#sorry this took so long it feels like forever!!

[ephemerensis]

I Don’t Smoke // Jason Todd x GN!Reader

this is the last song my band covered before we disbanded so i was feeling sentimental 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ but i do not encourage smoking to be clear!! jason is a coin flip and a brick wall, a brick wall you are unfortunately attached to. this was supposed to be done alot earlier but turbulent times! ended up cat sitting for my cheater ex bc his house burnt down 😨👍

—

You remember the first time you took a drag out of a cigarette. It hit the back of your throat before you knew you were breathing it, and burned the whole way through. Bitter and brute. As you coughed your worth out of your body, expelling smoke and air and tears, you were convinced then that your lungs were blackened and would be forever. Your friends laughed and you told them you’d never smoke again.

That was ages ago. You were ashamed of it, the pack of Winston’s you always kept tucked away in your nightstand and the matchbox that accompanied it. But on nights that were long and extra quiet, like this one, you’d slip one to remember the taste.

Winston was Jason’s brand. He liked them because they were smooth, sweeter than your average while still strong enough to bite in the aftertaste. Balanced. Metaphoric in a way, for the way he acted.

He didn’t always smell of tobacco, only when he suddenly appeared to you during later hours, a visage of smoke and sweat, or when he wore that one leather jacket that the smell couldn’t be washed from. You’d get a whiff of it when he leaned over to drape an arm over your shoulder; you learned to hate it less.

But he always tasted like them, unmistakable and permanent. It lingered on his lips every time you kissed, and then it became synonymous. You learned to miss him, the sweetness and the bite.

It was hard to say you and Jason were ever going steady. There was an awkward push and pull game both of you played, and neither of you had the courage to question it; at least, you didn’t.

When things were good they were almost domestic. You went out together fairly often. He’d make you soup if you were sick, pat the sweat off your brow. You’d hold him through lightning storms, when the clash of thunder sounded too much like clanging metal and triggered a childlike fear in him.

But he’d never move in with you, he’d get defensive at the notion, and that hurt more than it needed to. You’d hinted at it before, after he’d known you long enough, but you only asked once. You knew it was a mistake when he tensed up, but at first you couldn’t tell if it was nerves or anger talking.

“What for?” Whatever playful tone he had before had a coldness injected into it now. You should’ve known it was anger, he didn’t react on nerves.

“You always stay the night,”despite the pit forming in your stomach, you tried to be lighthearted about it. You could smile like it wasn’t a big deal. “You know my kitchen, and I do your laundry. The guest room is your room.”

“So what? I leave a couple shirts and that means I live with you? That doesn’t mean anything.” There were times that felt like an unscalable wall divided the two of you, and this was one of them. It meant less than you thought it did. He couldn’t be blamed for it. You couldn’t have helped it.

“Okay. Sorry I brought it up.”

Jason had a habit of turning into smoke sometimes, very quickly out of sight and undeniably out of reach. Going no contact with the whim of the wind, it was like you weren’t a priority. You probably weren’t. He never breathed a word about where he would disappear to, and you knew better than to prod too much.

And when he was back sometimes you’d feel the wall again. Bruised and brooding, untouchable by your hands or your mind. He felt violent, the way he was rougher when he grabbed things and avoided touching you. Jason wasn’t the type to hurt you or actively lash out, but you felt the anger anyway in the glass shards you found in the trash or the tinkling sounds of trinkets against walls in his room.

It didn’t make you mad, or even scared. It just hurt to know he wouldn’t trust you with it. To know that his temper wasn’t going anywhere, and you weren’t adequate to touch it. The anger had to leave him somehow, and surely hiding it behind broken vases wasn’t enough. But you didn’t have the gall to say much about it, he was deeply distrusting and you were deeply complacent.

You weren’t yourself when you met him. That was your excuse. In a way, it set the tone for everything. After a particularly bad break up, you found yourself on the messy end of one too many mimosas and a handsome, tall stranger that was willing to listen to you slur about the cheater this and that asshole that.

The same stranger took you to his cozy apartment after you couldn’t hold your head up and decreed you’d forgotten your address.

Despite being a greek god of a man, he was awkward when you couldn’t help but cry, overwhelmed with emotion and alcohol. He didn’t touch you the whole night, just watched like a cornered dog. And he didn’t bring it up in the morning when you threw up on his carpet before passing out.

Anyone else would’ve left you at the bar, and if you were anyone else he would’ve done the same. But supposedly you were special, he said. Captivating and sincere, in a kicked puppy sort of way, and it was enough to wipe your vomit off the floor without a fuss.

It was hard not to like him after all that. And his chiseled jaw didn’t hurt either.

But sometimes you wish weren’t so casual about things when you’d met. If you explained that waking up in someone else’s apartment with no recollection was something alien to you, instead of playing it off, things might be different.

You thought he liked you because you were casual— cool, easygoing. He knew you as someone who didn’t overreact or get flustered easily or clutch caution. That’s who you were from the morning you woke up, asked who he was, and apologized for inconveniencing him. And it was the desire for consistency, fear of hurting what you built, that you remained complicit.

Your lungs were black now; jet black, like his hair and his favorite pair of boots. You were as casual as you were a smoker when you’d met, but when the smell lingers it doesn’t leave and the desperate desire to remember taste creeps in again. And sometimes you missed yourself, but not as much as you missed him in his increasing absence. The way the smoke seeped in, it clung to your walls and your favorite sleeping shirts and it was impossible now not to miss him.

You could always kick the habit, but not the taste of his lips. All of this, for him to hold you at arm’s length. After clinging to your walls and clothes and bed spreads, he had the nerve to say nothing. Sometimes the smoke was enough to kill fear for frustration, you had to deserve more than that. It had to hurt more to stay silent. He meant too much for you to be nothing.

So you ran it over again, your worth and your hurt, flicking the ashes off the half burnt roll. It wasn’t so disgusting anymore.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out behind you. You didn’t hear him slip in, silent as ever. “It’s late.”

“It is,” you affirmed. Pressing the charred end of the cigarette against your banister put it out cleanly.

“You’re not sleeping?” A strong pair of arms caged your waist as you stared out at the pitch black skyline. Jason felt warm, as he usually did, a welcome contrast to the cold of the outside air.

“Well, you’re talking to me.” He hummed in response while you flicked what was left of the cigarette into the dustbin you kept on your balcony. Then, you asked a question you knew he wouldn’t like. “Where were you?”

“Business.” The answer was immediate and final. And vague.

“Why won’t you tell me?” you probed.

Jason stiffened, you could feel his arms tense around you, a warning. “Don’t start.“

His tone was callous, like all the affection and warmth he had dried up all at once. This was a different person.

“Do you hate me? Sometimes I get the sense that you do.” He let go of you and it was cold again, you didn’t have to turn around to know he was walking away.

“Go to bed. You’re not thinking straight.”

“No. I need you to give me something.” Before he could get too far, you caught him by his hand. He had rough hands, capable of violence, you knew, but you were never scared of that from him. “I’m what you want until you disappear again and you tell me nothing. And you come back and do it all over again, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be to you.”

“Goodnight.” But he was stronger, you knew, and had no trouble ripping out of your grip to stalk off. If it ended like this you’d be at square one again. He’d lock his jaw and you’d bear the bite.

“Can’t you just yell at me!” You weren’t a beggar, but you’d never known desperation like this. That you could give someone else so much power over you. “I know you’re mad, just yell at me. It won’t hurt my feelings if you yell. Be mean. I can take it. But don’t sit with it and hate me, you can’t hate me—“

“Would you shut up?” At the very least he stopped, you were on the brink now, of your limit and his patience. You’d never seen him scowl like that, not at you, but it went as quickly as it came when he turned around. He’d never seen you cry like that, not over him.

“I don’t know where you go when you’re angry, but you can yell at me and stay. You always leave and if it’s because you’re mad at me then say so, I can listen.” You weren’t thinking, just spitting whatever bubbled up, “but I can’t be nothing to you, I have to matter enough for you to yell at me at least or tell me anything, I don’t have anything of yours and you are in everything I own.”

He paced over as you babbled, wiping off the forming tears with his thumbs. But Jason wasn’t an apologist or an open book, and once the smoke cleared from your lungs, you’d remember that. He held your heart in his volatile hands, and he’d decide how to break it. So he kissed your head and left anyway.

“We’ll talk in the morning.”

[ateezscupid]

Idol Yeosang x reader smut Takes place after a fan meet where she has a tear in her clothing

─── 𝗡𝗗𝗔.

warnings ✩ FLUFF&SMUT, EVENTUAL SMUT!! fem!reader, soft dom!yeosang, sub!reader, idol au, there is a SHIT TON of sexual tension before anything actually happens, virgin!reader, fingering (f receiving), oral (f), unprotected sex, praise, light choking, relationship not established, idol x fan basically, YOU'LL GET A WARNING BEFORE THE SMUT HAPPENS.

word count ✩ 6,52k (i know i'm so sorry)

tags ✩ @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @desirehorizon @tangerineastronaut

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

NOTE !! Much longer than I had planned for it to be, but don't worry, there is smut. This has been in my drafts for well over a year. had to get it out the way, LOL.

After what felt like forever, you finally got the chance to meet Ateez at a fan-meet. You've seen so many videos of Atiny's reactions to seeing them in person, but nothing prepared you for the real thing. The moment you saw them, your heart skipped a beat, and your palms grew sticky with excitement. You had rehearsed what you'd say a hundred times in the mirror, but now, face-to-face with your favorite member, Yeosang, your mind had gone utterly blank.

You wanted to look pretty. You had picked out the perfect outfit weeks ago—a long-sleeve, off-white crop top, a short black pleated skirt, black sheer tights, black heels, and a small red shoulder bag as an accessory. You didn't think it was too much. It was a simple outfit! But as soon as you saw Yeosang standing there, his eyes scanning the room, you felt like you were dressed for a wedding, not a meet and greet.

As they went back to their seats and lines started forming, you held your little photocard book in your hands, eyes switching between the members. Your gaze was mostly spent on Yeosang. You felt like you were in a trance. Your heart was racing, but you had to snap out of it.

You took your time with each member, making friendly conversation and sharing brief but meaningful moments, yet Yeosang remained a blurry figure in the corner of your mind. The anticipation grew as the line inched closer to where he sat. His gentle smile and soft laughter from the interactions before yours echoed in your ears, fueling your nerves.

And finally, you were here. You sat across from him and smiled, sitting the book on the table. Yeosang looked up, and his eyes met yours, and for a split second, it felt like the entire room had stopped spinning. He was even more breathtaking in person. His smile grew wider as he took your book into his hands. The gentle way his fingers grazed the pages made your cheeks burn.

"H-Hi," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. Yeosang looked up from the book, his eyes meeting yours again, and you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body. He had the most mesmerizing smile, his eyes lighting up with genuine warmth.

"Your outfit looks great," he said, his voice as smooth as honey. It took you a second to realize he was referring to your outfit, and the compliment left you feeling flustered.

"Thank you! Um, I-I wanted--um,"

"Are those your photocards?" Yeosang asked, nodding at the book. You nodded, feeling your cheeks grow hotter. "You have quite a collection," he said with admiration, flipping through the pages. Your eyes followed his every move, watching as his thumb traced over the images of the members, pausing briefly at his own.

Some photocards had signatures from the other members. All but Yeosang's. Without being asked, he grabs the pen beside him and signs the empty card. You watched as the ink danced across the card, his signature neat and confident.

"Thank you." you smiled, trying to compose yourself. Yeosang's eyes looked up from the book, meeting yours again. There was something in his gaze that made you feel seen, like he was really looking at you, not just at a fan in line.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I noticed you've been eyeing me all night. Is there something you want to say?"

"I-I have-? I'm so sorry, this is like -- my first time going to one of these things so I just…I-I'm nervous. I didn't mean to stare," you stuttered, feeling your cheeks blaze with embarrassment. Yeosang chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"It's okay," he assured you, his voice still soft. "I don't mind. In fact, I'm flattered. But, tell me, which member is your favorite?"

"You," you blurted out without thinking, your eyes widening in horror. The words hung in the air for a beat too long before you could scramble to recover. "I mean, I like all of Ateez, but if I had to pick, I guess I've always had a soft spot for… you." Yeosang's smile grew into a full-blown grin, his eyes gleaming with delight.

He leaned in closer, and for a second, you thought he was going to tease you about it, but instead, he said, "You know, you're the first one to answer that question so honestly." His words sent a warm wave through you, and you couldn't help but blush even more.

You made a weird, stuttering noise, your face feeling hotter than a sunburn. "Re-really?"

Yeosang nodded, still smiling. "Really. Most fans are shy about it, but I like your honesty." He leaned back in his chair, giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. The silence grew heavier, and you felt your palms start to sweat.

You shudder, pushing your hair behind your ear. "T-That's--thank you. Or--you're welcome-? I-I don't know w-what to say."

Yeosang's grin softens, his eyes looking into yours. "No need to be nervous," he says gently. "I'm just as human as you are."

You nod. "Can I say something that's--I don't know, it may be corny.." you sniffle. "I always thought that if I went to these, the idol would get this big crush on me and they'd want me to meet them after to sign an NDA or something." You chuckle a bit after saying it and then pause.

Why. Why would you say that-?! Now he's going to think you're one of those crazy, obsessive fans! Panic starts to set in, but before you can apologize, Yeosang laughs. It's a light, airy sound that makes you feel less like you're about to hyperventilate.

"Where'd you get that from?" he asks, amusement dancing in his eyes. You shrug, trying to play it off.

"Just, you know, fan fantasies, fansites," you reply with a forced chuckle. "I-Is it not true-?"

He narrows his eyes, still grinning. "I can't say. It's an NDA after all." The mischief in his tone made you laugh, the tension in the air dissipating slightly. You felt a bit more at ease, the nervousness giving way to a genuine connection.

"Why do you ask? You had to have brought it up for a reason." he chuckled. "Did you want one? An NDA?"

You truly couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "N-No!" You blurt out, your heart racing. "It was just a random thought. I-I don't expect anything like that, I just--"

"Did you?" He teases, raising an eyebrow playfully. His eyes sparkle with humor, and for a moment, you forget where you are.

"I-I mean-" you glance around. Other people were getting up. Your time was ending quickly. "It was just a joke. A bad one."

Yeosang narrowed his eyes once more before tilting his head. "You're gonna be around here for a while, right? Maybe we can talk more after the fan-meet ends?" His question hung in the air, hopeful and casual, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your eyes widened. "R-Really?" You stuttered, trying to keep your voice from squeaking. He nodded, his smile never wavering. "H-How do I find you, I-"

"My number is on the back of the photocard." Yeosang said, handing the book back to you. You took it, your hands trembling slightly. He had actually given you his number? This had to be a dream.

But it wasn't. The fan-meet was real, and so was the warmth in his eyes as he spoke to you. You nodded, trying to keep your cool, even though your insides were doing somersaults. "Thank you," you managed to say, your voice a bit steadier.

