#The only way she’d ever been SHOWN. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harstyle · 4 months

Text

pretty

Summary: Your good friend Harry Styles might just be the hottest, most gentleman-liest guy you‘ve ever laid eyes on, so it really is a shame that you‘re not his type. featuring lotsss of pining, insecurities on both sides and a hefty crying sesh (it‘s all a bit pathetic and cheesy really😭)

Pairing: uni-student!y/n + uni-student!harry

Word Count: 6.2k

—

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?”

He was impossibly close, nose mere inches away from hers, and held this expression that could easily make her cry if only she looked at it long enough. Y/N couldn’t handle the pressure of the moment, his intense eyes on hers. It was something out of a romance movie.

And she was left so speechless that all she could say to him was: “uh, t-thanks. Thanks. You too.” It wasn‘t like she disagreed with him, but the sheer intensity, the closeness with which he delivered his compliment made her weak at the knees.

He smiled at her like he’d known she would cower away and brushed some stray hairs away from her eyes. “James doesn’t deserve you. You know that, right?”

In full transparency, Y/N had forgotten all about James. She’d forgotten the reason for her tears the moment Harry had shown up at her flat to give her that long hug she’d been needing.

The only reason James had stumbled into her life at all was Harry anyway. Call it a distraction, a means to numb the jealousy she felt whenever she saw Harry out with another girl.

“I get it, though. I should’ve known he’d be that way, people warned me before going out with him. That he only takes out cheerleaders. Should’ve known he did it for a laugh.”

Harry was similar to James in that regard— he had a type and everyone knew it. Y/N didn’t fall under his category of ‘girls to date’. She often wondered why she always went for guys who would never even look in her direction— a bit of self hatred, maybe. A will to punish herself.

“Hey, stop that. You’re beautiful. Don’t find excuses for his behavior.”

“I’m not, I just… I should’ve seen it coming, is all.”

“No, what we’re not going to do is blame ourselves for other people’s mistakes. James fucked up. He did. And that’s it. You move on, you come back stronger and show him he didn’t leave even a tiny scratch.”

“You’re right. Of course.”

He smiled, “do you feel better?”

“A bit,” Y/N nodded with a sturdy exhale, “thanks for being there for me always. I really appreciate it.”

“What are best friend for, ey?”

It never felt less unnerving to hear those words coming out of his mouth. And really, she knew that realistically they were nothing more, but sometimes, especially late at night when no one was around and all of her uni stress had been shoved into a closet for the day, Y/N let herself believe it was real. That he liked her back. She needed to get a grip and open her eyes to the cold harsh truth; that a friend was all she would ever be in his eyes.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and averted her eyes towards her interlinked fingers. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

Y/N had long mastered the art of feigning a smile, so it came easily for her to flash her teeth at Harry in this moment.

“Course. Let’s make some dinner, I’m hungry.”

—

“Hey, it’s Y/N right?”

Y/N had seen this girl around before. She remembered because every time she would pass by on campus, Y/N had to admire her beauty; how her makeup always seemed effortless and her clothes complimented her perfect figure in just the right way, how her hair was always in a wave that Y/N could never perfectly recreate and her walk never droopy or tired, perfected by an angelic touch.

Y/N didn’t know this girl, but she’d always wanted to be like her.

“Yeah, hi.” Despite the inherent intimidation, Y/N smiled at her, “can I help you?”

Y/N felt ugly standing in front of her. She’d had to rush out of bed this morning for her analysis class, forgotten mascara and her staple lip balm. She looked monstrously unwell.

“My name’s Iris, I was wondering… god, this is a bit embarrassing, but you’re good friends with Harry, right?”

Y/N saw where this was going off of the jump. It happened way too often for her not to.

And her heart broke just a little more then, because so far, it’d been random girls she knew stood no chance with Harry. But Iris was just perfectly crafted for him, cookie cutter pretty and impressively confident. She had everything Y/N was still hastily working on.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I was wondering if you could give him my number? I saw him at the party last night and we chatted for a bit, but I forgot to write it down for him.”

Y/N had been at that party too, she just didn’t see that. Harry had barely even left her side. Must’ve been when she‘d gone to the bathroom.

“Oh, sure.”

“Great! Thank you so much.”

Iris handed her a little post it with her digits written along with a lovely note about having had a fun time.

Y/N walked to her 8am analysis class with a crucial feeling of hatred for the world and everything in it bubbling in her chest.

—

“Hi, babe.” Harry pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek like it was normal before finding his reserved seat next to her, surprising both her and their friends. If Kacy was all too shocked, though, she didn‘t show it, simply widening her grin in response to Harry‘s presence. “Hi, guys.”

“You finally showed up!” Kacy exclaimed, drawing the attention on him with her loud voice. Harry was so busy that he could be hard to track down, which made him an easy target for the occasional jab. In all fairness, he’d seen Y/N almost every day, just not his other friends— and in full honesty, that was enough for him.

“Yeah, sorry, finals week.”

“Y/N found the time,” Sebastian chimed in, tone laced with a tinge of earnestness, although Y/N and Harry could tell he was only teasing.

Harry retorted fairly quickly, “cause she has no other social life.”

At Harry’s words Y/N turned her head at him, mouth dropping open in genuine offense. She couldn’t do anything other than laugh, but really she should’ve hit him for saying that. “So you’re a whore and a backstabber!”

Harry cackled, that beautiful laugh escaping his mouth and blessing her ears, pulling her into his side and hugging around her frame. “I’m only joking!”

“Whatever. I’m not speaking to you the rest of the night.”

“Sure. You try that and we’ll see how that works out for you, babe.”

Everyone but them saw what their future could look like if they both stopped being stubborn and admitted their feelings for one another. Even sitting here, Kacy could see the way Y/N’s lips molded into a smile at Harry’s touch and the way he beamed whenever she played into his antics. Their bond was effortless in the way many couples wished theirs to be— it looked so easy for them to mesh together. Their friends knew they could be happy together and it frustrated them to see no progress being done.

By the end of the night, Y/N and Harry were blubbering drunk messes leaving the bar together. Y/N had taken it upon herself to call the uber back to his for the night.

“God, that was sooo fun,” Harry slurred out, “shame they’re closing soon.”

“You should come more often, we do this every week!”

Both Y/N and Harry were all smiles, looking at each other with excitement radiating from their bodies. It’d been long since they really let go.

“I’m so happy you’re here with me, you know that?”

Her heart rate plummeted.

Sometimes Harry said things drunk that wouldn’t pass as ‘normal’ when sober. He was close, grinning at her like a puppy in love and spoke with such confidence that Y/N was sure he couldn’t have not meant it.

“I’m happy you’re here, too, H.”

“No, like seriously though. You’re the best person I know.”

Heat rushed to Y/N’s cheeks. He was really testing her waters here.

“Oi, shut it. What do you want from me? Why’re you buttering me up?”

Harry shrugged, “nothin’. You really are. Just accept the compliment.”

“Fine,” Y/N smiled in a bashful manner, “thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Y/N stared at her boots, grinning to herself. Comfortable silence went on for a few short minutes, just the sound of the wind wafting by and quiet, calm breathing. Occasionally a car they looked up to to check it wasn’t their ride.

It was such a nice atmosphere.

Y/N was sure nothing could ruin this night for her. She was so happy, so careless in the way uni had long prohibited her from being. She wanted to exist in her little snug bubble forever, a place to hide from the real world with the person she admired most. She‘d sacrifice anything if she could keep this feeling for a bit longer.

And then, as if god disagreed with Y/N‘s pursuit of happiness, a needle set out to burst her bubble.

That needle was Harry, and outside of the bubble, it was cold.

“Can I kiss you?”

The ground beneath her shattered at his words.

Was he… serious?

Because this was her dream. If he‘d been serious, then her dreams came true in exactly the worst way.

Y/N had wanted a kiss from Harry since they became friends all those years ago, but not like this. Not drunk. Not on some stupid impulse. Not when they would wake up and realize it had been a mistake in a few hours. If she’d been willing to risk their relationship because of one shortlived kiss, she would’ve done it a long time ago.

He couldn’t do this to her! He couldn’t do this because to her, this wasn’t just fun. It wasn’t a cute little memory to look back on. Oh remember when we got drunk and kissed? Wasn’t that so funny? No, to her this was more. It was her whole livelihood, the cruxes which her heart depended on.

So although it hurt more than anything she’d ever had to do, Y/N shook her head. Her head barely moved, like her brain was plotting against it as well as her heart, but it did shake just enough to give him an inkling.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He was quiet for a few seconds (although she could feel his eyes burning a hole into her) before eventually retorting with a weakened, “why not?”.

“You’re drunk.”

“Been wanting to for a long time, Y/N.”

“Harry,” she stressed, voice quivering. Her next words came out in a whisper, “shut up.”

This time, he surrendered.

They waited for their uber in complete silence and when it came for them to sleep, Harry chose to stay on the couch instead of sharing the bed with her. Although Y/N was excruciatingly tired, she couldn’t for the life of her close her eyes.

She’d fucked up so badly.

—

Y/N felt slightly out of place as she slid into Harry’s kitchen in the morning. She looked at him already sat at the breakfast table with an array of pastries waiting for her.

“Hey.”

Harry nodded, “hi, help yourself. Went to the bakery on my run.”

“Thanks,” she murmured quietly, almost to herself. She was too scared to look at him.

“I don’t want it to be awkward between us, so I’ll just cut to the chase: I’m sorry about last night. I know I was drunk and weird and it won’t happen again. You were right.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up just slightly, the sheer surprise evident on her features. He was really bringing it up now!

“… right about…?”

“Bout it not being a good idea. I’ve never… I was really out of it, you know? Wouldn’t have asked you otherwise.”

Wow. Yes, obviously it would’ve been a mistake, Y/N knew that more than anyone. But his apology did more damage than good. It was like a knife was being pushed through her chest, agonizingly slow as to make it more painful. Harry had confirmed exactly how uninterested he was in trying anything more with her and it just about devastated her. And yes, in all fairness, it was unjust because she’d been the one to reject him last night but a tiny sliver of hope that he would reach out his arms and say ‘I still feel the same, I still want to kiss you!’ still possessed her delusional mind all night.

“Oh, that. Yeah.”

Harry tried to catch her eyes, “so are we cool?”

“We’re cool.”

Y/N was barely floating now. She didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to exist.

It hurt too much to exist sometimes.

“Y/N?”

She snapped out of it. “Hm? yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. You just reminded me of this girl I met yesterday, Iris,“ her shaking hand slid into her pocket to find the little note she‘d kept stored and handed it to him without making eye contact. Her body was on fire.

“Oh.”

“She wanted me to give you her number, said something about a party where you lot met.”

Y/N watched as realization dawned on him, probably a fleeting memory of Iris now soberly imprinted on his mind. She could imagine all the ways in which he thought about somebody like Iris, somebody who would be so perfect for him.

“Right. Thank you.”

“No problem. I should probably head out to mine and get a few uni things done before I get too lazy.”

Unprompted, Harry ignored her statement. She had a feeling he didn’t even want to hear her. “I didn’t want to text her. Completely forgot about her, actually.”

Y/N couldn’t find the answer as to why.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I didn’t… I don’t really like her like that.”

“Really? Iris was under the impression that… I mean, maybe she’s mistaken, but she told me about your little hangout sesh and it seemed nice, you know?” Harry’s eyes held something a little different— confusion, curiosity and a bit of sadness. It drove Y/N crazy deciphering him. “And Iris seems exactly like the type of girl you’d like.”

Then his eyebrows drew together, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N shrugged, body sinking and slowly becoming one with the chair, “just… pretty, is all.”

“A lot of girls are pretty, Y/N, doesn’t mean I automatically wanna date them when I talk to them once.”

“Yeah, but… Iris is your kind of pretty. She’s confident and I’m sure she’s funny.”

“My kind of pretty? What are you implying?”

“Nothing! Jesus, Harry, I just think Iris would be a good fit for you. She’s your type, is all.”

Harry scoffed like he took offense to Y/N’s reply, “and I’m sure you know exactly what my type is, huh? Cause I’m so surface level that I’m only into the same girl, yeah? What, blonde and tall?”

“Harry, that’s not—“

“Then what do you mean to say by that?”

“I just—“

“You’re boxing me together with that dickhead James!”

“No, Harry, I’m not— and if you would just listen to me, you’d understand that!” Y/N finally broke, raising her voice by a few notches so Harry would hear her over his loud accusations. “I’m not implying to you, by thinking you might be into her, that you’re surface level. I’m just saying, Iris seems like she would be your type because in the past, you’ve gone for girls like her. That isn’t bad, okay? I’m not criticizing, just pointing out. You’re into pretty girls.”

“Prettiness is subjective, Y/N, and what you’re doing right now is putting me in a box. What does that even mean, pretty girls? Clearly you’re implying I only date girls that are conventionally attractive because that’s my definition of pretty.”

“So what if it is? I didn’t say it’s anything bad,” Y/N leaned back in the chair, volume lowering as if she couldn’t argue with that statement. “Everybody’s allowed a type.”

“It’s just… you’re using the word type in a derogatory way.”

“How the fuck am I using the word type in a derogatory way?”

“Sounds like you’re saying I’m some dickhead who only goes off of looks. Only goes for tall blonde girls cause they’re tall blonde girls and not because they’re nice people.”

“When did I say that?!” Y/N was bewildered by this. She hadn’t meant anything bad by it! “I have a type too, you know that! And that’s okay!”

“Oh yeah fucking tell me about your type, Y/N, go on.”

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is that you were just crying about James only dating cheerleaders a week ago and now you’re here putting the same thing on me!” Y/N breathed out in distress, finding less ways of deescalating the situation. “Be honest, then, what do you really think of me?”

“What are you even… I love you, H, I’m your best friend, I would never dream of insulting you. I was just saying that you seem to have a type, which there is nothing with!”

“So then what does pretty mean?”

“Just… pretty, okay? Don’t read too much into it.”

“No, I want to hear it. Describe pretty to me.” The word pretty had been spoken out so many times in such vain, that its meaning had became trivial at best.

“I don’t know, H, Girls like Jess, Angelina, Diana, Elle… which, if you were to write out their characteristics; they’re all blonde, tall, skinny girls. I’m not saying that you go off of looks, but I do think you have preferences, and that’s fine. That’s healthy, even.”

Then he scoffed again, but significantly quieter this time around. “Right, you brought the fucking receipts to the table, didn’t you? Do you usually think so lowly of me everywhere you go?”

It hurt to have this distance between her and Harry. They’d always gotten along so well before, so why did this have to become what it had? It had all come out of nowhere and Y/N didn’t have the strength or the energy to lose the one thing she constantly depended on to be okay.

“I don’t… Harry, I don’t think lowly of you. I just thought that you might like Iris.”

“I’m sure you did then.”

“Harry,” she sighed, “please, I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“I didn’t, got it perfectly clear. So one question though, am I allowed to like brunettes? Or is that too daring?”

“Harry, stop. Why are you being such a dickhead?”

“I’m being a dickhead?”

“Yes, you are.”

“At least I have history with girls for you to come to that conclusion yourself, right? Maybe when you find the courage to actually talk to a guy I’ll be able to find out what your kind of pretty is.”

And it wasn’t meant to be a jab, surely, at least not a terribly painful one, but it hit Y/N stronger than she would have liked. Who was he, making fun of her dating life? This wasn’t the Harry who reassured her after every pathetic bad date, who convinced her that it would be okay if she didn’t find her man straight away as long as she was happy. She’d loved Harry for a year now and there was something so liberating in exploring unknown territory, in partaking in the so called ‘chase’ (maybe somewhat masochistic, liking the torment of the unknown) but that feeling came to a full stop now that it had become clear that Harry didn’t love her back. Before, it had been speculation— now, it was real. And although she’d expected pain, this was cold blooded torture.

Harry didn’t look regretful, but that was because he had no idea what his words actually meant for her. Sometimes she wondered how the people she loved most could hurt her so much as to kick her down to the floor and repeatedly stomp on her body.

Without a word, Y/N stiffened her shoulders in an attempt to seem stronger and stood up from the table with a low intake of breath.

“Y/N.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” she muttered quietly but defiantly as she slipped on her shoes and opened the door out.

She didn’t have anywhere to go, but she knew anywhere else would suffice better than here.

—

Y/N wasn’t even surprised when she saw Harry and Iris arriving at the party together with the biggest smiles on their faces. Kacy turned to her and widened her eyes, motioning to the couple by the door with a questioning stare. Y/N simply shrugged.

She’d been hurting by herself, cramped away in her flat with a bottle of wine and three boxes of tissues and hoping for a little break when Kacy had asked her out tonight— but here he was, ready to ruin her minute of relief.

“She gave him her number through me last week… guess he finally called her.” Y/N explained, lowering her voice. “We haven’t talked since that morning after the bar.”

Kacy’s eyes widened again, because the last time Y/N had spent so much time away from Harry had been Christmas— and even then, they’d called each other every day.

“Why?”

Y/N simply shook her head, unwilling to elaborate. All Kacy could do was pull her into a tight hug and ask her what she wanted to do next.

“I just…” Y/N’s breaths shook, “I’m so tired, Kace.”

And although Y/N had never brought up the topic of Harry, Kacy knew exactly what she was referring to and her heart broke for her friend.

“Let’s go to one of the bedrooms.”

Y/N gave a stuffy nod and followed as Kacy lead the way upstairs.

Once they’d sat down, Y/N began to open her mouth. Her arms hugged around her own frame and tears were building in her eyes.

“Talk to me, Y/N. What happened?”

“He… I don’t know, Kace, he just got so mad at me. I was giving him Iris’ number and he said that he didn’t like her. I told him he should probably call her because I think she’d be good for him— I think I said ‘she’s your type’ or something like that, which is a normal thing to say! And then he went ballistic on me.” Y/N sniffed her nose, “I was just trying to be nice. He started accusing me of finding him surface level even though I implied no such thing.“

“Oh, honey,” it was through Kacy’s pitiful expression that Y/N noticed the ugly tears cascading down her swollen cheeks. “I don’t wanna make you feel worse, babe, but that doesn’t sound like Harry. Maybe you worded something wrong? Or he just heard you wrong?”

“No, I tried multiple times to clear it up, but he kept the attitude.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, I said that he likes pretty girls and he said what do you mean pretty girls? and so I described what I thought his type was, which is tall blondes, you know? And I even said that having preferences is healthy and that I don’t mind but he thought I was boxing him in. But don’t you agree? Isn’t that his type?” Kacy took too long to answer, making Y/N grow insecure, “Come on, he only dates tall blondes!”

“That’s not even true, Y/N. What about Vanessa?”

She rolled her eyes, “fine, one tall redhead.”

“It’s not that, it’s just… I think he was offended because he thought you were calling him some kind of jerk who only goes off of looks.”

“But he’s… he’s great, Kace, really, and I love him, but he does always date attractive supermodel type girls. I mean, good for him, but you know? And I don’t at all think I’m ugly, I think I’m pretty, but not his kind of pretty.”

“Okay, but… okay, what were you talking about before the whole Iris thing?”

“It’s a long story,” Y/N groaned, head falling into her hands, “when we were drunk he asked me if he could kiss me. I said no.”

“What?! Why would you say no?”

“Because we were drunk! And then the next morning he said I was right, that it would’ve been a mistake and we would’ve regretted it.”

Kacy’s mouth was kind of wide open, “and then you brought up Iris?”

“Yes, because I needed a change of topic.”

“But right after that he said he didn’t like Iris.”

“Yes.”

“And then you accused him of being surface level and he got mad?”

“Kacy, I literally didn’t! I—“ Y/N stopped defending herself because she knew she couldn’t cheat her way out of it. “Yes, maybe, okay? So what?”

“So he totally loves you.”

At that point Y/N started laughing— a genuine laugh made its way out of her mouth and she started shaking her head. Her laugh simmered down to a little chuckle and then she got tears in her eyes again. A rollercoaster of emotions.

“Right, sure. Hope you stretched before you took that reach! He said right before that he’d never have asked if he was sober.”

“He was saving face because you refused to kiss him.”

“Kacy, no,” she sighed, “don’t feed me that bullshit. You’re going to give me hope and I can’t take any more of that, okay?”

“He got mad you think he only likes blondes because he loves you and you don’t even see it,” Kacy elaborated even further, which bothered Y/N on so many levels. She’d told her to stop.

“I can’t, Kace,” Y/N cried, covering her eyes with her palms and letting the tears flow out, “I’m so fucking tired of feeling unwanted and like I’m not enough. Like whatever I do, there’s still some other girl who gets his attention. I can’t go on loving him and being his second girl every day. He goes on bad sex dates and comes home to me, goes to parties where he does body shots off of other girls, and then cuddles me in bed. I just can’t do it. One day he’ll get married and expect me to be his best man and that’s way more than I can take.”

“Look, I understand, but all you need to do is talk to him.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“Isn’t it better to lose him now than to feel like this every day and lose him in a few years when you’ve physically broken yourself down over it? Isn’t it better to know? I know you won’t lose him because I see the way he looks at you and I see how he treats you. And he’d be stupid not to like you back. But if I‘m wrong, wouldn‘t it still be better to know?“

“No. I can do without knowing. If he knows and he doesn’t feel the same it’ll be weird and I can’t lose him. I can’t, Kace, he’s the only thing holding me together. Look at me, I’m such a fucking mess.”

“Y/N, eyes up,” Kacy ordered, taking ahold of Y/N’s forearm and forcing her to look at her, “you’re allowed little moments of weakness. Love does crazy things sometimes. You need to tell him or you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

Y/N’s eyes stung hard.

The door opened in that moment, forcing the sound of the music into the otherwise quiet room with a force. Both girls looked up to find Harry by the door, his eyebrows drew together in concern at the sight of his teary eyed best friend. It didn’t matter what they were going through, their bond was strong enough for him to know something was seriously wrong.

“Are you okay?”

It was then that Kacy took her cue to leave, to Y/N’s dismay, and stood up from the chair to let Harry take her place. She closed the door behind her to give the two of them privacy.

“Y/N, you okay?”

“Yeah,” she tried to smile, though due to the tears it was clear as day that she was perpetually telling him lies whenever he asked her that question. “I’m okay.”

“Hey, come on,” he whispered into the quiet, inching closer to trap her chin between his fingers, “tell me what’s wrong. Did some asshole hurt you?”

“Yeah,” she nodded with a small sniffle. The asshole is you. “I’m just… having boy trouble. It’s okay. You should go back to the party.”

“Fuck the party. Who hurt you? I hope you mean your feelings, not physically…” He’d started raking over her body to check for bruises, a tick in his jaw.

“No! God, no, just my feelings. And I’ll get over it.” I couldn’t ever get over you. “Isn’t Iris waiting for you? I saw you arrive together.”

“Oh,” his features hardened for a split second. Y/N blinked and it was gone. “No, we ran into each other outside and talked for a bit. She asked me out, so… I think I’m going to go.”

It was like he was testing her, staring into her eyes to capture the exact moment she crumbled. But she didn’t. She held her head high and gave a subtle nod. “Sounds good.”

He sighed. It was quiet and could almost be classified as a simple exhale, but she knew it wasn’t.

“So who’s the guy?”

Sometimes he could be so oblivious that Y/N wondered how he’d made it so far in life. Surely he was only playing the part, right?

“Doesn’t matter,” Y/N shrugged. She was starting to cry again. “He’s insignificant.” You could never be insignificant to me.

“Should I talk to him?”

Yeah, that would be good. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just… get over him.”

