#EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU BEA

[padfoot-lupin77]

Myths: and this woman was desperate for power but in the end she was helpless against her fate

Bea Fitzgerald: hold my drink while I fix that

[quillkiller]

i want you all to know that every het ship i have the girl is always always taller than the guy

[kokoasci]

daily of the math/physics building on campus (also where my lab is. i am very familiar with this building 😭)

[piratekane]

one month.

It’s Ava who insists on a dinner schedule, citing the need for sharing responsibilities evenly. Beatrice is fine cooking. She finds the rote motion of the knife relaxing, the way the blade rocks back and forth as it dices onions and chops carrots. It gives her a way to clear her mind after a particularly grueling day of classes.

After a month of Beatrice cooking and a few nights where Ava convinces her to try new restaurants, ones she wouldn’t usually explore, Ava comes home from class and declares that Beatrice needs to teach her how to cook.

She would be annoyed that she’s being interrupted in the middle of watching a supplementary video on Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons, but the movie itself was problematic. That and Ava has on a top with a polar bear wearing a pair of star sunglasses that she’s cut the bottom off of, so she gets distracted just long enough for Ava to capitalize on her silence.

“Think about it. You teach me to cook, I make us delicious foods.” Ava beams. “Win-win situation, right?”

Beatrice swallows, then frowns. “You don’t know how to cook?”

Ava drops her backpack down near the door, half in front of it so that if they needed to exit in case of an emergency, Beatrice would trip over the bag. She thinks about telling her to fix it. But Ava is already moving on, dropping her shoes just far enough from the shoe rack that they’re a nuisance if she tries to vacuum. Beatrice can’t find it in herself to be annoyed by either of these things.

It’s unchecked chaos in the world of order she’s created for herself, but Beatrice finds that her care for it is relaxing slightly. She still empties the sink at the end of the night, still adjusts the blankets on the couch after Ava has wandered off sleepily to bed, still piles up the recycling to take down in the next morning. She just also finds herself letting a pillow stay out of place overnight, or letting her coat drape over the back of the couch for a few hours before she hangs it up.

Ava doesn’t round the couch all the way before she’s dropping onto the cushion, using the arm of it as a slide down. Beatrice watches the way her legs and arms twist into complicated shapes before she finds a position she likes. Her shirt rides up just slightly. Beatrice’s finger skips on the play button and the video comes back to life before she pauses it again.

“I mean, no,” Ava admits. “There weren't a lot of opportunities for me to try.”

Right, Beatrice thinks. Ava had to fend for herself in ways that were different from Beatrice. 

“I think I could be really good. I have a good palette.”

Beatrice falters for a second. Last week, Ava thought mixing sugared marshmallow ducks and soda was a good idea. The thought of it made Beatrice’s stomach turn.

Ava must see her hesitation. “Okay, I could be good at it with a good teacher. And I think you’d be a great one.”

Beatrice feels herself blush. “I doubt it.”

Ava is already shaking her head like she knows what Beatrice was going to say. “No, I think you would be. You’re patient - more patient with me than anyone I’ve ever met, and I know I’m frustrating.” There’s a slight self-deprecating smile on her face that Beatrice wants to wipe away. “If anyone is going to be able to tolerate the thousand questions I have, it’s you.”

There’s something about knowing what Ava thinks about her that makes Beatrice feel like she’s doing something right. That makes her feel warm in a way she’s never felt before. It’s curious how quickly this feeling has rushed over her and taken up every corner of space in her mind. She can’t put words to it, her vocabulary suddenly shrinking in the face of Ava’s smile.

“I suppose…” she starts slowly.

Ava’s smile is quicker. “Yes!” She sits forward, elbows digging into her jean-clad knees. “Where do we start? Beef Bourguignon? Coq au Vin? Lobster Thermidor? Ratatouille? I really liked that movie.”

Beatrice shakes her head, her smile soft. “No. I don’t think I could even make most of that. Why don’t we start with something simple?”

Ava looks slightly let down, but shrugs off whatever conversation she’s having in her head. “Fine. We’ll work up to the Julia Child recipes.”

“How kind of you.”

“How about we make your favorite food instead?” Ava stands up and makes the slow walk across the apartment to where Beatrice is sitting, her laptop and notebook taking up most of the counter. Ava sinks into the seat next to her, her knee nearly touching Beatrice’s outer thigh. She drops her chin into her hand, propped up in the empty space. “What is it?”

Beatrice blinks. “My favorite food?”

Ava picks up her pen and idly doodles on an envelope she unearths from the small pile of mail Beatrice has been stacking up. Bills to pay. Beatrice watches her sketch out a flower with a wide stalk. “Yeah, your favorite food. We can do that.”

Her favorite food. She pauses a moment. What is her favorite food? What is the one thing she would pick every time?

The first thing that comes to mind is Marie, one of her family’s personal chefs. Beatrice can picture her in their large, sterile kitchen, a chef’s coat with her name stitched on the breast. She hadn’t minded Beatrice being in the kitchen like Tilda had, hadn’t chased her out like Jaques. She had poured Beatrice a cup of tea and asked about her day. It was a reprieve from the long silences that filled every other space in the house.

Beatrice had learned the difference between onions and shallots sitting on that kitchen table. She had tested the weight of different knives, something she was sure no other ten-year-old had ever done. Marie talked to her about the balance of salt and heat and acid. She let Beatrice peel potatoes, scrub carrots, prune the first layer of leaves on brussel sprouts. She taught Beatrice how to make her first knife cut and the importance of even dicing.

Beatrice carried those skills with her long after Marie was dismissed by her family. At twelve, it had felt like the end of the world. Her replacement, a brusque Russian man named Turov, hadn’t cared much for her presence and Beatrice didn’t care much for his okroshka. She stayed out of the kitchen after that.

Ava waits for an answer patiently - always patient, even as Beatrice stretches out silences as she struggles to find words no one has ever asked her for before now.

Beatrice thinks of Marie, thinks of sizzling pans and layered sauces and opens her mouth.

“Stir-fry.”

“Stir-fry,” Ava echoes. “You haven’t made that before.”

No, she supposes she hasn’t. “My family’s chef-” She stops herself. Ava doesn’t want to know her complicated history with her family’s chefs. 

But Ava nods encouragingly.

Beatrice takes a breath. “My family’s chef when I was younger. Her name was Marie. She taught me how to make stir-fry. Of course, she didn’t serve it to my parents. It was a meal for us.” She smiles a little, thinking about the way Marie would plate the dish for her - just like it was a five-star restaurant. “But I loved it.”

Ava's hand flutters in the air like she might reach out and touch Beatrice’s. Her stomach tightens at the thought. But then Ava merely pulls it into her lap and smiles.

“Do we need to go grocery shopping?”

“We’re doing this now?”

Ava looks at the clock on the microwave. “I’m starving.”

Beatrice can’t help but laugh. “It’s mid-afternoon.”

“Can’t we have a snack? I had a long day.”

She laughs again. “Ava, you had one class today.”

Ava pushes out her bottom lip miserably. “But it was with Soro and he’s a tyrant.”

Beatrice is already starting to stack her things into neat piles. “He teaches world literature. He’s hardly a tyrant.”

“He’s, like, a low-key tyrant. Not as bad as Sumbal, last semester. But still up there.” Ava hands Beatrice a highlighter.

“I never had Sumbal.”

Ava groans. “You’re lucky. He once took points off because I cited something from this century as a reference.” She passes Beatrice a stack of sticky notes and Beatrice takes them, tucking them carefully into her pencil pouch for later. “The point is, Soro was boring, I’m hungry, and you need a break from studying.”

Beatrice can’t help but be amused. Ava exaggerates, but in a way that she doesn’t find annoying. Just in simple ways. And usually to get what she wants. Beatrice finds, no matter how short of a time they’ve known each other, she wants to give what Ava is asking for. But then she’s never had a best friend like Ava before, someone who always seems to know her limits and stops just short of them, who only ever asks what she’s willing to give. 

And besides, she’s right; it is an important life skill.

So Bea puts away her study materials, despite only being an hour into a self-imposed two hour session. She’s already mentally calculating what they have in their refrigerator.

“We have things here, I think. Stir-fry is versatile. You can make it out of most anything.” Beatrice stacks her things against the wall, over the mail. “We should have some staples.”

“Do we have baby corn?” Ava asks hopefully. “They’re funny-looking.”

Beatrice opens one of the cabinets where they keep canned items. She pulls down one of them. “Baby corn.” She has to shuffle a few more around, until she finds the sliced water chestnuts too.

Ava jumps off her seat, pulling open the refrigerator. “What do we need from here?”

She focuses on finding the things she needs for the sauce. “Check the vegetable drawer. Pick whatever you’d like.”

While she collects the soy sauce, Shaoxing wine, oyster sauce and sesame oil, she listens to Ava hum something she doesn’t recognize. She likes the way it fills the silence - not that it’s an awkward one, the way it was with Gina. Speaking with Gina had always felt like a chore, and Beatrice did it the way she did all her chores: efficiently and with relief when it was over. Silence with Ava feels nice. Comforting, even. Knowing she doesn’t always have to be on in order to be interesting is relieving and addicting.

The vegetable drawer must have had more in it than Beatrice thought. Ava has onions, carrots, a bell pepper, broccoli, and sugar peas stacked on the counter. She grins at Beatrice.

“This enough?”

“More than.” She starts taking down bowls and pulls a wok out from the bottom shelf. Ava already has a cutting board out by the time she stands up. “Protein?”

Ava opens the refrigerator again. “Does chicken work?”

She was saving the chicken for baked chicken tonight, but that’s fine. She busies herself with opening the knife drawer and looking at the two chef’s knives she has. She wants a sharp blade, any chef’s best tool.

Beatrice carefully places the knife on the edge of the cutting board, blade angled away from Ava. It’s not that she doesn’t want to teach Ava; it’s just that last night Ava dropped a slice of bread from her hand and she tried to catch it with her foot. It’s just that a butter knife fell off the counter three days ago and Ava caught the blade in her hand.

Ava is, in a word, clumsy. 

In two words, she’s charmingly clumsy.

Ava seems to read her mind. She stills her whole body - Beatrice hardly noticed the way she was vibrating with excitement, so used to Ava’s normal state - and takes a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“Have you handled a chef’s knife?”

“Nope.” Ava pops the p. “But I’m a quick learner.”

She is. She mastered rock climbing almost before anyone else. And she catalogs everything Beatrice tells her with lightning speed, repeating it back to her days later. But facts on religious artifacts can’t send you to the hospital. 

Rock climbing can, she reminds herself. And Ava did that okay.

“Fine.” Beatrice starts to roll up her sleeves. “First things first. Wash your-”

“Hands,” Ava finishes. She’s already turning on the water. “Happy birthday to you,” she sings quietly under her breath as she scrubs. When she finishes a second round of it, she smiles brightly as she turns to face Beatrice. “Next?”

Beatrice hands her a mixing bowl. “We’re going to make our sauce.”

She walks Ava through combining the different ingredients, hiding a wince when she adds a little too much soy sauce and correcting it by giving her a touch more sugar to mix in. Ava’s forearm muscles flex as she whisks the sauces together in sharp, quick, circular motions. Beatrice watches the way she moves. She is a quick learner, her hands adjusting to grip the bowl and wrapping around the whisk.

There’s something about Ava’s hands that Beatrice can never look away from. They move almost restlessly, always reaching out to touch something, to feel different things under the pads of her fingertips. She knows what Ava has told her. About the years where people touched her and she remained unable to do the same. She seems to be making up for lost time, Beatrice thinks. Ava’s always running her hands over the pillows on the couch, running her fingers around the handles of coffee mugs, twirling pens between her knuckles.

She’s always reaching and feeling and one day, Beatrice was struck with the strangest thought: what might happen if Ava reached out to touch her?

The thought had put a pause on the world. It was something she had never thought about before. Her friends touched her. Camila loved hugs hello and goodbye. Shannon always brushed a hand against her shoulder. Mary was known to give her an affectionate pat on the head every once in a while. Even Lilith, despite the look on her face whenever anyone seemed to get within five inches of her, was known to give a hug or two under dire circumstances. 

But Beatrice went so long without any kind of physical interaction that she had to learn what it felt like to have someone’s arms on her shoulders, someone’s arms around her body. She had to learn to be comfortable with the bottom of Camila’s feet pressed to her thigh during movie nights. She had to learn to be comfortable with Lilith falling asleep on her shoulder during all-nighters.

She had to spend all her time learning to accept physical affection that she never quite put a lot of thought into giving it. 

But watching Ava give it so freely - returning Camila’s hugs, knocking shoulders with Shannon and elbows with Mary, and the one time she pulled Lilith into a hug with the sole intention of, Ava’s words, unsettling her - Beatrice wondered what it might be like to give the same way.

And Ava. She wondered what it might be like to give it to Ava.

Ava didn’t touch her as easily as she seemed to touch everyone else. She reached out and always seemed to stop herself. Beatrice wondered what that meant. Did Ava not want to touch her? Was there something wrong with her? Did Ava see the same things in her that her parents saw? It’s a small voice, a whisper, but whispers always seem loud in empty corners of rooms.

The rooms aren’t as empty now, aren’t as quiet. Whispers aren’t as loud any more. Ava seems to fill the spaces more easily than Beatrice ever did. 

And so she tries to make herself be someone Ava might want to reach out to.

Ava puts down the bowl with a smile. “Sauce, mixed.”

Beatrice nods towards the cutting board. “Then the vegetables.”

Ava frowns. “Not the chicken?”

“Protein last, unless you plan on using multiple cutting boards. And since you used our second one for your chemistry class experiment-”

Ava winces. “Yeah. I’m going to replace that,” she says, just like she said last week and the week before that one. She smiles again. “So, protein last. Vegetables first.” She picks up the carrots and reaches for the knife.

Beatrice stops her, a hand hovering out in front of her. “There’s knife safety we need to talk about.”

She thinks for a moment that Ava will be annoyed with her. Knife safety doesn’t have an adventurous ring to it. It sounds boring, technical. But Marie taught her the importance of knowing a tool and the dangers it carries.

Ava pulls her hand back, clasping them gently in front of her. She smiles patiently. “Go ahead.”

Beatrice blinks back her surprise. “Oh. Okay.” She clears her throat. “The first rule of knives is that they can cause serious injury if not used properly. Knives should be kept sharp enough to cut through a piece of paper - they’ll cut through your skin just as easily.” She scales it back a little bit, dulling the tone in her voice but Ava’s smile hasn’t flickered. “We’re always going to cut away from ourselves, not towards.”

“Do I need to write this down?” Ava looks serious, like she’s taking in every word Beatrice says.

“No. No, I’ll remind you as we go.”

Relief uncoils Ava’s shoulders. “Good. I was worried there was going to be a test, or something.” She says it without malice, like a joke that Beatrice is in on.

Beatrice smiles a little before she remembers one of the most important parts of knife safety. “Never, never catch a falling knife. Not with your hand or with your foot. We can clean a knife off. We cannot put stitches in your hand or your foot.”

Ava’s cheeks flush. “One time.”

“Twice,” Beatrice reminds her. “So, if the knife slips, just let it.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Ava bounces, some of that frenetic energy back. “What else?”

“Always make sure your cutting board is on a flat, even surface so that it - or your knife - doesn’t slide.” Beatrice gestures at the cutting board on the counter. “Make sure nothing is under it.”

Ava waits in the silence for a moment before she blinks expectantly. “Is that it?”

Beatrice thinks for a moment. “For now, yes.”

“Great. Let’s get started.” She rocks forward, hands a little slower as they reach for the knife. She looks at Beatrice, waiting for a nod before she picks up the chef’s knife. She taps the blade experimentally against the cutting board.

“You can start with the carrots,” Beatrice suggests. “You don’t need to dice them.” She leans against the counter and watches as Ava examines a carrot critically, before she puts it down on the cutting board and grips it, fingertips out, as she raises the knife.

Beatrice shoots forward, hand curling tightly around Ava’s fingers on the knife, careful to hold on so Ava doesn’t drop it in surprise. “Not like that,” she murmurs. Her body follows her arm, putting her close enough to Ava to breathe in the slight tang of the pineapple shampoo she bought by accident.

Ava turns, eyes wide. “Sorry.”

“You’ll cut your fingers off,” Beatrice continues quietly. She carefully lowers Ava’s hand back down to the cutting board. “You need to-” She squeezes Ava’s hand once until it loosens under her palm. She feels the tension radiating through Ava’s arm slacken. “You need to curl your fingers in.”

Ava blinks at her. “I need to what?”

Beatrice lets go of Ava’s knife hand, placing it down gently. “Hold on. Can I-”

Ava shifts slightly, opening up her side. “Yes.”

Beatrice nods shortly and steps in, her hand settling around the one holding the carrot. Her fingertips press back against Ava’s fingernails until they curl back and it’s the flat of her knuckles showing. “Like this. Curl your fingers in or you’ll cut them off.”

She doesn’t realize she’s holding Ava’s hand in her own until Ava turns her head and they’re a whisper apart from each other. She nearly lets go, but Ava is staring at her and waiting for her next instruction. Beatrice swallows heavily. Ava’s hand flexes in hers, the carrot under it scratching against the cutting board.

This is what it feels like to touch Ava. To feel the warmth of her skin against the palm of her hand. Beatrice can feel the ridges of her knuckles, the sharp bone under her callouses. It’s warmer than she thought it might be. Drier. She can feel her own palm growing hot in return and she nearly pulls away, afraid of catching fire.

Ava only meets her eyes, tips her head to one side, and smiles. “Like this?”

She has to clear her throat twice and then gives in, just nodding.

Ava doesn’t pull away. She leaves Beatrice’s hand where it is as she readjusts her grip on the carrot, holding it as steadily as possible between her fingers while the flats of their knuckles face out. She looks at Beatrice and waits for another nod before she picks up the knife. She pauses, looking expectantly at Beatrice.

Beatrice doesn’t understand. She looks back, unsure of what to say. The circuitry between her brain and the rest of her body is flickering in and out. And Ava is waiting so patiently, asking a silent question that Beatrice can’t understand. She nearly scowls; she’s behind something she can’t define and she doesn’t like it.

“Help me?” Ava finally asks.

“Oh.” Beatrice’s free hand twitches and Ava nods encouragingly as she extends it, reaching across Ava until her hand is wrapping around Ava’s knife hand.

She stands here, both arms stretched across Ava’s body in a slightly odd angle and thinks: Oh.

Her heart starts to beat, loud enough that she’s sure Ava can hear it, and her cheeks flush. Oh, this is what it feels like to touch someone and want to set the world on fire. Oh, this is what it feels like to want more of something so desperately, she’d be willing to stay stuck here until it’s taken away from her. Oh, this is what it feels like to be so overwhelmed that her whole world dials down to the places where she stops and Ava begins.

Ava carefully brings the knife down over the carrot and they watch as it slides through it gracefully. She feels the flex of Ava’s hands under hers and thinks oh, oh, oh.

This is love.

Now that she knows what it feels like to touch Ava, the last fraying thread holding back her tidal wave of feelings - ones she’s held dormant - snaps like the core of a carrot as the knife slices into it again. It’s like this was the last line of defense. It comes crashing down the way a house of cards folds. All of the things she’s learned about Ava - the years in the orphanage, the way she dunks her french fries into ketchup and then mayo, the nights she pretends not to cry herself to sleep, the stretch of her smile that matches the way she stretches across the couch - burst forward from a tight knot in Beatrice’s chest and overwhelm her.

Once, she thought she was in love. Once, she had written Mrs. Penelope Marshall, the first girl who broke her heart, in the margins of her notebook while her Latin teacher droned on about derivatives, and Beatrice had thought that it was the best thing she could ever be.

But Ava looks sideways at her and smiles as their hands move together, and Beatrice thinks that if what she felt then was love, there’s no word in any language that can describe what this is now.

“You’re a good teacher,” Ava says, rocking the knife on the cutting board. “I knew it.”

Beatrice inhales, the scent of pineapple in her nose. “You’re a good student.”

Ava preens for a second. “I knew I would be.”

Their hands still. Beatrice doesn’t let go. Now that she knows what it’s like to touch, she never wants to let go. But her palms start to sweat, and she knows that Ava will be able to feel it. She takes a step back, putting an ocean between them again, and nods encouragingly as she tries to keep herself steady.

“You try.”

“Without you?” Ava pouts slightly, but recovers quickly. “Okay. Stand back, chef. Watch me.”

Beatrice watches. She’s always watching. She’s been watching since the moment Ava crashed into her table, spilling the entire contents of her to-go mug onto her notes. She’s been watching since Ava moved the last box into their apartment, declaring herself moved in. She’s been watching and watching and never touching because touch is reserved for the moments that really matter.

Because touch is the last puzzle piece holding her together, but now she doesn’t even have that.

Ava slices another round off the carrot and grins. “Totally easy.” She looks back over her shoulder and winks. “I knew I would- ow!”

Beatrice frowns, blinking at the sudden change in pitch and volume. It takes her a moment to realize that Ava has nicked her finger, and blood is starting to run down it as she holds it up into the air. Beatrice stares at the bright red bead as it slides across warm, dry skin she was just touching for a beat too long. By the time she moves, Ava is already turned away, turning on the tap.

“Shit,” Ava hisses as the water rushes over the cut. 

Beatrice snaps to attention, grabbing a dishcloth from the cabinet next to the refrigerator. She pulls Ava’s hand out of the water and examines the cut. It starts to bleed again. “It’s small. Hold still.”

Ava stops wriggling. “Don’t-”

Beatrice tightens her grip, pressing firmly on the cut. Ava hisses. “I’m sorry,” she says gently. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Ava’s face softens. “Of course not, Bea.” Her free hand rests on Beatrice’s wrist. “You didn’t tell me first aid was included in this lesson.”

“You won’t need stitches.”

“Bea.”

“I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

“Bea.” A hand drops to her waist and she shivers. The hand drops away. “Honestly, it’s fine. It just caught me by surprise.”

Beatrice still doesn’t look up from the cut. “Dull knives are worse. They require more force to get through food, so when it slips and cuts into your hand, the cut is usually deeper.”

“Good thing you keep these things sharp enough to cut steel,” Ava jokes.

Beatrice slowly unwraps the dishcloth from the cut and examines it. Blood still trickles down, but much slower. Good. She needs a first aid kit, so she can wash it and then dress it. It shouldn’t require much work. The cut looked simple enough.

She takes a step away but Ava grabs her wrist, pulling her to a stop.

Oh.

“We can still cook, right? You’ll still teach me?” Ava smiles hopefully.

There’s that check-in, again. Ava always asking what she’s willing to give. Even if now, that limit has expanded a thousand miles in the span of time it took to slice half a carrot. Beatrice knows - has known - she can’t say no, and now she is acutely aware of why. 

“Of course. We’ll just be more careful.” She takes a step away and Ava’s hand slowly drops from her wrist. She feels the loss of it like a limb that’s been cut off.

“You’re the best, Bea,” Ava calls as she slips into the bathroom in search of the kit.

Beatrice stands in front of the window above the sink, studying herself in its reflection. She doesn’t look different now that she knows that she’s fallen in love with Ava. Nothing on the outside has changed, but everything on the inside has toppled over and formed new shapes that feel strange. She wasn’t looking to be in love, wasn’t expecting it to happen to her any time soon, or all. But she’s learning that most things with Ava are big and unexpected and exactly what she’s looking for, no matter that she didn’t know that.

She holds her hands up in front of her face, turning them over. She expects to see Ava’s fingerprints burned into her skin, but they look just the same as they did minutes earlier when she was just Beatrice. They don’t burn; they don’t glow. They only ache. To go back out there and touch again, a need she thinks may never be sated.

Beatrice meets her eyes in the window and looks at this new person staring back at her. 

Touch is a love language, she knows. She just didn’t know it was one of hers.

~

two months.

There's poetry in swimming. A grace in the way arms cut through still water, propelling forward. It cuts away on either side of her and she glides through it like she’s exhaling. The world feels weightless in the water, like she could float away contentedly.

It’s the smell that begs the question of why Beatrice agreed to this.

The school pool smells over-chlorinated and it sticks to the inside of her nose. She resists the urge to sneeze and clear it, focusing instead on dipping her toe into the water, testing it.

Warm.

She frowns, turned off by the idea of bathwater. Whatever bacteria is being fed by the warm water, they’re trying to shock away with chlorine. Why is she paying so much in tuition for warm, bacteria-infested water?

“You’re on scholarship,” Ava reminds her.

She blinks, unaware she spoke out loud. Ava laughs and bumps a nearly-bare shoulder into her arm gently. Her frown ebbs away like the water lapping at the side of the pool. Ava’s skin is already damp from the humidity in the air and Beatrice marvels at the idea that this is what it must be like when Ava steps out of the shower and wraps a thick towel around her body, shoulders and neck still exposed. She flushes.

Ava bounces lightly, careful of the slick floor. “At least we have the place to ourselves.”

That might be another problem. Because they are alone, the pool empty in the middle of the day. There’s no one here to see the way Beatrice can’t quite look Ava in the eye or the way her hands shake a little as she grips her towel a little too tightly. At least at tomorrow’s Color Run, there will be crowds of people and chaos surrounding them, reminding Beatrice to curb that impulse to touch, to keep her hands to herself. 

Here, alone, Beatrice has no buffer, just her and Ava and her heart lay bare. 

This touch thing has been a bit of a nuisance. It consumes her. It’s been a couple weeks since the world shifted on its axis and now she wants to be touching Ava all the time. Sometimes it’s small - a brush of a hand as they pass a spatula back and forth at dinner or trade the television remote. Sometimes it’s bigger - pulling Ava into a hug after a long day of classes where her back has tightened up to the point of pain and willing it away. She limits herself, though. Sometimes per day, sometimes per instance. She never takes too much, always gives Ava her space. 

She doesn’t want to push. Everyone has taken so much from Ava. She’s not going to be a name added to that list.

Some nights, she still feels like she takes too much. She touches the back of Ava’s hand or she pokes delicately at her ankle bone as Ava stretches her feet into her lap or she leans into the way Ava seems to always be leaning in towards her. Those nights, she stays in bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks about what would happen if she went into Ava’s room and curled around her. Would she survive that? Would they?

“Thank goodness,” Ava admits. She’s a little breathless. “I was kind of worried about that.”

All of Beatrice’s reservations fade away at her words. Ava is what’s important here. She turns, meeting Ava head-on. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” she says quickly. Her eyes cut nervously to the deep end of the pool. It’s 8 feet down to the bottom. “I’ve been wanting to do this.”

Beatrice reaches down and curls her fingers over Ava’s wrist, feeling the thudding pulse under her fingertips. 

“Ava,” she says softly. Ava looks back at her, a tremulous smile on her face. “We can come back another day. Or just sit on the edge with our feet in the water.”

Something stretches Ava’s spine straight. “No. I’ve waited long enough. I’m going to swim.”

“You’re going to learn,” Beatrice stresses. “Actual swimming might not happen today.”

“Sure, sure,” Ava says dismissively. “Cannonballs by the hour’s end.” 

Her wrist slides out of Beatrice’s grip as she moves towards a long, sweating wooden bench lining the wall. Ava drops her towel - a large pink thing with a flamingo in an inner tube on it - and slides out of the flip flops she wore, tucking them under the bench. She turns, hands on her hips, and surveys the pool.

Beatrice inhales sharply, feeling that chlorine burning in her nose again as she takes in the sight of Ava.

She saw the bathing suit when Ava bought it, of course. Ava held it up in front of her, going on about how she picked red because every movie she saw with a lifeguard in it had a red swimsuit on. It’s funny, Bea, she explained at Beatrice’s blank look. The girl who can’t swim playing pretend as someone who rescues people in the water? She wasn’t deterred by Beatrice’s silence. She shrugged and ordered Thai.

But seeing Ava holding it up in front of her, separated from her skin by a pair of electric pink soft cotton shorts and a bright yellow tank top - a combination that seemed like some kind of criminal offense, even to her - was entirely different than seeing it on her.

Because on Ava, the swimsuit seemed impossibly smaller than it had before. It did things she had only read about in books: hugged curves, fit like a second skin. She’d never experienced the kind of feeling romance novel protagonists talked of, but the words suddenly made sense to her. She blushed whenever her eyes roamed anywhere past Ava’s shoulders.

She swallows now, as Ava stretches her arms above her head and sighs contently. Ava turns and Beatrice looks away quickly, eyeing the shallow end.

She hears Ava’s bare feet padding through the small puddles where the floor is uneven. Two hands fall to her waist from behind and squeeze slightly. Another sharp inhale; she tastes the chlorine in her throat.

“You’re not going to wear that in the water, are you?” Hot fingers pluck along her side at the perfectly respectable cover shirt she’s wearing. “Because that’s not fair.”

Beatrice forces herself to breathe out, grateful for Ava being at her back. Having Ava’s touch so close, she wants to just… lean into it. She finds she’s always seeking it out, that simple reminder that Ava is alive and next to her. Since the floodgates opened, since she experienced what it was like to touch and to be touched, she finds she’s reaching into every corner hoping to come up with some part of Ava between her fingers.

But she knows Ava’s casual touches don’t mean what she wants them to mean. She knows she shouldn’t read into them.

“Of course not,” she says almost to herself.

Cool air rushes across her neck where Ava exhales. “Oh, good. Because I’m wondering what kind of bathing suit might be under there.” She winks when Beatrice glances back.

Despite the balmy air, Beatrice shivers. 

Ava doesn’t seem to notice, stepping away and surveying the pool. “So, where do we start?”

“We won’t cover much today,” she says as she starts to take her shirt off, folding it neatly and placing it next to Ava’s towel. “We’ll practice floating, I think.”

When she turns, Ava is staring at her. “There is a body underneath that shirt.” 

Beatrice feels her cheeks redden. “Ava.”

“And it’s not made up of wires, either.” Ava shakes her head. “It’s a crime, hiding that under a polyester-cotton blend.”

She sighs. “Ava.”

Ava grins and holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, Beatrice. You’re denying the people.”

Am I denying you?

She blinks rapidly at the thought. It feels blasphemous to think such a thing. She’s grown more comfortable with those thoughts lately. But never in the same room as Ava. Never when she’s standing five feet away in a bathing suit as bright red as she’s sure her face is right now. 

So she shoves it down for now and thinks instead about the different things she’ll teach Ava. Thinks about the lessons she read online: the importance of starting with floating, and staying calm in the water, and maintaining contact with an instructor during a first lesson, and - oh no. I need to touch her.

“Wait. You’ve done this before, right?” Ava asks suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. 

Beatrice wets her bottom lip, tasting chlorine. “I looked up how to begin swimming.”

Ava’s eyes narrow. “On a swimming website for babies?”

“For children,” she admits. She rushes to add, “But not babies. Small children.” She pauses for a moment. “The same size as you, actually.”

“Beatrice,” Ava gasps. She presses a hand to her chest. Beatrice pointedly ignores it. “You’re just a few inches taller than I am, you know. And I can still ride amusement rides.”

She ignores Ava. “The first step is getting into the water. There are different ways to enter a pool. The ladder, of course. Or you can sit on the edge and swivel in.”

Ava bites down on her bottom lip, eyes back on the pool as she weighs her options. “How’re you getting in?”

“I was going to sit and swivel, if you’d like to.” Ava is silent. “I find that sometimes sliding in is the best option. The stairs give me too much time to change my mind.”

Ava considers this. She’s bouncing lightly, eyes darting back towards the deep end every few seconds. 

She’s nervous. Beatrice steps forward, hand finding its natural place on Ava’s wrist. She squeezes until Ava meets her eyes. They’re ringed with worry. It’s not that Beatrice didn’t know Ava was hesitant around large bodies of water; she just didn’t understand how much.

“I promise I will not let you drown. I will not let anything happen to you.” She says it firmly, hoping Ava knows she means it. 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” Ava takes a shuddering breath. “It’s the drain at the bottom of the pool. What if it sucks me in?”

“The… the drain?”

