day I found out I was pregnant.” Looking over my shoulder I explained softly. “The war in Vietnam destroyed everything. Teachers and students were drafted. Hank attempted to help with his legs but…I'm gonna go find him. Charles!”

Moving towards his bedroom he had the door only cracked open slightly. Pushing it opened he lifted his head up sniffing through tears. “Charles, can we talk?”

“What do you still see in that man, Addi?” He sniffed through tears, wiping them away with his sleeve.

Coming to sit on the edge of the bed with the former telepath professor I laid my head on his shoulder. “Because of what he did the day JFK was assassinated. The part of the story you choose to forget.”

“He's not right for you or the baby, Addi.” Charles weakly responded, reaching down, intertwining my hand in his. “I just don't want you to get hurt. Even if you never truly love me the way I love you. I still want to keep you safe.”

Touching his face with my freehand he leans into my palm. “I know how you feel about him after what happened in Cuba. But this means helping Raven…and apparently saving humanity and mutants from an all out war. If you won’t do it for Logan’s tall tail then do it for Raven…do it for me.”

“I'll do it for the both of you.” He whispered, laying his head against my chest and I kissed his forehead just holding him for a moment. The relationship that Charles and I had was comfortable for sure. He was there for me throughout the pregnancy and with my mother. I did love him but it would never compare to my feelings for Erik.

November 22, 1963 - Dallas

Erik and I made our way through the abandoned building that was on the same street that the president was supposed to be driving down since he was visiting for something. Erik peaked his head out the window with me leaning against the wall beside where he stood. “I got word that the assassin is somewhere in this building with a gun. I can feel it somewhere.”

“Do you want me to go looking for it?” I questioned him, figuring that I should help him in some way.

He shook his head no, focusing his attention back towards the busy street. The president’s car came around the corner following the secret service cars that were behind it and in front of them. A gunfire sound blasted through the air where Erik raised his hand about to stop the bullet but the door downstairs got busted open. “Search the entire building!”

“Erik.” I called his name while watching the commotion from the streets below us. The bullet that had been fired hit the president in the back of the head and his wife reached back trying to help but he was already dead. Everyone in the cars and on the streets surrounded the car and I knew the men in the building must be service men.

He moved away from the wall grabbing me by my shoulders with a serious look in his eyes. “You have to go now before they find me up here.”

“Are you crazy? I am not leaving you here to be captured. How could you even consider such a thing?” I spat at him wearing a dark orange coat with some black jeans and combat boots. I had put my hair in a braid.

He was wearing a green turtleneck underneath a brown coat. His gaze remained on mine and I felt him pressing his fingers into my shoulder blades. “Addison, this isn’t a joke. Those men are looking for the man who just killed the president and they most likely will blame it on me if they can’t find the guy who actually fired the shot.”

“So we run and get out of here before they do. We stick together like we promised.” I snapped at him not wanting to leave him here like this.

He threw his head back, sighing in frustration where we heard a bunch of boots coming up the stairs meaning we were running out of time if we were going to run like I wanted him to. “We don’t have time to discuss this, Addi. I can’t let them capture you too.”

“So what am I supposed to do while you’re stuck in the pentagon…besides coming to visit you if that’s even possible.” I asked, gripping the material of his jacket almost closing the gap completely between us.

Erik pressed his forehead against mine and we just stood holding onto each other till he whispered. “You go see your mother or go find Charles. I need you to promise me.”

“There’s voices upstairs!” One of the men downstairs said to his fellow men and they started to be heard coming up onto the floor we were on.

Erik turned his head back, pouring his attention down to me. “Promise me, Addi.”

“I promise….and I love you.” I blurted out having the elevator door opened and the men started running towards us.

Erik grabbed my arm and we ran towards the old staircase that we had used to get up here. He holds my face in his hands, kissing me quickly. “Don’t get caught while I’m gone, Addison.” He rounded the corner holding his hands up in surrender while I peaked my head around the corner watching the officers arrest him on the spot.

“I'll help you get her.” Charles and I had left his bedroom seeing Logan was still talking with Hank. “But not for any of your future shits but for her.”

Logan nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Tell you this, you don't know Erik, that man is a monster, a murder. You think you can convince Raven to change, to come home.” Charles gave him a half smile. “But what makes you think you can change him?”