It had been a few hours after the fan meet. You had been staring at his contact for the entire time. Should you text him? Was it really his number? You bit your lip, contemplating your options. You had his autograph and a promise of a conversation, but was it too much to hope for more? You decided to wait. The excitement of the fan meet was still buzzing through your veins, and you didn't want to ruin it with a potentially embarrassing text.

Then, your phone buzzed. You opened your messages and saw a text. From…Yeosang's number. "Hey. This is the girl from the fan-meet right?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly typed back, "Yes, it's me!" You couldn't believe it. He had actually reached out.

"I hope you're not too tired," Yeosang's message read. "But if you're still up for it, would you like to grab some ice cream?"

Your heart raced as you read the message. Yeosang was asking you out?! You reread the text, making sure it wasn't a typo or a prank. But as you looked at the screen, you saw the message was still there.

"Yes, I'd love to," you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check. You didn't want to come off too eager, but the thrill of his invitation was almost too much to handle.

"Great! There's a café not far from here that has amazing ice cream. Do you know where it is?" Yeosang's text was prompt as if he had been waiting for your response.

"No, but I can totally find it," you replied, feeling the butterflies in your stomach take flight. You quickly Googled the café's name and location, your fingers trembling with excitement. "I'll be there in 10 minutes!"

And in ten minutes, you had arrived. The cafe was empty besides for Yeosang and the barista. The walls were plastered with polaroids of past customers and a chalkboard menu that listed exotic flavors like matcha mint and honey lavender. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, but your heart was too busy doing somersaults to notice.

Yeosang sat at a corner booth, sipping from a cup, his eyes scanning over the room. When they met yours, he stood up with a smile, waving you over. "Hi," he said, his voice softer than you remembered. You couldn't believe that the same person who had been performing on stage earlier was now standing in front of you, in a simple white t-shirt and black jeans.

You took a deep breath, trying to play it cool, and slid into the booth across from him. "Hi," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. He laughed, a sound that made your heart flutter.

"You don't have to be so nervous," he said, setting down his coffee cup. "I'm just a person who likes ice cream."

You nodded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. "I know, I just…" You paused, searching for the right words. "This is all so surreal."

Yeosang leaned in slightly, his eyes holding yours. "I get it. But we're just two people sharing a sweet treat, okay?"

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. The tension in your shoulders eased a bit. You ordered your ice cream, going for the Homerun Ball—his favorite, you remembered from a past interview. Yeosang's eyes lit up when he saw your choice.

"Good call," he said, his smile widening. "It's my go-to when I'm stressed."

The barista brought over two dishes of ice cream. Yeosang's was the same as yours. You had chosen a more modest amount of chocolate filling, but the sight of his treat made you reconsider your choice. He noticed your gaze and chuckled.

"You can always ask for more later," he said, twirling a spoonful of ice cream in your direction. "You know, for research."

You laugh, feeling the nervousness dissipate. As you both dig into your Homerun Balls, the conversation starts to flow more naturally. Yeosang tells you about his favorite childhood memories with ice cream, and you share stories of your first Ateez concert, the thrill of the lights and the music, and how you felt when you saw them live for the first time. His eyes light up as he listens, and you feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

The café's soft jazz music plays in the background, and the occasional clinking of spoons against bowls fills the air. You take a moment to appreciate the quiet, intimate setting. The world outside seems to melt away, leaving only the two of you in this cozy little bubble.

"So, tell me more about your favorite member," Yeosang says, his spoon hovering over his ice cream. You feel a blush creep up your neck as you realize he's referring to himself.

"Well, he's really sweet. And kind. And talented," you start, your voice growing more confident as you speak. Yeosang nods, his eyes never leaving yours, making you feel as if you were the only person in the room. "But it's more than that. It's how he looks at the crowd when he performs, like he sees every single person, really sees them. It's like he's singing just for me."

You pause. That sounded a bit…sasaengy. "B-But, y'know, thousands of people. He's not only singing for me! Just, like, a metaphor or something." You laugh nervously, hoping he didn't think you were too crazy.

Yeosang nods, his eyes still on yours. "I know what you mean. That's why we do what we do. To make everyone in the crowd feel seen." He smiles warmly. "But, it's nice to hear that you feel connected."

"Yeah." you chuckle a bit. "He's also cute. No, I mean, you're all cute. It's just--it's your voice, Yeosang. It's soothing, and when you dance, it's like watching poetry in motion." You blush deeper, realizing you've probably said too much. But Yeosang just smiles, looking genuinely touched by your words.

"Thank you," he says, his voice sincere. "That means a lot to me."

You nod, taking a bite of your ice cream to hide your blushing cheeks. The sweetness of the chocolate is a welcome distraction from the heat in your face. As you savor the taste, Yeosang watches you, his gaze curious.

"Did you wanna ask more questions?" you giggle. "You're staring at me as if you wanted to ask me something else."

Yeosang's cheeks tinge pink. "Well, I was wondering if you had any questions about, you know, the industry or anything."

"Not really…" you say, trying to play it cool despite the excitement bubbling inside you. "But if it's okay, I've always wondered…what's the most challenging part of being an idol?"

Yeosang pauses for a moment, considering your question. He takes a bite of his ice cream, and you can see his mind working behind those beautiful eyes. "Hmm," he says, "I guess it's the constant pressure to be perfect. To perform, to look good, to make everyone happy. It's a lot to handle sometimes."

You nod, feeling a pang of empathy. You had never thought of it that way before. You had always seen idols as these untouchable beings who lived glamorous lives, but here he was, opening up about the challenges that came with it.

"Yeah, I can imagine that must be really tough," you say, your voice gentle. Yeosang nods, his eyes searching yours as if looking for understanding. "But you guys are all so amazing at what you do. It's easy to forget that you're human too."

He looks down at his ice cream for a moment before looking up and smiling. "Thanks for that," he says, his eyes warm. "It's nice to be reminded every once in a while."

"Of course." You reply, your eyes never leaving his. "I mean, it's just… I've been a fan for so long, and I've seen how hard you all work."

He just…smiles, his eyes examining your features, looking you up and down. "I don't mean to throw us off-topic, but you're very beautiful."

Your heart stops, and your spoon clatters against your bowl. Did he just…? "Yeosang," you whisper, trying to keep your cool. "I-I'm just a fan. I'm not--"

He holds up a hand to stop you. "You're not just a fan to me right now," he says, his voice earnest. "You're a person I've been enjoying getting to know."

If you weren't so paranoid of him being weirded out by you, you would've jumped across the table and pounced on him. But you managed to keep your cool, mostly. You felt your cheeks burning up like a furnace as you looked away, trying to compose yourself. "Really?" you murmured, feeling the heat of his gaze.

"Yes, really," he said, his voice a gentle caress. "You have this…glow about you. It's hard to ignore."

"A-And--you think--I'm beautiful-?" You had to repeat it to believe it. You felt like you were going to pass out.

"I do," Yeosang said, his voice firm but still gentle. "You're really attractive."

"Oh my god," you exhaled softly. The noise sounded too much like a moan, but you were so blanked out to even notice. You felt your cheeks burning up and your heart racing faster than ever. Was this really happening? Yeosang thinks you're beautiful?

"Thanks," you murmur, your eyes flickering up to meet his before darting away again. The room felt so much warmer, the air thick with unspoken tension. You took a bite of your ice cream to distract yourself, the coldness soothing your burning cheeks. The chocolate filled your mouth, but the sweetness was lost in the rush of your thoughts.

He was still looking at you and you fought with everything in you not to jump across the table and pounce on him. "I don't know what to say," you admitted, your voice shaking.

"It's fine." He turned around, grabbing a bag that you didn't notice before. He was reaching for something but you couldn't tell what it was. "I know it's a lot to take in. But I just wanted to tell you. You seem like someone special." He finally pulled out a piece of paper. He slid it toward you. It was face down.

No way this was what you thought it was.

Yeosang slid the paper closer to you, and you took it with trembling fingers. You couldn't believe what was happening. You looked up at him, and his expression was earnest, his eyes searching yours. "What's this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't say anything. He only smiled. You flipped it around and read it. It was an NDA.

An NDA.

A literal Non-Disclosure Agreement.

You stared at it blankly, your jaw hung. Was he serious? Your eyes shot up to meet his, and his expression didn't waver. The corners of his mouth twitched with a hint of mischief.

"If you don't want to, you don't have t-"

"OF COURSE I ACCEPT!?" You squealed before you could stop yourself. Yeosang's grin grew wider, the mischief in his eyes glittering like stars. He leaned back in his seat, looking more relaxed than you had ever seen him. "But why me?" you managed to ask, trying to keep the excitement from your voice.

"Like I said: you're really fucking pretty. You sat here and treated me like a human and not like some sort of object. And at the fan meet I thought you were really pretty. Plus, your sense of humor is…surprising." Yeosang said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "But let's keep this between us, okay?" He nodded towards the NDA.

"Uh huh, yeah," you nod, already digging through your bag trying to find a pen. You found one and signed the NDA as fast as you possibly could, your heart racing. Yeosang watched you with amusement, his smile never leaving his face.

"W-What now? I-I've never signed one of these before-"

"You go home with me." Yeosang said, his voice still low. You stared at him, the words echoing in your ears. He couldn't be serious, could he?

"Yeosang. I can't express how excited I am right now." You whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. He nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He stands and grabs his bag, leaving money on the table and holding his hand out for you to grab.

You took his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch, and allowed him to lead you out of the café into the cool evening air. The street outside was quieter than you had expected, with only a few people strolling by. You looked up at him, his height making you feel safe and protected. "Is this…are we really doing this?"

He nods and you wasted zero time hugging his arm, walking out with him as he guides you down the street. The cool night breeze brushing against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat coming from his side. "Yeah," he says, his voice low and calm. "This is happening."

You walk for a few minutes before Yeosang stops in front of a black sedan. The driver opens the door for you and you slip inside, Yeosang following closely. The car is plush and smells faintly of his cologne. You're pretty sure your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

As the car pulls away from the curb, Yeosang turns to you with a gentle smile. "I know this might seem weird," he says, "but I wanted to make sure you felt comfortable."

You nod, your heart racing a mile a minute. "I-I trust you," you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel. The NDA still felt like a weight in your pocket, a reminder of the surreal situation you've found yourself in.

Yeosang's smile grows a little wider, and he nods. "Good," he says, his eyes holding yours for a moment before looking away. You both sit in silence as the car drove back to his apartment. The anticipation is palpable, and your heart feels like it's going to explode. You've always dreamed of this moment, but you never thought it would be so…real.

When you both made it back to his apartment, he took his time with you. He allowed you to eat whatever you set your eyes on. You felt like a kid in a candy store, but with less sugar and more nervousness. Yeosang was a perfect host, making sure you felt comfortable and at ease. The apartment was sleek and modern, with a touch of personal taste that was unmistakably his. You noticed the little things—a book of poetry on the coffee table, a guitar in the corner of the living room, and a few stray polaroids that had escaped their frame and scattered across the floor.

While you were ransacking his kitchen, you heard him get up and walk in behind you, standing behind you and placing a hand on the counter. "Did you find what you wanted?" he asked, his voice warm and -- you were definitely staying the night.

You turned around, biting your lip, trying to hide your excitement. "I did, thanks." You said, trying to keep your voice steady. Yeosang's hand reached out to grab a water bottle from the fridge, his sleeve riding up slightly, revealing his toned forearm. You swallowed hard. "Do you want anything?"

He squints, opening the water bottle. You could tell he was fighting with himself. Whatever he wanted to say definitely wasn't family friendly. "You want me to be honest?" his eyes twinkling with mischief and you nod.

"You." Yeosang says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I want you."

SMUT BELOW THIS.

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn even hotter. You couldn't believe what you just heard. Your heart was pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears. "Y-You do?" you stuttered, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Why do you think I gave you the NDA?" Yeosang stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. The tension in the room grew thicker, the air crackling with a new kind of electricity. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts.

"Y-Yes," you finally managed to say, your voice barely a whisper. "But I thought we were just having ice cream." Which was a goddamn lie. In all honesty, you had been fantasizing about his hand son your bare skin since the second you walked into the cafe.

Yeosang leaned in closer, his breath tickling your neck. "We can still have ice cream," he murmured, his hand reaching for the fridge again, pulling out another pint. "But I thought maybe we could have it in a more…comfortable setting." He nodded towards his bedroom.

"Yeosang," you breathe out his name, your voice trembling with a mix of excitement and nerves. You hadn't anticipated this happening so soon, but here you are, standing in his kitchen with the promise of a night beyond your wildest dreams. He smiles, his eyes never leaving yours as he opens the freezer door. The cold air from inside sends a shiver down your spine, or was it just his proximity?

"Yeah?"

You couldn't stop yourself. You inhaled sharply and pulled him into a kiss before he could react, his body stiffening for a moment before melting into it. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with a passion that sent your senses reeling. It was everything you had ever dreamed of and more, his lips soft yet firm, his scent intoxicating. You felt like you could stay there forever, lost in his embrace.

He grabs the underside of your legs and lifted you up, sitting you on the countertop. Your heart races as he kisses you deeper, his hands moving up to cradle your face. The coolness of the marble countertop is a stark contrast to the heat that's building between the two of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling his heart thumping against your chest.

Your fingers grasped at his shirt, pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His hands roamed up your back, sending shivers down your spine. This was it—you were kissing Yeosang, your ultimate bias. The reality was so overwhelming, you could feel your knees go weak. He must've felt it too, because he tightened his grip, holding you firmly against the counter.

He grabbed the hem of your skirt and slid it up, his hands brushing against your skin and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped into his mouth, your eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again, lost in the feeling of his touch. He broke the kiss, panting slightly, and looked into your eyes.

He wrapped your legs around his waist and picked you up, walking toward his bedroom. He kicked the door open and threw you on the bed. You squealed, surprised by his sudden action, but also thrilled. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner, casting shadows across the bed. You looked up at him, your heart racing, as he took off his t-shirt.

He slid your skirt down your legs, revealing your black lace underwear. You had picked it out with the hope that he would see it tonight, but now that the moment was here, you felt a rush of nerves. Yeosang leaned over you, his eyes dark with desire as he kissed along your jawline and down to your neck. His touch was gentle but firm, leaving you trembling and craving more.

He grabbed your tights and ripped them apart. You were going to say something, but his lips found yours again, and your protest turned into a moan of pleasure. His kiss was hungry, as if he had been starving for this moment. His hands slid up your thighs, his thumbs tracing the edge of your panties. You felt yourself growing wetter by the second, your body begging for more.

You pulled away, panting heavily. "W-Wait," you said, trying to get your bearings. Yeosang stopped, his eyes searching yours for any signs of hesitation. You took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm good," you assured him, your voice shaky. "I just…I need to tell you something."

"What is it, baby?" Oh, that pet name had you wet. You had to force your brain to remember what you had to say.

"I'm…I'm a virgin," you whispered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. You had never talked about this with anyone before, let alone your idol.

"You are?" Yeosang's eyes searched yours, a hint of surprise in them. But instead of pulling away, his expression softened into something gentle, something reassuring. He took a step back, giving you space. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves. "We can take this slow."