Ava nods, staring at it now. “Yeah. I saw a movie once, one that an older boy snuck in. This girl - she was annoying, but still - she went swimming and the pool drain just… sucked her in.”

She wants to laugh. It’s ridiculous, that Ava could even fit in the pool drain, or that it would do something like start to suck out water in the middle of the day. But the fear in Ava’s eyes is real, and her heart aches instead. She turns Ava gently, holding her gaze.

“We are not going in the deep end. We’ll be 50 meters away from the pool drain. You certainly wouldn’t fit in it if, for some reason, the pool did start draining.” Beatrice smiles softly and squeezes her hand. “And more importantly, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Ava’s eyes search hers. “Okay,” she says after a minute and squeezes back. “I trust you.”

Beatrice swallows under the weight of the words. She smiles softly and releases Ava’s hand, taking a slight step back. Her toes splash in the pockets of the floor as she walks to the edge of the pool.

Ava follows her lead. “Okay, so sit and swivel?”

Beatrice takes a deep breath and smiles tightly. “Sit and swivel.” She slowly lowers herself into the shallow end of the pool. The water laps at the back of her thighs, soaking her bathing suit. She looks up when Ava hesitates. “I’ll go in first, then you can.”

Ava nods jerkily. “Sure. Totally cool.” 

Ava lowers herself to the tiles and scoots forward gently so her feet slide into the water. Beatrice watches carefully, making sure to angle herself so that if Ava slips, she can catch her. But Ava moves slowly until she’s mirroring Beatrice. Water splashes against her knees.

“Perfect.” Beatrice smiles and turns her body, sliding the rest of the way into the water. It comes up to her waist. “Now it’s your turn.”

Ava seems like she’s breathing a little easier. She slides into the pool, splashing a little. The water hits her hips, waving up around her as she stands an arm’s length away from Beatrice. “I did it.”

“You did it.” 

They’ll have to go a little deeper to teach Ava anything. And the distance might help Beatrice’s pounding heart a little too. Beatrice then takes a large step back, towards the deep end, until the water comes up just below her chest. 

“Now, we need to go out a little further to-”

“You said shallow end.”

“You can’t build confidence in the water if it’s at your belly button.” Ava eyes her warily and Beatrice ebbs back towards her, careful not to touch her. “I told you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Okay,” Ava says softly after a minute. She takes a short step forward. Beatrice slides back another. “Bea.”

“I’m right here.” 

Ava is looking at her now, eyeing the distance between them. They’re in the middle of the pool now, nothing to hold onto and that nervousness is back in Ava’s eyes. Beatrice changes tactics.

“How about we practice treading water?” she suggests. She cuts past Ava back to the side of the pool and grips the edge. “You can hold on and we can practice here.”

Ava seems relieved. “Sure. That works for me.” She takes a step closer to the deep end, the water rising to her shoulders now. She takes it with confidence, the kind she usually carries. “So I just…”

“Hold on. And let yourself drop a little bit. Treading water is about conserving energy while staying afloat.” Beatrice lowers herself into the water, letting it come up to her neck. She kicks her feet a little. “See how I’m staying up?”

“You’re holding on,” Ava points out.

Beatrice resists the urge to roll her eyes and lets go. She holds her arms out, perpendicular to body. She kicks her feet again and bobs in the water. “By nature, we float. So as long as there is air in your lungs, you’ll be fine. Your arms and feet just add to the buoyancy.” 

She straightens up, feet flat on the bottom of the pool.  When she stands, the temperature change between the air and the water makes her shiver. “See, it only comes up to my neck,” she reassures. “You try it.”

Ava grips the edge of the pool and lowers herself slightly. The water brushes up against her chin and Beatrice sees her eyes widen. But then she kicks her feet a little and she bobs back up, bouncing on the surface of the water.

Beatrice smiles. “See?”

Ava beams. “Treading water? Check.”

“Well, not quite,” Beatrice laughs. “You need to let go next.”

“Cool. Cool, cool.” Ava let's go with one hand and her body dips down. She quickly grabs it again. “Not cool.”

Beatrice laughs a little and drifts forward. “Come on,” she beckons. “I’ll be right here.”

She expects Ava to argue, to convince her they can go sit in the shallow end and talk instead of swimming. She expects Ava to say, “this isn’t for me. I really wanted to learn, but it’s just not in the cards right now.” Or even that she’s a bad teacher and she’s going to ask Shannon - who’s been a summer lifeguard since she was fifteen and has far more experience than Beatrice - for lessons.

What she doesn’t expect is for Ava to take a deep breath, blow out her cheeks, and leap forward into her arms.

Beatrice is nearly knocked back by the force of Ava’s jump. Her feet slide against the slick pool bottom and she swallows a mouthful of chlorine. She can’t focus on it. There are hands. There’s skin. Ava’s hands glide over her shoulders, fingernails trying to find purchase in the straps of her swimsuit as their bodies crash together. 

Her hands ghost along Ava’s ribs and oh. Ava’s swimsuit has an open back. She can feel the scarring along Ava’s spine, could count each of them if she ran her fingers up and down. Her fingernails scratch against skin she’s only ever imagined under her hands. She wants to map each inch she can touch, commit it to memory.

Ava’s hands finally find a place, locking around the back of her neck as she tries to hold on tighter.

Everything in her seizes. Her legs, tangled smoothly against Ava’s, freeze and lock into place. Her arms go slack against Ava’s back. She feels the water come up over her mouth again. A knee digs into her stomach and she gasps, swallowing the warm water again. Something sharp scratches against her shoulder as she starts to go under. She feels a heel dig into her thigh and then she’s being pulled sideways through the water.

She bumps against the side of the pool and then a hand winds itself into the strap of her swimsuit, pulling her up and out of the water. She gasps for air as her shoulders crest the surface.

“I thought you said people float!” Ava shouts, the words so loud in Beatrice’s ear.

Beatrice has to shake her head, blinking rapidly.

“Oh, god.” Ava’s hands flutter around her face, tipping her head back to study her face. “I’m sorry. I just thought- I thought you’d catch me.”

Beatrice sucks in a ragged breath. “I did.” The pool wall is cool against her back. She leans her head back against the edge, sucking humid air into her lungs.

The world comes back into sharp focus and she goes still again.

Ava is crowding her against the side of the pool, one hand tangled in her bun as it comes undone and the other brushing the rolling drops of water off her cheek. Their legs are tangled again, Ava’s toes skimming along her shin. Ava’s eyes are almost wild, darting back and forth as they search her face.

“Jesus, Bea,” she exhales. One of her legs hooks around Beatrice’s and it pulls her closer. “Are you okay?”

No. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. They flutter in the water, fingers clenching around nothing. She knows where she wants to put them: right where they were a minute ago, sliding across Ava’s sides to her back. She knows that she wants to dig her fingertips into Ava’s skin and leave them there so Ava can feel them even after she pulls away.

Pull it together. She swallows heavily.

“I’m fine.”

Ava’s body is still moving with the water, still ebbing in and out against her. The hand at her cheek goes to the pool’s edge and it drips water down on Beatrice’s shoulder, drops rolling off her skin. “I thought people float,” Ava breathes, her words hot against Beatrice’s face. “You said they did.” 

Beatrice finally touches down, thumbs stroking against Ava’s ribs involuntarily. Ava jumps a little. “They do. When they’re not being jumped on.”

Ava looks sheepish now. “I just… I thought that I would just go for it, you know? That maybe I was a natural swimmer and I’d just…”

“Stay afloat,” Beatrice finishes.

“Yes. And if I couldn’t, you’d rescue me. I just-” Her hand scratches lightly against the back of Beatrice’s neck. “I was a little enthusiastic, I think.”

She loves Ava’s enthusiasm - not when it’s trying to sink her, of course. But generally, she loves it. She finds it intoxicating, contagious. She wants to let her sweep her up almost all the time.

Her thumbs count Ava’s ribs. One, two, three…

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Worry winds around every word and Ava’s hand slides along her jaw to her chin, titling her face up. “You swallowed a lot of water.”

She can see small beads of water running down the long line of Ava’s neck, disappearing into the surface of the water. She watches the race down over smooth skin and she wants to track it with her fingertip. 

Pull it together.

“I’ll have a stomach ache later, maybe. And I need to brush my teeth.” She doesn’t even want to think about the chlorine anymore. “But maybe we should-”

“Try another day?” Ava nods. “Yeah, we should try another day. I owe you, like, tons of coffee. And take out, definitely. Your choice. No spending limit.”

She smiles softly. “I meant, maybe we should, um…” She looks down between their bodies.

Ava looks down and startles. “Oh! I’m sorry, I was-” She starts to pull away, her hand getting caught in Beatrice’s hair. “I’ll just-”

“It’s okay.” Beatrice doesn’t pull her hand back right away. “I’m fine.”

“No, this is your space and I’m just- dammit.” She finally works her hand out of Beatrice’s hair and her leg slides across Beatrice’s hip as she grips the edge with both hands and pulls herself around Beatrice’s body.

The water feels cold as it rushes into the spaces where Ava’s body had just been. She has to blink a few times, trying to pull her head together. That was more than just a brush of a hand or a fleeting kiss to the top of her head as Ava rushed to get to class. This was her hand against Ava’s side, long enough to feel Ava’s ribs under her fingers. This was her legs sliding against Ava’s. This was Ava’s hands in her hair and fingers at her jaw and and and. 

Ava pulls herself up and out of the pool, sitting on the edge of it, legs still in the water. They still brush against Beatrice’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Beatrice stares at the other side of the pool, going through breathing exercises until she can turn and smile and mean it. “Don’t be. I should have prepared you better for this.”

Ava smiles. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who flung myself into your arms.”

Do it again.

She blinks. “Next time, I’ll be ready to catch you.”

Ava’s smile stretches. “Next time, huh? Careful, Beatrice. You’ll make a girl swoon, telling her she can run into your arms at any time.”

Her cheeks flush. She knows it. Ava always gets this look in her eyes when she’s successfully made Beatrice blush. “Yes, well.” She clears her throat. “Maybe we could be done for the day?”

“Of course, Bea.” Ava pats her gently on the shoulder. “I was serious. Coffee and take out on me. We’ll even watch one of your documentaries, if you want. Anything you want. Nothing too small.”

It's not a date. It's just friends getting coffee and eating out. Friends do that all the time. It's not a date unless they say it's a date and that's not what they're saying. Beatrice can't remember the last time she went out on a date and Ava hasn't since they met. But if they did go out together on a date - a thought she's had before that always seems to make her heart stick a little - she'd want it to be more than coffee and take out. 

But, she's not going to think about that. She's going to just stay in a bubble where neither of them are going on dates and spending all their time together. 

That can be enough.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do. I nearly drowned you.”

She almost rolls her eyes. “I would have been fine. I just needed another moment to get my bearings.”

“Still,” Ava says brightly. “You had a near-death experience. Let me take care of you.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She leans down, brushes her lips against her chlorine-soaked hair, and stands up. Beatrice can hear her padding through puddles towards the towels.

She takes another minute to get out, letting herself bob in the water as she tries to let it wash away the feel of Ava’s body. 

She doesn’t think she’s going to ever forget.

~

three months.

Beatrice likes to think that she’s more than capable of reading Ava’s moods. She can separate out mad from frustrated, happy from content, sad from melancholy. Maybe it’s from living in such close quarters; from the fact that she spends an average of 18 hours a day with her and it’s hard not to know someone so well after all that time.

The point is: Ava comes home from class and she is not just mad. She’s angry.

The kind of angry Beatrice saw last week when Ava declared she was willing to face incarceration for Beatrice, if it meant that her parents would never hurt her again. The kind of angry that took Ava hours and a movie night with their friends to come down from.

She throws the door behind her, catching it at just the last moment so it doesn’t slam shut. Beatrice appreciates it. Her neighbors are nice. And one of them has a baby that’s just gotten onto a sleep schedule; she doesn’t want to be responsible for waking it up. Especially since a sleep schedule means it’s not up half the night crying.

But Ava comes crashing through it all the same. She throws her backpack down, cheeks red and forehead pinched. It slides a little across the floor into the coat rack, but doesn’t knock it over. She doesn’t even kick off her shoes, stomping around the couch and past the breakfast bar where Beatrice is set up between classes, right to the refrigerator that she pulls open and thrusts her hand into. She comes up with one of Mary’s beers, left behind after a movie night earlier in the week.

Beatrice is up around rounding the bar before she even thinks about it, plucking the bottle from Ava’s hand.

Ava turns and nearly growls before she seems to recognize Beatrice. Her face smooths out.

“I can make you some tea.”

She’s expecting a bit of a fight, but Ava just sighs and nods miserably, sagging back against the counter.

Beatrice busies herself with putting the beer back and turning on the kettle. She moves around Ava, careful not to touch her. It’s not that she’s scared of touching her. It’s just that everything has changed between them. Knowing she’s the most important person in Ava’s life, that she always will be, hasn’t just tinted every interaction they’ve had in the last week. It’s changed everything. It’s changed her. 

The entire situation has her on her back foot, a place she despises. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t know what she’s doing, or how to act. How does she move them forward from that without losing what makes them them? 

She can start with tea. She finds Ava’s mug, the one with Dog Dad written in blocky letters on it. She can take care of Ava the way Ava takes care of her. She can listen. She can show Ava how important she is in return.

It isn’t until she’s pulling down a tea bag that she feels slim fingers encircle her wrist and pull her to a stop.

“Sorry,” Ava grumbles.

Beatrice smiles patiently. “Tough day?”

“You know Francesca, in my history class?”

Beatrice tries to shuffle through the various characters Ava tells her about. She doesn’t remember a Francesca off the top of her head. Francis in her feminist lit class, yes. But Francesca…

Ava takes her silence as the no that it is. “She’s the one I told you about who had the crappy boyfriend?”

Vaguely, Beatrice pulls to mind a time when Ava came home complaining about some guy who interrupted their class to yell at girlfriend. Francesca, apparently. 

“Well, guess who showed up when we were headed to get some coffee after class?” Beatrice doesn’t have to. “Yeah, he just ambushed us on our walk. Totally embarrassed her in front of our whole study group. And you want to know the worst part?”

Beatrice pours hot water into Ava’s mug. “What?”

“He grabbed her. In broad daylight. Grabbed her by the wrist and tried to pull her away from us. I had to jump in and-”

“Are you okay?” Beatrice abandons the kettle and grabs Ava’s hand, gesticulating wildly between them. She turns it over like she was the one who was grabbed. “Is Francesca?”

Ava sighs but doesn’t pull away from her as Beatrice brushes her fingertips over a pulse point. “Yeah. I mean, I had to hit him with my backpack a few times before he took off.”

“You what?”

“And we sent Francesca home with Juan,” Ava says over her. “He promised he’d stay with her the rest of the day. But that douche knows where she lives and there’s no chance he doesn’t go back to try and bother her.”

“Ava.”

Ava looks at her, face red again. “You just can’t come up to someone and grab someone like that, you know? It’s assault, at least. She was totally spooked. And I don’t blame her!”

Beatrice abandons Ava’s hand and grabs her shoulders, holding her steady. “Ava.”

“If I see him again, I’m going to hit him with more than just my backpack. I’m going to take my fist and punch him right in the-”

“Ava,” Beatrice says sharply.

Ava blinks. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Oh.” Ava looks a little sheepish now. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. The bagel I was saving you is probably squished and I’m sure I have cream cheese all over my history textbook so I won’t get my money back, but I’m-” She reaches up, loops a few fingers around Beatrice’s wrist and tugs gently until her hand is curled up against Ava’s chest. “I’m fine.”

Beatrice exhales a thin stream of air. She turns her hand in Ava’s until their palms are pressed together. 

She feels like she’s attached to Ava here. Like a thread pulls her in, staring at Ava’s lifeline and tugging until her calloused palms are pressed to Ava’s smooth ones. She doesn’t fight it, she lets it consume her. And she keeps the feel of it long after she’s separated from Ava.

“Okay,” she says, more a reassurance to herself than anything. “And Francesca?”

“Like I said, embarrassed. And I think her wrist hurts, but she wouldn’t tell us that.” Ava looks sad now. “He was such an ass. Going on about how she can’t leave him. Honestly, he was embarrassing himself. I told her to file a report. He’s a big guy, he could go right through Juan.”

As long as it isn’t right through you.

“But it got me thinking about something,” Ava continues. “I couldn’t do anything to, like, help her. He just grabbed her and we all stood there. Sure, my backpack doubles as a small weapon-”

“Only because you refuse to take anything out of it.”

“But,” Ava stresses, rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t enough. I needed him to go away on the first hit. It took, like, six tries before he finally let go. I need to do better. So, you need to help me.”

Beatrice frowns. “I need to help you, what? Hit someone with a backpack?”

Ava pauses. “Well, no. Though, I should start coming to the gym with you, I think. That backpack is really heavy. Maybe Mary could make up a workout plan and I can learn to push one of those heavy bags across the gym. That’s very sexy, I think.” She narrows her eyes. “Can you do that?”

Beatrice swallows, a little hot under her collar. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“Damn.” Ava pouts. She looks off to the middle distance, eyes clouding over for a moment, then blinks and looks back at her. “Right.” She smiles crookedly. “I need your help fighting someone.”

“Fighting someone,” Beatrice repeats. “I’m not going to help you fight someone.”

Fighting someone isn't the answer. It's not even the question. 

Beatrice can appreciate what it means, the way that Ava is willing to step up for her friends and help them. One of the things she loves about Ava is the way she seems to want to do what she can for everyone. She's the first person Mary calls when she needs to go left off some steam. She's the first text when one of their friends needs a study buddy - even if Ava isn't too sure on the material. But it’s not just their circle of friends. Ava is someone everyone can count on. Someone who cares enough to help everyone around her. In the moments where Beatrice lets herself think she's a good person, she thinks Ava is someone a lot like her, just a little bit more impulsive.

But the last thing she wants to do is encourage Ava to put herself in harm’s way.

“Pleaseeeee.” Ava pushes out her bottom lip and blinks up at Beatrice through her lashes. “You’re already a great teacher. And you’re, like, a celebrated fighter. You’ve won trophies, Bea. That means more than one. You could show me how to kick someone’s ass and then the next time that douchebag shows up, I’ll-”

“Next time, you just walk away,” Beatrice interrupts. “You don’t fight a man as tall as a mountain.”

“Okay, he wasn’t as tall as a mountain. More like, as tall as Lilith.” Ava starts to walk her other hand across Bea’s arm, looping gently just below her elbow. “But it’s going to happen again. He’s like a parasite. A cockroach. And when he does come back, I want to be able to put him flat on his back. Bruce Lee style.”

Beatrice is shaking her head before Ava even finishes. “I’m not teaching you how to fight someone. And you shouldn’t be wanting to fight someone either. You’re very small.”

“I’m not-” Ava huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Wouldn’t that make me a better fighter? Because I could duck and weave and kick someone directly in the kneecap?”

There’s some logic to Ava’s thought process. Being small has its advantages. A lower center of gravity. Typically more movement than a man built like a brick house. But Ava is not a fighter by nature and a man built like a large rhinoceros would break her in half like a rotted out piece of pine board. No. She can’t teach Ava to fight.

“No.”

“Bea,” Ava sighs, frustration licking at the corners of her name. “I don’t need to know, like, all the steps it takes to become a black belt. I just need to know how to scare him off.” She steps closer and Beatrice feels the air between their bodies leave the room. “Come on. Show me a couple of things. You know I’m a good learner.”

“Cooking, yes. But the last time I tried to teach you how to do something physical…”

“Yes, I tried to drown you. That was once and I was panicking. And the next time we went swimming, I did a lot better.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Fighting is a situation where you will panic. I still panic every time I get into a fight.”

“Okay, what if I make you a deal?”

Beatrice eyes her warily. “What kind of deal?” 

The last time they made a deal, Beatrice ended up in the observatory after hours, hiding from campus security while Ava tried to escape the locked tower. They finally had to call for Mary to come and pick the lock.

 “You teach me a few things about fighting and I’ll go with you to that conservatory luncheon conversation thing. The one about religious texts in modern media.” Ava thrusts her hand forward in a handshake. “Deal?”

Beatrice wasn’t planning on going to that. She could probably learn more from the supplementary texts her professor provided last class. But Ava is looking at her with soft eyes and her fingers are brushing against the inside of Beatrice’s elbow and Beatrice feels her resolve falling like her attempt at making a souffle, another one of Ava’s ambitious ideas. She can’t say no. She’s never been able to say no.

But also, a small part of her thinks, it’s an opportunity. There are times when Beatrice thinks that maybe Ava feels this too. Maybe she touches Beatrice because she wants to, just as much as Beatrice wants to touch her in return. And this is a chance to touch Ava, to explore what that feels like.

“Okay,” she sighs. She shakes Ava’s hand shortly. “But you have to promise you will not get into any fights until I say you’re ready for that.”

Ava cheers loudly, wiggling around. Beatrice winces and pulls her hand away before it gets tangled up in whatever complicated motion Ava is doing. “Thank you, thank you. Where do we start? Leg sweeps? Wrist breaks?”

Beatrice can’t help but smile at Ava’s enthusiasm. Lilith calls her soft when she thinks Beatrice can’t hear her. She doesn’t try to tell her off, because she knows it’s the truth. It’s not just that she can’t say no. It’s that she also can’t bring herself to be mad about it.

“Not wrist breaks.” Ava pouts again and Beatrice has the nearly irresistible urge to brush her thumb against Ava’s bottom lip and smooth it away. “But I can teach you how to throw a punch.”

“As long as it’s not the only thing you teach me,” Ava negotiates. “I want to know more than that.”

“We’ll start with a punch.” Beatrice is going to hold firm on this. “It’s the foundation for a lot of other things.”

Ava considers that for a moment. “Like treading water.”

“Just like treading water.”

“I’m very good at that now, you know.” Ava practically preens, lifting her chin into the air.

“You are,” Beatrice says dutifully. “Your breast stroke is also very good. Don’t laugh because I said ‘breast’,” she warns Ava, who is already smirking.

“Pretty soon, I’ll be making a run for the Olympic team.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t doubt me, Beatrice.”

Beatrice means it when she says, “I would never.”

Something on Ava’s face softens and she ducks her head. Beatrice might also say she looked shy, if she had to name the emotion on her face. But she doesn’t, because no one is asking, and because she doesn’t want to.

“I can settle for a punch, sure.” Ava finally breaks their connection, sliding out of her hold. Her fingers graze Beatrice’s arm as she steps back. “So, show me.”

“What? Right now?”

“Whatever you’re doing-”

“Biochemistry.”

“-can wait.” Ava makes a face. “Biochem? Yuck. Wouldn’t spending time with me be more fun than that?”

Of course it would be. She knows that. Ava knows that. It’s why she’s had to pull all-nighters more in the last three months than she ever has in her educational career. She’d rather spend all her time with Ava, completely addicted to the way she laughs and the way she smiles and the way she always seems to rest her hand on the closest part of Beatrice she can reach.

She especially wants to spend her time doing that.

“Fine. Fine.” Beatrice abandons her biochemistry homework without a second thought. She’ll need to make it up eventually and she knows Ava will sit at the table with her later and tell her funny jokes she reads online while Beatrice tries to focus on equations.

Ava beams. “We’ll be quick.”

“We will not be if we do it correctly.”

“Then we’ll be correct and not worry about the time it takes because form is important,” Ava amends. She waits for Beatrice to nod in agreement before she thrusts her hand into the air and clenches it into a fist.

Beatrice hums. Ava looks at her expectantly, a hopeful smile on her face. It starts to fade the longer Beatrice looks. After a minute, she meets Ava’s eyes.

“May I?” She gestures towards Ava’s fist. Ava nods. “First of all, you’re holding your first too tightly.”

Ava immediately loosens it and her fingers fall apart. 

Beatrice laughs. “No, not like that.” 

She doesn’t hesitate now. Before, she might have paused, might have stopped herself from reaching out and manipulating Ava’s hand into the shape she wants it to be. But that was Beatrice months ago. Beatrice now, so used to touch, to Ava’s touch and the way it fits so neatly into her life, just reaches out.

Ava’s hand is pliant under her fingers. She softens her wrist, lets her fingers relax. Beatrice works them back into a fist, keeping firm pressure across her fingers. She taps Ava’s wrist into place, smiling softly when she sees the look of concentration on Ava’s face.

“Your fist can be your biggest weapon, if you wield it properly.” Beatrice runs her fingernails over the ridges of Ava’s knuckles. “But it comes down to the proper mechanics. Because the person you hurt might be yourself.”

“I want to hurt Eduardo.”

Beatrice wrinkles her nose at the name. She knew an Eduardo once. He was a terrible child, one of her parent’s political friend’s children. He once pushed her down and stomped on her new dress. Her mother had been furious. Suddenly, she wants Ava to hurt Eduardo too.

“Then you need to make sure you’re using the proper form.” She stands in front of Ava, studying her fist. “First, your thumb.”

“Inside, right?”

“Outside,” Beatrice corrects. She gently places Ava’s thumb on the outside of her fist. “If you leave it inside, you run the risk of breaking it.”

“Would I get a cool cast?” Beatrice glances at her and Ava grins widely. “Would you sign it? Dear Ava, you’re an idiot. Affectionately, Beatrice.”

“That wouldn’t fit on a thumb splint.”

Ava’s smile doesn’t waver. “You could figure it out.”

Beatrice sighs, the sound laced with the kind of fondness she’s found she reserves for Ava. Her hand pulses over Ava’s, reminding her of what she’s doing. She curls her fingers around Ava’s wrist and holds her other hand up flat so that the flat of Ava’s knuckles press against her palm.

“Keep your fist straight. Like this.” She puts a little force behind her palm, feeling the resistance of Ava’s fist. “When you punch, the flatter your knuckles are, the more surface area you cover. The more even the distribution is.”

“So if I’m punching Eduardo in the mouth…”

Beatrice rolls her eyes, smiling still. “If you keep your fist flat, you could break several teeth instead of one.”

There’s a look in Ava’s eyes that tells her she shouldn’t have said that. She can see the wheels churning in Ava’s mind.  

“More teeth,” Ava agrees. “I can totally remember that.”

Beatrice thinks about correcting her, about telling her that she should not go out with the intention of punching a man built like a woolly mammoth. She should make sure that Ava understands this is for self-defense and not to go on the offensive. But Ava is studying the shape of her hand intently and she thinks Ava knows that, in the very back of her mind, that she shouldn’t go out swinging at a man built like a steam engine train.

“More importantly, you won’t break your first two fingers,” Beatrice says, drawing back Ava’s attention. "It’s easy to want to punch with your index finger like this.” She makes a fist out of her own hand, clenching her index finger tightly so that it bubbles out and the knuckle leads away from her fist. 

“Watch.” Beatrice tightens her grip on Ava’s wrist and pushes her hand into her palm with her index finger leading. “See how it impacts right against these fingers?” She’s close to Ava now, her voice quieter as she steps in. “But if you flatten your knuckles…” She smooths out Ava’s hand and presses against. “It distributes more evenly. Saves you from breaking your first two fingers.”

Ava nods, head bobbing up and down. “Uh, okay.” She smiles a little crookedly. “The hardships I’m willing to endure for friends, huh?” she jokes. “Next, we should teach Juan.”

“He doesn’t know how to throw a punch?”

Ava snorts. “He’s too busy being in love with Francesca to do anything but try not to trip over his own feet.”

In love, she thinks. Is Ava in love with Francesca, if she’s willing to fight off this Eduardo? The thought is traitorous but there.

“But that’s what we do, right?” Ava’s hand shifts a little in her hold but Beatrice hardly feels it. “When we- Like, your parents. I’d fight them in an instant, to protect you. Juan and I have that in common.”

Beatrice feels a ripple of affection rush through her before it’s swallowed up by the overwhelming thought that no one has ever so vehemently and blindly defended her before. It nearly pushes her back a step, but she’s still holding onto Ava and she doesn’t want to break their connection.

She doesn’t want to let her go. She wants to touch, to stay in this moment. She wants… more. She doesn’t know if she should take it.

But Ava hasn’t shied away from her yet. Hasn’t pulled away. She’s leaned into Beatrice. She’s let Beatrice stand close and shape her.

Would she allow Beatrice to be a little closer?

She pulls her attention back to the task at hand. Ava is still standing there, waiting for instruction. “Make sure your hands are up, to protect your face if your opponent decides to throw a punch back.”

Ava scoffs. “I’m a one-and-done kind of fighter. I get one in, they’re done.”

Beatrice slowly motions a punch towards Ava who blocks it just a second too late, throwing her hands up above her head. “Hands up.”

“Fine, fine. Hands up.” She takes the carelessness out of her words with the look on her face as she brings her hands back into a resting position, one situated at her chin.

“Your form isn’t terrible.” Beatrice ignores Ava’s small cheer. “You’re right-handed, so this is your power hand.” She taps Ava’s hand. “Throw a cross punch.”

Ava pushes her hand forward, twisting naturally in a way that Beatrice knows is hard to teach. She frowns, though, walking around Ava in a small circle as she studies her.

“You’re punching from the shoulders.” She carefully touches the top of Ava’s shoulder. “You need to watch your extension. Beginners always punch from their shoulders.” She finishes her circle around Ava and rests her hand on her shoulder blade. Ava looks back at her, face pinched in concentration. “Most people think that punching is all arms, especially when you twist.” She pushes a little, leading Ava into a small twist.

“But your real power comes from your hips.” She drops Ava’s shoulders to brush her hips. “You twist your hips with enough torque, you generate enough power to make an impactful punch because you are putting your entire body behind it.” 

She pushes Ava’s hips to twist to demonstrate. Ava moves easily with the motion.

“Blunt force trauma, baby,” Ava sings. She looks up abruptly and twists a little to meet Beatrice’s eyes. “I need a superhero name.”

Beatrice smiles despite herself. “You’re just learning how to punch.”

Ava doesn’t hear her. “The Halo.”

“The Halo.”

Ava grins. “Yeah, remember that Snapchat filter with the blue and purple background that makes me look like I’m bisexual Jesus?”

“Ava,” she scolds.

“That could be my official superhero artwork.”

“Do you want to know how to throw a punch or not?”

Ava snaps to attention. “Yes, ma’am.” She thrusts her fist back into place and turns back around to face forward. “You were saying something about hips,” she says over her shoulder.

Beatrice gulps. She was. She just got distracted by the way it felt so easy to have Ava moving under her hands. Still, she needs to focus. Ava is. She can too.

Her eyes trail down from Ava’s shoulders to those hips and down to her feet. “Can The Halo take off her shoes, please?”

Ava looks down, cheeks flushing. “Oh, sorry.” She hurriedly kicks them off, sending them across the living room. 

It almost makes her laugh. Their first week living together, Beatrice would have followed after Ava until she put them in their proper place by the door. Now she doesn’t miss a beat, just continuing on and knowing that Ava will take care of it when they’re done. 

“It’s just that I need to see your footwork and I can’t if you’re wearing sneakers. Footwork is important to your legwork.” Beatrice points at Ava’s hip. “When you turn, turn sharply. Your core strength builds from there.”

Ava hesitates for a second, long enough that Beatrice catches it and frowns. “Uh, do you think…” Ava bounces a little on her toes. She’s nervous. It takes her another minute to get it out and Beatrice waits as she always does when it comes to Ava: patient and willingly. 

“Do you think that my back affects my power?”

“Oh,” Beatrice says softly. She takes a step closer, her hand already reaching out to wrap around Ava’s arm. Just to give her a touchpoint. 

“Well, a lot of your power does come from being able to rotate your core, of which your back is a part of. But you can compensate by strengthening the oblique muscles in your abs. The majority of your power though comes from your stance. Drawing power from your legs and transitioning to your upper body. Lift with your legs, right? You’ll still feel it through your body, of course, because things like boxing and mixed martial arts are whole-body practices.” 

She smooths her fingers over the sleeve of Ava’s cropped cutoff - a Baba Yaga on roller skates - and hopes Ava feels the intention in her touch. 