Logan admitted. “Because you and Erik sent me back here together.”

“The room they're holding him in was built during the...2nd World war when there was a shortage of steel. So the foundation is pure concrete and sand, no metal.” Hank had unrolled a map onto the large table in the library that revealed the inside layout of the pentagon from what he could find.

Charles rested his hands on the table. “And he's being held a 100 floors beneath the most heavily guarded building on the planet.”

Logan raised a brow. “Why is he in there?”

“What, he forgot to mention?” Charles couldn’t contain his laughter while I just stood back biting my tongue.

Hank said. “Uh JFK.”

Logan finally figured it out. “He killed.”

“What else would explain the bullet miraculously curving through the air.” Charles shakes his head glancing over at me silently for a moment knowing how I felt about what he had just said. “Erik's always had a way with guns.”

Leaning my back against the wall I rested one hand on my growing stomach looking between the three men in the room. “Never thought I'd say this but let's go break into the Pentagon.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[jessicanjpa]

rite of passage

Esme decides that Jasper is ready for the next stage of his desensitization: grocery shopping. An excerpt from this 1957 one-shot, Esme POV.

I gave a little jump of surprise when the long peace of my morning, spent humming over my new watercolors as I experimented with their concentration, was suddenly interrupted by a blood-curdling scream and a bestial roar. I raced down the hall to the stairs, fearing the worst, but after a few steps I laughed at myself when I realized the sounds were recorded. Jasper must be working on the latest project Carlisle had assigned him in his ongoing war against his thirst: watching horror movies.

Sure enough, I found him in his and Alice's study with the window shades drawn closed and our new film projector spinning its wheels. On the blank wall opposite where Jasper sat parked on his little blue couch, the massacre was quickly unfolding. The townspeople hadn't a chance against the...

"Zombies?" I guessed aloud.

"Right," Jasper said, setting aside the textbook that had been balanced on his lap. "I'm sorry, Esme, am I disturbing you? You didn't feel like you were painting..." He moved to get up, but I held up my hand.

"You're right, I wasn't. May I join you?"

He collected the rest of his things off the other half of the couch: the textbook, his notebook and pen and papers, and something Alice-sized in blue satin.

"It's not exactly the highest quality cinema," he said.

"You aren't kidding," I said after a few minutes of low-budget horror. "Where did Carlisle find this one? A trash bin?"

He smiled a little, turning a page in his textbook and jotting something down. "Possibly."

I forced myself to watch the slaughter for a few more minutes. In the next scene, the camera focused on a zombie would couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss or eat the screaming woman in his arms. He went for the meal in the end; I was quite disappointed.

"She's a zombie later on," Jasper assured me, "and they live happily ever... well, you know what I mean."

"How many times have you seen this one?"

"Three times. Carlisle says I'm supposed to keep watching each one until I can get through the whole thing without venom flow."

"Oh. And how are you doing... with that?"

Another scream sounded. The camera lens—and therefore a good portion of the wall we were watching the film on—was splashed with fake blood as a particularly clumsy zombie slashed his way through another screaming heroine. Jasper's eyes flicked back down to the book in his hands. He swallowed convulsively and his eyes darkened a shade while I watched.

"They're usually not colorized like this," he said, sounding apologetic.

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

Carlisle and his projects! I jumped up and crossed the room in a flash to stop the film projector from doing its projecting. "That's enough torture for one morning," I told him firmly. "At least that kind of torture. Why don't you join me on my errands today?"

Jasper hesitated, then smiled sheepishly and agreed to it. I had him carry boxful after boxful of canned and packaged foods out to the car: dry goods I'd slowly been accumulating over the past few months each time I went out to be seen shopping at the supermarket. It was time for another drop-off to the food bank.

"Want to drive?" I offered, holding out the keys. "You'll be the one doing the errands today. I'm just here to supervise."

"You're going to make me play human?" he guessed. He took the keys and slid into the front seat.

"It's good for you. Carlisle's projects won't do you any good if you keep hiding at home all the time."

"I know that," he said, and I decided that was enough pushing.

"So," I said once we were rolling down the driveway at ten miles an hour. Jasper was new enough to driving that he was overly cautious, not quite trusting the car to hold itself together at decent speeds. "What do I feel like when I'm painting?"