“Well I don’t like seeing you hurt, baby,” he tilted his head, cupping over her jaw and brushing over her skin delicately. The room was dimly lit to make it all the more romantic, but Y/N couldn’t fully be immersed in it. “No guy is worth your tears. You’re beautiful and brave and so so funny. I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Y/N. You’re the most perfect girl there ever was and if he can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

He couldn’t do this to her. He couldn’t speak of her the way she always wished he would speak of her, but not mean it. It showed her what he was capable of— loving her, paying her attention the right way. She was left shattered.

“See, you say that, but you…” Y/N broke down in tears, “but nobody ever means it.”

He tilted her head up so he could stare deeply into her eyes and utter his next words in full honesty, “I mean it. I promise you, Y/N, I mean what I said with everything I have in my body. I mean it every time I say it when I’m drunk and I mean it when I’m sober. I mean it when you’ve just woken up and I mean it when we’re studying together at night. I mean it and I will always mean it.”

Instead of making her happy, his words made her cry even more.

“Harry,” she cried, bending her neck forward so the top of her head rested on his chin, “it hurts so much.”

“Come on, baby, it’s not worth it.” Then he started kissing the crown of her head, moving down to her temple and rubbing circles into her shoulders. “It’s not worth it.”

But he was worth it. He clouded her vision and made her feel lightheaded. He had the power to make her cry and the power to make her so unbelievably happy that she couldn’t imagine having ever been unhappy. He made her wonder how she could’ve lived such a mediocre, painful life before he entered it— that was the kind of power he possessed.

Y/N didn’t have to think twice about kissing him, she just did. She looked up at Harry and inched closer to rest her lips on his, and it caused emotions in her body she didn’t even know were possible. Harry seemed surprised but he caught on fairly quickly, letting her take the lead in the kiss until it’d been a few seconds and he felt her deepening it.

He pulled away, eyes finally opening.

She was startled. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

He shook his head gently, letting a reassuring smile sit on his lips, “no, but I’m worried about you. I don’t think it’s a good idea to do this when you’re crying over another guy, you know? I don’t want to be your numbing medication.”

“You’re… not,” her eyebrows drew together.

“You didn’t want to kiss me last week. It’s seeming like an ‘I miss another guy so I’ll hook up with you to numb the pain’ situation and I just… I don’t want either of us to regret it.”

He was trying to be nice— and he was, really was, but the sinking feeling in Y/N’s stomach worsened.

“That’s because we were drunk last week.”

“You’re hurting over another person, Y/N.”

“He’s not important, I just want to kiss you. I want to have sex with you. Okay? Because I want to, not because I’m into some other dickhead.”

Harry seemed to have trouble believing her, “I can’t.”

“Okay, whatever. It’s fine.” Y/N stood up from her chair, creating some distance between her and Harry and started walking away from him. He held onto her hand though, preventing her from moving too far.

“Y/N, come on.”

“No, genuinely, I don’t want to coerce you into having sex with me, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She was being honest. She didn’t want Harry to feel like she was using him under false pretenses.

But having him think that was still better than confessing.

“I didn’t think you were coercing me into doing anything, Y/N, I just don’t want you to regret it.”

“Yeah,” tears built in her eyes again and she bit her lip to hold them in, “you’re a really good guy, Harry.”

When he stood up to offer her comfort, she immediately took a step back and held her hand in front of her in an effort to force him away. “Please don’t.”

“Y/N…” He looked pained and thoroughly confused at her cold behavior. Harry knew she tended to close off whenever she felt bad about herself, but that had applied mostly to other people. Harry, on the other hand, had always been successful in finding a way to pull back her in.

“No, I’m embarrassed. Jesus, I’m such a mess! I was talking about this with Kacy, I‘m just… I‘m all over the place.”

“You’re not a mess. You’re hurting, that’s normal.”

“I just asked you to fuck me, that’s… who the fuck does that? Since when am I like this?”

“Since you’ve been hurt,” he countered, “love makes you do weird things. God knows I get a bit crazy too when I’m in love.”

“No you don’t,” she said to him, voice hoarse and uncomfortable, “you’re fucking Mr. Perfect. Everyone loves you and you’re hot and you’ve got the brilliant mind. You can’t do anything wrong.”

“Everyone doesn’t love me,” he replied with a leveled tone, “if everyone loved me, I’d be with the girl of my dreams right now. But I’m not, so… not everyone.”

“Can’t fucking imagine that,” Y/N muttered, wiping under her eyes. “You probably just communicate badly and she doesn’t know you love her.”

“Same with you.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest.

“He’s way out of my league.”

“Who is this guy anyway? You’re gonna hype him up to me and not even let me know who it is?”

“He’s, uh…” Y/N walked further away from him and sat down at the edge of the bed, covering her face with her hands, “he’s from uni. Tall, dark brown hair, green eyes, sometimes glasses. He’s really nice but dates girls who are the complete opposite of me—you know, really model type girls. And I just… whenever I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of just how unattractive I am compared to them— and don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with me but they’re just better. I can’t keep up with it. And god, I feel so pathetic talking about myself like this but he’s just… he‘s so perfect and I love him and I don’t want to lose him. He makes me doubt myself sometimes, you know?“

At the latest he must’ve known now. Y/N could hear his brain professing that information, double and triple checking all possibilities until it dawned on him that she was talking about him.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer. “So he’s… where do you know him from again?”

A short pause before committing to the method, “we met at the fresher’s party three years ago.”

“And you see each other a lot, I assume.”

Y/N was still not looking at him, head buried in her hands.

“We… yeah. We hang out every day. He’s mad at me right now though.”

“So you… you love me.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. She’d given up, left it all to fate; if he would turn her away and never talk to her again or ask to continue being friends. It all became obsolete.

“I’m sorry,” she muffled into the palms of her hands.

“D’you wanna hear about the girl I’m in love with? Have been in love with for a year now?” Y/N wanted to shake her head, but she didn’t, so he continued. “She’s from uni too, spends about three nights a week at my flat even though hers is bigger. She can be really distant, but when she gives you attention it’s like the whole world healed. She’s so sweet and considerate and brings me little gifts sometimes and even though she’s damn near perfect, she gets really insecure about things, especially when it comes to her looks and stupid dicks.” Y/N had started looking up at his words, spotting Harry closer to her but not sharing any of her own emotions. He was taking the piss, wasn‘t he? “Locks herself away in her room until she feels ready to leave the flat. She’s selfless, gives me other girls’ numbers even though she’s in love with me— even makes me go on dates even though I’m sure it hurts her feelings whenever I do.”

“You love me?” she sniffled, “I’m not joking about this.”

“I love you, Y/N. I do. S’why I got so mad last week, wanted you to realize that I’m more than some shallow asshole. Didn’t know you felt the same, though.”

“How could you not? I literally get so weird around you these days.”

“Thought it was just stress or something,” he cupped her cheek, thumbing away some tears, “I’m sorry you cried about me, should’ve just said it like a normal person. Just didn’t want to ruin us.”

“Me neither.”

“I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

This kiss was a thousand times better than the last one. Y/N felt giddy as his lips ghosted over hers, as he pulled her up from her seat and sat back down to have her climb over his lap. She breathed into his mouth, ground against his crotch like she was a horny 16 year old girl being touched for the first time. There was no heavy feeling weighing down on her chest, she could just be free of concerns.

After a few minutes of making out, Y/N laughed. She damn near cackled into his mouth and when he questioned her with a confused stare and a cute laugh of his own, she shook her head.

“Remind me to thank Kacy later.”

—

disclaimer: this is NOT meant to offend anyone based on their looks— it‘s just a depiction of a girl feeling insecure because she thinks the guy she loves doesn’t see her the way she wants him to. The description i used of his ‘type’ and the inevitable perception of what Y/N looks like in this story was completely random and is completely up to you. I hope it doesn’t come across as anything other than that!

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles

1K notes · View notes

flemingsfreckles · 17 days

Text

I Hate You (18+)

Jessie Fleming x USWNT!Reader

Preview: Jessie is pissed off after Canada loses again to the US, she ends up finding stress relief in the opposing teams captain.

Warnings: where do I even start… hate-sex, oral sex (r receiving and giving), strap on sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), tit sucking, marking (hickeys and scratching) face sitting, finger sucking, edging, dirty talk, degradation, spitting, some restraining, minor choking, rough sex, cursing

WC: 4.8k words of horniness

A/N: 🫣 I was having a lot of feelings after the she believes match, don’t mind me

“God you’re so fucking annoying, you lost get over it!” You yelled at Jessie. You both had found yourself in the hallway after the She Believes Cup Final. Well, you had followed her down the hallway, wanting to tease her about your victory. When she saw you following her she had told you off, telling you to leave her be.

You had always disliked each other. You and the Canadian midfielder had always ended up playing for rival teams. She played for Canada, you played for the US, she played for UCLA, you played for UNC, she played for Chelsea, you played for Arsenal. The dislike of each other had turned into hatred as you both were named to be new captains of your National teams within days of each other.

You had the same attitude during and after the Gold Cup Semifinal, and naturally you were a dick to her after you had come away victorious, you made a comment or two when you went to shake hands with her.

So when the She Believes Final lead the two of you to be facing off again, you were at each other's throats. You both had fouled each other a couple times in the game, constantly going hard into her and she’d return the favor. You both had been shown yellows and been warned for the language you were using toward each other.

“I’m annoying? You’re annoying, I can’t stand you. With your attitude, walking around like you’re better than everyone.” She throws her hands up.

“No need to be mad Jessie, we’re just better than you. Specifically I’m better.” You snap your own captain's armband in her direction.

“Remind me again what legitimate international trophies you contributed to? A 4 team tournament is meaningless. Last time I checked one of us has a gold and bronze medal, you have what? A bronze that your teammates won for you? And your teammates have World Cup titles, but you weren’t good enough back then to be on those teams were you? You were only good enough to be on the first ever US team to lose round 16!” Jessie was sick of you, sick of how you acted, how you treated her and her other teammates, she had finally snapped.

“Fuck you!” You spit back at her, not appreciating her personal attack. “I was injured in 2019 you asshole.”

“You’re so cocky and yet have nothing to back it up, so fuck you too.”

“I bet you wish you could Fleming. But I’m probably better than you in that regard too!”

Her eyes squint at you before she’s lunging at you, for a second you think she’s about to take out her anger with a punch. Instead her hands find your hips, slamming you hard against the cool brick wall. For a moment the wind is knocked from your lungs and you have to take a deep breath. You really had never seen Jessie get this mad, she had some choice words here and there on the pitch but usually once final time hit she was level headed. She had never insulted you or yelled at you. Yet here she was, her strong arms pinning you hard against the wall.

Something about her change in demeanor was making your stomach buzz. The way she was staring at you was so intense. You shouldn’t be wanting her like this but you were. She leaned into you slightly, her eyes looking at your lips before she closed them. You close yours tilting your chin up to meet hers. That’s when you hear her let out a laugh.

“Oh look at that, you wanted me to kiss you, that’s so cute. Is it cute or embarrassing?” She cocks her head at you. Jessie’s tone is so degrading that you can tell your blushing, your cheeks feeling like they’re on fire. You couldn’t believe her behavior, you were usually the meaner of the two of you. She was acting like a completely different person.

“Don’t think this changes anything, I still can’t fucking stand you. But maybe I’ll like you a little bit better bent over.” She whispers in your ear before she releases you from her grasp and turns to leave.

“Room 338, if you want to prove how much better you truly are and put your money where that bratty mouth is.” She says, not even turning back to look at you as she opens the door to the Canada dressing room. The US and Canadian teams were staying in the same hotel, you had passed numerous of their players on the way to and from your room. Getting stuck riding the elevator with them a couple times as well.

With that offer you quickly ran to the locker room, the rest of your teammates already well into their celebrations. You just head to your locker, stripping off your uniform, ignoring your teammates trying to hand you beers, waving them off politely.

“What are you doing? Going home so early?” Sam Coffey slapped a hand across your back, giving you a shake. It was clear the team had already started on the drinking while you were busy yelling in the hallway with Jessie.

“Oh I’m just not feeling great, I’m going to head back to the hotel. Spend some time in bed.” Conveniently you had experienced a migraine a few days before, making your story more believable.

“Damn, alright, get some good rest, I’ll let everyone else know.” She pats your back and turns around singing along to whatever song was being blasted through the speaker.

Without saying another word to anyone, you slip out the locker room door and throw up your hood and start walking in the direction of the hotel, it wasn’t far and you didn’t feel like getting in an Uber.

You’re not sure if you should change or shower before going to Jessie’s room, but thinking back to how she had you against the wall was enough to send a tingle down your spine and had you pressing the elevator button for floor 3 instead of floor 4.

Jessie opens the door almost immediately after you knock and your mouth falls agape. She had answered in just her red biker shorts and black sports bra, the rest of her skin already on display.

“No roommate?” You say peering around her into the room.

“I told her I needed privacy for some captain stuff. Which technically isn’t a lie, we’re both captains.”

You just nod. You didn’t care what she said to her roommate as long as you weren’t going to get walked in on. The door closes behind you as you step into Jessie’s room. Quickly you find yourself against the wall for the second time, being pinned by the Canadian. The only difference is this time her whole body is pressed against yours and her lips are not just teasing you. Her mouth is rough against yours. She tastes like sweat and Gatorade. Skipping regular kissing, Jessie is already opening her mouth against yours, her tongue between your lips.

You return the favor, your tongue grazing hers. You quickly realize you have little to no control here, Jessie was easily taking the dominant position and while you weren’t too opposed, you felt the need to prove her otherwise. You shift your legs, moving one to slot between Jessie’s, placing some force against the apex of the legs. You feel her grind down slightly onto your thigh, giving herself a minor relief from the ache between her legs. As she ground down you took the opportunity to push Jessie back, she stumbled for a step before your hands found her waist, both steadying her but also grabbing her to move her to the bed.

“Lay down.” You say when she sits on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You hated being told what to do as well, but you hated Jessie choosing not to listen even more. Having enough of her mouth, you place your hands on her shoulders shoving her down into the mattress.

“If you’re not going to listen, I’ll do it for you.” You say as your hands hold firm on her shoulders, keeping her on the mattress. She tried to sit up for a second, pushing against your hands before she gives up, relaxing into the bed. Your face is inches above hers. She rolls her eyes at you, which just pisses you off more.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you too.” You spit back before leaning down to connect your lips again.

Your hand wanders down to m the elastic of her sports bra, pulling it out slightly before letting it snap back on her skin, leaving Jessie whimpering. You repeat the action a few more times, liking the way she would squirm when you held the band away from her, knowing the snap of the elastic against her skin was coming. You liked the pretty noises she made against your lips when you released the band and it smacked her already red and tender skin.

Having enough of your teasing, Jessie’s hands found their way to the bottom of her bra, she pulled it up releasing her breasts. You couldn’t help but pull back from the kiss to look at her chest. Moving your hands to cup both of her tits, your thumbs find her already pebbled nipples, rubbing over them quickly. Jessie arches into your touch. You move your mouth down to capture one nipple between your lips, sucking hard. You then move to leave harsh kisses on both of her tits.

When you have had enough of giving her pleasure, you move your mouth to her neck. You find where her neck meets her collarbone and you start to suck, hard. Her hand flies up to the back of your neck, pulling gently on the hair at the base of your head.

“Fuck, don’t leave a mark.”

Taking you lips off of her skin for a moment you let out a grunt, “What? Too scared your teammates will find out you let me take control of you?”

“Fine leave marks I don’t care, but I get to leave them on you too.” She huffs. You weren’t opposed to the idea, you secretly loved being marked up, the constant reminder of your escapades when you would change or shower. You’d just have to face your teammates knowing you let the Canadian fuck you. They’d also know you lied about feeling sick to go fuck her.

Your lips meet Jessie’s in an aggressive kiss, you pinch her bottom lip between your teeth and pull hard on it while you grab the back of her thighs to move her to the middle of the bed. The older girl lets out a mix between a moan and a squeal as you move her. You place her down and your hands trail up to the top of her biker shorts.

“I’m going to take those off, okay?” Sure you couldn’t stand the girl but you were still going to ask before you stripped her last layer of clothing off. You were an ass but you had your limits.

“Do it.” Jessie lifts her hips to let you slide the tight material down, tossing them across the room.

You grabbed at her inner thighs, giving them a tight squeeze, your nails digging into her skin, leaving small marks. You push her legs open and back, putting her pussy on display to you. You could see she was already wet. The sight of her had you licking your lips.

“For a captain you’re really letting me push you around right now.” You say not looking up from where your eyes were fixated between her legs.

“Shut the fuck up.” She glares at you.

“Make me!” You tease back expecting her to kiss you to shut you up.

Jessie took your challenge literally and in a different direction, she closed her legs, your hands falling from her legs and she pushed you so now you were flat on your back with her holding you to the bed. “I can do that.”

She starts to straddle you, her thighs resting on either side of your stomach. For a second her core brushes against your navel and a small string of arousal connects the two of you. She doesn’t stay on your waist long, she keeps moving upward. That’s when you realize exactly what she's doing. She was moving to sit on your face. She was going to shut you up by sitting on your face.

She pauses when her knees settle on either side of your head. You can smell her, you try to lift your head, your tongue out, reaching to taste her. Her hand comes down on your forehead pushing you gently back to the bed. “No.” She shakes her head at you. Looking up at her had your head spinning, you may hate the girl but fuck she was hot, the way she was looking down at you and her perfect body was hovering above you.

Giving in to what you wanted, but on her terms Jessie lowered herself over your mouth and your senses are immediately filled with the taste, smell, and feeling of her pussy. Your tongue runs all over her, from her entrance to her clit and back, getting familiar with her. Jessie is letting out soft moans, music to your ears. Her hips grind down harder into you when your tongue passes over her clit so you give in to what she wants and wrap your lips around the sensitive bud, sucking on it while using your tongue to flick at it.

It doesn’t take long until Jessie starts moving her hips on her own, riding your face instead of just sitting on it. Moving your hands up to grip her ass, you help guide her movements. Her hand has a tight grip in your hair and you’re allowing her to turn and tilt your head where she needs you. Your tongue and lips still focus on her clit as her movements become more erratic.

“I’m going to cum.” Jessie’s voice comes out raspy. “Fuck.” You open your eyes to see her throwing her head back, her bottom lip pulled in between her teeth as she lets out a few moans. Her hips jolt a few times, roughly against your face before they stop and she lifts herself away from your tongue. You let out a small whine, wanting to taste her more. Jessie’s eyes move to meet yours, and a smirk creeps across her lips.

“I guess that mouth is good for more than just smartass comments.” She uses her thumb to collect the wetness from your chin before she pushes her finger against your lips. “Suck.” You happily listen, opening your mouth to suck Jessie’s arousal off her thumb, making sure to keep eye contact with her as your tongue swirled over her finger. A short moan falls from Jessie’s lips as her mouth falls open as she watches you suck her finger. She pulls her finger from your lips resulting in a pop before she climbs off of you and moves over to the corner where what you assumed was her suitcase lay.

You can’t quite see what she’s doing but when she turns back she has a strap on in her hand.

“I didn’t take you to be a purple kind of girl.” You point at the purple dildo attached to the harness.

“What's that supposed to mean?” She’s still standing across the room holding the strap now looking at it in her hand.

“I dunno, figured you’d go with blue or maybe just clear.” You shrug, you didn’t even mean anything by the words, the color had just genuinely surprised you. “You just always bring that in your suitcase?” Jessie did not seem like the type to just be bringing sex toys in her suitcase, she was surprising you in all kinds of ways today.

“Not usually, unless I know I’m going to use it. But I had a weird feeling it might come in handy this week. Do you want me to use it?”

“I mean sure, if you need the assistance of a toy to get me off then that’s fine. Some people aren’t good in bed without some assistance.” Pushing her buttons was fun, you knew she could probably get you off with her tongue or her fingers but you desperately wanted her to prove it. The strap was quickly tossed onto the bed next to you, Jessie abandoning it to grab your ankles pulling you to the edge of the bed.

Her hands came to the waist of your sweats, gripping both your pants and underwear between her fingers. “Can I?” You nod, lifting your hips to let her swiftly pull down your pants leaving you bare from the waist down. You take a second to pull your shirt and bra off, saving Jessie from having to do so. She’s quick to place her hands on your chest, giving a firm squeeze to both of your breasts. Her mouth follows and she trails hot, wet kisses up from between your tits to your neck where she returns the favor and sucks hard. She then works her way back down your neck, leaving more marks across your collarbone and the swell of your breasts.

Her actions already had you letting out shakey moans, your hips bucking slightly, begging for contact, for any kind of release. She laughs against your skin as your hips begin moving more frequently.

Jessie moves off of you, for a second completely removing her touch from your body. Kneeling at the end of the bed, she pulls your knees to sit over her shoulders before her hands grab your hips and she plunges her face into where you were already a dripping mess. Vibrations run across your pussy as Jessie moans into you at the taste of your arousal.

She’s quick to focus on your clit, the spot that has you already grabbing at her hair, pulling her close and profanities falling from your lips. You didn’t want to cum already, not only would that be embarrassing having to admit how good she was in bed but you also didn’t want the pleasure to end.

You end up betraying yourself, your brain telling you to wait, move away so you didn’t cum right away, but your body wanted the pleasure, it wanted release. You instead helped Jessie, using the hand in her hair to guide her directly where you needed her. It was only a few minutes later that your legs were shaking on her shoulders. Grinding against her mouth, your head fell back, a groan leaving your body as your legs wrapped around her head tightly. You continued thrusting yourself against her mouth, riding out the extent of your orgasm before your legs loosened and Jessie was able to remove her mouth from you.

Just as you start to catch your breath from your first orgasm, Jessie’s fingers are pushing into you. Your pussy clenches tightly around them, still sensitive from the previous orgasm. Her thrusts start slow but firm getting you used to the feeling of her thick fingers deep inside of you.

“Fuck Jessie.”

“That’s right, let everyone know who’s taking care of you.” Her eyes are dark as she looks up at you from between your legs. She looks fucked, her baby hairs sticking out in every direction from where your hands had been, her lips are swollen and the entire lower half of her face is still slick with your arousal. Not to mention the deep red markings your mouth has made are starting to develop darker across on her neck.

Knowing you made her look like that sends another wave of arousal through your body. Her teammates were going to know that she got laid when she goes to training in two days. So would your teammates. But maybe they wouldn’t know you fucked each other, for some reason you liked that, it was your dirty little secret.

Jessie picks up the pace with her fingers, curling them everytime she buries them fully. Still on the high from your first orgasm, you can feel the second one building quickly, feeling yourself start to tighten on her fingers.

“Fuck I’m going to cum Jessie.” With your warning Jessie brings her tongue back to your clit, with one swipe you’re clenching around her fingers, your thighs closing themselves around her head. Your hips thrust, fucking yourself on her fingers to ride out your second orgasm.

Jessie takes her tongue away and her fingers slide out of you. You look down at her where she remaining kneeling at the edge of the bed.

“My tongue and fingers do a damn good job on their own, I just think toys can be fun too.”

“Put it on then.” You grab the strap that was next to you on the bed, tossing it between your legs at Jessie. She stands up, situating the harness around her waist and tightening the straps. You stay where you are, legs dangling over the side of the bed while you wait for Jessie.

She comes over to you, grabbing your thighs, her hands finding the bend of your knee, holding your legs open and back. You watch her face as she spits, a trail of saliva leaving her mouth and landing on the tip of the strap. In awe of her action you lay there, mouth open, eyes wide. You had never been someone that was explicitly into spitting during sex, but seeing her spit on the dildo had you reconsidering.

You’d let her spit in your mouth like that, you think to yourself.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by the feeling of the silicone rubbing over your pussy. Jessie gives a few teasing thrusts, just grazing your clit with the head, spreading your wetness down the length of her dick.

The tip finds your entrance and Jessie pushes into you, you both let out moans as she easily bottoms out inside of you. She then pulls back, just letting the tip stay inside of you and pushes herself back in fully in a fluid motion. Jessie quickly picks up a rhythm, not too fast but not slow, each thrust is forceful, you feel your tits bouncing and bring your hands up to play with your nipples.

“You’re fucking hot.” Jessie says as her eyes watch your fingers pinch and caress your chest.

“You look so good fucking me.” You responded to her, you hated her but in the moment that hatred was all turned into lust.

Jessie keeps her pace, after a minute you’re already a mess, strings of moans uncontrollably falling from your lips. When Jessie moves to lay down on top of you, you nearly lose it. Your hands come to her back ranking your nails against her skin as she’s able to fuck even deeper into you. You knew you were leaving red streaks down her back that everyone would see when she changed at training.

“I’m going to,” starting to warn her that your third orgasm was building. Before you can finish the sentence she pulls out.

“What the fuck?” You yell. Eyes snapping open to give Jessie a glare. Jessie’s hand is quick to be on your chin, gripping it hard between her thumb and index finger, her other three fingers are on your throat forcing you to look at her. The grip on your face is so hard it’s nearly painful, but you liked it. The feeling of her three fingers on your neck has your heart racing and you’re sure she can feel it in your pulse.

“What? You thought you’d be able to do this without a little teasing? I still hate you, I’m not just going to give you what you want.” She releases your jaw from her grasp and moves your hands to your hips.

“I hate you.” You had said it numerous times tonight, and you meant it or at least you thought you did.

“Flip over.” She demands, wanting to just be able to get the release you were so close to you to listen to her, flipping yourself over so your feet were now on the ground as you bent over the bed, your sensitive nipples making contact with the rough hotel bed sheets.

You feel Jessie’s hands grip your ass, spreading you slightly, and then you hear her spit, followed by the feeling of her saliva running down your pussy.

“Come on Jessie.” Pushing your ass back toward her you hope it’ll encourage her to move a bit quicker.

“What would your teammates say if they knew I had their captain bent over for me, pathetically begging for my cock?”

“Jessie.” Your hands grip at the bedsheet, you need her to finish what she started.

“What?” Her voice sounds annoyed.

“I hate you.” You’re not sure if that’s going to piss her off more or encourage her to fuck you again. But you get the answer quickly.

“I hate you,” she responds as she completely fills you from behind. She starts again, punctuating each word she says with a rough thrust, “you're. a. cocky. little. brat. egotistical. can’t. fucking. stand. you. you. always. have. an. attitude. fucking. pain. in. the. ass.”

She pauses. Her hips stalled with the tip of her strap just barely inside of you.

“Nothing to say back?” You can practically hear the smile on her face. “It’s about time you shut that smartass mouth of yours, is that all you needed this whole time? For me to fuck your shitty ego out of you?” She grabs your hair pulling you off the bed so your back is flush to her front.

“Look at me.” She demands but also doesn’t give you much of a choice as she’s gripping your head in her hands and can easily turn your face. “Is that what you needed? My fingers, and mouth, and cock? You just needed someone to fuck you properly?” You’re trying to focus on her words but all your brain can think about is how the tip of the strap is pressed against your entrance.

“Yes Jessie.” Your neck is starting to hurt from the angle she was holding you in, thankfully answering her question got you shoved back into the mattress bent over and Jessie’s cock thrusting back into you. Her hands firm on your ass. Using her arms to pull you to meet her thrusts.

“Cum for me, make sure everyone knows who fixed that attitude.” She gives a hard squeeze on your ass.

“Oh my god Jessie, fuck.”

“That’s it.”

“Jessie, Jessie, please.” You can’t do anything besides chant her name. She was consuming every aspect of you, she was all you could think of being overwhelmed with pleasure. You knew her teammates would be able to hear, thankful your teammates were likely still out celebrating, even though your rooms were on a different floor, you were pretty sure the whole hotel could hear you screaming her name as you came on her strap. There goes what you thought would be your dirty little secret.

With one last drawn out moan of her name, you go limp on the bed, Jessie still thrusting into you, moving your whole body. Your knees give out and Jessie’s hands move to your waist to hold you from slipping off the bed. She slows her thrusts, giving you long, drawn out movements to work through your third orgasm. She pulls out when your hand comes up behind your back to push her away.

You hear the sound of the strap hitting the ground and feel Jessie climb on the bed next to you. She lays on her stomach, mimicking your position, turning her face to look at yours. She’s got red cheeks, hair still crazy, and a small amount of sweat on her forehead. You catch a glimpse of the red streaks you left down her back, they would definitely still be there tomorrow. She’s also got a huge grin on her face.

“Hmm, the one orgasm you gave me versus the three I just gave you… seems like I’m actually the ones who’s better.” It’s now her cocky attitude showing through.

“I never said we were done Fleming, I have some hatred of you left.” You push yourself up with what strength you have left. Playing 90 minutes and then three orgasms takes a lot of energy. You move to straddle Jessie. You had to at least give her two more, tie it up, but you’d be happy to take the lead. Needless to say it was the start of a very long evening for the two of you.

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso smut #canwnt

540 notes · View notes

candyk0rn · 7 months

Text

Cuddles : BG3

It’s been a while! I hope you’re all doing great, and I’m sorry for once more going on a forever break lol. But of course, Baldurs Gate 3 brainrot is so real

Before reading: Fluff, headcanons, Astarion, Lae’Zel, Gale, Shadowheart x reader (separate), gn reader

Astarion:

“Oh? I see you still can’t say no to my endless charm..”

At the beginning of the relationship, touches and prodding aren’t uncommon

Anything that can bring your attention to him

It takes a while and a lot of convincing from you that his somewhat risqué touches was not all that pleased you

And eventually he can even process that you don’t just love him for his body

Although hard for him to realize, with your help he can

So after your relationship has really blossomed and grown, his touches become softer, calmer, more intimate

Nights by the crackling fire, you in his lap, his hand massaging your nape

His fingers are dangerously cold against your skin, but there’s a sense of comfort that comes with the chill

Although he will brush off your reassurance as pitiful and unneeded..

Please reassure him omg

For the longest time, he will surely believe you are like all his other conquests,

Seduced by him and his charms

But just small whispers of love into his ear, your comforting touch against his skin

That’s enough for him.

Gale:

“Come with me, we shall rest under the stars tonight.”

I am of the firm believer that Gale is horribly touch-starved, poor man

Taken advantage of by his own Goddess, thinking that that is the best he would ever be able to do

Then when you come along, it all changed

His thoughts about himself seem to change, his standards seem to change, his love seems to change

He cares so much about you, he cannot help but think he is not worthy

That a cursed, unfaithful man as himself could never even breathe the same air as you

But all of his doubts and worries seem to melt away when you two hold one another underneath the stars

Your fingers lovingly combing through his hair as he rambles on about something he is passionate about

Wether it be a book, his expertise in magic, or Tara (lmao)

Others would shove him off as a show-off, annoying, etc

But you are so willing to hear him go on and on, that he can’t help but love you

His index finger instinctively draws shapes into your back when you hold each other

When he’s cuddled up with you, his worries that today might be his last don’t even cross his mind

He’s more worried about you, how you feel, if you’re comfortable

He doesn’t care if tonight is the last night he shall ever see you

He’d rather die tomorrow than live for an eternity never knowing you

Lae’Zel:

“Chk..I do not take part in worthless acts of intimacy.”

Lae’Zel is not much of a ‘cuddles’ person

Like at all…

She’d rather feel the thrill of battle with you, bathing in the blood of your enemies

Her way of loving is slaughtering anyone who even just looks at you the wrong way

But, if you’re particularly lucky, or especially down

She can’t help but..pity you

In her mind, it’s such a disgusting feeling. This ‘love’ makes her weak, but she cannot run from it no matter how much she tries

The most touch you’ll get from her will only occur in private

A hand perched protectively on your hip or waist

Her head slumped on your shoulder when you’re on watch for the night

acts like this, although small

It means so,so much from her

And she’ll kill you if you go telling Shadowheart about how ‘sweet’ she was being last night

Shadowheart:

“My love…ugh. I’m still not used to calling someone that.”

Shadowheart is lost when it comes to you

Not only is she horribly confused that you of all people would love her

She’s confused as to how she’s supposed to love you

Her entire life, for what she can remember, she’s never been shown comfort or remorse

If she did something wrong, she was punished

She doesn’t remember a single moment in her life when she was loved the way you love her

And although grateful, she feels unworthy

Hugs are common with her, of course in private, but common nonetheless

When she hold you in her arms, the pads of her fingers massage your back lovingly, worried if she lets go, you’ll flee

Let! Her! Play! With! Your! Hair! 🙏🏻

And please play with hers omg

At night, she’ll let her hair down and allow your hands to explore her long, black (or white) locks

Your touch sends shivers down her spine, a feeling she’s not used to, but craves so much

She truly hopes that you’ll never leave her, for now that she has tasted your touch,

She never wants that sensation to leave

Thanks for reading!

1K notes · View notes

thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months

Text

Rainy Season - Part 4

All You Ever

Azriel reflects on his past mistake including the night with Elain. Cassian makes a huge mistake.

A/N: Before reading this chapter please know that I am not condoning cheating or the actions of Azriel or Elain. I do not feel sorry for either of them in any way. I simply enjoy adding a little complexity to the story and selfishly love sprinkling in chaos. Also this is not proofread, I’m exhausted.

And for cauldron’s sake, please just trust the process before yelling at me!!! This is just one chapter from the two biggest idiots involved, not the whole story.

Part 3 Part 5

Warnings: Not proofread, Alcohol, Language, Unintentional ingestion of an aphrodisiac leading to sex

Azriel

He may have been a fucking idiot but Azriel’s self-awareness was painfully acute. His scar riddled hands were forever tainted with the essence of blood that even her plush lips couldn’t kiss away, his angel mate. What a cruel joke the cauldron had played the day that bond snapped between them. She was resplendent in sun shrouded glory and he was the devil who dragged her down. Just selfish enough to ignore the warning bells that he’d one day fuck it all up, just selfish enough to pull her away from her home and covet her within the walls of Velaris. In the beginning, he’d fought so hard to deserve her though she’d never asked him to. She wanted only him and knew he was unworthy of her, he always had been. It was exhausting - the mask. Constantly trying to hide from her that dark, sadistic side of him that was everything opposite of what she was.

She saw through it, of course. She always had. All she wanted was him, all of him. Begging him to show her beyond the good of him at surface level, she wanted all of his self-proclaimed bad too. She’d told him that dozens of times over the years but dropping that mask meant unpacking so much - so much more ugly than even he was prepared to reveal to himself.

At some point he began to resent her and he knew it wasn’t fair. He resented his perfect, pure, untainted mate. Wasn’t it ironic that she’d shown him everything beneath her own surface numerous times, unveiled that she herself was not the Angel he placed her on a pedestal as. She’d shown him everything and he still viewed her through that near-holy lense.

If only he could have put his stubbornness, his self-loathing aside and realized she would have done the same for him. It was too late for that now.

And now I'm without you, and it took distance to see that losing you, means losing everything

————

Something had been wrong for a while. He ignored it assuming that perhaps it was a mental blockade erected by a combination of fatigue and work tensions. He’d slowly distanced himself from his mate. He knew it hurt her, it hurt him too. His intentions were genuine, sparing her the pain of his own inner turmoil by distancing himself while he worked through it. He was simultaneously aware that he was a fucking bastard for doing so, she deserved an explanation but he couldn’t give it to her yet. He justified it as the lesser of two evils.

Unsurprisingly, the mating bond is a fickle thing. As he distanced himself, a chasm of emptiness opened within him that he’d desperately tried to fill with missions and various courtly duties. Training with the Valkyries helped, being there for Elain through her own struggles….

He took his duty to help her seriously, though it technically was not a duty even assigned to him. A distraction. It was a distraction. Ever the spymaster he spent their initial time together observing her, the things that brought a little bit of life back to those once bright eyes.

He’d sun his wings while she gardened and read across from her in the study, little things so she’d know she wasn’t alone. Eventually she began talking again. At first just a comment here or there but then there was communication, getting to know each other, small talk eventually becoming deeper topics. He learned of her resentment of the choice she felt was ripped from her, left with no time to mourn the loss of her mortal life or consider the implications on her relationship with Graysen because of it.

Not to mention the shock that one of the faces she blamed for being damned to the cauldron, one of the first faces she saw coming out of it was her mate and she was just supposed to accept it? Over time, Elain became a friend. A bright spot to the numbness created by the self-imposed gap between he and his mate. His mate….

It had taken some time to realize that he wasn’t feeling her through the bond, when was the last time he’d felt her? It was becoming fainter and fainter, more faint than it even should be with distance. He’d send feelings to her on occasion. A little spark of joy when he saw a lovely sunset or the moments when his desire for his mate heated his blood so thoroughly he had no choice but to excuse himself for relief by his hand.

He needed her to know he cared, he desired her, he loved her. A little time and space to collect everything he needed to bring to the surface, to give her all of him. He left her feeling like she wasn’t enough but she was everything. He just needed space.

Until she gave him space.

The devastation on her face the day she asked him to leave. Gods, damn him and the hurtful things he’d said. They’d be ingrained in his mind for the rest of his days along with the sound of her sobs as she fell apart before him. He’d done that to his mate. He was responsible for those tears. All because he’d been too selfish and prideful to share all of himself with her.

So, he left. She’d allowed him so much space, he could give her this.

I wish I could love you and make you believe it. It’s all you ever wanted from me

———-

The night with Elain

He couldn’t make it through dinner sober. Rhys insisted everyone get together at the River House for a friendly night of debauchery. Pouring himself a double shot of whiskey, he considered telling Cassian to send Rhys his regards and hole up in the house of wind for the remainder of the night. It was either, go to dinner and deal with all of the questions of “Where is y/n?�� and “Why isn’t y/n here?” or deal with Cassian’s well-intentioned but annoying attempts of pressuring him into going, followed by a pout when he’d stand his ground on staying in, and then the inevitable intrusion from Rhys inquiring why he wouldn’t come to dinner.

He loved his chosen family dearly but they were busybodies through and through. All he wanted was to pass the time until he saw his mate tomorrow.

Begrudgingly he threw back his glass, poured another double, then headed to the River House.

Time moved slowly when all there was to do was dwell.

What had happened? He flew slowly to the River House. Going out of his way to circle far overhead of his true home, where his mate was. Was she waiting for him inside? Was she in town? Why couldn’t he feel her? Silence. Just as it had been for months. But the emotions he’d seen in her, they were so real. Shouldn’t they have sparked something in the bond?

As Azriel approached the River House he’d come to the conclusion that tonight he’d inform Elain he’d no longer be able to visit with her as he had been. He’d neglected his mate for far too long, this past week had given him the clarity needed to go home and give his mate his all. He could slowly open up to her, he could do it.

He just needed to make it through the night.

The night went by as usual. Good food, laughter, flowing liquor. He heavily indulged himself in the liquor anything to numb the impatience in waiting for tomorrow.

Feyre and Rhys sat closely together on a lounge, Feyre leaning into him, staring up at him like the stars in the sky.

Cassian and Nesta spent the entire time making bedroom eyes at one another, Cassian whispering dirty promises into Nesta’s ear that made even the queen of smut herself blush, Nesta taking any opportunity to brush her body against his in passing.

Gods, they were so in love it made him sick.

“Home.” He told himself.

“Soon.”

As the evening wound down, Cassian insisted everyone do shots to close out the evening. He was drunk enough that he stumbled carrying in the tray of shots and let out a battle cry of victory over the fact that he managed to not spill any of the liquor.

Azriel should have flown back to the House of Wind a while ago but he needed to talk to Elain.

Nuala and Cerridwen had been on duty with Nyx for the evening, compensated well to work overnight in case he awoke, giving Rhys and Feyre the now rare opportunity to go out to Rita’s. Mor, of course, drug Emerie along and went with them. Given that Amren would rather stick pins in her eyes than go out, she and Varian opted to go back to her place.

Azriel should have gone there, gone back to the River House, gone home and slept in the doorway until his mate let him in.

But he was so drunk. There was no way he was flying anywhere tonight.

Cassian and Nesta brought out a final round of shots. Elain winced, scrunching her nose as she threw it back. Azriel thought she’d be able to take her liquor better by now. Cassian and Nesta waggled their eyebrows suggestively at eachother before throwing theirs back. And damn, if Azriel didn’t wince when he took his shot too. That shit was awful. Had they drank through all of Rhysand’s good liquor? Did Cassian dig this out from the bottom shelf?

Once Cassian and Nesta left for the House of Wind, Azriel took the empty glasses to the kitchen, cleaning up a few of the remaining dishes throughout the seating area on the way. He barely made it into the kitchen before his head began spinning. That last shot had done him in. He couldn’t even remember the time last he’d been blackout drunk. Two centuries ago, maybe?

He still needed to find Elain.

The stairs felt longer and far less steady than usual, taking him more time than he cared to admit to make it up them. His hands felt tingly on the banister and damn, it was hot in the River House. No, he touched his face, flushed and hot to the touch. He was hot.

The tingling was simultaneously uncomfortable and pleasurable, spreading over his body with haste as he neared closer to Elain’s room.

He caught a glimpse of her and her scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Had she always smelled this good?

His breathing increased, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent and fuck - he was hard. It was too late to not say anything now as she stared at him expectantly. The stars in his vision cleared and all he could see was her, zeroed in on her fluttering pulse, those delicate features.

He needed to leave.

He just needed to - shit, what had he come here to say?

Azriel’s shadows whirled reminding him of his mate. His mate. He needed to go to his mate.

He needed to tell Elain something. He couldn’t think straight.

“Elain…”

And that was when she lunged at him.

Well is it too late, and are you too far to turn around and let me be

——————————

Elain

There was nothing the Cauldron loved more than Elain Archeron.

There was nothing the Cauldron hated more than Elain Archeron.

A thin line between the two, really.

She’d spend the rest of her life groveling for what conspired on that night. She never intended to sleep with him. She never, ever intended to hurt Y/N.

She remembered drinking more than usual.

She remembered Azriel finding her in the hallway.

She remembered a sudden rush of warmth, first from her chest, seeping outward through her extremities, low into her stomach and lower, lower.

She remembered Azriel having something important to tell her. She could feel nothing but heat. Her heart racing, breath becoming rapid.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his nostrils flaring. Like every single sense was hyper aware of her state. His arousal wafted through the air, his irresistible cedar and chilled mist scent clinging to her like an expensive cologne.

They were so very intoxicated.

They couldn’t do this. If she’d been sober and unaffected by whatever was running through her veins, she would have left. Immediately.

She wasn’t one to wreck a home and Azriel loved his mate so, so much. The way he talked about her, it made Elain jealous. Not of them, not of her. Only jealous that Elain herself had struggled so hard to feel anything toward her own mate for so long. Lucien who played a role in her loss of humanity, Lucien who would do anything to make it up to her, Lucien who never meant for it to happen, who tried so hard to help her, to connect with her, who wanted nothing more than to love her. Lucien.

Then why was it Azriel? Azriel who was standing in front of her clearly affected by her, trying his damndest not to be. Why was she so drawn to him? A mated male.

Was she sweating? It was so hot. Her breasts ached and her blood thrummed through her veins so voraciously that she was certain she’d bleed out at any minute. And if Azriel could see beneath her gown right now, he’d see how tightly her thighs were squeezed together. How desperately she needed release and by the tightness in his pants - she knew he was in the same state.

“Elain…” Azriel spoke. His breath ragged.

And all it took was her name rolling off of his lips for her to close the distance. One kiss. She just needed one kiss to remind herself that this was wrong. To run the other way.

And it only took one kiss to remind her how much the cauldron loved her. How much it hated her.

The moment when she felt the mating bond snap between her and Azriel.

The alcohol, the liquor, the heat, the bond. A lethal combination leading to the biggest mistake of her life.

The night she’d fucked Azriel.

She could never let him know about the bond.

—————————-

Elain woke up with a brutal headache. She would have killed for some headache power. Her room was dark, shadows deepening the onyx black of night as slivers of moonlight lined the edges of her curtains. Still nighttime, then.

Her surroundings slowly came into focus, awareness sharpening as a soft sound caught her attention. Swiftly she turned her head to find Azriel asleep on the other side of her bed.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

This couldn’t have happened.

What had she done?

She threw on her dress and tip-toed out of the room in a state of panic. She was a sensible female. She knew too well the pain of losing Graysen, a human male, not her spouse, not her mate. But still, his rejection had hurt like hell. Elain would never sleep with another woman- female’s mate. No.

She paced through the library, back and forth, back and forth, praying she didn’t wake anyone up. The walls were closing in on her. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

Oh gods.

And the mating bond. How?

Her chest was tight, she couldn’t catch a full breath. She needed out.

Before she could stop herself, Elain fled into the empty street with no destination in mind. Anywhere but here, anywhere but the bed where she’d likely obliterated a marriage. She’d certainly obliterated her dignity.

The starlight illuminated streets of Velaris were endless, winding through alleys and lanes. In her panicked state, Elain had no clue where her feet were taking her as she blindly followed her gut. It wasn’t until she was in front of the door that she realized her heart had made its choice. It knew exactly who to go to, she only prayed it wasn’t too late.

She took a shaky inhale and raised a hand to knock but the door flew open revealing a shirtless Lucien, his bare, muscled chest heaving. “I felt you coming.” He gasped. “Through the bond.”

—————-

Azriel

The sun’s rays illuminated the edge of the curtains. Azriel’s stomach was tight, nausea from the previous night’s alcohol overwhelming him. His bed felt colder than usual, more stiff.

He looked around to find that he’d never left the River House. He was…

He was in Elain’s room.

“Oh, fuck!” He sobbed to himself as the previous night came pouring back to him. Setting his face in his palms, he cried. What the fuck had he done?

Azriel bathed, desperately scrubbing Elain off of him. By the time he was through, his skin was an angry red. He snuck out of the River House, flying to a grassy knoll high above Velaris. The spot where he and Y/N had first made love, where the bond snapped, where he’d proposed. He shifted uncomfortably as he tried to get comfortable, the unease settling in. It was blasphemy to desecrate such a sacred spot with his shame.

“What do I do now?” He asked aloud, the only response the whipping of the wind around him. He didn’t understand what had overcome him. He’d never been so “effected” before, even in his drunkest moments. Once Elain’s lips met his, his brain had shut down, nothing else mattered but the feel of skin on skin. His body needed release and acted on pure primal instinct.

And now, he had a decision to make. He could go home and lay it all out, slightly easing the guilt of holding in his greatest sin while completely and utterly destroying his mate.

Or, he could go home. Show his mate all of the love that he had been withholding for too long now, sweep her off her feet, take care of her and start opening up. Give her his all, even the ugly parts that he kept so deeply hidden.

Gods, she’d given him so many chances and he’d let her down at every turn. There were no excuses for the way he had treated her.

All she’d ever wanted was him, all of him, including those sides he’d never wanted her to see.

Now he could only go home and love her. Love her with everything he had and pray she believed it.

———————-

6 months after Y/N left

Azriel looked in a hallway mirror on his way to Rhysand’s study. Dark circles hallowed out his under eyes. The drink he’d had prior to flying down here did nothing to numb the violent ache within his heart. Would it ever quell? Would this puncture wound ever heal?

It wouldn’t. And he didn’t know if he wanted it to. He was a bastard and deserved every ounce of this isolated misery. Trapped in a prison of his own making. The ache in his chest a constant reminder of the love he’d squandered. And for what? A meaningless night with a pretty female. Had he not had enough of those nights in his life?

Not that Elain would speak to him. Though she had apologized, countless times. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one to blame. Occasionally he’d catch Lucien’s assessing glare, an infuriating blend of contempt and pity etched into his features. Azriel didn’t know which he hated more, he didn’t deserve pity.

Azriel’s skin had sallowed. Had he ever been this pale before? And the bargain tattoo on his arm. Fuck, he hated it. After his third attempt to infiltrate the Summer Court, Rhysand gave Azriel the option of a cell in the Hewn City or a bargain.

Ironically the bargain served as a prison of its own. He was not allowed to go anywhere near the Summer Court or communicate with Y/N in any way. The only method of communication he was able to find a loophole with was the tugs on the bond. He’d pull and pull, nothing.

If only he could try to explain, apologize, anything.

Breaking his gaze from the shell of a male in the mirror, Azriel stepped toward the study.

Cassian’s booming laugh barreled through the cracked open door.

“Trust me, Feyre will love it. I’m sure you guys could use a little spark at the end of the day. You’ll be rolling in the sheets all night.”

Rhys only chuckled.

Cassian continued, “Tastes nasty as hell though. Here’s an extra vial, just in case. The first time Nes and I tried it, it didn’t work. Not sure why.”

Azriel let out a huff, stepping into the study. Cassian and Rhys ceasing their conversation in his presence. They’d been painstakingly obvious in not talking about their mates or anything relationship related in front of him since his mate had left. He refused to speak to anyone about why she left, too embarrassed to admit to this bed of his own making. They knew it was his fault and that was all that mattered.

Azriel scowled. “You don’t have to stop talking about your mates just because I’m around.”

Cassian awkwardly raised his arm, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry brother. We just don’t want to make things harder for you than they have been.”

“Considerate.” Azriel sneered, jerking his head toward the vials. “What are those anyway?”

Cassian smirked, “Oh, just some aphrodisiac potions from a new apothecary in Velaris. Really powerful shit. Nes and I-“ Rhys elbowed Cassian. A warning to not take the conversation too far. They could talk of their happy relationships without absolutely rubbing Azriel’s face in it.

Cassian quieted for a moment before continuing. “It tastes gods awful but the payoff is totally worth it. Remember those shots we took after everyone left dinner several months ago? We mixed it into Nes and I’s glasses and didn’t notice the taste. Didn’t work either though. Must’ve been a dud. Lady at the shop gave us a replacement vial the next time we were in and…. well, let’s just say we keep it in stock at the House of Wind now.”

Azriel went preternaturally still. His shadows growing angry as he ground out, “The night you two did a parting shot with me and Elain?”

“Uh…… yeah?” Cassian replied.

And before Cassian could realize what he’d done, Azriel pummeled him. Hauling him out the study doors and onto the lawn, not even making it to the sparring ring before his fists met Cassian’s face - the two Illyrians disappearing into a frenzy of fists and feet and glowing siphons.

The only sound over the impact of their hits and feral growls was Cassian’s confused, booming voice. “What the FUCK, Az!?”

————————————————

A/N: I am sorry for giving you an entire chapter of Azriel and Elain content but I will make it up to you with fluffy Eris and reader content in the next chapter!!!

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime

#sarah j maas #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #eventual Eris x reader #Elain #Cassian #Nesta #nessian #acotar x hunter hayes #inspired by a Hunter hayes song #all you ever #rainy season

453 notes · View notes

writersblockedx · 1 year

Text

Just Material

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary - When Fred finds Y/n wearing a jumper which isn't her own (and certainly isn't his), he can't help but question who it must belong to. Warnings - Bit of angst, mentions of stress Words - 1.5K

Masterlist

It was a jumper. It was just a jumper. A bit of material, sewed together by needle and thread with absolutely no deeper meaning than such. At least, that's how Y/n saw it. Fred, however, saw the Hufflepuff title over the jumper, the smell that still lingered and the initials which were still printed into the label. Just two letters which taunted him: C.D

Fred had made it abundantly clear from the moment the two made their title of couple official, that Y/n was his. His hand seemed very so delicately glued to her, his eyes trained on her (even when she wasn't looking) and constantly trying to be at her side. This was mostly because of the great feelings he felt for the girl; feelings of which, sometimes, he struggled to comprehend. But there was too a small part of him which did it to ensure no one else got any ideas.

The boy wanted to make it out to be as if there was no point in trying. If he was to ensure that their relationship was shown to be as concrete as it felt, then no one else would try to slip their way between them. And Fred's plan had been working; it had been working bloody brilliantly. Well, that was before now. Because, as it turns out, the Weasley boy had walked into the library, set to meet Y/n, only to find her sat at a table with friends, dressed in a jumper which wasn't her own - and certainly wasn't his.

She was sat there, a book flicked to a page Fred knew she definitely wasn't reading as she quietly giggled with her friends. Friends of which Fred knew weren't Quidditch players who he also could assume wouldn't thus own Quidditch jumpers. So, the question which came to Fred's head, was simply: Who's jumper was it?

He had been standing at a halt in the middle of the Libary, so deep in thought he didn't have it in him to get Y/n's attention. That was until she caught his sight, smiled, then lost her smile as she noted his discouraged expression.

The girl retracted from her table and wandered towards him, "Hey," She flash a grin which wasn't returned. "You okay?" She asked him, brushing her palm against his forearm in hopes to ease whatever was eating him.

"New jumper?" He sneered through a firm frown.

Y/n looked down as if she were just reminded of what she was wearing, "Oh yeah, I ended up getting some bulbadox juice on me in potions, so Cedric offered me his jumper. Quite embarrassing actually." The girl laughed the story off as just one of them silly things, but Fred had made no move to loosen his ever so stern expression.

He just nodded stiffly and said, "So it's Cedric's?"

Y/n huffed. She knew that Fred could be...protective. It was an attribute which she did adore, but there were times, more recently, when she was finding it more difficult to deal with. If she were to talk to someone else for too long, or laugh too hard at someone else's joke that wasn't his own, she'd feel Fred shift at her side. Y/n knew he never meant it in a nasty way, it was just who he was. Not to mention, with exam pressure and such, any emotion between either of them seemed to become amplified.

"It's just so I didn't look stupid for the rest of the day." She attempted to assure him, but it seemed too late; Y/n had already lost him to his sea of doubt and troublesome worries. "Fred," She said through such a soothing tone, "It's just a jumper."

He shook his head and muttered, "It's not." Before turning his back on the girl, leaving her no chance to get in another word.

She watched, empty pupils and a blank stare as he walked away. Y/n wasn't sure what more she could have said - or even if there was much more she could have. So she settled in her stance, not daring to drag her sights away from the redhead until he had completely exited the Libary. Her thoughts raced. She couldn't leave it like this. Not when it was an argument that never needed to happen.

Before her plan had fully been conducted in her head, she was already walking. Of course, she couldn't be sure where Fred had run off to, but Y/n made a guess for the dorms as she wandered the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room. She slipped through the entrance and found herself in the quiet confinements of the room.

There was a fire cracking in the corner, some vinyl playing quietly and a few students dotted around in their usual places. She scanned the room. Unlike the rest, she wasn't fitting into the tranquil atmosphere that the room created. Instead, she was pooling in worry and haste to catch Fred before this situation got worse. Her pupils found George, sitting closest to the vinyl player and having his gaze pulled to Y/n from the moment she had walked in.

The other twin pushed himself from where he was seated to meet the girl in the middle. "He's in his dorm." He informed and her eyes flickered to the stairs. "I don't know what happened, but just be kind on him, the O.W.L.s aren't have got him stressed."

Y/n nodded in understanding, "The thing is, nothing happened. Nothing really." She shrugged as she felt her gaze being pulled towards the stairs she knew led to Fred. "I just need to talk to him."

George flashed a smile that was soft and sweet, "He needs you, Y/n." He said in full confidence.

She returned the smile, already beginning to walk towards the stair way. "Thanks, George." And with that, the girl slipped away and wandered towards the dorm room she had been in too many times to count.

Her feet slowed as she reached the door, finding that the wood taunted her. Her breath ached against the air and she almost thought about avoiding this situation. She considered turning her back and running. As much as she adored Fred, this conversastion was one of which she knew they would struggle to get through. But it was one conversastion of which couldn't be silent.

So she brought her knuckles into a fist and patted them against the door. Y/n waited a moment or two before hearing an uncertain, "Yeah?" From the other side.

One last breath leapt from the comforts of lips before she swung the door open and entered the dormetory. She stood awkwardly in the doorway as she met Fred's eyes, sat with his legs flung over the bed side. Neither of them broke an expression. Their eyes were blank and empty, waiting for the other to make the next move in this chess game they found themselves in.

"What are you doing here?" Asked Fred as the girl took a step forwards, shutting the door behind her.

She shifted on her feet slightly, "Came to talk to you." Y/n answered as she dared to move further into the room. She watched as he huffed, shaking his head in dismay. So she too huffed and uttered out a, "Fine."

Fred's brows knitted as Y/n wandered to his waredrobe, reteriving one of his own hoodies, one of which the girl had stolen before. From there, she slipped from the one Cedric had loaned her and put Fred's on, his familar scent brushing against her nostrails once again. Then she turned to the boy and raised a brow, "Better?"

He dragged himself from the bed and met the girl in the middle of the room where he looked down on her, "It wasn't just about the jumper." He told her.

She reached a hand out, letting it cup the side of his face - something of which he had effortlessly eased into. "Then what is it?"

His own hand grasped the one which comforted his cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to her palm. "It's just-" The words choked his throat as he pushed them out. "It's when you wear mine, when you go around with my jumper on, my number on your back, in Griffindor colours, everyone knows it's because you're mine." He paused and Y/n waited for him to gather his words. "So when you wear someone else's, I can't help but think it's the same."

Y/n would be lying if she didn't admit to the fact that her heart was fluttering, but still she comforted the boy and flashed him a soft smile. "I am yours. But a jumper, a bit of fabric, doesn't get to decided that. We do, Fred" She assured him as their pupils seemed tangled together - just as their hearts were.

Fred leaned his forehead forward until it met the girls. And there, through the silence of Fred's dorm, he whispered, "Mine."

4K notes · View notes

youmakemyhearthowl · 1 year

Text

Steve sometimes worried, well okay he worried all the time, but sometimes he worried specifically that he was doing the same thing to Eddie that he’d done to Nancy.

Although he wasn’t really sure exactly what he’d done wrong with Nancy. But it seemed reasonable that it was his fault. He wasn’t the best back then, even if he tried really hard to be for her.

It’s just, sometimes it seems like Eddie gets a similar look on his face, a similar look to the one Nancy would make when she’d tell him he needed to chill out, stop smothering her so much. When she’d told him he was bullshit. And he can’t really be sure, Robin tells him all the time he’s terrible at reading facial emotions when he’s worried, but it seems like the same look. And he’s worried, terrified really, that he’s going to ruin whatever it is he’s building with Eddie before they’ve even really started. So he goes to the smartest person he knows (besides Dustin) and the only person he’s ever loved like this.

He goes to Nancy.

And she doesn’t tell him what he wants to hear, doesn’t sugar coat it or make it sweet. She practically rips his heart out and stomps on it, but it’s why he went to her in the first place. Nancy is honest.

“Well sometimes Steve, you’re a little much you know? Clingy and loud with your love, it’s a bit embarrassing to be on the receiving end of it a lot of the time, and maybe you’re making him uncomfortable with it.”

And well- that makes sense really.

Too much but never enough is what he’s always been. To his parents, his peers, Steve doesn’t know how to love halfway because he was never shown the right way to love. He only knows the way to make someone feel unloved and he refused to ever let anyone feel that way if he cared.

So he pulls back, not much at first cause it’s hard to not love Eddie loudly, but slowly he thinks he gets the hang of it. Clings less, acts less giddy, pulls his feelings in really tight and tucks them into his rib cage where they can’t get out. And Eddie stops making that face.

He makes a new one now.

This one makes Steve’s skin crawl and nausea pull in his stomach, but he can’t place the emotion it is, has no idea. But Eddie makes it in the places where Steve would have been louder before. Makes it when he looks at Robin and thinks Steve isn’t looking at them. Makes it when Steve makes himself smaller.

He doesn’t know what the face means, and he’s more worried now than he was before, because Robin has taken to making the face at him too, and really it was only a matter of time before he exploded about it.

“Okay what is that face? I don’t know what that face means, please for the love of god what does that face mean?” His voice is loud and desperate when he grabs her shoulders, the surprise from her erases the facial expression he hates so much, but he knows it was there.

“This is just my face, Steve.” She smirks slightly at him, he can tell she knows he’s being serious, but he also knows Robins never been good with serious unless the world is ending, so he tries to hold in his irritation.

“The one you make every time Eddie’s brought up now. The same one he makes at me all the time. I thought I was being better you know? I tried really fucking hard to not be too much to him all the time and I thought it worked cause he stopped- he stopped looking at me a certain way. But now there’s a new face and your face also adopted the face and I’m at a loss.” He breathes heavily, leaning out of Robin's space and running his hand through his hair before bringing it down to pinch the bridge of his nose. He can feel a slight moisture there and it’s more than a little embarrassing that he’s trying not to cry about a facial expression, but fuck it, it’s Robin.

“Steve, what do you mean by being better?” It’s the sorrow he can detect in her voice that really brings the tears to the surface now, and he pinches the bridge of his nose harder, willing them to go away, but they fall anyways.

“I’m too much you know? When I love someone. Too loud about it, too clingy, people don’t like that and I didn’t want to scare Eddie off. Cause I get it now, people won’t ever be able to love me when I love them like that so I have to be quieter, less… obnoxious.” His voice gets softer but the words feel rougher to push out of his throat the more he talks. And he can’t stand to look at her, can’t stand to look up, can feel the shame and embarrassment fucking breaking him.

“Who the fuck told you that?” The voice that speaks now, is not, in fact, Robin. But deeper and filled with a harsh sharpness that causes Steve to flinch slightly.

And of course, of course Eddie would walk in and hear this pathetic ramble about how little Steve Harrington loved so much that it scared off everyone else. It’s really just the icing on the shit cake that is his life lately.

He doesn’t want to, but he looks up.

He looks up just in time to see Robin place her hand on Eddie’s shoulder, looks up slowly enough to see the tremble in Eddie’s hands that never really went away after Vecna.

“No one had to tell me. I could see it on your face every time I was too much, Nancy used to get the same expression. Near the end.” Eddie scoffs a bit, not moving forward but not moving away as Robin steps closer to Steve, reaching her hand out to take his gently.

“Steve,” it’s strained in a way Steve’s never heard his name from Eddie before, tight and clipped, “Whatever face you thought you were seeing before, wasn’t like- fuck,” he shakes his head slightly tugging at the strands of his hair with one hand, “It was awe Steve. Every goddamn time you loved me loudly like that, I was in awe, and maybe a bit confused because people don’t- people don’t love like that. People don’t love me like that, and queer people really don’t ever show that kind of love that openly. I was in awe, Steve.”

Which- was not the answer Steve had braced for, and he can feel all the air leave his lungs harshly, slumping his shoulders down, and looking away from the two people in front of him. Robin squeezes his hand gently.

“And the look you see now isn’t something bad directed at you. Never directed at you. Steve, it was hurting us to watch you make yourself smaller and we had no idea why or what happened. You’re literally my capital P soulmate Steve, the way you love makes me happy, overwhelmed in the most wonderful way I’ve never experienced before. Because Eddie’s right, people don’t love like you. But that’s not a bad thing. God it’s so far from a bad thing.” Steve can see where Eddie’s moved closer now, his Reeboks coming into view next to Robin's red chucks.

“There’s no one quite like you Steve Harrington. And any look you get from me, unless it’s about your music taste, it’s always a positive one. Your ‘too much’ is so much more than enough.”

Steve can really feel the tears falling now, doesn’t even try to stop them this time because this- this right here is what being loved loudly feels like. This right here is everything he’s been searching for his whole life, and they’ve been trying to tell him that for weeks, probably months at this point.

He can feel them surrounding him, Eddie against his back and Robin pressed to his chest, their arms looping him and each other as they hug him, and love him, for being who he’s always tried to be. Who he’s been pushing to become since he realized he hated who he was.

“There is never anything wrong with being loud about your love. Something that’s too much for someone else, will be exactly enough for the right person. Everyone needs to be loved differently and everyone shows love differently, Steve. But the right people for you will fucking cherish the way you love.” Eddie breaths into his ear, and Steve can feel a part of himself click back together again.

So yea, Steve worries sometimes, that he’s too much, that he’s never enough, but Robin and Eddie, they’ll always be there to remind him he’s just right for them.

#Steddie #platonic stobin #steve is a sweetheart

3K notes · View notes

valliesworld · 1 year

Text

You Mean Something

masterlist

simon “ghost” riley x reader, mentions of other task force 141 members

genre: angst

warnings; she/her pronouns, mature content, standard call of duty violence, cursing, kidnapping, mentions of self harm and suicide, mentions of torture, starvation

synopsis; after a failed mission that left you in the hands of the enemy, you finally realise how much Ghost cares for you

Distractions came easy to you, even if you tried your hardest to stay focused, to stay alive and awake, your mind still thought of him while you were being subjected to such torture. You think about his eyes a lot, how in his eyes his his humanity was shown, the person he really was. There were times it got lost, when he would that mask and military vest, when he would become the man the army demanded of him. But you saw it in his eyes that day in the sunshine, waiting for the cadets to finish training. You saw the humour that burned there too, the sort that stays for an eternity. There was something in his spirit that danced when he trains, like a fire giving just the right amount of warmth. You have seen it die too, the flames almost extinguished, when he was under the gun of guilt, shame and fear after a particularly hard mission. You know that isn't him, not the real version, the person you’ve grown to love with everything that is yourself. That's why you had to see his eyes before you go, to see the real him before you decided to give up and let death win. You wanted him to see you too, the girl who messes up, but would do anything in her power to keep him and the squad safe, to keep him emotionally healthy, no matter how deep his scars go. So when you think of him, you see a cheeky man who made cadets run laps til they turned green and hope to god he thinks of the vulnerable version of you, the one beneath the soldier.

In moments of silence, when your captors would leave you be, you would remembered the last conversation you had with your family. She had wished you well with tears in her eyes, making you promise you’d come back to her. Your father had been busting himself with house work, refusing to acknowledge that his youngest child was off to another suicide mission, just like he always did before you left. You had kissed your mother on the cheek as a goodbye, not promising a thing but granting her a smile, just in case that was the last time she’d ever see you again. Death wasn’t scary for you, you had accepted that you would die young, in your line of work death was not something that could be prevented, no matter how hard you might try. What did scare you though, was your nieces and nephews growing up without you, only seeing you in photos, it was your mother and father having to bury their youngest, it was your older brother and sister living without you. Death didn’t scare you, but the impact of yours on your family did.

You didn't know how long you had been held captive for, it could have been weeks, months, even years, at that point. What you did know was that the starvation they subjected you to as one last punishment had began to take it's toll on your body, your weight had dropped rapidly, leaving those metal cuffs loose around your wrists and ankles. At first it had been small strands of hair falling out from stress, then slowly it became more and more til you were left with thin strands to cover your head. Your body was always shivering, cold to touch, and you didn't know whether it was because you were forced to sleep on freezing concrete or if hypothermia was beginning. to settle within your bones.

Makarov had captured you for one thing, he had seen potential in you, wanted you on his side, and the only way he believed he could do that was if he broke you down into nothing, just to rebuild you as the soldier he always desired. He had watched from afar as you had taken down men three times your size, as you cleared bases by yourself, and how you lived up to your callsign. He knew you were young, younger than the other task force members, and with being young came being naive and impressionable, Makarov wanted to use those attributes and swing them to his favour.

In some of your exhausted delusions, you dreamt of your team, of your family. You had dreamt of your first Christmas with the task force, how you had sat in your room with the computer screen on, talking and listening to your family on the other line, wishing to be back home and apart of their celebrations, that was, until Gaz barged into your room and dragging you out for a Christmas surprise with your chosen family. You had dreamt of the day you accepted death, how you leant up against that brick wall, the rain pouring from above and mixing with your blood; red water sweeping the street. You had accepted your fate that afternoon, dying alone, until you knight in a shining skull mask whisked you off your feet and to survival. You dreamt of the day your nephew was born, how his tiny hands wrapped around your finger, chosing you to be his favourite person in that moment. You dreamt of many things, but one always kept returning. The delusion that Ghost would save you one last time.

"Fear is part of being human, Redback, it's the precursor to bravery. We need it, it wakes us up to what needs to be done. So feel it, own it, let it ignite your thoughts," Gaz's words echo in your mind constantly, they were one of the first words he ever spoke to you, and they resonated with her throughout her short years with the task force. They kept you alive at that point, they told you no matter how inhuman you felt, you were still alive, still breathing, still ready to fight.

Your cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there, and you were beginning to. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind.

You could hear the sound of feet slamming against concrete, though your eyes never opened, refusing to see what was coming to torment you that time. They had stripped you of everything, they took your weapons, and your dignity. They had left you to rot in the cell in cotton underwear and a white undershirt, though both items were caked in dirt, grim, and stained with your own blood.

The sound of keys jingling had caught your attention, and when you opened your eyes you kept your gaze away from the intruder. Instead, you found the bruises and dried blood on your ankles far more interesting. The person had unlocked your hands first, fumbling with the keys as if he were nervous, as if something had gone wrong, and that had been his first mistake. When your hands were greeted freedom, you finally looked over at the man, your knife, the one they had stolen from you, sat perched on his hip. They had stolen your gear just to use it against you, and that fact gave you more motivation than anything previously, you wanted your things back.

Without a second of hesitation, your hands wrapped around the knife, plucking it from his tactical belt, your tactical belt, and plunged it into his thigh. He cried out in pain, something you never gave them the satisfaction of hearing, as he doubled over from the fiery sensation in his leg you pulled the knife out again and plunged it into his neck, blood that was not yours finally coating your body again. As you let out all your frustration on the man, pulling the knife out just to slam it back in over and over again, you began to register the sound of gunfire, the sound of Russian shouting, and the feeling of panic the base you were trapped within was beginning to feel.

Once you were positive the man below you was dead, you began stripping him as they had once stripped you. You took the keys from his cold, dead hands, and unlocked your feet from the shackles, your ankles screaming in relief. You then took his clothing, albeit they were far too large for you, they were better than what you had been forced to stay in for your time as a prisoner. Tightening the pants around your waist with your belt, you felt somewhat okay, you didn't feel helpless or hopeless, you felt determined, determined to get out of there yourself, since there would be no rescue party for you.

Gripping onto the rifle, one that wasn't yours originally, you began your escape. As you made your way through the base, leaving a trail of bodies behind you, you felt like yourself again, you felt like the soldier once were. You had reminded yourself of things that were facts; you were one of the youngest ever recorded female members to join the SAS, you were an accomplished soldier, a sergeant before your twenty first birthday, you were a force to be reckoned with; those facts kept you motivated throughout your escape, you were all those things, and more, and you could get yourself out of any situation.

Sticking to the shadows, you took down over twenty soldiers, cornering them til they were alone, and that tactic had worked well enough, til your luck ran out. The corner you took was one of bad judgement, over fifteen men resided there, all on high alert for your whereabouts, and with no shadows to conceal yourself, you had no other option but to simply turn back around, though when you did so, you found yourself face with thirty other men, ready to pounce. Weighing your options, you knew that to surrender was your only choice, if you wanted to stay alive. Letting the rifle hang from your shoulder, you held your hands up, defeat running thick through your veins.