“But for a part-time superhero who remembers to use their legs, a few punches will be okay. You just need to learn and keep your form.”

Ava’s face clears. “Okay. So…” She grins. “How’s my form?”

“We need to fix your stance. Start with your weight evenly distributed. You also want to square up your feet. Lead foot forward but toes still pointing forward.”

Ava pitches to one side.

“No, no, wait. You’re leaning back on one leg too much. You’re giving me 70, 30 distribution. You can stand like that when we are ready to teach kicks. But for now, for just punching, I need 50, 50. Make it equal.” 

Ava turns, confused. “Can you just show me?”

Beatrice immediately steps back, hands fall away. “You want me to demonstrate?”

“No, I mean- Can you just… move my feet where they need to go?” 

There’s a hint of frustration in Ava’s words, like she’s getting upset that it doesn’t make sense the first time. They both have that in common. Ava just tends to be a bit more vocal about it. 

“Show you…”

Ava nods. “Just move my feet. I know, feet are gross. I promise they’re clean.” She waits. “I washed them two days ago.”

Beatrice knows for a fact that Ava washed her feet yesterday, because she likes to sing to her toes when she gets out of the shower. That’s not what’s making her pause. Her hesitation comes from knowing exactly what it will mean to move Ava’s body this way. She’s going to have to get even closer, cross an invisible line that only she can see. 

But Ava wants to learn and Beatrice isn’t going to let her get her information from someone at the Student Center who doesn’t know the difference between a jab and a cross punch. So she takes a halting step towards Ava, rests her hand against the small of Ava’s back, and stretches her leg out between Ava’s.

“This foot here,” she instructs. Ava’s ankle bone rubs against hers. She feels like the male lead in a Victorian novel; feeling Ava’s ankle has her heart racing. “And that foot- Yes. There.”

She looks down to check on both sides and eyes her work. It could be better. Ava is still leaning one way a little heavier than the other, but she seems to be swaying back and forth and it could work to her advantage. Satisfied, she looks up and realizes exactly how close Ava’s face is to hers. Ava grins and Beatrice’s heart shudders into place.

She tries to focus and steps behind Ava. “Now I want you to bend your knees a little like you’re going to squat.” 

She doesn’t wait to be asked this time. Her hands flutter down to Ava’s waist, fingers curling into the dip of her hip bones. She feels Ava’s body go taut and she nearly lets go, but it relaxes just as quickly and Ava is loose under her hands. 

“You want to create a stable base, so that means keeping your center of gravity low. That way when you punch, you can draw all that power from your legs.” She keeps her voice clear despite the way she feels like she’s trembling.

“Power in the legs, got it.” Ava looks down at her feet.

“When you’re low, there’s somewhere to go. That momentum can add to that force when you twist and throw that cross,” Beatrice’s hand pinches at Ava’s hip gently. “It starts down here.”

“Okay, so stay low.”

Beatrice nods. “The muscle groups you need to pay attention to are your quadriceps and your glutes.” 

Ava is still staring at her feet. “The what?”

Spurred on by a need she can’t quite fully articulate - to protect Ava the way Ava protects her, maybe. To make sure that Ava can always defend herself, surely - she runs a hand down the outside and top of Ava’s thigh. She feels a surprising amount of muscle there, pulled tight.

“These are your quads,” she says quietly. “If you’re not engaging them properly then I can just… push.” 

Beatrice gently pushes Ava forward. Ava has to take a slight step to avoid falling. Beatrice pulls her back up right and back into the cradle of her hips. “Focus on it. Engage it. And this time…” She leaves her hand pressed to Ava’s thigh and pushes with her other hand. Ava barely sways.

Ava looks back over her shoulder, eyes cutting down to where Beatrice’s hand is. “So engage my thighs.”

“Yes, front and back. Quads and glutes,” Beatrice corrects. “Your glutes especially. They’re your strongest muscle group.” 

“So what you’re saying is,” Ava starts slowly, grinning. “My ass is my strongest muscle.”

Beatrice sighs, suffering already. “Take this seriously. If you’re not doing it correctly, you can get hurt.” 

“I am,” Ava says quickly. She’s still smiling a little. “Totally am.”

She slides her hand back up to Ava’s hips, swallowing heavily when Ava looks away. “Once you’re there, you want to focus on your hips. Turn them sharply.”

“Butter knife sharp or-”

“Chef’s knife sharp.” Beatrice slides one hand a little further around Ava’s front, enough to get a slightly better grip so she can turn Ava’s hip back. “The sharper, the harder your punch is.”

There’s nearly nothing between them now. A piece of paper would wrinkle. And Beatrice feels alive. She feels like the air is cleaner. The lights are brighter. She could be glowing warm yellow light and levitating off the ground and she wouldn’t know because Ava is thisclose and she’s forgotten to buy different shampoo so it still smells like pineapple and caramel from her coffee and every single one of Beatrice’s senses is electrified. 

She’s been in love with Ava for a while now and each time they touch, she sinks a little further into the feeling. She lets it envelope her. She drowns in it. She lets it consume her most of her waking moments and all of her sleeping ones too.

She’s very dramatic. But she also loves Ava Silva more than she’s loved anything in her entire life and sometimes, dramatics are necessary.

“So,” Ava breathes out. “Just… twist my hips.”

Beatrice pulls her back again to her starting position. She can feel the muscle of Ava’s hamstring against her thigh. She keeps her voice steady, a feat harder than anything she’s ever done before. 

“Twist. Like this.” She spins Ava’s hip again. “Transfer your weight onto the ball of your foot when you twist. That’s the only time that your heel should lift off the ground.” She touches the back of Ava’s knee, pressing in a little. “Bend here more to lift as you twist up.”

Ava swallows, jaw clicking loud between them. “And my arm goes out at the same time.”

“Yes.” Beatrice uses one hand to guide Ava’s arm forward. “Put it all together to get that power. Bend, twist, punch.”

Ava lets herself be spun out again, a bend of her knee and a sharp twist of her hips. 

“Good. Now reset.” She lets Ava set her feet. “Don’t forget to breathe this time. Exhale with your punch. It’ll loosen your muscles and create a more explosive force behind your punch. Now again.”

Beatrice hears Ava exhale with her punch. It echoes in her ears like a church bell - haunting and beautiful and ringing in her chest so loudly it sends small ripples through her body and into her hands. They shake on Ava’s waist as she tries to hold them still. She breathes in through her nose - pineapple and caramel and promise - and exhales against the back of Ava’s neck. 

Ava pulls back to a starting position almost immediately, already catching on to the rhythm.

“Again. Together.” she says, reduced to single words as Ava’s body moves under her hand back again. “Bend, twist, punch, hold.”

Beatrice turns with her this time– bends her knee, twists her hip, punches out beneath Ava’s arm. They stay poised like that, an arm outstretched and molded against Ava’s back. She thinks she’s trembling - it can’t be Ava. She can’t be feeling what Beatrice is feeling. This feeling is hers and hers alone.

But Ava isn’t breathing. Beatrice starts to pull away but Ava steps back into her. Beatrice feels her breath catch and she rushes to cover it with a cough. That gets stuck in her throat too, and she’s suspended weightless, her hands and arms and chest burning where they touch Ava.

Her hand slides down along the curve of Ava’s leg where it presses back into her. Touch, a voice in her mind whispers like silk. The hem of Ava’s too-short shorts catches on her fingernails. She can feel Ava’s back pocket against her palm and she knows the imprint it leaves might never go away even when it isn’t visible anymore. She nearly tucks the tips of her finger into it, a slight flicker of possession that almost overtakes her.

Ava steps away, the heat of her body gone as she puts space between them.

Beatrice feels her stomach tighten as Ava stands suspended in front of her, back facing Beatrice. She went too far. She took too much. But before she has too much time to think about it, Ava turns and clears her throat.

“What about when I fight your parents? Should I put power into that?”

The tension breaks. Beatrice breathes out a laugh.

A thrill still shoots up through her every time Ava makes some kind of casual threat regarding her parents. She doesn’t wish them harm. She doesn’t wish them anything at all. But there’s a certain niggling wonderment in the way Ava doesn’t hesitate to declare she’d go to war for Beatrice. It makes her feel wanted in the best way.

Beatrice exhales. “Yes, you should always put power into your punches.”

Ava seems to need a minute, something complicated crossing her face before it clears. “Maybe I’ll take up boxing.”

Beatrice leans into the subject change, needing to distance herself for a moment too. “Mary has a friend at the campus gym. Mateo. He’s a good teacher.”

“As good as you?” Ava shakes out her arms and legs. “Because I want the best.”

So you certainly wouldn’t want me, a voice not unlike her mother’s whispers. She smiles despite it. “Other people are far better teachers than I am.”

“But you’re my favorite.” Ava grins and rests her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders as she leans up and gently headbutts her. Beatrice frowns. “I saw a cat do that once. Means I like you.”

“Better than pulling my hair, I suppose. Or kicking me down on the playground,” Beatrice murmurs. Ava doesn’t hear her, already moving back to the counter where the hot water for their tea has gone tepid.

Ava busies herself with pulling down another mug and dumping out her own, turning the kettle back on. “I want to watch a kung fu movie.”

“I have homework,” Beatrice sighs.

Ava shrugs it off. “So we’ll do homework first and then watch a Bruce Lee movie. You can correct his form.”

Beatrice snorts. “He’s Bruce Lee. His form is impeccable. And we practice drastically different forms of martial arts.” She sighs at the look on Ava’s face. “But I’ll let you tell me what you think he should be doing, if you’d like.”

“It’s like you know me so well.” Ava leans back against the counter and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world, you know that? I’d punch Eduardo in the face for you, if you wanted me to.”

Beatrice does know. And it’s what makes everything so confusing. But it doesn’t stop her from loving the way it makes her feel any less.

“I’m quite certain I could punch Eduardo myself,” Beatrice says softly. “But that’s nice that you’re offering to punch a man I’ve never met.”

Ava shrugs. “So long as you know I’d fight anyone for you.” She puffs out her chest, resting her hands in the spaces where Beatrice’s had just been. She pitches her voice low. “The Halo will rescue any damsel in distress.”

“The Halo needs to maybe empty her backpack before the cream cheese in it goes bad.”

Ava’s face flushes and she darts for her backpack. Beatrice watches her openly and thinks, one day, I’ll let you rescue me. And I’ll hold on tightly if you let me.

–

It takes another hour before she’s done with her homework. Ava finishes in half that time but doesn’t rush her, passing her a highlighter when it rolls away from her and refilling her tea for her when she finishes it. And Ava puts away her shoes without the reminder, tucking them neatly on the shoe rack next to Beatrice’s running sneakers. 

Ava never rushes her, always lets her make her way through things the way she wants to. For someone who rushes through so much, her patience is another testament to the ways Ava has changed for her.

“Alright, so it’s between Enter the Dragon or Fist of Fury Part Two.”

Beatrice wrinkles her nose. “What about Fist of Fury Part One?”

“Can’t find that one.” Ava immediately slides towards her when Beatrice sits down, the sharp point of her knees digging into Beatrice’s thigh. She barely feels them. “So maybe Enter the Dragon? He’s hunting down a drug king who killed his sister.”

“Sure.” Beatrice doesn’t care what the movie is about. Not with the way that Ava is arranging herself so that she’s pressed in closer to Beatrice.

Ava is too busy selecting the movie to see the way that Beatrice is controlling the way she breathes, using all her training to keep it even. So busy that when she reaches out and takes Beatrice’s hand, dropping it onto her thigh, she doesn’t notice the way Beatrice fails spectacularly at the only thing she’s focused on doing.

Ava’s thigh is still muscled, still warm and smooth. Beatrice’s fingers curl over the skin, molding to her leg. There’s nothing between them, no denim shorts. Just Beatrice’s palm, sure to sweat in a minute, and Ava’s skin. 

She inhales one controlled breath, letting it out in a hot, quiet exhale. Ava looks at her and Beatrice forces a smile, hoping it doesn’t shake like she feels every nerve ending in her is. She must be succeeding; Ava smiles back at her and wiggles down towards her a little more. 

Touch is her newest love language. She’s still growing into it, still trying to understand it as well as Ava does. So maybe she didn’t go too far. Maybe she didn’t push too much. If she had, Ava wouldn’t be seeking her out, would she? She would be sitting across the couch, a cushion like an ocean between them. She wouldn’t be here, pressed into Beatrice’s side with her hand on top of hers. Maybe - as Ava smiles and scratches her fingernails against the back of her hand gently - Ava is trying to tell her that they’re thinking the same thing; they’re on the same page.

But she still doesn’t know for sure. She doesn’t have any more answers than she did before.

She thinks about the words Shannon told her, right after Ava’s coffee date with JC. “Be honest. Be direct. Tell her how you feel. If you never say anything, you’ll never know and you might just miss your chance.”

Ava has many love languages. Beatrice wants to love Ava in every one. 

“Just use your words, Beatrice.”

Maybe she just needs to adopt a new one.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Q: Who did Vaklorvek murder? Also do T'Rahni'hk and Kirinnin have a good relationship?

A: Vaklorvek was a passenger on a transport ship which was caught up in some typical star trek alien bullshit because a Starfleet ship was involved in helping it through what seemed to be engine trouble. A powerful entity soon destroyed the transport ship, killed most of the passengers and he was part of the few that were alive (Moved along with a few others to the Starfleet vessel for safety). The entity informed them all that it would stop and leave the rest alive if they chose one person to sacrifice. No one on board was willing to sacrifice anyone or be sacrificed. They would all stick together until the bitter end to find a way to defeat this thing! While this was happening Vaklorvek tricked one of the crewmen onto an escape pod which he then trapped them in. He'd programmed it to leave the ship then encrypted it so the crewman couldn't escape in time. The entity 'ate' the pod and the crewman inside it and, satisfied, left the rest of them alive as promised. Vaklorvek didn't hide what he'd done and once they reached Federation space he was immediately placed under arrest. To this day he expresses no remorse for his actions and T'Rahni'hk is unsure how exactly to interact with him as he's stated before that he did what he did to ensure that she lived. T'Rahni'hk and Kirinnin get along very well! Kiri holds his sister in very high regard, thinking she's very intelligent - if only she would stand up for herself. T'Rahni'hk meanwhile finds her brother a bit unruly and difficult to understand but she tries her best to remain close with him and is relieved that he seems to be responding well to her efforts. He's very brash in contrast to her so she can get overwhelmed or roped into what he wants to do very easily. Her mother often scolds her for letting him get away with too much and sneaking him candy. He doesn't need candy! The only thing she really chastises him for is speaking too emotionally and being rude to others. (He's still learning how to fully control his emotions). When she's home he makes her play one million games with him.

[bananayuyu]

Lust is in the Air

Pairing: Hongjoong x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Your best friend drags you along to a family wedding, wanting to add some fun to your all too serious life. Turns out her uncle is the one who really provides the distraction.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, age gap (Hongjoong is 40 reader is 23), some talk during sex about the age gap so really don't read this if you don't like that, some dom/sub dynamics, throat fucking, degradation and praise, bratty y/n, use of pet names (baby, doll), ass eating, anal, unprotected sex

A/n: Sometimes I see a random video of him and I'm reminded all over again how hot I think a very mature Hongjoong would be. Especially if he was mocking me and making me feel pathetic. Yeah this was pure horny, quite filthy for me. This isn't as proofread as my normal stuff so apologies for any mistakes

------

Well, maybe it was a good idea. You had been staying in every weekend since the breakup, and maybe being forced out of the house would be good for you. Force you to interact with a few people, to actually put some effort into your appearance. Maybe put on a little makeup, or actually brush your hair.

"Please don't say no," Beatrice says through the phone. "My family would love it if you came, and I'd love it if you came. And we haven't had a chance to spend a weekend like this in forever. There will be free food and free booze!"

"I know you're worried about me, Bea," you respond, sighing.

"I'm not inviting you out of pity," she says.

"I know, I know. Just, give me some time to think it over. I've got an assignment I need to finish for one of my classes, I think it's due this Sunday night. So if I can't finish it this week I'll need to do it this weekend," you reply.

"Okay, just text me. I'm not gonna invite anyone else as my plus one, if you don't end up coming. So no rush, take your time," she says.

"Thank you. You know I appreciate you so much," you say, sighing into the cushion of your couch.

"You know I feel the same," she says, sighing too. You'd both been through breakups recently. It seemed like your hardships always occurred on nearly the same timeline, making you both able to rely on each other for understanding. And she knew getting you out of the house, especially for a weekend wedding, would be good for you. Her cousin's family was rich and hadn't held back in their planning, booking the fanciest hotel in town for everyone. They were paying for everything; the food and drinks of course, and everyone's hotel expenses. You'd knew you'd go. You'd try to finish the assignment beforehand. But even if you didn't, you'd still go.

Driving up to the front of the hotel together felt surreal. Beatrice had asked to take your car, as it wasn't the bright purple color that her's was. This place was fancy, and though neither of your cars were deluxe, at least your's was black.

"Miss McArthur?" the valet asked once you rolled your window down.

"Yeah, that's me," Beatrice said from the passenger seat, reaching over you to hand him her ID. "This is my plus one, y/n. She should be on the list."

After a brief look at his clipboard the man gave you both a satisfied nod. "Do you ladies have any bags we can carry up for you?" he asked.

"Yes, in the trunk," Beatrice answered for you, which you were grateful for. You'd never interacted with a valet before, never been in such a fancy situation in your life. You stumbled out of the car a bit awkwardly, your jean shorts and t-shirt looking ridiculous next to the suit and tie of the man in front of you. He held out his hand to you and for a moment you paused, wondering if he was offering to take your hand. But then you realized he was actually offering to take your keys. Duh.

"Thank you," you said quickly, heading around the car to meet Bea as you walked behind the man carrying your bags.

On the sixth floor you entered your shared room, a spacious and beautifully decorated space with a huge window covering the far wall. It was a sliding glass door, that led out to a balcony overlooking the river below. In the afternoon sun the water glittered, but you knew the view at night would be the real show, absolutely magical.

"Everyone is meeting in the restaurant at 7," Bea tells you, glancing at her family's group chat.

"Well then I've got a little over two hours to make myself look at least a little bit nice. Like maybe I actually belong here," you laugh, opening your bag to grab the casual dress you'd packed.

"Oh dinner tonight won't be fancy, wear whatever," Bea replies, kicking off her sandals.

"Okay but, with your cousins family not fancy would still probably be a little fancy, right?" you ask.

"You don't need to worry about fitting in, dude. No one will care," Bea replies.

"I just don't want to look like an idiot," you say, eyeing her.

"Y/n, you really need to stop worrying. This weekend is about us having fun. I'm not even that close with my cousin Amana, to be honest. We'll probably barely interact with her family. But we get to attend this fancy wedding, all expenses paid. Just wear whatever you feel like, do whatever you want to. Just promise me you'll have some fun," she says.

"Okay, fine," you respond, rolling your eyes jokingly. "I guess I'll try to enjoy this super nice luxury hotel for the weekend."

Bea laughs in relief, at hearing you joke around. It was what you both needed more of; you both had serious work and school lives already to contend with. And seriously disappointing dating lives, too.

As seven approaches you both make your way to the elevator, pausing at you exit the door to inspect the slight amount of makeup you'd put on. You hadn't worn any in weeks and it made you feel really pretty, along with the flowly sundress and sandals you'd decided to wear. You weren't always one for such feminine clothing but today it felt right, and you both bounced down the hall, spirits high. Bea led the way through the lobby to a long hallway, past what looked like a bar and some other room that had a bouncer, to the large restaurant at the end. Immediately you saw the long tables lined up, clearly set up for the wedding party. This wasn't the dress rehearsal, just the welcome dinner. It was only Friday, and the wedding wasn't until Sunday. Immediately you spotted the wine and appetizers filling the table, scanning the tables to try to find your seats.

"I can't find us Bea," you laugh, awkwardly walking past family members you'd never met before.

"Y/n, you're at our table," you hear a familiar female voice say, and turn to see Bea's mom.

"Oh, hi! Thank you!" you say as you walk over to her, giving her a quick hug.

"So glad you could join us sweetie," she says, gesturing to your seats. "See, you and Beatrice are near the end there, across from Nathan. Oh and have you met Beatrice's uncle Hongjoong before?" she asks, gesturing down the table.

You look down to see Beatrice sitting, pulling her chair under her and smiling wide. Across from her, in a casual but fitted grey t-shirt, a man smiles back, handing her a glass of wine he's just poured. He is striking, with jet black hair and tattoos, piercings donning his right ear. His jaw is sharp, his teeth perfect when he smiles. He looks maybe 27, 28. He's wearing an expensive watch, or at least a watch that looks expensive to your eyes, and a small simple chain necklace. His hair is cropped short at the sides; he looks so put together, so professional. So mature. So fucking attractive.

"That's Bea's uncle?" you ask her. It's not just his age that makes you ask. It's the fact that he's basically your dream come true. You see the muscles in his arm flex as he pours Nathan a glass too, and it makes your eyes cross for a moment.

"Well technically I think he's a second cousin, once removed, or something like that. He's a part of Wooyoung's family." Wooyoung was her husband, Bea's dad. You'd met her parents, and her brother Nathan, but never anyone else in her extended family. And you struggled to recall ever hearing about a Hongjoong before. You stared at him a moment before he moved his eyes over to you, catching you off guard. His look was mischievous, like he wants to play or mess with you. It made it hard to believe this was someone Bea called 'uncle.'

"Do you want to sit?" Bea's mom asked you.

"Yeah, sorry," you smiled at her, making you way down.

"Y/n! This is my uncle Hongjoong, and Hongjoong, this is y/n," Beatrice says as you pull out your seat next to her.

"Very nice to meet you," he says with an outstretched hand, his handshake strong and confident in a way that makes your body tingle.

"You as well," you reply, with a bashful smile. Immediately Bea asks you a question and you respond on auto-pilot, not even really hearing. Because your head is swimming in water just from being in this man's presence, and you can't focus. You don't even notice the glass of wine he'd poured you until he sets it down by your appetizer plate, gently bumping the stem on the rim of the plate to make a gentle clink. The sound makes your eyes snap up, and for some reason he looks amused.

"Oh, thank you," you say to him, bowing your head slightly. That mischievous smirk is back on his face when you lock eyes again, like he's trying to tell you something, but you can't be sure what it is. You certainly hope he's thinking what you're thinking. God, he's fucking stunning.

Those are the only words you speak to each other for the entirety of dinner. With so many people in attendance the restaurant is loud, louder still as everyone becomes tipsy, and then outright drunk on the unlimited wine.

"Hey, my parents want me a Nathan to go take pictures with them on the golf course nearby. They booked a photo shoot or something," Bea tells you, rolling her eyes slightly. "I'm not sure when we'll be back but feel free to like, go to the hot tub or do whatever around the hotel," she says.

"Okay, sounds good. Thank you, seriously," you say as you hug her. "I hope it's fun."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," she laughs. "My parents and their family photos," she shakes her head, making you giggle, as she slowly makes her way to meet her brother at the front door of the restaurant.

You take stock of yourself for a moment, making sure you have your phone and your wallet in your purse, making sure your room key is still in your wallet. You take the last swig of your second glass of wine, patting yourself on the back for not overdoing it this first night when basically everyone around you did. You start sipping on your nearly empty glass of water too, knowing you don't want to wake up hungover tomorrow. The table is basically empty, with everyone slowly clearing out or making their last requests at the bar. You decide you'll go explore in a moment, go scope out the pool and hot tub situation, and maybe see if you can figure out what room is behind that bouncer. But just as you start standing up, Hongjoong approaches the table.

"I got some more waters for the table, but it looks like they've all left," he chuckles, his arms full.

"They went to do a family photo, Bea said," you reply, stuck for a moment awkwardly between sitting and standing. Hongjoong nods, like he already knew.

"Oh, were you about to leave too? Don't let me keep you," he says, the glint back in his eye again.

"I was thinking I'd go take a look at the pool and hot tub, maybe explore a bit," you say. It sort of takes you by surprise that you're sharing this with a total stranger, given your usual instinct to not share anything with people you don't know. You easily could have excused yourself, and been exploring the hotel alone. But deep down you know why you're sharing it. You hope he picks up on that reason, too.

"That's a great idea," he says, gently setting the waters down. "Mind if I join you? I was thinking of exploring the hotel some myself."

Bingo. You smile, eyes fluttering at him for a second. You truly don't even mean to do it, but the way he looks at you has you feeling shameless.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind," you reply, stepping out from your chair and gently pushing it into the table.

"Want to take a water with you?" he asks, holding one out.

"I don't think we can just take the glass with us," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Oh, who cares," he says glancing over his shoulder, seeing all of the wait staff occupied at the bar with everyone's last minute orders. "I'll carry it out, if you're that worried," he says, cocking his head slightly to the side and eyeing you with what must be mock pity.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at him, trying to fight the smile forming on your face from betraying how much his tone and facial expression are affecting you. You turn around and start strolling out of the restaurant, not even waiting for him. Once you're exiting he's already caught up, two water glasses in hand. You turn to your right, heading for the lobby.

"Wrong way, y/n," Hongjoong says lowly from behind you, making you stop in your tracks. "The pool is out those doors at the end of the hall."

"The sign in the lobby says the door to the pool is by the front desk," you reply, looking over your shoulder at him. The hallway is dimly lit, and the shadows on his face make his jaw look even sharper.

"Well that door also leads to the pool," he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. You just stare at him a moment, not sure why you feel the instinct to argue. "You don't believe me?" he asks, chuckling and looking you dead in the eye, before obviously snaking his gaze down the entirety of your body. Now that he's standing you see the fitted black pants and black dress shoes he's wearing, making his outfit look even more professional. His thighs look strong, and his stance is one of confidence, his entire demeanor cool and collected. You want to come up with a witty retort but can't think of anything, so you just start walking the way he's said to, again passing him by without slowing down to meet him. You open the doors gently but don't stop to hold them for him, brattiness taking ahold of you. Maybe it's the fancy hotel, or the wine, but you feel like a princess who deserves whatever she wants. And right now that's to piss Hongjoong off a bit, and see the pool.

"I thought nice girls hold doors open for the elderly," he says once he's exited too, sidling up to you. You stand by the long edge of the pool, taking in the lights below the surface that dance through the water. You turn to him and roll your eyes, taking the water glass he offers you immediately. "So, what do you do?" he asks.

"I'm still in school, I'm in my senior year," you say, turning back to the water. "And I work part time as an administrative assistant in the Dean's office, to help cover some of my tuition."

"College senior," he says, like he's mulling it over. "So that makes you how old?"

"Guess," you say, turning to him again, this time with your whole body.

"22," he replies. His voice low, like he's hesitant to say it.

"Close, 23," you say, not lowering your voice to meet his.

"And how old do you think I am?" he asks you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mmm, like, 38?" you joke, squinting your eyes as you look intently at his face. The feeling of wanting to piss him off still hadn't left you.

"How astute," he replies, nodding. "People usually think I'm younger."

"You're actually 38?" you ask, bewildered.

"Actually, 40," Hongjoong replies, making your eyebrows shoot up.

"You're lying," you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

"Wow, second time tonight you've thought that. I don't know what I've done to make you think so poorly of me," he replies, that mischievous look again painting his face.

"Oh, shut up," you say, rolling your eyes harder this time, wanting to reach out and playfully punch him. Or maybe not so playfully. He's looking more and more perfect by the second, and his attitude, the way he's just so confident and calm, is making you hot and bothered. You know it maybe it's wrong, but now that you know his real age you find this whole scenario even hotter. If you were honest with yourself you'd always dreamed of fucking an older man, but the few you'd gone on dates with or had the chance to talk to had always been so immature, insecure, and underwhelming. Just like all the other guys you'd dated. It was a massive disappointment to learn that age didn't often give people that self-assured demeanor that you so desired. But clearly it did sometimes; the proof was standing in front of you.

"That wasn't very nice," Hongjoong replies, fixing you with a look of disapproval that makes your thighs clench involuntarily, as the two of you stare each other down merely feet apart. You hold his gaze as long as you can before you look down at your feet, his stoic demeanor feeling like a brick wall you can't break through.

"You're very pretty, y/n," he says, stepping forward to lift your face up to his.

"Really?" you ask him, eyes wide. Playing it just the way he likes.

"I know you know how pretty you are, you've been giving me those eyes all night," he says, looking like he disapproves. "You're a bit of brat, too, aren't you?" he asks, his hand moving to the side of your cheek.

"No comment," you giggle, and he grabs your hand, bringing it to his upper arm. You grab onto his bicep as he moves his hand to your waist pulling you two closer.

"Dance with me," he says, pulling you slightly into his chest.

"There isn't any music playing," you say, laughing. And it's the way that he doesn't just automatically laugh at your little comments that really gets you going.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me very much," he says seriously, pulling you in and starting to rock you back and forth. You dance together for a few minutes, no words being exchanged as your bodies get used to the proximity, as your mind begins to swim again, even more so now that his hands are on you. You want him to kiss you, do anything, now, but he keeps his hands where they are, still leading you around in slow circles. Fuck it, you think. You lift your hands to his face and pull him in, your lips meeting in a perfect kiss, his hand on your waist moving up your back as he holds you to him, leaning you back as he deepens it. You hold steadily onto his bicep for balance, your breathing fast as you stick your tongue in his mouth, not hiding your desperation. You don't care to, not when you've spent two months without this feeling, tortured over the idea that no one at your school would ever consider you an option after your last relationship ended the way it did.

And just when it seems like you're the only desperate one, Hongjoong moves his hands down, running them up your thighs and under your dress to find your panties. He finds none, much to his surprise, which makes his dick harden even further. He gropes your ass, deepening the kiss more, making you arch your back in neediness. And then he snakes his hand around, slowly moving to your core, before suddenly running a finger over your slit, making you gasp. You've forgotten where you are, totally engrossed in the feelings he's giving you. You buck your hips against his hand, moaning pathetically into his mouth, your legs feeling like they might give out on you. He starts circling your entrance, finally pushing one finger in maybe an inch, when you finally remember where you are.

"Wait, fuck, not out here," you say, pulling back from him. He pulls his hand away immediately, his fingers glistening in the lights of the night.

"You don't want everyone to see?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"Not when the people paying for me to be here could see," you say. Your lips look swollen and wet from the kiss, and it makes him want to grab you again.

"You're the one who kissed me," he says, his voice low. And you know there's more he's implying, that you weren't just the one who kissed him but that you had rocked against his hand, had wanted his touch. That you'd kissed him desperately, making him unable to stop himself. The implication is inappropriate, the accusation he's laid on you not fair in the slightest. He has no way of knowing what you were trying to make him do, or what you wanted to happen. You hadn't said a word. And yet, he's totally right, making it hard for you to respond.

"That's-," you sigh, your pussy still throbbing from your proximity.

"My room is on the 7th floor," he says.

"Okay," you reply. It's all you can say. You stand completely still, stuck to the spot, waiting for him to move. Instead he puts his wet fingers in his mouth, sucking off your slick in one smooth motion, humming in satisfaction. Your mouth gapes at his lewdness, struck now by just how visible you both obviously are.

"Let's go," he says, motioning his head towards the door.

Your legs move automatically, your mind playing over and over the visual of him licking his fingers, the look of utter bliss on his face. As you walk the hallway he comes behind you, putting a hand on the small of your back, making your body melt into him slightly. It feels good but you gently remove his hand, not wanting anyone to see. You pray that neither Bea nor any of her family are in the lobby when you enter, and thankfully, your prayers are answered. Nor does anyone join you two on the elevator, which makes you willing to stand closer to Hongjoong than you would any other stranger. But still, you don't touch him. As you both exit you walk behind him, almost enough space between you that you could believably look like two total strangers, walking to separate rooms. Until he unlocks his door, holding it open as you slip inside, like you're really not supposed to be in here.

As soon as he closes the door he's pulled you to him, his back slamming into the wall as you nearly crash together, the air between you thick with lust.

"I'm almost twice as old as you, y/n," he whispers in your ear, feeling your pussy clench against his thigh that you're straddling, your mouth on his neck. "You like that," he states, not even asking you anymore. "You like that I'm way too old for you. Too old to be touching you like this."

It's wrong, so wrong and you know it, but the further he pushes it the more you're surrendering to what's happening, to what your body truly craves.

"You've never been fucked right by those stupid boys at your college, have you? You need me to fuck you right, to show you how good you can feel. That's why you were bratty with me, you wanted me to be riled up. Want me to fuck you hard, like I'm mad. Like I'm punishing you," he growls, his breathing heavy as you bite down on his neck, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through his head. "Fuck, you really want me mad, don't you?" he asks and you whine in response, your whole body tingly with anticipation.

"Get on your knees," he says, pulling you back from him, your hair already a mess from his hands, the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders and nearly making your tits spill out. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you follow immediately, your wide eyes looking up at him in desire, his thumb running over your bottom lip. "I like when you do what I say," he says, pinching your cheek and making you blush, the praise making your insides turn to jelly. He unzips his pants smoothly, undoing the button and swiftly pulling out his hard cock, the tip a slight shade of red and already leaking slightly.

"Look what you did to me," he says, palming himself, your tongue nearly falling out of your mouth as you salivate over his beautiful cock. "I thought for a moment I'd have to come up here and deal with this all on my own, after you eye-fucked me all dinner," he continues, slowly stroking his length, moving closer to your open and waiting lips. "I should have known you weren't wearing any panties from the way you were acting," he says, gently running his tip along your outstretched tongue, spreading your spit around your face with it and making a mess of you. "No bra, no panties. You wanted to be fucked tonight." Slowly he enters your mouth, gently holding your head as he pushes further in, gently tapping the back of your throat and making you gag. You moan, your pussy clenching around nothing, wanting him to fill all of your holes at once. "That feels good, doesn't it. Gagging on my cock," he smirks, your eyes fluttering closed as he pushes in again, this time a little harder. "Eyes on me baby, don't look away," he says, slowly beginning to fuck your throat, gently enough not to choke you but deep enough to make you repeatedly gag, your spit covering his cock and running down your chin, your face a complete mess. "Fuck, your mouth feels good," he groans, his face scrunching up in pleasure for a moment, before he looks down to meet your eyes again, which are now glued to him, glued to every change in his expression, every flick of his tongue across his bottom lip. "I'm gonna go harder baby, I know you can take it," he warns you before picking up his pace, his cock nearly bottoming out in your mouth as he holds your head in place, repeatedly fucking into your throat. You're automatically swallowing around him, your body's reflexive actions taking over. "Fuck, so good," Hongjoong sighs, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen and your body swimming in pleasure. You could let him use your throat all night if he wanted to, especially if he keeps talking to you like that. Like you're dumb and you don't even know what you want. Like he has to tell you or you'll never figure it out.

Finally you choke hard, your body instinctively pulling you back, and he pulls out of your mouth letting you catch you breath, stroking a hand through your hair. You run a hand across your mouth, trying in vain to clean yourself up a bit, wiping the saliva on your dress and staring up at him open mouthed, your entire body covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Hey, don't ruin this," he says pulling at your dress, moving behind you to help take it off. He slowly undoes the zipper, gently pulling the straps down and off your arms before helping you stand to step out of it. Completely bare, you stand in front of him, his hand coming up to spank you, grabbing your ass hungrily in his hand. You yelp at the impact, like you weren't expecting it. Like you hadn't been sticking your ass out ever so slightly, arching your back to add to the affect. "Don't write checks you can't cash, doll," he says, making you giggle and turn your head to face him, a look of utter delight on your face. "It really makes you happy when I scold you, doesn't it," he says, staring you down.

"Why are you so clothed?" you ask, finding your words.

"You want to see me naked?" he teases.

"Just seems like you're hiding something. Maybe under all that nice clothing you're really not that built," you laugh, knowing it would strike a nerve. It wasn't hard to tell that he cared about his figure.

"Go sit on your hands on the bed," he retorts, his eyes narrowing, as he starts taking off his watch, undoing the clasp on his chain. He sets both down on the table gently, pulling his shirt over his head next, revealing that most of his abdomen is also covered in tattoos, his broad shoulders and broad chest. Slowly he sits on the side of the bed to untie his shoes, periodically looking up at you to make sure you haven't moved, moving almost comically slow. You wriggle in anticipation, watching him slowly reveal himself, his muscular thighs finally on display to you as he pulls down his pants and boxers, his cock hard and a deeper shade of red now, still glistening from your spit.

"Lay on your stomach," he says, moving over you when you oblige, raking the hair out of your face so he can see you. "This is what you get for sticking your ass out," he says, swiftly moving down to lick over your hole, making you gasp at the coldness of his tongue. Immediately the feeling runs to your clit, your entire crotch alive with pleasure, your back arching instinctively to meet his movements. He spreads your cheeks to get better access, moving his tongue in quick circles around your tight entrance, your body slowly relaxing from the pleasure he's providing.

And suddenly he's off of you, reaching into his bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle, swiftly lubing the fingers of his right hand and moving them to your waiting hole, gently pushing one in. You groan, the tight muscles stretching already, your body arching even further to give him the perfect angle as he gently starts pumping in and out of you.

"You like getting your ass eaten, I knew you would. So dirty," he says, making you whine in agreement, your brows scrunched together in pleasure. Soon he adds another finger, the stretch again making you groan, your body instinctively tightening up at the intrusion. "I know you can take it," he says, not even attempting to comfort you. "Don't brats like getting their asses fucked?" he asks, his words making your clit ache, your body finally releasing again as he works you open with two fingers, taking the opportunity to quickly add another. "I knew it," he says, satisfied with how quickly he's stretched you open, how pliant your body is in his hands, how he's getting exactly what he wants from you. Still fucking you with his fingers, he opens the lube bottle again with his other hand, generously dousing his achingly hard cock. Gently he pulls his fingers out of you, frozen for a moment staring at the way your hole has opened up, nearly drooling from the visual.

"Spread you legs," he says, pushing your knees apart himself, pulling you ass up towards him, just where he wants you. Lining himself up, he slowly pushes in, the stretch even more severe this time, making you whine in pain, your breaths short and stifled with your head now shoved into his pillows. "What, you can't take it? Is it too big?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "My little brat can't take my cock in her ass?"

Tears start forming in your eyes from how turned on you are, the pain a secondary feeling as it all starts to feel just right, as it starts morphing into only pleasure as your muscles finally relent. You feel like you're being split open, like you're opened up more than ever before, like he's gutting you from the inside. Finally he bottoms out, reaching into you further than you thought you could feel, your clit throbbing painfully with need.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans from above you, brushing a hand along your cheek in an almost sweet gesture, seeing the single tear stain on your cheek. He waits a moment, waiting to feel if your body is ready, and suddenly your hips are moving into his like your body is begging him to move. He slowly pulls out, almost all the way, then thrusts back in, making you gasp at the intense pleasure, your breath nearly getting caught in your throat. Grabbing your hips he starts forcefully thrusting, chasing his own pleasure as he's sucked into your ass, the tight muscles threatening to make him come in an instant. Desperate for some relief you move your hand to your clit, desperately trying to circle it as he rocks you hard with the force of his thrusts. His eyes are glued to your ass, glued to the way his cock looks buried inside you, and your face, the way your mouth hangs permanently open as you moan in earnest, clearly not controlling a single sound that is coming out. The raw sounds make him fuck into you even harder, the way you sound so pathetically fucked out, like you can't believe this feels so good. Eventually his eyes roam down again and spot your hand, swatting it away in an instant, his anger boiling up again.

"Is my cock not enough?" he scolds, his voice gravelly from breathing so raggedly, the air in the room stiflingly hot. In this position it's hard, but quickly he finds a good angle and lands a sharp smack on your clit, the pain lancing through your core like lightning, and suddenly your whole body is shaking, your nerves completely on fire. "Even with my cock buried in your ass you want to piss me off, don't you?" His voice is raised, nearly to the point of losing control, but still very calculated. He lands another sharp slap on your clit, this time not as hard, but in an instant your orgasm washes over you, your whole body shaking hard as you squeeze down around his cock making it hard for him to keep moving.

"Fuck, baby, shit," Hongjoong curses, his climax hitting him by surprise, his cock milked by your tight walls squeezing down on him, your body taught with just how hard you came. His orgasm crashes over him fast and hard, his body going limp just after yours does, as you both collapse in a pile on the bed, his cum coating the walls of your ass in silky wetness. Your legs are still shaking, tucked up underneath you, his cock still buried deep inside. The position is awkward but you don't even feel it, the pleasure still rippling through you as you breath hard into the soft pillow. Hongjoong crashes onto your back, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, his chest and stomach rapidly rising and falling from his heavy breathing. His skin feels sticky and hot against yours, his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he plants a kiss there, intently watching your face as you come down.

"I'm gonna pull out now, okay?" he asks, eliciting a hum of agreement from you. Slowly he pulls backwards, his cum spilling out of you the moment he's pulled out entirely, spilling down your ass cheek onto the bedsheets. Hongjoong makes his way to the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up before grabbing a washcloth for you, dousing it in luke warm water. Coming back to the bed he gently moves you onto your back, to the side of the pool of cum. He gently wipes you down, making you moan when he brushes over your clit, making himself chuckle.

Glancing over at the clock beside his bed you see it's nearly 11pm, your mind spinning. Quickly you move to the ground to rummage through your purse, glancing at your phone to see a text from Beatrice reading 'I'm back now, don't stay out too late miss.'

Be back soon, you write back.

"I should be going," you say, trying to stand up, your wobbly legs making it difficult. Hongjoong is at your side in a moment, stabilizing you, helping you to sit down on the bed while he grabs your dress off the floor. You hastily pull it over your head, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the knots that have formed. Quickly you zip the back of your dress, shove your phone in your purse and stand to slip on your sandals, not wanting to keep her waiting. The sudden quietness of Hongjoong also has you feeling slightly on edge, and really your head is just spinning, from every unexpected thing that happened.

"I'm not still mad, you know," he says gently, grabbing your hand as you move to breeze past him.

"Yeah?" you ask, looking at him with confusion.

"You don't need to still be acting like a kid who is in trouble," he says, kissing your hand. "That was just, that. You can talk to me like anyone else, now."

You eye him, swallowing thickly. What does one even say, now? Could he tell how inexperienced you were with hookups?

"I'm not sure what's going on in that pretty head of yours. I hope it's happy thoughts."

You nod, a smirk playing on your lips. You're speechless, unable to think a complete thought. It all just plays in your head, his tongue on your ass, his fingers stretching you out, his cock pounding into you so hard. And the smack on your clit, the way it made you come so fast, the ghost of the feeling still present in your core.

"Not those thoughts. You're gonna jump me again," he laughs, and finally you smack him, punching his arm soon afterwards. Pushing past him you walk fast, opening his door and spinning around, your eyes piercing as you meet his.

"What, you can't take my teasing?" he asks, but suddenly his door swings shut, your face gone in a flash.

As you saunter down the hall to the elevator you feel fucking amazing, swinging your purse over your shoulder and flipping your hair to the side, your sleepy eyes boring holes into the metal doors.

Well, she did tell you to have some fun. You just hoped Beatrice wouldn't be too mad you fucked her uncle.

[astonmartinii]

bite the hand | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem musician!reader [face claim: clairo + clairo, boygenius and taylor swift music]

having fans are great, but sometimes it goes to far and you have to bite the hands that feed you

MASTERLIST | TIPS

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 913,551 others

tagged: beabadoobee

yourusername: howdy ladies, gentlemen and all that's in between, it's single release day. i had so much fun on this track with bea and getting to pour all of my love for maxy onto such a cute melody... hope you all enjoy my loves x

view all comments

user1: YES THANK YOU MOM THIS IS JUST WHAT I NEEDED TODAY

landonorris: how many letters in devoured?

yourusername: ATE 💅

landonorris: ate and left NO crumbs

maxverstappen1: why oh why did i ever introduce you two

yourusername: because you love us both?

maxverstappen1: i sure love you, jury is out on lando

landonorris: boooooooooo

user2: ugh if y/n had to date an f1 driver why couldn't she go for one of the hot ones like lando or charles?

user3: for real like bro he just drags her down

user4: you can't be serious? he's a professional athlete at the top of his sport and by what they show us a massive softy who loves y/n? why would we want anything else for her?

liked by yourusername

user5: y/n will NOT stand for any max bashing idk why you guys try it every time

maxverstappen1: so unbelievably talented and the artist of her generation

yourusername: maybe it's because i have a top notch muse ?

maxverstappen1: NO NO IT'S ALL YOU YOU ARE THE ARTIST I AM JUST LUCKY TO BE IN YOUR VICINITY

yourusername: i am the lucky one baby

danielricciardo: leave your cute shit offline i already have to hear it all of the time let me be on instagram

yourusername: nope love my boyfriend too much

maxverstappen1: nope love my girlfriend too much

user6: they're so insufferable i love them

user7: this song bangs so much more when you pretend it's not about ... him

user8: bro is acting like max verstappen ran over his puppy

user7: sorry i don't want a GREAT artist and BEAUTIFUL woman being dragged down by THAT

user9: you are insane, you do not know y/n, you enjoy her music, that doesn't give you the right to have power over things in her personal life

user10: you people are why this fanbase has a bad name and before long y/n will get fed up too

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 829,043 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: the off weekend spent right

view all comments

user13: i need a man so obsessed with me that all he does is post my face

user14: crazy that all this guy does is wax lyrical about how much he loves her and she's like never at his races ... interesting

user15: and her weirdly entitled fanbase say he doesn't deserve her when she clearly doesn't support him as much as he supports her

yourusername: i love you and our soft little weekends, i wanna do it all the time :(

maxverstappen1: gosh our day jobs are really quite unconventional i guess we should just retire to a remote island to live on a small farm?

yourusername: you said it not me i just wanna be anywhere with you

maxverstappen1: i love you <3

user16: RETIRE TO A REMOTE ISLAND? SOMEONE TELL THIS RAT THAT IF HE IS THE REASON WE DON'T GET MUSIC WE WILL RIDE AT DAWN

user17: babe have you ever thought that maybe the reason he said that he wants to retire away from everyone because you people stick your noses in all the time

danielricciardo: @yourusername a soft weekend you say? how many hours did max spend on the sim?

yourusername: a solid ten but he even let me have a go

danielricciardo: oh wow that man really is in love

maxverstappen1: i think she'd rival a couple of you with some practice, i'm working on getting her to join redline

user18: ugh this is so annoying... preaching like you like spending time with your girlfriend and then spend it all playing a video game and letting her have one go?

user19: the sim is something f1 drivers use to train? if anything max probably shouldn't have let y/n have a go she could've accidentally changed the set up or other things

user20: i'm seeing charles and lewis training this off weekend and he just lies in bed with this girl? he really needs to ditch her to stay at the top

user21: literally two comments up is them talking about him training on the sim the jealousy is insane from both fans at this point

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 893,442 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: happy to take home another win in mexico, i love this track and am forever thankful to this team and my loved ones.

view all comments

user25: holy shit idk what f1 can do but the paddock looked insane today there's no way that is safe for the drivers and personnel.

user26: there's so many videos of people rushing max and although some of them look like max fans who are just excited but there were a lot of very rude rival fans trying to get too close for comfort

yourusername: forever proud of you !! you're like jimmy and sassy with zoomies on crack <3

maxverstappen1: that is the highest of the high compliment thank you my love

yourusername: champagne is on me girlypops no expense spared for the love of my life

redbullracing: do we all qualify as girlypops ???

yourusername: of course !! don't think i didn't notice the supply of vegan pizza rolls you truly are the lactose intolerant allies of the grid

user27: can she stop spending all her hard earned money on this scrub that just uses her

user28: bro makes millions in a year he doesn't NEED her but that doesn't mean he can't want her? you guys are crazy

user29: some of these fans need to do some serious evaluation, drivers are not zoo animals, they are people and deserve respect and that includes respect to their personal space.

user30: for real like why was brad basically having to act as a body guard for max and y/n

user31: this was such a dangerous event for max and y/n. they're both very famous individuals and should be able to move around the paddock without being in danger.

user32: max joked about getting a body guard for this weekend but i think he should seriously consider it especially is y/n is coming to more races while she's not touring

danielricciardo: it has been brought to my attention that y/n has stated that she will spare no expense, i am making a formal enquiry into whether this will cover my bar tab?

yourusername: i will within reason but only because your bffs with maxy and will drink the fruity lil cocktails with me

danielricciardo: REAL men drink cocktails

maxverstappen1: do NOT disrespect the humble gin and tonic on my post

user33: i'm glad they're in high spirits after the shenanigans in the paddock today and the booing towards max :(

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, maxverstappen1 and 1,442,776 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: there is no full way to articulate my feelings right now. my fans have to respect my personal relationships and my boundaries. i appreciate your support but you have to understand that i am not your personal friend and you do not have the right to my personal life. i also understand that in sport, there are a lot of heightened emotions, but drivers do not owe you their safety. this is something i have felt for a long time since max and i became a public couple and the onslaught of hate came for him. you may say that it comes from a good place, or for my best interests, but the manner in which some 'fans' have expressed their 'worries' is unacceptable. i do not want to bite the hand that feeds me, but there's only so many slaps me and my loved ones can take from the hand.

bite the hand is out on all streaming platforms. please listen closely a re-evaluate your relationships with your favourite artists, thank you.

comments are not available on this post.

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,220,664 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: i love you and i will never let other people tell me when i'm not enough get in my head again. we both appreciate our support and acknowledge that we would be nowhere without it. but our relationships are ours, please respect this.

comments are not available on this post

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,344,229 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: okay sad songs are important but it's now time for me to sing my wee little heart out about how much i love you and how i know we were always made for each other.

i love you maxy, invisible string is all about my muse. out now.

view all comments

user41: IT BANGS I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

user42: ffs i guess we're stuck with this man for life now ...

user43: LISTEN TO BITE THE HAND AND BANG YOUR HEAD AGAINST THE WALL AND HEAR THE PINBALLS OF YOUR BRAIN GOING CRAZU

user44: speak your truth sis

maxverstappen1: ISN'T IT JUST SO PRETTY TO THINK THAT ALL ALONG THERE WAS SOME INVISIBLE STRING TYING YOU TO ME

maxverstappen1: so true, you make me believe in soulmates YOU ARE MY SOULMATE I LOVE YOU

yourusername: i love you to the moon and to saturn for real

yourusername: and that thread of gold is made from all of your trophies LET'S GO RAHHHHHHHH I'M SO PROUD OF YOU

maxverstappen1: the gold of that grammy @thegrammys yall heard bags?

user45: the way they're each others wags and completely embrace it

user46: i love that they're still their goofy asses they don't give a shit abou t yall

user47: y/n dropped a heart wrenching track and immediately went ... but hey i'm SUPER happy and that's all you're going to hear

landonorris: so like can y/n remix the dutch anthem so we can actually bop every weekend

yourusername: i kinda wanna marry the king of the netherlands so maybe not

landonorris: you broke up ?????

yourusername: no you dumbass max is the king of the netherlands

maxverstappen1: not factually but i do have a medal from the royal family so same thing

landonorris: why do you guys have to clown on me every time

yourusername: you're like our baby brother it's our duty

maxverstappen1: sorry not sorry

user48: you could never make me hate them they're made for each other

user49: finally bite the hand shamed the crazy bitches into finally shutting the fuck up

note: i love bite the hand i actually fear it might be my fave boygenius song and i recommend it to everyone. i actually did my university dissertation on parasocial relationships with athletes so like i feel like a good couple of sports fans could do with a listen to bite the hand. hope yall enjoyed and had a good weekend !! (chelsea gave me a heart attack but what's new, even though i was too sick to go to the game:()

[sungbeam]

𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢 𝐝𝐨!

nonidol!jung wooyoung x f!reader

the one where you're stuck in denial and wooyoung's determined to not be stuck in the friend zone.

7.7k words, fluff, f2l, they've kinda got a banter thing going on, he's in a frat cuz i said so, college au, swearing, kissing, mentions of alcohol and food, pining, obliviousness, jealousy/insecurity if you squint...? (sorry mark), barely proofread, overall pretty wholesome

a/n: okay... wooyo brainrot going hard lately, but anyways, hope u enjoy <3

The horizon glittered like a sea of molten gold when you stepped onto the sandy shores of the beach. Seagulls squawked overhead, riding the setting sky like your friends currently in the surf. You smiled to yourself, inhaling the briny air and slipping the shades off your nose and up onto your head. Your sandals hung limp in your hand as grains of sand embedded themselves into the soles of your bare feet while you jogged down the hill toward the bonfire and crowd of people.

The last week of summer before the fall semester brought your friends to convince you to come to their last bonfire at the beach. It wasn't difficult to persuade you.

“Oy, Yn! Head's up!"

Your eyes shot open and your head whipped up. Sandals fell from your hand as they came up to grab the frisbee out of the sky. It was plastic and blue, with scratches engraved into its surface from thorough use.

Hoots of approval erupted from further down the bank. "Nice catch!" Yeonjun praised as he jogged to meet you in the middle. A light blue Hawaiian shirt hung loose off his lean frame, unbuttoned to display the glorious, toned muscles of his chest.

You grinned, handing him the frisbee before picking your sandals back up. The two of you walked together back towards the group. "Thanks. How're you, Jun?"

He pulled you into a brief, yet affectionate side hug. "I'm great! You?"

"Same here." You had been itching for an outing—and dreading the first day back to class—so this would be good for you. “Who's here today?”

“Ah, y'know, the usuals.” He grinned at you then, sending you a teasing wink. “Your lover boy's here for sure. He wouldn't miss this for the world.”

Your skin warmed at the playful comment and you were failing to pretend it was just because it was hot out here. You rolled your eyes. “He is not my lover boy.”

“Based on the fact you knew who I was talking about though,” he drawled with a singsong tone. He let out a loud guffaw at your less than gruntled expression. “You know, he ditched his frat's annual pool party to be here.”

“That's his prerogative—I don't know how that relates to me,” you said with your palms raised up helplessly.

As you turned around to walk in front of him, Yeonjun wrinkled his nose with a grin. “It's cute when you're in denial.”

You scoffed, backpedaling in the opposite direction to where Changbin was hollering for him to hurry up with the frisbee. “Denial, as if.”

“Whatever you say, Cher,” he snickered, then raised his hand up in goodbye to jog across the sands to the game of frisbee.

You huffed a laugh and shook your head. The sun glared in your eyes as you trudged through the sand toward the sounds of your other friends hollering at you from the barbeque and speaker system set up. You flicked your shades back over your eyes, an easy smile coming to your face. “Hi everyone! Smells delicious over here.”

Chan was stationed at the small, portable barbeque with a bottle of beer in his hand. He smiled as you neared, digging his hand into the cooler beside him to pass you a fresh bottle of hard lemonade. “You're right on time, Yn. Dinner is almost ready.”

“I do believe I have impeccable timing,” you mused, thanking him while accepting the bottle. You dropped your sandals to the sand by your feet so you could free your hands and twist the bottle cap off.

“So glad you could make it, Yn!” Lia chimed in from her spot beneath the beach tent. She and Chaeryeong were lying on their stomachs with books splayed out before them for a light beach read.

“Hey guys! Glad I could make it, too—”

“Oh my god, is that Yn Ln?”

Your head whipped around in the direction of the new voice, and you watched as Felix trudged up the sandy bank with his surfboard under his arm, his free hand brushing back his strands of damp hair.

“Felix Lee, you've been chickening out on me all summer.”

He gave a lazy smile back at you as the two of you clasped hands in greeting, his being cold and wet from the waves and yours dry and gritty with sand. “You say that like you haven't been working all summer. Anyways, there's someone who's been dying to see you even more than me.”

You could spot the impish mischief in the blond's eyes from a mile away. “I feel like everyone's been telling me the same thing, but I haven't seen Wooyoung anywhere.”

“First time she says my name, and it's not even to my face,” came a dramatic sigh from somewhere behind you.

The organ in your chest kicked into action and you turned to face the newcomer bounding toward the group from up the hill where the parking lot was. He was clad in a pair of board shorts and a tank top, his skin glowing in the golden afternoon light. “Speak of the Devil,” you jested, poking your tongue into your cheek as you smiled.

Jung Wooyoung peered at you from over the rim of his sunglasses as they slipped down the slope of his nose, then pushed them up to nestle in his locks of dark brown hair. “That nickname's a new one.”

“It's an expression, Jung,” you said, eyebrow arched.

He gave yet another melodramatic sigh. “And she's back to the last name-calling. Would it kill you to try a 'sweetheart’ or a 'darling’ one of these days?”

“I think Yn would rather go into cardiac arrest before calling you by your first name, mate,” Felix gave a warm laugh as he sidled up beside his friend, propping his arm up onto Wooyoung's shoulder.

You lifted your bottle of lemonade in salute. “Lix, you are not wrong. Where've you been anyways, Jung?”

“Did you hear that? She cares about my whereabouts,” he gasped in giddy delight, palm over his mouth as if he and Felix were co conspirators. “I'll have you know, Ln, that Hyunjin and I were scouting for ice cream carts, but he had a phone call to take so I came back here.”

You gave a pleasant hum, knocking back a sip of the spiked lemonade. “An ice cream cart? A man after my own heart.”

“Took you that long to notice?”

You weren't given much time to ponder on that statement before everyone's attention turned to Chan, who announced that it was finally time to eat. By some miraculous force of nature, Hyunjin heard Chan's call, too, and came barreling down the hill toward base camp a few moments later. The frisbee was laid to rest, the books were marked for later, and the bonfire was set ablaze.

With delicious eats and favored company, the lot of you gathered around with one another to have dinner and watch the sun slowly sink into the horizon line. It was the perfect cap to a long and warm summer.

A few hours later, when the sun had only just disappeared from view to leave the sky a lingering shade of hazy orange, you settled beside Lia, Chaeryeong, and Yeonjun on one side of the fire pit while Chan sat on his stool with a ukulele he kept in his backseat. (You were pretty sure that ukulele lived in his backseat at this rate. Once, you saw him buckle the thing with its own seatbelt. To each their own, you supposed.)

“So Wooyoung-ah,” drawled Changbin from his perch beside Hyunjin, as the two of them plucked chips out of the same bag, “did Hongjoong say if movie night was confirmed for next Friday?”

All eyes flickered over to Wooyoung expectantly, and you found yourself meeting his gaze as his own flitted from your eyes and back to Changbin. “I’m pretty sure we're still on for Friday, yeah. All of you better be there,��� he said pointedly, his finger drawing over the group.

“What time is it again?” Yeonjun asked as he shoved a marshmallow into his cheek. You smiled to yourself and poked at it, making him send an adorable scowl your way.

Wooyoung pursed his lips. “Ah… it should start around nine o'clock. But make sure you guys text me first so I can let you in. Sometimes the pledges don't care to ask before collecting fees at the door.”

Nods and murmurs of agreement resounded from around the group. Each one of you had your own experience with getting hassled for entry fee at the ATZ fraternity door before Wooyoung or one of his frat brothers came to collect you. You remembered Felix once joking about having all of your names on a list or something.

“Ln, you're coming, aren't you?” Wooyoung nodded at you from across the bonfire. He leaned his elbows onto his knees, his fine features illuminated by the fires.

Your pulse skipped. “Hm? Oh, uhm, yeah I'm pretty sure.”

A smile curled onto his lips. “Good.”

From beside you, Yeonjun lightly smacked the back of his hand against your shoulder. “Hey, you should totally invite that guy from our Econ class—y’know from last quarter—?”

Your eyebrows creased. “Mark?”

“Who's Mark?” The question Wooyoung posed was innocent, but you couldn't help hyperfixate on the way he tilted his head and pressed his lips together.

And for some reason, you wanted to clear this up. “Mark from Econ,” you said. “He, Jun, and I used to sit with each other during class. I dunno if he'd wanna come with…” You somewhat kept in touch with Mark over the summer, but it wasn't like the two of you hung out solo or anything.

Yeonjun shoved another marshmallow into his mouth, but still spoke through it, “Mawk's cool doe. I fink he iked you.”

“Ooh, someone had a crush on you, Yn?” Hyunjin snickered.

You wrinkled your nose at him. “He did not have a crush on me; he was just nice.”

“You should invite him anyway!” Chaeryeong piped up as she leaned over you and Lia to steal a marshmallow from Yeonjun's bag. The owner of said bag watched the stolen marshmallow get swallowed whole with wide eyes. “More the merrier.”

“As long as Woo lets him in,” Felix muttered into his plastic cup so his words were slightly muffled. You didn't hear what he said, but you saw Wooyoung whack him and induce a Felix-standard fairy giggle.

You reached into Yeonjun's marshmallow bag, pretending he wasn't gawking at you with even wider eyes to guilt you into not taking his precious. “Okay, I will ask, but no promises.”

“Who the fuck is Mark from Econ?”

San barely glanced up from what he was reading and he flipped the page to the tune of Wooyoung's rapid pacing of their shared room. “He's from Econ, I'm guessing.”

Wooyoung stopped in the middle of the open space between their beds, hands braced on their hips. He had just gotten home from the bonfire after having dropped off Hyunjin, Yeonjun, and Changbin at their apartment. When he'd arrived home to the ATZ fraternity on Greek Row, he had not been surprised to find nearly everyone still awake, even at one in the morning.

San, as always, had his nose buried in a bout of nightly reading. He claimed it helped him sleep better, but how could it if he sometimes stayed up until five in the morning because he was so invested?

“That's very helpful, thanks,” Wooyoung deadpanned.

His friend spared him a glance from over the book's edge. Then after one peak at his sorry state, San sighed and stuck an old receipt into the book to mark it for later. “Did they mention a last name? Mark who?”

Wooyoung waved his hand around. “Agh, I dunno. Yeonjun said in the car ride home something about a Mark Lee…”

San blinked, head tilting to the side in thought. “Mark Lee? Like the Mark Lee from NCT down the street?”

For a moment, Wooyoung only stared with furrowed brows, allowing the information presented to process through his brain. When it hit him, it was clear as day. He groaned, dragging his palms down his face as he plopped down on the edge of his bed. “We can't let him into Friday's movie night, Sannie.”

“And why not? He's a nice dude.”

“That is exactly why we can't let him in!” At the way San's face arranged itself into the epitome of confusion, Wooyoung waved his hands around in a manic craze. “If he gets cozy with Yn, my chances are ruined.”

San gave up; he picked up his book again. “Sounds like a skill issue.”

“Movie night? Dark setting? Sharing blankets? Fairy lights overhead?” Wooyoung flopped onto his back and glared at the ceiling. It was the perfect way to get closer to you if he could somehow make it not weird since you were almost always with one of your other friends. This could arguably be his big breakthrough with you; it had all of the makings of a romantic night… as long as everything went right.

He just needed to be absolutely sure that your feelings and his feelings were on the same page.

San sighed, the book flopping onto his lap. “Why can't you just—I don't know—insert yourself?” He made a motion with his arm, his dimples digging into his cheeks as he pressed his lips together in a deadpan, arm jutting straightforward. “Insert. Like… insert.”

Wooyoung craned his head up from his position. “Like—insert?”

“Insert,” San affirmed. “She sits down, and you sit down next to her before anyone else can. Easy.”

“So you want me to be a parasite?”

San scoffed and fixed Wooyoung with a pointed look. “If you're not going to tell her to her face that you like her—”

“Parasitism, it is!”

As the days grew closer to the ATZ frat's annual fall movie night, you had to admit that you might have been severely procrastinating on extending an invitation to Mark. Mark was, by all counts, a nice guy. He was a good guy, in fact. But it wasn't like the two of you were buddy-buddy with each other, as Yeonjun made it sound like to everyone else. It was the equivalent of your mom asking you to invite your neighbor to your birthday party—they were nice enough, but you weren't close enough to ensure this wouldn't be awkward.

Plus, you couldn't get this sticky feeling out of the back of your mind about Yeonjun claiming Mark liked you. There was no problem, per se, with a guy liking you. It was just that… you weren't interested in him like that. You also didn't want other people thinking that you were interested in him either, and getting the wrong idea.

You tried to convince yourself that you weren't interested in anyone at the moment, but you knew, deep in your heart of hearts, that wasn't true. You just didn't want to admit it. (A tragedy, indeed.)

When the first Friday night of the university term rolled around, you and your friends pulled up outside the ATZ frat house without Mark Lee. You'd admitted to them that it was awkward, so the subject was easily brushed away. There was nothing they could do about it now, anyway.

When they strolled up to the entryway, Yeonjun told the pledges at the front that they were with Wooyoung. As per protocol, they forced you all to wait outside until Wooyoung could get there from wherever he was within the house. You could hear the music thumping from the backyard, along with chatter and laughter, all from people waiting for the movie night to start.

You shivered as you hugged your arms around your body, a cool autumn breeze blowing past. “Damn, I should've brought a jacket,” you laughed, hopping around from foot to foot to stay warm. Or maybe you should've worn a sweater rather than a T-shirt over your pajama shorts.

Lia perked up. “Oh! I think I have o—”

Felix's eyes widened as he interjected, “No, you don't!”

Everyone passed Felix a strange look, especially you and Lia. Curiously, you watched as Felix seemingly communicated with Lia in silent, urgent facial expressions before smiling at you like his regular, ray-of-sunshine self.

You blinked. What in the world…?

Lia turned back toward you with an apologetic wince on her face. “I think I took my jacket out of the backseat before I left the house. Sorry, Yn.”

“Oh, that's okay,” you assured her. “I'll, uh, probably steal Chan's blanket or something once we get settled.”

Wooyoung appeared at the door moments later, a lollipop stick between his teeth and a cozy dark blue hoodie on his frame. Like many others here tonight, he was in a pair of pajama pants and fluffy slippers. “Hey guys! Come on in.”

Thankful for the excellent timing, you all slipped inside the front doors of the frat to get to the backyard. The movie night was usually held in the backyard space just because it could hold more people. The movie was then projected against the back of the house with an old projector that was apparently passed down from generation to generation of the frat. There was oftentimes a table to the side that was stocked with snacks and booze for all those attending.

Wooyoung led the group of you out into the backyard, specifically to a spot with a decent view, already laid out with picnic blankets and regular blankets. “Tada!” He exclaimed with jazz hands, catching the amused gaze of others nearby. “I reserved a spot for all of us!”

“Without permission!” Somebody—you recognized Yunho's teasing grin from over by the snack table—yelled.

“Seonghwa hyung said I could!” Wooyoung shot back in proper little sibling fashion. He stuck one of his hands into his pockets and took his lollipop out. “Anyways, help yourselves!”

“This is really cool of you, dude,” Changbin said as he bumped Wooyoung's fist and settled on one corner of the setup.

Chan hobbled over toward Changbin. “Yeah, man. We really appreciate it.”

You murmured your own thanks to Wooyoung as you passed by him to decide on where to sit.

His eyes flickered over your form, noting the way you used your palms to keep your arms warm. “Hey, Ln.”

“Jung,” you mused back.

“You didn't bring a jacket?” He asked incredulously. “It's gonna get colder tonight.”

Sheepishness washed over you and you scratched your head with an embarrassed smile. “I'll be fine under the blankets.”

He shook his head, dissatisfaction clear on his face, as he stuck his lollipop back into his mouth and began shouldering off his jacket.

Your eyes widened when you realized what he was doing. “Hey, wait—I’ll be fine—”

Wooyoung held out the jacket to you, eyebrows lifting in silent communication. 'Put it on.’

You pursed your lips and considered it for a moment. You knew that he was right and it was going to get colder later tonight. You could only bring the blanket up so far… Slowly, you slipped into it with his help, and your upper body was immediately grateful for the warmth.

Wooyoung spun you around to face him again, swiftly reaching for the zipper at the bottom to zip you up.

“Oh, you don't have to—” You shut up with one look from him. You could feel your skin begin to warm, not just because of the residual heat from Wooyoung's body heat on the jacket. You weren't exactly used to this, but you also weren't going to complain. This article of clothing smelled sinfully good—was that his cologne or how he always smelled?

When you were all zipped up, his lips pressed into a content smile. “I'm gonna go grab another jacket. I'll be right back,” he said, throwing a thumb back in the direction of the house.

Based on the fact he was only wearing a tank top underneath the jacket you now wore, you nodded vigorously. “Yeah, of course,” you stammered. “Thanks.”

His smile widened. “No problem, Yn. You look good in it.”

You didn't get another word in because he was darting across the backyard and disappearing inside the house before you could. You were sure you looked as flustered as you felt, and you slowly sank onto the blanket set up beside Chaeryeong and Lia.

From down the line, you could feel your friends’ eyes and wagging brows.

“Don't say anything,” you said to them, pulling your knees to your chest and pretending you weren't in heaven from how nice the jacket felt and smelled. (Oh god, were you being weird about this?)

A snort from Hyunjin.

Felix giggled. “Not a single word.”

By the time Wooyoung returned, Hongjoong was beginning to fire up the movie of choice tonight (Parasite—how fitting) and the backyard had been substantially populated.

Though there was no Mark Lee tonight to be a parasite about, Wooyoung settled on the other side of Chaeryeong who was right beside you. There was a bucket of popcorn per every three or so of you. You dipped into the bucket closest to you, which was the one in front of Chaeryeong.

At some point during the movie, Chaeryeong raised her head from where she was resting against your shoulder and searched the area around you. “Hey,” she whispered to you, “my friend from the Delta sorority is over there and I'm gonna go say hi.”

You nodded. “Sounds good.”

As she clambered to her feet, you met Wooyoung's eyes from her other side. He had tugged his own hood over his head, so only his bangs hung out of it. He nodded toward Chaeryeong in question: ‘Where’s she going?’

“Just a friend,” you answered quietly.

From your other side, you heard Lia make a small gasping sound. “Ooh, I'm gonna say hi, too!”

When both of them had cleared out, you craned your head around to see if you recognized the Delta they went to greet. You did not, and so you stayed put.

It didn't take long for you to realize that you were pretty sure Lia and Chaeryeong were over there for much more than a hello, which was completely fine—you were simply going to hog all of their blanket space—

A throat cleared on your left side, and you watched Wooyoung take the shared popcorn bucket and scoot over into where Chaeryeong was sitting next to you. “So we can reach easier,” he reasoned, shoveling a handful of buttered kernels into his mouth.

You couldn't and didn't argue with that. Though, you were unsure of how fast your heart was beating now that you and he were shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg.

But you turned your attention back to the movie because obviously there was nothing wrong with this. There was absolutely nothing about sitting this close to Wooyoung that was making you flustered—

You jolted when your hand touched his in the popcorn bucket, both of you having blindly reached in.

Your eyes met in the dark again, and you hoped he couldn't see just how affected you were by the touch. “Sorry,” you whispered, withdrawing your hand swiftly.

“No, it's okay,” he murmured back, a small lift in the corner of his lips. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

When the movie reached its inevitable conclusion, it was nearing midnight. Though the projector was turned off, there were plenty of people still lingering to chat and drink. You wiped your hands on a napkin and smeared on a dollop of hand sanitizer that Chan usually kept in his pocket. (The crazy man was always prepared.)

Lia and Chaeryeong eventually came back to the group, but you and Wooyoung scooted over so they could sit next to each other on your right. Your arm was still pressed to his arm, and you still kept his jacket on. It had done a brilliant job at keeping you warm tonight; you were dreading parting with it.

“Can we help you guys clean up or anything?” You asked him as you passed him Chan's bottle of hand sanitizer to use.

He hummed, “Uh, I think we should be okay. We'll probably just end up leaving half of it out to clean up in the morning anyway.”

You nodded, taking the hand sanitizer back from him so you could pass it down the assembly line to Chan.

“Oh, by the way,” Wooyoung piped up. “Whatever happened to that Mark guy you were gonna invite?”

You paused, cupping the back of your neck. “Ah… yeah, I didn't actually invite him,” you admitted. “I just thought it would be awkward 'cause we're not really that close.”

He bobbed his head in understanding. “I see, I see. So what Yeonjun said about him…?”

“Your first mistake was listening to Yeonjun.”

Two people down, you heard a squawk of indignation. “Hey! I heard that!”

A chuckle rang out amongst your group. Changbin and Chan's end of the blanket mass suddenly began standing up, the former of which was propping up a half-conscious Felix, citing needs to get the blond to bed. The rest of you wholeheartedly agreed and joined them, empty popcorn buckets in hand to deposit back at the snack table.

As soon as your bare legs hit the cold night air, you gazed forlornly at the blanket you'd been using before. “Jung, let me give you back your jacket,” you said, catching his attention before he wandered off.

But instead of waiting for you to take off the garment, he placed a hand over yours to stop you from unzipping it. “Keep it,” he said.

“Keep it?” You parroted back dumbly.

He broke into a smile. “Yeah, it'll keep you warm until you get home.”

For a moment, you could only stare. Was he always this pretty? Or was it just the fairy lights that were turned on overhead? You swallowed, your lips curling into a small smile back. “Oh okay—thanks. I'll get it back to you as soon as possible.”

“Whatever you say,” he chuckled and reached over to pat your head. The action made a jolt of warmth run down your spine from your head to your toes. Maybe you were just tired.

Saturday night, you found yourself jostling around in the crowd of all the other late night snackers at the fast food chain a few blocks from the stadium. The first college football game of the season had just ended, and all of your friends who had gone agreed to get a bite to eat afterward. It seemed, however, that nearly everyone else at the game had the same idea.

The establishment was packed to the brim, at least the ordering area was. Your friends had gone outside to score one of the picnic benches for your group, while you, Changbin, and Felix were stuck here to order. (It was all because the three of you sorely lost a game of rock, paper, scissors, and now your wallet would pay, quite literally.) Servers behind the counter hollered out order numbers, and plastic trays of burgers, fries, milkshakes, and grease passed hands.

Your mouth was already watering; cheering and screaming for three hours was a good way to make yourself famished. “Do we have everyone's orders?” You asked your friends, sticking your head in the open space between their shoulders.

Changbin flashed you the group text. “If it's not here, they're starving.”

“Amen to that,” Felix grunted, shaking his bangs out of his eyes and scrolling through his social media fees. “I think Hyunjin and Yeonjun purposely ordered the triple cheeseburger and loaded fries to break our banks.”

“We need to watch that WikiHow video on winning rock, paper, scissors,” you said. The three of you sighed altogether—next time, you wouldn't rely on just luck to get you through something so high stakes.

“You guys look like we just lost the actual game,” mused a familiar voice behind you.

Wooyoung appeared at your side, elbow propped onto your shoulder, accompanied by a couple of his frat brothers, San and Jongho. Wooyoung had a university branded cap over his head with a pair of cherry red heart glasses seated up on the bill, a bit of school spirit in the form of black and red. “I see you lost rock, paper, scissors, Ln.”

You scowled. Of course he knew how you ended up here. After all, he was subjected to it whenever he hung out with your group of friends. “Do you wanna take over my share of the bill, Jung?”

“Do I get something in return?”

“I don't know, your jacket?”

He grinned. “Oh, so you weren't planning on just giving it back to me?”

“I will gladly keep it if you don't want it. She's in the dryer right now,” you shot back. At some point, your heart had kicked up in your chest again, perhaps at the proximity of Wooyoung to you. There wasn't much space in here as it was.

The line scooted up about two centimeters, and Wooyoung's eyebrows shot up in amusement. “You’re washing it after wearing it once? Or maybe you've been wearing it for the past twelve hours and you're just not telling me.”

You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck. “It's called being courteous.”

“It's called wasting water,” he teased, the elbow on your shoulder shifting to an arm slung around both of your shoulders.

“Oh please. It's being washed with the rest of my clothes!” You exclaimed in your defense as you grew more flustered.

Something giddy lit up on his face as the group of you moved up closer to the register. “So that jacket's gonna smell like you? I might not ever wash it again, Ln.”

It was an unholy amount of time later that you, your friends, and the frat trio finally made it out of the stuffy fast food restaurant with your massive order. Instead of a picnic bench, however, it seemed that both your friends and Wooyoung's were exiled to the curb by the street. The sight was rather laughable—around fifteen or so people seated on the firelane like a line of abandoned ducklings.

Everyone practically swarmed the to-go bags that you and your friends deposited in the grass. You picked up one of the cartons of fries for yourself, standing just outside the circle that had formed.

Mingi was recalling one of the plays from tonight's game with vivid acting when you heard your name being called from down the road.

Curious, your eyes tracked the sound, only to see a group of fraternity guys making their way towards you from the direction of Greek Row. Among them, it was Mark Lee that you recognized first in a red bomber jacket and backwards cap. His cheeks were flushed and eyes twinkled like a pair of diamond earrings.

“YN LN! IS THAT YOU?” He giggled, and you just knew that the poor guy was drunk off his face.

One of his friends with a bunny-looking face grappled onto his arm with a groan. “Sorry! He was double-dared to take one too many shots by this bastard,” he said when they neared and cut a glare to one of the tall boys behind him. Said tall boy whistled, pretending not to hear him.

Yunho cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a loud holler. “Aye, N-City! Jungwoo, where the hell have you been, man?"

“It’s called the engineering program, bro,” the one you assumed to be Jungwoo grumbled. He hobbled over to where Yunho was seated in the circle and knocked his fist against the latter's. “Oh my god, can I steal a fry? That line over there looks awful.”

Mingi lifted his tray of fries up for Jungwoo to pluck a few.

Mark, with the supervision of his bunny friend, scuttled over toward you. “Fries sound so good, dude. Like bro. BRO. I am so hungry.” He giggled again as you extended your fries out to him in amusement. “Thanks, Yn. Do I still owe you for coffee that one time?” He slurred, shoving the slices of potato into his mouth.

You chuckled, offering his friend some fries, but was quietly rejected. “Coffee? That was like, once, Mark. Don't worry about it.”

“I know, but like—like, I keep thinking about it, y'know,” he confessed. In the streetlight, you could see his cherry red cheekbones… almost the color of Wooyoung's glas—what. Where did that thought come from?

Absent-mindedly, your eyes flickered across the circle to where you knew Wooyoung was seated with his brothers. To your surprise, you found him already staring your way.

“—it’d be cool to get coffee again sometime, and be friends! I almost took the next econ class in the series 'cause of you.”

“Oh, really?” You asked, forcing yourself back to the people in front of you and being unable to suppress a giggle. You were touched by the sentiment, and frankly, relieved to hear that you and he were pretty much on the same page about being friends. “The next class in the series is kind of ass though, so I'm glad you aren't gonna have to suffer through it.”

“Aw, but we're all in this together!” He chirped.

His friend gave Mark a small pat on his arm. “We should get a move on before the crowds get worse.”

Mark's eyes widened and he gasped. “You're right, hyung!”

“See you, guys,” you said with a small wave. The two boys threw a similarly warm goodbye to you as they slipped past you and toward the jam-packed fast food joint you had braved just earlier.

Across the wide social circle, Wooyoung couldn't hear exactly what yours and Mark's conversation entailed because of all the chatter. Sue him for being caught staring at you, but he couldn't keep his eyes off you, as per usual. There was a familiar pang in his chest as he watched you bid Mark and Doyoung from the NCT fraternity goodbye, and he mindlessly finished off the tray of fries in front of him.

Although you technically implied to him last night that there was nothing between you and Mark, there was undoubtedly a part of him that still felt jittery at the thought.

There was a nudge against his arm. “Glare even harder, and Mark might wake up with a pair of holes in the back of his head.”

Wooyoung moved his scowl to San beside him, a snicker falling from his best friend's mouth. “I'm not glaring,” Wooyoung protested and reached for a napkin in the middle of the circle.

“Oh, right,” San drawled, “you're staring at Yn.”

“Yes, and?” He shot back. “What'd'you think they were talking about?” He could practically hear the sound of your giggles in his ears after Mark said something. Wooyoung didn't like the way that made his stomach churn—the fact that this other guy was making you laugh. Did he make you laugh like that? Did you look that radiant when you were with him? God, why did you have to be so gobsmackingly gorgeou—

San considered him for a moment as he chewed on the bite of his burger. “Why don't you ask her yourself?” He muttered with a vague gesture of his aioli-covered fingers, “I dunno, go offer to drive her home or something.”

“That's the first good idea I've heard all night.” Wooyoung hopped to his feet, a misshapen plan (of sorts) manifesting in his head. Hopefully it would work out better than the movie night one. (But by some metrics, he could consider movie night a success…)

San exhaled under his breath as his friend went to go find a trash can first. “Can't believe he actually went with that,” he said with a shake of his head. He could only hope now that his friend would finally put himself out of his misery.

Having finished your post-game snack, drowsiness was slowly seeping into your joints and the corners of your eyes. It was bound to be nearing midnight at this time, and with all of the excitement within the past two days, you were about ready to head back.

You swept your eyes over the group to gauge if any of your other friends looked about ready to go home, too, when you felt someone tap your shoulder.

“Can I give you a lift home?” Wooyoung asked as he stood there, cap and glasses hanging from his hand while the other carded through his hair.

Well. “It's like you read my mind, Jung,” you mused. “Do you and your brothers not usually carpool though?”

“Eh, Hongjoong hyung brought the minivan.”

You didn't know why that comment made you laugh—perhaps it was the image of a bunch of ATZ frat members shoved into a soccer mom minivan with Hongjoong at its helm—but a laugh most definitely tumbled from your lips. The sound and sight reflected in Wooyoung's expression, a boyish grin coming to his face and reaching his eyes. “Alright, fine. As long as by taking me home, you aren't abandoning them on the streets.”

The two of you began walking side by side to where he would lead you back toward wherever his car was parked. “Nah,” he reassured you with a shake of his head. He took his cherry heart glasses and slid them up into his hair. “A nice walk home might keep them humble, y'know?”

“And who's to say you don't need humbling, Jung?” You joked.

A smirk curled up on his mouth like a cat's tail. “What? Are you going to humble me, Ln?”

You gave a nonchalant shrug to cover up the rapid pulse hammering away in your veins. “I could finesse your keys, you never know.”

He motioned to the left where his sedan was parked along the side of the street. “I'll have you know that you already have one of my keys,” he said as he rounded his car to reach the driver's seat.

You crinkled your brows together, your hand lingering on the door to the passenger's seat as he fished his keys out to unlock the car. “What key?”

“The key to my heart,” he winked, smile widening.

You glanced away, tongue jamming into your cheek to suppress your flustered smile, but by the sounds of Wooyoung's glee from the other side of the car, you were unsuccessful. “You tell that to all the girls?” You finally said when the car chirped and you slipped into the passenger's seat.

Your car doors slammed in tandem.

“Nope, that one's just for you,” he said, tossing his hat in the back and starting the engine.

The fluttery feeling in your chest was making it difficult for you to sit still. If you were so enraptured by his scent clinging to the fabric of his jacket, then his car must have been level two. Your body melted into the car seat, and you turned your head to watch the world pass through the window with a content expression on your face.

There had been something gnawing at you for a while now. You knew Wooyoung boasted a rather flirty personality; he had always been pretty outgoing and teasing ever since you met. There were so many signs that pointed to him liking you more than just a friend, but you didn't want to jump to conclusions. (Denial? What was that?)

Was this different from when Yeonjun suggested that Mark liked you? Well, yes. This was different because you… it was different because this was Wooyoung, not Mark. It was different because you were suddenly marinating on the idea of him liking you, and not dismissing it like you had with Mark.

You were growing giddy at the idea, in fact. And maybe that made you nervous.

A thought appeared in your head. “Oh, I guess it's a good thing you're taking me home, because now I can give you back your jacket.” For a moment, you deeply considered casually “forgetting” to return the garment, but your integrity won out.

You saw him glance over at you before returning his eyes to the road. “Right, right. Good idea,” he murmured. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip then. “Hey, uhm, weird question.”

“Uh oh,” you joked.

He chuckled. “Yah, it's not an 'uh oh!’ I was just wondering what Mark came to talk to you about.”

Oh. That wasn't exactly what you had in mind when he said he had a weird question.

Your eyes flickered over to him for a second. “You seem awfully interested in me and Mark,” you drawled, uncertain of where this was going.

“I mean—I know you said last night that you guys aren't that close,” he supplemented, tongue swiping over his lip as he turned the corner onto your street, “but he seemed pretty friendly tonight.”

“Mark’s always friendly,” you pointed out. Part of it was just so you could prod a little and figure out why Wooyoung was pursuing this.

“You're not wrong.”

Your head tilted to the side. “So?”

“So?”

You let out a small laugh. “Hey, Jung, what's going on? You're usually not so antsy about these things, especially not with me.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek and your fingers drummed mindlessly against your thigh in anticipation.

Wooyoung glanced over at you again, his lips pressing together. He was entering your apartment complex street now and carefully pulled up along the curb outside. “I would argue that it's the complete opposite.”

“Huh?”

“You can't possibly think that this whole time I haven't been head over heels for you?” He blurted.

Even if the car had stopped, your heart rate most definitely hadn't.

At your loss for words, he killed the engine. “Like, you think I stare at you for fun? No, actually, I stare at you because I'm literally just so attracted to you, it's survival.”

You sucked in a breath. “Jung…”

“And you know, I try to be as obvious as I can, but maybe I'm not? And I'm—I’m trying to be as loud about my feelings as possible,” he continued on, adding in an accompaniment of sweeping hand gestures. “Without actually admitting to my feelings, as stupid as it sounds.”

“Jung. Jung, wait—”

“This wasn't supposed to turn into a ramble, but what I'm trying to say is—”

“Wooyoung.”

He screeched to a halt, eyes widened as if you'd just grown two heads.

Oh, you were so endeared by this man. In this snapshot of time, there was nothing other than utter adoration in your heart for him. “You were probably being very loud, but I'm also hard of hearing sometimes.”

“Extremely,” he agreed with his mouth pressed into a line.

“Hey!”

He broke into a grin that was soft at the corners and tender at the eyes. “Just so you know, I don't treat anyone else like you. You're probably the only person I will ever address by their last name as a term of endearment.”

You laughed, skin warming to the touch. “I'll admit—same here.” A jolt of electricity warmed down your spine at the admission.

“I can't persuade you to even try a 'honey’ or a ‘baby?’ Not even a 'sweetie pie?’”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Maybe you'll unlock some of them as time goes on. It has to feel right.”

He leaned forward onto the center console, a small, happy sigh falling from his mouth. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I can deal with that.”

In reply, you twisted around in your seat to face him, your head leaned against the car seat. “Just so we're clear though…”

“I like you—I do.”

“Good.” Your lips curled into a smile. “I like you, too.”

In the low light of the car, the sky darkened and the only light coming from the streetlight a few cars away, you and Wooyoung shared a soft moment together. The thing that had been needling at the back of your mind was finally subsiding.

Swallowing, you reached forward to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes, and his eyes seemed to shudder. “Yeonjun once called you my lover boy.”

“I'm pretty sure all of our friends knew how I felt,” he snorted.

You made a small gesture with your shoulder, wincing. “Except for me?”

“Except for you,” he sighed jokingly. “Utter pain. But you know what?”

“What's that?”

“I think I like being your lover boy.”

You slowly nodded. “It has a nice ring to it.” You couldn't help another smile as you rolled it over and over in your mind. Your lover boy, your lover boy, your lover boy… “My lover boy.”

Wooyoung pressed his palms together like he was praying, his hands touching his lips. “Give me the strength—I can't not kiss you after hearing that come out of your mouth.”

Your heart gave an aggressive palpitation. “Well… I wouldn't be opposed.”

“Hey, lover girl,” he said, mouth split open with a pretty grin, “can I kiss you?”

How could you refuse?

He leaned forward and cradled one side of your face with one hand so he could press his lips against your own. If there was any doubt left in your mind about how you felt for him, it was all dashed away once he kissed you.

When your eyes fluttered open, you met his gaze.

“I think,” he murmured, thumb drawing over your bottom lip, “I just fell for you all over again.

God, how could you compete with that line? You ducked your head, unabashedly flustered. He only cooed at your reaction and came forward to smack a long kiss to your cheek.

When it was determined that you would finally head up to your apartment for the evening, you reluctantly clambered out of his vehicle. He rolled down his window so he could drape himself out of it like a damsel in a tower, his eyes shaped like hearts.

“Is it safe to say that I can keep your jacket?” You jested, stopping in front of his window.

He huffed a laugh. “You know, I thought you'd never ask. But you'll have to trade me for something of yours.”

“Deal, Jung.” You were certain you could think of something.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed <3

atz m.list

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[honkytonk-hangman]

Take Care Of Business

40s!Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Mechanic!Reader

gif belongs to babyrooster

Summary: The last time you met Lieutenant Jake Seresin, the war was still ongoing and you’d been in a floundering engagement. Back then you’d seen the possibility for more in his eyes, and now? Well, now you could explore it.

Warnings: mentions of period accurate sexism, mentions of a cheating fiancee. copious amounts of fluff, seriously you may overdose

Notes: OMG ITS HERE ITS ACTUALLY FINISHED!!! thank you so sosososososos much to @hangmanssunnies for your endless endless ENDLESS love and encouragement during the last year writing this, and also to @ussgallifrey, who was super supportive during the earliest versions of this fic <3 i can't believe its heeerrreeee

1946

You can’t help but let out a laugh as you’re guided through the busy dance hall, barely missing a waiter with a large tray of drinks as you go. You try to call back an apology, but the hand wrapped around your wrist is already dragging you away, weaving in and out of the crowds of dancers and party-goers.

You’d almost forgotten what the atmosphere in a place like this could be like, exuberant and daring, and now that the war was officially over, lacking in any sort of melancholy.

Bea, your well meaning, but a little over-excited friend, finally seems to be slowing down, though she has one last surprise in stall for you, using your momentum to swing you around to her side with a strength such a small woman certainly shouldn’t possess.

“There she is!” a male voice, deep and pleasant, greets from somewhere in front of you, and you give your head a quick shake, attempting to get your bearings now.

“Sorry we’re late, sugar! Had a lipstick emergency!” Bea says only half truthfully, stepping away from your side momentarily to allow a handsome moustachioed man to lean down and kiss her cheek.

You can’t help but smile at the sweet display. Bea had been telling you all about Bradley Bradshaw for weeks now, and if even half of what she’d told you was true, you already liked him immensely for treating your friend so well.

“And this must be the famous Ducky I’ve heard all about,” honey coloured eyes swivel away from Bea and land on you, making you remember yourself.

“It’s so good to meet you at last, Lieutenant Bradshaw!” you shake his offered hand warmly.

“Please just call me Bradley– or Rooster!” he gently corrects you, before he hums, and shoots Bea a suspicious look.

“Do you think she’s adding us birds to some sort of collection?” he asks conspiratorially, the question making you laugh genuinely at the absurdity.

Bea huffs, shakes her head, and smacks his arm, trying her best to fight off the grin on her lips.

“All I’ll say Rooster, is that you’d best treat her right, or she will hunt you for sport,” you lean in and reply, receiving your own smack for your trouble. Rooster’s face turns bright and he laughs, pulling Bea near with his arm around her.

“I can believe that, yes ma’am,” they look at each other with barely concealed adoration, and it makes your heart clench a little in your chest. You’re quickly distracted though, with the sudden and rowdy approach of six other people, all dressed to the nines like everyone else around you. Rooster seems unfazed by their appearance, though he tears his eyes away from Bea to glance around at the now much larger group you were in.

“Fellas, you all know Bea already, and this is Bea’s friend, Ducky,” he easily introduces you to the six newcomers, all men except for a tall, beautiful brunette woman who looked like she could eat every single one of them for breakfast. A flurry of handshakes and names are exchanged, and you’re surprised by just how quickly you feel totally absorbed by the group of Naval Aviators, like you’d known them all for years and were just catching up again.

“I’m spotting a free table, north west!” the man who held the youngest looking features of the group, Fanboy you believe he’d introduced himself as, pipes up, pointing over everyone's heads to the large round table that was currently being cleaned up. Before you can even process it, the entire group is migrating casually toward the table, Rooster catching the arm of the waiter before he leaves, putting a round in, you assume.

You find yourself next to Bob, who sends you an adorably awkward little grin as he pulls out your chair for you, and you thank him sincerely. Despite the gentlemanly gesture, the moment you’re comfortable, he’s taking his own seat, and once more totally absorbed by the woman you’d learn was named Phoenix, or Nat. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, too distracted by all the new faces, and their excitable personalities, but Bob was clearly, utterly enamoured by Phoenix, and it looked like the feeling was returned, if perhaps a little less obviously

“Hey, Javy, where’s your other half?” Bea is sat a few places down from you, her hand wrapped through Rooster’s arm. A man on the opposite side of the table waves his hand over his shoulder.

“He’s coming, probably caught his reflection in a glass,” Javy snorts.

“I wanted to introduce him to Ducky!” Bea pouts, and her words make you frown.

“Pardon?” you say pointedly, leaning around Bob and Phoenix to look at Bea with a frown. Rooster seems to be matching your expression, and he cocks his head at his partner.

“Ducky is far too nice for him,” Rooster says, but you get the feeling he doesn’t really mean it.

“Oh come off it, Ducks, you could do with meeting someone new!” Bea rolls her eyes, but her voice is imploring.

Your frown deepens just a little bit, but you aren’t too angry. It wasn’t as if she’d tricked you into a double date or anything. There were plenty of other seemingly solo people around that you’re sure any awkwardness could easily be avoided if you managed to stick by Bob and Phoenix.

“I’m afraid that I won’t be able to help you there, Honey Bea,” A smooth male voice purrs from behind you, and you almost jump at the hand that comes to rest warmly on your shoulder. You turn quickly in no small amount of surprise at the person apparently so close, but any further thought is cut off when your eyes properly take in the handsome face smirking coquettishly down at you.

You’re so surprised, you gasp daintily, fumbling to your feet so that you can greet him properly.

“Hangman!” you welcome him excitedly, happily accepting the hand he offers to help you up.

“Jake,” he corrects gently, and you feel foolish for laughing.

“Jake!” you repeat fondly, caught up in staring at him.

“You two already know each other?” Bea sounds put out, but intrigued, and you manage to tear your gaze away from Jake for a few moments to focus on her.

“Oh, Ducky and I go way back,” Jake tells her, at first offering no more explanation.

“We met during the war,” you explain to her, opening your mouth to continue on that he had been a friend of your fiance’s, but you stop yourself. Jake had been your friend long before you’d found out he knew your ex-fiance.

“Best damn aircraft mechanic I’ve ever had,” Jake adds, sounding proud as he brings your hand that he still holds up to his lips. Phoenix jerks then, blinking quickly around the other’s and then up at Jake with a growing smile.

“Wait, you’re the Ducky?! Jake’s Ducky?!” She questions in no small amount of disbelief. There’s a quiet chitter of understanding and awe that briefly overcomes the table, and you’re about to ask what it is she means by that, when Jake squeezes your hand and draws your attention, all the while shooting Phoenix a dirty look.

“Stop interrupting,” he scolds needlessly, and draws you closer.

Your chest flutters, but you’re distracted from the butterflies caused by being described as ‘Jake’s Ducky’, and instead distracted by an odd look on the blond’s face. It quickly turns a little darker, and you can’t help but notice the brief flicker of his eyes down to the hand he still holds.

“Where is the old man, then?” Jake tilts his head at you, and then quickly around at the crowded club, seemingly a little stiff now. You suck in a breath, realising now what he’d been confused by.

Clearing your throat, you take your left hand back from him with only a small amount of effort, before smoothing down your frock primly. Suddenly his closeness was nerve wracking as you feel him studying your features.

“Probably with his new wife. I haven’t exactly been keeping up,” you can’t help but scold yourself for the sass and bitterness in your tone. It just wasn’t classy. Jake seems to jolt as he processes your words, and for several more moments he stares down at you with an unreadable expression, before at last a tiny crease pulls between his brows, and his lips purse.

“I never liked him, anyway,” Jake says the words flippantly, and you know it’s supposed to be a joke, but his still taut expression and lack of humour in his voice tell you otherwise.

“Never good enough for you. To you,” he goes on quieter, so no one else can hear but you. You look down at your skirt, heart thumping away rapidly in your chest even as you shrug.

“Well, it’s probably for the best,” you do your best to shake off any residual foul mood and nerves, straightening up. Your lips curl back into a smile as you look back up at him once more. It felt nearly impossible to be melancholy when you knew Jake was around.

“It’s so good to see you again,” you tell him earnestly, and watch as Jake’s face softens. He takes your hand again, keeping eye contact as he lifts it to his lips and kisses it once more, this time, right where your old engagement ring would have been.

“I imagine,” he smirks, bouncing an eyebrow at you. You scoff, but grin even as you roll your eyes.

“You’re supposed to say ‘you too’!” you scold with no conviction as Jake rounds your seat, not even releasing your hand when, helping you back into your chair before he quickly folds himself into the empty space beside you. He simply shrugs at you, making a point of pulling his chair closer to yours, before his eyes flicker past you to land on Rooster and Bea.

“Sorry to ruin your little setup,” he doesn’t sound very sorry at all, though you doubt Bea was feeling too upset, not with the way she was looking between you and Jake with glee in her eyes.

“Hey, wasn’t my plan. I think she’s too good for you,” Rooster chortles, catching the fist Bea attempts to sock him with, and kissing it instead.

Jake ignores Rooster, and instead cuts his gaze down at you, leaning in so only you’ll hear him.

“How long have you been in San Diego? Are you staying?” he asks, sounding excited by the idea. When you turn to face him fully, his nearness is so much that if only for propriety’s sake, you’re forced to pull back from him as you talk.

“Six months now. I met Bea on the boat coming home from London, she convinced me not to go back to New York after… everything.” you tell him, realising suddenly what incredible luck you must have that you just so happened to run into one another when you’d resigned yourself to never seeing him again.

“I’m glad.” he says, pinning you in place when you feel his hand reach out and take yours from where it rests on your lap. Your heart thumps heavily at his brazenness, but it also sets you alight with a hopeful flame that in recent months you had come to realise you always had, but never allowed yourself to take notice of or indulge before.

The thoughts make your face boil, and you avert your gaze, your free hand shaking just a little as you reach for the glass of water that had been poured for you earlier.

“Oh, Ducky,” Jake sighs affectionately, leaning away from you at last, but tightening his grip around your fingers. You finally get the courage to glance up at him sheepishly, only to find him grinning down at you cheshire-like.

“My little sitting Ducky,” he continues, his smile only continuing to grow.

You know you should probably feel more trepidation about his sudden forwardness, but the only thing that you feel pumping through your veins is the exhilarating thrill at the thought of Jake calling you ‘his’ anything after so long of secretly wishing it to be true.

The way he looks at you feels positively predatory, and under his blistering hunter’s stare, you really are his sitting duck.

1942

The rain batters down against the airfield in what you knew would only prove to be ugly flying weather tonight, and you quickly send out a prayer of luck on behalf of the pilot you know by handwriting alone. Your time as an aircraft mechanic had officially come to an end, not for any good or decent reason, mind you, but for the sole fact that someone had suddenly decided that an active airfield was no place for a woman.

Nevermind that you were the best mechanic in the hangar, your colleagues had stroppily resented your presence from day one, and your true purpose as an additional engineer was forcibly concealed. Instead, you’d had to pretend you were a secretary around any actual personnel, especially the pilots, and once the hangar was clear for the day, you would be at last allowed to perform your actual job.

You’d gotten the impression fairly quickly that your coworkers shunted off the hardest to please, fussiest pilot, onto you, hoping you might fail at the first hurdle under the sheer amount of work this ‘Hangman’ seemed to demand. Unfortunately for them, you’d had no problem meeting the brief, and day after day that the planes were towed into the hangar for repairs, the stack of memos detailing Hangman’s complaints that always accompanied his aircraft grew smaller and smaller.

And then one day, instead of a plane to fix and a list of notes, you had a letter shoved into your hands, the contents of which was a written apology from one Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, informing you that he’d he’d been shot down, and all your hard work over the past weeks was now engulfed in flame somewhere in Italy. You’d immediately penned a reply, not caring at all about the state of his aircraft, and expressing your relief that he had made it out safely. You’d had to sign it off using a pseudonym, your own name would have gone against your boss’s wishes, and a fake name would be easily found out on an active military base.

You’d gone with ‘Ducky’, the callsign your father had used during the Great War, and from then on out, it had stuck.

Lieutenant Seresin had been sent back to the airfield eventually, and you’d both gone back to business as usual for several months. His battered bomber would be towed into the hangar for repairs, but gone were his blunt instructions, in their place he left short personal letters usually detailing his most recent flights, and only sometimes with requests about fixtures to be made. You would then leave your own reply for him to find when the plane was returned back to the runway, and so on, so forth. 

At least, that's how things had been carrying on until this morning, when you’d been abruptly dismissed by the airfield’s second in command, a snivelling man who had informed you they had ended your auxiliary work here, as it was apparently no place for a woman to be.

You’d wanted to shout and demand explanations, to demand your colleagues defend your worth, but they'd all remained silent, and you’d quickly been escorted off to pack your things with tears stinging your eyes.

You can’t help but wonder if your secret somehow got out, by the doing of jealous coworkers, and if perhaps Hangman hadn’t been so pleased with you upon finding out that you’re a woman.

The heavy rainfall makes it difficult for you and your bags to get across to the waiting transport plane, but the war stopped for nobody, so you’d wound up in the back of the empty aircraft, your clothes and things all but totally soaked. You’d been told the plane wouldn’t leave until the storm died down, so you’d huddled onto one of the benches miserably and tried to get warm, but you felt yourself filled with a deeper coldness than simply the biting european air.

You sit and stare out the back of the plane’s fuselage, simply taking in the distant ebb and flow of the airfield, a flurry of activity that wouldn't stop just because of some rain. It comforted you in a way, to know this place would carry on, but there was a deeper part of you that worried for them. You weren’t a braggart, but you knew you were the best mechanic here, taking not just pride in your work, but joy and passion too. It concerns you what may happen to the pilots in the future.

But, it was much too late for you to do anything else now. Perhaps if you’d been brave enough from the start to demand your recognition all along, this wouldn't be the case, but you think that perhaps they’d have just gotten rid of you sooner.

And then you notice something very odd.

All of a sudden out of the pouring sheets of rain, a covered military jeep comes tearing into sight, its driver in some kind of rush despite the slow lazy movement of everything else in this weather. You blink in surprise as the car skids right up to the plane you’re in, and jump up when it at last comes to a full stop only a few feet from the ramp. You can’t help but take a step back when the door flings open, and you watch as a tall, handsome man bounds out, clearly with urgent business to attend.

The man quickly moves up the plane ramp toward you, ducking out of the rain and taking a moment to fix his hair briefly before he straightens fully again. You stare at him with widened eyes, taking in the aviation uniform he wears, complete with gold wings that seem to glint blindingly despite the lack of sunlight on them. He pauses at the top of the ramp, and you almost jump back again at the intensity of his gaze when his bright green eyes narrow at you.

“Now, now, Ducky, don’t you know it’s rude to leave without saying goodbye?” the lazy southern drawl to the man’s voice surprises you so much that you almost don’t notice the familiarity with which he speaks to you.

“I’m sorry?!” you blurt dumbly. The blonde nods acceptingly, and steps forward, placing his hands on his hips.

“I should hope so! You think Kirk is gonna send me letters the next time I get shot down?” he asks scoldingly, but his casual mention of what would have been certain death for any other pilot is what finally snaps you from your shock.

“You'll get more than just a letter from me the next time you’re shot down!” you say crossly, finding yourself none-too-pleased by his nonchalant attitude toward the subject. Your threat makes a smirk form on the blonde’s lips, and at last he seems to stop his baseless tirade in favour of giving you a very blatant once over. You’re more subtle in your own assessment. A quick glance at the name pinned just below his gold wings confirms your suspicions about who it is you talk to, and when you snap your eyes back to his face, you find he’s already watching you closely.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve known you’re a woman for quite some time,” Hangman says, somehow both seriously and flippantly at the same time, waving his hand dismissively. Your brows furrow and you open your mouth to defend yourself, but shut it again quickly when you realise you’re unsure of what you’d say. “I first suspected when the repair hangar suddenly had a secretary who made terrible coffee. They aren’t sending anyone who makes shitty coffee this close to Italy. No offence.”

You feel like you should be insulted by his words, but truthfully, you’d made the joe that bad on purpose out of pure spite, until they stopped asking you to fetch it. The two of you continue to stare at one another for a few seconds, before you shift your eyes away from him, swallowing thickly as you begin to fidget with your still damp sleeve.

“The other’s thought it best that the pilot’s didn’t know a woman was working on their planes…” you try to explain. Hangman immediately scoffs at your words, and you eye him cautiously as he flings a hand out behind him, toward the entrance of the transport plane and in the vague direction of where the bombers are lined up on the tarmac, their bright colours obscured by the heavy rain.

“Ducky,” he begins dryly, “We paint our planes with women, we name our planes after our women,” he tells you, his smirk tipping up into pure amusement now, an eyebrow following. “Besides, I ain’t ever known a pilot who’s intimidated by a little skirt, especially around our machines,” he purrs, lowering his voice flirtatiously. Your face immediately heats up at his insinuation, and you can’t help but tut disapprovingly at him, even if you did appreciate his other sentiments. You fold your arms over your chest in disapproval while Hangman chortles at your clear bashfulness.

“I mean it, Ducky, please don’t go,” the pilot all but begs you then, his tone suddenly serious. He steps closer again, forcing you to look up at him  in the gloomy dark of the plane.

“I– I’m not leaving because I want to, Lieutenant,” you tell him somberly, dropping your gaze again when you find his stare too intense. “I was told to leave.” 

Hangman scoffs again, and adjusts his stance.

“Right, and I’ve just come from dangling my ass in front of a court martial, or seven, to make sure that order is belayed.” he informs you much too casually. You sputter at his mention of possible charges on your behalf, your arms falling unfolded again as you take a half-step forward in panic.

“W–what?! What did you do?!” you demand, half worried, half furious. 

Hangman grins widely at your clear exasperation, and tips his chin up cockily. You get the sudden feeling he enjoys ticking you off and making you nervous.

“Well, they can’t expect me to remain their best pilot if I don’t have my best girl working on my other best girl,” he tells you slowly, as if it should have been completely obvious already. Your face gets even hotter at his clear flirting, guilt strumming in your stomach at the way your chest flutters despite your relationship status. However, before you’re able to rebuke him by pointing out the ring you wear, the handsome blond makes a show of digging into his breast pocket, and pulling out a crumpled, coffee stained letter, holding it out towards you.

You hesitantly step closer to take it from him, feeling his bright, intense gaze return to yours, as you unfold and quickly look over the typed missive. It’s only a few lines long, and signed at the bottom, so you find yourself hurriedly meeting his eye again.

“You did this for me?” you ask, voice now watery. Hangman stares down at you, looking suddenly less cocky and sure of himself, taken aback by your clear emotional response.

“... Technically, I did this for me.” he corrects unconvincingly, voice lilting to sound dismissive, but you barely hear him, and certainly don’t care for his posturing.

“Thank you!” you gush, feeling a massive weight lift form your chest for the first time all morning. The pilot blinks down at you, stiffly taking in the tears that you try to wipe away with the back of your hand.

“How’re you supposed to drag me back by the ear the next time I get shot down, if you’re not here?” He changes the subject slightly, but only earns a small laugh in reply, not a further telling off, which he’d hoped might distract you from your tears.

“I think that will be the least I owe you after this.” you sniffle. The pilot shuffles uncomfortably, and raises a hand to scratch nervously at the back of his head, unable to sidestep the emotional centre of this interaction like he’d wanted to, but he chooses to wade through it, for you.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing, Ducky, really,” Hangman sighs, speaking tiredly, but firmly. “You’re the best aircraft mechanic I’ve ever had, probably that any of us have had. Shouldn’t matter if you’re a woman.” he hopes he sounds sincere. You hold the belayed order to your chest, and with a wobbling lip stare up at him like he was the sun itself.

You don’t realise this is the exact moment Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin falls completely in love with you, but as he eyes the shiny engagement ring you wear, he does.

1946

You try to ignore the way Bea stares at you and Jake for the next half hour as you catch up, and eventually, you are able to brush off her pointed looks and coquettish smiles. The other Daggers, Rooster and Phoenix particularly, show no such subtly in the way they seem to watch Jake interact with you. Phoenix had even grown a smug little smile in the last few minutes and had begun teasingly questioning Jake about the tender way in which he had taken up your hand and absolutely refused to let it go.

You get the feeling they know something you don’t, but you don’t feel that poorly over it, not when Hangman, Jake, has his hand in yours, his thumb caressing back and forth in little circles everytime you seem to go quiet.

Eventually, tiring of the clear teasing at his expense, Jake rolls his eyes and clears his throat. Fixing you in his gaze fully, he squeezes your hand and gets to his feet.

“I think we’ve both answered more than enough of your questions, Ducky, dance with me?” he doesn’t wait for your answer, but you would have said yes anyway, and, with a final glance back at the table as if to apologise for the sudden exit, you’re tugged gently away and almost immediately find yourself wrapped up on the dancefloor.

“I’m sorry if I’m rusty, it’s been a while since I danced properly,” you say nervously, feeling slightly lightheaded as Jake’s free hand moves to take hold of your waist firmly. His lips flick up, but he fakes a frown anyway, lowering his chin at you. You’re so close now you can feel yourself pressed right against the front of his pristine dress whites, feel the gold buttons through the tulle of your dress.

“I would have thought you’d be out dancing all the time now, fiancee or not,” Jake replies smoothly, making you shift your gaze away from him for a moment.

“It’s hardly wise to spend all my time dancing when I can barely find a job…” you say quietly, chewing on your lower lip, before you finally look back up at him. “If I’m honest, I hadn’t thought I’d still be working, once the war was over.”

Jake’s features lose any of their humour and he purses his lips.

“No, I’d have thought not… you should be being looked after by a good man, living a good life, taken dancing whenever you’d like and you’d never be rusty.” he tells you seriously. You can’t help but smile warmly at him and shrug a little in his hold.

“I think what I should do is adjust my expectations,” you say, inhaling sharply when his hold on your tightens, and he seems to pull you even nearer, if possible.

“I’m afraid that is absolutely unacceptable,” he tells you with a vehement shake of his head. “I think we’re going to have to do something about it, aren’t we?”

Butterflies errupt in your stomach, and unable to bear looking at him any more, you gently pull your hands from his, and wrap them around his neck. Your head rests softly on his chest, Jake quickly adjusting to meet your new stance in a way that suggested to you he’d imagined holding you like this for some time. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a soft sigh.

“Thank you, Jake.” You say quietly, only knowing for sure that he’s heard you by the way he gently squeezes your waist in response.

“For what, darlin’?”

“For everything. For always coming back like I asked, despite your terrible habit of only ever  returning with about half as much plane as I sent you out with, for believing in me, and fighting for me, and always being there for me, even when Grey wasn’t.”

Jake stays quiet for a beat, his grip on you never wavering, and for a few moments the two of you just sway.

“It never felt right, knowing what I did about him, how he behaved, and keeping it from you… I… I felt so guilty all this time thinkin’ you’d been married to a man I knew didn’t deserve you, knowing I should have said something.”

It’s your turn to stay quiet, though eventually you shift your face up so that you can look at him. For the first time ever, Jake struggles to make eye contact with you, but when you begin gently smoothing over the hair at the back of his neck he meets your gaze. You smile sadly and shake your head.

“I knew,” you tell him, watching how his expression shifts from guilt-ridden to pained, and he opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “I didn’t want to believe it, and if you’d tried to tell me, I wouldn’t have believed you.” You continue stroking the back of his hair as if to comfort him. “And now I can still look fondly back on that time. In my mind, I will always think more of you looking out for me on his behalf, more than I think of him.” you admit.

Jake purses his lips and frowns.

“He never once asked me to do that for you, I couldn’t believe it, even when he knew we were stationed together. I woulda made sure you had someone you could trust, rely on, especially given how the other mechanics treated you.” He sounds so angry, and you can’t help but blink up at him in surprise.

“Grey never asked you to look out for me?” you ask, a fresh sting cutting your heart. You were long over your cheating, good for nothing ex-fiancee, but occasionally on nights like tonight, you felt the hurt once again. Jake takes in your surprise and hesitates for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. I won’t give him credit for that, I’m sorry sweetheart.”

You stop swaying, pausing for a moment to stare up at him, and then you can’t help yourself, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Jake.” you say once more. When you pull away, Jake studies you for a while, before he slides his hands up to take yours, suddenly spinning you out, and then back in, where he catches you seemingly with his entire body, hands quickly wrapping you up securely again as you gasp.

“Why so surprised, honey? I’ve never made a secret of how much I adore you?” He teases you, making you stutter.

“Y-yes well, you were usuaully far more subtle about it!” you attempt to defend. Jake’s face breaks out in a grin, but he eyes you sardonically anyway.

“I’m glad my restraint didn’t go unnoticed. I could easily have seduced you away back then,” he tells you wryly. You frown.

“I don’t think that’s true…” you argue, but Jake only smiles.

“Let me believe, honey,” he implores, making you laugh.

You fall into a comfortable quiet then, and happily let Jake twirl you around the dancefloor, shaking off any rust you may have obtained in the months since you’d last been out like this. After once more spinning you away and catching you again, you meet together with your faces much too close to be proper, but you hardly care with the way he looks down at you.

“The moment I saw you sitting in the back of that transport plane, I knew for sure you were my dream girl, you know that?” he tells you breathlessly. “I spent my entire recovery when I was shot down daydreaming about you, rereading every letter you wrote me.”

“You’re just trying to charm me now!” you accuse playfully. Jake chortles, and shakes his head.

“I told all my nurses about you, how I was going to marry you when the war was over,” he says, making your heart skip several beats.

“And all because I fixed your plane up real good?” you ask, unsure how else to respond. Jake raises an eyebrow and fixes you with an amused expression.

“Clearly you don’t grasp how attractive that is.”

“Clearly I don’t.”

“I hope my being unavailable didn’t hurt you, back then,” you say softly, surprised when Jake only shrugs minimally.

“Other than curbing my ability to seduce you, I knew one way or the other things would work out,” he tells you, sounding oddly serious. You blink at him, but cock your head slightly.

“I suppose they have, haven’t they?”

“I knew you liked me,” Jake says teasingly, leaning his face even closer to yours so that your noses almost touch. You roll your eyes, but don’t move back.

“How could I not? I’ve spent the last year feeling like a fool because I thought I’d never see you again!” you reply, lamenting the wasted time.

Jake hums, making you suck in a breath when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve been looking for you, but I didn’t even know your full name, or if you’d had it changed… But I’d never have left you, not when you never left me, no matter how many planes of yours I got shot out of.”

“Please don’t ruin this moment by reminding me,” you scold him, making the blond laugh. After a few beats of swaying together, you wrap your hands back around his neck and lean into him. You feel Jake’s head come to rest on yours, the both of you looking out at the dancefloor, where you spot Rooster and Bea dancing alongside Pheonix and Bob.

“Who do you think will have the wedding bells ringing first?” you ask wistuflly. Jake takes a moment to answer, humming briefly before he replies.

“Us.” He tells you matter of factly.

You can't help but giggle, and blindly smack his shoulder lightly.

“You’re hopeless!” you say, shaking your head where it lays against his chest. Jake only tightens his hold on you.

“Can’t let those nurses down, can I? They told me I had to marry you if you still hadn’t left me after the amount of times I was shot down.”

Against him you grumble, and poke his neck a little more forcefully.

“I wouldn’t recommend tyring that again,” you say darkly. You feel the man straighten ever so slightly, his head bobbing as he nods.

“Yes ma’am.” He affirms. You stay dancing closely, wrapped up in one another until he speaks again. “Will you come down to base tomorrow, look over my plane?” He asks quietly, and you can’t help but grin. Pulling back from him, you gaze into his green eyes, finding pure hope and adoration there.

“Only if you kiss me first.”

[janeyseymour]

Scrubs- pt 2

part 1

for @sweetpinkstrawberriez with the prompt: the reader getting to meet the rest of Melissa’s family

*entirely unedited*

WC: 3.75k

Since that first seventeen minute, quite the unconventional first date, you and Melissa have been on a multitude of other dates. Some are in between little lulls and breaks that you have during your shifts, some are dinner dates when you’re able to make it work, and others are overnight when all you can do is collapse onto the couch with her and curl into her figure to fall asleep after a particularly hard shift. It’s not conventional by any means, but the two of you make it work. And you find yourself falling for her more and more. But nothing is official between the two of you, not yet at least. Nobody has brought up the words ‘girlfriend’ or ‘partner’ or ‘significant other’. So you remain in a little bubble of limbo land. You’re oddly okay with that if it means that you continue to get to see her.

“I have off tomorrow and the next day if you wanted to do anything,” you tell the woman you’re seeing softly over the phone.

“I unfortunately am not available tomorrow,” Melissa tells you. “Nonna is having everybody over for a luncheon to prove that her stroke was ‘bullshit’. But Sunday, I would love to see you.”

“Yeah,” you smile into the device. “I’ll see you Sunday. Tell Bea I’m glad she’s feeling better.”

So, Melissa shows up to her nonna’s on Saturday alone. And immediately upon being spotted, Bea is pestering the redhead.

“Where is that pretty girlfriend of yours?”

“What do you mean?” Green eyes are rolled. “I don’t have a girlfriend, Nonna.”

“Y/N, the nurse?” Bea says as though it’s obvious. “Your ma says you’re still seeing her relatively frequently, and everyone else’s significant others are here, so she should be here too.”

“Nonna,” the redhead sighs. “She’s not my girlfriend, she’s not my significant other, she’s not my-”

“You’ve been on dates?” A nod of the head. “You’ve kissed her?” Another nod. “You have feelings for her and still see her?” One final nod. “So, you’re dating. She’s your girlfriend whether you want her to be or not.”

“Unofficially,” Melissa tells her grandmother.

“So invite her over,” Nonna instructs. “And before you try to lie to me and tell me that she’s working, I already know that she isn’t.”

“And how would you know that?” the second grade teacher asks, eyes narrowing.

Bea just smirks. “I know a guy. Now go call her and invite her over. If you don’t, I will.”

You’re sitting out on your front porch reading a book on this exceptionally nice day when your phone starts to buzz to life next to you. Melissa’s smiling face is on the screen, and you can’t help but furrow a brow as you place your book down and answer your phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey hun,” you hear her deep voice, and it sounds somewhat agitated.

“Hey,” you turn your voice to butter. “Is everything okay? I know you said you were supposed to be at Bea’s house right now.”

“I am,” Melissa sighs. You don’t know it, but she’s rubbing her temple as she prepares to ask you this question. “Are you doing anything right now?”

“Besides sitting on my front porch reading my book? No. Why? What’s up?”

“How would you feel about coming over to Nonna’s? She’s practically begging for you.”

Your eyebrows creep up your forehead. “Uh, yeah, sure. Send me the address?”

“I’ll just come pick you up,” Melissa tells you. “I’m not far from your place anyhow… only about ten minutes.”

When she pulls up to your house, you’re sitting there looking effortlessly beautiful in a sundress and a light bit of makeup. She makes her way out of the car and up your steps.

“You didn’t have to get out of your-”

She shushes you with a soft kiss as she pulls you in gently by the waist. You’re left somewhat breathless as you pull apart, although you aren’t sure why. It wasn’t an intense kiss by any means- maybe it’s because you’re swooning at the softness of her touch this time.

“You look beautiful,” she compliments you quietly.

“Thank you,” you smile softly as you tuck a few stray hairs behind her ear. “You look… wow, Mel.”

“I look like I always do,” the redhead laughs softly. “Probably worse considering we’re all just hanging out at Nonna’s house. We should probably get going too, before I hear anymore from Nonna. She’s already texted me eight times since I left her house… ten minutes ago.”

You allow her to lead you to her car and climb in. When you pull into a spot, your eyes go just the slightest bit wider at the amount of cars in the driveway as well as running up and down the street.

“Don’t let it get to you,” she tells you softly. “It looks like a lot of people, and it is; but everyone is spread out and doing their own things.”

You hum softly in response before undoing your seatbelt. You climb out of the car. By the time you’re closing the door and spinning around to face the house again, Melissa’s hand is in your own and squeezing gently- as if silently telling you that it’s all going to be alright. 

The two of you make the trek up to the house, and as soon as she’s opening the door, all eyes land on you. Well, those who are in the front room- including Bea Schemmenti herself.

“There she is!” the matriarch of the family claps her hands in delight. “Oh, Y/N! Get over here!”

You chuckle as you drop Melissa’s hand gently and make your way over to your former patient. She’s hugging you tightly, kissing both cheeks of yours, and telling you that she’s absolutely thrilled you’re here.

“Glad to be here,” you smile softly, a deep shade of red creeping into your cheeks. Nonna only continues to hold herself close to you until you feel Melissa’s presence.

“Nonna, let her go,” the redhead rolls her eyes as she takes your hand back into her own. When Kristen Marie coughs and looks at her expectantly, the woman sighs. “Guys, this is Y/N. She was one of Nonna’s nurses at the hospital-”

“That I did not have to be in!” Bea interjects.

“And we’ve been hanging out for the past month or so,” Melissa finishes.

The family just eyes you warily before turning back to their conversations. The teacher just pulls you along into the kitchen, offering you a drink. You smile and gratefully take a glass of wine as she pulls herself out a beer.

She gives you a tour of the house, holding your hand the entire time as she does so. She introduces you to everyone in the family with a smile on her face, but she never once uses the word ‘girlfriend’. You don’t much mind- the two of you haven’t spoken of it. That is, until she’s showing you the last room- the den where all of the kids hang out.

With such a big family, there are about ten kids playing in the den. It’s loud, it’s exciting, it’s everything that you would expect from a bunch of rowdy kids. But upon ‘Aunt Lissa’s’ entrance, they go silent and wide eyed. They’re only that way for a second though before they’re all cheering and tackling her in hugs to the point that she has to drop your hand to hold onto a few of the little ones as she tumbles to the floor. 

“Good grief,” the redhead groans playfully as she pulls herself up from the floor. “I told youse, Aunt Lissa is getting too old to tackle, and youse are getting too big.”

They all just give her cheeky and not at all apologetic smiles as they continue to cling to her in any way they can. And then their eyes land on you.

The youngest, who you would later learn is her cousin’s daughter, cocks her head to the side as she inspects your looks. “You’re pretty.”

“Thank you, hun,” you smile warmly, keeping your voice soft.

“Who are you?” another asks- and it isn’t rude or ill-intentioned. It’s a simple question full of curiosity.

“That’s actually why Aunt Lissa came down,” the redhead cuts in gently as she scoops the smallest one into her arms and settles her on her hip. “This is Y/N, and she came to join us for today. I wanted to introduce you all to her.”

The oldest of the group, maybe about nine, looks between the two of you with a knowing look. “Aunt Lissa?”

“Yeah?”

“She your girlfriend?” the kid asks bluntly.

Green eyes meet your panicked ones, and you can see the same look in hers. You give her a small little shrug and a smile- one that you hope conveys she can saw whatever she feels is right to explain your situation to a bunch of young children.

“Something like that,” Melissa chooses to say. “Something like that.”

“But Aunt Lissa,” the littlest one lays a gentle hand on the woman’s cheek.

“Yes, Elizabeth?”

“Nonna only lets family over,” Elizabeth states finitely. “So… she gotta be your girlfriend.”

Melissa looks to you again with a sparkle in her eye. “I would say she’s definitely something like a girlfriend to me… we just haven’t gotten that far to talk about if she wants to be a girlfriend to Aunt Lissa or not.”

The little girl shrugs as she starts to twirl the red curls around her little finger with a yawn. “She should be. She’s pretty.”

“I’m glad you think so, Lizzie,” Melissa chuckles as she strokes the little wisps down. “Is someone getting sleepy? Is it time for nap time?”

The young girl shakes her head adamantly, but she does lay her head down on her aunt’s shoulder. “Just like Aunt Lissa cuddles.”

“And Aunt Lissa never says no to that,” the redhead says gently as she drops a kiss to Elizabeth’s temple. “But I am going to head back upstairs with Y/N.”

Lizzie shrugs and tightens her hold around Melissa’s neck. The three of you head back up the steps, you now holding both your wine glass and her beer bottle as your… something like a girlfriend… carries the little girl.

You end up settling on one of the couches in the family room, just taking everything in. What Elizabeth had said about Nonna only letting family over for gatherings like this sticks with you. Does she think that you and Melissa are girlfriends? Does she not know that you’re really not together yet- at least not officially?

You shake those thoughts from your mind though as you feel a hand interlace with yours with a gentle squeeze. Melissa is looking at you with that soft look that you’ve grown quite fond of as she keeps another hand gently on Lizzie’s back, the little girl now dozing softly.

“I think we may be stuck here for a while,” the redhead jokes with you. “Liz loves her sleep, and if she wakes up too soon, she’s a cranky little bugger.”

“You’re really good with her,” you compliment softly, leaning over to kiss her cheek. 

She smiles back. “I try. She makes it easy for the most part. They’re all really great kids down there.”

You hum softly before leaning into her figure a bit more. The two of you take in the chaos around you for a bit until you hear Nonna’s voice calling that lunch is ready and to start filling up plates. But Melissa still has the little girl on her.

“I can grab our plates,” you offer quietly.

She smiles at you and kisses your cheek before nodding. “That’d be great.”

“What should I put on your plate?”

“A lil scoop of everythin’,” she tells you. “The Schemmenti’s can cook.”

You chuckle softly before heading into the room where all the food is, and your eyes widen just slightly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this much food in one room before. 

You oblige her requests, filling two plates with a little bit of everything laid out before heading back to her. You hand her the plate and utensils intended for her before taking Lizzie out of her hold.

Once you have the little girl settled on your own chest, you glance over to see Melissa looking at you curiously.

“So you can eat,” you shrug softly and continue to hold your… girlfriend’s (?) niece close to your chest.

Others start to fill in the room, and they look at you with a sense of warmth as they see you holding onto the smallest member of the Schemmenti family while Melissa eats.

Lizzie wakes up in your hold a bit later.

“Y/N?” she asks quietly.

You just nod with the softest of eyes, ones you know show warmth and kindness and that you use with patients consistently. “Yeah, hun. Are you hungry? Should we go fill up a plate for you?”

The little one climbs off your lap before holding out her hand and looking at you expectantly. You take it, of course you do, and allow her to lead you to the spread of food once more. You fill up a plate for her before taking her back to where you were sitting previously.

Voices had filled the living room as everyone questioned Melissa and the fact that you were sitting in on a family gathering, but as you entered, they all hushed.

You just smile at them all as you sit back down next to Melissa, holding Lizzie’s plate. The little girl climbs back into your lap before beginning to feed herself. The entire time, you just watch with such a fondness in your eyes. You ignore the fact that almost the entire Schemmenti family is staring at you.

Eventually, she’s finished, and she’s holding out the napkin that you had brought for her. You clean up her face, wipe down her hands, and let her decide what to do next.

“I go play,” she tells you with gusto. Before she runs back off for the den though, she squeezes you in a tight hug, her cheeks squishing into yours. And then she’s off. 

Only then do you reach for your own plate, now cold. It doesn’t matter though- Melissa was right: the Schemmenti’s sure do know their way around the kitchen. You lean into Melissa’s side a bit with a smile as you start to make your way through your own lunch. 

A throat clears, and only then do you look up. All eyes are on you.

“Hm?” you hum through a mouthful of food.

“How did you do that?” One of Melissa’s cousins looks at you wildly.

“Do what?” you ask, once you’ve swallowed.

“Get Lizzie to sit with you like that? She literally only goes to Nonna, Mel, and her parents.”

You shrug and look to the woman sitting next to you, silently asking if that was true. She nods. Then you shrug again. 

Once you’re finished your meal, you insist on helping clean up as a thank you for allowing you to join their apparently sacred family meal.

“You don’t have to, Y/N,” Bea tells you.

You wave her off. “I insist, Bea.” You take everyone’s plates and stack them high before carrying them off into the kitchen like a waitress.

Melissa goes to follow, but her mother coughs, stopping her.

“What, Ma?”

“When are you gonna just ask her to be your girlfriend?”

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” the redhead rolls her eyes.

“You ain’t dating her?” A cousin pipes up.

“I-”

“They’s datin’,” Nonna cuts in. “Whether Melly wants to admit it or not. Why you think Y/N’s here with us for family lunch?”

“We aren’t dating,” Melissa huffs. “At least not yet.”

“Well, you should be,” Kristen Marie tells her sister. “I see them puppy dog eyes she gives you, and you have a lovesick look in your face- disgustin’.”

“Shut it,” the redhead glares at her sister.

“Is all I’m sayin,” the blonde sister shoots back with a smirk.

The two of you do the dishes in a peaceful manner, much like how you usually do them in the comfort of either of your homes, before she wraps a hand around your waist.

“So,” she sighs softly as she kisses you.

You kiss her back gently. “Yeah?”

“How you like the family?”

“Love ‘em,” you reply with a cheeky smile. “Especially the little ones. Lizzie is adorable.”

“She is, but what Gia said is true,” Melissa tells you. “Liz won’t go to anyone but 

Nonna, me, or her parents.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re something special, you know that?” the redhead tells you as she tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Just bein’ able to waltz into my life, into my family… An’ so, I was thinkin’-”

Whatever she’s about to ask you, and you have an inkling of what was to come, is interrupted by Lizzie running up the steps and flying into both yours and Melissa’s legs, using them as a shield.

“Liz!” Melissa gasps out in shock.

“Sophia’s trying to catch me!” the little girl squeaks out. 

Somehow, this ends up with the two of you roped into their little game. It’s a little bite of domesticity with Melissa, and something in your head tells you that you’re going to be a part of this family for a long time- even if just as a friend. The Schemmenti’s have already welcomed you in, specifically the oldest and the youngest, and of course Melissa.

Eventually, you’re able to get out of the game, the redhead telling them that Aunt Lissa is too tired and needs to go be a boring adult upstairs. They protest, but she stands her ground. She goes to take you with her, only to be met with a chorus of protests.

“I’m a little tired too,” you chuckle softly as you crouch down to meet their eyes. “But I promise I’ll come play again before your Aunt Lissa and I leave, okay?”

“Pinky swears?” Lizzie holds out her pinky.

“Pinky swears,” you interlock your finger with hers before kissing your thumb and pressing it to hers. You stand up straight, smooth out your dress, and take Melissa’s hand in your own before heading back up the steps.

You can’t help but smile at the little voice giggling to her cousin’s, “Y/N even knew about sealin’ it with a kiss!”

It’s a long while before you and Melissa go to head out. Her family had fully invited you into the conversation, wanting to get to know you more, catch up on life, and spill the little secrets of Melissa as a child to you. It’s… it’s something special that you’ve found yourself in. And then of course, you couldn’t break your promise to the kids, so you head downstairs and promise them ten minutes of playing before you were to really head out. Melissa stays up with her family, who all look at her with a sense of urgency.

“J’ask her out yet?” Nonna looks at her granddaughter expectantly.

“Well, I was gonna,” the redhead sighs dramatically. “But then Liz came up and roped us into their game.”

“She’s real good with them,” a family member notes. “My Alex said that she adores Y/N and thinks you two should be together.”

“‘Course she said that,” Melissa rolls her eyes playfully. “I’m gonna ask her, okay?”

“You better, ‘fore she realizes what a shit show you are and runs,” Kristen Marie teases her sister. 

Melissa goes to smack her sister, but you walk back up the steps, Lizzie on your hip. The little girl has her one hand twirling your hair around her finger while the other hand plays with the necklace that hangs from your neck.

“Hey,” you smile and make your presence known. “Lizzie wanted to know if Aunt Lissa would come down for the last five minutes to play?”

Lizzie nods excitedly.

“What are they playin’?”

“The big kids playin’ fort, but I wanna play dolls,” the little girl mumbles. Then she looks at her aunt. “Please, Aunt Lissa.”

The three of you head back down the steps, and five minutes turns into fifteen before you really do try to head out.

“No!” Lizzie protests. “Keep playin’, Y/N.”

“Y/N will be back,” Melissa tries to placate the little girl.

The three year old looks at her aunt with big green eyes, ones that nearly mirror Melissa’s. “You pinky swears?”

“Pinky swears,” the redhead smiles as she promises her niece.

By the time the two of you leave, you’ve had a million more hugs from the little ones of the family, Bea has kissed your cheeks multiple times, and Annette has handed you multiple Tupperware containers full of food to take with you.

You and the redhead end up in her car with warm hearts, fully stomachs, and a slight blush tinting your cheeks now that you’re finally alone.

“Your family is precious,” you tell her with a smile, taking her hand in your own.

“No they ain’t,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “But they sure as hell love you.”

You smile at her.

“I- I know it’s probably a bit too soon to say this,” she fiddles with the ring that sits on your middle finger. “But… they love you, and I love you.”

Your eyes go almost comically wide at her words. She was right, this was very early to be saying that word. “I-”

“I don’t expect you to say it back,” she tells you quickly. “But I wanted you to know… and I’ve wanted to ask you this the entire day, but any time I went to, we were interrupted.”

“Yeah?” you ask, a smile dancing across your face. You know exactly what she’s going to ask you.

“Do you wanna… you know, actually date? Be my girlfriend?”

You laugh. “Wow, Mel. How romantic. Really, such a charmer.”

“Hey… I’m not great at the hard questions,” she rolls her eyes. “But, what d’ya say?”

“I’d be honored,” you chuckle as you lean over the center console to kiss her. “And so you know, I love you too.”

Neither of you know it, but Nonna is standing at the window watching the two of you. She smiles and claps her hands as she turns back around to face the rest of the family. “Melly’s got a girlfriend.”

“About damn time,” Bea’s daughter chuckles.

Tags

(and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[oswildin]

Oneshot request:)

Can you maybe do one where the reader is struggling with anxiety during a mission or something, and Loki comforts them throughout? Just a little fluff:)

Hi! Thank you for the request! Hope this is okay! I drew from my own experiences with anxiety, so it may not be the same for everyone (well, obviously it isn’t but you know what I mean!). 💚

Small Victories (Loki x GN!Reader)

Summary: Loki helps you get through your anxiety during a mission. (Avenger!Loki, subtle fluff, friends to lovers vibe)

Today was an off today. It had started like any other, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t wake up exactly the same as the day before. You would get days like this, days where things just felt… too much. You couldn’t explain why, or exactly how, but they just did. Your mind felt like it was racing, your heart beating a little faster, sounds made you startle easier and that dread that seemed to linger in your bones only grew more pronounced as the day went on. You wanted to hide away, let it pass… But unfortunately, life as an Avenger had other plans.

Currently, you were moving down the halls of an old Hydra base, having got information that a new terrorist group had gotten access to it, intending to find information, or even better plans for weapons, that had been left behind. The base had only recently been discovered with this groups movements, who had been on Stark’s radar for the last few days. But today was really not the day for a mission…

With every step you took, you could feel that needling dread, that doubt that creeped into your mind - doubt of your abilities, the weight of your responsibilities…

Focus. You had to focus.

“Do you copy, Agent?” Loki’s voice suddenly came through your earpiece, and you realised you had completely missed something he had said. You take a quiet breath, lifting your hand to activate comms on your earpiece.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You asked, eyes scanning the area, keeping - or trying to - your wits about you. Truthfully, Loki had noticed you earlier in the day, and on the journey to the base. You had seemed distant, a little out of sorts. And annoyingly for him, he found himself… concerned of sorts. Unfortunately, you had managed to worm your way into the heart of the God of Mischief, much to his dismay and joy. It was quite the contradiction, but he was Loki after all, so that wasn’t so surprising.

“I said, I’m making my way to you.” Loki repeated the statement he had made a minute ago.

“Okay.” You murmured, hearing a noise behind you down the hall. Whipping around, you saw movement, and for a moment you thought maybe it was Loki, but you quickly realised it wasn’t. It was the enemy. You felt your heart stutter for a second before quickly reaching for your gun, firing a warning shot towards the figure as you sidestepped towards one of the old labs in the hall, hearing the enemy fire a shot in return. The sound made you startle, your nerves beginning to fray due to your anxiety. “Damn it-“ You hissed, mentally chiding yourself.

However, just as you reached the door, a wave of familiar green seidr flickered down the corridor, immediately knocking the the figure at the end back, making them drop their weapon and hit the wall behind them, falling unconscious to the ground. You barely had time to register the two hands that landed on your shoulders, turning you round.

Loki gazed at you, brows furrowed as he took in the slighter wider look to your eyes, the way your breaths were quicker and a little shallow. “Agent, look at me.” He calmly commanded, lowering his head slightly to catch your gaze. “Focus on my voice.” He continued. “I need you to take a few deep breaths, and take a moment.” He nodded faintly, a subtle, silent encouragement.

You finally met his gaze, your eyes searching his as he exuded the firm calm you craved. His hands on your shoulders remained, keeping you grounded as you tried to do as he said. You took deep, slower breaths, trying to get your heart beat to follow suit.

“Good.” Loki murmured, his eyes flickering around to ensure there was no more danger. “Keep going.” His eyes then turned to the door you had planned on going through, deciding it was best to get out of the open. Removing one of his hands from your shoulders, he reached for the door, swiftly opening it before ushering you inside with his other hand shifting from your shoulder to your back. “That’s it, take a second.” He continued, giving you something to focus on.

Once inside the abandoned lab, out of immediate sight of any potential threats, he once again stood before you. He could see the way your hands had moved to clench into fists, quickly unclenching before tightening into balls again, over and over - repetitive self-soothing motion. He hated the way it tugged at his heart, something he had been very adamant about being fortified. Yet, in this moment, it was very clear it wasn’t quite as protected as he had portrayed it to be.

Without a second thought, his cool hands caught yours, holding them gently as his thumbs brushed over your knuckles in a similarly soothing way. “It’ll pass.” He said quietly, ensuring he held your gaze. “Trust me.” He added, lowly.

The sensation of his hands holding yours were a balm, his words an anchor amidst the storm in your mind. You continued to steady your breaths the best you could, before hearing Tony’s voice come through comms.

“Reindeer games, report?” That made you lose focus for a moment, making your breaths hitch as you lost your rhythm. Loki felt a flare of irritation at Tony’s interruption, even if it was unfounded, as he reached to remove your earpiece.

“Stay focused.” Loki reminded you, keeping the earpiece in his palm as his hand returned to yours, this time holding your fingers between his thumb and index finger gently whilst his other remained holding your hand completely. “Forget the mission, your current mission is to get past this, alright?”

After a minute or so, with Loki’s gentle encouragements and soothing gestures, you began to feel the anxiety that had been gripping out begin to ebb. Your breaths evened out, your heart slowing to its usual rhythm. The thoughts that had been swirling in your head quietened, focusing solely on the moment, on Loki. Loki released his own quiet breath of relief, unable to stop the small swell of pride and satisfaction he felt at being able to help you through the moment.

Wordlessly, you gave a small nod, silently telling him it had passed - for now. Loki gave a gentle squeeze to your hand, loosening his grip before his hand slid up your arm to rest on your bicep. “There.” He breathed out softly. “It’s passed.”

You felt a flicker of embarrassment at allowing yourself to get so overwhelmed on a mission, your job was to be focused and precise, and yet this episode had prevented you from doing that. The one thing you were there to do… Loki could sense the frustration within you, seeing it clearly in the way your brows twitched.

“We all have our moments.” He sighed quietly, tilting his head faintly as he regarded you, his thumb subconsciously brushing the fabric of your mission gear on your arm. “They always strike in the most unideal moments.” A pause. “But you got past it, and you didn’t let it consume you.” His blue eyes flickered over your features. “Small victories.”

His words helped ease some of your worries, and there was gratitude in your own eyes as you gazed at him. It was a look that made a flicker of warmth appear in Loki’s chest, that earlier pride returning. For a God that had previously often sought to bring chaos, it was… nice… to be doing the opposite for a change. Especially with someone who he held in high regard - even if he wouldn’t admit that aloud. Not quite yet, anyway.

“Thank you.” You finally spoke, voice low. Loki didn’t say anything, simply squeezing your arm one last time before letting his hand fall back to his side. He then held out his hand that held your earpiece, offering it back to you.

“Or I could send it to my pocket dimension and we simply tell Stark that it was lost?” He mused playfully, raising a brow, hoping to draw a small smile to your lips - which he managed to do. You shook your head faintly, reaching to take it from his palm.

“And hear him complain about how much they cost even though he’s a billionaire?” You murmured wryly in return. “No, thank you.” Loki felt his own lips tug into a smirk at your humour, giving an elegant nod.

“Very well.” He accepted, watching you place the small device back into your ear. “Shall we venture back out into the unknown?” He stepped back slightly, gesturing towards the door with a dramatic flair. “I’m told I’m a rather good partner.”

You huffed wryly at that, raising a brow. “By who?” You teased, moving towards the door.

“Myself.” Loki replied playfully, pleased to see you were slowly beginning to return to your usual self. He understood that the anxiety would likely linger, but he silently vowed he would be there to ensure it couldn’t consume you.

He wouldn’t allow it.

[sturnioloszn]

CAUGHT (2) - M.S

summary; a few days after the party, you finally texted Matt asking if you could 'properly thank him' for taking you home.

warnings; smut, protected sex, oral (blowjob), tit-sucking, praising.

a/n; thank you for all the love shown on my last fic and all of my posts in general; i'm so incredibly thankful for everyone! btw this was inspired from @sturnobessed.

P1, P3

I anxiously tapped my fingers against the back of my phone, staring at the contact illuminated in front of me. I had saved Matt's number the minute I saw it on my nightstand but I've been too much of a pussy to text him.

Is it weird to hook up with twin brothers? What if they found out? Would they be angry if they found out I fucked both of them?

Several questions flooded my mind, and it became harder and harder to keep them all at bay. Fuck, what would be the worst thing that could happen?

With that thought, I quickly typed out a message and hit 'send' before I had the chance to overthink it. The minutes after the text had sent were filled with anticipation and nervousness, so much that I began to feel sick to my stomach.

My worries subsided when I saw a notification come through on my phone... from Matt.

'thanks for helping me out the other night, was wondering if I could repay the favour?'

'Don't mention it, u don't owe me anything, just glad u were safe'

I instantly reply, indicating that I really did want to thank him, and he gave in. I told him to come over, not even bothering to send my address, knowing he probably still had it saved since he dropped me home.

Roughly half an hour had passed since our last texts, and there were finally knocks at the door. I rushed to open it and was greeted with his adorable smile.

I opened the door further, allowing him to enter. We moved to the kitchen where I offered him something to drink and was trying to make small talk.

"Listen, y'really don't owe me anything," He says, accepting the glass of water I was handing him.

"I know, but I want to," I reassure, moving closer to him, watching the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed the cold water.

"So what do you have in mind?" He questions accepting his defeat and setting the glass down onto the table next to us.

I lick my lips as I continue to move until I'm stood directly in front of him. "Want me to show you?" I ask. He looks confused for a moment until I sink to my knees, still keeping our eyes locked together.

"Can I?" I ask, moving my hands to undo the button and zipper on his black jeans. He gives a small nod of approval, granting me permission to pull down his pants, leaving them pooled at his mid-thigh.

I slowly tease him through his black boxers, wrapping my hand around his clothed dick, pumping it gently. He groans, slinging his head back; beads of pre-cum wet his boxers where his tip is positioned.

I hurriedly pull his underwear down to join his jeans, allowing his stiffened cock to be released. His member was almost identical to Chris', in shape, colour, and even size.

I grab hold of his cock once again and painfully shift it up and down; spitting on his tip and rubbing my saliva down his inches. Moans are easily fleeing his lips now as I begin to pump my hand faster around his shaft.

"Fu-ck, just like that," He mutters, tangling one of his large hands into my hair, guiding my mouth to his swollen tip. I happily accept him into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks around him and sucking softly.

My actions elecit further moans from him, and by now, I'm swallowing most of his length while simultaneously pumping whatever I can't fit down my throat.

"You're doing so- good f'me," He praised. Simply from his words, I felt the wetness in my pussy grow, leaving a damp spot in my cotton panties.

His sounds become louder, and I feel him losing control, but I don't want him to come. Not yet. So, I pull my mouth away and slow my hand.

"Why'd you stop? I was so close," He whines, pulling his head back up to look at me. I could see beads of sweat form on his forehead, causing strands of his dark brown hair to stick.

"I wanna make you come in a much better way," I reply, standing up from my now sore knees and grabbing hold of his hand; leading him to my bedroom. He stumbles slightly, considering his jeans and underwear are still halfway down his legs.

I push him backwards onto my bed and climb on top of him, placing my legs on either side of his lap. I lean forward, pressing my lips softly into his as I move my hands into his hair, softly pulling and tugging. The kiss was soft and passionate, everything Chris wasn't.

Lifting my hips a little, I pull my underwear and pyjama shorts down, revealing my soaked cunt. Matt stares in awe as I discard my clothes and resume my position on him.

I move to grab his dick and line it up with my entrance, but before I could sit down he stops me.

"W-wait, do you have a condom?" He stutters, obviously embarrassed by having to ask. I reach over to the draw in my nightstand and pull one out, handing it over to Matt. He wastes no time ripping the foil and sliding the rubber over his erection.

He drops the packaging somewhere and places both of his hands back on my hips, giving me complete control again. This time, when I sink down, he doesn't stop me.

"You're so deep," I moan, dropping my head down to his shoulder while giving myself a minute to adjust to his length. I then begin to rock my hips back and forth, which releases moans from both of us.

After a few moments, I established a solid pace, and I can feel my thighs burn. Matt's hands begin to explore my body, lingering on my ass, before moving to my clothed tits. He grabs both of them, massaging them slightly.

"Can I suck them... please?" His voice is trembling and is laced with need and desire. I nod my head with the same amount of need. He softly lifts my shirt over my head, exposing my tits; the cold air making my nipples harden.

He admires my piercings before latching his warm mouth to my left peak, swirling his tongue around the cold metal.

From his cock hitting my g-spot continuesly, my clit rubbing against his base, and my nipples in his mouth, I was basically at the finish line. He moves his other hand to roll and pinch at my secondary nipple and that pushes me over the edge.

My soaked pussy pulsates around his cock, also bringing him to his limit. He roughly thrusts his hips into me from below, allowing his cum to spill into the condom.

"You're so fuckin' pretty like this," he whimpers, letting the final bit of cum fill the rubber.

I drop my head down to his shoulder, and his head leans against mine as we both try to recover from the amazing sex we just had.

Our breathing began to return to normal, and I started thinking about how different the sex was between Chris and Matt. It was clear that Chris liked it rougher and more chaotic whilst Matt enjoyed softer, more meaningful sex.

"Y'okay?" Matt asks, causing me to lift my head. I gave a small smile and reassured him that everything was much better than okay.

I lifted my hips off him, causing his limp cock to slip out and land on his stomach. He cleaned himself up while I went to the bathroom to pee and redress myself. Coming out of the bathroom, I saw him zipping and buttoning up his pants.

"Sorry that I kinda just sprung that on you," I say, playing with my fingers and avoiding his gaze.

"Sorry? I'd drop you home every day if this was the outcome each time," He half-jokes. I smile a little before speaking up again.

"It doesn't have to be the last time..." I say, looking up at him mischievously, noticing that his smile is mirroring mine.

"You have my number," He replies as we make our way towards the door. With one last kiss, and he's on his way.

I let out a deep breath as I shut the door, placing my back against it and sliding down until I came in contact with the cold hardwood floors.

I can't believe I've hooked up with twin brothers... without either of them knowing. I don't know if that's hot or strange. Maybe both.

-

A few months have passed since the initial party, and I find myself with either Matt or Chris every other night. I'm incredibly shocked that neither have caught onto my little scheme, but hopefully, it remains that way because my sex life has never been better.

a/n; helloooo, this is the second part complete, and there will be 1 more part to this, which i'm lowk nervous to write, but we move. anywho, thank you for reading, love you all <33.

Taglist; @idrk2292 @starclinexo @clairesrose @045696 @forgottxen @mattsturniolover @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @chrissturniolodailysluts @sturnobsessedwh0re

Extra tags; @sturniolo101 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @measturniolo @xmexssx @pleasebendmeoverxxx @sturniolosfr3shl0v3

[piratekane]

Beatrice sighs as her pen runs out of ink. This is the second pen today and she’s starting to feel like there is something working against her. But, that seems illogical. The more logical conclusion is that Ava has used her pens. She has a tendency to use them until they’re nearly dry and put them back in Beatrice’s backpack, thinking she’s doing a good job returning them to where she found them.

Not maliciously. There’s nothing Ava does that is malicious. Beatrice knows she’s probably thinking: I borrowed this. I need to put it back. And then she does and Beatrice opens her backpack at the student center the next day, intent on getting some work done while she waits for Ava, and finds her pens dry.

She looks through her pencil case but there isn’t another pen, just a precisely sharpened standard pencil, two black mechanical pencils, a yellow highlighter, a soft white eraser, and her red pen - used to make corrections only. She debates using it.

No. It would ruin her notes.

Instead, she pulls out her laptop. She’ll just continue her notes there and transfer them to her notebook later. The extra repetition will be good for her. Her professor asked her a question she wasn’t quite prepared for and she knows she’s going to be thinking about it all week until she has a chance to redeem herself in the next class.

Her screen comes to life and she sighs. This one isn’t born from frustration like her last one; this one is an acceptance, an admitting to herself that, despite what she’s looking at, she can’t help but feel a rush of affection for it.

Ava has changed her desktop background again. This time, it’s a picture Camila took last weekend. Ava is in a white shirt and white shorts, a white sweatband around her forehead. All of it is stained in neon paint. She’s holding a fake plastic trophy high above her head with one hand, the other looped around Beatrice’s neck, the two of them squished into the frame. Her own clothes are soaked with the same bright colors.

How she agreed to something called a Color Run... The idea of running through cannons of color had not sounded appealing, but Ava had come home with a flyer she found on the bulletin board outside the cafeteria and presented it to Beatrice alongside a bulleted list of reasons why Beatrice should say yes.

She let Ava go through the list: one, you love to exercise. Two, it’s advertised to make the world ‘healthier’ and you’re always telling me I need to start making better choices. Three, imagine if we got Lilith to agree to come and someone blasted her with a color cannon?

The third one hadn’t been convincing. Lilith would never agree to something like that.

Beatrice didn’t tell her that the list didn’t matter; she was going to say yes the moment Ava handed her the flyer and looked at her with those eyes, the ones that always made Beatrice feel like she could free fall and not care what waits for her at the other end of it.

And she had to admit, it was rather fun. The white clothes they bought were completely ruined, but it had been worth it to see the way Ava beamed the whole run, sprinting ahead to circle back around her. She had thrown her arms wide when the color cannons went off, soaking in the powder. Beatrice soaked in her happiness in return.

It hasn’t been long. Spring is fading into summer quickly and Ava has been living with her for two months and every single moment has been filled with the kind of happiness that Beatrice could have only dreamed about when she was younger. The kind of happiness that made each day feel like it was worth waking up for.

She hadn’t gone looking for this, hadn’t expected something like this to just fall into her lap - or literally crash into her table. It’s illogical to think fate sent Ava into her orbit, but if she was pressed, she could admit that each of them must have been in the right place at the right time. Serendipity, Ava said with a rakish smile. We were destined to meet.

If there was such a thing as serendipity, it must be working in her favor.

She opens a word document, the cursor blinking at the top of the page. She titles it Anthropological Theories of Religion and flips through her textbook until she finds the correct page. She likes this class, likes how as she continues through her degree program the class gets smaller, more intimate. She typically likes the professor, though she feels thrown off by her now.

Halfway through a word, her world goes dark. Warm hands slide over her eyes, fingertips pressing against her skin. 

She smiles nearly instantly. “Ava.”

“Not Ava,” says a low voice. But it’s clunky, a poor imitation at something deeper.

Beatrice plays along for just a moment, indulging Ava and a part of herself that likes to make Ava happy. “Oh? Well then. I suppose a stranger has found it appropriate to put their hands on me.” She curls her fingers around a thin wrist, one her hand already knows the shape of, and tightens slightly. “I do know how to disarm you.”

“You could try.”

Beatrice tightens her grip in response and hears a slight exhale that glances against the shell of her ear. A fingertip skates across her brow briefly and then Ava is letting go, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before she sits down heavily in the chair next to Beatrice.

“How did you know it was me? What if I was… Mary?”

Beatrice spares Ava a glance. “Mary knows better. You, on the other hand…”

“I’ve never known better.” Ava says it with pride. “Especially not when it comes to you.”

Beatrice feels her chest tighten. She wonders if Ava knows, if Ava understands how something so simple unspools the tight loop Beatrice keeps around her heart. A part of her thinks Ava must. Ava is able to read her so thoroughly. From the moment they met, Ava has seen through her so effortlessly. It’s thrilling, to be seen like that. 

And it’s devastatingly terrifying.

“Yes, well,” she says quietly.

“One day, you’ll use that to your advantage.” Ava spins Beatrice’s textbook towards her, reading a few of the section titles before she turns it back towards Beatrice. “But you’re also too nice for that, so who knows.”

Beatrice straightens out her textbook out of habit more than anything else. “You’re late.”

Ava smiles sheepishly. “I got caught up.” She doesn’t give an answer past that.

Beatrice nearly frowns. Ava doesn’t owe her any more of an explanation. She just usually gives one.

“But I’m here now!” Ava takes off her backpack, resting it on the floor before she opens it and takes out her own laptop. “I thought you didn’t like typing your notes? Muscle memory or something, right?” 

“My pens are out of ink.” 

Ava’s cheeks flush. “That’s my fault, isn’t it.”

“It’s certainly not mine.” She says it without any malice. “I just need to start carrying more pens.”

Ava still looks guilty. She fishes into the pocket of her jean shorts and unearths a stick of gum, three paper clips, and an uncapped pen. She spreads them out on the table and nudges the pen towards Beatrice. It’s not the tip she likes, thicker than she usually uses, and it’s blue. If red would ruin her notes, this would change the physical shape of them.

She takes the offered pen and closes her laptop. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” Ava smiles and scoops the paper clips up, putting them back in her pocket. 

Beatrice will find them later when she does the laundry and she’ll add them to the jar of pocket-trinkets she keeps of all the things Ava leaves behind in her clothes. It’s made up of coins and paper clips and pen caps - all things that Ava swears she’s going to put in proper places but never remembers until Beatrice is pulling them out of the washing machine.

Ava takes the gum and breaks it in half, offering it to Beatrice. She has coffee and this gum is spearmint. The combination will taste horrible. But she puts the gum in her mouth and smiles when Ava does.

“So, listen to what MacKay did today.” Ava tells the story animatedly, face shifting as she plays each character. Beatrice doesn’t catch every word, too focused on the rise and fall of her voice and the way her hands move as she goes on. Beatrice finds herself smiling along, not at all caring about some girl named Carina or Professor MacKay and whatever argument they’ve gotten into this week.

Ava is halfway through her story, body gearing up to drop the punch line, when her face shifts and her eyes cut over Beatrice’s shoulder. Beatrice frowns, turning to look. A boy is approaching their table, hands locked around the straps of his backpack as he strides towards them.

“Hey, Ava!” he calls.

Beatrice looks back at Ava. She knows this boy, at the very least. But her face is unreadable - a feat Ava doesn’t manage to accomplish very often. He comes closer and Beatrice’s frown deepens.

“Ah,” Ava says quietly.

Ah?

The boy slows as he reaches their table, a smile on his face that someone might find charming. She studies Ava’s face. Does she find it charming?

“Hey, Ava,” he repeats. His voice is smooth, slightly accented. A traitorous part of her thinks of the time that Ava said she liked accents. “I was hoping to catch you after class.”

Ava smiles. “Sorry, JC. I was in a hurry. Had a lunch date.” She hooks a thumb in Beatrice’s direction. “JC, meet Beatrice, my best friend. Beatrice, this is JC. He’s my biology lab partner.”

JC. She’s never heard of him before. Ava talks about everyone and everything. Some nights, she talks until she falls asleep on the couch, her Hobbes stuffed animal clutched in her arms. It’s almost as if she collects stories all day just to tell them to Beatrice later. She knows about every one of Ava’s classmates, is - secretly - invested in her Literary Theory classmates, Robert and Nayara, and their on-again, off-again relationship. She knows about the librarian Ava likes, who doesn’t mind her iced coffee, as long as she uses a paper towel and keeps it away from the books.

But she’s never heard of a JC, or anyone who might use the initials JC.

And it’s not that Ava isn’t allowed to have friends. She is. She has plenty of them. She always says hello to at least fifteen people when they go out, either here to their favorite table in the student center or in the library or walking to the cafeteria if they’re getting lunch between classes. Ava loves people, loves knowing things about them. Beatrice loves that about her.

She just thought she knew all of them. Or has heard of them before. She certainly thinks she would have remembered hearing about Ava’s lab partner. It's odd, now, that she hasn't.

JC smiles at her, his eyes taking a moment longer to shift away from Ava. “It’s nice to meet you. Ava has talked a lot about you.”

Beatrice hides her smile at that. “Nice to meet you,” she says politely.

He completely turns from her, his job of mirroring her politeness gone, his job done. Beatrice finds herself studying him. He’s attractive in a conventional sense. A strong jaw, a good smile. Camila would have many things to say about him and Beatrice works to keep her voice out of her mind. She focuses on Lilith instead. 

Boys, she would probably sneer. Beatrice agrees.

JC runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back a little. Beatrice watches Ava’s eyes follow the motion and fights a visible frown. JC notices, though, and seems to preen a little in a way only university-age boys can when they find themselves to be attractive. She takes a centering breath. She doesn’t know JC. She’s sure he’s a nice person. She’s also sure he’d be a nicer one if he wasn’t standing at their table right now.

“I just wanted to know if you gave any thought to my question.”

“Ah,” Ava says again.

Ah?

JC doesn’t seem bothered. “I know your rule on dating your lab partner. It’s a very specific rule but I think you should give me a chance.”

Dating echoes in Beatrice’s head like a slow siren, like the slow spin of a lantern in a lighthouse. It illuminates JC, floating in the ocean in her mind, with his charming smile and his hopeful eyes. Ava appears next, face unreadable. They rotate around and around until they’re in the same frame.

She blinks and Ava is staring at her, a slight wrinkle in her forehead.

Beatrice keeps her face neutral, unsure of what else to do with it. She certainly can’t shout no. She absolutely will not encourage it. She’s stuck in a sort of limbo where she isn’t sure what comes next and so she waits, poised and ready to do whatever is needed of her.

Ava’s frown deepens.

JC takes the silence and runs with it. “If it’s because you’re worried about things being awkward if it doesn’t go well - and that’s a big if - then you don’t need to worry.” His smile widens and he leans one hand down on the table, his whole body angled towards Ava now. “What do you say?”

Say no, she thinks. Tell him to go away.

Ava has been living with her for two months and Beatrice has been in love with her for at least half of that.

It took some getting used to, this feeling. It took many nights laying in bed staring at the ceiling and pretending like the feelings she had for Ava were just a friendship. An intense one, born of their proximity and Ava’s natural affinity for people in general. 

