#I don’t think I’ve ever even had a cooked carrot???

[sodacowboy]

frozen carrots acquired

[badgerbl00d]

one piece boys getting jealous pt.2

☆ characters: law, shanks, kidd

☆ up next: making one piece boys considering fatherhood

☆ summary: what happens when you pair pirates, a pretty lady, and another man finding her attractive? jealousy! , suggestive content

☆ a/n: law fever is rotting my brain.. suggest characters for part three!

☆ part 1 here!

law

1.26k words

“Hopefully we can come up with something good,” Law explained, “Or this whole plan is going to fall apart pretty quickly.”

You gently pat his back as you walked with him, “You will, Captain.”

He smiled, appreciative of the gesture. 

You both stopped in front of an intricate hand-carved wooden door with a gorgeous brass handle. 

You both lightly laughed at the breathtaking beauty of the door.

The Straw Hats’ shipwright didn’t cut corners. 

“Nicest library entrance you’ve ever seen in your life or what?” you joked, opening the door. 

He laughed and you felt a strong hand on your back guiding you into the library on the Thousand Sunny. 

Sanji was in the library reading and stood up as soon as you walked in.

“Y/n!” 

You waved, walking over towards him.

Law begrudgingly followed. 

He didn’t dislike any of the straw hats, but he also didn’t have a fondness for the flirty cook who couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off you. 

“I was just about to start dinner,” he whispered, “Care for a drink?”

Law rolled his eyes. Was the whispering necessary when he was standing less than five feet away?

“Oh! I’d love to!”

Law sighed, “I’m gonna head to the meeting room, Y/n.”

“Okay,” you replied, “I’ll see you later then?”

He nodded, giving you a soft smile before turning to Sanji and excusing himself. 

The cook didn’t miss how his fists clenched at his sides on his way out.

“Ready for a drink?” Sanji asked you.

“Ready!”

He responded with some french expression and led you towards the kitchen with him. 

Once there you offered to help Sanji with cooking dinner and stationed yourself in front of the window. 

He took a few things out of the oven and you watched as he rubbed a lime wedge around the rim of a shot glass. 

What the hell is she doing?

Law watched you through the kitchen window, washing vegetables, holding a pretty drink, 

taking sips as you laughed at whatever unfunny thing the straw hat cook what saying.

He had brought you on board with him because he knew you liked their company but this wasn’t supposed to be some play date.  

It was a strategy meeting.

For him, at least. 

He lost track of what Luffy and Robin were saying as he watched the two of you through the window. 

Sanji placed an apron over you, gently tying the strings to fit you. Clearly looking down at your breasts. 

He looked up, making eye contact with Law, catching onto the glare the surgeon was giving him.

Law watched a subtle smile spread across the cook’s face.

Pervert.

He heard Luffy mention something or other, no doubt a useless strategy he would refute if he were thinking straight, but all he could imagine was if he were standing in Sanji’s place. 

He’d be making something different that’s for sure. 

Law knew you hated carrots, but he also knew you’d never complain about anything and felt his fists clench as he watched you politely wash the vegetables. 

He also knew you hated alcohol but watched you sip your drink anyway. 

You were too nice for your own good, and Law felt like he had the responsibility of making sure you weren’t taken advantage of. 

You washed the last of the vegetables and placed them in a bowl.

“Let me help with more,” you insisted, “I’m no chef but I could cut these.”

“Of course! As long as you don’t get hurt.”

You giggled, “Trust me, I’ve dealt with worse,” you jokingly gestured over toward the room Law was in. 

You started chopping away at some carrots, stopping when you realized yours were a lot less even than Sanji’s.

“Want some tips?” 

You nodded, slightly embarrassed. 

Sanji stood behind you.

You felt his chest against your back and he softly placed his hands on top of yours, showing you the correct motions to use when chopping.   

You stood still, letting Sanji’s arms wrap around you, his hands resting on top of yours, continuing your previous conversation.

Law looked up again and saw red. 

He knew the cook wasn’t stupid, and that you were probably appreciative of the attention he was giving you.

He broke the pencil in his hand and tensed his jaw.

He looked ready to explode and Luffy and Robin turned around to look at what had pissed him off. 

“Mugiwara-ya,” he started, his stomach twisting, “Tell your pervert of a cook to get his hands off my sniper.” 

Law was seething.

Luffy turned to look into the kitchen and laughed, “Don’t worry, Traffy! Sanji is always nice to women.”

Robin who had also turned to look and stood up, a sly smile spreading across her face as excused herself, making her way towards you and Sanji. 

Law’s nerves worsened, Shit, shit, shit. 

He knew Robin had most likely caught onto what his anger was about.

He didn’t need anyone else to know how he felt about you. 

It was difficult enough for him, and he’d rather cut off his hands than let you find out. 

He felt trapped.

Luffy was yapping nonstop, none of which he was registering. 

He could hear his heart pounding in his chest and felt sweat forming on his forehead.

This was going to ruin everything. He was awkward and non-sociable. He didn’t make you fancy drinks and wasn’t naturally romantic, and most importantly he was about one hundred percent certain you didn’t feel the same way. 

He felt nauseous as he watched Robin open the kitchen door and approach the two of you. 

He watched you and Sanji look up at him. 

His stomach dropped. 

You turned towards Robin, a concerned expression taking over your face, starting to put away what you were doing.

You approached the door, but Sanji stopped you.

He untied the apron he had placed on you and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, whispering something to you. 

That was it. 

Law stood up and slammed the door open, marching straight toward the kitchen.

Luffy followed in hot pursuit, confused. 

The kitchen door swung open and Law almost ran into you. 

“Blackleg,” Law started, “What exactly do you think you’re doing with her?”

“Cooking,” Sanji responded, playing innocent. 

“I’m sorry, Captain,” you started, a very shameful appearance on your face, “Robin told me.”

Law let out a short exhale, still glaring at Sanji.

Robin… what?

Law’s heart dropped and he looked at you, eyes slightly widened. 

“She told me that I should’ve been helping you strategize,” you explained, “I completely forgot that I had the blueprints and your notebook with me.”

Law exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose, flooding with relief, “Right- the, uh, the blueprints. Could you bring them?”

You nodded, turning towards Sanji, “Thanks for the drink! I appreciate you making it non-alcoholic for me!”

Law felt like his head might explode. 

Of course, he had made you a non-alcoholic drink. 

“Anytime, mon Coeur,” Sanji grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. 

“Room.”

You found yourself next to Law walking back towards the room he’d been in. 

“Don’t get distracted next time,” he scolded you.

You nodded, not saying anything. 

You felt Law take your hand in his, brushing off where you’d been kissed, before holding it. 

Your cheeks turned a violent shade of red. 

“Sanji, you ought to be more careful,” Robin said, making sure Law was still within earshot, “I never would've taken him as the jealous type!”

shanks

1.2k words

Shanks never got jealous. 

And if he was anything, he was confident. It was no secret that he had a woman waiting for him on every island and that he could have anyone he wanted. 

Except you. 

The newest addition to the crew and the most beautiful. 

He’d traveled the world, all four seas, and never once come across anything as gorgeous as you. 

Not a single thing compared to any part of you. 

Unfortunately, Beckman seemed to agree. 

He watched as the two of you sat and talked, sharing a bottle of wine, no less. 

Any progress he seemed to make with you, or any time you seemed to be reciprocating his affections, he’d find you and Benn together the next day. 

“I’m kind of hoping being at sea all the time will eventually get less nauseating,” you said. 

Benn laughed, “It will! The first time I set sail I was seasick for three weeks. Thought I’d never accommodate and was just about getting ready to hang up any hopes of being a pirate.”

“What changed?”

“Shanks helped, actually. Told me to try sucking on mints. Worked wonders.”

“Mints?”

“Yeah,” he explained, “Apparently they have a numbing effect which ends up canceling out nausea. He has them on hand all the time.” 

You took a sip of your wine, “Maybe I should ask him for some.”

“Just be careful with him,” Benn teased, “He can be a handful. Mind giving me a light?”

You leaned over towards him, holding your lighter to the cigarette between his lips. 

“Do you know where he is?” you said, standing up, downing the rest of the wine in your glass.

“Try his bedroom, he might still be sleeping. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind being woken up by you though,” Benn said, a sly look spreading over his face. 

You’d have asked what he meant if nausea hadn’t already started to set back in. 

You knocked on his bedroom door lightly, trying to steady your breathing as you weren’t sure if you felt like fainting or throwing up.

“Um... Captain?” you called out, “I know it’s early but, uh, I was wondering if you had any mints?”

This was awkward. You should probably feel more comfortable talking to the man who invited you to be a part of his crew.

You waited by the door for a few minutes with no answer. 

You groaned and decided that you’d have a peek inside only to see if he was sleeping and if he was you’d.. well, you didn’t know.

It would probably be weird to go in and wake him. 

You took a deep breath in and slowly turned the handle, opening the door as little as possible to see if he was inside. 

“Whatcha lookin’ for, baby?”

A strong voice called out to you from the end of the hall.

You nearly passed out.

“Captain!! I was- I was just- Oh my God, I’m so sorry I know how this looks I was just looking for you because Beckman said that you might still be sleeping and I needed-”

Shanks held up a dismissive hand to cut you off. 

“Cute,” he said, looking at how your cheeks deepened in color, “But if you wanted some time in my bedroom with me you could always just ask.”

A flirty smile settled onto his face, and he wasn’t shy about holding eye contact. 

You averted your eyes to the floor and tried to explain again, “I need a mint. Benn said I could ask you for one since you carry them all the time.”

His smile faltered for a split second, “And what would you and Benn need a mint for?”

Your cheeks darkened even more and you felt embarrassment creeping up your neck and onto your face.

“Oh, n-no it’s nothing like that! I just-,” you paused not exactly wanting to admit to your captain that you got seasick very easily, an arguably bad trait for a pirate to have.

“Hm,” Shanks tossed you two mints with a wink, “Give him a high five for me.”

“It’s not like that!”

Your protests fell on deaf ears, as he was already on his way out. 

The rest of your day was calm. The sea seemed to have taken pity on you and the waves evened out after your first mint. 

You’d found a spot on the upper deck of the ship earlier in the week. A corner tucked behind the captain’s office, where the railing was wide enough to sit quite comfortably on and you got a nice view of the sunset. 

It was nice to have a serene little spot to yourself where you could enjoy the peace and quiet. You turned the corner, ready to relax, when you saw Shanks sat on your ledge.

“Came to find me sweetheart?”

“Sorry to intrude,” you started, “Didn’t know this was your spot.”

Shanks laughed, “It is directly behind my room you know.”

“Right, yeah.”

You awkwardly shuffled your feet.

“I get really seasick,” you said before you could think it through.

Shanks looked at you with amusement, though you could tell he didn’t really understand.

“That’s why I needed a mint. I got nauseous and felt faint and I asked Benn for help and he told me to ask you. Said you’d helped him with the same thing.”

An irritatingly sly smile spread across his face.

You bit your lip, not wanting to say anything, but clearly irritated at his enjoyment of the fact. 

“What the hell is that face supposed to mean?”

“Sweetheart, you just made my day,” he said. 

“Is that so?” You understood what was going on pretty clearly now.

He nodded, standing up and extending a hand toward you.

You hesitantly took it. 

He pulled you in towards him and placed a hand on your lower back, leaning you slightly backward and bringing his face to hover over yours. 

“How could I not be hurt that such a beautiful woman was showing no interest in me?”

“I assume that means me,” you teased.

“It does.”

“And what makes you think I’m interested now?”

“Well, aside from the fact that you have no protest to my current hand placement, you were very clearly interested in the prospect of joining me in the bedroom earlier-” 

A harsh slap to his arm cut the rest of that sentence off. 

He let out a loud, hearty laugh.

“You are very handsome, Captain,” you started.

“Please go on.”

“But I can’t say I’m terribly interested,” you said. 

“And why is that?”

“You know every man in this world has heard of your terrifying power. How strong and feared you are.”

His face was gleaming with pride. 

You laughed to yourself. He really thought he had you wrapped around his finger.

“But every woman? Every woman has heard of-”

“My muscles?”

“No.”

“Then surely, my devastatingly good looks?”

 “Also no.”

“Then enlighten me.”

“How quickly you leave the morning after.”

He stood still, completely silenced.

You leaned towards him, hovering your lips millimeters away from his.

“But I have to admit that I liked seeing you jealous.”

You gently pulled his hands from your waist, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight, Captain.”

kidd

1.1k words

Generally speaking, dealing with men was a daily occurrence you could do without. 

You were getting better at turning them down, and in your years of experience learned that the best course of action was to bat your eyes and appeal to them, maybe even adopt an apologetic tone, and softly say to them,

“I’m so sorry! I’m just not looking for anything right now.”

Telling them you had a boyfriend only encouraged them to try harder, being rude invited violence and the use of the word ‘bitch’, and ignoring them often led to all of the above. 

Of course, if you decided to tell them who your boyfriend was they’d probably leave you alone but it was probable that you’d be accused of lying and you hated having to use his name to be shown some respect or decency. 

Ideally, your boyfriend would never know. 

The only thing he didn’t seem to be able to control was his temper, and if there was one thing you didn’t want to deal with it was how unbearably possessive he got when he was upset. 

And since the majority of the time it was innocent flirting, you just brushed it off. 

You woke up and stretched yourself out on the bed, pulling the covers off of you and Kidd.

“There’s a farmer’s market in town today! Wanna come? I really want peaches and we don’t grow any here.” 

He groaned and rolled over on his side, facing away from you. 

You grabbed his bicep and placed kisses up and along his neck, your movement and eagerness urging him to wake up. 

“Please! You never go out with me,” you said, the tone of your voice pulling at a few of his heartstrings. 

“I can’t today.”

“You never can.”

You sat up and moved toward the edge of the bed. 

The pirate stayed in bed, silently. 

“I have… stuff to do, princess,” he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into him. 

You couldn’t help but smile at his embrace, you knew this was the closest you’d get to an apology. 

“Alright,” you said, “Well I’m gonna go now before it gets too hot out.” 

He begrudgingly let go of you, watching as you disappeared into your closet. 

He was in a worse mood than usual throughout the entirety of the day and spent his time huffing and puffing around. 

He felt guilty that he hadn’t given you the attention he knew you deserved and when he checked the clock and saw it was half past four in the afternoon and you still weren’t back he had to stop himself from breaking everything in the room. 

He contained the oncoming rampage as best he could and made his way toward the village. He walked through crowds of people and his irritation was nearing its peak when he saw you.

You had a basket full of different fruits and vegetables and jarred things and a few different wine bottles. It looked heavy and you were clearly struggling to carry it. 

He had half a mind to take some of the weight off with a string or two, but decided against it, his irritation getting the best of him. 

You made your way to another stall, selling flowers and before you could place your basket on the floor, a young man offered to carry it for you. 

He was smiling from ear to ear, and much to the captain’s disgust looked extremely eager to help you. 