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. The idea of being with him, of sharing this experience with your bias, was both thrilling and terrifying. "Thank you," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yeosang leaned down, kissing you softly. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he began to explore your body. His fingers traced the curves of your hips, slipping beneath your panties to tease your sensitive skin. You gasped as his thumb circled your clit, his movements slow and deliberate. The pleasure was almost unbearable, building within you like a crescendo of desire.

"O-Oh my god," you moan, immediately grabbing his wrist and pushing it closer, your eyes rolling back into your head. He chuckled against your mouth, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple. The sensation was so intense, you felt your legs tremble and tighten around his waist.

"You're so sensitive," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "It's so sexy." He kissed along your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just behind your ear.

He started moving his thumb faster, and the sensation was too much. You could feel an orgasm building deep within you, your body tightening around him. "Yeosang," you gasped out his name, your nails digging into his skin. He seemed to understand what you needed, his touch growing more insistent.

He kissed down your body, leaving a trail of fire along your collarbone and between your breasts. You arched your back, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his mouth found your nipple. His tongue flicked and teased the sensitive bud, sending waves of pleasure straight to your core. Your legs tightened around his waist, urging him closer as you felt yourself getting wetter.

He then kissed down your stomach, moving even further until his mouth replaced his thumb. You gasped as he licked and sucked at your clit, the sensation so intense that you thought you might shatter. Your body was responding to him like a finely tuned instrument, each stroke of his tongue bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He held your legs apart, his eyes meeting yours, watching for any sign of discomfort. You bit your lip, the pleasure building until it was all you could focus on. And then it crashed over you, your body shuddering as you climaxed. Yeosang didn't stop, though, continuing to flick and suck on your clit until you were writhing beneath him, begging for mercy. He made sure your legs were open, pushing his face deeper.

"Y-Yeo-Yeosang!" You grabbed a handful of his hair, feeling a finger prodding at your entrance. The sensation was too much, and your body clenched around it. "O-Oh my god," you whimpered, your voice tight with pleasure. His eyes flicked up to yours, his mouth curling into a smug smile before he added a second finger, stretching you gently. You felt yourself getting wetter, the slickness of your arousal making it easier for him to slide in and out of you.

"F-Fuck-" Not a single thought was running through your head. You had lost all coherence as Yeosang's tongue swirled around your clit and his fingers worked their magic inside you. It was as if your brain had melted away, leaving only pure, unadulterated pleasure in its wake. His eyes remained on yours, watching as you reached new heights, savoring every twitch and gasp that passed your lips.

You felt something bubbling in your stomach and you sat up, trying to form words. "Yeosang," you breathed. "I-I'm--"

You squealed and fell back, a large amount of liquid spilled out of you, your thighs instinctively closing around his head. He didn't stop. Instead, he let you squirt, fingering you even harder, his tongue pressing firmly against your clit as he lapped up the juices that were flowing like a river.

"O-Oh my fucking-" You couldn't even finish your sentence as Yeosang's mouth worked its magic, your body pulsing around his fingers.

He looked up at you, his eyes hooded with lust as you came again, even harder than before. He slowly pulled back, licking his lips as if savoring the taste of you. "You taste amazing," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

He pulls away, spreading your legs again and undoing his belt with shaky hands. You can see the outline of his erection through his pants, and you realize that you're not the only one affected by this. Yeosang's breathing is heavy, and his eyes are filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through your body.

"I'll be as gentle as can be, princess," he whispers, pulling his jeans off and kicking them aside. He pushed his boxers down, his cock springing free. You felt a brief moment of terror—it was bigger than you had ever seen. But his gentle smile and the tenderness in his eyes reassured you. He climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. You nod, feeling more ready than you ever have been for this moment. He kissed you again, his hand moving to position himself at your entrance. You feel the tip of him push against you, and you tense up, ready for the pain.

"Relax, baby." he pushed the tip inside and you grabbed his wrist once again, your nails digging into his skin. You felt a sharp pain, but he was right, it was only a pinch. He pushed in slowly, letting your body adjust to his size. You could feel him stretching you, filling you up. His eyes never left yours, his expression one of pure concentration and concern.

"Yeosang," you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to distract yourself from the pressure building inside of you. His eyes searched yours for any signs of discomfort, his own desire barely restrained. He pushed in further, and you gasped as you felt yourself stretching around him. The pain was intense but mixed with the overwhelming need for more.

"You're doing so good for me," he whispers, his voice thick with need as he continues to push inside you. You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan as your body adjusts to the new sensation. Finally, with one final push, he's all the way in, filling you completely.

He began thrusting, slow and steady, watching you intently as he did. You felt your body stretching to accommodate him, and the pain slowly began to recede, replaced by a deep, all-consuming pleasure. Each movement sent waves crashing through you, and you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your body eager to take all of him in.

You moaned his name, the sound echoing in the quiet room, and he responded by kissing you harder, his hips moving faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper with each thrust. You felt your muscles tightening around him, the tension building to an unbearable level.

You held onto him as tightly as you possibly could, your nails digging into his back as he pushed into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Yeosang's rhythm grew faster, his breathing more ragged, and you could feel his muscles tense with effort. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, calling you "baby" and "princess" in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

"You're so pretty, so tight," Yeosang murmured, his voice strained as he picked up the pace, his hips slapping against yours. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge again, your walls clenching around him. The pressure built and built until you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I'm gonna cum again-" you cry out, refusing to let go of him. His face was shoved into your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he moaned, his thrusts growing more erratic. He kissed up your neck, finding your mouth again, his tongue slipping inside in a delicate dance with yours.

The closer you both got, the more passionate it felt, more loving than anything. Yeosang's thrusts grew stronger, and your body responded with a symphony of pleasure. You could feel his muscles tensing and his breaths getting shorter as he neared his climax. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, words of reassurance and passion that only added fuel to the fire burning between you.

"O-Oh my god, I love you," It slipped out. You didn't even notice that you said it. But his eyes widened, and he stopped for a moment, his cock still deep inside you. He stared at you for a second before kissing you again, his tongue pushing past your lips and exploring your mouth like it was a treasure.

"I love you too, baby." He whispered back, and your heart stopped. Did he just say that?

You felt tears prickling in your eyes as he started thrusting again, pushing you closer and closer. Yeosang's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze only increasing as he felt your love. His movements grew more urgent, his breathing ragged as he neared his peak.

And finally, you came, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Yeosang groaned into your mouth, his own climax following closely behind, filling you up in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He held you tightly, his body shaking with the force of his release, his cock pulsing within you.

Neither of you let go. You both breathed heavily into each other's mouths, your hearts beating so loudly they could have drowned out the world outside. The room was a cocoon of heat and love, a space where only the two of you existed.

"You love me…?" you whispered, voice cracking. The words felt alien on your tongue, yet filled you with a warmth that was as surprising as it was overwhelming.

"I mean," he pants. "You said it first and I… yeah." He kisses you again, softer this time. "I've never felt this way about a fan before." His admission sends your heart soaring, and you realize you've been holding your breath.

"…So…what--what are…what is this-?" You stuttered, trying to make sense of his words. Your heart felt like it was going to explode from your chest.

Yeosang pulled out of you gently, his eyes still locked on yours. "This is us, baby," he murmured, stroking your cheek. "We're more than just a fan and an idol now."

[yourpurpleguitarist]

egg 10 maybe!!

OH MY GOODNESS THIS HAS TO BE ONE OF MY FAVORITE EGGS ON THE WHOLE GAME. [Sorry it took me 57 years to answer, this was a long one.]

The Ouran Host Club welcomes a Little! Guest Headcanons.

[Minus Honey, he's baby.]

[Gender Neutral Pronouns Used. Trying my best to stay neutral so it fits for any regression age/experience.]

Tamaki Suoh:

Tamaki would be so excited to find out he had a little one as his guest. What's not to like? He'd get to pay them extra attention, spoil them with gifts and all sorts of things. He'd be the host to choose if you want to feel like the spotlight is on you!

He loves to be so over the top and extravagant. He'd have little tea parties with you, and of course, he'd go all out. He'd make little menus for the guests at your tea party, have the teas and orderves catered for you, and of course: use very beautifully painted plastic china [just so there's no accidents or nothing breaks!]

He calls you every nickname under the sun, but he loves flower names! "Rose/Rosey" "Lavender/Lav/Lavvy" "Sunflower/Sunny." He just sees you as a beautiful flower to be treasured forever, and his nicknames for you represent that. But of course, there's always "Princess/Prince/Monarch," those are classics.

He'd be so indulgent if you liked to play games. He'd make sure he knew whatever you were in the mood to play, and if the other hosts were playing too, he made sure they knew your rules, too.

"No, Haruhi! The little one is playing Littlest Pet Shops." He turns to you, asking if he may move where you've placed them, and after receiving a nod from you, he holds a few up to Haruhi. "This is Daisy, and she works at the café. Jaime and Adeline are here customers. And these dogs over here are all a friend group, and they're at the park, because they've already had their lunch, you see?" [He's so into whatever his baby is. Agh, I love him.]

Tamaki likes to give you a rattle, if you're very little. Or, if you're a bit older, a toy that makes noise, or a loud fidget toy, whatever you may like to keep you occupied. He likes to know where you are. The music room is large, especially with all the guests that come in there. He could lose his little one! And he can't have that.

Piano Lullabies before bed/naptimes. And if you feel like it, he'd give you piano lessons as well. He'd let you sit on his lap to learn, and put your hands on top of his to learn the keys!

Kyoya Ootori:

His initial reaction to having a little guest would be one of confusion, and perhaps a bit of fear? He's heard of age regression, but doesn't exactly understand the technicalities of it quite well. He'd be afraid that he may mess up, or make you upset by accident, and that's the last thing he wants. He asks Tamaki for advice before feeling more comfortable.

Kyoya would be a more quiet, and laid back caregiver. He'd love to give you activity sheets that fit well for your regression age: whether they be preschool activity sheets or complicated word puzzles, he believes in helping you learn while having fun. But he won't just simply sit you down with a worksheet. No, he makes them himself. If you have a comfort character, or favorite colors, he keeps those things in mind when making them for you! He also will sit and help you do it while guiding you through each step. He loves bonding over the things he makes for you.

Kyoya would have more traditional nicknames: "Sweetheart." "Dear/Dearest." "My lovely [name]" "My Little Lady, My Little Gentleman, My Littlest One."

Kyoya would not be good at playing, I don't think. His hidden talent is that he's very, very good at reading you stories. The way he tells them makes you feel like you could reach out, and touch the events the words of the pages are unfolding. His favorite book to read of all? Alexander and The Wind Up Mouse, only to be tied with Chrysanthemum. Both of which are the books he reads best, too.

"The next day," Kyoya read as he snuggled his little closer to him. "Chrysanthemum took the longest route to school. She dragged her feet in the dirt... Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum..." Kyoya filled each time her name was mentioned with dread, including a sigh on the end each time to show the weight of the scene. He looks down at you before he continues. "Don't worry..." He smiles. "I think she'll feel better soon. Shall we find out together, dearest?"

Kyoya has a very good singing voice. He'll sing you a love song or a lullaby to calm you after a hard day. Or, he also loves to comb your hair to help you relax if you're okay with that.

Haruhi Fujioka:

Haruhi's initial reaction to finding out a little guest had chosen her would be shock. She's perfectly capable of taking care of a little one, and she regresses herself too. She'd especially understand if you regressed out of stress, or as a trauma response. No matter the circumstances though, I feel like she'd be a good person to handle a little one!

Haruhi would like to do things with you her mother did with her growing up. She'd love to teach you how to bake cookies, or make simple meals. She'd love to give you classic toys if you were younger [a yoyo, a teddy bear, building blocks, one of those things where you drop the shape in the right hole, a ring stacker.] She'd have a much more simplistic approach. She likes to keep you off screens, [minus your comfort shows/games] though. She feels like littles have enough of that in their big lives.

She calls you petnames like "Baby Girl/Baby Boy/Babycakes." She also likes the nickname "cookie."

Haruhi would be okay at engaging in what you wanted to do. I feel like it would depend for her. The littler you were, the harder it would be for her to engage. Even though she regresses very young herself, she had to grow up super fast, so in her big headspace, she cannot comprehend how to begin playing with toys. However, if you were doing something like playing a game, she'd understand that, and try to help you! She'd be good no matter what if you were frustrated, though.

"You want me to play?" Haruhi asks as she sits on the floor with you, and looks at what you're doing. "I'm so sorry, cookie... I don't really know how to play all that well... Oh, it's blocks? Let me see." After explaining your problem, Haruhi understands. "Ah, I see! You're building the tower too high without a strong base! That's why it won't stay up." She explains. "Here, want to try building it that way to see if it works? I'm here with you..."

If you are a fussy little, you've come to the right place. Haruhi wins out of everyone here for the best to deal with tantrums, fussiness, etc. She'll sit with you and comfort you until you're better. She has lots, and lots of patience, and would never rush your feelings.

Hikaru & Kaoru Hitachiin:

I feel like their reaction to having a little guest would be sweet. They'd see it as an opportunity to make a new friend, and they're a bit childish themselves! I feel like they'd both really enjoy it! I see them as big sibling CGs.

They're the trademark bad influence CGs. They'd help you play [innocent] pranks on the rest of the host club. They'd be laughing about how you made Tamaki sit on a whoopee cushion for weeks. They train you to be their little apprentice in mischief.

They call you lots of gender neutral petnames! "Pumpkin." "Cutie-Pie." "Kiddo." "Snuggle Bug/Bugaboo." "Troublemaker."

They may be full of jokes, but they're serious when it comes to protecting you from what you're afraid of. They don't like for anything to scare their little partner in crime.

A loud burst was suddenly heard across the host club. You whipped your head to see what it was. It was a balloon that they had for The Host Club's party. It had gotten too close to the chandelier, and burst. You started to tear up and cry at the sudden loud noise.

"Oh, little one..." Kaoru says, covering your ears gently and taking you somewhere quiet. "It's okay," he covers your ears just enough so you can still hear the two of them.

"Yeah, bugaboo. There are no balloons in here. We'll make sure one doesn't pop near you again." Hikaru reassured them gently.

They're the best at teaching you about problem solving. They give you accommodations for yourself and solutions you never once thought of. The kind that provokes yourself to take care of yourself in the ways they do.

Takashi Morinozuka

His reaction would be outwardly stoic [as it is to just about everything.] He'd actually be kind of excited at the familiarity of the situation, and hopeful that perhaps Honey can have a playmate.

He's the strict caregiver of the group. He'd make sure you had enough to eat, drink, that you had taken your necessary medicines if you needed any. He'd also keep one eye on you to make sure you weren't doing anything that may potentially hurt you.

He's not good with petnames, they're not his thing. He does always like the ever classic "little one" though.

Mori is a walking first aid kit. If you ever need anything like a bandage for a little booboo, he'd have it. Or perhaps, you have a chronic illness that flares up from time to time. He'd have you rest, but he'd made the recovery process fun.

Mori noticed you looked a little bit... out of it today. It wasn't just this moment he felt like that, it had been all day. "Hey, little one? Are you not feeling well... you don't seem to be acting like yourself?" He nodded at your answer. "I see... Perhaps it's time for some bed rest." He leads you to a private room with a bed, but sneaks you a cookie as a reward for getting some rest. "This stays between us, okay?"

Mori helps you understand how important self care is, and he's happy that he made such a positive impact on your life from hanging out with him a few days a week. It means a lot of him.

[dollesung]

WASTELAND, BABY .ᐟ

PAIRING. sunghoon x fem reader. GENRE. fluff. REQUESTED? yes. WORD COUNT. 2.9k SYNOPSIS. you get cheated on by your piece-of-shit boyfriend and run to your best friend, sunghoon's rescue. after letting him pick up the pieces of your broken heart, the two of you get more than you bargained for. WARNINGS. cheating (by a third party character), use of profanities, brief mentions of sex (no actual nsfw), alcohol.

NOTE. got carried away a lil bit and ended up liking this more than i expected to, im a sucker for domestic shit. hope u like it!

Love was a fucking bitch.

You once thought love was a beautiful thing, all sunshines and rainbows with clear skies and no end in sight. A forever sort of thing, that nothing could take away or destroy for you.

But all good things come to an end.

If you could even call your relationship with your (now ex) boyfriend good, anyway.

But even if it wasn’t perfect, you still mourned the end of it. You’d been together long, almost three years, but what made the entire ordeal much more painful, was that you caught the fucker cheating on you in your very own apartment.

So much for love, right?

And now, here you were, stood in front of your best friend, Sunghoon’s apartment door, with nothing but your phone and wallet in hand.

You knock at the door, trying to contain your emotions as you wait for a response. You stormed out of your apartment so fast, you didn’t even bother to wait and listen to whatever explanation your ex, or the woman in his bed had to offer.

Everything was starting to get overwhelming, thankfully, the door finally swung open, revealing your best friend, clad in his pajamas, hair messy and eyes squinting against the light in the hallway.

“[name]?” He called out. “What are you doing here?”

MORE UNDER THE CUT.

Sunghoon hadn’t even done or said anything else, but it’s like a dam just burst inside you. You felt your emotions explode, and you started sobbing, running into Sunghoon’s arms as the boy confusingly, but without hesitation, took you in his embrace.

“What happened?” He asked, pulling you inside and closing the door, locking it shut.

“It’s Drew,” you muttered between sobs. “He cheated on me!”

Sunghoon frowned, tightening his embrace. “Oh, I’m so sorry, [name].”

“He was fucking another woman in our bed!” You exclaimed, hiding your face into your hands. “What kind of bullshit is that?!”

Sunghoon sighed, but said nothing else, and only led you to the couch. The two of you sat in silence, with nothing but your sobs echoing throughout the room.

Sunghoon had leant against the arm of the couch, allowing you to lay against his chest, still crying your eyes out as your best friend rubbed your arm in comfort.

Minutes pass, and your cries begin to die down. You still felt miserable, but the exhaustion was taking a toll on you. Sunghoon must’ve noticed.

“You need anything?” Sunghoon asked as you sat up to catch your breath. “Water? Food? Need me to come over there and beat the hell out of him?”

You chuckled at his joke, knowing Sunghoon, he could never hurt a fly, even if he tried. “He’ll kill you.”

“Not if I get to him first,” he jokes, and you smile a little.

“Sorry I barged in like this,” you apologized. “Just didn’t know where else to go.”

“Hey,” he called out, and you look at the genuine expression on his face. “You can always barge in here. Especially if something like this happens.”

You sighed. “I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t,” Sunghoon warns. “Don’t say that. You have nothing to feel stupid about. He should be the one feeling stupid.”

“Still, I should’ve known better, y’know? You guys have always told me how bad Drew was. Should’ve listened a long time ago.” You berated yourself.

“Beating yourself up about it won’t help,” Sunghoon says, crossing his arms.

“I know,” you replied. “Don’t know where to go from here.”

“Only way to go is up,” your best friend says.

In the end, you nod. “Can I stay here for a bit? If it’s okay with you?”

Sunghoon offers a reassuring smile. “Stay as long as you like.”

You end up taking Sunghoon on that offer, as you spend a few weeks living under the same roof. You had nowhere else to go, anyway, as you used to live with your ex, and your parents live states away, and you couldn’t move back in since your job required you to live nearby.

Thankfully, Sunghoon was more than happy to keep you around. Of course, you felt guilty about staying and wanted to pay him back in a way, so you ended up taking care of most of the housework.

When you weren’t preoccupied with work or stuck in the office, you busied yourself with chores. You knew Sunghoon was a neat freak, but since the boy worked a 9 to 5 job, you took it upon yourself to ensure that the house was in tip top shape whenever he got home.

You also tackled grocery-shopping, laundry, and even utilized your basic knowledge in plumbing by fixing the leaky pipe in his sink.

But the number one thing you always made sure, was that Sunghoon would never come home to a house with no dinner.

It was a trait you picked up from your mother, where she always made sure food was on the table whenever your father came home from work. You would’ve done this with your ex-boyfriend, too. If only he wasn’t freeloader.

It was already 5 minutes past 6 PM when you finished cooking dinner. The table was already set, and in a few minutes, Sunghoon would arrive. You already memorized his schedule; 5 PM he’d clock out of work, by 5:15, he’d be at the subway, and 45 minutes later, he’ll make it home.

Right on time, you hear the lock by the front door and in comes Sunghoon, carrying his book bag. He immediately notices the scent of dinner wafting through the entire apartment.

“[name], I’m home!” He calls out, shrugging his coat off and leaving his shoes by the door.

“Dinner’s ready!” You announced.

He walks in the dining room, pleased to see you setting tonight’s dinner on the table. “Another delicious meal, I see.”

You beam at the praise, glad that Sunghoon appreciated your efforts. Sunghoon excuses himself to go wash his hands first, and you sit in the chair and wait for him to come back.

The two of you eat dinner in remote silence. Words are shared here and there, but you let Sunghoon enjoy a little peace as you know he’s had a long day. He doesn’t let up on praising your work, however.

“This is delicious,” he says. “Is this beef?”

“Mhm,” you nod, swallowing a mouthful of food. “I swung by the farmer’s market yesterday and got a good price for it. Just thought you’d enjoy a good roast beef.”

“I do,” he hums. Then, he lets out a short chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” You ask.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon shakes his head first. “We just kinda.. sound like a married couple.”

The fork makes a loud clang! as you accidentally drop it against your ceramic plate. You nearly choke on a piece of beef as you try to cough it out. Sunghoon’s statement rendered you a little shocked, but you try to pass it as nothing.

“S-Sorry,” you apologize, composing yourself.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Sunghoon utters. “I made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you defended. “Just.. shocked at what you said.”

Sunghoon clears his throat, and you swear you can make out just the tiniest hint of rosiness in his cheeks. “Well, I didn’t mean it in a negative way.”

“I know, I know,” you say. “It’s fine, just forget about it.”

A little disheartened, Sunghoon drops the subject and returns to his meal. The two of you go back to eating in silence, except this time, there’s a slight tension in the room.

A few minutes pass and you pick up conversation, “By the way, I’m going back to my apartment tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Sunghoon vocalizes. “Why?”

“Just gonna pick up the rest of my stuff,” you inform him.

“Will Drew be there?” He asks, worriedly.

“He might be,” you say. “But I’ll be fine. I won’t stay there long.”

“Maybe I should go with you,” Sunghoon states.

You shake your head. “You’ve got work, I’ll be fine.”

Perturbed by your icy tone, Sunghoon once again drops the subject. He’s worried about your safety, but more importantly, he’s worried about you not coming back, that you might end up with Drew again and leave him here.

Sunghoon finished his food, and prays a silent prayer that that won’t happen.

Sunghoon is in the middle of work when he receives your text.

[name] <3 omw to the apt. might be home late, get urself some dinner and don’t wait up!

If he’s being honest, he’s worried about what will happen when you come home. He overthinks if you might end up getting back together with Drew, which is his current biggest fear, not only because he knows how bad that man is for you, but because…

Well, Sunghoon has liked you for a while now.

Like a long, long while.

A good nine years, maybe? Since the two of you met in high school. But he could never act upon it or confess because he has been, and always was a shy man.

So, he settled for being your best friend, even if he had to watch as countless men continued to treat you wrong, and even if he was always the one wiping your tears at the end of every failed relationship.

It was better than not having you, anyway.

He goes home after his shift, and ends up forgetting about dinner. Before you started staying with him, Sunghoon always ate either cheap convenience store ramen or street food for dinner, as those were the easiest food to come by on his way home.

But ever since you started preparing dinners, he found himself looking forward to going home every night, wondering what food you had prepared.

More importantly, knowing you were home, waiting for him, made his heart so, so happy.

He knew it probably meant nothing to you, but to him, it meant everything. That’s why he had that slip up last night, because he genuinely felt like you two were a married couple.

But then again, good things come to an end, don’t they?

Sunghoon ends up waiting for you. It’s past midnight, he’s sat in his couch watching some late night show he doesn’t care about. He periodically takes a look at his phone to check if you’ve messaged or called. By 1:21 AM, he’s starting to think if you spent the nigh in your apartment. His heart sinks at the thought.

Thankfully, he hears the lock click and the front door swing open. You enter, with a bag on your shoulder and a cardboard box in your hands. Immediately, you spot him by the couch.

“I told you not to wait up,” you scold. “You have work in the morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, which was true. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing you weren’t home. “What happened? Did you talk to Drew?”

“Kind of,” you utter, placing the box on the floor by the couch, while taking off your shoes. You plop next to Sunghoon just as he shuts the TV off. “We fought.”

“About?” Part of him feels guilty that he’s relieved you guys fought and didn’t make up, but he pushes that feeling down.

“‘Bout us,” Sunghoon notices your speech is a little slurred, and there’s a slight stench of alcohol from your breath. “He complained about me leaving, ‘bout how I haven’t been responding to any of his messages.”

“And?” He pries. “What’d you say?”

“Told him to fuck off,” you laughed. “Then I went to a bar and drank my ass off.”

“You should’ve called me,” Sunghoon scolded. “I could’ve picked you up or booked you an uber.”

“It’s fine,” you say, leaning your head on Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna bother you more, anyway.”

“You’re not a bother,” Sunghoon says. “Never.”

Then, filled with alcohol-induced bravery, you look up at Sunghoon and asked him a question. “Why’re you doin’ all this, anyway?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “‘Cause you’re my best friend and you need a place to live?”

“No, no, not that,” it was more than evident that you were drunk now. “I mean, you keeping up with my shit. I always end up pickin’ the wrong guys but you never blamed me! You never leave. Whyyyy?”

Unsure of what to say, Sunghoon gives himself a minute to respond. Then, he shrugs again. “I-I don’t know. I just do.”

You laugh due to drunken stupor, then, the liquid courage urges you to say something you’d have never said to Sunghoon sober:

“You like me, don’t ‘ya?”

Sunghoon freezes, eyes widening at your statement. “What?”

“I knew it!” You exclaim, smiling. “I always knew ‘ya liked me but I didn’t wan’ assume—!”

“[name], you’re drunk—“

You cut him off. “I may be drunk buuut I know what ‘m sayin’!”

Trying to prove a point, you stood up, but the sudden movement caused you to be dizzy, and you nearly fall over, if it weren’t for Sunghoon who caught you.

“Let’s just go to bed and talk tomorrow, hm?” He suggests, and you find yourself agreeing.

He leads you towards his bedroom, where you usually sleep. He tries his best to rid you of your extra layers, leather jacket, accessories, socks.

He’s halfway through sliding off your other sock when you speak up, still in a drunken haze.

“I like ‘ya too, y’know?” You say, and Sunghoon swears his heart just started beating a thousand times per minute.

“You do?” He implores himself to ask.

You nod. “Mhm. I-I never thought you’d like me back, soooo, I dated other guys buuuut they weren’t you.”

Sunghoon flushes at your statement. Perhaps some of what you were saying were true, considering that alcohol always made you honest.

“Let’s talk tomorrow, m’kay?” You nod at Sunghoon, and in a second you were already half asleep. Sunghoon grabs the blanket and tucks you in, leaving the room to crash in the couch.

If you remember any of this in the morning, he’ll worry about it then.

Your head was pounding.

You definitely regretted drinking all those shots at the bar last night, but they seemed like a good idea at the time.

Glancing at your clothes, you were still dressed in what you went out with yesterday. Fortunately you didn’t wake up in some stranger’s apartment, and found yourself in Sunghoon’s be—

Sunghoon.

Memories of last night came back flooding your head, and you cringe at them all. You never meant to interrogate Sunghoon, let alone confess to him, but alcohol came with poor judgement.

After a few minutes of hitting yourself in the head, you managed to get out of bed and into the living room. A quick look at the clock states that it was already 2:41 in the afternoon, and that you should probably make yourself a late lunch.

“You hungry?” The voice makes you jump, and you turn around to see Sunghoon sat on the couch.

“You scared me,” you said. “Don’t you have work?”

“Took a day off,” he informs you. “Needed to make sure you’ll be okay.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you frowned.

“Can we talk? Before you eat?” Sunghoon says, and even though you dreaded it, you nodded anyway.

You sat beside your best friend as you thought of every possible scenario that could play out next. You had half the mind to think if he was gonna kick you out, but you knew Sunghoon was better than that.

Thankfully, he saved you from your own paranoia.

“Do you remember what you said last night?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you responded, looking apologetic. “Look, I’m sor—“

“You’re right,” Sunghoon cut you off before you could finish.

“Huh?” You ask. “About what?”

“About me, liking you,” he responded. “I do, like you, that is.”

“Oh,” you felt a wave of emotions crash over you at once. Relief, joy, contentment, you’re not sure which ones.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asked you this time, and it took you a moment to respond.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I-I mean it. I liked you for a while but I didn’t wanna say anything ‘cause I thought you didn’t like me. But then we started living together and I started to notice things.”

Sunghoon hummed. “Okay.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “‘Okay’?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “What did you want me to say?”

“I dunno,” you admitted. Granted you had no idea what to do next, but this whole thing was just so odd. “What happens next? I mean what are we now? Are we still best friends?”

Sunghoon merely offered a reassuring smile. “[name], you just got out of a relationship, a bad one, yes, but you still need to heal from that. I like you, but I don’t want you to just end up settling with me because I’m all you have.”

“I woul never just “settle”for you,” you replied, feeling a little flustered. “I just feel.. confused, I guess?”

“Yes, I do like you, yes, you’re the one I want to be in a relationship with, and yes— we are still best friends.” Sunghoon reassures.

You smiled, feeling relief take over your entire body. “Good.”

“And when you are ready, I’ll be here, I can wait a bit more,” he states. “As long as you keep making dinner.”

You rolled your eyes, and playfully hit the boy in his chest.

Love might be a fucking bitch at times.

But occasionally, it gets some things right.

NOTE. i like and hate this one at the same time, RAAAAH. i finished this at 5 in the morning and i have a 10 am class later. fuck it, worth it.