Jasper carefully pulled out onto the highway and adjusted the mirrors for his height. "It feels... well, I think the best way to describe it is that it feels like you're telling a story, just without talking. It has all the rises and falls and bumps in the road like I would feel if you were describing a fairy tale." He glanced at me. "Although this week it's felt more like a thriller. Or a mystery."

"Speed up," I suggested. "You always want to keep up with the other cars. Hmm. My paintings have had a mind of their own lately. Maybe they're trying to tell me something."

"Something you're supposed to do?"

"Like what?"

He grinned, not taking his eyes off the road. "Alice told me about your plans to go to college this time around and how they came to nothing. I'm not the only one hiding at home right now, am I?"

I was taken aback; I was so used to Carlisle and Edward's gentle manners that Jasper's directness still surprised me sometimes.

"I'm sorry," he added right away. "That was—"

"Fair," I said. "It's true enough. I'm not sure what happened to those plans. I suppose with you staying home again this time, well..." I trailed off, adjusting the hem of my skirt on my knees.

Jasper shook his head. "You know I don't need to be babysat anymore—at home, at least—and I'm perfectly happy to spend my days alone. You do so much for all of us, Esme. If there's something you want to do for yourself, there's nothing stopping you."

I hummed to myself, trying to decide what I thought about that. "We'll stop at the market first. It's up there on the left, just after the light."

"Don't we have plenty of food already?"

"I still try to be seen shopping for food fairly often, and I divide it between two different stores. We can just deliver it with the rest."

We pulled into the supermarket parking lot and, after a reassuring peek up at the clouds, went inside. The minute we did, Jasper's easy manner evaporated. He held himself stiff as he walked, glancing constantly around at the other shoppers, up at the bright lights, around the walls to map the exits. I noticed after a few moments that he wasn't breathing anymore.

"You really aren't comfortable with this, are you?" I said with a frown. "When's the last time you were out in public like this? Indoors?"

"It's been a while," he said, using as little air as possible. "I went shopping with Alice last month, although those stores were a lot smaller. I don't think I've ever been in an indoor space this big and... crowded."

I decided to fill several bags with fresh fruit. Jasper was all thumbs about it at first, carelessly packing apples and tomatoes and grapes into one bruised mess of a bag, but he learned quickly. I chattered on about which fruits and vegetables were most appreciated by the food banks and why, but he was looking more uncomfortable every second.

His steps slowed to a stop when we passed the butcher. The young man working behind the counter was expertly wielding a long, serrated knife, flicking it in and out of the huge chunk of red meat on his counter. Little pools of bloody fluid had collected along the counter and the floor.

"You're staring," I whispered. "And the butcher probably isn't the best place for us to linger." Jasper swallowed and moved on.

"All it would take is one slip of that knife," he whispered back. He finally drew another breath. "You know I wouldn't be able to stop myself. And there are so many witnesses. Is it really worth the risk to bring me in here?"

"It'll be worth it as soon as we walk out the door," I said firmly. "You need to expose yourself like this far more often, or you're never going to build any confidence. Every time you walk out of a building and leave everyone alive is a success. And it'll be easier than this when you go to school," I added. "Most of the time, everyone will be sitting still and you won't have to worry about spontaneous bleeding."

Jasper shook his head, glancing back at a pair of children who were horsing around while their mother chatted with a friend. "I should have hunted first."

"You're fine," I insisted.

We went on for a few more minutes, but it really was crowded, and the tension was radiating off poor Jasper in waves now; I supposed we had better wrap it up. I reached for his hand, trying to focus on feeling calm for his sake. But instead I received a jolt of fear the instant I touched his skin.

"Fear?" I said in surprise. "Jasper—"

He yanked his hand out of mine and stalked right out the door.

I finished my shopping quickly, filling the cart with a few more piles of dry goods selected at random. When I got back outside, Jasper was leaning against the car door with his arms folded, looking perfectly human again and more apologetic than ever.

"I'm sorry," I said before he could say it first. "I was just trying to help. I shouldn't have touched you when you were already upset."

"It wasn't that," he said. "I just... it was time to get out of there. The horror film, the crowd, then the thing with the knife, and those two kids..."

He took the cart from me without another word and busied himself getting the groceries into the trunk. When we were back inside the car, he sat in thoughtful silence for another moment, fingering the leather cuff on his wrist, tracing the metal lines of the Cullen crest.