You smiled back and accepted his offer, handing him the basket, which he happily held for you. 

At least she doesn’t have to carry it, he thought, his cheeks turning red with anger. 

But he stayed standing where he was and decided to watch the scene before him play out.

You grabbed a few different flower bouquets and turned to the boy to ask for his opinion, it seemed you liked the dark red carnations. 

He nodded and you reached into your pockets to grab a few coins. 

You laughed when your hand came out empty and began placing the flowers back.

Before you could the boy interjected and offer the vendor a few berries.  

Kidd’s body temperature reached a peak and he saw red. 

He violently pushed people out of his way, walking towards you, causing a scene as he yelled, “Oi! If you need money, I have some!!!”

Fuck.

You recognized his voice and turned around as though you’d just been caught in the middle of a murder.

“Kidd! I thought you were busy today-”

“Don’t,” he said, turning towards the boy, his metallic hand making its way toward his throat, “I suggest you hand me the basket and fuck off.”

Your cheeks were red with embarrassment and you offered an apologetic look to the boy, who looked ready to cry. 

You placed the flowers in your basket- the vendor readily waved any charge - and with Kidd’s hand firmly set on your waist, made your way back to the ship. 

“You know he was just being nice, right? And it’s your fault I needed help carrying the basket since you were busy doing ‘stuff’.” 

The air quotes you placed around stuff pissed him off. 

He stayed silent and you knew that he felt bad. 

But you didn’t really care, and you were pissed off. Not only had he caused a scene, but he had pretty much ensured that any other shopping you had planned for the day would have to be left unfinished. 

“And if you really want something to be upset about, you should probably know that I didn’t even pay for half of those things because when men see a pretty woman all on her own, they figure she needs some help and are always more than ready to offer it.”

The veins on Kidd’s forehead were popping out and he clamped his mouth shut. 

“But I get it! Playing poker and building legos with Killer all day is more important, so don’t get upset at me or the man actually offering to help me.”

You stormed off once you got to the ship and ignored him for the rest of the night. 

Heat and Wire laughed their asses off at their moping captain, and Killer went to have some tea with you later that night. 

When you went shoe shopping the following day, Kidd made sure he was by your side the entire time, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t get him to let go of your hand. 

[mikkomacko]

can we get a blurb on luke and reader from him and i?

Luke didn’t do it on purpose, really. He’s usually very attentive. He cares a lot about the Devs and their success, about the family Nico’s created.

But at the same, he is only human.

When he got up in the middle of the meeting it was just to go to the bathroom. He drank an ice coffee before it started and now his bladder was basically throbbing.

So he excused himself, ignored Nico’s gaze on him as he ducked out of the room during Jonas’s review of the bars profits this month. Luke doesn’t even need to know the profits. He doesn’t work at the bar. He just drinks there.

Afraid of being scolded for taking too long, he practically sprints down the hall, past the living room and kitchen. He’s rushing back down the hall to return to the meeting when he realizes you’re in the kitchen.

And something awfully good smelling is in there with you too.

Stomach rumbling, he peeks his head into the doorway. You’re at the island counter, a blue apron tied around your waist that reads “kiss the cook” in flowy, cursive letters.

A pot is boiling on the stove behind you, big, steaming bubbles releasing whatever that wonderful smell is into the air. Luke’s mouth waters. You finish chopping some carrots, picking up a tiny piece and reaching down to feed it to the drooling dog sitting politely by your feet.

If you’re willing to feed it to the dog, you’d feed it to him too. And he can be quick, just duck in, ask for a couple bites, and leave. He won’t miss much of the meeting, really.

“Hey,” he says sweetly, padding into the kitchen on soft feet. You look up, smiling across the island counter when you see him.

“Hi, you hungry?”

Oh, a girl after his heart, you are. Smiling innocently, he nods and slips into the bar stool across from you.

“That’s good because I’ve been learning new recipes all week and I think Nico is tired of eating them.”

You turn to the fridge, ducking down to grab a stack of containers and Luke’s mouth waters at the glimpses of beautiful cakes and desserts he catches.

“Who could ever get tired of your cooking?” He asks and he’s completely serious. Luke would take it to his grave, but he thinks your food is even better than his mom’s.

Scoffing, you dig a fork out of the drawer and slide him the tower of desserts. Luke is quick to pop open the first one, a beautiful slice of chocolate mousse cake greeting him.

He digs in, practically moaning around the bite and the dog toddles over to sit by him with big brown and begging eyes.

“So,” you drag out expectantly, clasping your hands together. “What do you think?”

~~~~

“Where the fuck is Luke?”

Bratter shrugs, looking around the room for the youngest Hughes boy but coming up empty. Nico had seen him leave 30 minutes ago, assuming the kid was just popping out for a moment.

Now it looks like he’s ditched the whole meeting.

Nico scoffs, leaving Timo to finish up closing remarks and exiting the room. He’s immediately stopped by the smell of whatever you’re cooking up in the kitchen, and knows exactly where Luke is.

The kid can eat three times his body weight in food a day, and even then have room for snacks.

Moving to the kitchen, he’s not at all surprised to find Luke sat at the counter with you feeding him every bit of leftovers from the fridge.

“Hughes,” Nico barks, meaner than he actually should be but sometimes he’s gotta scare this kid or he’ll never listen. Luke straightens out, whipping around in the chair to look at Nico with wide, terrified eyes.

He’s got a fork hanging out of his mouth, some kind of frosting smeared in the corner. The kid starts mumbling something through his mouthful, tripping over his words and Nico slips further into the room.

“Oh don’t do that,” you beg, interrupting Nico’s scolding with those bright and beautiful eyes he loves so much. “He’s just a kid Nico and he was hungry.”

Pretending to be annoyed, Nico crosses his arms over his chest. Unfazed, you pad up into him with that cute little apron tied around your frame and your hair in a messy clip on your head. You smell like good food and something warm, settling into the crevices of his lungs with familiarity.

He can’t be mad at you. Not when you’re looking at him like that and you’re so sweet to want to feed all the boys.

And fuck Nico for the way he suddenly falls to his knees every time you get motherly with the boys.

“Oh he was?” Nico goads and you run your palms up his chest, smiling prettily.

“How’s he supposed to learn if he’s hungry? He won’t be able to focus.”

Nico sighs, looking over at Luke who’s still slowly picking at the food in front of him. “Wash the dishes when you’re done.” He instructs, and Luke smiles gratefully, nodding.

“Boss,” he asks shyly, “can I stay for dinner?”

“No,” Nico says at the same time you coo “Of course you can Lukey!”

Luke’s gaze flickers between both of you, but Nico knows where he stands on this one so he dips his head in defeat.

Your smile widens so Nico can’t actually count this as a loss.

“Whatever,” he agrees, “I gotta a meeting to finish up.”

[itsghvstfvce]

WHAT'S IN A NAME | PART 2

pairing : tara carpenter x fem!reader

summary : you can keep running, but you can't run from who you are. | read part 1 here!

word count : 4.1k

warnings : scream vi spoilers but anika lives here bc she deserves better, violence stab stab stab, mentions of blood, swearing, reader is momentarily athletic, and as usual, shitty non-proofread writing lmao

Tara drags you back to her apartment with Sam and the rest of her friends that evening.

As you expected, Sam was not on board with you staying with them since you were practically a stranger to everyone. But once she saw Tara beg with the cutest pout on her face, Sam knew there was nothing she could do. She did, however, stick to your side for the entirety of the trip home to ensure you don’t do anything funny which was pretty damn intimidating; after seeing what happened at the frat party, you knew better than to fuck with the older Carpenter. Tara, Mindy, and Chad all snickered at the obvious nervousness that was evident on your face despite your protests of not feeling nervous at all.

At the apartment, Chad and Mindy set the table for dinner while you and Tara prepare the food. The two of you steal quick glances at each other, smiling as you silently check each other out.

“So where’d you learn to cook?” Tara finishes chopping carrots then drops them in the pot and you start stirring, adding a variety of seasoning at the same time to enhance its flavour.

“Self-taught. Ever since I came to the city, I had to learn how to live on my own which meant learning how to cook.”

“Where’d you move from? Do you keep in touch with your parents?”

You halt your movements at the mention of your parents and Tara takes immediate notice of this.

“Sorry, I must have hit a nerve. You don’t need to answer, I get-”

“No, you’re good,” you place the ladle down to the side and face the younger Carpenter to give her your full attention.

“Most of my life I stayed in Cali. I decided to leave for college because I wanted to see what else the world had to offer.”

“And you thought New York was the best place to go?” Tara raises her eyebrow.

You chuckled at Tara’s remark, “well it did lead me to you so yeah, I think it was,” you didn’t mean to come off as flirtatious but it’s the truth. Running away and coming to New York allowed you to meet Tara, who is now all smiles and tries to fight the pink tint that was making its way onto her cheeks, causing you to smile too.

“And your parents?” Her smile fades slightly, knowing she may be treading in dangerous waters. You take a deep breath in before answering her.

“My parents are good people. I have nothing against them.”

“Then why do you get tense when I bring it up?”

“It’s just that we haven’t talked since I came here. I’m sure they didn’t want me to move out but I pushed for it anyway, so I’ve been hesitant to reach out; only because I don’t know if they’d want to talk to me after leaving them,” Tara takes notice in the way your breath hitches slightly, trying to hold back the tears from falling. You really missed your parents; you didn’t want to run away but you couldn’t handle the life you had at home.

Tara walks towards you and grabs your hand that was gripping the counter. You relax at her touch, and she leans her head into your chest.

“I’m sure they miss you as much as you miss them, Y/N. They’re your family and family is always going to be there when you need them to be, whether you like it or not,” Tara then takes a quick look at Sam who was placing extra pillows and blankets down for everyone and a small smile makes its way onto her face. “But just know that you don’t need to contact them right away. Do it when you feel ready.”

“I honestly don’t see that happening anytime soon, but I’m definitely thinking on it.”

She takes her head off your chest and looks at you, eyes darting between the both of yours and you find yourself getting lost in her dark brown orbs once again. But to your surprise, the shorter girl takes a step back, her gaze moving from your eyes to the ground and the hem of her shirt suddenly becomes more interesting.

“I think you should get out of the city, though. Like, the three of you I mean, I wouldn’t blame any of you if you wanted to go. We put you guys in a lot of danger and-”

“That’s very thoughtful of you Tara, but I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” she glances up from her shirt to meet your eyes again but the sudden sound of fake gagging catches the both of you off guard.

“Will you two just make out already?” Mindy complains while setting the cutlery on the table.

“Mindy that is so inappropriate, come on dude!” your face heats up at the embarrassment while Tara and Chad just laugh at the current scene in front of them. But the atmosphere immediately changes when Anika points out the news being reported - Sam was being accused for the killings that took place last year in Woodsboro and they claim she placed the blame on Richie and Amber. When Sam mutes the TV and marches to the dining table, you plant yourself beside Anika while Tara, Mindy, and Chad try to comfort the eldest, deciding that it wasn’t your business to meddle in right now.

“So you and Tara, huh?” Anika asks out of the blue, nudging your arm with her elbow.

“Nah, I think it’s way too early to be saying there’s anything between us.”

“But you like her, don’t you? I mean come on, you look at her the way Mindy and I look at each other.” You simply smile and shake your head. You knew what the truth was anyway and judging by the smile on your face, Anika probably knew the truth now too.

Then multiple phones start going off at once, including yours. Hesitant, you pull out the device from your sweater pocket, and once it’s unlocked, you’re greeted with a picture of Quinn being attacked by Ghostface in her room. First you whip your head towards her door, then turn to the four still sitting at the table before all of you get up and crowd in front of Quinn’s room, grabbing Tara by the arm and pulling her close to you to stop her from doing anything irrational.

The screaming and the banging suddenly stop. The silence is eerie. The six of you stand outside Quinn’s room waiting for any sound or sign of life.

You wait.

And wait.

And wait. Until Mindy finally breaks the silence.

“Run!”

The door opens and Ghostface shoves a butchered Quinn towards all of you. The corpse falls on top of Anika and she lets out a blood curdling scream, leaving you frozen in your spot. Chad grabs Tara and they sprint towards the exit, the younger Carpenter yelling for you to follow but the rest of you couldn’t. Ghostface was right in front of you, and if any of you tried running, he could tackle you immediately.

You’re still frozen. You want to move but your feet are stuck to the ground, and you feel helpless. But you finally gain control of your body when he comes forward and slashes Mindy in the arm. As Sam frantically looks for a knife and you apply pressure to Mindy’s arm, Anika tries to hold onto his legs to stop him from hurting Mindy any more, but it backfires when he wraps his hand around Anika’s neck. She visibly turns red and struggles to get him off of her, but it was no use; he's much stronger than she is. Ghostface effortlessly picks Anika up, hand still tight around her neck, and slams her right against the brick wall where he plunges and twists the knife right into her abdomen causing another scream to escape from her throat. He mercilessly sinks the knife even deeper into the girl, making her scream even louder than she already was.

You glance towards the kitchen to find Sam still trying to find any kind of weapon. Realizing she was taking too long, you release Mindy’s arm and rush towards Ghostface, grasping his shoulder and turning him to face you before swinging a right hook right to his face. With no other option, Sam grabs the knife block and knocks Ghostface in the head making him fall to the ground. You help Anika up while Sam assists Mindy, and the four of you run into Quinn’s bedroom. Meanwhile, Tara realizes none of you were behind her and yells at Chad to go back upstairs, but to her demise, the door was locked and she left her keys inside. She begins to panic, worried about what could happen to her sister, her friends, but most importantly, you. Chad wraps his arm around the girl and starts leading her down the stairs.

You plop Anika down beside Mindy and watch as Sam holds the door closed. The banging stops after a while, but Sam notices the bathroom door was open.

“Y/N, the bathroom door, hurry!” Sam whispers, and you rush to go close it.

“Oh fuck! That guy’s dead,” you cry out loud, frightened by the sight of a carved up man in a literal blood bath. Distracted, you nearly miss Ghostface at the door and you frantically try to shove him out of the bathroom, slamming the door onto him multiple times. He manages to plant his knife into your left shoulder, luckily missing your carotid artery due to the awkward angle. You scream out in pain but still push with all your might to get him out the door. Sam comes to your side to help you push, and when he’s finally outside, you lock the door and help Sam push the dresser to block it. Ghostface doesn’t stop banging and kicking the door so you lean against the dresser to add extra weight. In the corner of her eye, Sam catches sight of Danny in the neighbouring building and he brings out a ladder for the four of you to climb across. With no other choice, Sam reluctantly agrees with his plan.

“You guys go first, Y/N!”

“What? No! Somebody needs to hold the door, let Anika and Mindy go first, then I’ll be right behind you Sam. Go!”

Just as you instructed, you watch as the three of them slowly but safely make their way across the ladder. Once they were all in the safety of Danny’s apartment, they all cry out for you and you look at the door one last time before rushing to the window.

“Come on, Y/N! Slow and steady, you can do this!”

You were never really afraid of heights, but the thought of having to cross a very unstable ladder that was high up in the air just to escape a killer heightened your anxiety by tenfolds. You breathe in deeply before taking your first step, carefully shifting your body weight as needed to avoid making the ladder more than it needed to. The encouraging words that were once spilling from the audience standing at Danny’s window start to become less frequent and eventually stop all together, causing you to stop in your tracks. You look up at them for the first time and find all of them looking like deer caught in headlights.

“What?”

“Y/N, you have to move right now!” Mindy yells almost in desperation.

You turn your head and you find the familiar black and white mask managed to make it into Quinn’s bedroom. You’ve only made it just halfway across and with Ghostface now trying to throw you off the ladder, you tried to pick up your pace.

“Come on Y/N, you gotta move!” Sam yells as Mindy and Anika watch nervously, trying their best to help Danny weigh the ladder down and keep it stable. Despite their efforts, it becomes harder to keep yourself steady. Ghostface repeatedly tosses the ladder up and down and he eventually gets it to turn over on its side so it’s no longer parallel to the ground. Everyone who was watching scream and cry in horror, fearing you'd fall right off but you maintain a solid grip. You looked down and watched how your legs dangled in the air. Your hands were getting sweatier with each moment that passed by and Ghostface clearly wasn’t going to stop until he saw your body smothered on the ground beneath you.

“Y/N you can do this, we got you! Don’t look down!”

Their voices made you look up and you can see the desperation they had to keep you alive. Gathering all the energy you had left, you swing your body to give yourself momentum and cross the remainder of the ladder Tarzan style. You’re finally able to reach for Sam’s hand but you lose your grip on it when Ghostface gives the ladder one last toss, leaving you to hang on the ladder with one hand. The blood and sweat that was on your hand was making you slip more and more until you could no longer hold yourself up. As your hand releases the ladder, Sam, Mindy, and Anika scream at the sight of your body falling in the air. You curl yourself up in attempts to protect your head and break the fall using your left shoulder by making direct contact with the dumpster that was beneath you before rolling off of it and onto the ground. Your entire left shoulder, along with some of your ribs and God knows what other bones in your body, were definitely shattered from the impact and you also felt extremely light headed, but the important thing is you weren’t dead. You deliver that message to Ghostface when you catch him looking out the window, flipping him off with a smirk on your face as the three girls sob and breathe a sigh of relief.

You wake up on a stretcher just outside an ambulance to find Tara, Mindy, and Anika sitting in the back of the vehicle itself with its doors opened. You carefully try to move but pain shoots through your entire body like lightning. The younger Carpenter shoots her head in your direction when she sees you move and she’s quick to grab ahold of your hand.

“Y/N, you’re awake!”

“Hey there daredevil, how you holding up?” Mindy asks.

“I can’t lie, I'm pretty fucking high right now,” you smile and the three of them giggle.

“What you did back there was seriously insane. Like you wouldn’t believe her upper body strength, Tara! She deadass looked like Tarzan or something,” Anika explains excitedly, but it quickly dies down when Mindy starts to talk again.

“Okay but even though it was sort of impressive to watch, you’re still on my suspect list. That could’ve just been a little act to throw us off our tracks. We still don’t know a whole ton about you, other than the fact that you’re part monkey.”

“Hey, I’m no monkey, I'm a human being!” the amount of drugs in your system cause you to slightly slur your words. Mindy smirks and decides to use your woozy state against you all while Anika shoots her girlfriend a knowing smile.

“Hey Y/N, what do you think of Tara?”

“Mindy!” the girl in question protests.

“Tara? Oh golly, she’s an absolute gem!”

“Yeah? Think she’s pretty?”

“Pretty damn gorgeous if ya ask me!” Tara starts to blush at your honesty.

“Okay Mindy that’s enough, let Y/N re-”

“Chad..” Ethan emerges from the crowd and cautiously makes his way towards all of you, worried about the state of his friends at the moment. Chad, however, was unhappy to see his roommate and he slams Ethan against a car to question his whereabouts the previous night. Even after letting him go, Mindy doesn’t allow Ethan to step foot near you.

“Step the fuck back. You’re at the top of my list.”

“I had econ!”

“Ohhhh, econ!! What's econ?” you ask, clearly still in a drugged state.

-

You spend the day in the hospital trying to recover, immense pain still spreading through your body. But when Tara tells you about Gale getting attacked and their plan to try and catch Ghostface, you beg her to let you help out.

“Are you sure you want to be discharged now? You still have a long way to go before you’re anywhere near being fully healed,” the charge nurse asks as she hands you a few papers to sign.

“I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t important. There are lives on the line and I need to help out. Thanks for everything though.”

“Just be sure to take your meds and show up to those follow up appointments, young lady.”

You smile at the lady before making your way down to the hospital lobby where you meet Tara and everyone else.

“You look like absolute shit,” Chad teases.

“Yeah, well you try falling off a ladder then pretty boy” you retort, and he playfully lifts his arms up in surrender.

“Alright captain, where we headed?” you turn to Tara.

“I’ll explain everything along the way.”

“Wait, where’s Anika?”

“I told her it was best if she stayed out of it. She’s safe with her parents,” you nod your head in approval seeing as you definitely didn’t want to see more people getting hurt.

The seven of you travel through the streets of New York City until you’re met with the busy atmosphere of the subway stations. To what you were able to get from Tara’s explanation, there was a massive theatre that held Ghostface memorabilia from over the years, and you were going to try and lure him there so you could all attack him. Although some were protesting against the plan, you thought it was better than just standing around and waiting for his next attack.

The subways were particularly packed with commuters trying to make their way to the different Halloween parties being hosted all over the city. Almost everyone around you was wearing a costume so technically, you were the ones who stood out in the crowd. It was easy to get lost with the amount of people around, so you held onto Tara’s hand as tight as you could but you didn’t miss the glare burning into the back of your head from her sister.