© dollesung 2025

[m1guelsgf]

part 2 to jealousy, jealousy????? 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

jealousy, jealousy ii

axel kovacevic x larusso!reader

hey everyone!! sorry its taken me so long to get back on it but i'll be back in full swing again soon. sorry if this is kind of short, i just didn't want to hold onto this for much longer. i'm gonna be starting some personal projects (poetry, short films, videos, ect...) so i wanted to get this out before i am even more distracted. super excited for s6p3 to come out!!! okay thats it, enjoy!!

your heart was thumping against your chest with vigor. you could barely hear the announcer introduce everyone.

there was no place to hide as the arena lights beamed down on you, leaving you visible and vulnerable to the attack of glares being thrown your way. the entire miyagi do team was focused on you, especially sam and your dad. they couldn't believe you would do something like this and their vision was beginning to cloud with betrayal. you understood it and that's what made it harder. you would react the same.

and then they finally looked away from you. it only took you a second to realize their faces had turned towards another traitor. tory was representing cobra kai, standing next to kreese besides your team on the mat. you caught her gaze and you both looked at each other with the same confusion.

"but today is about enjoying our host city and making new friends. or enemies. we have a field trip arranged for our competitors and for our sensei's, a cocktail mixer with some of the world's finest martial arts brands. it's a beautiful day to make a first impression. and i suggest you enjoy it because tomorrow, your lives change forever."

the arena errupted in applause and you were locked in a staring competition with sam again. "come on, let's go change." axel tugged on the sleeve of your gi. you nodded and followed him out of the arena, sam still staring daggers through you.

"now everyone smile and say barcelona. 1, 2, 3..."

the chorus was weak. "barcelona" flash.

"one more"

"barcelona." it was a little stronger this time.

"you two in the back, perfect." the photographer pointed you and axel out when all you were doing was holding hands and smiling. axel wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer when he noticed everyone now paying the two of you attention.

"and one more... i guess not." tory walked away from the group before the photographer could take another shot.

"i'll be back." you spoke to axel, making your way to follow tory through the aquarium.

"y/n!" you heard miguel call after you. he was standing next to sam and once sam laid eyes on you, she turned around and walked in the other direction. you looked at tory's vanishing silhouette and then back and miguel before walking up to him. he didn't even give you a chance to speak. "what the hell are you doing here?"

"sekai tekai? karate world championship? ever heard of it?" you rolled your eyes, annoyed at the accusatory tone he was directing at you.

"you know what i mean." miguel was never good at hiding his frustration. his brow was all furrowed and his eyes weren't the soft puppy dog eyes you were used to. they were hard. of course you and miguel had little spats here and there in the dojo but he had never been genuinely upset with you. "how could you do this to us? to sam? to your dad?"

"miguel, i know you're just trying to have sam's back, but this is none of your business." you snapped and it took miguel by surprise. he had never seen you be this assertive before. you were both seeing new sides to each other's character. "sam's the favorite. everyone knows it, you know it. even anthony knows. they don't care about trophies and championships but i do. this is my one chance. i know you know what that feels like."

miguel nodded, now beginning to understand your point of view. "you should talk to them."

"they're not going to hear me." you gave miguel a half smile. "good luck, miguel. the team and my sister are going to need you." you caught back up with axel, letting him lead you through the aquarium.

you spent the rest of the afternoon with axel, trying to get that nagging voice out of your head that said miguel was right. you needed to talk to your family. you knew the karate drama would come quickly but you didn't want to deal with it just yet. you just wanted to be axel's girlfriend for a few more days.

the first challenges began later that night. in the first match it was miyagi do, cobra kai, furia de pantera, and iron dragons in the first group.

"we should attack miyagi do first. they're gonna protect the egg. it won't be that hard to pick them off one by one." you spoke into your huddled team members. everyone was looking to you and axel. axel was about to agree with you but sensei wolf rose a hand to stop you.

"the point of this challenge isn't to take down the most teams. the point is for my captains to stay untouchable. understood? the rest of you will protect them. stay in this corner. v formation. let them come to you." sensei wolf instructed and you all nodded, following his directions. you could always get behind a defensive strategy

the game began and tory immediately started attacking miyagi do as you had suggested to your own team. the mat was chaos. you and axel watched from behind your line of defenses. "how are you feeling?" axel spoke in a voice just low enough for you to hear.

"i think i'm fine." you spoke in return. "just trying not to think about it too much." your new teammates easily defended you and axel from the opposition. "i kinda like not having to do anything here though."

"it makes us look... cool." he replied and it made you crack a smile at his response. you were finally able to relax a bit. it didn't take that long for sam, robby, and the other teams captain to get taken out of the match by cobra kai. there was only 3 of them while your entire team was still standing. axel looked down at you and you nodded when you met his gaze. the four dragons that had protected you two dropped to a knee at sensei wolf's command and walked off the mat.

tory looked to her teammates. she had never seen you look this intimidating. you and axel were standing there in a junbi stance, not having even broken a sweat yet. two weapons of destruction kept safe for the final attack. she envied you for having axel at your side when she desperately wanted robby at hers. she furrowed her brows and put on her game face, bouncing on her toes as she rose her fists. "ais!" she yelled, trying to shake away her uncertainty and lunging towards you.

you easily dodged her first attack, quickly spinning around for a hook kick that she narrowly managed to dodge. meanwhile, axel had already dropped yoon to the floor and was now facing kwon. it wasn't hard to tell that tory was nervous. her energy was almost as intense as the last time you saw her. she was unable to stop bouncing around so much and she was telegraphing. you faked a punch, which she followed and opened up the opportunity for you to kick her across the face and down to the mat.

beside you, axel had also taken kwon down. "it's good to see you tory." you offered her a hand and she hesitantly took it, letting you help her stand up. "just remember to breathe, okay?" you offered her a smile and it looked like she wanted to say something but kwon and the other cobras dragged her away. you looked at axel and grinned, hugging him and he lifted you off the ground a little before you both left the mat. it felt good to be under your boyfriend's arm after winning a match.

your dad watched with a heavy heart. his little champion was doing it without him and she was succeeding. you didn't need him anymore. he wrapped an arm around sam's shoulders and walked with her out of the arena. daniel needed to make things right but he didn't know how. he didn't know if it was even possible to convince you to come back to miyagi do, considering how well you were competing away from him.

"are you okay dad?" sam asked, looking up at her father with concern.

"yeah, sweetheart. i'll be alright. we'll be alright." daniel spoke, trying to convince himself as well as sam that everything would be alright.

"what the hell are you doing?" sam approached you in the hallway leading to your room.

"getting ready for bed?" you responded in an obvious tone, not wanting to have this conversation right now. she approached you the same as miguel earlier, but you knew she wasn't actually looking to talk like he was. she just wanted to argue and get all her anger out.

"cut the crap." she stepped closer as if she was challenging you. "why would you do this to us? i mean, i get you're mad at me and dad but everyone else? are you really that selfish?" she crossed her arms and shook her head in disapproval. "and did you know that tory was coming? we all saw that little moment you had and if you did-."

you scoffed and cut her off. "do you hear yourself? this is why i didn't tell you i was joining axel's team. you take everything so personally. this was never about you. it's about me. you should know better than anyone that i have worked my entire life at this. this is my only opportunity and you and dad stole it from me. i did what i had to do." you defended yourself.

"so you're not even gonna apologize?" sam narrowed her eyes at you. "you let all of us down, you hurt dad, and you're not gonna apologize? we were counting on you."

you shook your head and a disbelieving smile crossed your face. of course, she would try to guilt you into apologizing. that was her move since childhood. you weren't going to let her use your dad against you. "and tory was counting on all of you. if you came here looking for an apology, then you're looking in the wrong place." you swiped your keycard and entered your room, closing the door and pressing your back against it, sliding down to sit on the floor.

you were finally alone but the noise in your mind was still loud. you began thinking about your father. the man who gave you life and all the skills you are now using in the biggest moment of your life. that same man who tried to take this opportunity from you. the same man that you betrayed. your dad wasn't even angry. you remember his expression as it has been seared into your mind. you couldn't believe that you could be the cause of so much pain and sadness. he's your dad and you turned your back on him. he wasn't his usual self, that always had a comeback. normally he would try to talk his way in but this time, your dad had nothing to say to you and it made your heart ache.

you tried to remember axel, who would be by your side no matter what.

during the next day of challenges, you excelled. not a single point had been landed against you. axel was doing just as great. a true power couple. you could feel sam's judgement from across the room. everytime you caught a glimpse of her,she would narrow her eyes and say something to miguel, or robby, or anyone that was around. it was beginning to annoy you that she insisted on being mad at you. all her focus was directed at you and while she wasn't being beat on the mat, most of her teammates were. you wanted to tell her that being captain also meant that she had to be there to support her teammates and lead them. you didn't though. you said nothing as you watched miyagi do's rank sink lower and lower and the iron dragons stay at the top.

miyagi do managed to stay in the tournament, just barely, so naturally they hit the bars in the beach district with the other teams who avoided elimination.

you arrived at the bar under axels arm once again. the both of you were really liking how close you were able to be now that you were on the same team. axel was loving being able to actually be your boyfriend. it was hard to be apart from you for so long. there was so many moments where he felt he needed your support and you couldn't be there because of the distance but now you were doing this together. you were fighting the same battles and protecting each other. he wasn't too fond of how his teammates and basically every guy looked at you but he understood. you were incredibly beautiful and skilled. he knew his jealousy was a reminder that you were amazing and everyone could see it. that didn't make it any less unbearable when guys glanced in your direction with that certain look in their eyes.

the pit in your stomach had finally managed to subside and you were swirling your drink around in its glass while you listened to your teammates talk. they were nice, less intimidating than when you had first met them. the other dojos at the bar looked at you guys with curiosity and hunger. you were the top dogs. everyone wanted a piece.

and then miyagi do walked in. it was more of a sad stumble into the bar as they all carried a grim air with them. you could understand them beating themselves up for their less than stellar performance, but even hawk wasn't standing as tall as he usually did. miguel was missing from sam's side and sam hadn't even bothered to glare in your direction when your eyes met. something was wrong. "i'll be back." you said to axel and he turned his attention to where yours was.

axel knew how much you cared about your family and friends and what they thought of you. "want me to come with?"

you shook your head. "maybe in a bit." you stood up, kissing axels lips briefly before walking over to the table all the miyagi do's gathered around. "hey..." you spoke with caution. they all stared at you with the same blank expression. "how's it going?" you didn't know what to say but you knew saying nothing was worse.

"how's it going?" sam scoffed and shook her head at you. instead of going off on you like she normally would, sam walked over to the bar and sat next to robby. you were tempted to follow but you knew it would take sam a little longer to have an actual conversation with you as opposed to yelling at you.

"so when were you gonna tell us you're dating ivan drago?" demitri asked, curiously looking behind you to where axel was watching you with intent. you glanced at him over your shoulder and smiled. his expression softened and he waved at you and your friends. they all timidly waved back.

"his name is axel kovacevic and i met him at a tournament about 2 years ago." you explained.

"so that's who you're always on the phone with?" devon asked, eyes now gleaming with the hope of an overseas romance of her own.

"yeah." you answered, blush creeping up your face. "i wanna say that i'm sorry guys. i wasn't trying to lie to you."

"were you always going to switch sides?" eli asked and you shook your head.

"no. i really wanted to be your guys captain but everything worked out the way it did and then axel offered it to me. i couldn't say no." you pursed your lips together. "you guys know this is my life right? only two of those trophies in the dojo belong to my dad. the rest are mine. this doesn't matter to them the way it does to me, it was my only option."

"hey, i get it." eli nodded, surprisingly understanding. "i've done what i had to do in the past. it's not easy. we'll try to talk to sam."

"you didn't know about tory though, right? because sam is convinced you did." demitri asked.

"of course not." you shook your head. "i would have told her its a bad move." you looked at tory across the room. "what's with everyone's doom and gloom? i mean i know you guys were kissing the mat all day but what's up? where's miguel?"

eli and demitri looked at each other. "miguel and johnny had to go home. there was a problem... with the baby." devon explained and your eyes widened.

"is his mom okay?" you were fond of miguel and his family. he was like another brother to you and his mom and yaya always treated you like one of their own. they didn't deserve this.

"unclear." demitri answered and you looked at both sam and robby at the bar, deflated versions of themselves. you decided to make your way over, sitting next to sam.

"i'm sorry." you spoke and before she could respond you continued. "miguel and his family are strong. they're gonna get through this. i'm just really sorry they left and the both of you had to stay. i know you two would want to be there to support them." robby glanced over at you and gave you a silent nod while sam let out a shaky breath followed by a sharp inhale. her eyes were glassy as she had been thinking about miguel and the baby all night.

"i can't do this right now." she stood up and walked away from the bar. robby watched her go.

"go ahead robby." you gave him a reassuring nod, letting him know it's okay to follow his best friend. he did just that, leaving you alone at the bar. axel had still been watching you from afar, anxious to be at your side again. before he could approach you, someone else swooped in.

"what are you doing talking to the losers of the day?" kwon jaesung took the seat besides you. you glanced over to where him and tory had been sitting but it was now empty. the cobras had gone.

"old friends." you looked him up and down, sizing him up. you saw how ruthless he was on the mat, no matter who his opponent was. you couldn't help but worry that he would try to use his strength against you.

"really?" he asked, leaning in closer. "from where?"

you took a deep breath, deciding how much you wanted to reveal. "childhood."

"interesting. so why're you not on their team?"

"do you always ask this many questions?" you asked, confused as to how he was approaching you. you couldn't tell if he was trying to be intimidating, flirty, or friendly.

"just trying to get to know the competition."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "hmm... how's tory?"

"you know her too? wow..." kwon smiled amusedly. he was just trying to rile axel up and throw him off his game but now he realized that he had the chance to mess with everyone by toying with you. of course he would take it. "she's not as good as she thinks she is."

"she's been killing it." you responded. besides the point you landed on her yesterday, not one point had been landed against her. tory was at the top of her game, no hesitation whatsoever.

"guess i don't like people who have everything handed to them." kwon answered back. "not even one day in the dojang and she's already captain. pshh... please."

"trust me, tory hasn't had it easy. it might seem like she just showed up and had it handed to her but she earned that captain spot." you were a tory defender through and through. you had even helped your mom find help for tory when the karate drama was at its peak. you knew she wasn't a bad person, just misunderstood.

"right..." kwon clicked his tongue and glanced you up and down subtly. "and what about you?"

"what about me?" you shrugged and watched him sip his drink.

"did you earn your spot?"

the question took you off guard. thankfully, axel had came to your rescue, arm wrapping around your shoulders. "kwon." his voice spoke the name of the competition in front of you. axel narrowed his eyes. kwon was too friendly, too calculating, too smug and too close to you for his liking.

"axel." kwon shot axel a look you couldn't read and began walking away. "nice meeting you, y/n. see you around."

you watched him go and axel took his seat. "what did he say to you?"

"nothing really. he's actually kind of interesting to talk to." you smiled at axel, turning to order the two of you more drinks.

"hmm..." axel trusted you. he knew you weren't the type to lead him on. axel never questioned your feelings for him because he knew it was real. he just didn't trust kwon in the slightest. he didn't like the way kwon looked at you, like you were a plaything for his amusement. kwon was arrogant and entitled and he only hoped he would be around for any attempt at an advance kwon tried on you so that he could put him in his place.

mornings were axel's favorite time of day. it meant that the slate was clean and that everything was ahead of him. his routine was the basis of his entire person. he started the morning with a run to clear away all the fog in his brain, followed it with sensei wolf's intense training regimen and ended it with a shower. he listened to a lot of music but he most often found himself listening to something classical, usually chopin. to be the most center and focused version of himself, he needed to silence any noise in his head and body.

he was just finished with his shower when he walked down to check on you. you told him you wanted to practice your kata before today's challenges. it was a pleasant surprise to hear your laugh as he made his way down the hall. "no, like this." you were instructing someone, probably a friend from home. cute. however, once he stepped inside the small mirrored room, his stomach dropped.

kwon was at your side, eyes raking over your frame in the tight athletic clothes you were sporting. no wonder he wasn't getting the kata forms right. axel cleared his throat, catching the both of your attention. "axel!" your face lit up and you waved at him. "i was just talking about you. you. you should show us your kanku dai kata. even i can't remember all those moves."

axel had been listening to you but was locked in a serious staring match with kwon. "maybe some other time." the noise was starting to come back. an intense, angry static that overlapped with the sounds of people talking and a high pitched ringing. looking into kwon's eyes, axel could see what his intentions were and he hated it. "let's go, y/n."

"okay, i'm almost done here, there's just a few more-"

"now." axel was speaking to you but his focus was still on kwon. you glanced at your boyfriend and then at kwon, offering an apologetic look to kwon as you grabbed your things and followed axel out. kwon was left in that room by himself feeling like he had already won. he got a kata lesson from a pretty girl first thing in the morning and he got into axel's head, on top of all the damage he had been doing to miyagi do. kwon hadn't even broken a sweat yet while all of you were beginning to feel the heat.

meanwhile, you were struggling to keep up with axel as he headed towards the elevators. "axel, your legs are way longer than mine. wait!" you called out after him and he stopped in front of the elevator, pressing the button. when the doors open, he grabbed your hand and almost yanked you inside.

"what were you doing with him?" axel asked when the doors closed, leaving the two of you alone in the elevator.

you pressed the button for your floor. "practicing kata forms? why?" you looked up at axel and he was out of his usual calm element. his hands were clenched at his sides and his jaw was set.

"i don't want you talking to him anymore." axel said firmly.

you were confused. "why's that?" kwon hadn't done anything wrong. he was blunt and cocky for sure, but he was just being friendly with you. he knew you were with axel and he acknowledged your relationship all the time. he even gave you pointers and showed you a few offensive moves.

"i just don't, okay?"

"axel, you need to give me a reason if you're going to tell me not to be friends with someone." you crossed your arms, mood now being dampered after your good morning.

"i don't like him." axel couldn't figure out how to tell you that he just knew what kwon was up to without any real proof. it was all in his eyes. "and i don't want to see you with him again, okay?"

"i don't get it, why don't you like him?" this was the first you were seeing axel's jealous side and it wasn't your favorite. he had nothing to worry about and should have known it. you didn't appreciate feeling like he couldn't trust you around other guys. before axel could answer, the elevator doors open. a little down the hallway, your dad was standing in front of your room. "great." you sighed and stepped out of the elevator, pressing the button to shut the doors before he could say anything else.

"sweetheart." your dad walked towards you, engulfing you in a big hug.

"dad." you whispered into his chest. "are you okay?" you could tell something was wrong.

"no. can we go inside?"

"yeah, yeah." you opened your door quickly and you two stepped into your room. "what's going on?"

"i need you to leave the iron dragons. now." daniel sat at the edge of your bed and let out a sigh. he had just found out that terry silver was behind the iron dragons and he couldn't live with himself if you got hurt because of it. you rolled your eyes.

"that's what's wrong?" you asked. between axel telling you not to be friends with kwon and your dad telling you to leave the team and sam being mad at you, you were threatening to explode.

"yes. you don't understand. there are-"

"no." you stopped him. "you don't understand dad. i have wanted this for my whole life and you were just going to take it from me. you didn't even give tory a chance. you're so concerned with doing things the right way and honoring mr. miyagi but i know mr. miyagi would have wanted me to take this opportunity. he would have wanted me to be here."

"you don't know what you're talking about." with all daniel was learning about mr. miyagi, he didn't even know what his late sensei would think of the situation they were in.

"i'm not leaving the iron dragons. i can't keep waiting around and being passed up for every opportunity when i can go out and take it for myself. i can't keep going in circles dad. i'm never going to grow that way." the silence weighed heavy between the two of you. "i'll see you in the arena dad." you walked over to the door and opened it. your dad left. you shut the door and went into the shower, attempting to wash off the morning you just had.

at the arena, you found yourself alone in a practice room. there, you tried practicing the kanku dai kata that axel had shown you. it was a total of 65 moves and you only ever managed to remember it when he was doing it with you. you got about halfway in before you saw a reflection in the mirror that made you whip around.

"kanku dai?" kwon asked from the doorway.

"yeah." you responded, now rocking awkwardly on your heels. you didn't know how you should act, considering how axel felt.

"sorry if i caused trouble with axel." kwon said from his spot across the room.

you shrugged your shoulders. "jealousy. i get it. i'm not crazy about him training with zara all the time."

"ah yes, the queen of karate." kwon recognized the name. "surprised she hasn't tried to take axel from you."

"what do you mean?" you asked, grabbing your water bottle and straightening your gi out.

"she has a reputation." kwon said and noticed your expression falter. "i'm sure it's not like that though. axel would be stupid to let a girl like you go."

you smiled a little at the compliment and took a sip of your water. "are you serious?" sam's voice came from the doorway, next to kwon. she was walking with robby and miguel towards the locker rooms. you just couldn't catch a break.

"sam." you could only watch them go. "i should get going too. i'll see you out there."

"see you." kwon bid you goodbye, smirking to himself as he leaned against the wall. the fun was just beginning.

[therantfairysblog]

Kaburamaru's diary

Today, i feel like this is the day I'm afraid are coming. I couldn't speak nor doing anything about it. Shinazugawa took me after the battles, but he went back to sleep not long after, i feel so lost. Then one of the kakushi took me, putting me in this small box. If you are still here, you will never put me in this , you know, it's small, I'm not comfortable. But i couldn't do anything, i didn't want to leave too.

It's unusual, i shouldn't be bothered about it, about my next place because naturally i should go back to my own kind, to the forest. Perhaps i would find a partner too. But i feel so attached to you, and your place.

"hey Kaburamaru kun, I'm Nako, I'm sorry the box is small isn't it? It's just temporary, Shinazugawa sama surely will give you more comfortable place later, alright"

I looked at her, she's grieving too, i guess she lose her beloved too. The evils was defeated, but friend, we lose so many thing. I'm aware she was putting a black kimono, people said it was for funeral, i didn't know much about human tradition, but i guess so. People always crying in those.

"let me take you there, Kaburamaru kun, you must be grieving too" Nako chan was so kind, smiling in between her tears. So different, unlike those people we met in the cage.

....

I know this road, you always humming yourself when we walk through this road, looking at the pretty mansion there, you looked so happy, sometime you are blushing. But you never set your foot in that mansion, as if you hesitate.

It's Kanroji's home. Mitsuri chan family home. I think if they had met you, i know they'll absolutely adore you.

"Kaburamaru kun, let's go,"

Mitsuri chan parents was so beautiful, although they were grieving, mitsuri chan looked a lot like her father. They were kind too.

"Nice to meet you Kaburamaru kun, thank you for helping my daughter with your owner until the end" her mother was caressing me, i was so happy.

Apparently they were kind enough to bring you in. When Nako and them bring me to your place, you were there sleeping peacefully, in white with a lot of flowers, i never see you sleeping this deep, often you suddenly wake up from a nightmare.

Beside you, Mitsuri chan, beautifully sleeping in white too with a lot of flowers. It's like a wedding? You two matching each other. But aren't wedding supposed to be happy? Everyone was crying here.

They allowed me to crawling around you for a bit, you are so cold. An icy cold. It was so unusual. I'm not used to it. The chanting from priest around me, the scent of agarwood incense, the crying...

Obanai chan, we'll truly be separated forever this time isn't t it?

Next time, i wish we could met again.

And then the next time we met, i wish nothing but only happiness for you.

I'll never forget your smile gesture, your vulnerability, your manner, your hardwork, your struggle to live until the very end.

Until we met again, good night, my friend.

"Kaburamaru kun, what a gentle being you are"

[moonfromearth]

200 Followers Celebratory CC Free Sim Dump!!

It's honestly so amazing to me that somehow I made it to 200 followers! You're all so sweet and I appreciate everyone that's taken the time to interact with my posts and I promise I have new stuff in the works that'll be released soon 😉

So, I did this poll to see what everyone would want and it was so fun to hear from so many people thank you everyone who voted! Sim dump was the clear winner!!

Anyway, included are eight cc free young adult sims! They all have set skills and careers because I think it's fun but you can do whatever you want with them as long as you don't change skintones (bonus information about each below the cut as a "guide" because I like coming up with their characters)! I also had too much fun picking out likes and dislikes so... There are a lot 😬

P.S. If in the library it shows up as having cc I swear there isn't any I don't know why my game likes to mark it as having cc even when there isn't I'm sorry for any confusion.

Feel free to tag me if you ever use them and I hope you enjoy!! 😁😁

Download Link [Google Drive]

[Sim info below cut!!]

Parker Daley - Friend of the World, Erratic, Creative, Vegetarian - Bubbly and eccentric Parker is the life of any party! A fashion designer who loves anything "stylish" (which is just anything she likes, pretty much). Parker is completely unpredictable which makes her an interesting companion. A city girl all the way.

Lilah Dumas - Computer Whiz, Cheerful, Geek, Lazy Lilah is a very "you only live once" kind of person. She doesn't spend too much time dwelling on just about anything, and will drop whatever doesn't bring her joy in a heartbeat. As such she was determined to make one of her hobbies into a career, and amassed a decent following for herself as a streamer.

Raj Pandey - Fabulously Wealthy, Perfectionist, Mean, Self-Assured Raj grew up always knowing he'd join the family business, and the atmosphere of wealth and status, as well as the most expensive education obtainable, has turned him into a stuck up character. He appreciates a well crafted insult. In fact, he's not averse to the occasional argument debate (as long as he wins). Despite these traits he's managed to get himself adopted into a group of friends who, though often annoy him, have become an important part of his life.

Sonny Oswald - Friend of the Animals, Socially Awkward, Animal Enthusiast, Neat Sonny is a sweetheart and I love him. Awkward and shy, he's more comfortable around farm animals and plants than he is around people. Only is closest friends get to see how kind and fun he can be. One day he'll move out to the countryside and start is own farm, but for now he's working his way through the gardening career (baby steps, right?).

Lucas Esparza - Nerd Brain, Noncommittal, Bookworm, Adventurous Lucas's two goals in life are to gain infinite amounts of knowledge for himself and leave a trail of broken hearts as he travels the world to get said knowledge. That makes it sound like he's a horrible person which is because... Well he is, but who doesn't need a villain in their game? I'm sure he has his good qualities, however, I honestly love him for being the absolute handful he is.

Keira McDaniel - Painter Extraordinaire, Gloomy, Maker, Music Lover A bit of a "tortured artist" character who enjoys spending hours painting/crafting in her studio with music playing constantly, blocking out the rest of the world. Keira is very sensitive, and feels the emotional weight of everything around her very intensely, channeling it into her art.

Joslyn Lancaster - Country Caretaker, Loves the Outdoors, Athletic, Glutton Joslyn is a very meat and potatoes kind of gal. She lives for the simple things in life, working the ranch, riding horses, and a good meal. It's never occurred to her that there might be more to life, and the world, outside of the ranch, because what more could she need?

Gabrielle "Gabby" Moran - Leader of the Pack, Insider, Snob, Cat Lover Gabby is a fine and polished young woman, growing up in a life of luxury, and the champion English rider in town. She's very aware that she is the best at something, and it's boosted her confidence (*cough* ego) to astronomic levels. Quite the gossip, she loves to be out with friends, gossiping about the latest scandal, but when not there she's tending to her horse and preparing for her next competition. Despite the facade of the popular mean girl she puts up, Gabby cares very deeply about horses and her career, and takes it very seriously. She also loves spending time with the barn cats when they're around.

[piratekane]

(rated m for mature)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Blue or green?” she repeats.

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

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

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

“There. Now it’s really a promise.”

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

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

She must have. Ava beamed for hours.

“Blue paint or green paint?” Ava expands.

“For what?”

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

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

“I’m painting my room.”

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

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

“You didn’t.”

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

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

“You can’t remember everything I say.”

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

“I would have remembered this,” she repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forever roommates.

The thought is too overwhelming for her to breathe properly.

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

Beatrice shakes her head. “Ava, no.”

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

“Mint,” she repeats, voice strangled.

Ava beams. “It looks like our toothpaste.”

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

“No,” she insists. “Not that color.”

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

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

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

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

“A little bit of spice.”

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t. Not yet.

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

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

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

“Ava.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was correct. The mint looks horrible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m very disciplined.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ow!”

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

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

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

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

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m-”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Bea.”

“I’ll just-”

“Beatrice.”

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

“Help me up?”

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think I need ice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She crosses it as easily as she exhales.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beatrice frowns. “Administering first aid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s Drago.”

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

Ava shrugs. “He’s just fucking cool.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bea, if you don’t want to-”

“I do.”

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

Ava shakes her head. “I’m serious.”

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

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

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

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

“My parents…”

“I hate them.”

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

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

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

“Lucille sounds like a loser.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ava scoffs lightly. “Blue eyes.”

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

“It meant something to you,” Ava guesses.

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

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

“No one calls you that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did they say?” Ava asks gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“You are not a problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I hear you,” Bea says faintly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bea nods slowly.

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

“A newborn foal,” Bea says lightly.

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

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

“You’re very dramatic.”

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

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

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

Ava nods without being seen. “Anything.”

“I never really felt like that.”

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

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

Ava smiles gently. “But you got there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I tell you another secret?”

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

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

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

“Just once?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Speak for yourself.”

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

“What was her name?” she asks quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bea looks surprised. “Yes. Exactly that.”

“I’m familiar with the feeling.”

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

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

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

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

“She made you happy, though.”

“I thought I made her happy as well.”

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

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

“When did she kiss you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The best things are worth waiting for.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You loved her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bea,” Ava says quietly.

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

“Bea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ava, it’s alright.”

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

“She’s gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She made me… nervous, Ava thinks.

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bea.” Her voice is remarkably steady.

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

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

“Beatrice.”

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

“Ava, I…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Ava whispers.

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

“Is this-?”

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

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

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

“So long,” Ava finishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bea nods, unblinking. “A lot, yes.”

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

“Ava.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because shit, this is holy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then-

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

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

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

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

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

Bea smiles softly. “Hi.”

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

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

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

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

Bea laughs a little. “Okay, Ava.”

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

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

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

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

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

Ava inhales shakily. “Anything else you want.”

“Anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

“You’re painting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bea is a little breathless when she says hi back.

“I thought we weren’t painting.”

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

“If we ever move out.”

Bea smiles. “If we ever move out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d miss finals,” Bea points out.

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

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

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

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

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

“Me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bea inhales sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s not-”

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

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

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

“I think I promised you stir fry.”

Bea opens her mouth to argue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No pants,” Bea says simply.

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

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

Ava frowns. “For what?”

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

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

Bea’s smile widens. “I know.”

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

She can’t wait.

[beargregor]

Chef greg delivery just for you. it's a wonder I hadn't bearified him yet, he's my fave greg too 🔪

gays literally only want one thing (to be chopped up and eaten by a depressed man) and it's fucking disgusting

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.

[clowningcrows]

not sure if i’m projecting or crazy or stupid or just actually incredibly good at characterization but will graham is extremely ethel cain coded 2 me

this man would drunkenly listen to strangers on repeat on his bathroom floor and bawl his eyes out while murmuring along to, “i tried to be good, am i no good? am i no good? am i no good?” while thinking about abigail and alana and beverly and and and….

[feralwritings]

dissonance

part three

words: 4.2k

“I don’t care what he is, Gareth,” She cuts him off, “I’m just trying to get through this tour, okay? Corroded Coffin wasn’t exactly my idea of a good tour mate, but we play the cards we’re dealt, and I’m playing nice, aren’t I?” Gareth looks like he wants to retort, but she quells him with a stare and he raises his hands in surrender, the glowing bud of his cigarette waving through the air as he does. He turns to go back into the hotel, and she hears the sliding doors open, and then close. “He doesn’t hate you. I think you should know that.”

masterpost

taglist: @cam-peggio each notif you get for this fic must be a shock considering they're so spread out but i appreciate ya all the same hon

The arena in Phoenix is cold and empty when she walks into it, meandering towards the stage from the labyrinth of seats before her. When she finally reaches it, she clambers up, leaving her feet to dangle over the edge as she pulls out her phone.

This was the rehearsal space that Corroded Coffin had chosen for her to learn the song and practice it. They had a few options, seeming to narrow down on one. The one that she hoped beyond hope that they don’t choose, but judging by her luck, those lyrics are going to be ripped from her throat either way.

She’s here early, of course, alone in the quiet for a while. It’s almost peaceful, mostly haunting, looking out upon the rows of seats, thinking that she sees a phantom sitting in one before her eyes adjust, and it’s gone. Dealing with paranoia was never her strong suit, and she’s staring up at the nosebleeds, swearing that there’s movement up there when the stage rumbles below her.

She turns, seeing the boys wheeling equipment and instrument cases onto the stage. Eddie’s in the rear, and she smiles stiffly at each one as they pass by, allowing her smile to fall fully when Eddie looks at her.

She stands, quietly watching as they unload their gear, plug various cables into various panels, Joey, Jeff and Eddie tuning their guitars while Gareth adjusts the foot pedal for his kickdrum, giving it a few tests before nodding in satisfaction, drumming out a little fill, general rehearsal stuff.

And she’s there, in her hoodie and sweats, standing awkwardly downstage, waiting for them to tell her to do something, or even speak to her.

Of course, it’s Eddie who finally does, adjusting the height on his mic stand as he looks over at her, “We brought an extra mic, if you need it.”

She pulls out her own from her bag, waving it a little as she connects it to the soundboard, wired as opposed to not, easier to deal with for just a rehearsal.

“So,” she says, approaching Eddie, dragging a stand behind her, setting it a few feet away from him, as she slips her mic into the clip, “What song did you choose?”

There’s only a couple songs that feature another vocalist, and among those, none feature a female vocalist, so she can’t really think where she might fit into all this, if she can at all. The label said this might not work, it could end up being a one-off, something that she never has to do again.

“People love nostalgia, so we’re choosing one from our earlier years,” He says, bending to dig some lyric sheets out of his guitar case, handing them to her.

She reads the name at the top of the page, and her blood runs a bit cold.

It’s the song. The song that propelled them to stardom, the song that got them signed to a bigger label, the song that broke containment out of their sub-genre and reached the world at large, the song that sat at 86 on the Billboard Hot 100 for a month straight.

“You’re kidding,” She whispers, running the tips of her fingers over the printed ink, “You want me to sing this? With you?”

Eddie tilts his head at her, his brow furrowing, “Yeah, we haven’t performed it in a few years, thought it was time to bring it back around.”

She stares at him. She loves this song. Always has - even after everything went down, this was the song that she couldn’t quite manage to delete entirely from her library, simply removing it from her most frequent playlists, but it would sit there, like an old tome collecting dust. 

One of the reasons that the song broke containment was because of its rawness and vulnerability. The lyrics themselves, though steeped in excessive metaphor, paint a picture of devastating heartbreak. A heartbreak, though asked by every news outlet and interviewer and magazine and just about anyone could get a second with him, Eddie has never discussed. The fact that it's shrouded in mystery makes it all the more popular, superfans scrubbing through Eddie’s past, trying to figure out who it’s about. It starts off slow, building through the first chorus and into the second verse, and by the bridge it’s a cacophony of sound, overlapping bits of Eddie’s voice singing different parts, until they come into one succinct harmony during the final chorus. They haven’t made a song like it since. 

“Alright,” she exhales, “Where do you want me to come in?” 

“Was thinking near the second chorus, leading into the bridge. I could sing the harmony, you can sing the melody.”

Which, again, is a strange choice. Her voice, louder, higher than his will be what people mostly hear, and she doesn’t know if the return of this song, the song with her in it, is what people would even want. 

Eddie’s watching her, seeming to know that she’s mulling it over in her head. He takes a cautious step forward, and she snaps out of it, looking up into his face. 

“Listen,” he says, all tall, voice low, only meant for her, “We don’t have to like each other. Hell, we don’t even have to get along like best friends, but you and I both know this tour is going to suck ass if we’re always at each other's throats.”

She sighs, biting down on her cheek, “Yeah. Let's just…try and behave ourselves, I guess.” 

He nods, pulling his guitar from the case and slinging it across his shoulder. 

“Alright,” Eddie says, plucking out a little tune on the strings before approaching his microphone, “First verse.” 

***

She’s standing in the wings, tired from her own set but shaky about her part in this one. She can hear Eddie in her in-ears, can feel rather than hear the music, and as the lyrics inch closer and closer to her starting point, her heart rate jumps in her chest. 

Rehearsal had gone well enough, they’d decided that she would start singing when she was off the stage, and then walk on stage still singing. It’s a little Disney Channel, sure, but it didn’t really make sense for her to be on stage the whole time, awkwardly hovering by Jeff, waiting until it was time for her to sing. 

When the song had started, she could hear the cheers of the crowd, so loud that they had picked up on Eddie’s mic. He hadn’t really introduced it, just started playing the first few chords, recognizable enough that the crowd’s confused whispers had turned into a roar of excitement.

The second verse was finishing up now, the pre chorus ringing in her ears, Eddie’s raspy voice sending pins and needles down the length of her spine. He was a beautiful singer, there was no two ways about it, and try as she might to find more and more things wrong with him, with his music, with the band, with everything that had anything to do with him, she was coming up short, more and more. 

“Okay,” She hears one of the sound guy’s voices in her ear, Pete, maybe.

”Three.”

She takes a deep breath in.

”Two.”

She raises the microphone to her mouth.

”One.”

She starts to sing.

Her voice comes out stronger than she would’ve expected, higher, louder than Eddie’s like she knew it would be. Their harmony twists around each other, like both strands of a double helix around a DNA ladder, and judging by the way Eddie’s voice skips, he jerks his head to look at her, eyes wide, he’s just as surprised as she is. It didn’t sound like this in rehearsal, because they hadn’t been working together as they are now, off in their own worlds, in their own parts of the song, despite the fact that originally, the bridge was meant to be a cohesive piece.

It’s that way now, and as she walks out on stage, flashing a shy smile in greeting, Eddie holds out an arm in introduction, one hand off the neck of his guitar for a few seconds before it flies back, picking up the chords.

It goes well, considering.

For about thirty seconds.

When her in-ear cuts out, and she can only hear Eddie again, she figures that her mic is still on, and so she figures that she should keep singing, as the bridge is almost over. A quick glance at Eddie tells her that this is not the case, and she raises a finger to her mic in question, and he shakes his head, and then nods for her to come share his.

Which is quite literally the last thing she wants to do. She could just as well share Joey or Jeff’s mic, but they’re not even singing back up right now, and as the few seconds pass before she makes a decision, she can feel a lull in the crowd, and can hear, above all else, Stacy’s voice in her head, telling her to ride their coattails. 

She jogs up to Eddie’s side, having kept her distance from him this whole time. He moves to the right to accommodate her as she stands on tiptoe to reach his microphone, as it’s set just above her head.

She can hear herself again in Eddie’s mic, and she can feel Eddie himself pressed into her side, the neck of his guitar crossed in front of her like the blade of a sword, his elbow brushing against her as he changes chords.

The last few lines of the bridge approach, and her eyes slip to meet his. She can feel his breath on her face, they’re that close, and when the lights strobe around them, she can see the expression on his face in snapshots, apathy, then interest, then a softness that shows in his eyes, the way they half close when he looks down at her mouth, the way that the only thing separating their faces is the microphone between them. 

It’s over half a second later, Eddie’s turning back towards the crowd to sing the final notes of the song, and she slinks off stage in a way that she hopes isn’t obvious. Her job is done, she sang the fucking song, she can leave. 

She’s walking so fast back to Daisy Chain’s greenroom that she missteps and rolls her ankle in her shoe and falls against the wall, panting. 

The searing pain in her ankle is accompanied by a pounding in her chest, so loud that she can hear it in her ears. She sinks to the ground, putting her head between her knees, breathing deeply. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s there, breathing in, out, in, out. It could’ve been minutes or an hour, but sometime later she feels a hand on her shoulder, and jolts, head snapping up. 

It’s Steve. Thick eyebrows drawn together in concern, a small frown on his lips. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, pressing the back of his fingers to her cheek as if to check her temperature. 

“Yeah,” she chokes out, and he helps her stand. She puts a little weight on her ankle and it pounds, but not enough for her to not be able to limp back to the bus and ice it, “Just - got a bit -“

“Overwhelmed?” Steve offers, hand on her hip to steady her as she tries walking a few steps, “You seem to be like that a lot, lately. Is there something going on?”

She considers, for half a second, telling him. Telling him that her career, her livelihood and her passion hangs in the balance if she doesn’t play nice with Corroded Coffin, and with Eddie. That if she isn’t a good girl, that if she doesn’t stay on the marionette strings UDR has her on, she’ll lose the one thing she’s actually accomplished in her life. 

She also considers telling him that playing nice with Eddie is not as hard as she thought it would be, and that she wishes it was harder, so she’d have a reason, a tangible, solid reason to still hate him.

She shakes her head, though, gulping all of this back, “I think it’s just the adrenaline. That crowd was really loud.”

Steve nods, but she can tell that he doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. Despite his reputation for being a bit of a himbo, she’s come to find that he is actually quite perceptive. When she sees him, that is. She can count on one hand the number of times they’ve hung out on this tour, despite being almost a month into it.

He helps her back to the buses outside, and on the journey they talk a little. About the tour, about his music, about a little bit of everything and nothing at all. He’s on in less than 20 minutes, but he makes sure that she gets in okay before speeding away, into the waiting crowd of managers and crew, who all roll their eyes at him, in a fond sort of way.

She sheds what she can of her clothes, grabs a can of soda from the fridge and collapses onto her bed, resting the can between the wall of her bunk and her ankle. She stares up at the ceiling, and right before sleep takes over, she sees that flash of Eddie’s eyes again.

***

Her disappearing act doesn’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s salty about it during load out, tossing cables into his case in a pissy little way, so much so that she clamps her headphones over her head and ignores him for the rest of the day.

The girls had been concerned, telling her that they’d searched all through the venue for her before finally returning to the bus and finding her zonked out in her bunk. She gave a half apology and an even weaker explanation, folding in on herself like she always does.

They drive through the night to get to Santa Fe, having a few days to themselves before the show.

Both bands, and Steve spend this time apart, in their respective buses, and on day two, their hotel rooms. It’s nice to sleep in a full sized bed for once, even if Reader wakes up with Chrissy’s limbs wrapped around her like a koala.

On the third night, the night before the show, cabin fever sets in. It’s late, past 3 am when Reader moves Chrissy’s limbs off of her and pads quietly out of the hotel room and down the hall, tugging a hoodie on as she goes.

She just needs a little air, is all. She walks through the pristine hotel lobby and into the night, which has a chilly bite to it that has her pulling her hoodie closer around herself.

Stucco buildings tower around her. The hotel is situated on a quaint little street, with old fashioned orange street lamps lining the road, bathing everything around her in a warm, amber light that ignites a sad little twinge of nostalgia in her. Home, in Indianapolis, on crisp summer nights, biking home from band practice, throat sore and heart full.

She closes her eyes, the sound of distant traffic playing in her ears. Then, a much closer sound has her eyes flying open.

The click of a lighter sounds somewhere close, and she glances around, feeling an unearned and slightly misplaced terror that Eddie is lurking somewhere in the shadows. Her eyes eventually fall on a much shorter figure, and Gareth steps out of the alley between the hotel and adjacent building, and even from here, she can hear the music that is blaring through his headphones.

He startles when he sees her, eyes growing wide as he comically jumps back. She raises an eyebrow at him and he quickly collects himself, pulling his headphones off to rest around his neck before looking at her again.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, in a would-be casual voice, but there’s a distinct undertone to it that makes her mouth taste a little sour.

“Not really. Chrissy is like a furnace.”

He murmurs something around his cigarette, something that sounds a little bit like lucky but she can’t be too sure.

“What’s her deal, anyway?” He suddenly asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Is she like,” He makes a vague gesture that she has no idea how to interpret, “Single?”

Reader bites back a grin and shakes her head, “Nah, she’s got a guy back home. They’re crazy about each other.”

She can tell he’s trying not to look devastated, and a little pinprick of pity sparks in her chest before she remembers that she doesn’t like him, then it goes from sad to pretty funny.

“What about you? Or Nancy and Robin?”

“Robin and Nance have been together since they were seventeen. Me? None of your business.”

He seems to know that none of your business means that she’s as single as the day is long, and it's his turn to feel pity or vindication, whichever one he wants.

It doesn’t show on his face what he does feel, expression made carefully blank. He takes another drag off his cigarette and turns his gaze towards the street.

“Eddie’s been pretty pissy since Phoenix,” He says, rather suddenly, eyes darting to her before they dart back toward the road.

She was afraid of the conversation veering into this territory, not wanting to think about or talk about Eddie, as much as she could help.