"...And it makes me ashamed," he said, finally looking me in the eye.

"Being afraid?"

"Being weak. It's been seven years, Esme. I should be stronger than this by now. I should be able to walk into a human space and do what you all do."

I thought he should too, but I did my best not to feel like it. Carlisle likened Jasper's struggle to human drug addiction more than anything else, and that didn't promise an easy "recovery," I supposed.

"You are able to do it," I said. "It's just harder for you. Maybe this was a bit much, after the horror film. And it really was crowded in there. But why the fear? Correct me if I'm wrong, but when you make a mistake, you aren't quite as... well, upset as some of us might be. Mistakes happen, so why fear them?"

"I fear the consequences. So far, we've been lucky. It's happened out of town with no witnesses. But what if it did happen in a place like this? Those witnesses would need to be taken care of. All of them." He looked away, squinting like he was looking at something in the distance. "I could do what needed to be done, in that case. But I don't like to think about how you all would feel about that. And what if it was even worse? What if I caused a real breach and it put us all in danger?"

"What if?" I sighed in agreement. "Those two little words have stopped so many of us from living, haven't they?"

Jasper sighed back, still staring out the windshield. But after a moment, the tension lifted. I smiled to feel the familiar shift toward a particularly dreamy happiness that could only mean one thing: he was thinking of Alice, of the day they had met and she had completely derailed his misery. It always felt like this.

"Diner Day?" I teased him, touching his sleeve.

He smiled. "You know me too well."

"Well enough to know that moping and inaction don't suit you," I pressed him. "I'm not saying this will be easy for you anytime soon. I'm just saying that you've got to press on and keep challenging yourself. Taking risks is the only way forward."

He digested that for a moment, then sat up straighter and started the engine. "Where are we going next?"

I raised an eyebrow. "So you're ready for more?"

"I don't feel ready," he admitted, "but let's go."

We compromised in the end. I steered him by way of the county park and pushed him out the door so he could go find something to take the edge off. He returned in just a few minutes, wearing a sour expression.

"Goose?" I guessed, trying not to laugh at him.

"Squirrel," he grumbled.

.

.

By the time we reached the food bank, Jasper was in better spirits. He told me about the correspondence course he was taking in continental philosophy. He had started taking his first class back in Oregon, registered under Emmett's name, so he'd had to start over once we moved here with new identities. He hadn't done very well on his first paper, but he was determined to improve.

"I just don't know what the professor is looking for," he admitted.

"You'll get the hang of it, I'm sure," I said. "After all, it's been a century or so, and you've never even been to high school in either of your lives. Just up there." I pointed out the food bank. Jasper swerved the car over a little too quickly, earning an angry chorus of car horns and slammed brakes. No one was hurt, but there was no hiding my panic at what had almost happened.

"I'm sorry… again," Jasper sighed. He wrenched the keys out of the ignition and tried to hand them to me. "I think you'd better"—he took one look at my shaky smile—"uh, let me drive home so I can practice more."

"Now you're getting the hang of it."

He smirked and jammed the keys back into his pocket. We opened the trunk and carried the first boxes in to the food bank.

"Good morning, George!" I called out. The elderly volunteer backed out of the aisle he had been working in and began to limp toward me.

"Mrs. Cullen," he said with his usual rheumy smile. "Oh, let me help you with that—!"

"It's quite all right," I said. I piled my box on top of the one in Jasper's arms. After a split second, he remembered to act like the load had just gotten heavier. "I have a lot today, so I brought a helper. This is my husband's nephew, Jasper. He's visiting us this week before he heads off to school."

"How do you do," Jasper said warily.

"Good for you, young man!" George said, limping on out to the car. "Nice to see some young folks getting involved. What school? What're you studying?"

Jasper looked to me for an answer. "Wayne State," I said without missing a beat. "Jasper, have you chosen a major yet?"

"Um… philosophy?" he said.

George was already digging around in the trunk of my car. "That's nice… oh, tuna fish! That's just what we need. Hey! Come over here and help me, sonny."

Jasper stood awkwardly holding out his hands to receive box after box, intently watching George as the old man worked.

"Thirst okay?" I asked under my breath.

"Just fine," Jasper whispered back. "I'll tell you later."