They didn't make a move though, not one soldier stood out of line, all of them waiting for you to make the first move, to do something unpredictable, until he sauntered out of the crowd. Makarov's second in charge, Yuri, grinned like a mad man as he gripped you roughly, pulling you in the direction of another room and dismissing the men on guard. You were no longer deemed as a threat as he led you into the room, far nicer than the cell you had grown accustomed to.

He stripped you of your weapons, though he was not thorough, leaving your bloodied knife within your waistband as he took the rifle and pistol from your body, turning the safety on and throwing them across the room.

"I thought we beat the need to escape out of you," he tsked, hands feeling your body in a way far less appropriate than simply looking for weapons. "But I now see that you have to be broken in a different way to get you to comply with our rules."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the five other men walked through the door, dragging their bodies with them. Three had a grip on Ghost's sluggish body, and two were struggling against Soap's protests. The men forced Ghost and Soap to their knees, Ghost having to steady himself by placing his hands in front of him to keep him from falling foreword. They had drugged him, most likely using the same one they had used to keep you compliant in the first weeks of your capture.

"Redback?" Ghost questioned softly as he looked towards you, confusion running through his mind.

"These two were found sneaking around our base," Yuri revealed, toying with a piece of your hair as he forced you to look at them. Soap held a look of distraught as he looked over at you, like he had just seen a real ghost, while Ghost's eyes held a look of resentment within them. You weren't sure who the resentment was pointed towards, but you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't directed at you. "And now you'll watch them die."

Yuri stepped foreword, his own pistol raised, pressing the barrel against Soap's head as he looked back at you. With a clenched jaw, you pulled the knife from your waistband and pressed it against your wrist. The sharpness of it caused a small speck of blood to dribble down your arm and drip to the floor, but despite the sting you kept it in place.

"Makarov wants me, you kill them and I'll die with them," You spoke clearly, despite your voice being hoarse from not speaking for days on end. "How would that look for you? Under your watch, his prized possession dies because you can't do your fucking job right."

Yuri let out a dry chuckle, "so loyal," he commented, looking towards the men knelt before him, "and where are your pleas? When she was taken from you, you left her. Maybe you two would rather her blood spill to cover your sins."

"Shut up," You hissed, their silence to his words were deafening, a heartbreaking scene as Ghost looked anywhere but at you.

"I want you to memorise this moment, they weren't here to rescue you," Yuri growled, "They were completing another mission, and you so happen to be here as well."

Ghost's eyes, despite hooded with the effects of the drug, widened slightly, struggling even harder against the three men that held him in place. Soap on the other hand, used the distraction as an ample time to escape. Taking the gun from Yuri, Soap pointed it towards the men holding him down and left off two shots, killing them quickly. You had taken this opportunity to throw the knife, watching with a sickening smile as it lodged itself into Yuri's chest. Ghost, regardless of being under the influence of a drug, took down two of the men holding him hostage while Soap let off another shot into the final man.

Ignoring the two men, you walked over towards Yuri, watching as he spluttered out in pain. Hovering over him, you crouched down, twisting the knife deeper into his chest. Pulling it out, you relished in the pool of blood that began to form.

"I want you to memorise this moment," You repeated his words to him as you dragged the bloodied knife down his cheek, smearing his own blood on his face, "that nobody is here to rescue you." and with that, you plunged the knife up through his bottom jaw.

Months had come and gone, and you had not spoken a word to anyone on Task Force 141 since you had been brought back to the. safety of your base. The wounds, the injuries to your flesh would heal long before you're able to heal your brain. You had gone through a lot, many scars now littered your body, your ankles and wrists having a permanent red line from the rubbing of your shackles, and your mind was in shambles. Laswell had told you that they hadn't looked for you once, that they assumed you were dead and had even informed your family of you being killed in action. You felt almost betrayed that they didn't even bother to look for you, that the mission was more important to them, to Ghost, than to see you still breathing.

The doctors had gotten you healthy again, gave you the fluids and sustenance you had been deprived on before setting you up with a physiotherapist. That man had retaught you how to do simple tasks, explaining to you that the only reason you were capable of such things during your escape was because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. It had taken you four months to get back to doing things on your own, and an additional three months before you were back to your usual abilities, and still within all that time, you refused to look at the men that had left you in the hands of the enemy. They had offered you leave, to go home and spend time with family, but if the mission was as important as leaving behind a team member, it only made sense to stay and complete it before gifting yourself with seeing your parents relieved faces.

The gym was quiet at three am, sleep no longer a need for you as it only plagued your mind with unwanted memories. The sound of your knuckles coming in contact with the rubber punching bag silenced your mind, created an inner peace within you as you assaulted the equipment. Nobody else resided inside as you continued to push your abilities, seeing just how long you could do this before getting tired. You used to be able to go for hours, but now, it seemed that you could only do half of that.

Your inner peace was quickly ruined by the sound of heavy footsteps, and before you could even register what was happening, his hands wrapped around your waist and pushed you against the closest wall. He turned you to face him, the hard skull plate from his mask was gone, his balaclava the only thing separating them from each other. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were hooded from lack of sleep, the black war paint he usually sported was not there, leaving his expressions easier to read.

"You never threaten to kill yourself to save me again," His voice was rough, reminding you of a hot long black in the early of the morning, bitter and abrasive, burning your tongue. "I'd rather get shot ten times over than ever see you do that again."

Scoffing, you looked at him with a frown, "A few months too late for this revelation, Lieutenant."

"I don't care," He huffed, grip on your waist loosening, "You don't get to do that shit, not anymore."

"And you don't get too care, why do you even care? Huh?" You spluttered out, words dripping with venom, "You left me there to die, Laswell told me everything, told me how you all didn't even give me a second thought, told my fucking family I was dead."

"I watched you die," He growled out, "I watched as that bullet went through your chest, as you fell to the ground."

"And you didn't think to check? The mission that important to you that you can't go over to a wounded soldier and check if their heart is still beating?" You all but screamed at him, if you were anyone else, your yelling at a superior would go severly punished, "I was wearing a fucking chest plate, you saw me put it on, you checked I had it on before we started that fucking mission, and you still left me for dead."

"You don't think I don't remember that now?" He yelled back. at you, voice booming throughout the gym, "You don't think I wasn't awake every night wondering about you? Thinking of things I could have done differently? I completed that mission and went back for you, you were gone."

"Why do you care so much?" You hissed at him, "The first time we met you told me that I'd be another dead body at the edge of your boot because you didn't think I was good enough, why care now?"

"Because you mean something to me," He revealed, though his words were sweet his tone wasn't, it was like he resented the fact that you meant something to him, "you mean more to me every single day, that's why I care."

4K notes · View notes

highhhfiveee · 6 months

Text

mint (mike schmidt x reader)

*minor movie spoiler that isn’t a spoiler fr but kind of is*

tags: suggestiveness, swearing, fluff

oi. this is my first official piece of fanfic on tumblr and i'm excited but also super nervous. i never knew what characters i wanted to write for as most of my fandoms are obsolete tbh (teen wolf and maze runner, i'm looking at you 💔) but after watching the fnaf movie and falling in love with j hutch like i'm 14 again, i wanted to try to write for mike!

i'm sorry if this story sucks tbh. i wrote it pretty quickly, did not edit it in any way (watch for grammar and spelling errors!) and i'm still trying to establish characters and plot and do all this silly billy worldbuilding, but i'll get better! i'm also taking requests for both fluff and smut, so if y'all would like to send anything for me to write, i'll def accept! like i said in my last post, i think i'm gonna redo my tumblr layout so i can feel like a true fanfic/misc blog lmao so ignore its under construction phase ((: i hope y'all enjoy this though bc i've been thinking ab mike schmidt all night

i have sooo many ideas, but between last night and this morning, i’ve been thinking of abby’s babysitter!reader (bc fuck max).

you’ve been channel surfing in the living room since you put abby down, working with her to lock down a nightly routine. ideally, she’d bathe, eat dinner (god willingly), brush her teeth, and then you’d be able to get her to lay in bed and doze off. some nights, this required dessert.

“you just brushed your teeth though. it’s gonna taste gross.”

“not if it’s one of those mint chocolate things you always have.” you straighten up, eyes squinted at the child before you; she meant the small, sometimes melted, squares of Andes mint chocolate you always kept. they’d always been your favorite, a guilty pleasure in this fucked up world.

you hadn’t been babysitting abby for long, and you didn’t realize that she'd been watching you crush the chocolates like it was light work. they were easy to eat, and once you had one, you found out how easy it was to eat another one, and then another one, and then another one until there was a mountain of crinkled foil next to your phone and chocolate smeared on your face.

"please, y/n. just one," you didn't exactly know if it was a lie. abby was convincing, able to break you down with her eyes, pleading and puppy-dog like. "please."

you cave, leaning down to brush her hair back from her forehead and place a gentle kiss on the skin. with pursed lips, you whisper, "fine, but tomorrow night. i have to get some more."

abby does nothing but smile, eyes fluttering closed. you stay with her for a bit like you always do--watching the way her chest rises and falls, and how her features twitched with slumber. features scarily similar to mike's.

of course she'd look like mike. they were siblings, no shit, but the resemblance occupied your brain. there was sweet abby, with her colorful clothes and scribbled drawings and persuasive aura, and then there was mike.

you shake your head, giving abby another kiss before exiting her room. you didn't need to think about mike. he wasn't what you were here for. you'd come to abby's school as an aide and after she'd privately confided in you about her home life, you knew you had to help her. you would do anything for her, even if that meant taking care of her while suppressing the overwhelming school girl crush you had on her older brother.

mike was a bit older than you, which didn't scare you at all. guys in their early 20s were rarely mature, doing anything they could just to fuck; but guys in their late 20s, mike specifically, had only ever shown you couth, surprisingly.

for nearly two months, five mornings a week, the sound of the door being unlocked would ring out. you'd turn to see sunshine pouring into the living room, enveloping mike's brooding figure in a radiant golden glow.

he'd hang his coat on the wall hooks, drop his bag down to his feet, and give you a small but warm smile. you'd try to not to embarrass yourself as you two made small talk, packing up your things.

you always left unscathed, but recently it'd been hard. you were always thinking about him, dreaming about him even; how his hair would feel between your fingers, how his hands would feel on your face, how his face would feel between your thighs.

the thought is washed away, drowned out by the sound effects of a loud infomercial when the door opens, and you're turning and squinting against the wash of pale yellow on your face. mike steps forward with a, "hey, y/n" and you meekly raise your hand to wave.

he hangs his hoodie up to reveal his shoulder blades flexing under an uncharacteristically tight navy blue sweater. you can't help but stare.

"just wake up?" his voice is raspy, but he's still facing the wall, rummaging in his bag for something.

"um...yeah. brain's still turning on," you lie, tossing the thick blue blanket off your body. you didn't sleep at all, kept up with your thoughts and the last of your Andes mints (though you loved her, you couldn't give abby your last ones).

"hm," he mutters, finally turning to you but keeping his hands behind his back. something crinkles in them and you raise your eyebrow at the tired yet amused expression he takes with you. it's enough to make your body hot and you awkwardly pull at the collar of your shirt, fanning yourself off.

"hot?" the gravelly tone sends you into a giggling fit, shaking your head as you shoot to your feet. you have to leave before you do or say something you regret.

"uh, yeah, it was s-super hot under that...um...blanket. i shouldn't have worn sweatpants to s-sleep," you stutter, nodding your head along with mike as he steps closer to you. this couldn't be the moment something happens, right? it'd been so casual between you too, very friendly, and he'd never shown any signs of trying to do anything with you before. why would he choose right now, so spontaneously?

he stands before you, the slightest bit taller than you. you're able to see every pore, every freckle, every microscopic detail in his eyes and lips.

you open your mouth, hoping your heart doesn't fall out, to ask what's happening, when he reveals a bag of Andes mints, one bigger than you've ever seen.

your mouth stays open in surprise. "wh-"

"abby's been talking about them. i wondered where she found out about them but--" he nudges his head towards the coffee table, where a small mound of green wrappers lay. you swear under your breath, cursing yourself for not throwing them away like you usually do.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, blushing beyond measure as you begin to frantically pack your things. "i should be more careful with that stuff."

"god, y/n, you're saying it like it's coke," mike chuckles. he sets the bag down on the couch and reaches out to you, placing his hand on yours as you shove things into your tote. "hey."

his voice forces you to stop and look up. you melt under his stare just like you do with abby. the puppy-dog thing must run in the family.

"i feel bad about not being able to pay you yet, and i really appreciate all you're doing. abby told me that you loved those mints, so..."

"thank you, mike," you say over the sound of your pounding heart. you didn't care about the money, you didn't need it. being appreciated by someone who made your heartbeat resonate throughout your body was payment enough. "this is really sweet."

"thank you, y/n. you don't know how much this means to me." You scoff, throwing your tote over your shoulder and looking down at your feet.

"i'm always happy to help." you and mike stand facing each other for what feels like hours, the air as thick as molasses between you. his eyes were squinted, low and dark and intriguing.

you wished you could read his mind. what was he thinking? did his heart do the same thing as yours, wacking against his ribcage with no end in sight? did he stay up thinking about you when he was supposed to be sleeping, imagining how you felt, what you sounded like, how you tasted---

"see you later tonight?" his voice rocks you out of your trance. he's not thinking about you. he's tired, wondering when you'll leave so he can fall into his bed and doze off.

"yeah. tell abby i said i'll see her tonight." your smile is tight as you exit the house, cursing at yourself as you get into your car.

you didn't know how long you could go on like this.

ya, i know this sucks and it isn't really anything but we're gonna work our way through these fics and blurbs to really develop a cute relationship (,: i will still be writing other fics for mike, and possibly using another babysitter!reader in a different universe, but as for now, we're gonna be rocking with these two (: (thinking that we’ll label her as 🌱🍫!reader)

all notes are appreciated (: thanks for reading!

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt fluff #faire is writing stuff #fnaf fic

496 notes · View notes

bobgasm · 7 months

Text

good 4 u | b.f

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x f!reader word count: 15,660 [sorry lmao] warnings: angst, heartbroken bob, flirting, slow burn, friends to lovers

prompt: good 4 u | #sourguts writing challenge by @mothdruid

summary: in which bob’s been invited to his ex’s wedding and you volunteer to go as his date

author’s note: this was supposed to be a fake dating au but i scrapped that plan halfway through 😅 hope u enjoy it regardless

oneshot | masterlist

It was like Bob was walking on eggshells around everyone. He knew why they were careful about what they say, and why even Hangman seemed to be taking pity on the heartbroken fool.

They all got the same pristine invitation that he did.

The invitation for Jamie, his ex, and her fiancé’s wedding. It was like a slap in the face, and for a week Phoenix had hidden it from him. She’d intercepted his mail before he could find the crisp white invitation with gold and floral decoration. Perfect penmanship addressing the upcoming wedding, and inviting Bob to celebrate the day.

Because he’d been too kind to say that they couldn’t stay friends when they’d broken up. Because he’d tortured himself with their friendship after their breakup, and suffered in silence when she’d started dating. Plastering on a fake smile and faux enthusiasm when it started getting more serious.

And now they were engaged. And like the good friend Phoenix was, she’d hidden the news as long as she could until Jamie and Hayden had shown up to games’ night flaunting the huge rock on her third finger. Rooster had dragged Bob outside, but Bob had pushed through. He had swallowed his hurt and put on a convincing performance.

One that was deserving of an Oscar, if you asked Rooster. One that had Phoenix casting worried looks at Bob throughout the evening. One that had Fanboy wondering if Bob had ever loved Jamie as much as he’d claimed to.

The wedding invitation hadn’t been intercepted, though several tried. Even Hangman tried to play the diversion, but they’d all been too late. Bob had found the invitation and had gone about his day the best as he could. It wasn’t until the third attempt to distract him that he simply asked outright if they were trying to find the invitation. When no one replied, he nodded and continued with his tasks.

It had been a week of deliberation. A week of people trying to convince him to just throw the invitation away and be done with Jamie for good. A week of hearing his friends whisper about not going in solidarity with him.

But he’d told them they didn’t have to choose. She was their friend too, and he wasn’t going to hold it against them if they wanted to go, even if he didn’t. Though Phoenix knew. She knew he’d decide to go, whether he told everyone otherwise or not.

It was why she planned a spontaneous games night for her birthday. Bob knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to buy time. Make him realise he didn’t need to cling to the memories he had with Jamie, and that he could make new ones. And what better time than her birthday, which her friend Y/N was in town for?

Bob was punctual, like always. He brought a bottle of Phoenix’s favourite liquor and helped finish setting things up. He made polite small talk and appreciated the distraction, but he didn’t want tonight to be a downer. No, it was Phoenix’s birthday! They were supposed to be celebrating! Hell, he even treated himself to a glass of wine when she offered him one before everyone else arrived. He wanted to loosen up and actually enjoy himself for a change, and what better way to do that than alcohol?

Coyote, Fanboy and Rooster were the next to arrive. They all brought games or snacks and drinks. Fanboy was quick to play some music before Hangman arrived and took control, and Bob helped himself to another glass. The only one missing was Payback, who’d said he’d be late, but by the time he finally arrived, Bob had a good buzz on. He was enjoying the banter that came from each game, and even commented some of his own.

“Fanboy, close your eyes.”

They’re playing wavelength, a game Rooster had seen on TikTok. The aim was simple: person A had to guess the number using 5 questions. The questions varied every round, but the person answering the question had to gage their answer off the number.

Say that the number was 7, for example. 10 is the best, and 1 is the worst. If the question was along the lines of “give me a fast food chain,” then the person answering had to give their third favourite place to go. The question could be a colour, or a hiking trail, but the idea was to get person A to guess the number that everyone else knew, based off where person B had ranked their answer to person A’s question. Hence, the name of the game being wavelength, because you’d all be on the same wavelength.

They’d played a practise round so everyone kind of understood how the game should be played, with a lot of clarification needed throughout, but they were there.

Maybe.

And Fanboy was the unlucky first person to try and guess the number.

Bob held up 3 fingers. Everyone nodded in agreement, then Fanboy opened his eyes and tried to think of who to pick on first.

“Coyote, give me an alcoholic drink,” Fanboy requested.

Oh, another thing Bob learnt, if the question had been asked in the previous round, you couldn’t use it for the next two rounds. The hard part was trying to come up with new questions each time.

“Merlot,” Coyote replied, offering no clarification.

The game works best if you have a group of people who know enough about each other to kind of guess where they’d rank their answers. The fun part came from trying not to blurt out the number, as Hangman had learnt in the trial run. A bout of laughter had ensued, and Phoenix was convinced her plan had worked. She just wondered where the hell Y/N had got to.

“Interesting, okay,” Fanboy said. “Bob, give me something you plug in?”

“You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel with your questions, huh?” Bob teased.

“I panicked and zoned out staring at the cord for the tv,” Fanboy confessed with a laugh of his own.

“Let me think for a second,” Bob told him, sipping his beer.

He couldn’t tell you when he’d moved on to beer, but he didn’t mind it. The wine had been too tart for his liking, but the beer was going down a treat. He felt warm and relaxed, but it was taking a lot of effort not to blurt out the number like Hangman did earlier.

“Hair dryer,” Bob eventually said. There were a few murmurs of agreement at his choice, and while Phoenix tsk’d under her breath, she didn’t put up much of a fight. It’s where person B, in this case Bob, would rank the answer to the question since he was called on.

Fanboy directed his next question at Phoenix. “Give me a flavour of milkshake?”

“You asking me out, Mickey?”

“Keeping my options open.” He winked.

Phoenix laughed. “Banana.”

The next question was for Rooster, who’d just returned from the bathroom. He sat down beside Bob and reached for his beer from the table in front of him.

“Roo, give me a type of candy,” Fanboy requested.

Bob didn’t hear Rooster’s answer because the apartment door flew open and he was faced with you – hair slightly messy and cheeks flushed. Arms carrying more wine and balancing a cake, and he felt floored. Like the breath had been sucked from his lungs and he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“They wrote ‘Happy Birthday Phoebe’!’” You exclaimed, kicking the door shut and placing the cake on the kitchen counter, not that there was much free space for it. Regardless, you didn’t care, you just opened the bottle of wine you still held and took a large swig. “What are we playing?”

“Two steps back, Y/N,” Phoenix said with a laugh.

She used Bob’s knee to push herself to her feet, and her grip helped bring him back to earth. He remembered how to breathe, sucking in a deep breath which Rooster mistook for a wince and cast him a concerned look.

“Your knee acting up?”

“Sharp nails,” he lied.

“Everyone, this is Y/N, she’s come to town for my birthday this weekend,” Phoenix said, taking a moment to introduce everyone by their name. “And I’m sure I can live with a cake that says ‘Phoebe.’”

“We’re playing ‘wavelength,’ have you heard of it?” Rooster asked.

“Only from TikTok,” you said.

“That’s where I learnt it,” he replied, making room beside him so you could sit between himself and Bob.

Bob, who tried to not look like a complete fool as you smiled his way and sat down. Phoenix took her spot on the ground beside Bob’s left leg, but he didn’t miss the slight twitch of her lips before she spoke, “Type of candy, Roo?”

“I said warheads,” Rooster repeated.

You leaned over to Bob and whispered in his ear as Fanboy asked the next question. “What’s the number?” You asked him. At a loss for words, and not wanting to say them or hold three fingers up, he tapped the neck of his beer bottle thrice. An action you followed with your gaze before returning to his eyes once again and smiling. “Thanks, Bob.”

“‘Course,” he mumbled.

He needed another drink, and signaled to Hangman for another beer while he was up. He snagged a few and handed them off before passing one to Bob.

“Who’s driving you home?” He asked.

“Probably sleep on Nix’s couch,” he replied, casting a glance at Phoenix. “That okay?”

“You’re making breakfast in the morning,” she replied easily, clinking her bottle with Y/N’s like some sort of victory.

“Works for me,” Bob replied, thanking Hangman and opening the bottle before taking a sip.

He wished he could focus on the rest of the game, but he was acutely aware of the warmth radiating from your leg that was pressed up against the side of his own that he couldn’t think about anything else. Even through the layers of your jeans and his own pants, he could feel the warmth of your skin. His fingers gripping his beer a little tighter so he didn’t make a fool of himself and rest his hand on your thigh, desperate to feel more.

When Fanboy guessed the number 3 correctly, Coyote called for a round of shots to celebrate. Bob didn’t drink much, but he was down for a round. He needed to feel the warmth of the liquor rather than your leg.

Hangman volunteered to go next. Wavelength was a hit, and so was the round of Tequila shots. Bob felt lightheaded, but he felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. Everyone seemed to notice, too. Keeping an eye on how much he was drinking, making sure he was eating, but still letting him finally let loose a little. It was long overdue, and since he wasn’t driving home…no one was too bothered when he got up to get everyone another round of shots when Hangman guessed the right answer for the latest round of wavelength.

No one knew what to expect from a drunk Bob. They’d hardly ever seen him drink, so to see him actually drunk? He’d lost his shy exterior; shed it like a layer of himself and finally come out of his shell. He was boisterous and chatty, and sang along to whatever song was playing. Whether the song was one from the 80’s, or a newly released one, he was singing.

Then came the dancing.

You watched with curious fascination as he led the majority of the guys in a somewhat choreographed routine. You’d heard that a few of the guys had one specific song they liked to dance to, but according to Phoenix, she and Bob usually sat out and laughed at them. As it turned out, he knew the entire routine, and was now showing them up.

You and Phoenix howled with laughter as Bob and Fanboy slut-dropped, while Rooster fell over his own feet at the unexpected behaviour from Bob. Coyote and Hangman didn’t seem fazed, and continued on like nothing happened.

But it did happen, and you were enjoying every minute of it. Even throwing a few loose ones at the group of guys as their shirts came off. The song changing to fit the whole stripper vibe that the evening had somehow come to.

Bob collapsed on the couch, in the spot between you and Phoenix. Slumping down and closing his eyes while he breathed heavily, a drunk smile on his face.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he confessed. “Happy Birthday, Nix.”

“Thanks, Bob,” she replied with a smile of her own.

“You didn’t want to strip for us, too?” You asked teasingly, looking over at the four men grinding against the air or flossing their shirts between their legs.

“Nah, you couldn’t afford me,” Bob replied, watching you turn your attention back to him. Amusement sparkled in your eyes, while his were hooded, heavy from the alcohol but still watching you as intently as he could.

You registered Phoenix getting up, but Bob had your undivided attention.

“We could find out just how much I’m willing to pay for a private show,” you told him, keeping your tone light. Easy, while still serious. You didn’t want to scare him away.

“Or?”

“Or not,” you said with a shrug, sipping your wine.

You relaxed back into the couch a little, the entire left side of your body pressed up against the right side of his. You swore you could hear his breath catch in his throat as you rested your hand on his thigh, maybe a little higher than you had intended, but it served its purpose.

You’d seen the shy, reserved guy Phoenix had described. He was just as cute as you’d imagined, but once the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions? You wanted to see more. So much more.

That was how you stayed until the song ended and Rooster offered you both another drink. Another round of tequila shots and you were up and singing loudly to the next song. Grabbing Bob’s hand and hauling him to his feet so he could join in with everyone, but it was like he wasn’t present. Not like he had been previously. He seemed to be stuck in his head, and was quick to sit back down once the song was over. Nursing a bottle of beer and picking aimlessly at the label.

“I think he’s hit a wall,” Fanboy commented to Phoenix, and you couldn’t help but overhear as you poured yourself another wine.

“I think you’re right,” she replied. “You guys should head out without us. I’ll stay and make sure he’s okay.”

“It’s your birthday though,” he replied. “You should be coming out with us.”

“Another time, I promise,” she assured him. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” he said, swiftly kissing her cheek. “Save us some cake?”

Fanboy herded the guys out of the apartment with a loud goodbye, and Phoenix shut the door behind them. When she joined you in the kitchen, she offered you a fork and you stood together picking away at the cake you got her. There was a good chunk missing already, but it was too good not to keep eating.

“Is Bob okay?”

Phoenix sighed, “If you ask him, he’ll say ‘yes’ and pretend he’s not falling apart, but he won’t talk about it.”

“Girl problems?” She nodded and you reached for your wine. “Do you think my flirting was the catalyst for his sudden withdrawal tonight?”

Her silence spoke volumes, and you wished it didn’t. Downing the last of your glass while she grabbed the bottle of tequila and sat down beside Bob.

You watched the two of them interact. Nothing was said, but there was mutual understanding. Respect. A comforting hand on his shoulder, a watery smile while he downed the last of his beer and gratefully accepted the bottle of tequila. He’d likely regret it in the morning, but if it helped him tonight? That was all he could think of.

“Room for one more?” You asked tentatively.

“Yeah.” Bob’s voice was thick, like he was trying not to cry.

The more he drank, the higher the likelihood that he’d be unable to help it. Tequila was notorious for making you feel your feelings. You’d know, you had a tendency to drown your sorrows at the bottoms of a bottle on the odd occasion.

“You want to talk about it yet?” Phoenix tried to pry.

Bob drank straight from the bottle of tequila. You shared a look with Phoenix – it was going to be a long night. Deciding to give them some privacy in case Bob didn’t want to talk about what was going on in front of you, you headed for the bathroom. Taking the time to brush your teeth and wash your face before changing into a pair of loose cotton pyjama bottoms and an old tee.

By the time you joined Bob and Phoenix again, they were lying on the floor of the living room, staring up at the ceiling. Phoenix looked over at you and held up the bottle.

“The room was spinning so we laid down. Lie with us,” she said. You took the bottle and downed a large swig before joining them.

“Do you remember the last time we drank tequila like this?” You asked her. “You’d just broken up with Sam, and I was having problems with Evan. We drank a bottle of tequila and you broke up with him for me so we could be single together.”

Phoenix laughed at the memory. “They were assholes.”

“Is Bob’s ex an asshole?” You dared to ask.

“No,” he answered after a moment of silence. “That’s the worst part.”

“She did an asshole thing though,” Phoenix pointed out.

“No, I did. By agreeing to stay friends,” he replied. “You can’t stay friends with an ex or it means you never loved them. I don’t think I loved her, I think I loved the idea of her.”

“How long were you two together?” You asked.

“Almost five years,” he said, reaching for the bottle from your hand and sitting up to take a swig. “Five years and she moves on like it was nothing, then invites me to her fucking wedding.”

He spat the last word like it pained him to say, and it probably did.

“You totally have to go,” you told him. “Show up with a hot date and pretend like those five years meant nothing to you, too. That you’ve moved on and you’re fine, and then never speak to her again.”

“I don’t think that–,”

Bob cut Phoenix off. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Except hot women don’t tend to fall at my feet.”

“Do you want me to trip or something just to prove to you that they do?” You challenged. “You’re hot, Bob.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes but she understood what you were trying to do. “If you want to go to the wedding, you know we’ll all go to support you. No one has sent their RSVP yet because we’re waiting to see what you want to do. And I think Y/N has just proven she’ll more than happily be your date. Think you can pretend to be in love with her for one night?”

“Do I have to answer right now?” Bob asked.

“No.”

“Good, ‘cause I think I’m g’na puke,” he said, shooting to his feet and darting towards the bathroom like a bat out of hell.

Phoenix looked at you as you both heard retching from the bathroom. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“Bob’s a big boy. He can make that decision for himself,” you answered. “Should probably check on him, though. Make sure he’s not drowning in his own vomit.”

The pair of you headed to the bathroom and found him hunched over, sobbing into the toilet. Phoenix crouched down and rubbed his back soothingly while you leaned against the doorframe.

“She’s not worth your tears, Bob,” Phoenix said softly.

“How does she get to be fine while I’m falling apart?”

Your heart broke as he sobbed again, immediately followed by more retching as he hugged the bowl of the toilet.

“Sometimes we fall in love with people who don’t love us as much as we love them,” you told him after the toilet stopped flushing. “They love us 20% and we shoulder the other 80% because we don’t think that someone can love us more than that. We accept what we think we deserve, then they move on and we’re still hung up on what might’ve been. You deserve more than 20%, Bob.”

Phoenix gave you one of her all-knowing smiles, paired with sad eyes as she knew exactly who you were referencing. You’d been in Bob’s place before, a couple times actually. Moving on to the next person while still harbouring feelings for your ex and pretending that the new person was them. Loving them more than they loved you.

It sucked. Phoenix had picked up the pieces of your broken heart more times than you’d have liked. Now you’d been single the longest you’d ever been, but now you felt like you didn’t need anyone. Sure, company was great for a night or two, but your feelings were always more than the other person’s. You were tired of giving someone your all and not receiving even half of the love you gave them in return.

“It gets better,” you continued, watching him wipe his mouth with a bit of paper before he turned to look at you. “It’s not always this hard. It only seems like the end of the world because she’s engaged and having the life you’d always talked about, right? You’d been talking about getting engaged and having a big wedding, and now she’s experiencing all of that with someone else.”

“I–yeah,” he confessed. “Do you really want to go to this wedding as my date?”

“I wouldn’t have offered to if I didn’t want to go,” you told him. “And if Phoenix and the rest of the guys come along, between us all we can make it fun.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agreed. “We can be your buffers if you don’t want to talk to her, or if you do then we’ll be there to support you. And carry you home if you get drunk like you are tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, not too sure but then he repeated himself, “okay. I can’t keep torturing myself by seeing her anymore, so it’ll be the last time.”

“Exactly,” both you and Phoenix replied.

Bob woke up to the light streaming through the small gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet. He tried to shield his eyes and go back to sleep, but his mouth was dry and his stomach protested. He downed the water bottle on the coffee table as well as a few aspirin for the headache splitting his skull. Letting it work for a few minutes before he got up and scoured the kitchen to make breakfast.

He knew he drank too much. He knew he ended up crying on the bathroom floor. He knew he’d turned Phoenix’s birthday into a pity party and he felt terrible. Not only that, but he knew he’d likely scared you off. You, Y/N, who’d called him hot and flirted with him early on in the night. You, who’d given him some great advice, but also offered to be his date to his ex’s wedding.

Why would you do that?

Surely you could do better than the heartbroken man he’d become lately.

With a sigh he watched the coffee machine drip coffee into a mug. When it was done, he took a sip before whipping up some pancakes. Personally, Bob thought they were overrated, but he knew Phoenix loved them. It was the least he could do after last night.

He fried some bacon and scrambled some eggs to go along with the pancakes, since that’s what he felt like eating. When he turned around to grab his coffee, you were seated at the breakfast bar already drinking it.

“How’re you feeling this morning?” You asked kindly.

“Would rather not think about it,” he replied, earning a soft laugh from you in response. “Phoenix up yet?”

“She’s awake but not up,” you told him. “I smelt coffee. Sorry for knicking yours.”

“It’s fine,” he assured you, already starting to make another, plus one for Phoenix. “Thanks for last night.”

“We’ve all been there, Bob, don’t sweat it.” You smiled sweetly and he nodded a few times, trying to get his breathing under control. “Smells good out here. I like the view, too.”

Bob suddenly felt underdressed. He’d removed his shirt to sleep and changed into a pair of sweatpants he’d left here a few months ago. He was glad he still had his briefs underneath, otherwise he would’ve felt more exposed than he already did.

“Uhh, you don’t have to flirt with me out of pity, you know that, right?”

“It’s not out of pity, Bob,” you told him. “I said it last night and I’ll say it again, you’re hot. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

Bob hated that when he blushed it went down his neck and covered the top of his chest. He hated that you could see just how flushed your comments made him. Turning back to the coffee machine, and essentially hiding from you, he dropped some bread in the toaster before making the next coffee.

“If it makes you that uncomfortable, I’ll stop,” you offered kindly.

“No, I just, I don’t get called ‘hot.’ Usually only ‘cute’ or ‘adorable.’”

“You can be ‘hot’ and ‘cute’ at the same time,” you argued lightly, a smile to your tone. “Like right now. You’re all cute and shy about my flirting, but you can cook, so you’re hot.”

“I think I’m following.”

“Good boy,” you praised and Bob felt like he’d been kicked in the chest with the way his breath got caught in his throat. His heart raced and he made a face, like he didn’t hate that, and you grinned as you caught the shock before he tried to keep his expression blank. “When’s the wedding?”

Finally, a safe topic.

Bob cleared his throat before looking at you. “Second weekend in June,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go? With me?”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed. “Do you still want me to go with you?”

“I do,” he said. He held your gaze for a moment before it flickered over your shoulder. “Coffee’s ready, Phoenix!”

“Thank god!” Her reply came a moment later.

You smiled at Bob as he plated the food and set out some more plates and cutlery. Grabbing the syrup for the pancakes and the salt and pepper shakers for the eggs. You started serving yourself while Phoenix slowly joined you, accepting the mug of coffee from Bob as she sat down beside you.

“How’re you feeling this morning, Bob?”

“Better,” he replied. “Sorry about last night.”

“We all fall apart sometimes,” Phoenix responded. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Once breakfast was finished you helped Bob clean up while Phoenix took a shower. You washed while he dried.

“Do you think I could get your number? You know, so we can plan for the wedding?”

“Ask me again without the part about the wedding,” you replied.

“Uhh, can I have your number?”

“Of course,” you said with a smile in his direction. He grabbed his phone from the couch and you rattled off the digits for him. You were glad to see he still hadn’t put a shirt on, but while he was by the couch he quickly changed that.

“I sent you a text so you have my number, too,” he told you, unaware of the small pout on your lips as his chest was no longer visible. But still, you knew what he looked like without a shirt and you were happy about that. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Should probably go see my mom while I’m here, but then I’m driving home this afternoon. You want to meet me for coffee before I go?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and you saw the blush creep back up on his cheeks.

“Great, around two? You pick the place. I don’t know many good cafés around here.”

“Okay, I’ll text you,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Will you tell Phoenix I said thanks again for last night? I’m gonna head out.”

“Yeah, of course. See you later, Bob.”

“See you later.”

By the time Bob was set to meet with you at a small café just after two, he was nervous. He’d been nervous when he’d asked for your number, but he was more nervous now that he had it. He was nervous he was somehow going to make you hate him. Acutely aware that you’d told him to ask for his number without mentioning the wedding, so wondering what the fuck you’d even talk about in the meantime.

He blew out a breath and pushed open the door to the café. It was a quaint place with artwork on the walls done by a few local artists. If you saw something you liked, you could buy it. Bob had two small pieces in his collection already, and the staff knew him well.

He came in a few times a week and ordered a pot of green tea while he read a book. Today, however, he didn’t have a book with him and definitely seemed antsy.

“Your usual, Bob?” The barista, Marcy, asked him with a friendly smile.

“Uh, yeah, and a couple of menus, please,” he replied, thanking her for the menus before taking a seat at his favourite spot by the window. It gave him a good natural light to read, but also allowed him to people-watch.

You breezed through the door a second later, smiling as your eyes found Bob and he rose to give you a small hug.

“Hey, you look like you got a bit more sleep,” you observed, taking a seat opposite him.

“I did, yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “How was your mom?”

“She’s good, thank you. Told me I have to come back and visit more often, and now that I only live an hour away I guess I will be back more often.”

“That’s good to know,” he mused.

“What, that I’ll be back?” You teased lightly.

“Well, yeah,” he said with a cough and an awkward rub of the back of his neck. “I guess we have to plan our wedding outfits, right?

“You were doing so well until you mentioned the wedding,” you told him.

“You make me nervous,” he confessed. “I don’t know what else to talk to you about.”

“Okay, that’s an easy fix. Ask me what my favourite colour is, or what made me move away from/back to San Diego,” you supplied, attention being pulled towards the barista who placed a pot of tea on the table in front of Bob.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” She asked you.

“Iced Americano, thank you,” you replied, smiling at her before watching Bob pour himself a cup of tea.

“Why did you move from San Diego?” Bob asked you.

“I grew up here. Felt like I needed to get out and explore for a bit. Applied for a job up in Seattle and was living there for about five years, but it felt like something was missing, you know? So I packed up and moved back to San Diego.”

“Are you glad to be back?”

“Yeah, I am,” you admitted. “I think I missed the community here. It’s just me and my mom now, but it’s so familiar. I can still go to some little mom and pop stores and the owners remember me from when I was a little kid.”

“I get that,” he said. “It’s the same when I go back to Montana. Just feels like you never left, right?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I didn’t know you were from Montana. You can hardly hair the drawl.”

“Oh, it’s still there,” he admitted with a laugh. “It’s usually more noticeable when I’m stressed, so Phoenix gives me plenty of shit for it when we land after an exercise or a mission.”

“I’ll bet she does.” You laughed along with him. “What made you join the Navy?”

“I knew I had to get out of Montana. They had a booth at a careers expo when I was in high school. Told me all the great things I could do. Signed up the day I turned eighteen and haven’t looked back,” he said, sipping his tea. “I still go home to Montana when I can. It doesn’t feel like I belong, but it’s nostalgic. It’s home.”

Bob recommended the BLT when your stomach growled, saying it was easily the best sandwich he’d ever had at a café. Apparently they toast the bread a little bit, plus the aioli they add is housemade. It made your mouth salivate just thinking about it.

You both ordered one when your coffee came out, and conversation continued to flow easily. Of course, you continued to flirt a little, but sometimes it wasn’t as obvious. Just enough to see the colour appear on Bob’s cheeks before you moved on.

Bob was sweet, which you already knew. Once he was more comfortable with you, you went back to your teasing and flirting. Sometimes you thought he might’ve even been flirting back, but it was so subtle you weren’t sure.

You talked about your favourite colour, your hobbies, and even what you did for work. It was so easy talking to Bob, it felt like you’d been friends for a long time, rather than having only met the day before.

When it was time to leave, because you had a few errands to run, Bob walked you out to your car. There was a battle for the bill, but since you’d asked him to meet with you, he reluctantly let you pay. Stating that meant he got the next one. Your heart fluttered a little at the promise of seeing him again. That you hadn’t scared him off. And graciously gave him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before you left.

By the time you reached the grocery store almost 40 minutes later, you smiled when you checked your phone to find a text from Bob.

I had fun this afternoon. You made me feel normal. Thank you

Any time, Bob, I mean that. I had fun this afternoon too x

Your thumb hovered over the ‘send’ icon, debating whether the kiss was too much. Deciding to send it anyway before getting on with your shopping, a pep to your step and feeling good.

Your week was busy. Your new job was still kicking your ass as you tried to learn everything you needed to know, but you felt fulfilled. Especially since Bob and Phoenix were messaging you several times a day, helping you keep sane.

They were busy training for something they couldn’t exactly talk about, but you knew it was a mission, and most of their team had been called forward. Even though you weren’t able to see them that often, you did spend most of your weekends hanging out at The Hard Deck. Phoenix and Bob had both mentioned that’s where they liked to hang out, and so you’d go there hoping that they’d have a free moment to stop by for a drink.

Sometimes they’d already be there when you arrived, while other times you’d enjoy a drink and text them until they showed up.

You’d even become closer with everyone else, but you had a soft spot for Bob. Most nights you’d talk until you were falling asleep, but not wanting to be the first to say goodnight. Bob would walk you to your car just for an extra few moments alone, you’d kiss his cheek and he’d tell you to text him when you got home so he knew you were safe.

The two times you’d hung out without everyone else had been wonderful. You’d gone to a farmers market one morning, and gone bowling the other time. Keeping it casual and light was easier said than done. You enjoyed spending time with him to the point you almost wished you hadn’t suggested being his date to his ex’s wedding. You wanted to suggest blowing the wedding off, but that felt cruel. He was ready to cut that chapter from his life and he deserved that closure. And you’d be there to see it through.

You’d asked Phoenix what she planned on wearing, but she’d been vague. Telling you to “ask Bob to coordinate your outfits,” each time. And yeah, you knew you should ask him about that, but you enjoyed the fact that he didn’t mention the wedding around you anymore. It would be like taking two steps backwards, but you knew it had to be done. After all, that was why you spent a lot of time together. You couldn’t pretend to be fake dating if you didn’t know the first thing about each other.

So you bit the bullet and fired off a text to Bob.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about what to wear for the wedding. What colour is your suit? I think it’ll be cute if we match x

His reply came moments later.

Haven’t got a suit yet, probably should organise that soon. I could use your opinion if you’re free tomorrow?

Of course, we can meet at the café for breakfast and then go from there. 9am suit you? x

Can’t wait x

You smiled at the kiss he’d added to the end of his text. Then came his next message.

Are you coming to the Hard Deck tonight? x

Got a work dinner that I can’t get out of. I’ll text you when it’s over to see if you’re still there. I might be due for some decent company x

I’ll still be here x

His flirting was more obvious through text, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew it would be flushed. You also knew just how far down that blush actually went, and spent more time thinking about it than you should’ve while still at work.

You watched the clock throughout the entire dinner. You didn’t want to seem like you had better places to be, even if it was true, but you were acutely aware of the time dragging on. Sure, you made small talk and laughed with everyone, but it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You wanted to be playing pool and drinking with your friends, and Bob.

Bob, who you definitely felt was more than a friend. Bob, who you weren’t entirely sure felt the same way as you did. Bob, who was still shy and nervous around you, but had grown more confident with your flirting. Bob, who flirted back so subtly you were convinced you’d imagined it.

Bob, the cute and awkward guy who stammered over his words sometimes. Bob, who flushed a deep scarlet whenever you touched his arm or kissed his cheek, or even openly flirted with him in front of his friends. Bob, who consumed your waking thoughts.

But you were just friends, right? You were going to be his date to the wedding – even if it was his ex’s wedding, – and you were going to have a good time, damn it. You wanted him to see you, not compare you to his ex. Not use you to get over her.

Bob, who was sweet and funny and cared more for other people than he did himself.

You smiled and gave a few hugs to coworkers who’d been friendly to you and farewelled everyone with a wave. Making a beeline to your car while you typed a quick text to Bob.

On my way, handsome x

See you soon, sweetheart x

Sweetheart. That was new. Obviously you didn’t hate it, but you were excited to tease him about it and see that gorgeous scarlet taint his cheeks and disappear beneath his shirt.

At the Hard Deck, Bob’s excitement was obvious to everyone except him. From the flush of his cheeks to his eyes darting towards the door every ten seconds. They knew who he was waiting for.

“Bob’s got a crush,” Fanboy teased, taking up residence on the stool beside Bob’s.

“So do you, Mickey,” Bob pointed out, picking at the skin of his thumbnail. “You think we don’t see you and Phoenix but we do.”

“At least Tasha knows I have a crush on her,” Fanboy replied, winking at Phoenix just as she took her shot at the ball on the table. And missed. “Better luck next time, Tasha!”

“Shut up, Mick,” she replied, though her tone was light. Flirty. A smile on her face betrayed any hint of lingering animosity behind her words. “Y/N’s on her way, huh, lover boy?”

“Maybe,” Bob said vaguely, though his eyes darting to the door had both Fanboy and Phoenix making kissing noises. “Okay, fine, she told me she’s on her way.”

Mickey wrapped his arm around Bob’s shoulders while Phoenix smiled at the exchange. “We know. You can’t keep your eyes off the door long enough to watch Coyote and Payback kick mine and Hangman’s asses.”

“I’d put money on the reason we’re losing isn’t because of their skill, but your inability to stop eyefucking Fanboy,” Hangman pointed out.

Fanboy laughed while Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a sore loser because you’re the only one without a girl tonight.”

Payback and Coyote’s attention had been pulled away from the game by two gorgeous brunette’s. Bob laughed along with Fanboy at Phoenix’s jab, watching her lightly pat Hangman’s shoulder before standing beside Mickey.

“Another drink?” She asked, looking from Mickey to Bob.

Both men nodded and she set off to the bar.

“How do you keep it so light and flirty all the time?” Bob asked Fanboy.

He was probably the only guy who wouldn’t laugh at him for this kind of question, aside from Phoenix. Phoenix was both of your friends, and she’d made it clear she wasn’t going to interfere in anything. You’d just have to talk to each other like adults.

“The truth?” He replied. Bob nodded. “It’s not. She makes me nervous and I say things that make me look like an idiot, but she still smiles at me and flirts to her heart’s content, so I know I can’t have messed up too badly. A confident woman isn’t a bad thing, you just have to keep trying.”

“Thanks, Mick,” Bob said with a grateful smile.

“I mean, we’ve all seen Hangman strike out more times than we can count,” Fanboy continued, dragging Hangman into the firing line. He looked pissed, but Fanboy pressed on. “The key is to adapt. What works with some women, doesn’t work with others. Yeah, rejection sucks, but he doesn’t let it get him down. Besides, she told you that she’s on her way, not Phoenix. She’s only coming to see you, Bob.”

“He’s right,” Hangman pointed out. “Whatever you’re doing is working for her.”

Bob’s eyes darted back to the front door to see you walking towards the bar, smiling at Phoenix. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face as he watched you two embrace.

“You got it bad, Bob,” Hangman said, walking away with a laugh.

Yeah, Bob thought, don’t I know it.

You smiled at Bob as you and Phoenix joined the guys, offering the beer to Bob as you sipped your drink. He smiled in thanks, getting up to offer you his stool which you gratefully accepted.

“Why can’t you be like that?” Phoenix asked Fanboy who shrugged.