“Boo-hoo,” She deadpans, “Not my problem.”

“He’s not as bad as you think,” Gareth turns towards her now, eyebrows scrunched together in a display of earnestness, “He-”

“I don’t care what he is, Gareth,” She cuts him off, “I’m just trying to get through this tour, okay? Corroded Coffin wasn’t exactly my idea of a good tour mate, but we play the cards we’re dealt, and I’m playing nice, aren’t I?”

Gareth looks like he wants to retort, but she quells him with a stare and he raises his hands in surrender, the glowing bud of his cigarette waving through the air as he does.

He turns to go back into the hotel, and she hears the sliding doors open, and then close.

“He doesn’t hate you. I think you should know that.”

The doors open again, and she’s left standing there, in the chilly night air that just got about ten degrees colder.

***

She’s frenetic tonight, never staying in one place too long. She’s gone up to the barricade more than once, allowing several hands to grasp around her extended arm, while security keeps a tight hold on her legs to keep her from being pulled under.

Song after song, lyric after lyric, Eddie can’t keep his eyes off her from where he stands in the wings, a post that he’s taken up a little too often as of late. He makes excuses here and there, but always finds himself watching some part of their set before he trudges back to their green room to do warm ups.

He watches in almost indecent fascination as she gears up for the bridge of the song they’re playing, filling her lungs with air.

When the bridge comes, she whips her guitar around her body on the strap, so that it’s slung across her back. She seizes the microphone and rips it from the stand, the honeyed tones of her falsetto reverberating across the venue. A slow drum line builds as she sinks to her knees, and the lights go crazy, turning the sweat droplets that cling to her skin into a thousand tiny jewels, sparkling as brightly as the shimmery eyeshadow packed onto her closed eyes. The crowd goes fucking wild as she tilts her head back, hair cascading like the branches of a willow tree down her back. 

Fuck, Eddie thinks, watching her from the side of the stage, watching as her brow furrows, watching as she bangs her head in time with the whine of the electric guitar riff that Chrissy’s shredding out.

She’s back on her feet again, slipping the microphone back into the stand, bringing her guitar back to her front, fingers sliding across the neck as she strums the rhythm section of the final chorus, grinning into the microphone as she sings, hips swaying to and fro, the curve of her ass peeking out from underneath her skirt as she bends at the knees a little. 

She’s so fucking pretty. She is so fucking pretty and Eddie can’t breathe. When the song ends, and she honest to god giggles into the microphone, the noise being amplified and echoed around the venue, and Eddie can’t help but feel like this whole thing has been specifically designed to make his knees weak. 

“Wow!” She exclaims, tossing a couple picks into the crowd, “Thank you so much! That tune is one of my favorites, and on almost every stop on this tour, it's gotten a bigger and bigger response.”

Robin drums out her agreement, and Reader looks over her shoulder with a smile, before turning to the audience again, introducing their next song.

And all Eddie can do is watch. He watches her dance to the beat, smile to herself, watches her fingers fly lovingly across her guitar. She’s a little firecracker when she’s on stage, always in motion, and it’s so electrifying, so fucking endearing that Eddie feels the hair on his arms stand up when her shimmering, graphic liner gaze falls on him for a millisecond. 

She sings about love. She sings about sex, about nostalgia and about the ocean, sings about the minutiae of human experience and heartbreak, each lyric captivating and masterful, tugging at the exact right parts of the brain, evoking what feels like a million different responses in Eddie, from skipped heartbeats to a tightening in his jeans to a hot sting in his eyes, and he can’t quite take it anymore. 

Corroded Coffin is next, he knows that, but he - fuck, he needs a minute. He ducks away from stage right and heads to their green room, pouring out a shot of whiskey and downing it, hands clenched around the edge of the vanity, head bowed towards his chest. 

It’s mystifying that this girl, who’s capable of such vitriol towards him, who avoids him at every turn, who has nothing but contempt for him can reduce him to this with lyrics and vibrato and sweetness reserved for no one else but the crowd in front of her. 

If he has to stand smushed against the barricade, metal digging painfully into his skin as sweaty bodies press into him to catch even a little bit of that sweetness, to catch a stray smile, he’d do it.

Which is so fucking ridiculous that it pisses him off. He’s got people knocking down the door for even a chance to fuck him. He could go out there right now, flash a smile at anyone and would probably end up getting his dick wet for it, a hot mouth against his. 

But he wants her, and it is infuriating, because he knows, he fucking knows that it’s never going to happen. She wouldn’t want him even if he was the last man on planet earth. 

He supposed this is what he deserves for that throwaway comment, and the utter lack of humility to go to her after, through text or DM or pull her aside as she walked into UDR, tell her that he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry and not only that, he’s an idiot, a callous, selfish idiot that had eyes and ears for nothing else but his own band, his own success, so much so that he was willing to step on her neck get ahead. 

If only he had known - fuck. How talented she truly was, would it have made a difference? Even if she sucked, even if her band couldn’t hold a tune it still wouldn’t have mattered, it wouldn’t have made that comment okay, in any way shape or form. 

It’s retroactively humiliating, but he knows, as he glares at himself in the mirror, hating himself, that his humiliation is nothing to what they’d done to Daisy Chain. 

He's so wrapped up in his self-loathing spiral that he doesn’t really register that the music warbling through the walls of the venue has stopped. He only comes back to his senses when the door opens and peels of laughter seep into the room, the clunk of platform shoes proceeding the girls, save for Robin and her keds, all smiling and sweaty.  

Reader’s eyes land on him first, and her smile disappears in an instant. 

Up close, he can see her makeup running a bit, can see the tired sorta droop to her eyes and he can smell her perfume mixing with her sweat, which normally would’ve been kinda gross but in this instance, sends his brain into a tailspin worse than it already had been.

Chrissy speaks first, “I think we have the wrong room.”

They do, as the bands were afforded separate green rooms, the one that Eddie’s standing in presenting a distinct lack of everything the girls own. 

They all file out after Chrissy’s proclamation. All except for Reader. 

She’s staring at Eddie, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Are you…” She hesitates, shifting her weight from foot to foot, “Alright?”

How uncharacteristic. Up until now, Eddie was under the impression that she truly didn’t care if he lived or died. So, it’s somewhat shocking that she’s displaying even a shred of concern for him, even if it looks like the words taste sour in her mouth. 

“Yeah,” he manages, straightening up, “Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

She nods curtly, “Good. You’re up, by the way.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the stage. 

And with that, she’s closing the door with a snap, leaving him alone.

[ask-misfits-of-war]

"Sure...likewise...? (is this some kind of trap..?)" "Did.. hold on were you following me through the bushes?—"

"Don't worry about it! Come 'nd sit, we can all chat!"

(Lodi is fascinated with this new stranger, Damascus has mixed feelings.)

[starryluminary]

Honestly I want to know your opinion on Nemma. Because honestly I don’t like the ship either and want to see if someone agrees with me.

Oh my god hiiii nerd-chocolate!! I will GLADLY detail why I don’t like nemma. Buckle up cause I’m not exactly normal about this subject

I will preface this by saying I understand why it’s Noah and Emma. I get why if Noah had to have a girlfriend it would be someone who would match his intellect and someone he could hold a competent conversation with. Logically, on paper, I understand. It’s not so much the concept of Noah and Emma dating that I dislike, it’s the execution. The development of the relationship was a train wreck. HERES WHY!!!

From the very beginning Nemma showed problems. The Noah that couldn’t play a game of dodgeball for $100,000 and was so standoffish he could only make a good friend in Owen is now suddenly falling in love at first sight with a girl that did a front flip and I’m just supposed to accept it at face value??

You could argue that it’s been three years and a person could change in three years. I’d like to argue back: this is a cartoon. If the development happened offscreen, it didn’t happen. Noah had a drastic change in personality out of nowhere because they give us no reason to believe otherwise. This is just the beginning. It’s all downhill from here, honey.

This is very much subjective and a personal thing but do you know how irritating his face is.

It makes me ill. Who is this.

Back on track, Noah is out of character the rest of his time competing (not that he was perfectly in character to begin with.) Both the way he treats Owen and how he acts regarding Emma is not believable to me. He’s tragically mean to Owen almost the entire time and he’s insufferably… inconsistent? When it comes to Emma? Like they didn’t exactly have pinned down how he should act when he’s in love so it changes with every episode.

[I did a bit of research regarding the more important Nemma episodes and their writers, but couldn’t draw any good conclusions from it. I did find out Laurie Elliot wrote both Slap Slap Revolution from World Tour (notorious for the most significant Noco moments of the season) and New Beijinging (where Nemma is at its worst in my opinion.) This isn’t all that relevant but it IS fucking hilarious. The writer responsible for “Cody’s got a tiny sausage!” being made to (co) write a Nemma episode and subsequently butchering it is reeeeeally funny to me.]

On the topic of New Beijinging. I cannot watch this episode uninterrupted and it’s because of Nemma. I despise it. It’s not that I don’t believe Noah would act like a bumbling fool in love… in concept. In CONCEPT, I can buy the failed one liners and the speaking your thoughts out loud and the acting out to try and impress her. In practice it’s so painful to watch. The Noah that said he’s incapable of being embarrassed in his WT biography is now spitting hot food in his love interests face and physically recoiling every time he tries to talk to her. I can’t express through text the pain and anguish it causes me.

This is ALSO after giving her a suave one liner in the previous episode. How does he go from cool and collected to cringing at her I- AAAGGHHHH.

They don’t suddenly get better when the feelings are mutual, either. They just become insufferable together and it’s tragic. This is specifically about Māori or Less and Got Venom? (though admittedly I haven’t gotten that far in my rewatch and don’t remember Got Venom? too vividly. I do know they’re annoying in it even to Owen and Kitty so.) They just become so infatuated with each other they forget the rest of the world exists and while I enjoy the CONCEPT……… it just manages to drag down both characters. At least they treat Emma with a little more respect and have her snap out of the haze to play the damn game but THEY END UP KNOCKING OUT NOAH INSTEAD. Pain agony suffering and woe. Noah going catatonic and leaving Owen to struggle is the worst it gets but he still never truly focuses on the game and even hopes to get kicked off. He won’t even play for Owen.

Do I even have to mention Owen. My poor guy Owen. Owen suffers an unnecessary amount for Nemmas development. It hurts my heart even thinking about it but I’ll list off examples. Ways Owen has suffered for the sake of the relationship include:

Being made to carry dead weight (Noah) on more than one occasion.

Being used as a flotation device, offered by Noah to Emma, after being frozen solid.

Being forced to wait for the sister team, making his team go from first place to seventh.

Being victim to Noah’s snark and insults, which he does to either impress Emma or to reprimand Owen because of something Emma related.

LOSING THE RACE CAUSE NOAH COULD ONLY FIND THE ENERGY TO MOVE WHEN HE WAS OFFERED A KISS FROM EMMA.

(Side note: have I ever mentioned that RR Noah is my enemy? I feel like I don’t mention it enough)

To wrap this up, I do genuinely believe Nemma could have been great. I don’t hate Nemma cause I thought Noah was gay, or I’m a Noco shipper, or any other superficial reason. I hate it cause it’s a terribly written relationship that had to completely destroy my favorite character of the series to try and make it work. It’s a damn shame, really. I wish I could look past how different Noah is and how badly he treats Owen and how sickly annoying he and Emma can be and just, at the very least, tolerate Nemma. But I can’t, and I never will.

[tetzoro]

hiya sweet friendz and happy timezones !!! (ㅅ´ ˘ `) i’m feeling so much better than i have all weekend and i’m so very thankful :’) but now i’m preparing to fight off the sunday scaries with silliness !! i hope everyone has had a restful & relaxing weekend !! mwah mwah 🤍

[seregios-seer]

Monster Review: Kecha Wacha

This guy is one of my first memories with Monster Hunter, and by god is that gonna skew my results! I always found Kecha Wacha to be a lively, exciting animal, and it really makes low rank in 4u stand out. This is a monster that really feels like a common animal, like something that a regular person would just see in the distance. Plus the first cutscene makes him look so goofy, and it still doesn’t feel less threatening for it, which is kinda impressive tbh.

4U (IG): So Kecha has a really unique movement system, especially in netted areas. This makes him a really different kind of fight from most others up to this point, and that definitely adds to the excitement in this fight. Maneuvering around some swiping attacks while Kecha’s swinging can sometimes be a bit of a challenge due to how fast they are, but overall don’t pose much threat if you’re cautious about them. The flips from hanging can really pack a punch, and I think it adds a good deal of character to this monster, makes him feel kinda all over the place. As one of the few water element monsters in the game, Kecha Wacha can also lob blight-inducing mucus globs from his snoot. It’s definitely an interesting attack, but honestly not the biggest deal because at long distance you have so much space to dodge and in melee you can’t really even be hit. The last big thing about Kecha (until we starting talking enrage) is his swooping attacks, which pose the most danger when you’ve retreated to use an item or when you’re right up next to him. The hit boxes on these always feel a bit bigger than they should be, but more often than not were still easy to dodge (I have some really nice kills from swatting Kechas out of the air during this). There’s also however a pretty big difference between regular and enraged Kecha. Seeing the ears fold over his face and form a mask was pretty damn cool the first time I saw it, and the increased aggression really sold the “rage” part of enraged. The circle slamming and quick, repeated forward swipes made it feel like a wild animal lashing out more than any other fight in this game really does. Unlike the hanging twist attack Kecha uses while climbing, the repeated turn and slam attack is however really easy to work around, and usually becomes a free attack opportunity more than anything.

GU (Various): This fight’s very similar to the original 4U fight, but being high rank exclusive was honestly kinda shocking, although not under appreciated. The big difference here is how this fight works with hunter arts, and I must say that movement-based arts provide a huge bonus and almost trivialize this fight sometimes, but slower, heavy-damage ones get pretty hard countered by the spastic movement patterns Kecha throws out constantly. Styles like Striker and Aerial usually fare pretty well, where Alchemy sometimes has issues trying to use the barrel without extreme retreats, and until you really practice the fight, Adept and Valor can be shockingly difficult.

Rating: 9.7/10

This monkey fight like a sugar-hopped 8 year old and can hit like a gorilla.

Ash Kecha Wacha:

This is what I’m talking about! Now in large part Ash is just a reskinned element-swap but it still hits so different for me. The extra flips it brings to the fight and the generally more threatening colors also make this such a strangely good subspecies. Plus farming the 10 star quest is a good way to farm frenzy crystals, so there’s that too.

4U (IG): So aside from the obvious speed, health, and damage increase, this Kecha also spends a lot more time in the air, which isn’t much an issue for me since I use THE aerial weapon. Hovering the air for close range fire blasts and flipping into and tumbling out of dives faster than ever before, Ashbos very good a mobility, and generally feels more controlled than the base species. There’s not much more to say about the enraged form that hasn’t been said already but really? Bouncing on purple sharpness? Are his ears really that strong? Ash is overall a much more challenging and rewarding fight than the regular species, and specializing into aerial combat was a neat choice!

Rating: 10/10

4th gen subspecies stay winning!