Since he seemed more comfortable, I asked George to give us a little tour of the warehouse. It was good for Jasper to spend some time around an individual human without the strain, and the reminder that humanity was capable of good things couldn't hurt either. Learning how to see them as people was a big part of his struggle. He kept surprisingly close to George the whole time, listening with rapt attention.

"All right," I said when we were back in the car. "Next stop…" Deep breath. "The university."

"You mean Wayne State? Isn't that down in Detroit?"

"That's the one."

Jasper looked slightly panicked. "I thought we were just using that as the cover story. I don't think—"

"We're not going for you. We're going for me."

"Oh. So you're ready to do this?"

"I don't feel ready," I said, "but let's go."

[metallicaislife]

Daydream Pt 3

A/N: This is the third, and final installment of Daydream❤️ -p.s. sorry it is story heavy and light dialogue. p.p.s. I cried writing this lol

Requested by: Anon

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 759

Warnings: All the feels

Daydream Daydream Pt 2

The first time I invited Y/N over to hang out with me and the guys, she panicked. She thought Kirk and Lars would be angry at her. I hadn’t told them I ran into her, I wanted to surprise them as I had been with our chance encounter. I reassured her they would not be. I knew they had missed her a lot, not quite as much as I had though. 

When she showed up, the look on their faces was priceless.

“Are you fucking real?” Kirk asked, “like are you who I think you are?” He questioned excitedly. Her laugh was heavenly. Kirk hugged her tightly.

“What are you talking abo-“ Lars started as he walked into the room before his eyes landed on her. “Y/N!” He exclaimed and hugged her. 

We cried together, and laughed, lots of laughter. We almost felt whole again. 

After that night I found any and every excuse I could to see her nearly every day. Whether we went out and did something or stayed in and watched tv. Days we couldn’t see each other we’d call and talk about everything and nothing. 

I finally told her about my crush, that I developed feelings for her shortly after we met. Cliff had started bringing her around. I was having a tough time and she took the time to listen to me. She is such a genuine and caring person I couldn’t help but fall for her. 

Months after that, she was curled up with me on the couch. My arm around her, my fingers dragging up and down her side softly as we watched a movie. I felt her gaze on me, so I turned my head, our eyes met and she had the most precious expression on her face. 

“I like you, James.” She said sweetly. My heart swelled, my lips stretched into a wide smile as she leaned up to kiss me. I’ve kissed many girls, and this simple sweet kiss has to be the best one I’ve ever had. 

The first tour I had after we started dating was hard. She couldn’t get away from work, and I understood. We talked every night. She surprised me half way through the tour by flying out for a couple nights. 

As we laid in each other’s arms, I asked her to move in with me. She happily agreed. 

“Are you sure? I’m not rushing you, or us am I?” I asked for the millionth time. 

“James, if I wasn’t ready I wouldn’t have agreed.” She scolded as she brought another box in from my truck. She paused, “unless you’re having second thoughts, then it’s too late to go back to my apartment but I can find another.” She rushed out her eyes wide. 

“No, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you think that.” I said taking the box from her and setting it down. I wrapped my arms around her waist, her hands rested on my chest. “I’m more than ready, I just want to make sure you are too.” I told her softly. She smiled up at me. 

“I appreciate that. I am ready, if there was anything I wasn’t ready for, I’d have said something.” She reassured me. I smiled at her and kissed her forehead. 

We finished bringing her things in. She unpacked a little but decided she would tackle that a bit more tomorrow.

I sat on the couch with a beer. 

“Look at this.” She said, sitting next to me handing me a picture. “This was the day we met.” 

I studied the photo. She was on a couch sandwiched between Cliff and I. We were having a party the first time Cliff brought her around, and Kirk was snapping pictures. 

“I miss him.” I said, my throat closing in. 

“I miss him too.” Her voice was as wobbly as mine. 

“Let’s buy a frame for this and we’ll put it up.” I offered. 

“I’d like that a lot.” She replied, she got up to put the photo away and returned to my side. 

She weasled  her way under my arm. I chuckled holding her close.

“I love you.” She whispered softly into my chest.

 “I love you.” I told her and kissed the top of her head. 

When I met her all those years ago, I could’ve never imagined we’d end up here. Not only was she my best friend, she was the love of my life. I look forward to the many years we’ll share, and the memories we will make.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa