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vee6lolz · 28 days

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𝖇𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝖍𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝖇𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬.

summary; after falling in love with spencer reid, you navigate the challenges that come with your relationship. While you cherish your moments together, the rough patches can be hard to ignore. One day, in an effort to find clarity, you go shopping and unexpectedly discover something world shattering. But before you can share the news with Spencer, he comes home with a shocking revelation that could change everything between you.

cw!!; +18 content, minors dni!, spencer reid x reader, angst, cliffhanger ending, breakups, mentions of drug use, mentions emetophobia warning; vomiting -- mentions of pregnancy -- Y/N HAS A GIRL KISSER BSF !

. w/c: 4.1k -- don't forget to like / reblog !! this is not proof read + english is not my first language

You and Spencer had been privately dating for seven months. At first, it was exciting. sneaking around, leaving parties early to go hook up in the bathroom, the birthday sex, apology sex, apology for apologizing with sex sex, it was easy, it was simple—you both met through a party he and his team was invited to by your best friend Ciara, who was friends with the one and only Penelope Garcia. you both got to talking and by the end of the night, you were snuggled up in his bed with his dick in your mouth. and he learned two things that night. 1. he had never had head that brought him so much ecstasy. and two, by the way your outgoing demeanor fit perfectly with being his more shy and non-direct, you were the one for him and he would've been a fool to let you slip through his fingers. those late-night study sessions, stolen kisses in dimly lit hallways, and quiet moments over coffee made you feel like the luckiest person in the world. but the moment that you hit the three month mark, everything went downhill. and usually, at six months, its supposed to be good again, right? wrong.

the past few months had turned into a whirlwind of arguments. It felt like every time you talked, it spiraled into a fight over something that should have been minor. “You don’t understand what I’m going through, Spencer!” you yelled one evening after a tough day at work where he seemed more focused on the case than on how you were feeling. “I do, understand [y/n] I just don't care. Not everything has to be about you.” that night, you both had shouted over each other until the early hours of the morning, hearts racing, voices raised, and emotions running high. the tension felt suffocating. and to ease it you tried to have makeup sex, and he started an argument while literally inside you because he felt like you were faking orgasms and doing it in a obvious way to make him feel bad; you were.

It wasn’t just work stress that fueled the fire; it was the pressure of hiding your hardships relationship from your colleagues, the weight of lying to your friends, and the constant fear of him leaving. and the fear of you leaving for him only made him resent you more. sometimes, it felt like you were living a double life, and you didn’t know how to bridge the gap between your love for Spencer and the isolation that secrecy brought. the make-up moments after the fights were fleeting, filled with hugs and quiet apologies as you tried to mend the shaky ground you were standing on. you’d find yourselves wrapped in each other’s arms, promises lingering in the air that things would change, but deep down, you both knew nothing had really shifted.

but today, everything felt heavier than usual. you had woken up to yet another silent treatment from spencer, both of you too stubborn to reach out to each other first. the anxiety had burrowed deep in your chest, making it hard to breathe. you could sense it—Ciara had noticed. when she came over, she was met with a hurried and agitated spence who only muttered a cold greeting before walking out the door as fast as he opened it for her. her footsteps where light and quick, making her way towards your bedroom where she heard retching and coughing.

you spit into the toilet bowl, groaning in discomfort as everything you had last week came back to haunt you. you looked up at Ciara as she held your hair back, getting her fingers tangled as she took a moment to try her best to untangle them without scalping you. You sat there in front with your head down as you dry gagged, and once you were safe, you reached up and flu shed the toilet.

Ciara rubbed your back for a little before pulling your head to rest on her chest, planting sweet kisses on your forehead. you giggle at the sensation and make tsk sounds. “If you were a man,” you muttered, to which she rolls her eyes at you and lets you go with a smile, helping you stand up, she runs some water so you pat your mouth with it and spit out all the yucky residue left over. she starts asking questions and all you can think back at was this morning. it pained you and you felt your heart sink the more you thought back at it, you realize that him expressing his feelings, yelling, insulting, or even cursing you would've been better. he just left you, in silence. he didn't acknowledge you, and it just made you feel terrible. you looked at Ciara, overcome with emotions which got you a confused look. “What's going on with you--”

“He didn't even look at me, cee.” You muttered as tears filled your eyes uncontrollably. your emotions overwhelmed you as you melted into her arms, you were holding her incredibly tight, she probably wouldn't be able to breathe if you gave her an oxygen tank. She scrambled over her words trying to find away to not pass out from the lack of blood going to her brain because you were quite literally blocking any blood flow possible. She tapped your back and you released your death grip, to which she exhaled heavily.

“Who, What? What are we talking about?”. you stared up at her with a expression of depression, not moving your lips to answer her question. It gave her the answer alone. “That's not... like him.”. Scoffing, you shook your head and wiped your tears, your mood switching from self-pity to pure and undeniable anger. “It's exactly, like him. Actually.”. She tried her best to calm you down but you couldn't, you just walked out of the bathroom and fell face first on the bed, screaming and letting out all of your frustration on his cotton sheets. You started mumbling out of intense anger, and Ciara just stood there, flinching with every curse that flew through your lips as if you were going to reach backwards and bite her.

It took you twenty-and-some minutes to calm down. It took you three to go back to being sad and depressed. Your mood swings were seriously giving her whiplash. You sat up and heaved, sobbed, flew your arms around like a toddler. Ciara sat with you and let you sob on her chest until you start hyperventilating, she blew on your face so you could catch your breathe, shushing you to soothe your tears. Your brain felt fuzzy, your senses has softened.

The only thing that you felt was the immense pounding on your head you couldn't help but feel. “How about we go on a little drive, yeah?” you looked up at her with your red eyes glistening was a tear fell down your cheek, you nodded. you needed fresh air. “Yeah?” She spoke in a soft voice, kissing your head. “Alright go put on some clothes ill be out here,”

Ciara sat behind the wheel, the engine humming softly as she pulled away from spencer's place. The cool breeze wafted through the slightly open window, sending a refreshing shiver through you. You let it wash over you, momentarily grounding you in the present. Still, your mind felt fuzzy, caught in a haze that blurred your thoughts and emotions. It was as if you were floating, untethered from reality, with everything around you blurring into a muddled backdrop.

the streets rushed by, and while the world outside was alive with the chatter of people and the vibrant colors of storefronts, you found yourself lost in your own silence. You stared at the trees lining the road, their branches dancing in the breeze, but even their movement felt distant and out of reach. each passing moment felt like an echo, reverberating through your mind but leaving no traces of clarity.

Ciara’s was talking, filled with energy and it made you feel oh, so worse because you were not listening. “No, dude, I'm being so serious. I told her that she can either get her shit together and stop acting like a little kid or she can pack her shit and leave because I've had enough crazy girlfriends to know it is not for the fucking weak.” you barely registered the words. they floated in one ear and out the other, your focus remaining hazy. you shifted in your seat slightly, trying to push the swirling emotions away, yet they clung to you like a shadow.

“You’d think we were fighting we were fighting over me burning her house down, no. A miss call, a singular miss call and I called her back immediately. And of course, she chose to get her act together because... honestly, would you leave me?” she joked, grinding in her seat to pop her ass a little;

the corners of your mouth twitched, but you didn’t have the energy to respond; the effort felt monumental. As the scenery shifted from commercial buildings to the broader expanses of the mall, you caught yourself wishing you could feel that lightness again. The breeze slipping through the window felt nice, but every now and then, a wave of discomfort coursed through you, reminding you of the things you were trying to forget.

Ciara continued talking, sharing the latest gossip, her voice a steady stream of sound that mingled with the whoosh of passing cars. “and after that, she tried to hookup with me as an “apology”. if she could lick my pussy a couple times and I'm going to immediately forgive her... she's right.”

Still, you remained silent, lost in thought. The feelings swirling within you were too tangled to unravel—the confusion, the sadness, the weight of it all. It felt heavy, and as you drove closer to the mall, the world outside turned brighter, but for you, it remained shrouded in dimness.

As Ciara pulled into the parking lot, the chaotic colors of the mall surrounded you. She parked the car, casting a glance your way. “Alright, no talk of Spencer with the little dick while we're here alright?”

You nodded slowly, but your mind was still a storm of thoughts and emotions that had yet to settle. The sounds of laughter and footsteps filled the air as you stepped out of the car, but even amidst the noise, you felt like you were still floating, caught between what was real and what was just a distraction.

“There's no reason to lie to make me feel better,”, she laughed.

as you and Ciara stepped into the mall, the vibrant atmosphere enveloped you like a cocoon, yet the comfort it should have provided seemed out of reach. the air hummed with energy: laughter echoed against polished floors, the shuffling of bags blended into an excited chorus, and the enticing aromas of popcorn, pretzels, and fried food wafted through the space, each scent calling to a desire for comfort that you just couldn’t find.

you glanced around, taking in the kaleidoscope of people—the families with cheerful children, groups of friends chatting animatedly as they moved, and couples entwined in conversation. Yet, as the cheerful masses moved past, a heavy discontent settled within your chest, a constant nagging feeling that wouldn’t let up. Your thoughts were tangled, fighting the urge to not talk about spencer.

the urges whooped your ass.

“Ugh, I can’t believe how dramatic Spencer has been lately,” you began, shaking your head as you ambled towards the escalator up to victoria's secret each step feeling heavier than the last. You reached for a sleek top on a nearby rack, your fingers brushing the fabric as you stated, “He didn't even tell me what his problem was this time, Ciara. He's like a fucking kid,”

Ciara nodded, her attention shifting between you and the vibrant clothes on display. “He's exactly like Manny. You know if you were a lesbian, I'm pretty sure you would've been with her by now.”

"Har-har." you let out a fake laugh, pulling the top closer to you and inspecting it in the harsh fluorescent lights. “and its not like I don't fuck with him. Of course I do, but its only okay when I do it! and i never do it first.”

She stared at you.

“Okay, I mostly never do it first.”

you stepped into the fitting rooms, pulling aside the curtain with a little more force than necessary. Ciara leaned against the wall outside, concern evident in her eyes. “Well, it sounds like he’s really going through something. I mean the last time he had a girlfriend was years ago, plus she did get shot in front of him. Maybe, just maybe... he needs time to adjust to having you.”

“It's been 6 months, how much time does he need.” you admitted, slipping into a pair of jeans. “I’m trying to support him, but at the same time, it feels like whenever I need support I'm the 'crazy' one.”

you spun in front of the mirror, checking the fit, and briefly appreciated the outfit, but the satisfaction was fleeting. You couldn’t shake the gnawing frustration and worry that lingered in your mind. After trying on a few more items, you settled on a cozy sweater that draped nicely over your shoulders and a pair of jeans that tugged your ass and thighs perfectly.

Stepping out of the fitting room, you caught sight of Ciara’s bright smile—a thumbs-up that fueled a flicker of confidence despite the dark cloud of your thoughts. “You look great! Food?” she chirped, her enthusiasm piercing through your fog. “I look like I got fat, but, yes.” you giggled.

“Yeah, only in the right places.” she replied, leaving a quick smack on your ass. the idea of food felt foreign to you, your appetite making you uneasy. and the more you thought about it, you weren't really prone to gaining weight. in the last eight weeks, you've gained almost seven pounds. even as you walked toward the food court, the excited chatter and laughter felt like a cruel reminder of the happiness you were struggling to hold onto with Spencer.

as you navigated through the chaos of the food court, the aromas wrapped around you, each scent competing for your attention. You scanned the options—pizza, burgers, Asian stir-fry, sizzling hot dogs—but as much as your stomach wanted to respond, it remained cold and distant.

Ciara and you eventually settled on a plate of asian food. You found a table, and despite the enticing food in front of you, the heaviness in your chest pulled you down, dimming your appetite further.

while Ciara was talking about her sex life, your own thoughts lingered on Spencer: his hands, the way his mind worked like a finely tuned machine, how he would

“when I tell you she had me bent in ways I can't say out loud because I would be put on some kind of list--” Ciara’s words finally broke through the fog in your mind, and you looked at her, your voice barely above a whisper, “I feel… weird.”

Ciara’s smile faded, concern etching itself across her face. “What do you mean weird? ”

The discomfort swelled inside you as the weight of your stomach pressed down further. “I don’t know. It’s just everything… ugh. I really don’t feel good.” The admission felt heavy on your tongue, yet fear flooded through you, mingling with confusion and anxiety.

“Hey, [y/n] uh--” Ciara said, her voice laced with concern as she leaned closer, trying to draw you back into the moment. “Breathe, okay? Just uh--”

her voice did no help, the world around you began to tilt, the bright lights and laughing voices tuned out as your vision began to blur. A rising wave of dizziness crashed over you, swallowing every sense until you felt on the verge of vanishing into the void of darkness.

before you could utter another word, the world slipped away in an instant—darkness encased you, quieting the chaos of the food court and pressing down into a silence that felt weighty yet freeing. You couldn’t tell if you were floating or falling, but nothing remained except an overwhelming absence -- and then your body hit the floor.

“[y/n]? [Y/N]! Someone help, please!” Ciara begged and yelled out as she breathed on your face, checking your pulse. you were breathing, that's all that mattered. being in school for nursing, really wasn't doing her any justice at the moment.

three-hundred-thirty-eight minutes. that's how long it took for you to wake up.

you gradually regained consciousness to the muted buzz of light and occasional distant sounds filtering through the haze of your mind. blinking several times, you squinted against the warm, yellow light spilling through the curtains in the hospital room. the glow felt too harsh against your eyelids, and as you turned your head slightly, a wave of dizziness swept over you.

a sharp ache spiked through your temples, and you instinctively raised a hand to your forehead, feeling the softness of the pillows beneath you. your body felt heavy, soreness settling deep in your muscles—each small movement sent prickles of discomfort shooting through your limbs. you groaned softly, the sound a mere whisper in the stillness of the room.

The room itself was a comforting chaos, the machines beeping, the flowy blue curtains. But it was the smell that truly caught your attention: a mix of treacle sweetness from ciara's half-eaten candy bar on the nightstand, which you grabbed over and took a chunk out of. the clean scent of freshly laundered sheets, and just a hint of the medication. it was oddly grounding, and for a moment, it eased the nausea rising in your stomach like a tidal wave.

taking a deep breath, you lay still, attempting to collect your thoughts. fragments of memory flickered through your mind—little moments of laughter and joy interspersed with the anxiety that had been consuming you before everything went dark. You remembered the bustling vibe of the mall, the annoying feeling of your heart racing, and a sudden wave of dizziness that had pulled you down. panic surged through you as you recalled Ciara’s frantic voice, calling for help when you collapsed.

“there's, no way I actually fainted.” you murmured to yourself, the thought sending a shiver down your spine. “ew, that's so corny.” you felt a flush of heat creep up your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and concern. you turned to ciara, whose face was unchanged the entire time. her face stayed the same -- she looked horrified. concern. something was wrong with you, and you had a really bad feeling about what. it wasn't stress, it wasn't spencer. it was something else.

thirty-eight minutes. thats how long it took for you to find out.

ciara stayed by your side, her face didn't dare to flinch. a nurse stepped quietly into the room, her hesitant movements breaking the fragile quiet that enveloped the space. the atmosphere felt charged, and you could sense the shift immediately, your heart beginning to pound. the light from the window framed ciara, washing over her in a way that felt almost ethereal. as her expression morphed from concern into something more serious, an unsettling tension settled between you, pinning you both in a moment that seemed to stretch on.

when the nurse began to deliver the news her words flowed without sound, each gesture amplifying the weight of what she had to say. you felt your breath hitch as a wave of uncertainty crashed over you, the reality of her news unsettling sinking in like a stone. the room, once familiar and comforting, suddenly felt small and suffocating, the walls closing in as vivid memories backtracked through your mind—laughter, plans, and dreams that now teetered on the brink of change. the warmth of the space became oppressive as your heart raced, fear mingling with disbelief.