“Perfectly good seat in my lap,” he replied with a grin.

“How was dinner?” Bob asked you, paying no mind to the two beside you who continued to flirt while they bickered.

“It was good. Glad I’m here now, though,” you told him truthfully, watching the colour darken on his cheeks as he sipped his beer. “Teach me how to play?”

“What’s that?”

“Pool. Teach me how to play?”

You knew how to play, you just wanted to be close to him. Lucky for you, Bob took the bait. Taking your hand and leading you to the pool table, giving you a basic run-down of the game. He racked the balls and set them before offering you a cue and showing you how to hold it. His body pressed against yours as he positioned your hands. Lips brushing your ear as he instructed you to use your back hand to pop the cue out and hit the solid white ball, sending it flying into the triangle of coloured ones down the other end.

“You’re a natural,” he praised, smiling as he took the cue from you and lined up his own shot.

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” you countered, leaning against the table and squeezing your chest together just a little. Enough that you saw his gaze flit downwards to your cleavage before he hit his lip and took his shot. You watched the ball he was aiming for miss the pocket.

“That’s cheating,” he pointed out, handing you the cue while you smiled sweetly at him.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” you replied. “Didn’t seem like you had any issue looking.”

“You made it hard not to,” he said, stepping closer to you. “You’re gorgeous, Y/N.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He groaned as you laughed and lined up your shot, looking over your shoulder at him. “You going to help me?”

“Call me ‘handsome’ again and I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart.”

“You gotta be careful giving women that much power, handsome,” you said, taking the shot as you sent him a wink, hearing the ball sink into one of the pockets. You followed the cue ball around the table before lining up your next shot, peering up at him through your lashes. “A pretty girl might just take advantage of you.”

The back and forth was easy and you chalked that down to the couple of beer’s Bob had before you arrived. You liked when his words seemed to flow without any hesitation or overthinking, but you also liked the nervous babbling. The tripping over his words. Everything that made him him. You weren’t trying to change him, you were trying to help him love himself.

Though that might’ve been easier said than done.

The smile dropped from his face and he lost all expression. He was blank and you couldn’t read him. But you turned around and followed his line of sight, watching a young couple enter the bar. One look at Phoenix told you everything you needed to know – his ex was here with her fiancé.

You walked over to Bob and took his hand. He slowly turned his head to look at you.

“Get me out of here,” he pleaded, voice weak and your heart broke for him. You dragged him out the back entrance into the cool evening air, the sound inside dying out and replaced with the repetitive yet calming sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

You dragged him down to the beach, further from the bar, and sat down in the sand. He continued to hold your hand but said nothing. Deciding not to talk until he was ready to, you enjoyed the warmth of his hand and the calming presence of the ocean.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t how you want to be spending your Friday night,” Bob apologised.

“I came here to see you. I don’t care if we’re playing pool or sitting out here in silence,” you told him truthfully, watching a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Getting over heartbreak isn’t a simple thing. If it was, we wouldn’t be able to learn and grow.”

“I just…I don’t want you thinking that I’m using you as a rebound or something,” he confessed. “You deserve better than that.”

“Right now,we’re friends who flirt and enjoy hanging out. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that,” you said. “It’s not always going to feel like this, Bob, I promise you. Sometimes all it takes is time, but other times? Other times, all you need is a friend who’s been there and gets it. Phoenix tries, but she hasn’t experienced this kind of heartbreak before. I’m like you, I love hard. Hard enough to make up for the other person’s piss poor efforts.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I know it’s not enough, but thank you.”

“It’s enough, Bob.”

Bob met you at the café early in the morning like you’d planned. After the evening took a turn last night, you’d driven him home before heading back to your place.

Your words had been true. You loved spending time with him, whether you were playing pool or sitting outside. It was his company that mattered the most, not the conversation or activity.

You also revealed more about yourself to him than you’d intended. You hoped he’d picked up on the double meaning of your words – that you loved the other person more than they could love you. Because it was happening all over again. You were falling for someone who was emotionally unavailable.

Bob.

Breakfast was a short affair, but still sweet. The café had became a regular place you two liked to meet at and the staff were lovely. They’d have your drinks ready, even if there was a store full of people because you were both creatures of habit. Bob liked green tea, you like iced black coffee.

With breakfast out of the way, you linked your arm with Bob’s as you walked down the street. Asking him what kind of vibe he was feeling for his suit, only to be met with a blank look.

“It’s summer, Bob, you’ve got to have a colourful suit,” you chastised. “Black is boring. It’s overdone. I think you’d suit a light blue, like a baby blue, but we’ll shop around a bit.”

That’s how he ended up trying on various suits throughout the day. You’d see his attention start to drift, so you’d pack up and drag him into a store while you tried on dresses. He’d sit in the change area waiting patiently, then he’d take his time watching you twirl and pose.

He’d comment on aspects of the dresses he liked, like the neckline or the frills. It wasn’t until one of the workers tried suggesting a dress that he balked at the suggestion and went to find a better one.

He was attentive and complimentative, more so than any boyfriend you’d ever dragged out shopping with you. You wanted to think it was because there was something else building between you, but your heart told you another story. That he only cared because you were his date to his ex’s wedding.

But when he came back with a pale blue number you knew he had a winner before you even tried it on.

“This is the one,” you told him through the curtain. You admired yourself in the mirror and smiled.

“Show me?”

You threw back the curtain and gave him a shy twirl. The dress was soft and flowed around your legs as you twirled on your tiptoes. The material was snug over your chest and could either be worn with the straps or without. You’d opted to tuck them into your bra for the time being.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, voice having dropped an octave as he truly admired you. “You always look gorgeous. I mean, wow.”

You chuckled softly and reached for his arm. “I know. Thank you, Bob.”

You left him to pick his jaw up off the ground and quickly changed back, carrying the dress over your arm. Opening the curtain and placing the dresses you weren’t going to buy on the rack before taking Bob’s hand in yours.

“Will that be cash or card?”

“Card.” Bob handed his card over before you had a second to dig for your own to pay. “It’s on me. Please?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” you replied teasingly, smiling at the cashier as she rang you up and processed Bob’s card. You accepted the bag when it was ready and walked out of the store together after thanking the cashier.

“Now all that’s left is my suit,” Bob mused.

“Should be easy enough. Then we can have a late lunch.”

You didn’t want the day to be over yet. Call it selfish or whatever, but spending time with Bob was the highlight of your week. The more time you spent with him, the more you saw glimpses of the real Bob hidden away from the rest of the world. He could take charge, like he did when he found you the dress. His shell was slowly cracking open and the more you saw, the more you fell for his sweet nature.

Bob smiled at the promise of lunch and you led him back into the store he’d tried on no less than 20 suits earlier in the day. The sales assistant smiled when he saw you both back again, surprised you’d found a dress already.

“We need a suit in this colour, or as close to it as you can,” you told him, showing him the colour of your dress.

He flew around the store picking up suits in various shades of blue, none of which were close to being right. Still, Bob tried on every single one of them to get your opinion.

“You do alterations, right?” You asked the sales assistant. He nodded. “Good. I’ll be back.”

You headed off on a mission. You’d seen a blue suit earlier, but it had been the wrong size so you’d all skipped past it. When you found it, you knew it was going to be two sizes too big, but if the alterations were done right, it would be perfect.

“That’s going to fall off me,” Bob commented.

“You’re not that skinny,” you replied. “I’ve seen your abs. The colour is right, Bob, please?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” he mumbled, throwing your words back at you which only made you laugh.

“Last night you said you’d do anything I’d ask, so get to it, handsome.”

He paused, trying to hide his smile as he accepted the suit, then stuck his tongue out at you. “Cheater.”

“All’s fair in love and wedding attire, or however the saying goes.”

You heard him laughing even with the door to the changing room closed. When he emerged, you signaled for the sales assistant.

“It definitely needs to be taken in, but the colour is definitely the right shade of blue. You have a good eye,” he told you, making you smile as you looked over Bob. “I’ll just grab some pins and then we’ll size you for the alterations.”

“Thank you,” Bob said politely.

“That colour looks so good on you,” you complimented, smoothing your hand down his arm before walking around him in a circle.

“Yeah?”

You smiled at his nervousness bubbling back to the surface. “Yeah. We’re going to look so good together.”

The apples of his cheeks began to pink up at your words. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

The sales assistant made quick work of pinning the suit where it needed to be tailored. Taking in the legs and the hem of the pants. Taking in the sides of the jacket and a little bit of the length, as well as attempting to make the shoulders look smoother. He made Bob turn a few times so he could adjust a few pins as necessary. Happy with his work, he told Bob to be careful while changing out of the pants, since he’d already taken the jacket off.

“Do you have a white dress shirt at home?” You asked Bob through the closed door.

“Yeah, a couple,” he replied.

“Tie?”

“I’m not wearing a tie,” he said firmly. “Ties are for the groom and groomsmen. Since I’m neither, I’m going as casual Bob. Casual Bob has a hot date and will have a few drinks then carve up the dance floor.”

“Remind me to keep you away from the dance floor,” you teased.

“You didn’t have anything wrong with my dancing at Phoenix’s the other weekend,” he pointed out.

“That was a safe space,” you replied. “You were surrounded by people who care about you. Do you really think dancing like a stripper at your ex’s wedding is going to be a good look?”

“You just want me all to yourself,” he deduced, opening the door to find you flustered by his shirtless self.

“I, uhh, what was the question?”

Seeing the roles reversed, that Bob was the confident one to your suddenly nervous self, fuelled him on. He took a step towards you, you took one towards him. Hand reaching out to touch him.

“Hot, fuck.”

You pulled your hand back the second your fingers brushed over his abdomen like you’d been burnt. You’d expected him to laugh, or blush uncontrollably, but he surprised you by cupping your face with one hand while his other settled on your waist.

“Go on a date with me.” His voice was soft and low. Thumb brushing over your cheek, feeling the warmth. “A real date.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

“Dinner tonight? No wedding talk. No talk about our exes. Just us talking like we do. Having fun like we do,” he said.

“What time?”

“Five, I have something else planned besides dinner,” he revealed, smiling as he stroked your cheek one last time.

“Do I get a hint?”

“Bring a jacket,” he told you, and you missed his touch instantly as he took a step back. “And don’t wear heels.”

You dressed casually for your date, unsure what to expect. You paired your jeans with a comfy tee, as well as a warm jacket that you had draped over your arm for the time being. It was still too warm to wear the jacket, so whatever Bob had planned had piqued your interest tenfold.

He picked you up at five sharp, dressed in jeans that had the cuffs rolled, a pair of boots and a white tee with a bomber jacket over top. His usual Navy issued glasses sat perched atop his nose and he gave you a warm smile.

“Well, don’t you look handsome,” you greeted, smiling widely at the man standing in your doorway.

“You’re not supposed to compliment me first,” he chastised playfully, though his flushed cheeks betrayed the confidence shining brightly in his eyes. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Bob,” you replied, feeling warmth in your own cheeks.

The two of you set off, Bob’s hand firmly in yours as he led you out to his car. No matter how much you asked, he wasn’t going to tell you what the first stop was.

“It’s a surprise,” he’d said with an all knowing smile. “Don’t give me lip about hating surprises either. I guarantee this is one you’ll like.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” he’d replied simply, like he was stating a fact.

You thought back to the past conversations you’d had, and what you might’ve revealed about yourself. There was a lot, and there was a good chance he did know you well enough to be able to state that you’d grant an exception to this surprise.

When Bob parked at the marina you cast him a bewildered look. He wasted no time in getting out and rounding the car to open the door for you.

“Ever the gentleman, Bobert,” you teased but there was no malice. There was never any malice. Just adoration for the man whose heart was slowly healing.

“Bobert, huh?”

“You told me you hated Robbie and Bobby,” you pointed out. “Bobert is fun, fresh, and a combination of your name and your nickname. Like it?”

“Don’t hate it,” he replied with a laugh. “C’mon, we’re running late as it is.”

“Are we fishing?” You asked, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there, and maybe it did.

He held onto your coat as you walked along the boardwalk towards the docks, not giving anything away. There were lots of people milling around, heading towards other boats. Not you two. You weaved your way through the crowds until you arrived at a large tour boat already loaded with tourists.

“So, not fishing?” You asked, taking in the sign above the walkway up to the boat.

The sign read “San Diego Sunset Tours.”

“Not fishing,” Bob confirmed, taking in your excited expression. The way your eyes lit up when you looked at him with the biggest grin on your face that he’d ever seen. “Told you you’d like this surprise.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” you replied.

In the many conversations you’d had, you’d told him how even though you’d lived in San Diego almost your entire life, you hadn’t actually been on a boat before. You liked to come down and watch them all go out or come back in, waving to the passengers on board. But you’d never actually experienced it before.

Bob wanted to change that.

He’d planned it long before he’d found the nerve to actually ask you to join him for a date tonight. It took a while to secure a spot, even if he did know one of the owners as a former Naval Captain. They couldn’t play favourites, so he’d waited and waited. Grown more confident and playful around you, and you’d said ‘yes’ when he finally asked you out. He just hadn’t expected you to become so flustered about seeing him without his shirt on.

He gave his name to the check in clerk, who introduced himself as the first mate. Telling you that you were the last to arrive, so to grab a drink and take a seat while they worked on setting sail.

Bob enjoyed your look of utter bewilderment. The childlike awe and unbridled joy radiating from you in tidal waves. It was contagious, and he was happy he’d invoked this kind of reaction from you. That something he did would be a memory you’d always look back on and smile, and it made his chest grow tighter and his heart race a little quicker.

“When did you have time to plan this?” You asked. Bob was in half a mind to lie so as to not come on too strong, but you were here. Through his shyness, through his moments of boldness. You were still here. That had to mean something.

“Been thinking about it since you told me the story of you coming down here every weekend when you were a kid,” he confessed, watching you place a hand over your heart as you gave him a watery smile. “I wanted to make sure you experience it at least once.”

“Thank you,” you said, though words couldn’t portray just how grateful you were. Bob seemed to understand, pulling you against his chest for a hug. Your arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly as you enjoyed his warm embrace.

You chose to sit outside to watch the sunset. It wasn’t that cool yet, but you put your jacket on regardless. Not wanting to bother Bob with holding it, even though he didn’t mind, and kept an arm around your shoulders.

It was easy being with Bob. You didn’t feel compelled to fill the silence with mindless babble, because his company set you at ease. He was like a breath of fresh air, comforting and refreshing.

He was everything you never knew you were missing, and when he smiled at you, you knew there was no going back. You’d fallen, and you just hoped he was there to catch you.

Your date with Bob weighed heavily on your mind in the days leading up to the wedding. No one had ever done something so special for you for a first date before, so how could you not think about it?

The tour was amazing. You’d filled your camera roll with a bunch of images of the sunset, of the two of you smiling. A couple had even asked if you’d like them to take a photo of you, and you’d both gratefully accepted.

There were a bunch of you both wrapped in each other’s arms and smiling at the camera, but there were also a few where one or both of you were smiling at each other.

Then there was your favourite photo of all. The sunset was illuminating the sky behind you in a mix of gorgeous reds, oranges and purples. Bob had a hand resting on your lower back, the other cupping your face. Your hands gripped the collar of his jacket and you two had forgotten that pictures were being taken. The look shared between you spoke volumes. Pure adoration for each other shining brightly.

You’d made it your phone lock screen.

Of course, you’d sent a few of the others to Phoenix once Bob had dropped you home after dinner. You’d needed to gush about how much fun you’d had, and how Bob had surprised you with the best first date ever.

It wasn’t until you all met up at the Hard Deck later in the week that she saw what your lock screen image was. Apparently Bob’s was the same, and he’d been dealing with their merciless teasing all week. It brought a new wave of teasing around because apparently Bob hadn’t blushed over his choice of lock screen until it was revealed that yours matched.

You thought that you couldn’t fall any further for him, but it turned out you were wrong.

The two of you slipped outside as the night wore on and more drinks were consumed. Hangman and Rooster were killing it at karaoke, and their voices were drowned out by the lull of the ocean.

You were nestled into Bob’s side, his jacket draped around your back, your head resting in his shoulder. You liked him. It was obvious he liked you too, but you needed to have a conversation. Talk about things like adults, because while the feelings were obviously there, his words stuck in your mind.

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”

He’d said it a couple weeks ago. A lot has changed since then. You woke up to good morning texts from him, or would grab dinner or hang out watching a movie in the evenings after work. Your free time had been consumed by him, and while you loved it, you also needed clarification. You needed to know where his mind was at, because it’d been a while since you’d mentioned his ex. He never brought her up, so it was hard to know without being able to read his mind.

“You warm enough, sweetheart?” Bob asked you softly, pressing a soft kiss the top of your head.

You hummed. “Yeah, thank you. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

You sat in silence for a moment, trying to find the right words. Bob didn’t pressure you, and part of you was glad. “Do you like me the way I like you?”

“What way do you like me?” He asked cautiously.

“More than a friend, handsome,” you said lightly, peering up at him as your heart thundered in your ears.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, sweetheart. I like you the same way you like me.”

“Okay, good.” You smiled, catching his eye.

He dipped his head, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you any reason to doubt,” he told you.

“I just needed to be sure, that’s all,” you told him. “There’s been times when I’ve thought you were going to kiss me, but you haven’t.”

“I needed to be sure of my feelings for you before I kissed you for the first time,” he said, hand lightly cupping your face. Thumb brushing over your cheek. “You mean so much to me, sweetheart. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you because we weren’t on the same page.”

“We’re on the same page now, handsome.”

“Yeah, we are,” he said, tilting your chin so he could capture your lips in a kiss you’d been anticipating for a month.

Finally.

You kissed him back softly, slowly. Savouring the feeling of his mouth against yours and the fire that ignited low in your belly. Your arms finding their way around his neck, fitting against him like you were two pieces of a puzzle that had long awaited their missing piece.

His hand slipped behind your head to cup the base of your skull, fingers winding their way into your hair. Your mouth parted slightly, sucking his bottom lip as a low groan rumbled in his chest.

And then there was the cheering. Bob’s squadron of friends whooping and hollering as they watched the spectacle of your first kiss from the rear entrance of the Hard Deck.

You chuckled against Bob’s lips, drawing him in for another kiss as you flipped them all off. His tongue pressed past your open lips as he deepened the kiss, earning a delicious moan in response.

Neither of you cared about the audience, or that it slowly grew quieter again. The blood rushed in your veins, your body reacting to his touch and you felt hot. Shrugging off his jacket as your fingers tugged at his hair and his grip around your waist tightened.

You were breathing heavily when you parted, Bob’s own breath matching yours as you softly laughed from the bliss of it all and started to smooth back his hair.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Quit stealin’ m’ lines,” he said, voice thick and gravelly even as heat rose to his cheeks.

“Hello, Montana,” you teased, fanning your face with your hand at the sudden tone of the Montana drawl he said only appeared when he was stressed. “Been wondering if your accent also came back when you were turned on.”

“Might be playin’ it up a bit f’ you,” he replied, cocking his head as he smiled and brushed some of your hair back from your face.

You hummed, smiling softly as he dipped his head for another kiss. This one was short but sweet, like he couldn’t help himself and he just had to kiss you again. Like he already missed the feeling of your lips against his and knew you weren’t going to protest.

“You wanna go back inside or stay out here a bit longer?” He asked sweetly.

His gaze flitted to your lips so you kissed him. “I’ll go wherever you go, handsome.”

By the time you were ready to go back inside, because the temperature had dropped a bit more and you noticed the goosebumps on Bob’s arms despite his insistence that he wasn’t cold, your lips were puffy and his hair was a mess. He’d given you his jacket again and walked a little taller with his arm around your waist, guiding you back towards his group of friends.

“You finally resurfaced for air, huh?” Phoenix teased you both, earning a laugh from you as you stole her drink and finished the last of it. Bob simply smiled.

“Another drink?” You asked Bob.

“Please and thank you,” he replied, earning a chorus of groans from his friends. His colleagues. His family. All he did in response was flip them off, grinning as you squeezed his hand before heading off to the bar.

“Treat her well, Floyd.”

Bob met Phoenix’s gaze. The woman, his pilot and someone he considered to be a best friend, wore a hard look. Of course, he knew her well enough at this point to know she was saying it out of loyalty to you, but also for his own benefit. If he hurt her, he knew she’d choose you. As much as she loved and respected him, she wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass if he made you cry.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered honestly. “You g’na give her the same talk? Would hate to accuse you of playing favourites.”

“Oh, there’d be some truth to the accusations,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve had the same talk with her already, Bob.”

At the bar, you greeted Penny with a warm smile. She finished serving the flock of women down the end before making her way over to you.

“Your usual?” She asked.

“And Bob’s,” you replied. She was already cracking open a beer before you’d even said his name. “All knowing bartender you are.”

She laughed. “Just a heads up. His ex is here for her hen’s night,” she told you, gesturing to the group she’d just served. “They’re drunk and up to no good.”

“Uh huh,” you said. It was clear which one was his ex. She wore the tacky ‘Bride to Be’ sash and the other women wore ones that said ‘Bridesmaid’s to Be’.

“Don’t roll your eyes too hard,” Penny warned you with a teasing smile.

“Thanks, Penny,” you told her, taking a sip of your drink. “How much?”

“I changed them for it,” she told you quietly, earning a boisterous laugh in response. She shot you a wink. “They haven’t seen you guys yet, but they’re flapping their jaws.”

“Appreciate the heads up, Penny,” you said honestly.

You’d had a great time tonight and you didn’t want Bob’s ex or her friends to ruin it. Part of you still believed he was hung up on her and you wished it wasn’t true. He’d told you he liked you. You’d seen his behaviour change from someone suffering through life to someone enjoying it. You were part of the reason his behaviour had lifted over the last few weeks.

Squaring your shoulders, you headed towards the group with a huge smile on your face.

“Oh my God, you’re getting married!” You gushed and it was just what the women needed to squeal and fawn over Bob’s ex. You knew her name, you just didn’t want to say it. “Congratulations, you must be so happy!”

“Thank you,” she replied, her answer quipped. “I’m sorry, we’re kind of on a mission to find someone tonight. Do you come here often? Maybe you could help us?”

“I can try my best,” you replied honestly.

“Do you know Bob Floyd?” One of the Bridesmaids asked you.

“Yeah, I know Bob.” You cocked your head. “Why do you need Bob for this mission?”

The women all shared a look and giggled. A different one spoke. “We want him to strip for Jamie. As one last hurrah before she gets married, you know?”

This time you giggled. “Oh, you couldn’t afford him,” you responded, watching the Bride to Be’s face turn from amused to confused, then fall completely. “I’m sure there’s someone here who would be into it, though. Hangman maybe?”

“Jake’s an asshole,” the bride snapped.

“I think he’s a sweetheart. A little misguided, but his heart’s in the right place. Maybe you’re right though, he seems to be loyal to his friends,” you mused, enjoying the discomfort growing on the Bride to Be’s face. “Oh, what do I know? You ladies have fun tonight!”

You breezed off towards the back of the bar where Fanboy and Phoenix had carefully hidden the group, grateful for the large crowd tonight so the group of women couldn’t track where you’d gone.

Fanboy eyed you curiously. He’d had eyes on the whole situation since Penny had sent him a text about the unwanted bridal party’s arrival while you and Bob had been outside. He’d positioned himself in a way that he could be hidden but also see everything.

You gave him a smile before you handed Bob his beer and sat down beside him.

“Your ex and her bridal party are trying to find you so you can strip for them,” you stated. Bob stared at you with his bottle raised halfway to his lips. “Don’t worry, I said they couldn’t afford you and offered Hangman instead.”