Despite your efforts to stay with them, the number of people made it extremely difficult to keep up. Mindy trails behind you and calls out for Chad to wait up while you call out for Tara, but Danny and other civilians push their way onto the train to force you, Mindy, and Ethan to stay back on the platform and wait for the next one. You watch the train pass by before taking a look at Mindy who lets out a sigh of frustration. The two of you are startled by a hand that touches your shoulder which just turned out to be Ethan.

“Get your Ghostface ass away from us, Ghostface.”

“Wait, so you trust her but not me?”

“I saw Y/N fall off a ladder last night so I know where she was. I can't say the same for you, though.”

“I keep telling you guys I had econ!”

“Just keep your distance, Ghostface,” Mindy pulls you away from Ethan and you two walk further down the platform as you wait for the next train.

“Hey, did you notice his eye?” you ask Mindy while she tried to make him look away from the two of you.

“No, why? Did you see something?” she turns to you.

“It looked like it was starting to bruise. And if I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure I landed a right hook onto Ghostface last night. You think it’s a coincidence?”

“That’d be one hell of a coincidence. He definitely has to be Ghostface, I’m calling it right now. But you’re still not completely off the hook, got it buddy?” you give Mindy a tight lip smile and nod almost immediately, causing her to giggle at your nervous reaction.

-

The train ride was anything but pleasant. With the success of the Stab films, there were a number of Ghostface costumes on the train, causing you and Mindy to be on edge the entire time. Unfortunately, you and Mindy couldn’t stick close together due to the number of people separating you two, but you made sure to keep a close eye on her and to your surroundings.

But thanks to the flickering lights, it was hard to pay attention to your environment when you couldn’t see anything. You frantically turn your head in every direction to ensure you had every space covered and checking on Mindy if she was okay. When you turn your head to the left, you find a Ghostface mask who happened to be staring right at you. You want to think it’s just another random in a costume but the way he keeps his gaze fixed on you gives you the feeling it’s not just a random person.

Anxious, you try and make your way closer to Mindy so you could stay together but as soon as you started to move, he did too. There were a bunch of people in your way, leaving you no choice but to push through them and not even bothering to say sorry. At one point, the lights shut off and it takes a while for them to come back on. You continue your trek to Mindy but it’s no use because people were being bitches stubborn and wouldn’t move out of the way. You look back to see if Ghostface caught up to you, but you can’t make out anything in the dark. The lights finally come back on and Ghostface is nowhere to be seen, confirming your suspicions that it was most likely a stranger.

But when you turn back around to push your way through to Mindy, Ghostface is right in front of you. You attempt to scream but his hand is faster and immediately covers your mouth before pushing his knife right into your stomach. A muffled scream can’t be heard with how loud the train was and the people around you were, so you were left there to struggle and Mindy didn’t even know. He shoves the knife deeper into you and the two of you slowly fall to the ground, yet no one around you seemed to notice what was going on. Ghostface finally pulls the knife out and starts walking towards Mindy but you can’t get up to stop him. The announcer on the train comes on to indicate that the train will be arriving at the platform soon which catches him off guard, and you think he won’t have enough time to attack Mindy, but you were wrong. Ghostface quickly stabs Mindy approximately in the same area as he did with you before he makes a swift exit off the train. The two of you are clutching your stomachs, putting pressure to try and minimize some of the bleeding. Ethan notices both of you and immediately calls for help while he tries to drag both of you out of the train at the same time. He drops you by a nearby post where security guards gather and call for medical services.

“Are you guys okay?!”

“Yeah, we’re so good” Mindy’s sarcasm doesn’t fail to make an appearance despite being in pain.

“Goddammit. I got it wrong again! What the fuck?” she grunts in pain. You, on the other hand, start struggling to keep yourself awake. Your eyelids feel heavy and it’s becoming harder to breathe, the rest of your body feeling limp until your head crashes onto Mindy’s shoulder.

“Y/N, stay with me, come on!”

“I’m just gonna take a nap Min, don’t worry, I’ll be up in no time.” Mindy can feel her heart break hearing the nickname come from you for the first time. Her voice is the last thing you hear before finally letting your eyelids close themselves.

“Fuck this franchise.”

a/n: hello again, reader >:) i'm giving y/n some of chad's armor plot bc let's bffr, anyone would die falling off a ladder like that lmfaooo anyway, thank you guys for all your patience! the next part will be the last one and you will finally get to know who y/n is :) hope u enjoyed!

[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.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

👁️‍🗨️ with Hanni? Hehe

Oooooooooh yeahhhhhh!!!

———-

Watching Hannibal cook was a spectacle you were lucky enough to witness any time you wanted.

You paid close attention, especially, to his deft hands as he wielded several types of knives. He was so fast too, and it made you fear he would accidentally cut himself, despite his abundant skill.

He liked that you watched him, sometimes giving you small tasks in dinner’s preparation. You would handle vegetables, mostly, but you left the more complicated stuff to him.

“I don’t think I could ever chop carrots that fast,” you said, watching as he pushed the chopped bits into a pot with the edge of knife. “At least not without losing a finger.”

“I think you could,” he said with a slight chuckle, grabbing some celery next. “You have great reflexes.”

You scoffed. “You want to flatter me, I know, but I’m not nearly as skilled as you, my love.”

Hannibal grinned indulgently, chopping even as he glanced up at you. “True, but I’ve had years to hone my craft. You are quite a fast learner, though. I don’t doubt you could pick up a few things rather quickly.”

“Well… how? You could tell me more about each knife, maybe.”

“I could tell you… Or I could just show you instead.”

He smirked, beckoning you to his side of the kitchen island. You hesitantly complied, and he stepped back to give you access to the cutting board.

He handed you the knife by the hilt, noticing your grip was loose and nervous. He stepped in behind you, placing his hand over yours.

“Allow me,” he said. “I’ve always thought lessons were better taught hands on.”

You rolled your eyes at his joke, but you were certainly not going to complain about his nearness.

“Not what I had in mind, but it works,” you said with a dramatic sigh, like you had to settle for it.

He chuckled. “Oh no, I know there’s another set of knife skills you want me to demonstrate, but we can save that for when we’re done here.”

You were glad he was behind you, since he wouldn’t be able to tell how flustered you’d gotten at that.

——

[neonponders]

Part 18 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🦇

Part 17

( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 )

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

“Holy shit.”

Billy chuckled around his own bite while their unfinished game of backgammon sat on the coffee table. Steve licked pot pie gravy off his fork while the littles worked on their serving of peas, carrots, and some gravy-soaked crust.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“This is yummy,” small Billy said.

“Thanks for dinnerw, Biwwy,” small Steve seconded.

“Sorry you had to wait till midnight,” he replied, dipping an edge of crust in the gravy. His eyes flicked to Steve’s head perking up, and trying to go back to eating nonchalantly. “What?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize, that’s all.”

“I didn’t realize I’d set a precedent for letting tiny people starve.”

Steve’s eyes rolled onto him. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t have anything to go off of except your free concert arguments with Max.”

“Max is free game because she’s my shithead sister.”

Steve snorted and reached for a napkin. “Whatever. They’re right, this is great, and thank you.”

“You’re only saying that because you think I’m leaving the leftovers.”

Steve froze and Billy bubbled with laughter. Steve made quick work of the lump in his cheek and haggled, “What do I have to do to keep them?”

“Beat me at backgammon, for a start.”

“What else?”

Billy lifted his head, a different smile on his face. “You like it that much?”

“I can follow a recipe, but my specialties are breakfast and improvising, which...is a fifty-fifty chance at being edible but not delicious. This is an actual home cooked meal type thing.”

“Keep talking sweet to me and I might let you keep half of it.”

Steve already had a mouthful of pie filling as he mumbled, “Deal.”

Both of their attentions moved to the littles yawning over their finished crumbs. Steve swallowed and announced, “Our score-keepers need to get to bed.”

Small Steve complained, “ ‘M not sweepy,” even as his eyelids heavily blinked over unfocused eyes.

Large Steve dug through a grocery bag for the extra small cotton swabs and summoned, “Come here.”

Billy watched with silent fascination as the smallest amount of toothpaste got applied to the swabs and Steve held them steady while the littles brushed their teeth. “B, get those back ones.”

His little body released an indignant huff and he made better work of his molars.

Steve topped off their shot glass with water and said as they rinsed, “Good job. I give you two a bath in the morning.”

“Not sweepy,” little Steve declared, but he shook his head with too much gusto and his body swayed with it.

“Then you don’t want a goodnight kiss?”

He gasped and clasped his hands over his tummy, eyes clamped shut as if that might help him stay still for Steve’s kiss atop his head. He got two for his troubles, while little Billy stood in the curve of big Steve’s hand, holding onto his fingers while lips touched his hair twice as well.

“Stevie too?” small Billy asked with heavy eyelids and warm cheeks. Steve crouched low enough for them both to kiss the flat of his cheeks beside his mouth.

Large Billy was not exempt, as three pairs of eyes locked onto him. He wiped his mouth of crumbs and waved a hand under a benign scoff. “Here we go.”

The littles reached up to hold his chin as they kissed the corners of his mouth. He made sure to hold onto little Billy’s headband as he walked away, hair floating free as the band left his skull.

“Nigh’ nigh’, Biwwy. See you tomowwow?”

“Probably. I’ve got a board game to win.”

Steve chirped, “Oh? We’re done here?”

Billy narrowed his eyes at him in a skeptical glare. “You two make sure he doesn’t change anything. ‘Kay?”

“ ‘Kay!” they echoed.

“See you tomorrow!” little Steve yelled as he ran to their shoebox room.

“G’nigh’, Stevie,” little Billy said.

“Goodnight, B. Sweet Dreams,” big Steve returned and gave the littles an extra tuck into their beds before taking his and Billy’s plates to the kitchen sink.

Billy followed him and leaned against the counter. “Not to get sappy, but they really love you.”

Steve smiled as the dishes filled up with soapy water. Then he turned the faucet off to let them soak. “They’re good little guys. So we’ll settle the leftovers dispute tomorrow?”

His features sank a little as he watched Billy already strolling toward the front doors. “I’ll know if you cheat, pretty boy.”

“I don’t need to cheat. The pie is mine.”

Billy threw an amused smirk over his shoulder, and heard Steve lock the doors as he went to his car.

Brushing their teeth is an ordeal, echoed in his head as he started his car and reversed out of the driveway -

Like a flinch, he checked his shirt pocket and found it empty. Billy shook his head and pushed the cassette tape sticking out of his radio back in. The music only provided a backdrop for his thoughts, though, particularly the wonder at how far Steve was willing to trouble himself to take care of these tiny people.

Even a tiny Billy Hargrove.

Billy made the decision before he was really conscious of it, but as he turned onto Curly Lane and cruised into the trailer park, he stuck to it. If anyone could use some kush, it was Steve. It’d be a good way to spend the rest of the pot pie, too, underneath a haze of sour smoke.

The noise of his car usually announced his presence enough, so the loud stumbling inside the double-wide came as a surprise after he knocked on the door. It was a good habit to stand away from the front door, especially an outward-opening one that Eddie burst open. “Oh. Hargrove. What’s uh.”

“Up?” he responded, deadpan.

Eddie’s head tilted with an annoyed, but patient frown. “What brings you to my castle? The usual?”

“Yeah, unless you’ve found something special.”

“Not the special you like,” he refused on his way back inside. Billy caught the door and let himself into the living room-kitchen area. The floor creaked underneath him, but all houses did in one way or another -

Something audibly fell on the other side of the trailer, presumably in Eddie’s room. He locked eyes with Billy where he had a kitchen scale on the counter. Why he kept his supply in the main part of the house instead of the den of his room, Billy didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care. But he offered, “Do you need to check that?”

“No, I’ve got enough shit in there to cushion anything precious that falls - ”

A distinct, metallic twang pierced the air, and without another word, Eddie marched to the back of the trailer. Billy might not have been bothered, if whispers were actually silent, which they very often were not.

“Hey, Munson,” he called down the short hallway.

“YeahjustgivemeaSECOND!”

Billy rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock on the wall. If this took too long, it was hardly going to be worth it. “Do you have a stray cat in there, or something?”

Eddie emerged in his customary flurry of long curls and flapping denim vest. “Yeah, a real rascal. Your usual is my usual.”

Billy pulled out some dollar bills and held them at the ready while Eddie finished using the scale and slid the dried crumbled over the edge to land in a baggie.

An electronic burp moved through the air like an amp being turned on. Eddie froze. His eyes flicked up to Billy’s, who crooned, “Smart cat.”

He zipped up the baggie and quickly traded the money in Billy’s hand. “Awesome. Now if that’ll be all - whatwhatwhatwhat are you doing?”

Billy strolled down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Eddie might’ve had a similar height as him, but Billy’s structure made Eddie mold himself against the wall in an effort to block him from his bedroom. “I’m flattered, Hargrove, but customers have to buy me dinner first.”

Eddie’s customer service smile evaporated as Billy gripped his vest and shirt and moved him aside. To his credit, Eddie looked mean when he was mad.

“I’m not here to judge your taste in girls, Munson, but I am making sure there’s some honor amongst criminals.”

His eyes widened over sputtering words. “What the hell is that s’pposed to mean? Don’t take me as some kind of - heyheyhey!”

Billy’s grip on the doorknob beat his and Eddie swung into his room with the door. It would’ve been funny, and it was, but Billy’s eyes froze on the small body hanging off of the guitar mounted on the wall. For not the first time, and what he annoyingly suspected to not be the last, Billy felt a creepy crawly feeling move across his spine. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Eddie sprang up in his face. “Look, man, I know this is weird and I’m not inclined to try and talk anybody out of a bad trip. I’m only mildly hurt that you bought some unreliable shrooms from somebody else - ”

“I’m not an artist, I don’t take hallucinogenics,” Billy snapped. “Where the hell did you find another tiny?”

Eddie’s mouth opened to keep talking, but then snapped shut over puckered lips like he intended to whistle. “Wait. Another? What do you mean, another?”

[nkirukaj]

I Want You, Simon- Chapter 17

Pairing: Simon Petrikov x Fem! OC

Warnings: implied sexual feelings

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Word Count: 2.67K

Chapter 16

“Wait, you didn’t know they were called ‘bikes’?

“No! To me a ‘bike’ is a contraption with two wheels that you pedal on the ground!”

She laughs “That sounds silly. Two wheels on the ground? Like, how do you even balance on that?”

“That was something people learned as kids in my time.”

“Well, everyone learns how to ride a bike, basically as like babies.”

“Yeah, but clearly we’re talking about different things!”

She smiles “We are, yours is just ridiculous.”

He shakes his head at the table. Samira is at the stove cooking, she wouldn’t tell him what she was making, so he had to wait and be surprised “You didn’t have to cook for me.”

“I’m not. I’m cooking for me and you’re just here, so I’m choosing to feed you.”

“You don’t have to,”

She scoffs “What do I look like having a guest in my house, and not feeding them?”

“Am I really a guest to you anymore?” he smiles and tapes the table

“Well then, why wouldn’t I feed a friend?” she turns and smiles at him “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.” She turns back around towards the stove

“About what?”

“I’ll get to it in a second.”

Samira approaches her oven and pulls out a fully cooked turkey, and places it on the counter, followed by a pan of baked macaroni and cheese.

“You bake it?” he asked curiously

“Hmm?” she turned to look at him after placing the pan on the counter

He points to the pan “The macaroni and cheese? You bake it.”

“Yes.” She states plainly “That’s the only way I’ve ever seen it get made,” Simon is somewhat confused, but intrigued by this “How do you make it?”

“I don’t really, but Betty-” he stops in the middle of his sentence, seeing Samira tense up for a moment. He chooses not to finish that sentence. “Sorry.” he says

Samira exhales and turns off the stove “It’s fine. Finish your sentence.”

“I was just going to say that she usually made it on the stove.”

Samira is quiet for a moment while she places each meal item on a plate. First, carving the turkey, scooping the mac and cheese, then the peas and carrots she had cooking on the stove. She places the plate with a fork and a knife in front of him.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” she sits down in front of him

He feels a bit too awkward to eat something, feeling that he caused an awkward silence. It seemed like Samira could sense this and gestured toward his plate “Go ahead and eat it. That’s why I put it there.” She smiles a little.

He does start to eat cautiously and slowly, while still making sure to listen to what she’s saying.

“I know that you apologized to me like a few weeks ago, but I think that I should be apologizing to you.” He looks confused, but has food in his mouth, so he can’t exactly speak. Samira finds this extremely cute, and laughs and smiles. “Sorry.” she takes another breath “It was entirely inappropriate for me to show up to your house like that. In that manner and at that  hour. Again, I’m sorry for vomiting on your floor.”

He’s finally swallowed the food and is free to respond “I told you it was okay,”

“You’re very nice, but it’s not okay.” She shakes her head slowly and touches his hand “But what I mostly want to apologize about is…” she bites her lip anxiously before saying “The way I reacted in the first place. I shouldn’t be acting like that just because you bring up….Betty. I really had the time to stop and think about it. I don’t know, for some reason, I feel really defensive when you talk about her. Especially when it’s for a really long time. I’m not sure what it is. But I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a child.”

Simon reaches out and touches her hand back “You’re not acting like a child.” His voice is gentle and soft. “I get melancholy when I think about her as well. I know it isn’t the same, but it’s similar.”

“It’s not though.” She stands, “You knew her. You loved her. It makes sense for you to feel that way.” She paces around the kitchen “I’ve never even met her. She was gone before I even met you!” she whips around to look at him “Her being gone is the reason that I met you,” she says this part quietly

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” he looks up at where she stands 

She exhales once more “I’m not going to stop you from talking about Betty.” She states plainly “This is my issue, and I shouldn’t be making it your problem.”

“Sami, you’re allowed to feel however you feel. It would be cruel of me to ask you to stop.”

“You’re not asking,” she says with a fake laugh “This is a choice that I’m making. You can talk about her all you need-want to. It’s cruel of me to try and tell you what you’re allowed to talk about. You can talk all you want and I’ll be here to listen. Whenever you need me.” She is resolute in this decision “You need time, I get it. So talk as much as you need to. It’s good for you.”

He tilts his head to the side “But what about you?”

She nods “I’ll be fine.”

Simon stands and goes to meet her where she stands and grabs her hands inside his. She looks up at him with sparkling eyes. “I care about you, okay? I want you to make sure you feel good. And I do like you. I want you to remember that.”

“Thank you, but I do feel good about myself.”

He puts his hand on her shoulder “But do you know that I know that I like you?”

“I- what?” she smiles up at him

He grins back at her “What?” 

They both laugh wholeheartedly, to the point where they have to stop and catch their breath.

Marceline was floating around Samira’s house with her new guitar, strumming aimlessly and humming with the melody that she made up as she went along. Bonnie sat on the couch reading, while Samira sat at her desk, looking into her notebook and listening to her computer. 

“What are we doing Samira?” She half sung “I thought we were practicing”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.”

“If you know, then what’s going on?” she strums the guitar aggressively

She waves her off “I’m just working on something”

Marcy goes over to where she sits “What even is this?”

“It’s just something I’m working on,”

“What is this, some nerd thing?”

Samira looks up at her in embarrassment. She covers up the notebook. “No!” Marceline raises her eyebrow, and in that moment Samira knew Marcy would never leave it alone.

Marcy smiles and leans in. “Oooh. What don’t you want me to see?”

“It’s nothing!” Samira’s tone became less and less believable

“Samira…”

“Oh wait, weren’t we supposed to start rehearsal?”

“Nope, it's too late! I’m interested in this now!”

Marceline glances at Samira’s headphones, and Samira glances as well, just a second too late, they both lunge for the headphones, Marcy gets to them quicker. She puts them on and plays the music. Samira has to succumb to embarrassment and defeat. She sits as Marceline listens to the music on the player, waiting to see her reaction. Honestly, she had wanted feedback on it, but she was too scared to show it to anyone else. She was too afraid of being laughed at.

After about three minutes, Marceline is silent. She takes the headphones off slowly, staring Samira in the face, while Samira can’t even bear to look her in the eye.

“Samira” she speaks very seriously. “Is this about Simon?”

Samira looks away from the Vampire Queen and doesn’t respond. Marcy removes the headphones and places them on Samira’s desk “Hey Bonnie come listen to this!” She calls for her girlfriend

“What are you doing?” Samira covers her computer

“Showing her the song you wrote. More ears means more feedback, doesn’t it?”

Bonnibel comes rushing into the room “Am I needed? I heard my name?”

“Yeah come listen to this awesome song babe,”

She grimaces “I don’t really like the songs you like Marcy.”

“Yeah, I know, but I feel like you’ll like this one. It’s very pink-esque”

Bonnie looks apprehensive and reaches for the headphones, placing them on her ears.

“Come on Samira,” Marcy touches her arm “Let people hear your feelings”

Samira reluctantly lets go of her computer and lets the song play. Bonnie looks pleasantly surprised at the tune, and begins smiling while hearing it. Once the song is over, she removes the headphone and looks toward Samira “Is this what you’ve been working on this whole time?”

Samira nods without making eye contact. “It’s amazing! You should let other people hear this!” 

“Oh! You should perform it! And let Simon hear!”

“This is about Simon? Oh how sweet!”

“Yes! She should perform it right?!”

Bonnie claps twice and exclaims with a large grin on her face “Yes yes!”

“But where should she perform it?” Marcy strokes her chin

“Oh!” Bonnie chimes in “The Princess is having a ball at the castle to celebrate 600 years of the Candy Kingdom. Maybe she could perform there? I hear the princess loves her singing!”

“Yes baby, that's perfect!”

Bonnie and Marcy hug and then kiss really quickly in jubilation, while Samira doesn’t move. She’s still burdened by the uncertainty and anxiety that coursed through her veins.

“Hey,” Marcy turned back to Samira, after noticing her lack of intense happiness “What’s wrong?”

Samira lets out a small groan “I don’t know if I should sing this.”

“Why?”

“Because!” She lets out an exasperated sigh “I don’t want to embarrass myself okay? I don’t want to sing all about my feelings for this guy, and then it does nothing! I’ll look like a huge fool.”

“Hey.” Bonnie approached, trying to be helpful. “Think logically, no one knows that the song is supposed to be about Simon, but us right? And we’re not going to laugh at you. Just don’t tell anyone who the song is supposed to be about. Don’t even tell Simon! And his name isn’t in the song either. You’re golden! Just get up there and sing your truth. They’ll love it.” She touches Samira’s back “They always do.” She smiles

Samira sits up “Yeah they do, don’t they?”

“They do.” Marcy agrees and Samira is filled with a new sense of determination.

“I’ll perform the song.”

Simon hands Samira a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows while she sits on his couch, and he sits on one of his chairs.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks her

She smiles “Yes, and warm.”

He smiles back at her, “That’s good.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, drinking their hot chocolate. Simon reads and Samira stares out the window, thinking. She thought about the sun, the moon, the stars, and the sky. She thought about her existence and the fact that she happened to be alive at this very moment and in this very place, and how it was such a lucky coinicidence that she was alive around so many amazing people-

“Do you ever think about sex?” She asked the man in front of her

Simon is quite startled by her question, he lowers the book and the mug “What?” he asks through a mixture of a cough and a laugh

“What?” we’re both adults, we can talk about it” She pouts and crosses her arms

“I wasn’t debating our ages,” he’s still smiling “I was just caught off guard by the suddenness of you asking that.”

“But you didn’t answer the question,”

Simon looks a bit less distinguished when he answers “Yes Sami, I think about sex sometimes.” He brushes the nothing off of his button up shirt “I seem to find myself thinking about it a lot more these days.” he speaks pointedly at her

“I think about it like all the time.” She stares out the window, when she says this

“All the time?”

“Well not literally, all the time. But I think about like, how people had to have sex to create me, and also everyone else. And then when I meet people I think about whether or not they’ve had sex. And then I especially think about it if they’re attractive or if they have a partner.”

“Why?” he leans a bit forward

Samira shrugs “I honestly can’t help it. It’s not something that I make the choice to think about, it kind of just pops into my head randomly. And then I get turned on.”

“Are you comfortable with me?”

Simon’s question snaps Samira out of a sort of trance “Hmm? Oh, I already told you yes, I’m comfortable.”

“No, are you comfortable with me?”

She blinks “Yes.”

“Good. I just want to make sure.”

“Why?”

“I just thought because you tell me all the things that you’re thinking and I love that, but I wanted to make sure it was because you’re comfortable with me and not because you feel like you have to.”

Samira covers her mouth “Am I talking too much? Do I say too much? Are you getting tired of listening to me?”

“No,” he smirks, “I think it’s cute. I think you’re cute Sami.” Samira is very flattered and shows it on her face “And whatever question you’re thinking right now, you can ask it.”

“How do you know I have a question?”

He leans back into his chair, smiling at her “Becauase you’re Samira, and I know you.”

She crosses her arms again “FIne, I do have a question.”

“Ask it babe,”

Samira’s face turns a bit pink before she opens her mouth once again.

“When you were…intimate, would you say that you were more dominant or submissive?”

“Would you believe me if I said dominant?”

Samira laughs before saying “Not really,”

Simon chuckles “I didn’t think so. No, I was more on the submissive side.”

“Amazing!”

“Why?”

Her eyes glisten “Because I’m dominant.” He laughs a little louder than usual “What, do you not believe me?”

“I believe you,” he pushes his hair behind his ear

“Good,” she approaches him and pushes all of his hair back with both her hands and smirks “Call me Dommy Sami.”

“Dommy Sami? Oh that’s a good one”

“Yup, I’m your Dommy Mommy Sami.” She says with a large grin on her face

“Mommy?” He grins with a raised eyebrow

“Yes. That’s what I make my men call me.”

“And I’m one of your men?”

“Yes” she blinks as if this is obvious

“But I thought you said I was ‘Daddy’” he questioned 

She nods “Yes. And I’m Mommy. Mommy and Daddy.” She gives him a face that says ‘duh’

“Ah, I see.”

She’s sitting in his lap now and he’s holding her around the waist while her legs are on either side of his, she looks down at their position and looks back up at the antiquarian

“You like sitting like this?”

“Hmm?” He looks down at their position “Oh, I hadn’t even noticed”

She sticks out and bites her tongue “And you haven’t pushed me off. Must mean you’re letting yourself like things nowadays.”

“I try.” He leans in and kisses her on the forehead, and she kisses him back at the same spot as she holds his head in her hands

“I love looking at you. You’re such a beautiful person.”

“Thank you, as are you.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb

“And we’re accepting compliments now?” she smirks at him

“Should I not?”

“I’m just pointing out your progress,” She shrugs and lays her head down on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around her.

[mcalhenwrites]

Oct 15: Sharing a Tradition

[Wren, Dunn, Tessa, Niven, and... Well, Flick's around somewhere, I'm sure, being moody. All from The Hostile Credence. Warning for mention of cannibalism. I barely edited any of this, sorry. At least I'm getting these written???]

Wren and Dunn always went shopping together. They left Niven behind with Tessa, who couldn’t come on account of her being a dragon that attracted a significant amount of attention. During these trips into town, Flick often disappeared. No one asked where he went, which always raised more suspicion.

Wren and Dunn brought back a special treat after dropping in at a small village at the edge of a mountain lake. Dunn held up a set of stringed fish in a gloved hand as soon as he had Niven and Tessa’s attention.

“Yernin salmon,” he declared proudly. “A real treat where I’m from!”

“One of the only ones,” Wren remarked. “The only meat other than mushrooms to eat.”

“Other than mushrooms and people,” Dunn corrected him.

Niven frowned at him. “You can joke about that?”

“About cannibalism?” Dunn shrugged as he hooked the line over one of the corners of their cart. The fish slapped against the wooden side. “I never stooped to it. I was a strict pescatarian until I met Wren and went hunting with him. Sometimes you have to joke about grim events in your life. It’s a fucked up way of coping, you don’t have to remind me.”

“I don’t think your jokes will ever be as bad as Tessa’s,” Niven assured him.

“What?!” The dragon let out a loud huff that sent the leaves kicking up around her. “I should be commended for making the effort. Methla was my teacher in all things human, after all.”

“Fair.” If Niven’s teacher was someone who spoke in riddles, he might have a strange sense of humor as well.

Niven walked over to the salmon. They were larger than he would have expected from an inhospitable region like Yernin.

“How did you cook them?” he asked Dunn.

Dunn leaned against the cart, one elbow hooked around the top. “First you make Yernin asparagus soup, then grill the salmon and drop it in the bowl. Adds a lovely fish flavor to the broth.”

“How do you make the soup? It’s not like we have Yernin asparagus around.”

“We’ll use regular asparagus. Tastes entirely different, though, so we’ll see. Yernin asparagus doesn’t get soggy when boiled, so we’ll have to add it last. You start with vegetable broth like what Wren makes his stews from, add seasonings, toss in any local produce that blends well together, and let it boil while you’re grilling the fish. Tastes good with a drop of soy sauce too. We’ll have to make due with the carrots, onions, and potatoes we have right now. We usually have mushrooms with it in Yernin, but I’m not sure what’s safe in this region. Just having the salmon travel this way is a rare treat.”

“That all sounds good to me! The question is, who is making it? You or Wren?”

“Wren’s got the soup, I’m grilling the fish.” Dunn scowled. “You don’t have faith in my soups?”

“I do, but I’ve been spoiled on Wren’s.”

Dunn leaned back a bit more and laughed. “That happens! But I’m the one who grew up in Yernin. I’m the best one to cook and share my traditional food with you.”

“No, I think Wren will do a better job,” Niven teased. “Even though you’ve never cooked anything I didn’t love.”

“You’ll love this for sure,” Dunn promised, reaching over and slapping Niven warmly on the arm. He pushed away from the cart and lowered the hatch. “Now, where did I put my skinning kit?”

[enigmaticxbee]

Tag Game

Thanks @thatfragilecapricorn30 🌟

Favorite painter: I’ve always loved Vermeer. I once stood outside in a snow storm for hours to get into a museum to see the Girl with a Pearl Earring when it was in NYC. I’d love to visit the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. As a dancer I’ve always been a Degas girlie. I spent a semester art class copying one of his dancer paintings and it’s probably my favorite thing thing I’ve painted. Shoutout to @storybycorey who I bought my first actual canvas, not a print, painting from, it hangs in my bedroom 💕

Favorite writer: Ann Patchett is one of the few authors that I’ve read everything they’ve written, even in a low reading period like I’m in right now I read her latest book Tom Lake right away (actually, I read it and then immediately listened to the audiobook narrated by Meryl Streep)

Favorite band: I don’t think I’ve ever really had one…

Favorite meal and drink: I really like lemonades of all sorts. The fresh raspberry lemonade I had in Sweden, or the fresh mint lemonade I had in Peru 😍 Food is harder to narrow down. Has to involve bread of some sort. Maybe because it’s a once a year meal and my favorite holiday because it just involves hanging out with my family and cooking and eating it might be Thanksgiving dinner - stuffing, turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans with almonds, carrots with apricots, cranberry sauce, the bread my mom bakes once a year that’s a variation on challah ❤️

Favorite outfit aesthetic: That I actually wear? Autumnal big chunky sweater, jeans, boots. That’s what I wear most of the year tbh. Comfy and cozy.

Favorite singer: Again, don’t really have one. There have been singers that I’ve liked - Adele, Regina Spektor, Lily Allen, Lady Gaga , Sia - but no one I’d call my favorite, or even that I’d claim to have listened to all their work. I tend to have specific songs or albums that I like.

Favorite item I own: Legally I guess I own my dog (or does she truly own me). She’s the cutest, sweetest, silliest pup, I love her so much. She’s asleep on my lap right now.

Favorite possession: How is this different from item you own? I don’t know, I have lots of little knickknacks and rocks and shells that I picked up while traveling that make me remember those trips and experiences.

Favorite perfume: I’ve literally never worn perfume in my life. I tend to buy unscented stuff for everything. Probably because my mom has asthma and reacts to scented products. It all smells way too strong to me.

I’m super later responding so I don’t remember who’s done this already so I’m just going to tag the last few people in my notes to play if you want! @ariverofsongs @television-overload @nowiseemidnight @edierone @thescullyphile

[cleighwrites]

Christmas Traditions

SPN Fanfic

Caracters: Sam x Dean x Cas

Word Count: 2,685

Summary: Sam, Dean, and Cas take some time off to celebrate the holiday.

A/N: This was written for @ladylilithprime for the @spnfanficpond’s Christmas Exchange! I hope I got in everything from the wishlist! 

Warnings: NSFW, past trauma (mentioned), m/m/m threesome, wing kink, anal sex

Read it on Ao3

Sam sat in the kitchen reading his copy of Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol as Dean hummed under his breath and cooked dinner. Cas sat across from him watching Dean and smiling softly, affection shining in his eyes. They had decided to take Christmas weekend off and spend it together. No apocalypse, no monsters, no distractions; just the three of them, together for Christmas. Spiked eggnog, roasted turkey with fixings, and even a Christmas tree. Dean had joked that Sam could be the tree and Cas could be the topper, “We’ll have a kinky Christmas!” he’d said. Cas’s wings had fluttered at the idea while Sam had blushed and shook his head.

A Winchester Christmas in the bunker. Who would have thought?

Sam insisted on playing a Christmas station while they ate, and Dean was pleased that it was a station that played Trans-Siberian Orchestra, stating that “If we’re going to listen to Christmas music, at least they have taste.” The bird was perfectly cooked, and Dean even added carrots to the potatoes and gravy. The smell of pumpkin and pecan pies baking filled the air as they ate.

Cas even tried a bite, noting, “These are the best-tasting atoms I have ever tasted, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes but smiled as he said, “Don’t waste my cooking, Cas; we know you don’t eat.” 

After dinner and dessert, Sam sat on the sofa in the den (which he refused to call the Dean Cave) with his book in hand and his brother’s feet in his lap. Dean was watching Die Hard, and Cas had gone to get refills on their Winchester Special Eggnog, which mainly consisted of brandy. 

When Cas entered with three glasses in his hands, Sam looked up to see his wings pinned tightly against his back. 

“What’s wrong, Cas?” 

“Hmm?” Dean added, peeling his eyes away from the screen to look at their angel.

“Nothing is ‘wrong’, Sam. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Sam commented. 

“I hate that you can see his wings, and I can’t. Must be all that witchy stuff you’ve gotten into,” Dean lamented. 

“Dean,” Cas started, his wings shifting. “We’ve been over this. Sam spent considerably more time as a host to an archangel. That prolonged exposure is bound to have an effect. He could probably hear my true voice as well. Though, I wouldn’t risk it.”

“Yeah, no, I’ve been on the receiving end of your true voice, wouldn’t want a repeat of that.” Dean laughed to himself, self-consciously rubbing at his ear.  

“And I don’t think I could handle seeing another angel’s true face.” Sam shivered. 

Cas came up behind him, handed him and Dean their drinks, and put a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I can only imagine the horrors you went through in that cage. I’m sorry we couldn’t get you out sooner.” 

Sam was quiet, trying not to remember everything that had happened in the time he was trapped with Lucifer. Not only him physically but his soul alone. Cas understood what it was like—they had bonded more after his time hosting the devil. Dean hadn’t truly understood until he’d hosted Michael, who’d gone rogue and hijacked his body. They’d all been through so much, but all of that only seemed to bring them closer together. They’d bonded in the trenches of multiple apocalypses. Sure, they still fought and went through stages of silent treatments, especially Dean, but they’d always found their way back to one another.

Sam owed Cas everything for bringing his brother back from Hell, and he’d earned his trust and love over the years since then. And Dean… they’d always been more than just brothers. Cas and Dean had always had a bond, and when they all decided to see what it would be like for all of them to be together, it had been a game changer. Sam couldn’t imagine his life without them in it. After everything they’d all been through, they could depend on each other. Sam had never felt more understood and supported in his life. They’d literally been through Hell, but they were still there fighting, rarely taking time for themselves. 

“How about a change of subject?” Dean said loudly, bringing Sam out of his thoughts. 

“Yes, what would we like to do tonight?” Cas added. 

“I was planning on a Die Hard marathon… but could be convinced to do something else…” Dean waggled his eyebrows at Sam. 

Unable to hold back his smile at his brother’s antics, Sam grinned. He took a drink from his cup, leaned his head back against Cas’s forearm and looked up at the angel. “Cas?” 

“You know I am always ready to be carnal with either of you.”

“Cas,” Dean complained, “you can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why? Would you prefer I call it making love?”

Dean groaned and made a show of rolling his entire head with his eyes. Sam laughed. 

“Sap,” Dean accused, then took a drink from his glass. “So, we doin’ this or what?” 

“I’m game,” Sam agreed. He finished off his glass of eggnog and cleared his throat from the burn. 

Dean nodded, downed the rest of his drink, got up from the couch, and started stripping as he left the room. Cas sighed dramatically, then squeezed Sam’s shoulder before following after him with his wings shivering. Sam simply shook his head at his lovers’ antics and then rose to follow them. 

Once he got to Cas’s room, the one they used when they were all together, Dean was completely naked and was helping Cas out of his clothes. They were making out; Sam felt his cock stiffen at the sight. Cas’s wings were spread wide, his primary feathers reaching out. Unable to help himself, Sam reached forward and rubbed the outermost primary feather between two fingers causing Cas to shiver and moan into Dean’s mouth. 

He was so pleased when they’d invited Cas into his and Dean’s bedroom play, and he’d agreed. Sam had been hesitant at first, Cas being an angel of the Lord, but when he’d found out about Dean and Cas, Sam had insisted that Dean offer to bring him into the fold. Cas hadn’t been judgemental about Sam and Dean being physically intimate. He’d said that all of Heaven already knew and didn’t think anything about it. 

Clearing his throat, Sam began to undress to join in the festivities. He watched as Dean removed all of Cas’s clothes. Sam matched his movements and joined them naked as Cas stepped out of his pants. Cas and Dean reached out to him and wrapped their arms around his waist to pull him into them. Dean leaned forward first and pressed their lips together. They kissed as if they lived for it, breathing each other’s breaths and tasting the eggnog they had drunk. Dean was all fire and passion in everything he did, always eager to please. 

Where Dean was all heat and willfulness, Cas was care and precision. Once Dean had had his fill, he nodded to Cas and lay down on the bed while Cas took his turn with Sam. Cas’s lips were more gentle but no less passionate. Dean moaned, and Sam knew that Cas was using his Grace to get Dean ready for them, whoever would be the one to fuck him. They tended to mix things up, keeping things interesting. The fact that all of them were pretty much up for anything helped in that regard. 

Cas reached between himself and Sam, grabbed both of their cocks, and began stroking them in time with Dean’s moans and grunts of pleasure. Sam reached behind Cas and wrapped his fingers around his marginal coverts, stroking along their soft vanes. He loved to feel Cas shiver and his wings vibrate with arousal. Sam played with the downy barbs at the base of his feathers and smiled against Cas’s lips when he stopped kissing and stroking him. Sam thoroughly enjoyed being able to play Cas like a finely tuned instrument. 

“Not fair,” Dean said from the bed. 

“You’re just jealous,” Sam said. 

“Ngh.” Dean threw his head back into the pillows and started grinding down on the bed again. 

Sam smirked at Cas, who had obviously started opening him up again. As he was about to ask how they would proceed tonight, Sam felt pressure at his hole and realized that he would be in the middle of everything. Secretly, or maybe not so secretly, Sam loved when he got to be between the two of them, surrounded in every way by the loves of his life. Sam leaned into Cas again and kissed him as his Grace worked him and his brother into a frenzy. 

“Sammy,” Dean moaned. 

Sam loved seeing his brother strung out and laid out on their bed. His hair was messy, and his skin was flushed pink from stimulation. With one last nibble on Cas’s bottom lip, Sam pulled away and crawled over the bed to his brother. He laid over him and kissed Dean while Cas kept opening them up. 

“‘M ready, Sammy. So ready. Need you.” Dean mumbled between needy kisses. 

Sam reached over to the side table, but Cas was already there, handing him the lube they kept there. Cas could use his Grace as lube, but when he got caught up in the moment, sometimes he’d forget, and none of them wanted that to happen… again. 

With freshly lubed fingers, Sam rubbed around Dean’s rim and slid three fingers in with no resistance. He thrust his fingers in a few times, then lubed up his cock and lined himself up. Dean wrapped his legs around Sam’s hips while he still had the chance. Leaning down, Sam kissed Dean as he shoved his hips forward, slowly sinking into the smooth warmth of Dean’s ass. Sam set a slow, steady pace that matched the ebb and flow of Cas’s Grace within himself. 

Cas lay beside them and ran his fingers through their hair. He pulled Sam’s head back and turned Dean’s head toward himself so they could press their lips together in an intense kiss. Sam heard Dean moan and felt him clench around his cock. Sam laced his fingers with Dean’s with one hand and reached out to run his fingers through Cas’s scapular feathers. Cas’s hips rutted against Dean, and all three of them moaned. 

After a moment, Cas’s Grace expanded in Sam’s ass and warmed for a few seconds before Cas stopped kissing his brother and moved to situate himself behind Sam. Dean unhooked his legs from around Sam’s waist and braced himself against the bed while Cas lubed Sam. As Cas lined himself up, he put his arm around Sam’s waist, and Dean pulled him down into a kiss. Sam stilled his hips when he felt the intense pressure as Cas pushed inside. It was always overwhelming being surrounded the way he was. Dean clenched his ass as he waited for Sam to start moving again, which caused Sam to clench, too, and Cas, in turn, to moan into Sam’s back.

Once Cas was fully sheathed, Sam rocked his hips forward into Dean, who nibbled on Sam’s bottom lip. When Sam rocked back into Cas, they all moaned again. Sam was solidly between the two people who meant the most to him in the world. This was bliss. Cas’s wings spread out to either side of them, putting them in a cocoon of iridescent black feathers. Sam felt safe and wanted and loved. 

They rocked together in a shallow, slow rhythm until Sam was ready to do more, to feel more. Sam grabbed hold of Cas’s wings to pull himself upright. Cas sat up with him and took his cue to pick up his pace. As he slammed his hips into Sam, Sam slammed into Dean. Cas fucked them both for what felt like hours. It was too easy for them all to move with each other. They were a finely tuned machine, hardly having to communicate with words as they thrust and moved with one another. 

Fingers laced through Cas’s wings and Dean’s hands on his waist, Sam let himself go with pleasure. It wasn’t often that he released control and allowed himself to just be. In the safety of Dean and Cas’s arms and wings, Sam felt secure enough to stop trying to perform and analyze everything and just let himself feel everything happening to him. Dean’s fingers tightening around his waist, Cas’s arm around his waist, their fingers playing against each other’s, Cas’s feathers fluctuating under his hands, every feeling was heightened and accentuated with need and trust. 

Sam and Dean were incoherent and sweaty by the time Dean finally came, shooting spurts all over his and Sam’s stomachs. As he came, he squeezed around Sam; Cas fanned his wings out, gripped Sam tight around his middle, and bit into the crook of his neck. With all the added stimuli, Sam reached the edge of ecstasy and came with a shout. Through the slits of his eyelids, Sam watched Dean reach for his hands and lace their fingers together. As soon as their hands touched, a blue glow lit the room, and Sam felt Cas’s hips falter as he came, warmth spreading through him as he did so. 

Cas turned Sam’s face so they could kiss as he rolled his hips a few more times, then pulled out and backed away from them. Sam did the same, leaning over to kiss Dean as he pulled out, then he lay down beside him while Cas lay down on his other side. Cas’s top wing came around and rested over them. Sam mindlessly ran his fingers through the primary feathers at his side and ran the fingers of his other hand through Dean’s hair. Cas was also stroking through Dean’s hair, and Dean hummed in contentment. 

With a snap of Cas’s fingers, they were all clean—fucking an angel had its perks, other than unlimited stamina—then they dozed for a little while, enjoying their post-coital haze and each other’s closeness.

“I would like to try something,” Cas said.

“Okay, shoot,” Dean told him, stretching out like a cat. 

Cas stood up beside the bed and cleared his throat. His eyes glowed blue for a moment, then Dean gasped. 

“Oh,” Dean said as he moved to the edge of the bed and stuck his hands out to run them along Cas’s marginal coverts. 

Cas’s feathers shifted at the touch, and Sam watched as Dean felt his way along the strong line of Cas’s wings for the first time. Cas closed his eyes and breathed in while Dean worshiped his wings, running his fingers along almost every feather. 

Cas chuckled when Dean rubbed at his alula, and Sam got up to join Dean in exploring Cas’s wings. Sam, of course, had been able to see them ever since he’d gotten his soul back from the cage, but he’d never really allowed himself to explore them like Dean was. Dean was on his left wing, so Sam went to his right wing and started straightening out his feathers that had gone crooked or were not laying flat. Cas hummed and leaned his head back while they groomed him. 

When all of his feathers sat straight and Cas was almost asleep, Sam and Dean kissed him on the corners of his lips. 

“Who wants to finish a movie with me?” Dean asked, his eyes closed and his head leaning on Cas’s shoulder. 

“I will,” Sam and Cas both said in unison. 

Once they dressed in their comfy sleep clothes, they went back to the den to finish watching Die Hard. Sam forwent his book in favor of snuggling on the couch and sipping more eggnog. Cas sat between the brothers, arms draped over their shoulders and wings spread wide around in a protective hug. Sam nuzzled into Cas and stroked the primary feathers that draped over his shoulder while Dean leaned into his other side. 

As far as Christmas traditions go, Sam was sure even Dean could get behind this one.

[doctors-journal]

8 November

Justin came over for dinner, and I have the day off tomorrow to spend with him. He’s washing off his makeup now so he doesn’t get it all over the pillows.

I was going to order in, but he insisted that it’s time he teach me how to cook something other than eggs and toast, so that’s what we did. He brought all the ingredients, which is a good thing because it’s been hard to find time to run errands now that I’m working again. It turns out I wouldn’t’ve known what to get anyway.

“Don’t worry, we’ll start you on something easy,” Justin promised as he laid everything out on the table—there’s not really that much counter space, not that I ever noticed.

I think my scepticism was well deserved. There was a cut of meat that I don’t even know the name of, a handful of spices because, as Justin said, he didn’t know what I already have, and a few bushels of vegetables.

“I assume you want to eat soon, so I decided against a full roast or a pie, though I think I’ve almost got the perfect casing.”

“You’ve been busy,” I said, still eyeing the table warily as he sorted through the ingredients.

“Quite the opposite. I think Emma is glad to be rid of me for a day.” Justin shot me a crooked smile that accentuated his features.

“So, what do I do then?”

“Well, the potatoes will have to go first, the meat will hardly take any time, just needs to be seared, though the seasoning will take some doing…”

“Potatoes I can handle.”

“That’s probably best, though don’t think you’re getting out of the fun part.”

I accepted the bag of more potatoes than the two of us could possibly eat and brought them over to the sink to wash and chop.

Meanwhile, Justin claimed the counter on the other side of the stove to do something with the meat and spices. At some point the oven turned on, warming up the whole flat. The kitchen is small; I don’t use it for much, but it was nice, bumping into each other as we went here and there. Mostly I kept to my corner, while Justin was everywhere dealing with this and that behind me, occasionally checking in over my shoulder, leaning in a little closer than was strictly necessary.

When I was done with the potatoes, I handed them over and was given some onions and carrots in exchange. However, before I had the chance to get too far on them, Justin pulled me by the arm over to the table where he had all the spices laid out with the bowl of potatoes in front of them.

“The choice is yours,” he declared with a broad gesture at the set-up.

I just grabbed some salt and pepper.

Justin groaned. “Solomon! Surely your tastes haven’t been ruined that badly by your time in England.”

“What?” I protested. “You do it then.”

“It needs garlic at least.” He tossed in a few cloves. “Rosemary is always a good choice, or perhaps some paprika…”

While he contemplated, I tentatively sniffed a few of the spices until I caught a familiar scent. “What about this?”

“Coriander? Of course, you were in Syria.”

“Yeah, it reminds me of a potato dish we had sometimes in the mess.”

I let Justin figure out how much to put in, and he added a few other spices for good measure, and then he laid it all out on a tray and put it in the oven, while I got back to the other vegetables. When I was done, they joined the potatoes, and after a quick clean-up, Justin declared it time for the main attraction.

He started up the stove, and then he dropped in the spice-crusted meat and it began to sizzle. It didn’t take very long. I just stayed out of the way and watched as he manoeuvred slices of meat in and out of the hot pan. He clearly knew what he was doing.

“When did you learn to do all this?” I asked when he was done not to distract him.

“Oh, here and there,” Justin said with a dismissive wave. “I started with oysters and a brace of grouse.”

“Grouse?”

“Watson, you have never yet recognised my merits as a housekeeper,” he said with an arrogant tilt of his chin.

He set a pair of plates on the table, with my duly chopped vegetables neatly arranged alongside a piece of meat for each of us.

“Sherlock Holmes cooked too?” I asked in surprise.

“But of course,” Justin said with a smile and joined me at the table.

“Fictional characters get to be able to do everything. And you said that was a simple recipe?” I took a tentative bite. “It’s good!”

Justin grinned and took a little bow. “And it didn’t take too long did it?”

I glanced at the clock, and in fact, it had been a little over half an hour. “I guess not, but I feel like I just spent another hour in the operating room.”

“See, it’s right up your alley.”

“If I haven’t been ruined by my time in England,” I answered pointedly.

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it, and I’ve been working on some English classics.” He gestured with his fork as he talked between bites.

“Does this mean you’ve decided to become a chef since being a detective didn’t work out?”

I wondered for an instant if I’d gone too far, but then Justin laughed.

However, he soon sobered with a sigh. “The first thing I ever wanted was to be Sherlock Holmes. It’s even how I realised I was indifferent to the fairer sex—that anyone could be, and that there was nothing I wanted more than a Watson of my own.” He gave me a sideways glance with a crooked smile.

I had to say, “Sorry, I don’t feel the same about Watson.”

“I know. Alas, it’s probably for the best. I ought count myself fortunate that you did not leave me for a wife.”

He couldn’t hide the humour from his expression, but I still gave him a bit of an affectionate shove, and my hand lingered a little.

It was a nice dinner. I don’t know the last time I saw Justin eat so well, or ate so well myself. It was cosy, sitting and chatting in the warm kitchen, even though we were just at my little folding table. I missed our old flat a bit. I think Justin is still renting it—or maybe he owns it. He’ll probably move back when he’s ready.

He looks good. He’s got a little more colour and has filled out a little bit; he even wears his makeup a little less severe. He smiles more easily too, and it’s striking how his eyes light up when he’s enthusiastic about something, which is apparently nearly always. I don’t know how he kept it in before—he really is an actor.

I caught myself gravitating toward him as we ate. Our knees bumped together; our feet jostled for space under the small table. I couldn’t even keep my hands away from him touching his arm or his shoulder for emphasis. I’m not usually like this, but it felt perfectly natural, and it wasn’t just me either.

I think I can hear him finishing up in the v.c. now. It’ll be nice being able to spend the night together.

[unlessfunplans]

10.29.24: How to be Solidly Okay

I don’t know what beast possessed me today. Not only did I wake up early (7:43 am), but I got up, dressed, showered, cooked myself a meal and even did my breakfast dishes before 10:00.

My hair was soft and well-behaved today. The purple is fading and now it looks like a lavender-tinted platinum blonde. I actually had to suspend my disbelief after I dried it, it combed down so satisfyingly and somehow stayed in place. It’ll probably never happen again (and I wish the colour was even) but i deemed it a big deal.

I genuinely feel like I’m so cute the second I put a hairclip in. I don’t know what magic is infused in them but I feel 10x cuter just having one in.

My breakfast was a proper one; toast, applesauce, banana slices, and the cutest, tiniest, roundest sunny side up egg I have ever made. I don’t know how the egg turned out like that. I wish I’d taken a picture. I used one of my palm leaf bowls for the applesauce, the red one. I don’t know if I’m just habitual or far too sentimental, but food always seems to taste better in my colourful bowls.

the colourful bowls, not taken today but the pictures spark joy for me so ✨

I also didn’t encounter any roommates the whole time I was cooking or doing dishes. I’m getting better at making appearances when they’re around, it just happened to be early and I wasn’t in a talking, or being perceived, mood.

Oh yeah, I also applied for four jobs. PetSmart dog bather, housekeeping, Sobey’s bakery worker, store clerk. I really hope I get the dog job. I think I could handle giving dogs baths all day.

And then I drove myself to the library and did a month’s worth of group project work in two hours. Then I went back to my dorm, worked on my art project for another two hours (Minecraft video in the background for moral support, I’ve been really enjoying flowstate’s videos lately.), then drove back to the library and met with said group.

And then.

I drove my classmate and me home (turns out we live in the same building, on the same floor?) and worked on the art project again, for another several hours, with more Minecraft in the background.

I reentered my kitchen, only to have a surprisingly easy and nice conversation with my roommate.

Today was so productive, and human interaction today just generally went “well” for some reason. Every interaction today left me coming away from the conversation feeling nice despite this (conversation) usually being a huge challenge for me. I didn’t get stressed out at any point during the day, and for the most part enjoyed all the schoolwork I did today. The only thing that sucked was realizing how off the proportions are on my art project, but the hand looks so cool I can’t even say I care to despair about it.

My wool sweater turned out to fit me better than I thought. I was able to plug in my mini fridge and cover it in magnets. Fridges need to stand up for at least 12 hours after being transported, I learned. At least if they’re transported sideways. My fridge was, so I gave it a new magnet layout to make up for it.

da magnets, the WIP

It’s the first day in a long day where I can say that every single thing went well? It feels monumental somehow. From start to finish, everything, down to the minor things went well today. Theres even more that happened, like:

-my picture frame sat on its new command hook without pulling it off the wall, meaning I finally got to hang a framed picture in my dorm room.

-my YouTube videos all turned out to be interesting

-the guy in our group project who I thought would be awkward to meet, turned out to be a really chill dude who likes to talk about thrifting and memes.

-I had red pepper hummus and carrots when I wanted them

-the bananas were the perfect amount of ripe today

-I finally found a spot for my candle

Is this just me saying that i actually have a lot to be grateful for, mundane and daily things, and I’m only just now appreciating it all fully now that I’ve had a genuinely good day? One genuinely good day? Once?

It just got to me I guess, because nothing crazy or calamitous happened, nothing earth shattering or dramatic swooped in to make my day, everything was just okay and nothing went wrong and emotionally I felt content. I can’t remember the last time I lived through a day where I didn’t feel anxious and obsessive over something not-right in my life and just came out of it feeling satisfied. Maybe it’s the absurd accomplishment of completing two huge academic tasks in one day, effectively lifting weights off myself simultaneously, but it honestly feels like more than that. Whatever the reason is, I am able to relax. Like actually. So I’m good with that.

Shit’s fire bro 🤘

I am very normal when relaxing.

Turns out having mental freedom means I suddenly want to scavenge for core memories on my camera roll. My boyfriend and friends are being treated to a lot of photos of them that they didn’t know existed.

I’m so glad to be a sentimental shit who documents everything. I’m so glad I have so many of my favourite memories in pictures, it’s like looking into a window and getting to sit in those feelings again.

Today was contentedly and solidly okay.

👍

p.s.- the raccoon drawing in the first photoset was done by my lovely best friend in Colorado during a game of we’re not really strangers. It’s super very special to me.

The cow card was sent by my other best friend in Alberta. She was sending me books. It gets a lot of compliments when people see my bulletin board.

<3

[some-siren]

Learning to differentiate between what I don’t like and what my body refuses to eat has been critical to my survival tbh

Like for example: I don’t like bananas much, but I can still eat them no problem if I need to or there’s nothing else to eat. It’s not what I like per se but it’s still an option

On the other hand, most of the things that have to do with like, onions in too big a quantity, or whatever this is, my body wants to throw up when I try to eat it. It tastes horrible and the texture is just wrong and I have to make the biggest effort possible to eat one bite. (Of course no shame to people who like these dishes, just talking about my personal experience)

And like. Until a couple years ago I had not realised there actively was a difference. I’d be visiting someone and what they served would just cause this visceral reaction and (when I was a child) cause my mother to say "you have to eat at least a bit more, like half" and sometimes I couldn’t even do that and she would be upset because her child was uncivilised. (When I tried to explain to her I simply couldn’t eat it she understood though, but still).

But then there was also just me not liking things such as fish or pizza (long story) or potatoes cooked with their skin on or the spinach from the cafeteria, or bananas. But the thing is, if I need to eat these, I can. There’s no problem other than it doesn’t being me joy and frankly I’d rather eat pasta or eggs or raw carrots instead but that’s it. Several times I’ve had meals at the school cafeteria that were just fish and spinach and a banana for desert. And I just ate those without thinking twice about it

All of that to say I’m never eating vegetarian Zwiebelkuchen ever again, sorry south Germany

[sluttyten]

dark side of the moon

Yesterday <- || -> Kinktober Masterlist

Day Eight: Knifeplay & Blindfolds w/ Xiaojun

Word Count: 4,073

When you first met Xiaojun, it was on a blind date. He was a friend of a friend, and as you sat across from him for dinner, you knew nothing except that he was very handsome. Of course, throughout dinner, you got to know each other better. 

Xiaojun was an aspiring chef. He’d just finished culinary school, and he was still working in the kitchen of one of the highest rated restaurants in the city, but he had dreams to open his own place someday when he’d saved up enough.

You had questions, Xiaojun had answers, and you thought that the night went quite well. 

It was a few weeks later, after several more dates, when you were at last invited over to Xiaojun’s place. He was going to cook dinner for you, his roommate was out of town for the week, and you were thrilled to imagine that you were possibly going to end the night finally in his bed.

You prepared yourself for the night you wanted. Dress for success, and all that shit. You wore pretty lingerie beneath your dress, just praying that Xiaojun would get to see it tonight. You’d been longing to have him in bed since your first kiss on the second date. 

Xiaojun had made preparations too, though his were of a different sort. 

When he opened the door to welcome you into his apartment, you were greeted with the warm, savory scent of something already cooking. You breathed in deeply, trying to figure out what exactly you were smelling, and Xiaojun’s fingers brush your shoulders, helping you out of your coat, his fingers trailing down your arms in a way that sends a barely-contained shiver down your spine.

“You look beautiful,” Xiaojun says. “Please, don’t judge my place too harshly. Ten’s the clean one, and he’s been gone for too long already.”

The apartment looks fine to you, but your eyes are only for Xiaojun as he leads the way back over to the kitchen area. He’s got a variety of ingredients laid out on the table. Something cooks in a pot on the stove. The oven is preheating. 

Xiaojun ties an apron around his waist, and he reaches for one of his gleaming, sharp chef’s knives. 

“Do I get to help?” You ask, leaning against the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Or do I get to enjoy the show?”

Xiaojun smiles, glancing up at you as he brings a few carrots onto his cutting board. “If you think this is going to be an interesting show, by all means, you can watch. I didn’t invite you over to work for your dinner.” He looks back down at the cutting board as he begins to professionally julienne the carrots.

“Maybe I’ll work for dessert, then,” you reply, catching Xiaojun’s eye as he once again glances up at you.

You enjoy watching him work on dinner. The professional way he does everything from dicing vegetables, seasoning the food, wiping down his knives. It’s all entertaining and attractive.

Maybe you should’ve told Xiaojun about your knife kink, you think as you watch his skilled movements with his knives. Watching his long fingers on the handles of the blades just gets your mind whirring and your heart pounding. You’ve been so horny thinking about tonight, that if you don’t get to have sex with him before the night is over, you just might spontaneously combust.

Xiaojun snorts a little laugh, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“What?” You ask.

“I know people like to watch chefs cook, like there are many shows about this sort of thing, some even with very cinematographic takes on filming it, but I don’t think I, personally, have ever had anyone look quite as interested as you.” Xiaojun sits aside the knife he’d been using, and your gaze follows his hands to where he wipes his hands quickly on the towel tucked into the waist of the apron. “My eyes are up here, darling.”

Your gaze snaps up to Xiaojun’s face. “Sorry. I was just, um, watching your hands.”

He smiles, the sight sending a burst of warmth into your chest. “I’m sorry. I’ve been neglecting you. I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

Xiaojun reaches out then, his hand cupping your cheek, and you sink into the touch, falling into his embrace. His kiss lingers, gentle. 

He’s so gentle and tender and loving with you, you think as he pulls away to return to the dinner preparations. There’s no way that he would be able to fulfill your knife kink; there’s just a rougher quality about that kink in particular that you don’t think you could see Xiaojun exploring.

Dinner preparations continue, and you distract yourself from his hands by talking with him instead, by helping him out as well as you can. Even once the preparations are finished, there’s still time left before you can eat, the main course is in the oven. 

“Forty minutes,” Xiaojun tells you, as he unties the apron and lays it over the back of a chair. “What should we do to pass the time?”

What you do is sit in his lap on the sofa, his hands on your hips and feeling up your thighs as you make out with him. That wasn’t the plan, but it is what happens, and you have no complaints because it indicates that your hopes for the night are looking good.

By the time that the forty minutes have passed and the timer beeps to alert Xiaojun, you’re both feeling a little frazzled. You feel a little drunk from Xiaojun’s kiss and his touch, and as he walks away from you to check the oven, you see him place his hand over the front of his pants, touching the bulge that you’ve felt against your thigh for the better part of the last twenty minutes. 

Sitting through dinner is fine. The meal itself is wonderful, delicious, clearly prepared by a man who knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. But the entire time you’re sitting there eating and talking with him, you just wish that you were sitting in Xiaojun’s lap with his cock inside you. So you’re quite distracted, even more so when your gaze falls on Xiaojun’s hand around the knife he’s using to cut his dinner. 

Now that you’re incredibly riled up, that one look at his hand on a knife, is too much.

Xiaojun looks at you in surprise when you suddenly sit your utensils down beside your plate and sit back in your seat. He raises an eyebrow, and he asks, “Is something wrong?”

“Can I ask you something?” You do your best to keep your gaze on his face instead of straying down to his hand, the fingers curling around the handle of the knife. “And do you promise to not look at me like I’m a freak?”

That makes Xiaojun frown ever-so-slightly. “Go ahead?”

You take a deep breath before continuing, praying that you’re not totally blindsiding him with this. “You’re really good with knives, Xiaojun.”

He swallows, his lips tight together, and your will falters. Your gaze lowers to the blade in his hand as his fingers flex around it.

“Have you ever thought about using them on anyone?” You ask, your gaze unwavering from the knife. “Like, during sex?”

The silence that follows, the way that Xiaojun stares at you with an unreadable gaze, both serve to make you nervous. He thinks you’re a freak for asking him a question like that, that must be why he doesn’t say anything for what feels like five minutes afterwards. 

And then Xiaojun lays his utensils down, he pushes his chair back from the table, and he stands up. “Get up,” he says, watching you closely. “Get up.”

Fuck. You’ve ruined it. You like him, you thought this relationship was working really well considering it started on a blind date, but you’ve just ruined it. He’s going to kick you out.

You stand up slowly, approach him slowly as Xiaojun just stands there watching you. 

The moment you’re within reach, Xiaojun’s hand darts out, grabbing tight to your wrist. 

You don’t expect him to turn and walk away, don’t expect him to tug you behind him not in the direction of the apartment door, but across the open layout of the apartment toward his bedroom. Relief and excitement flood through you in equal measure; maybe you haven’t ruined this after all.

You can barely keep up, your feet tripping you up in your eagerness to follow Xiaojun, and the moment that you’re through the bedroom doorway, Xiaojun pushes you towards his bed. 

The bed is neat, all the sheets tucked in nicely, the pillows lined up against the headboard. You feel a couple of them fall as you land on your back, wrinkling the duvet. You lie there for a moment, heart pounding in your throat as you hear Xiaojun rifling through a drawer, and then he’s right there, his face above yours. 

A cool kiss meets your throat, a familiar one that fills you with excitement. He has a blade.

A moan breaks through you, loud in the otherwise silent apartment.

Xiaojun drags the blade of the knife down to your shoulder. “I wondered why you were watching my hands so closely all night,” he says softly. “I thought maybe you just have a thing for hands. But now it all makes sense.”

You whimper again as he lifts the blade, delicately tracing it along the line of your jaw.

“Can’t believe that all that dinner prep has gone to waste. You couldn’t even wait until after we’d eaten to let me know what a dirty girl you are?” Xiaojun tsks, and he lowers his mouth to your throat, kissing over the spot where he’d first kissed you with the knife. “I should punish you for it, shouldn’t I, darling? Wasting my time and effort just so you can get off.” He tsks again.

When Xiaojun sits up, you lie still, watching as he kneels above you. You search for a hint of the blade in his hand, but he hides it behind his back as he moves backwards off the bed to stand right there.

“Sit up,” he commands. “Take your dress off.” 

You obey happily, sitting up, reaching for the hem of your dress, and you pull it over your head in one fluid motion, forgetting about its existence as soon as it leaves your hand. You sit there, being as good as you can with your hands folded in your lap, looking up at Xiaojun. 

“Turn around. On your knees.” 

You like the bossiness, his commands short and brusque. You once more obey, turning around so your back is to him, and you sit on your heels, knees folded in front of you. You don’t know what to expect, and that excites you even more.

When something falls in front of your eyes, you startle a little, but it’s just a blindfold. Xiaojun tightens it over your eyes, tying it behind your head. 

“Alright?” He checks with you.

You nod. “Yes, Xiaojun.”

Next, you feel his hands skimming down your arms until he wraps his fingers around your wrists, drawing them around behind your back. He ties something around them too, binding your wrists together. And at last, you feel the reminder of the blade. He brings the tip of it over the sensitive skin of your inner forearm, to the crease of your elbow, and back down again.

When Xiaojun pushes at your shoulder, you have no choice but to tip forward, falling on your face. You stay like that for a second, but then you feel the rap of the blade against your ass, and hear Xiaojun say, “That’s better.”

You can feel him trace the blade over the soft skin of your ass, the tip of it scraping just light enough for you to feel it. You whine and do your best not to squirm.

“A couple things before we get started, darling,” Xiaojun says, and you can tell he’s moving, walking around to the side of the bed on your left. “You want this, right? You were asking me for knife play?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“And you want me to fuck you, too, right?”

“Yes, Xiaojun,” you squirm, feeling the binding on your wrist dig in a little.

“What’s your safeword, in case I take anything too far?” He asks, and you feel the knife touch your cheek. Your whole body lights up, mind going blank for a moment until Xiaojun reminds you of his question. 

You decide simple is best. You’ll just go with the color system. “Red. If I don’t like it, if I need you to stop. Red.”

“Good,” Xiaojun says. “Where do you stand on drawing blood?”

You shake your head. That’s never been part of it for you. You like the threat of the knife, but you’ve never been so much into actually being cut. “Not that.”

Tenderly, Xiaojun touches your cheek, this time with his fingers. “Okay, darling.”

You wish, as Xiaojun starts, that you would’ve gotten a glimpse of the knife so you could visualize what he’s doing. Is it big? Little? What color is the blade or the handle? 

You’re left here in just your lingerie, ass up for Xiaojun, your arms tied behind your back, and when at last you feel the sharp point of the knife glide up your inner thigh, you think you just might cry. How are you so lucky that Xiaojun is into this too? 

“Is this what you had in mind all along tonight, darling? Wasting my time on dinner because you just wanted to get fucked?” Xiaojun asks, and you feel the blade reach the very edge of your panties. Your pussy gives a hot throb. If Xiaojun looks close enough, he’ll probably see your wetness creating a spot on the thin fabric. “You look pretty. Maybe I should carry you back out there to the table, fit you beneath the table, make you suck me off while I hold my knife to your throat, so I can finish eating.”

You moan, and Xiaojun taps the flat side of the blade against your clit through your panties. 

“Would you like that? Sucking my cock at knifepoint?”

You whimper, nodding with your cheek against the bed. 

You don’t expect Xiaojun to actually do any of what he’s just said, but the next thing you know, a arms are around your torso, lifting you up off the bed, and his other arm goes behind your knees, and he lifts you off the bed with a strength you didn’t know he possessed. He holds you against his chest as he walks from his room, back out to the kitchen table, still set with your dinner.

Xiaojun carefully sits you on your feet, and then his hand presses at your shoulder. “Kneel down, darling.” His hands help guide you to your knees, but then he’s moving around you. You hear a chair pulled back from the table, and then the blade of the knife returns to play. You feel it against your upper left arm, pressing in against your flesh in a way that you take to mean that Xiaojun wants you to move to the right, so you move on your knees, scooting to the right.

“Your head,” he says, and you duck your head, feeling his fingers pass over your hair. Even with the blindfold still fastened securely, you can tell when you’re beneath the table. Your heart pounds in your throat and in your pussy. You can’t believe he’s doing this, gonna make you suck his cock beneath the table while he finishes eating. 

The knife withdraws from your arm, you hear the chair moving back across the floor. You feel the slight movement of air as Xiaojun sits down in the chair, and then, his foot nudges your knee on one side, his knee brushes your shoulder on the other side. You hear the sound of him unfastening his pants, bringing down the zipper. His breath catches a little when he probably touches his cock, and then you know he’s got it out in the open when a slight musky scent touches your senses. 

“Open.” 

Your lips part, your tongue peeking out. 

You feel something brush your lips, and you startle, pulling back a little because it’s certainly not his cock. It’s too cool and too manufactured to be a penis. Your lips close.

“Open,” Xiaojun repeats.

This time when the mystery object touches your lips, you let it slip between them, let Xiaojun press it past your lips and over your tongue. You know that he wants you to fellate whatever this is, so you do, acting as if you were sucking his cock, you put on a little show. Xiaojun thrusts it back and forth a few times before you understand what exactly it is.

Xiaojun shallowly fucks your mouth with the handle of the blade. 

As soon as you’ve realized what it is, Xiaojun pulls it away, and instead, you find the sharp edge of the blade against your cheek. You don’t move, holding still as you can. 

“Want you to suck my cock like you just did that, okay, darling?”

“Yes.”

The blade falls away, you hear Xiaojun scoot his seat in closer, and this time when something touches your bottom lip, there’s no denying that it’s his cock. Eagerly, you take him in, swallowing down as much of his cock as you can take. And then you feel the prick of the knife against your chest. The tip of the blade pokes against your breast, gliding over skin, and you feel Xiaojun’s knuckles brush along in the wake. The blade rises to the strap of your bra, lifting the strap away from your skin, and you wonder if Xiaojun will do it. Will he ruin your pretty lingerie?

But the blade slides back across your breast, and you hear the sound above you of Xiaojun beginning to eat his dinner. 

Somehow, the thought of him just using your mouth while he does something else is equally as arousing to you as him holding the knife to your skin. The longer you suck his cock, kneeling here beneath the table, each forward movement to take Xiaojun back into your throat pushing the blade into your tit again and again, the more aroused you get.

Xiaojun doesn’t say anything when you shift beneath the table. Your mouth doesn’t leave his cock, so what could he have to complain about? But you need something to take the edge off, and without the use of your hands that are still bound behind your back, you must find something. 

That something is Xiaojun’s leg.

He makes a surprised sound when your thighs close around his ankle, when he feels the damp press of your panties against his shin. You feel like a dog in heat as you start moving, but it feels so good and right and exactly what you need. Still you suck at his cock, but you feel the blade turn on your chest, slide over your breast, up your chest.

You pause in all of your movements–not humping his leg, not sucking his cock–as the blade reaches the hollow of your throat. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Xiaojun asks. 

Your mouth is full of his cock, so there’s no way for you to answer. 

“Are you such a slut that you can’t even wait for me to finish eating again?” He asks, and he pushes his chair back, pulling his cock and his leg and the knife all away from you, leaving you knelt beneath the table, blindfolded and bound, your bottom lip pouting out. “Come on, darling, I’ll give you what you want.”

His hand is strong when it grabs your upper arm, pulling your forward from beneath the table, and then up to your feet. You’re unsteady, but that doesn’t matter, Xiaojun spins you around until you feel something against your lower belly, possibly it’s the back of the sofa which had faced away from the kitchen. His hand remains tight on your arm, and then there’s the knife again kissing your throat, and you arch your neck and your back, pressing back into Xiaojun and forward into the knife.

“Gonna act like a slut, darling, and I’ll treat you like one.” Xiaojun’s voice is just a growl, and the sound goes straight to your core. Your panties are without a doubt ruined, completely soaked through with your arousal. But that doesn’t stop Xiaojun from dropping his hand down to your panties, yanking them down. You feel them slide down your legs to the floor, and then Xiaojun’s knee knocks between your thighs, pressing your legs apart, the knife still held at your throat as he finally at last gives you his cock.

Xiaojun slides his cock between your legs, and when he presses against your entrance, you let out an utterly desperate moan. He doesn’t hold back, picking up a brutal pace. The knife is still against your throat, which feels quite dangerous because one little slip, Xiaojun’s loss of control for even a second–

“God, I’m gonna cum already,” Xiaojun moans, and you sigh a little in relief when he drops the knife from your throat. You hear it hit something, bounce, and then hit the floor, but you don’t care too much at all about the loss of the knife, not when it means that Xiaojun puts both hands on your hips as he fucks you from behind, fucking into you with more vigor now, and you feel your orgasm rising quickly as well.

Xiaojun’s desperation pours over into you, and you do your best to fuck yourself back onto his cock. Your fingers twitch against his belly where they’re still bound behind your back. “Touch me, Xiaojun, please. Let me cum, please,” you beg when you feel your orgasm nearly within reach, you just need a little extra push, like his fingers on your clit or something, anything.

“Come on, darling.” Xiaojun’s forehead presses against the side of your head, his nose against your cheek, and suddenly one of his hands is gone from your hip, instead on your chest, massaging one of your tits between his masterful fingers. “Come for me, beautiful.”

You cry out, going limp in his arms as you finally achieve climax. You slump forward over the back of the sofa, and Xiaojun pounds into you several more times, until he too reaches his orgasm, pulling out at the last second to cum down your thigh. 

You feel like you’re crying, gasping breaths rasping in your throat. Your shoulders and wrists ache from being tied back. 

“Good girl,” Xiaojun says. His hands gently run over your back to your shoulders, pulling you up from your draped position. His arms wrap around you, leaning you back against his chest. “You did good for me. It wasn’t too much, was it?”

You shake your head, still feeling a bit like your cheeks are wet with tears.

Xiaojun’s fingers move against the back of your head, and then at last the blindfold falls away. You blink against the bright lights of the apartment, and Xiaojun lifts his hand to your cheek, wiping at the tears. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, and now he reaches behind your back to untie your wrists. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, twisting around in his arms. “I promise. I don’t know why I’m crying except that it was just that good.” You wipe at your cheeks yourself. 

The moments that follow are just Xiaojun taking care of you. He stoops down to drag your panties back up your legs. He kisses your shoulders and your neck, your collarbone, cheek, jaw, everywhere that the knife touched. Soon your cheeks are dry, and you’re giggling and holding back a moan as Xiaojun kisses your throat in a particularly ticklish spot. His hands are at your hips again, and as you hop up to wrap your legs around his hips, Xiaojun smiles against your throat.

“What do you say to another round in the shower? No knife this time. And when we get out, I can serve you dessert?” Xiaojun suggests, already walking away with you in his arms. “You’ve worked so hard for it, after all.”

[seasidepierre]

i sent in the max drabble idea about the cooking but it would absolutely also work for pierre! i actually meant to add that in my original ask :)

It had taken a grand total of five gurgling stomach noises, six “Ugh, I’m hungry” and about a thousand sighs for Pierre to understand that you, in fact, were famished. Not that your boyfriend was usually this ignorant when it came to your state (he actually never was, he was pretty perceptive in normal times and mindful to have you happy, fed and content) but he had been playing Warzone for what felt like forever and despite your constant signs throwing at him that you wanted him to put that damn controller down, he had been somewhat yelling into his headset for Charles to actually “do something, God dammit!”. 

Needless to say, you had heard Charles’ yells in your little living room more than the soft music you had been playing in hopes it’d drown the yelling, the gunshots and the helicopter blades whirring. You didn’t even comprehend where the fun was in throwing yourself in a game of war like those two kept doing. You had gladly accepted Pierre moved his console from his parents’ to your place because you didn’t want to prevent him from playing and having fun and you also weren’t against video games yourself, but you hadn’t expected it to turn your flat into a scene of battle. 

“Are you okay?” Pierre had finally asked after the uptenth sigh you had heaved. 

“I’m hungry,” You had moaned back.

“Well eat something,” Pierre had giggled.

“Pierre, it’s almost 10pm, I’ve been waiting for you for dinner,” You had explained.

“IT’S TEN PM?” Charles had yelled back.

“Hi Charles, yes, it’s past ten, even,” You had responded.

“Oh shoot, my girlfriend has been waiting for me too,” Charles had explained. “I think it’s time to call it quits, mate.”

“Tell her I said hi,” Pierre smiled fondly. “We’ll get back to this tomorrow?”

“Sure, if we’re both free and our poor girls aren’t too mad.”

“I’m never mad, Charles, I’m happy you guys are having fun, I’m just hungry.”

“She’s the best,” Pierre giggled. “See you soon mate,” He added, before turning the console off. “I’m sorry I lost track of time, do you want me to cook to make myself forgiven?” He smiled, his hands coming down on your thighs to drape your legs over his. 

“What do you have in mind?”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Kinda am craving pasta right now.”

“How about fresh bolognese? And I’ll make my famous chocolate cake for dessert?”

“You would?” You lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I know how much you love it.”

“That chocolate cake is the best thing I’ve ever had,” You whined, closing your eyes and falling into his chest. “Don’t joke about that chocolate cake.”

“Do I ever lie to you?”

He never was. Of all the boyfriends you’ve had (not that you’d had that many), Pierre was the most honest, upfront guy you’ve ever got to date. It probably was because you were best friends before you ever became more, but he had no issue telling you the truth as it was, just like you didn’t wear gloves when the time of hard truths came. You would call him out on his ego sometimes and he would be blatantly honest when you’d be wearing a questionable outfit. It was never mean or rude, it was looking out for the best for each other and you loved that. 

Pierre took your hand and dragged your body back up. He pushed you to the kitchen and sat you on the counter next to where he was currently setting up everything he needed. He grabbed a carrot, an onion, the ground beef, a can of tomato pulp, salt, pepper, butter and everything else he needed before he opened a couple of cabinets to fetch a couple of pans, one for the sauce, one for the pasta. 

“So what are we gonna do first?” You asked.

“You always start with the sauce, because it takes a bit more time to cook,” He explained.

“You seemed to know a lot about this,” You teased him.

He smiled at the onion he was currently chopping, his eyes barely even watering which was a miracle but it seemed to be down to the fact that he had run his knife under water beforehand, something you didn’t even know. 

“When I moved to Italy, I was so completely lost at the beginning. Like, obviously you find the same type of products than here, but they do things differently and it was the first time I was really on my own and responsible for my meals.. So I took a few cooking classes with one of my neighbours. She was very helpful.”

“Oh you found yourself a nice lady in Italy, then?” You semi-joked, a bit of jealousy appearing in the pits of your stomach. 

“She was seventy and couldn’t stop gushing about her grandkids,” Pierre laughed. “You have nothing to worry about, mon amour.”

You felt so dumb that all you could do was lean your forehead on his shoulder and looked at what he was doing. Pierre started by putting the oil, butter and chopped onion in the pan that he had previously placed on the stove. He told you that you should always stick to the medium heat, because the higher one just had a tendency to burn everything, which made you smile because you had no idea Pierre knew this much about cooking. He left you in charge of the stirring while he was making sure the ground beef was correctly salted and peppered, before he crumbled it with a fork that he had fished in a drawer.

The fact that he knew exactly where to find everything was still making your heart swell, even though he had been somewhat living with you for almost six months now. 

He added the beef, told you to keep an eye open and to let him know when the meat wouldn’t be red anymore. After that, he did something you hadn’t expected and added milk to the preparation, which made you frown but he laughed, telling you that it was a secret he had learned from his neighbour and to trust him. So you did, especially when he uncorked a bottle of white wine, poured a quarter of it in your pan and grabbed two glasses for you to sip on while he took back the reins, or, more accurately, the wooden spoon. You did pour the tomato pulp, because he let you do it while he was filling the pot with water to cook the spaghetti and got another bowl to start on the chocolate cake while you were supervising the bolognese. 

The kitchen smelled deliciously good and the rumbling in your stomach truly kept getting louder and louder, only tamed by the sips of white wine you were getting and with the hand of Pierre rubbing gently your belly from behind you, before dropping a kiss on the crook of your shoulder. 

“It’s almost ready, I swear,” Pierre reassured you. “The cake will bake while we eat, it’ll still be warm for dessert, which I know is your favourite way of having it.”

“Do we have custard to go with it?” You enquired.

“I grabbed a brick at the grocery store. I knew you would ask for that cake and I knew you’d ask for custard with it,” Pierre tenderly confirmed.

“You know me so well,” You kissed him, lovingly.

“After all these years? I sure hope so. I’ve known you since we were five, mon amour!”

“And? You could have not paid attention,” You shrugged.

“Me? Not paying attention to you? That would have been worrying,” He scoffed. “I still remember that your favourite pen in primary school was a pink one with a little cat at the top of it.”

You giggled at his confession, still admirative that you weren’t the only one collecting details about him that you had carefully tucked in a corner of your memory. You knew everything there was to know about Pierre and he knew everything there was to know about you. You were each other’s guardian of everything that made yourselves you. 

“It’s funny how vocal you were and how you taught me to make that bolognese, but not the chocolate cake,” You remarked.

“That’s because one, the bolognese isn’t rightly made, it should stew for like three hours but you’re hungry so we’re doing a crash version of it, and two, I’m afraid you love that cake more than me, so it I teach you how to make it, I’ll be useless,” Pierre joked.

“You’re an idiot,” You giggled.

“Maybe, but I’m your idiot, so it’s your problem, really,” He shrugged, amused.

He was. He was your idiot and that truly made you so happy, it was ridiculous. You couldn’t remember the last time you thought you truly belonged to someone, someone that wasn’t Pierre already because he was your best friend and you were his and that’s what mattered the most. But to know that you could leave your heart into his hands, appreciating the fact that you didn’t have to fear anything because he would protect it fiercely? That was more than words could describe. 

Dating Pierre wasn’t easy every day. When it wasn’t the loneliness, the tears at every goodbye or the frustration that sometimes made him hurtful without realising, your insecurities kept telling you that you always were on the verge of being replaced by someone who would be thinner, prettier, more available, someone who would let him in charge and would accept to be dependent on him, so he’d never be alone. 

But when it came to the solar boy in your kitchen, baking your favourite cake just because he wanted to make you happy, you knew you were safe and cherished for years to come.

Or maybe even for infinity.

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