in an instant, the safety of your world unraveled, and the gravity of ciara's presence anchored you to an unsettling truth. the air was thick with unvoiced questions, your heart heavy with the weight of responsibility and the unknown. as the silence roared in your ears, every breath turned bittersweet, a reminder of how everything that had once seemed so certain was now tinged with complexity. you stood there, caught between the past and an uncertain future, realizing in that moment that everything had changed.

fifteen minutes. that's how long it took to get discharged.

the car glided smoothly along the dark road, the headlights casting fleeting beams of light onto the pavement, illuminating the otherwise shadowy world outside. ciara sat in the drivers seat seat, her silhouette a quiet presence lost in thought, her silence wrapping the cabin in an almost palpable stillness. each soft breath she took seemed to mirror the steady thrum of the engine, but the weight of her unspoken emotions filled the air, creating a tension that was hard to ignore. the familiar contours of the landscape slipped by in an undulating blur, trees lining the road like silent sentinels.

as the miles rolled on, your mind began to wander, seeking distraction in the rhythmic pattern of passing objects. you started to count the trees, the sturdy trunks becoming a makeshift anchor in the sea of swirling thoughts. one after another, the arboreal figures flickered past, offering a sense of solace as if each counted tree marked a moment of time that moved further away from the hospital. the darkened silhouettes blurred together, yet you found a strange comfort in the repetitive task, allowing your focus to drift into the rhythm of your surroundings.

six hours, thirty-one minutes. and not a single call from spencer.

as the car glided to a stop in the driveway, the familiar surroundings of your home greeted you with an unsettling mix of comfort and anxiety. the sky was turning shades of purple and orange, a vivid sunset framing the moment. ciara turned off the engine and sat in silence for a moment, her eyes fixed on the front door, as if gauging its significance. you both understood that what waited beyond that threshold was life-changing.

you unbuckled your seatbelt and took a deep breath, your mind swirling with thoughts you had been trying to organize all day. today had felt unending, a series of moments stacked upon one another, each one urging you toward this very conclusion. the weight of what you needed to reveal pressed heavily on your chest, and you were acutely aware of the time you had spent wrestling with your emotions.

ciara glanced at you, her expression a blend of concern and encouragement. you could tell she wanted to say something, perhaps offer reassurance, but instead, she simply gave your hand a gentle squeeze. the gesture felt grounding, a reminder that while you were stepping into the unknown, you were not entirely alone.

with a nod, you exited the car, the cool evening air wrapping around you like a cloak. you took a moment on the doorstep, hesitating as you glanced back at ciara, who offered you a reassuring smile before she drove away. the sound of the engine faded, leaving you with the echo of your own heartbeat.

spencer sat there, something heavy on his mind. his shirt was off, and he was stood in sweatpants and the line of his boxers showing. his hair was damp and flew down to his shoulders, his arms clinging onto the back of his neck and he eyed you up and down. you stared up at him with heavy, red eyes. you set down your purse and stared off into the distance.

he stared at you in silence. it was pissing you off. he was acting like a fucking child, and now really wasn't the time. your heart raced as your thoughts spiraled, the weight of everything you had been holding inside bubbling just beneath the surface. You could feel the frustration rising as you realized you were no longer willing to play your eyes met, and in that shared moment of understanding, something unspoken ignited.

“I can’t do this anymore,”

“I'm pregnant.” You blurted simultaneously.

The air shifted, charged with the gravity of your revelation and his confession, and the silence that had ruled the room felt like it was finally ready to crack open, revealing the unvoiced truths waiting just beneath the surface. your eyes widened and jaw feel open, as you grasped what just came out of his mouth. tears welled up at your eyes, and his met with yours with the same expression, and at the same time you both uttered;

“What?”

reblog or comment for part 2 <3

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piratekane · 2 years

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fic: love thy neighbor

chapter title: crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon note: Another day, another AU - but this time make it collaborative! A dual effort by @kendrene and I to bring you some 'new neighbor AU' goodness and we are stoked about it.

The third time she hears someone curse loud enough to be heard through the walls, Beatrice gives up on the book she’s reading. It wasn’t very engaging to begin with, but she was going to give it considerable effort as it was the only book Lilith would even entertain for this month’s book club.

A voice not unlike Mary’s whispers that she can find the summary online and Lilith will be none the wiser. But she ignores that voice. She’ll just… try again. At another time. When whoever has moved into the apartment next to hers isn’t educating her on curses in… she thinks she recognized the Portuguese word for shit, but her rudimentary Portuguese greetings were reserved for her parents’ counterparts from Brazil and they certainly never used that kind of language with her.

The person - a woman, she assumes - swears again. Beatrice makes a face. Her last neighbor had been quiet, even in his death. She hadn’t noticed he was deceased until she knocked politely at his door to return his mail. And even then, the whole affair had been quick, neat, and silent.

This woman is none of those things, based on the fact that Beatrice has been dealing with this racket for what seems like hours and the various, numerous boxes spilling out into the hallway that start in front of Beatrice’s door and continue right into the next apartment. Some of them are open and most have large letters scribbled on them in marker, but no matter how she turns her head, Beatrice can’t make out any of the words.

“Hello?” she calls into the hallway, one foot still solidly in her own apartment. it’s never seemed so cramped here before now. “Excuse me?”

Something heavy and metallic drops and then there’s another curse - definitely merda this time - and the sound of something hopping in her direction. Beatrice pulls back, nearly ducking into her apartment and closing the door quickly, but before she can, a woman appears in the hallway, holding one foot in her hand as she balances precariously on the other.

“Oh. Wow.”

Beatrice frowns. “I’m sorry?”

The woman smiles crookedly. “I said, oh. Ow.”

No you didn’t, Beatrice wants to argue. But she doesn’t even know this woman. She looks young, hair cut to her chin and half pulled back, a cutoff shirt hanging off her frame and just above her navel. Her frown deepens. The woman looks hardly older than a university student. And Beatrice already lived through university-aged girls before; she has no intention of doing it again.

No, this won’t do.

She thinks about the diplomatic approach: introduce herself, how long she’s been living here, slip in a comment or two about the decorum of the third floor that she’s purposefully cultivated by surrounding herself with retirees. Her parents would approve of that. But the woman is still smiling, head tipped in curiosity now, and she’s waiting expectantly for Beatrice to say something.

Can you keep it down? Beatrice is sure those are the words she settles on saying, once the thought process behind them completes. While it would work best to be polite, the banging and the cursing did go on for some time. And, judging from the number of unopened boxes still awaiting in the hall, there may be a whole sleepless night of noise ahead. Unless Beatrice puts her foot down. Like, now.

“You look like you could use a hand,” is what comes out of her mouth instead, the moment the new girl’s fingers grip firm around her own. Her hand. Beatrice has never been more conscious of the tiny, bird-fragile bones moving within it, the play of sinew under her skin. The thunder of her pulse trapped against a palm that’s warm, but not sweaty. Calloused but not rough.

“Boy, could I!” Her new neighbor pumps their joined hands up and down, and it’s a miracle she manages to do so while remaining upright. Her other hand is still clutching her foot - the crash Beatrice heard tied to that, clearly - so she’s balanced on one leg, precarious, like some weird, noisy bird.

Although, what she really reminds Beatrice of, is an overenthusiastic dog.

“Guess I should give you your hand back before I can use it, uh?” Heat scalds Beatrice’s chest, spilling past her collar. She clears her throat, staring at the space between them. New girl is indeed still gripping her hand. Beatrice slowly lets go.

“It might speed things along, yes.”

New girl steps back with a grin, both feet back on the ground, and points at a pile of boxes. “Wanna start with those?’ Of course she picked the furthest stack from her door.

“Sure,” Beatrice grabs one of the boxes at random, balances another on top. Finally, with her nose practically merged to the cardboard, she can spell out a word. It reads: rocks.

Odd.

Much later that night, the evening sky an indigo smudge framed by the bars of the fire escape outside her window, Beatrice is in bed and cannot fall asleep. It’s not that there’s noise. Ava - that’s new neighbor’s name - has pinky-promised she would tone it down, and to her credit she’s managed.

Beatrice can hear her at times, the natural order of things in a building where walls are no thicker than wet wipes. It’s neighborly sounds: the shower running, a TV turned on low. The snatch of a song hummed tragically off tune.

They’re different sounds, is the thing. Sounds she’s not had time to grow used to. Old Mr. Whittaker - Witkins? - he didn’t sing. He rarely even used his TV. How he moved around the apartment had been different, too. Beatrice can’t be 100% sure, but she’s pretty certain Ava actually skips from room to room.

A version of Call Me Maybe so mangled it barely resembles the original tune reaches her ears, and Beatrice is tempted to go close the window. She likes letting the late spring breeze in, though, that it smells of green things in bloom and summer to come. Plus, the fire escape is only accessible to tenants, locked on ground level behind a gate that opens with a code, so the whole arrangement is really quite secure.

Eventually the off-key singing stops. All sounds of traffic die. Beatrice falls gradually asleep, but the weight on her chest - the sense of unease that comes with having her routine so thoroughly disrupted - doesn’t lessen at all.

A weight on her chest wakes her, struggling to breathe, in the dead of the night.

“Vince.” A voice she’s become painfully familiar with, whisper-hisses right outside the window. “Vincent, come the fuck out of there, now.”

Meow.

Beatrice freezes, immobilized. Every muscle group tenses in a methodical, frequently-practiced manner, starting with her toes up into the joints of her knees and into her hips. They’re tight, coiled, ready to jump at this sudden intrusion and disengage with this attacker.

But her training fails her as the weight on her chest shifts and slides. She inhales, air like ice in her lungs, as something pin-sharp digs into her bare collarbone.

In the dark, it takes her an excruciatingly long moment to put an image to the sensation on her chest as her eyes adjust to the sliver of moonlight coming in through the window.

The open window.

Where Ava, the woman who seems to be entirely made of catastrophes, is trying to wiggle under the frame, one hand outstretched as she hisses, her own voice cat-like.

The cat on her chest merely shuffles closer to the hollow of her throat as pointed claws sink further into her skin. They’ll leave a mark. Thick, soft fur sticks to her bottom lip and she strains her head backward so she doesn’t accidentally breathe it in. It seems to only invite the cat closer as it slides, boneless, into the space she creates.

“Excuse me,” she says quietly into the cat’s fur.

It purrs loudly, an odd sensation against her breastbone, not entirely unpleasant.

“Vincent,” Ava hisses again. “I’ll send you back, don’t think I won’t.” Something rattles, the point of a knee against glass, and Ava makes a pained noise in the back of her throat.