There was silence for a beat while everyone awaited Bob’s response. It came in the form of laughter, his arm going around your shoulders and a kiss pressed to your temple. With Bob’s own laughter in the air, the group followed suit. Until Hangman realised what you’d actually said.

“Why’d you offer my services?” He asked you.

“I’ve seen you strip to Pony by Ginuwine,” you stated.

“If I remember correctly, you were too busy flirting with Baby On Board to even notice,” he argued playfully.

“And she still knows I’m better than you, Hangman,” Bob replied in the same teasing manner.

“What can I say? I have taste.”

The kiss Bob gave you had the group groaning at the show of PDA. He didn’t care.

Neither did you.

The day of the wedding rolled around quickly. You were set to get ready with Phoenix and had arrived at her place a little after 10am. Mickey and Bob would pick you up just after two to make your way out. You’d planned to meet everyone just before half three since the ceremony kicked off at four.

You’d had a grueling week at work and didn’t even have the energy to see everyone at the Hard Deck last night. Instead, Bob had come over with dinner and the two of you spent the evening cuddling and making out on your couch like horny teenagers. You’d wished things had gone further, the noises he made ignited a flame inside you. A hot, passionate fire raging deep in your belly that your showerhead couldn’t quite extinguish.

He hadn’t stayed the night. You’d seen how torn he was between deciding whether he should stay or go, so you’d made the decision for him. Sure, you were straddling his lap at the time and grinding yourself against the bulge of his erection, but you’d told him there was no rush. No pressure to take things further if he wasn’t quite ready.

He was achingly ready. Fingertips digging into your hips, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear and breath hot against his skin as you spoke lowly.

“Every second I have with you is more than I thought I’d ever have, so until you make the first move, this is as far as we go,” you’d said.

“This is so much more fun than going home and getting off with my hand,” he’d replied with a groan.

“But it’s so fucking hot knowing you’re going to jerk off thinking of me,” you’d told him, your core clenching at the thought.

“You g’na get yourself off thinkin’ o’ me, sweetheart?”

“Seems only fair.”

The sounds he’d made had been replaying in your head all night. Nothing you’d tried had been as good at making you cum than the thought of him stroking his cock while thinking of you.

You’d been distracted all morning since you’d been at Phoenix’s getting ready. When she’s tried to ask, you’d brushed it off as nerves for this wedding. She’d hummed skeptically but had given you enough glasses of wine that had you spilling your guts.

Then she’d wished you hadn’t, but you needed to get it out. Needed to tell someone about your frustration in the hopes they’d set you right and tell you what you needed to hear. So she pushed aside her discomfort and did just that.

“You’ve been patient with Bob for almost two months,” she said. “I know you’re on the same page now, but he doesn’t rush things. He’s in his head a lot because his job is to weigh every possible scenario before he acts. He’s never thinking of himself because my ass is on the line, too. That’s what he’ll be doing. Your patience will be rewarded, and I’ll have to mentally brace myself to hear all the details, but he’s so into you, Y/N. Don’t doubt that for a fucking second.”

“I know, I know. I do, believe me. I know I go all in too fast sometimes, so can you just tell me that going slow for once isn’t a bad thing?”

“Going slow isn’t a bad thing,” she repeated, except you believed her whereas telling yourself the same thing felt like a load of shit. “Now do you want lunch or nibbles?”

“Lunch. I need to absorb some of this alcohol before I get in the car for the next two hours.”

You ordered sandwiches from the shop down the street and continued to get ready while you ate. The music got turned up and the vibe was lively. Laughter flowed as you took dance breaks or strutted the fake catwalk. It wasn’t until there was a knock at the door that you realised the time.

Phoenix opened the door for Mickey and Bob and you chugged the last of your wine.

“Don’t you two look dapper?” She greeted your dates with a teasing compliment. “A bow-tie, Mick? Really?”

“See, this is why I needed your opinion,” he countered, greeting her with a hug and a heady kiss. Phoenix was quick to take the tie off and undo the first two buttons of his shirt.

“Hi,” Bob greeted you shyly.

He looked amazing in his suit, like you knew he would. His hair curled at the nape of his neck, evidence that it’d been a while since he’d last cut it, but you didn’t complain. No, you liked the length. You loved to tug it, and that’s what had convinced him to avoid the barber’s for the foreseeable future.

“Hi yourself, handsome,” you replied, sliding your hands up his torso to grab the lapels of his jacket. His hands found your waist as the two of you shared a sweet kiss. You hummed as you parted and wiped away at a speck of lipstick lingering on his lips. “How do I look?”

“Good enough to eat,” he replied lowly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you teased playfully. He kissed you again, unable to help himself. “Where are you glasses, Bobert?”

“He put contacts in,” Mickey supplied. “Ended up crying because he stabbed himself in the eye while we were driving over here.”

“You hit a pothole,” Bob stated.

“I miss the glasses,” you said with a pout. Bob shared a look with Phoenix and Fanboy who wore identical smiles. “What was that look for?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Bob assured you. You believed him.

The ride to the venue was a blast. You had the windows down, music pumping and shared a bottle of wine with Phoenix and Bob. They’d laughed when you’d grabbed the bottle before leaving, but Bob had a good buzz on and you and Phoenix were on a mission to appear more sober than you actually were.

That proved easier said than done, but at least you had a pair of sunglasses.

You kept half an eye on Bob. He seemed to be in good spirits, but you weren’t sure if it was for show or not. Of course, he did keep you glued to his side, which you didn’t mind. His arm around your waist, helping keep you steady since it was obvious that you and Phoenix had started drinking hours before everyone else.

Shit.

You weren’t complaining about his close proximity. Standing beneath the shade of a nearby tree while you sipped a bottle of water from one hand or a glass of prosecco from your other. Bob and Rooster were chatting to some other people they knew. Friends of Bob’s ex, apparently. You paid some attention to the conversation, but Phoenix was waving you over to where her and Fanboy were.

“I’ll be back, just going to see what Nix wants,” you told Bob, kissing his cheek. He smiled in response, following you towards where the duo sat in front of a few snacks. “What’s up?”

“Mickey thinks we need to eat more,” Phoenix told you, stacking a slice of cheese on a cracker before dipping it in a bowl.

“You almost tripped twice walking over here,” he commented, arm around the back of Nix’s chair.

“You try walking on grass in heels,” you replied, taking a seat and setting your drinks in front of you before picking at a slice of salami.

“She’s right,” Nix agreed. “Lover boy is on his way over.”

“You have separation anxiety or something?” Mickey teased, earning a laugh from Bob.

He took a seat beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair. Copying the duo sitting on the opposite side of the table. “They’re talking about baseball and I couldn’t give a single fuck about it. Better company here, anyway.”

“Charmer,” you teased, slicing some brie to put on a cracker with half of a cherry tomato. He grinned your way as you put the whole thing in your mouth, shaking his head as you struggled to chew it.

“Hungry?”

“They’ve been drinking since ten,” Mickey told him, smiling fondly at Phoenix as she scooped guac onto a chip and shoved it in her mouth.

“Ahh,” Bob replied, swiping your prosecco and finishing it before you could protest. “Finish your water.”

Chat was aimless as you all picked at the snacks on the table. Talking about your job or their training. Making plans for a double date sometime soon. It was easy.

Eventually Hangman and Coyote found you, handing out more prosecco or beer. They talked shit about some of the guests who looked annoyed to even be in attendance, which then started the game of trying to guess who everyone was. Making up stories about them, or names, until you were all in hysterics at Mickey’s description of an older woman.

He’d said her name was Myrtle and she had a turtle, but she was undercover for the CIA because some ex-Russian military – who were the groom’s family, – were here to cause trouble. His exact words were “eliminate everyone in attendance,” but assured you all that Myrtle had it under control.

Payback and Rooster joined you all after hearing your group’s laughter over everything else and immediately got in on the game too.

Your table was the loudest by far. Guests casting disgusted looks your way whenever someone finished their description, starting another round based on who looked the most annoyed. How else were you supposed to pass the time waiting for the ceremony to kick off? Mingling with people you didn’t know and gushing about how happy you were for the soon-to-be-wed couple? Get fucked.

“More drinks?” Hangman asked.

The guys had all hung their jackets over the backs of their chairs. It was hot, and while there was an umbrella covering the table, a few of the guys were still in the sun. Sleeves rolled to their elbows, empty waters on the table in front of them, and occasionally swapping just so no one burned.

There was a chorus of yes’ as he headed inside. The snacks in front of you had been finished for a while, but Rooster had swiped a tray of finger sandwiches which didn’t last long.

Bob had moved his chair closer to you to get out of the sun as it moved in the sky. You didn’t mind at all, especially not when you’d gone to the bathroom and come back to find him in your seat. Taking residence in his lap so you didn’t have to sit in the sun.

He’d pressed the occasional kiss to your shoulder, hand resting low on your hip, the other holding a bottle of water.

“They’re about to start,” Hangman said, arms full of water and a few bottles of beer.

Just as he said that, someone came out to ask everyone to move to the seats set up, or to stand at the back. It was obvious there wasn’t enough seating, so the group opted to stand under one of the trees not too far away. There was no need to be seated, and this way you all could still drink without looking obnoxious.

Mickey poured a bottle of water over Bob’s head, while Rooster and Hangman did the same thing on their own.

Bob wrung some of the water out before standing up and combing his fingers through his hair. You watched his forearms flex with the movement, enraptured by the show and the few droplets that trickled down his face and neck.

He pressed a cold, wet hand to the back of your neck and you almost melted, earning a laugh in response.

“God damn, that’s nice,” you said, closing your eyes for a moment. When they opened again, Bob was smiling before he leaned down and stole a kiss. “That was nicer.”

He chuckled, snaking his arm around your waist. “You’re welcome.”

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, much to the dismay of the group. To hell with them, though. You were happy, Bob was happy, and that’s all that mattered.

The music started and you sipped your beer as the bridesmaids slowly made their way down the aisle.

Bob had anticipated this day for years. Except the reality was a stark contrast to what he’d envisioned. When he saw Jamie walking out with her father, he thought he’d feel bitter. He thought he still harboured some resentment towards her for moving on so quickly. For finding happiness with another man. For planning her wedding with someone other than him.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t feel bitter, or even happy. He felt like though the plans he’d had ended up being far different, that he wouldn’t change it for the world. Yeah, he’d struggled with the separation and all of her life changes initially, but now? Now, he felt whole. He felt like he’d found what he’d always been missing. And to think you’d only breezed into his life almost two months ago, and now had become his rock. The person he confided in. The person he wanted to do better for completely took his breath away.

Everything he’d ever wanted was standing in his arms at his ex’s wedding. What the fuck? Bob felt like a fucking idiot. He wished he’d realised it sooner. He wished he’d blown off the whole wedding and taken you on another spectacular date.

It was too late to leave now, but he didn’t want to stay. He wanted to whisk you away and tell you how much of an idiot he was for not acknowledging what was right in front of his face all along.

You.

Yet you smiled and leaned into him as the ceremony wore on. Your smile never once seemed fake, and he knew it was because you were a good person. A better person than he was, anyway. You’d supported him every step of the way. Encouraged him to find comfort in himself. Love himself first. And with that, you’d earned his heart. Words couldn’t even begin to explain it, but whenever you looked at him it was like you knew. You understood him without the need for words.

“If there is anyone who believes this couple should not wed, speak now or forever hold your piece.”

Jamie’s eyes were on Bob. He could see hopefulness, longing, and the evil green-eyed monster; jealousy. His arms were around you and you rested back into his chest. His chin sat atop of your head, and your group all stood with him in solidarity.

He knew you saw the look. She was looking right at the two of you. But still, you were relaxed and content in his embrace, and he didn’t bat an eye.

The rest of the ceremony was concluded and Phoenix audibly exhaled beside him.

“She looked like she was hoping you’d interrupt,” she commented.

“My best guess is that’s why I was invited in the first place,” he admitted. “Especially since Y/N said they were trying to find me to strip for her at her bachelorette party.”

Phoenix hummed. You twisted in Bob’s arms, giving him a proper hug. He tightened his grip without question.

“Hangman, you wanna steal some more beers for the road? I feel like pizza,” Bob said, earning a laugh from Hangman as he slapped Bob’s shoulder.

“Coyote, Payback, let’s roll.”

You all grabbed your things before meeting out the front. Handing over jackets and sunglasses while accepting beer in return. Rooster and Fanboy planned where to meet, and then you were heading off. It was a short trip. Everyone was hungry and needed to eat before the drive back home. Sure, it was only a couple hours, but the heat played a factor in their exhaustion.

Bob took your hand and pulled you aside once you arrived at the pizza joint. Everyone else headed inside, but he needed a minute.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asked softly.

“I’m so good, handsome,” you told him honestly, smiling proudly. Adoringly. “You okay?”

“The best I’ve been in a long time,” he admitted. “Because I have you. I have someone in my corner who only wants the best for me.”

“Bobert?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “This is the part where you ask me to officially be your girlfriend.”

“Hurry up and ask her so we can eat!” Hollered Rooster from the doorway. You both turned to look at him, only to be met with the faces of everyone closest to you. They all waited expectantly.

“Will you be my girlfriend, sweetheart?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to do, handsome.”

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fanfiction #SOURGUTS #sourguts writing challenge #*good 4 u #bob floyd fanfic

578 notes · View notes

kalinara · 1 year

Text

One thing I really love about the reveal that Rupert seduced Rebecca when he was married to someone else is how it adds another layer of perspective to the whole matter.

I was going to say that it adds a shade of grey to the whole thing, but I don’t really agree with that. No matter what happened between Rupert and Rebecca and his prior wife, it doesn’t justify how Rupert treated Rebecca during and after their marriage.

Even if Rebecca was the absolute worst to the former Ms. Mannion, she didn’t deserve to be abused. And of course, the same is true for Bex.

This past episode showed us a new side of the Rupert/Bex relationship. Before now, we’d only ever seen Bex as the adoring wife and enthusiastic mother, a very passive audience for Rupert’s antics. Now, for the first time, we saw a hint of bite. In the same episode where Rupert is proving himself the same cad that he’s always been.

I don’t think Bex’s snark means that she’s any safer than Rebecca was, to be honest. If anything, I suspect she’s in an even worse position. Rupert told Rebecca, and us, in that bar in Diamond Dogs, that he made sure she wouldn’t be able to go after him like Rebecca did. It’s not clear what her socio-economic background was, but given that she had student loans, she likely didn’t come from money the way Rebecca clearly did.

AND she has his child. That means they’re tied together for a long time. To misquote Ted, they’ll be sharing grandchildren.

Rebecca would understand Bex better than anyone else, I think. And even granted that Bex hadn’t shown herself in the best light in the past, I think Rebecca gets how good Rupert is at manipulating people into doing things that would normally be against their moral code. (He did, after all, convince a girl who’d never forgiven her father for his affair, to help him cheat on his wife.)

For that matter, I think she’d understand Nate too. How long had Rupert been whispering to Nate before his very epic split with Richmond? I’m not saying that Rupert told him what to do, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he kind of steered him in that direction. “Isn’t it unfair that he gets all the credit, while you do all the work...?” “Isn’t it a shame that no one sees him for what he really is?”

This is all long disjointed babbling that boils down to the idea that I want to see Rebecca, Nate and Bex all team up, get free of Rupert, and live happily ever after while he languishes as the pathetic little man he really is.

#ted lasso spoilers #rebecca welton

1K notes · View notes

mercurialrain · 10 months

Text

I Couldn’t Have, I Was Playing Hopscotch with Hawkmoth

Felix slid into his seat next to Dupain-Cheng, wondering what would happen today.

It seemed that her new policy of dealing with Lila’s lies and the simultaneous ire of the class was to say whatever crazy thing popped into her head whenever they accused her of something. It had been rather entertaining, to say the least.

The first time she’d done it, their faces had been so comical that it had made Felix wish he’d brought his camera to school.

“Marinette! How could you shove Lila into the lockers?” Kim had stood in front of the crowd, his arms crossed in what was clearly meant to be an intimidating pose.

Marinette had looked up with a blank expression.

“I couldn’t have, I was playing hopscotch with Hawkmoth. He’s a really bad loser, so I had to leave before he had a full-on temper tantrum.” She had said it with the blandest tone he’d ever heard her use, which only added to the effect.

Everyone’s mouths had opened and closed like a fish’s, trying to figure out how to respond to her answer. It was obviously not true, but how did someone respond to that?

She’d held Kim’s gaze, no trace of amusement on her face.

It had worked exactly how he suspected she intended; they hadn’t managed to come up with anything before Bustier had come back in the room, breezily instructing everyone to turn to page 294 in their textbooks.

The next time, it seemed that they had come a little better prepared, allowing Alix to lead the charge. She was notorious for having a witty retort to everything, so it made sense. Unfortunately, Marinette had also come with a plan.

“Marinette! Care to tell us why you sabotaged Lila’s project in the art room?”

Marinette had held up a finger, digging in her backpack. The class had watched with interest, as this was the first reaction that hadn’t been outright hostile or bland.

She’d pulled out her tablet and typed something before turning it around.

Can’t talk. I lost my voice after too much yelling at the heavy metal concert I went to last night.

Alix had blinked at the idea of sugar-sweet Marinette attending a heavy metal concert, but recovered quickly. “Ok, so type out why you destroyed her project!”

Some more typing, then a response. Couldn’t have, I was helping scientists extract DNA from mosquitoes in amber to make dinosaurs.

“That’s the plot of Jurassic Park!”

Where do you think they got the idea from?

Alix had stared for a moment more before throwing up her hands. “This is useless, she’s clearly gone off the deep end!” She’d stormed out, leaving the rest of the class behind, unsure of what to do now that they’d lost their ringer.

Again, Bustier had made the decision of what to do for them, coming in with a reminder of the worksheet they had due at the end of class.

Needless to say, Felix believed that this was a very good use of her creative mind. Watching her outsmart the idiots of the class in her own way was endlessly amusing and had quickly become his favorite part of the day.

Today, before the daily confrontation, Bustier had assigned them a project, a partner project with their deskmate. For Felix, that was Marinette. Since they’d been working on the project all day, Lila hadn’t had the chance to leave and lie about anything, pushing the confrontation to likely after the lunch break. Felix could hardly wait to see what she said this time. Maybe this project would allow him to get to know and understand her better.

“So for the project I was thinking that we make a PowerPoint-” Marinette cut herself off, staring at him with a puzzled expression. “You’re almost smiling at me. Are you feeling alright?”

Felix immediately wiped his expression, mildly mortified that he’d outwardly shown his amusement, but forged ahead. “I see you got your voice back. Was the heavy metal worth it?”

“What? Oh, that. I’m fine.”

“Oh, I know. Your recent interactions with the class have been thoroughly entertaining.”

“Glad you’ve been enjoying it. Confusion is certainly better than outright hostility.” She sighed, suddenly looking very tired.

“It’s about time that you started retaliating, even if it’s just by scrambling the two collective brain cells they have left. I don’t know that I could’ve put up with Rossi’s bullshit for as long as you have with the patience you’ve had.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “You know she’s lying?”

He scoffed. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence like that. Of course I know she’s lying.”

Marinette was silent. He could almost see the burden on her shoulders getting lighter with the realization she wasn’t alone in knowing Rossi was a liar and was about to comment further on it when Marinette smiled. It was a mischievous smile that promised trouble, which immediately intrigued Felix. He hadn’t seen much of her troublemaker side except for the few glimpses from her last interactions with the class, but he had a feeling there was one hell of a wicked streak somewhere underneath that cotton candy.

“You wanna help?”

He considered for a moment. Was it worth getting involved in? On one hand, it was enjoyable to just be merely a spectator. On the other hand, he wanted to know more about this side of Marinette and it was always enjoyable to see idiots put in their place.

“I’m in.”

- - - - - -

After school, Felix and Marinette were at their desk, waiting for the confrontation.

And like a bad penny, the class came back to try again. It seemed that they were shuffling who was leading the ‘Marinette how dare you’ brigade, and this time they had chosen Adrien. Felix knew about her crush on him, so he supposed that it was a rather strategic move on their part, if he wasn’t able to see the barely hidden disdain for the boy on her face.

“Marinette, you know that it wasn’t kind of you to throw Lila’s backpack down the stairs while she was in the cafeteria. That’s not the everyday Ladybug we all know and love.”

Ah, the guilt trip method. Usually foolproof on someone as empathetic as Marinette, rendered useless by Marinette’s developing apathy towards the class.

“It must’ve been someone else. I spent the lunch break teaching Mr. Ramier’s pigeons how to moonwalk. I wouldn’t have gotten back in time if Felix hadn’t realized the time and dragged me back.”

“Now, Marinette, don’t lie about it.”

“I’m not. Felix?”

Felix nodded, pulling up a video on his phone and showing it to the class. In it, Marinette stood next to some pigeons, clearly demonstrating how to moonwalk. The pigeons looked on curiously, occasionally pecking at her shoes and awkwardly waddling backwards. Mr. Ramier sat in the background, alternately cheering or throwing birdseed to the pigeons. The video clearly had the timestamp of about ten minutes before their break ended, so they would’ve had to rush to get back to class. There was no way they could’ve done anything.

Marinette looked back at Adrien and folded her arms. “Well? I’ll take my apology now.”

Felix snorted at the flabbergasted expression on Adrien’s face, casually putting his arm over Marinette’s shoulders. He didn’t really know why he did it, only that it felt right. Apparently she didn’t mind, since she just readjusted to be a bit more comfortable. “Give him a minute, he’s rebooting.”

“Wait, are the two of you dating?” He blurted out, then immediately looked like he regretted it.

This time, Marinette snorted. “Because the only reason he’d support me was if he was my boyfriend? No, that’s what friends are meant to do, Adrien.” The last sentence was laden with poison that Felix didn’t know the context for, but Adrien did, because he flinched.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning away.

As soon as the class turned away, her head fell on his shoulder, her face crumpling in pain. He didn’t know what to do but hug her shoulders tighter. He’d seen that her love language was physical touch, so maybe it would help? After a while, her face smoothed and she lifted her head, seemingly doing better.

“Hey, thanks for backing me up.”

Felix shrugged. “It was fun.”

She turned to look at him. “No, I’m serious. It’s been a long time since anyone’s had my back, even if it’s just to mess with someone. Thank you.”

Why did he suddenly feel all warm inside? “So what’s the next plan?”

Marinette looked surprised. “You want to be involved in the next one?”

“Sure, why not?”

She looked away, her cheeks turning a light pink. “Maybe we could, well, I don’t know, I don’t want you thinking that I’m just saying this because Adrien said it because I promise I’m really not, but maybe we could, um, discuss it on a date?”

“But we hardly know each other.” What did she see in him that she liked? Sure, he’d helped her once, but that was hardly grounds for someone liking someone, was it?

“That’s the point of the date. To get to know someone. Besides, I want to see if you’re as nice as I suspect you are under that prickly exterior.” She was looking at him again, cheeks now a bright red, but with determination in her eyes.

Well, hadn’t he wanted to get to know her better too? “Sure.”

#felinette #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #genuinely keep forgetting to post my fics on tumblr #crack fic #lila salt

677 notes · View notes

piratekane · 9 months

Text

(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.

#THE WAIT IS OVERRRRRRR!!!!!!#sirens going off #warrior nun #forever roommates #guys this took so long i am so sorry but i hope it's worth it #rated m for mature audiences kids #there was so much to this that i didn't even know where to start but eventually we got there #everyone say thank you kay thank you kay #GUYS GUYS there is one more piece to this and it will be compleeeete #elmofire.gif #okay please like this i'm needy and hungover #i got tickets to noah kahan and i feel INVINCIBLE!

615 notes · View notes