But love is friendship caught on fire, she’s read before. And her friendship with Ava is a living, burning thing. She knows their love would be incendiary, scorching everything she thought love looked like before.

If - and it’s a big if - Ava ever wanted to love her back.

Why would she? Why would she give up a world of possibility for Beatrice? She’s certainly nothing special. She’s disciplined, polite, considerate to the needs of others - all the things her parents wanted her to be. Ava wants someone free, a little brash, selfish in the right ways. Beatrice is none of those things, can’t even begin to think of how she could be. But Ava deserves to get what she wants after all those years of being denied even the simplest of things.

Beatrice just doesn’t have the qualities Ava could want. Friendship is one thing. Being in love with someone is another. Beatrice is hyper aware of the difference.

It doesn’t stop her from dreaming about it, though. It doesn’t stop her from wishing for it.

“What’s the worst that could happen? We spend the rest of the semester ignoring each other?” he asks, smile charming.

Yes, she thinks. What’s the worst that could happen between them? They could spend the rest of the lease ignoring each other. Ava would never look at her the same.

She’d have to go back to living her life the way it was before Ava - not the worst, but not as great as this.

“I don’t know,” Ava finally hedges.

Yes, Beatrice exhales in her mind.

JC leans forward a little more. “It doesn’t need to be anything big. We could go for one of those iced coffees you like. At the cafe near Venable?”

“She likes the one near the English department.”

Beatrice frowns. Surely that wasn’t her voice. But Ava and JC are both looking at her. So it must have been her. There’s a slight smile on Ava’s face, a slight frown on JC’s. Beatrice clears her throat.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

JC recovers. “The one near Eldridge Hall, sure. I know someone who works there. She can sneak us a pastry.”

Ava hasn’t looked away from Beatrice. “I don’t know,” she repeats.

Beatrice swallows. It’s fine. Ava is - well, not quite a grown up, but certainly not a child. Despite her propensity for Saturday morning cartoons on Beatrice’s Hulu account - which is ruining the algorithm of her suggested shows - and sleeping on the couch upside down like a toddler and eating, God help her, shredded cheese out of the bag after finishing half a gallon of milk without even pouring herself a glass, she is not a child. 

She can make her own decisions. And if that decision is- If it’s- Well. Beatrice swallows past a knot forming in her throat. Well. She can do what she pleases. Including this probably-very-nice-boy in front of them. She’s allowed to do that.

So she smiles tightly, her lips pressing together thinly, and tells herself to get it together. She keeps her focus on Ava and loosens her mouth and it feels a little more natural. She inhales through her nose. She can tell Ava that she’s free to do whatever she wants with whoever she wants.

“You do like a free pastry,” is what she ends up saying.

Ava’s forehead pinches, the corners of her mouth crinkling. “I do,” she says slowly, confused.

“An iced coffee and a pastry.” Beatrice says it just as slowly. “Both things that you enjoy.”

“I do,” Ava repeats.

Beatrice nods encouragingly. Her head feels like it’s on a spring, up and down and up and down. She’s worried it’s going to roll off. 

JC looks between the two of them, confusion on his face. Beatrice sees him out of the corner of her eye and her smile tightens again.

Ava is still staring at her, still frowning slightly. Beatrice forces herself into her most diplomatic smile. 

Don’t you get it? she wants to ask. Don’t you understand what I’m trying to say?

But Ava misses it. Because she breaks Beatrice’s gaze and focuses on JC instead. Beatrice thinks her smile is slightly dimmer. Or she’s just hoping it is. But it still doesn’t ease the pain of knowing there is a smile and it’s aimed at JC. 

She opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “Listen, you have my number. I’m done with classes this evening. And then you’ll meet me for coffee, okay? And you won’t regret it.” 

Ava says nothing. JC pushes back from their table and smiles, hooking his hands back around the straps of his bag. His eyes wander to Beatrice and he nods politely before turning in a lazy circle and heading back through the crowd as the student center starts to fill up as afternoon classes.

Beatrice looks away instantly, busying herself with adjusting her notebook. It doesn’t need to be straightened out. In fact, she pushes it out of place and the pen Ava loaned her starts to roll across the table towards the edge. She reaches for it at the same time as Ava does.

Their fingers tangle and the pen is trapped under Beatrice’s palm. She pauses, every nerve exposed, and looks up to find Ava already looking back at her.

She smiles, mouth still wound too tight. “I’ve got it.”

“Do you?” Ava asks curiously.

Beatrice frowns, looking down. Their fingers are still slotted together, still laced over the pen. Of course she has it. It’s right there, scratching blue ink against her palm. 

“Because it seems like you’ve lost everything else,” Ava continues. “Like your cool, for instance.”

She pulls back minutely. “My-” Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Ava shrugs a shoulder. She only does that when she has a secret, when there’s something that Beatrice missed, a cue she didn’t read. “You do like a free pastry,” she mocks, her voice pitched low in a terrible approximation of Beatrice’s accent. “What gotten into you?”

“Oh.” Beatrice bristles. “Well, you do.”

“I know that. You know that.” Ava pauses. “Why does JC need to know that?”

Beatrice doesn’t have a good answer for that. So she makes one up. “Your potential suitors will need to know things about you. That is less a trivia fact and more of a necessity.”

Ava snorts loudly. Beatrice looks around, but no one seems bothered by the sudden noise. “My potential suitors?” She shakes her head. “Bea, honestly. No one talks like you do.”

She doesn’t make it sound like an insult. She never does, never has. She seems more entertained than anything, but not in a way that makes Beatrice uncomfortable or self-conscious. It makes her feel seen. And she loves to be seen by Ava. It uncoils some of the tension in her shoulder that she knows is radiating into her hand, tense under Ava’s touch.

Ava doesn’t move her hand. “Well, thanks to you, I think I’m going on a date tonight.”

Thanks to me. Thanks to the way she said Ava would enjoy herself. Thanks to her, Ava is meeting someone who isn’t her for a coffee at Ava’s favorite cafe where she only brings Beatrice. One of our places, Ava always tells her with a smile. 

“You can say no,” she reminds Ava, her whole body locking up again.

Say no, say no. She feels each word burn in her throat. But why would she? Why would she pick someone like JC over me?

Ava is still looking at her curiously, head tipped slightly as she studies her face. Beatrice holds still, face perfectly impassive from years of practice. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t open her mouth and tell Ava that JC seemed nice but she deserves something better than nice; something spectacular.

Then again, she’s not sure that Ava would feel that way about her.

So she forces her face to relax. Works through each muscle until she’s smiling slightly and nods encouragingly. “But if you like him and can see yourself enjoying your time, you should say yes.”

“Do you want me to?”

The question cuts through her with the intensity of a perfect lightning strike. She pulls back slightly, the only indication Ava’s hand tightening over hers when it starts to slide away. Ava’s face has gone from curious to a level of seriousness usually reserved for her more difficult homework assignments, or when she’s trying to figure out something Beatrice said. 

“I don’t… I don’t think that’s my decision.”

“Well, you’re my best friend.”

Beatrice has never hated a description more in her life. She fights the visceral reaction she feels come alive in her chest. She is Ava’s best friend. She’s admitted that more times than her parents have told her they love her. The first time had been a surprise to both of them, almost too soon after Ava moved in. But it felt natural. Ava slotted into the unknown hole in her life like she had always been there.

But she’d set their whole foundation on fire if it meant one day she could be Ava’s best friend and, and, and.

She widens her smile, feeling like she’s playing a part. “Of course. But I suppose… Well, there’s no harm in trying, is there?”

Ava’s hand slides away now and the feeling that she said the wrong thing rushes in on her. 

“A very diplomatic answer, Beatrice.” She pats the top of Beatrice’s hand before she pulls it into her lap. “Remind me again why you’re not running for student government?”

Beatrice doesn’t smile. She simply touches her notebook, arranging it’s already perfect line. She looks down at the chunky-tipped blue pen sitting on the page, so out of place against the neat, thin, black lines of her notes. Suddenly the idea of writing with it feels overwhelming. 

“I think we better get to lunch.” She puts the pen in front of Ava. “Camila said she was going to meet us there.” 

She needs the buffer, needs to put space between them. Camila is the perfect distraction. Mary and Shannon would know instantly that something was wrong - and they’d corner her until she said what. But perhaps they might not; Shannon seems supernaturally in tune with her and there’s rarely a thing she needs to tell her. Lilith would read Beatrice’s hesitation and be annoyed. Or think it’s Ava’s fault and be cagey when she doesn’t need to be. Camila would be too polite to acknowledge the tension Beatrice knows is radiating off her.

Ava, mercifully, doesn’t argue with her or point out that Camila isn’t meeting them for another 15 minutes and the walk only takes 5. She pockets the pen again and packs her things away, waiting for Beatrice to zip her bag closed.

They walk inches apart, shoulders to themselves. It’s the longest 5 minutes of Beatrice’s life.

~

The door opens slowly. Beatrice looks up from her book, the one she’s been reading since Ava left; the one she hasn’t been reading at all. Ava slips through it, back turned to close the door quietly behind her. When she turns to the living room, she gasps.

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice blinks. “Why are you sneaking back in?”

Ava is still taking deep breaths, hand pressed to her chest. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“At…” Beatrice checks her phone, frowning. “Eight o’clock in the evening?”

The tips of Ava’s ears go red just enough for Beatrice to notice. “Well. I didn’t look at the time.”

Beatrice looks out the window at the golden sunset. “It’s still light out.”

“You’re an early sleeper.” Ava sounds like she’s grasping at straws, the pitch of her voice rising.

“Not that early,” Beatrice says flatly. She slips her bookmark into her book, grateful to be closing it. “8 hours a night are important, but if I went to sleep at this hour, I’d be up at four in the morning. That’s too early, even for me.”

Ava toes off her shoes, kicking them towards the shoe rack at the door. One of them lands on the rack but the other bounces off it and away. Ava sighs, fixes it, and runs a hand through her hair when she straightens up.

“How-” Beatrice stops. She suddenly needs to be busy, needs to have her hands moving. She could open her book again, thumb through the pages. But tea sounds better. She stands, crossing to the kitchen and filling the electric kettle.

“I got you a coffee.” Ava pulls out a stool tucked at the breakfast bar, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. “But some kid on a skateboard crashed into me when he cut a corner and took the coffee down with him.”

Beatrice pulls two mugs out the cabinet, dropping a tea bag in each. “Are you okay?” 

“Just my pride.” Ava shrugs when Beatrice looks back. “But I’m disappointed. I got you a mocha chip frappuchino. Lucy put in extra chocolate chips.”

Something flutters in Beatrice’s chest, a sudden thought that overwhelms her: maybe Ava does these things because she feels it too. She pushes it down and smiles. “I do like when Lucy makes my drinks. But, maybe next time.”

Ava is quiet long enough that Beatrice wonders if she left. The kettle starts to whistle and she fills the mugs, balancing them carefully as she carries them to the counter Ava hasn’t moved from. She’s just uncharacteristically quiet. She hums a thank you and curls her hands around the mug, hissing when she finds it’s too hot.

Beatrice can’t help the fond smile; Ava is always rushing into things.

It’s why Beatrice knows Ava doesn’t feel the same way. She’s not rushing into this, not caught up in a whirlwind like she is with everything else. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my date was?” Ava finally asks.

I don’t want to know.

“How was your date?” she asks politely.

Tell me it was the worst date you’ve ever been on. Worse than the one you told me about where the boy slurped his pasta and sauce got everywhere; worse than the one where the girl tried to cast a love spell on you.

Ava shrugs. “It was… nice.” She blows on her tea. “JC is a good guy. I knew that already. But it wasn’t… groundbreaking.”

Beatrice is patient, letting her tea cool on its own. “Does a date need to be groundbreaking?”

“World-breaking.” Ava says it so quickly and fiercely, Beatrice has to blink. “It should be life-altering.”

“That seems like a lot to expect for a first date.” Beatrice points out. “At a coffee shop. With your lab partner.”

Ava shrugs. “Maybe I just have high expectations.”

Ones Beatrice can never live up to, it seems.

She smiles, hoping it looks warm and friendly. “You’ll have a hard time finding someone with an outlook like that.”

“I don’t know.” Ava takes a sip of her tea, hisses again. “I mean, a lot of things in my life have been like that. Getting out of the orphanage. Getting into school. Meeting you.” She’s staring at Beatrice now, a smile on her face.

She curls her hands around her mug and fights the way it burns her skin. She’s hardly earth-shattering, hardly worth that much. There’s no way she could be. But Ava is so earnest all the time, means things so completely. And if she’s saying that, Beatrice has to acknowledge that Ava considers her something great. A great friendship that Beatrice could never, ever risk.

But she feels herself flush all the same. “I’d hardly call it that.” She hedges around her next question. “So, no second date?”

She wonders if Ava hears the way her voice trembles; she can certainly feel it in her chest. 

But Ava doesn’t seem to, too focused on taking another, slower, sip of her tea. This one apparently doesn’t scald her tongue. She grins up at Beatrice, hunched over the steaming mug. She’s brought her legs up on the rungs of the stool and her knees are around her ears. Ava clutches the mug tightly to her chest.

She’s in love with a menace. 

“I don’t think so,” Ava says after a minute. “I mean, I don’t really have a reason not to, but…”

Beatrice breathes in deeply, steadying herself. She’s not a reason for Ava to say no. She knows that. “That’s not very encouraging,” she says instead.

Ava shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not looking for anything to change right now. I want things to stay exactly as they are. Things are perfect. And if I went out with him again, I’d just be, I don’t know. Pretending.”

She takes another measured sip of her tea. She feels like she’s walking in the empty space between the points of knives. “You wouldn’t be happy.”

Ava shakes her head softly. “No, I wouldn’t be. How could I be happy if I was pretending all the time?”

Beatrice knows. Because she is. She’s pretending from the moment she wakes up to the moment she falls asleep alone and all the seconds in between. She’s pretending that everything she’s feeling isn’t consuming her from the inside out.

All the books she read as a child, all the romances novels she devoured in her bed with a flashlight illuminating the pages - none of it described the way it feels now. Love is friendship on fire had seemed like such a childish thing to say. Something arbitrary and insignificant. But now she understands what it’s supposed to mean, what she could never understand before with anyone else.

“You couldn’t,” she admits. She’s not lying.

Ava’s eyes are still piercing, still searching her face. She wonders what Ava is trying to find and she keeps the truth as far away from her as she can. Either she finds something else or she gives up, because her face breaks into two and she’s grinning.

Ava slurps her tea, smiling wider when Beatrice looks mildly disgusted. “Alright. The way I see it, we have two options: we have a sleepover night where you let me braid your hair and I let you paint my toenails.” She laughs when the mild disgust turns into outright horror. “Or, I get you back into that really nice sweater you were wearing earlier and we got off in search of a replacement mocha chip frappuchino?”

Beatrice abandons her tea almost immediately. “Do you know what time Lucy’s shift is over?”

Ava jumps off her stool, landing lightly on her feet. She doesn’t bother with sneakers, socked feet sliding into sandals. Beatrice thinks about telling her how ridiculous it looks: her mid-calf socks usually hidden by her high-top sneakers, and a pair of black slides; her jean shorts where the pocket hangs just a little too long past the hem; her crop top with How you lichen me now? hand-stenciled on the front, from the one botany club meeting she attended; her hair half-pulled back in a high top-knot; a crooked grin on her face.

She’s the most beautiful woman Beatrice has ever seen in her life.

And one day, someone else is going to get to call her theirs. Beatrice will be left with the empty space where Ava used to be, her own space in Ava’s life filled up with someone else. Someone better. Someone she wants to rush headlong into the future with. Someone she sees a world of possibilities with.

Beatrice will be happy for her. Or, she’ll exhaust herself pretending.

“Milady,” Ava says, mouth tripping over the sounds. She holds out her arm. “Will you accompany me on this chip?”

Beatrice rolls her eyes. “You hardly made an effort that time.”

Ava’s smile doesn’t falter. “One of these days, I’ll impress you, Beatrice. You’ll see.” She wags her finger at Beatrice. “And then you’ll realize how special I am. You’ll never want to lose me.”

“No,” she says quietly. Ava slips away to grab her phone, abandoned on the breakfast bar. Beatrice waits by the door, holding it open. “I don’t suppose I ever will.”

It’s inevitable. She’ll lose Ava to someone who loves her out loud, someone good enough for her. But she’s going to bury greedy hands into the moments in between and hold on for as long as Ava lets her.

“I think I’m going to tell JC it was nice, but we won’t go out again,” Ava says conversationally as they exit their apartment building, headed towards campus. “He was nice, but… I’m looking for better.”

“You’ll find it,” she says, believing it wholeheartedly. She unthinkingly maneuvers Ava around a crack in the sidewalk. “You just need to be patient.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.” Her hand slides to Beatrice’s, their fingers slotting together for a fleeting moment. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait. But I'll try.”

Just keep waiting. Wait forever, her mind screams. Don’t find anyone before I can be who you need me to be.

Ava takes in her silence and laughs. Beatrice frowns, not in on the joke, but doesn’t protest when Ava laces an arm through hers, pulling until their pressed together from the shoulder to their elbows, digging into each other. There’s no space between them, not for a slip of paper or a secret.

Ava hums softly, some tune Beatrice doesn’t know, but would guess is some new song on the radio that she’s never heard. Beatrice lets it bubble in her chest, sinks into it’s familiar warmth, and hopes that whatever God is watching over her lets her keep this moment for as long as she can.

And if he isn’t, she hopes he’s just not paying enough attention to realize she’s living on borrowed time and that she’s running out of it.

[celaenaeiln]

Okay but you can’t just say “I'm not going to get into their brother relationship because that involves how Alfred treats Dick as a son rather than a grandson and is opening a whole new mansion of stuff so I'm going to wrap this up here” and not follow up with another post because that’s just cruel 😔😞 (aka this is me saying I really like & enjoy reading your interpretations and I need more of them HEHE)

😂😂😂😂😂😂

Thank you!!!! <3333

I love thinking about how Alfred treats Dick more of a son than a grandson because their relationship is different from Alfred's relationship with the other kids. Furthermore, it also explains a bunch of his actions.

First of, I know when everyone saw that Alfred had left Dick his entire inheritance they went "What the fuck." There were a bunch of jokes and questioning about why Alfred would do that and a lot of people have wrote it off as Tom Taylor's writing. But here's the thing. Tom Taylor has done a lot of stupid stuff in terms of characterization but he's done quite a few things right and one of them was adequately explaining Dick and Alfred's relationship.

I don't know how many people can read cursive but it says, "I invested much of this wisely and ethically...In fact, I planned to come to you for advice. Like Bruce, your mind is astonishing. You are a problem-solver and the world is full of problems." (There's actually panel during one of Dick and Slade's fight I have saved so lemme know if you or anyone is interested in Dick's innovativeness and how it makes his a terrifying opponent.)

Let me pause right there. This is Alfred's life savings. It's every piece of penny he's saved and every minute of his life is in that money. On top of what he says about Dick's intellect-and I agree and can prove it-he must've loved and trusted Dick an extraordinary amount to do this.

Alfred goes on to say, "I couldn't think of better hands to leave this fortune in. I believe you will see this, not as a personal gain, but as an opportunity. Because I believe in Dick Grayson."

He continues praising him and- HERE IT IS- "I am so very proud to call you my son."

DICK IS ALFRED'S SON.

This is the cleanest, clearest panel where he explicitly says it.

Hold on-this is the cleanest panel that says it? Wait a minute, let me retract that:

"Master Bruce was my son for a while. And then there was you."

THIS MOMENT HAS BEEN BUILDING UP ON US FOR YEARS. Tom Taylor wasn't doing lip service, he was just writing the inevitable!

I swear there's a panel where Dick refers to Alfred as his dad...

*Record scratch* WHAT DID ALFRED CALL DICK? WHAT DID DICK CALL ALFRED?

THIS IS WHY I LOVE THEM!!! THEY ARE GLORIOUS, BRILLIANT, UNDERRATED, AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS THE FULL EXTENT OF EITHER OF THEIR ABILITIES, LOVE, OR DEPTH OF EMOTIONS.

THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS ON A DIFFERENT LEVEL.

Take the Ric Grayson arc for another example.

Background context: Dick-Ric-was sleeping on the counter and all of a sudden he was startled out of a nightmare thus accidentally ending up bumping into the guy next to him who was drinking. Of course the guy doesn't mind only because it's Dick but anyways, here Alfred makes his entrance. Another thing I love about about this interaction is this is one of the few times Alfred has ever admitted to being in the military. The only other time I can think of him openly saying that is when he's slapping Bruce around.

The worry in the man's eyes for his wayward son...when Bea is snarking with Dick about his tab Alfred decides to pay for him instead.

LOOK AT HIS EYES AS HE SAYS GOOD NIGHT! THE AMOUNT OF EMOTION HE HAS IN THEM IS PURE PERFECTION. THE MAN JUST WANTS HIS SON TO COME BACK.

Not to mention, Alfred adores Dick in a way he didn't even with Bruce.

"For a long time I would dread coming down to this dark hellhole. But the advent of young Grayson has forced an alteration in my attitude. The masters have made much progress in these few short months. I was opposed initially to the recruitment of the lad in Master Bruce's self-appointed 'War on Crime.' But I am prepared to admit my error. Master Richard has mad a difference for the better to our lives."

This is HUGE. Coming from Alfred, this is massive because Alfred LOATHES Bruce's "War on Crime." How much?

So much that he slapped Bruce bloody for it.

The pseudo-father and son beat each other to pieces over it. So after years of Alfred hating Bruce for what he's done, for him to say he only accepts it because of Dick-because of Dick's personality-is enormous praise and accomplishment.

Alfred loves Dick in a way he doesn't love anyone else. And before I get flamed by people for suggesting Alfred loves Dick more than Bruce, I want to say he loves Dick as much as Bruce but in a different manner. He doesn't see Dick as a grandchild who needs to be coddled and softened, he sees Dick as a son he can spoil and cherish.

Him paying off the tab was not only an act of kindness, but it mimicks the way a rich father gives everything to his youngest son. Bruce was the first born he raised but Dick was the baby of their family. This also ties in with how Bruce doesn't see Dick as just him son like he does with the others. To Bruce, they are just as much brothers as anything else.

When Bruce fires Dick from Robin after two-face, Alfred couldn't take it lightly. Dick wasn't just the light of Bruce's life, he was the fucking sun to Alfred's.

I started crying when I read this because the emotions and the pain he's feeling is so visceral. A man who has been MI5 and SAS (Special Airforce Service), who has fought wars, who has fought his son, lost his best friends, is breaking down alone at the top of the stairs over not having Dick as Robin.

You might think that's not all that sad. Worse things have happened. You're overreacting.

Tears are literally streaming down my face as I'm writing this review. Rudolph nose and ugly bloodstained eyes complete with it.

Can you ever imagine loving someone so much?

Crying in silence with a steady voice to never let them know your sorrow?

But sure, sure, he's cried when others were killed like this so I'll go into other special things.

Some of his best moments are with Dick:

The pure adoration in his eyes as he watches his young son go 'flap' 'flap' 'flap' with his older brother's too big cloathes.

He's laughing! Do you know the only times he laughs or grins like that?

That's right-with Bruce! With his other son.

With Dick, he laughs, gets angry, and actually shows interest in things not related to people's health. Dick humanizes Alfred.

Who is the only other person Alfred has gotten mad at? Oh yeah. Bruce.

There's another panel where Alfred just sits by his bedside holding his hand.

It's the little things that matter is a lie. When it comes to Dick, Alfred does things in fighter jet air shows level of affection which he learned just for this during his SAS days.

Their shared interests & mutual understanding

People always think Dick and Alfred have nothing in common between them. Dick is excitable, bouncy, and some other adjective while Alfred is calming, stoic, and butler-y. They actually forget that Dick and Alfred canonically bond of plays. Dick, as I said before, is a massive theater nerd. He loves plays. He really wanted to see that shakespeare play and Alfred said he would take him because he knows people there and then went on to complain about how his brother didn't even drop by to see him. I love their interactions because Dick brings out a different side to Alfred.

Das Rheingold was a German musical drama that was performed as a single opera at the National Theatre Munich. This is the link if you're interested in reading a short synopsis of this complicated play by the Metropolitan Opera. It's like a mix of "The Lord of the Rings" and "The Rings of Power."

Also the fact that Alfred is tying his tie like a father would tie his son's.

I know they make a crack out of it by using Bugs Bunny (Bugs Bunny is a fantastic cartoon! I grew up on it!) but Alfred knows that Dick loves opera and theater and is only asking if this particular play will suit his interests. Okay, great, we know Dick likes theater. You've said that and posted about it before. But how do we know Alfred likes it too and not just because he's British and posh and whatnot?

He has preformed at the London Theater, and this is another way he connects to Dick emotionally. When Dick complains about being Batman, Alfred is the one that tells him:

This is something Alfred understands about Dick that absolutely no one in the family does.

The two of them are show people. They know how to play the role they were given, and they know how to play it well. No one suspects Alfred the Butler of ruthlessly using firearms and no one suspects Dick the Light of the Universe to ruthlessly to manipulate allies.

Dick knows this about Alfred too and never presses for any answers. When Alfred's pulling out a bullet from Dick and performing high level medical techniques he should know nothing about, Dick asks him, "Where did you learn all this, Alfred." To which Alfred responds, "You would be amazed at what you can pick up by watching the Discovery Channel." Dick just gives a pained laugh retorts about his wonderful bedside manners.

They know.

What Alfred sees in Dick is a pure goodness that can't be emulated. He loves his son for how absolutely good he is and is devastated when Dick can't be with him. Of everyone, Dick is the one Alfred is closest to. Other members have their moments with him but no one continually seeks out his presence just for the fact they like him aside from Dick. The rest treat him as an important side character, not a parent. And Alfred responds to that devotion with overwhelming love of his own.

Alfred and Bruce's optimism comes bundled up in the form of Dick. It's stunning how it's always Alfred of all people who admits this. Alfred who isn't supposed to show favoritism or bias is the one that consistently acknowledges how important Dick is to the family and him. This solidifies the fact that Dick is Alfred's favorite.

Other moments that differentiate Dick and Alfred's relationship:

We're pretty familiar with this and many of us have laughed it off when Alfred scolded Dick (also Dick looks hot af here). But can you imagine even anyone else playfully mocking Alfred? THIS. BOY. IS. SPECIAL. Alfred doesn't even blink twice at the address, indicating how typical it is for Dick to act that way with him. You only do that to people you're best friends with.

Casual comfort, the two of them.

Dick and Bruce were brothers and how that ties into Alfred:

Adding to my "Light of Bruce's life" Robin Dick canon, Alfred told Dick that Bruce "would have self-distructed if he hadn't met me and learned responsibility. I made him laugh, and he was like the greatest big brother you could ever imagine...it was our town."

Bruce and Dick are so damn codependent.

Bruce would not have survived without Dick. That's all there is to it.

Robin Dick was the light shining through rain clouds, the glitter in the air, the angel with golden wings, the giggling sweetheart to Alfred and Bruce. He was sunshine, love, and joy and the men both adored, thrived, and cherished him for it.

And if Dick and Bruce were brothers then Alfred was Dick's father and he was Alfred's son.

[pedriache]

PABLO GAVI angst please thank you>>>

Oh my 𖦹 Pablo Gavi !

Summary: Pablo was ruining you. This.. whatever it was you had—it was ruining you.

Word count: 410+

Disclaimer/s: angst.

bea speaks! idk i didn’t really know what to write for this but yeah..

The air between you and Pablo had grown heavier lately. The weight of unspoken words pressing down on your shoulders with every stolen moment the two of you shared. Pablo Gavi, the golden boy, the prodigy. But to you, he was just Pablo. The soft, sweet boy who’s love for you was burned into your skin every time you touched.

He was your salvation and your destruction.

Standing under a street lamp in a quiet corner of Barcelona’s city, the faint orange glow casted over Pablo’s pinched face, his fists clenching. His eyebrows furrowed further as you spoke.

“I can’t keep doing this.” You whisper, voice trembling as you fought to keep your eyes on him. “Pretending I’m okay with this secret when It’s killing me.”

His jaw tightens, and his hands flex at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to touch you—to steady you and bring you back to him. “You’re acting like this is easy for me too.” He snaps, his sharp words cutting through the quiet around you. “I’m trying to protect you—protect us. Why can’t you see that?”

Tears sting your eyes as you hold his gaze. “Protecting me or protecting your career?”

He’s silent, and that alone speaks as a confession. The ache in your chest is nearly unbearable now. He finally steps forward, his trembling hands framing your face. “Mírame. You think I don’t wish I could love you freely? Publicly? Where I didn’t have to force myself to not kiss you or touch you? But, that’s just not our reality. Not yet, at least.” [look at me]

Hearing the slightest twinge of desperation in his voice softens you just the littlest bit and you lean into his touch. The warmth of his palms soothes you in the way it always seems to. But there was still the lingering distance, but not just physical—it’s the knowing that he truly belongs to everyone except for you. Except for the person he says he loves.

You know you will endure it, because you were simply that weak. No matter how much it physically hurt you. You were weak, and you couldn’t not be with him. You loved him, even when his actions messed with your mind. Even when the secret sunk you to the bottom of the ocean, you knew when the sun went down, he’d be there to pull you out. Then, you could be together—even if only for a moment.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future gavi posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @ar4ujos @sakashq @joaoflms @h4vertzz @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @jajajhaahaha @cececarmona17

[lotus-pear]

LOTUSPEAR 5K DTIYS RESULT‼️‼️

ok i'm an entire month late but here are the results of this competition at last!! i would like to preface this by saying a big thank you to everyone who participated as this was my first time doing smt like this! i'm so glad it was met w so much participation and unique entries, and i genuinely cannot express enough gratitude for the ppl who submitted their version. seeing everyone's individual posts w the diverse amount of art styles and mediums was so cool and i loved each post sm!! so thank you for participating and for your support!! it really does mean the world to me!!

with that, without further ado, let me announce our winners...

FIRST PLACE: @latapadraws

I WAS ABSOLUTEY BLOWN AWAY BY NOT ONLY THE COMPOSITION BUT THE LIGHTING OF THIS PIECE. REALLY. MY JAW IS STILL ON THE FLOOR LOOKING AT IT. the warm golden and red glow like evening rays of sun is so gorgeous not to mention dazai's musing expression. hes soo beautiful in your style op he looks like he was carved from marble. so elegant and sharp.

SECOND PLACE: @thornedarrow, specifically @velaversal

bea oh my god i still get heart eyes whenever i see this. the fuchsia is so gorgeous it looks like whorls of fire and the marble effect of the background is so ethereal. the color palette and rendering in general just astounds me, i feel like i'm on another plane of existence looking at this.

THIRD PLACE: @kokoasci

koko!!!!! i'm always enamored by translucent feel of your pieces and it always looks like rose-tinted glass, i always want to break off a piece and let it melt on my tongue bc it looks so sweet and sugary. said this in the tags but the background also was incredible and dazai kind of reminded me of the mad hatter!! the coy expression, the dramatic pose, the whimsical pastel color palette, the tea spilling from the porcelain cups...100/10 for mood and storytelling

FOURTH PLACE: @sableeira

SABLEEEE OH MY GOD......LIKE WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN.......THIS WAS SUCH AN OUT OF BOX WAY TO LOOK AT THE OG PIECE.....AN ENTHRALLING INTERPRETATION. dazai being haunted by his former self, conveyed through the earthy color palette and dramatic lighting that ties the entire piece together. literally was blown away by how unique this entry was, absolutey incredible

FIFTH PLACE: @shrimpkini

shrimp i'm being so honest rn i want this as a poster and i want it hung on my wall bc my heart still stops every time i look at it. the hard light that casts dazai's entire face into shadow which highlights the red of his eye makes me rattle the bars of my cage every single time, not to mention the rimlight on his entire frame basking the piece is an eerie glow. phenomenal play of lighting. i'm swept off my feet.