“I’m- shit.” There’s a loud shuffling noise and a deep groan as shadows dance across her bedroom wall and create a large, crouched and pointed shape.

Beatrice turns her head as Ava crawls in through the window, body contorting in a way that it shouldn’t. There’s a low hiss, a slight growl. Ava wiggles through the opening, landing on her hands, her legs suspended outside above the fire escape for a moment before they slip in after the rest of her body as she collapses into a heap on the floor.

Beatrice feels the floor shake as Ava lands hard on top of it. The cat - Vincent - doesn’t seem bothered by the noise, purring loudly and nosing his way into the curve of her neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Ava whispers, voice strained. “Oh my God, Vincent.” The backs of her knuckles dig into Beatrice’s skin as she wiggles her way under Vincent.

That sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant either, but Beatrice doesn’t linger on that, all of her attention on the way Vincent’s claws dig into her skin and hold on. He yowls, scrambling out of Ava’s arms and darting away in the darkness.

Air rushes back into Beatrice’s lungs. She blinks at the ceiling until she looks back down at her chest. Ava is staring at her hands, still over Beatrice’s sternum, face pinched in thought.

“Excuse me,” she says again.

Ava, unlike Vincent, startles and takes a staggering step backwards. She trips over Beatrice’s slippers, placed parallel to her bed, and falls. The floor shakes again.

"Are you okay?"

For the second time in the span of a few short hours, Beatrice ends up saying something she immediately regrets. She should be angry. She’s furious. She’s -

Ava sits up, peeking over the edge of the bed, and refracted moonlight falls across her face. It casts a silvery aura around her, a nimbus, a halo. Her forehead is still scrunched up, in pain perhaps, but when she notices that Beatrice is staring, her expression changes.

“Is it too late to say I’m sorry again?” Ava offers a sheepish grin, a small shrug.

“It’s too late.” Ava winces, and because a sensation close to the kind of regret one might feel after scolding a child spears through a part of Beatrice she wasn’t aware existed, she hastens to add. “Timewise. It’s - what time is it, actually?” The cold, clipped tones of her initial reaction had made her sound too much like her mother.

“Uhm.” Ava’s eyes flick to the digital clock on the nightstand. “You don’t wanna know.”

Beatrice sighs. Then sneezes.

“Oh, shit, are you allergic?”

“I don’t know.” Another sneeze. “I never had a cat climb on me before.”

“Yeah.” Ava shifts to her knees. “About that.”

“You’re sorry?”

“He’s new.”

“Like you?” A thud, followed by the roll of something heavy across the kitchen’s floor, prevents Ava from replying. She just peers through the open door of Beatrice’s bedroom, mouth open, eyes wide. A second louder thud reverberates through the apartment. The distinctly metallic sound of tin cans dropping on tile.

“I think Vincent got into your cupboards. We should probably -” Beatrice is already out of bed, flicking lights on as she goes. “ - get him.” Ava scrambles in her wake.

In the kitchen they waste a good half hour and two cans of premium Albacore tuna trying to coax Vincent out from the cabinet under the sink.

“It’s not his fault, really.” Ava tells her, somewhat muffled, while she twists her upper-body around spare bottles of dish soap and stove detergent. She’s got a knack for wiggling into tight spots, Beatrice thinks, crouched behind her with a flashlight. Hopefully, Ava’s head is wedged so far up the crawl space beneath the sink she cannot hear the sharp intake of air subsequent to that thought.

Beatrice runs a hand through her bed-tousled hair and vows to never let her mind wander in that direction again.

“Right.”

“I mean it!” Hiss. “I got him from the shelter. Poor Vince, was all alone.”

“I am starting to see why.”

“You don’t understand.” Ava shimmies back, emerging from the bowels of the cabinet with a scratch on her cheek but absent a cat. “They wanted to put him down.” Her bottom lip quakes slightly, and she blinks up at Beatrice rapid-fire, like the idea dislodged a landslide of other memories inside her. “I couldn’t leave him behind.” She scrubs at her cheek, and her fingers come away red. “How much cleaning stuff do you own, anyway?”

“Well, you must use beeswax for wood. And cast iron pots require -” Beatrice’s teeth snap shut around the rest of a tirade Ava probably has no interest in. “It doesn’t matter. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“Don’t be. Just come here.” Beatrice stands, extending a hand and hauling Ava to her feet. “Wash your face in the sink. I’ll grab the first aid-kit.”

“But Vincent…”

“He’s safe enough in there. Leave him until after we’ve cleaned this.”

She takes a moment longer with the first-aid kit than she needs to, poking around the cabinet it’s logically stored in like she hasn’t recently restocked the one bandage she’s used in the last month. Ava is none the wiser, standing at the sink and staring at the dark gray microfiber hand towel Beatrice keeps next to it, lost in thought.

Beatrice takes a moment to drink in the sight of Ava.

Her head is bowed, the overhead light sliding across her shoulders, bare except for the thin strip of fabric that holds her tank top in place. For a moment, she looks as if some otherworldly light is emanating from her, brightening her apartment in a way Beatrice has never seen before.

Ava bends over the sink, turning on the tap with a flick of her wrist. She cups her hands, lets the water pool in white palms, and brings it to her face slowly. It runs off her cheeks in rivulets, beads of cool water sliding down her neck and gathering in the hollow of her throat.

Beatrice’s own throat goes traitorously dry, air locking tight in her lungs. A gauze pad wrinkles in her hand, the plastic loud in this vacuum she feels stuck in.

Ava turns her head and Beatrice can’t hide her sudden inhale behind a bottle of dish detergent this time.

“I found it.” Her voice feels unknown, like she’s just forming her mouth around the words correctly for the first time. She holds up the gauze in one hand, a small tube of antibiotic in the other. “Sit.”

Ava presses her face into the towel and Beatrice files a thought away for later. She holds it up; Beatrice shakes her head and Ava drops it next to the sink. Her slide into the chair is with a grace that rivals her rather abrupt entry into Beatrice’s bedroom.

She rises above Ava like a dark tower, eclipsing the sun. Her fingers curl under Ava’s chin, lifting gently. Their eyes meet briefly, Ava’s a honey gold and brown, before she focuses on the thin scratch across her cheek. She turns Ava’s head, studying it carefully.

“It won’t scar.”

Ava lets out a thin stream of air Beatrice feels against the back of her hand. “Thank God for that. It’s my primary moneymaker.” She smiles at the blank look in return. “I work at the university. The… the rocks? Nothing?”

Beatrice frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. What do… rocks have to do with your face?”

“I’m the one who does the fundraising. People don’t like to pay for-” She grins a little, voice pitched low as she mimics the way Beatrice said, “rocks.” Her voice returns to its natural register. “Unless there’s a pretty face selling it to them. And my department is made up of men who found the first rock, so they won’t do”

For a brief moment, she wonders if making a charitable donation to the Geology department at the local university might get her anything in return.

“So, do you teach about rocks, too?” Beatrice asks to distract herself while needlessly re-arranging the contents of the first aid kit she’s already set down on the table in a line. Gauze pads, Neosporin, the box of kids’ bandaids she was forced to get the last time she’d been to the pharmacy, as they’d run out of anything else. It’s a rather minor scratch to take care of. Beatrice really doesn’t need to triple-check what she’s just double-checked in her head.

She’s stalling.

“Uh-uh.” Ava slouches a little in the chair, legs stretching out in front of her. “A few. Mostly introductory courses. I like that I get students to really think about what’s under their feet. About what dirt and rocks are made of, how they’re formed.”

Beatrice blinks down at her hands, hovering inches from the piece of sterile gauze she meant to daub disinfectant on. She’s hung on the tone of Ava’s voice, talking about her job. There’s a subterranean current to it, a note that invites Beatrice in deep. Joy. Awe. For an adult to retain this level of wonder, it’s a rare thing. Like a vein of precious mineral, wrought from the underbelly of the earth out into the light.

“What about you?” Ava is asking. Beatrice blinks to find that her hands knew what to do on their own. Ava’s chin is again trapped in the cage of her fingers, and Beatrice can feel her jaw moving, pressing into the palm of her hand when she talks. She tries hard not to think of the way Ava’s breath paints feather-soft strokes on her skin. Of the curve of Ava’s cheek that for some reason she aches to explore.

“Do you play doctor often?” There is a teasing lilt to Ava’s voice, a crinkle around her mouth. It is a joke.

“Only when my neighbors sneak through my bedroom’s window at night.”

“Yeah, not my best moment, I’ll admit.”

“You could say,” Beatrice dabs disinfectant over the scratch, inwardly wincing in sympathy at Ava’s slight flinch. “That we got off on a rocky start.”

“Oh, wow.” This time, there’s no doubt, not that there was any the first. Beatrice heard right. “I think I might be in love.”

The tub of Neosporin she’s been squeezing cream out of goes flying, skidding to a halt by the cabinet where Vincent is still hiding. Intrigued, the cat hops outside and circles it, sniffing.

“Oh, no.” Beatrice feels horrible for overreacting. Ava certainly didn’t mean anything, She couldn’t have been. It wasn’t an attempt to flirt. “If he licks that he’s gonna be sick.”

“Vince, I told you the five second rule doesn’t always apply.” As soon as Ava stands, Vincent makes himself big with a hiss. “Fine, get sick then. See if I care.” A slight tremor puts chink sin her tone. It’s clear that she does.

“Let me try and get it away from him.” Beatrice suggests. She doesn’t particularly care for a scratch or a bite, but the mess is her fault in the first place. She should be the one to fix it. “If I can just—”

Crouching low, never breaking eye contact with Vince, Beatrice extends a hand slowly. Her fingers brush against the tub of cream. Tighten around it. She’s beginning to pull her arm back when Vincent headbutts it, a purr vibrating out of him.

“Oh, he really does like you, doesn’t he?” Ava says behind her. “Then again, who wouldn’t?” And Beatrice, who’s always kept her cool in the face of unexpected market crashes, almost loses it all over again.

“I’ve never had any- “She’s going to say positive but she thinks twice. “I’ve never had any interactions with cats before.” She’s still crouched, hand extended as Vincent rubs up against her arm. “He’s very… soft.”

“You don’t feel itchy or anything, do you?”

Beatrice looks back over her shoulder, mouth pinched in a frown. Ava looks intent, more serious than she has in the hours Beatrice has known her.

“Or your throat closing, or anything? I’m not a doctor but I watched a guy have an allergic reaction to shrimp once. I didn’t know what to do then and I’ll be honest, I haven’t brushed up on anything since then.”

Beatrice feels a flicker deep in her chest, a sort of affection she didn’t know was possible in such a short amount of time. “If I was going to have an anaphylaxis allergy to cats, we would have known when he was sitting on my chest.” She slowly retracts her arm and Vincent simply moves along with her, winding around her legs instead.

“He, uh, really likes you,” Ava says. There’s a bit of a pout in her voice, mirrored in the shape of her mouth. “He doesn’t like me that much.”

Beatrice tries to remember where she was with the Neosporin. Ah, yes. She continues to squeeze it out onto the gauze. She’ll apply a bit to the wound, then put a bandage on it. She’s successful this time, hands firm around the tub. Of course, Ava doesn’t say anything to distract her.

“Surely he liked you at the shelter.” She tips Ava’s chin back again. She has mesmerizing eyes this close up. Like circles of golden honey. Her cheeks flush.

“Well, not really,” Ava admits in halting words. Beatrice’s hand slips from her chin and Ava grabs it, holding it against her skin.

Beatrice’s fingers nearly go slack again at the sensation. She prides herself on her ability to maintain herself, though no one would believe her if they saw her now. Ava’s words register. “No?”

“Nope.” Ava’s mouth pops the p. “But he was there, being passed over for kittens. I couldn’t just leave him.” Her voice is trembling again and Beatrice wants to go in and find the source of it, to make it stop. It affects her in a way she can’t quite describe.

It’s unlike her. Everything since she’s met Ava has been unlike her.

“I’m sure he’ll come around,” she says quietly. She feels him against her legs, moving between them and Ava’s. She’s suddenly aware of how she’s positioned herself, standing between Ava’s legs. The inside of Ava’s knee is hot against her leg through her thin pajama pants.

“Or we’ll have to split custody.” Ava smiles. Beatrice feels it in her hand, still trapped against Ava’s chin. “We’d be tied for life.”

Beatrice’s chest shudders at the thought. It sounds terrifying and appealing. She’s unsure of where this is coming from - she’s known Ava Silva for less than 24 hours and the majority of their time together has been one disaster to the next. But there’s something intriguing about her, like she’s made up a complicated number system Beatrice wants to take apart and turn around in her mind.

She files the thought away to be revisited later. Later, once Ava is back at her own place. Later after she’s latched the bedroom window shut and put a little distance between herself and a night that somehow feels like a dream.

“I’m sorry for the kids’ band aid.” Beatrice applies it over the cut with care, again taking a moment longer than is necessary with things to smooth it across Ava’s cheek and make sure that it’ll stick. Yellow ducklings swim on it, the band aid’s background vibrant blue.

“Regular band aids are boring.” Ava doesn’t try to stop her from retreating this time around, and another small shiver ripples through her. It feels like something of a crack. Like the minuscule hairline fractures that sometimes appear on drinking glasses right before they break. Beatrice doesn’t think she’d have known what to do had Ava leaned into her touch again. Still, a part of her wishes Ava had.

“Uhm, anyway.” She takes a step back and towards the sink, meaning to wash her hands. “I never answered your question about my job.”

Ava’s gaze on her back is as tangible as touch.

“Tell me?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit like adult band aids.” Beatrice clears her throat, forcing more words out. “Boring I mean.”

“I still wanna know.”

“Finance.” Beatrice has no idea why she’s so nervous about it. She’s never felt this on edge about telling someone what her job is before. It may not be the most exciting career one can have, or what she would have picked were there not so many expectations weighing her down, but she’s worked hard for it. The youngest associate at her consultancy firm in more than ten years, with the prospect of rapidly climbing the ranks. She should be proud of it.

She is.

“Numbers uh?” Ava hops off the chair and stretches. The t-shirt she’s wearing rides up, exposing the enticing strip of skin at her navel. Beatrice looks quickly away. “Like Wall Street and stuff?”

“Nothing that grand.” Vincent, who’s kept on following her, paws at her leg and meows. “I try to steer people away from risky investments, mostly.”

“Maybe my department should hire you.” Ava begins creeping forward. “Whatever money we get through fundraising is always gone so fast. It’s like the Geology department is built on a sinkhole that eats cash.”

Finally within striking distance of the cat, Ava lunges. Her fingers close around his scruff, and she lifts him up, firm but trying not to hurt him. “Ah! Gotcha!”

Vincent’s meowing reaches ear-splitting on the decibel scale. His front paws extend in Beatrice’s direction. She gently scritches the top of his head, and that seems to calm him enough for Ava to get a better hold.

“Do you want me to—” Beatrice says, when Vincent digs sharp claws into the bare skin of Ava’s forearm.

“Maybe you could—”

They pause, the cat suspended between them, then Beatrice extends her arms and Vincent leaps straight into them, nuzzling into her chest. She gets the impression Ava might want to join, too.

“Maybe I can bring him to your apartment for you?"

"Would you? I feel horrible asking but he's—" Ava's mouth sours. "Yeah."

"I don't mind, promise." So what if she's a bit sad at the prospect of Ava leaving? It's not like Vince is gonna sneak into her apartment every single night. She can be sad. It means nothing. It's fine. "Lead the way?"

"Okay, but we have to go the long way round." Ava nods at the door to the bedroom and Beatrice's heart skips several beats. "I don't have my keys."

Oh.

God.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #another day another AU #this is gen-u-ine fluff #i hope if you read it you enjoy it #because we had fun writing it #and... BREAK!

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