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piratekane · 1 year

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7 or 8

eight: i heard you talking in your sleep

Ava waits impatiently, drumming her fingertips against her knee as Bea moves around the kitchen. A jar of peach preserves lands on the table in front of her, followed by a knife. She follows strong fingers up to strong arms and shoulders, finally meeting Bea's eyes.

"Yes?" she asks innocently.

"If you're just going to sit there, be useful."

Ava beams. "As you wish." She doesn't linger on the pretty blush that rushes across Bea's face, granting her an ounce of mercy. She knows Bea appreciates it. But it doesn't stop Ava from saying it every chance she can, since they watched The Princess Bride a few nights ago. She knows Bea found it romantic.

And maybe Ava is pushing this line they're drawn between each other, but she can't resist nudging it forward, seeing how far she can get before Bea just admits that there's something going on. She's never good at knowing when to leaving something alone.

She pops out of her seat at the same time the toast pops in the ancient toaster that came with their apartment. She dances across the kitchen, her hands ghosting Bea's hips as she stands at the stove, watching their eggs cook. She feels Bea shiver a little but tries her best to focus her attention on spreading preserves against the toast.

She doesn't last long.

"Good dreams last night?" she asks innocently.

Bea's breath hitches. A normal person - someone not obsessed with every minute detail of Beatrice - wouldn't notice. But Ava has never felt less normal than she does when she's around Bea. And for carrying a Holy Weapon under her skin, that's a pretty big feat.

"Fine," Beatrice says after a second. "Why?"

Ava abandons the toast, all pretenses gone. She turns around, pressing the small of her back into the counter behind her.

"Oh, just wondering," she sings. She purses her lips, counting the seconds in her head. One, two, three, fo-

Bea turns, a spatula in her hand. "Why are you wondering?"

Ava shrugs casually. "Just wondering," she repeats.

Ava - an expert at Bea's facial tics and the way she breathes and the way her fingers curl around something - doesn't miss the slight sigh as Bea reins in the trickle of frustration she's feeling.

Bea's eyes narrow. "If you have something to say, you should-"

"Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

Bea inhales sharply. Ava catalogs it, adding it the ever-growing list of things she loves about Beatrice.

"I wasn't aware," Bea says in a measured voice. But Ava sees the way her hand tightens around the spatula. The eggs sizzle behind her. "I hope it didn't keep you up."

It did. But Ava hadn't cared. She had propped her head up on her elbow and watched Bea in the moonlight, mouth moving as she breathed out things Ava was sure she'd never say out loud. It took everything in her not to wake Bea up.

"It wasn't a big deal." She turns back to the quickly-cooling toast, smiling to herself. She can feel the tension radiating off Bea from five feet away. She smiles to herself, resists the urge to bounce on the tips of her toes. She counts. One, two, thr-

"Do you- Uh, do you remember what I said?"

Ava looks back over her shoulder, schooling her face into something casual. "Oh, the usual stuff. Ava, you need to try harder. Ava, take this seriously." She watches Bea's shoulders - coiled and high up near her ears - start to relax. "Ava, I want to kiss you."

Bea's whole body goes rigid. Ava is sure that if she was any stronger, the spatula would crack in her hand. She fights a smile and gently crosses the room, curling her hand around Bea's and loosening her grasp on the spatula. It's their only one.

"I'm sure that I-" Bea swallows. "I'm sure that's not what I said."

"Oh, it definitely is." Ava doesn't pull her hand away from Bea's. Instead, her replaces the spatula with her own hand. "But in a very dignified way. Like Mr. Darcy. That's the guy, right?" She takes a small step in, watching in delight as Bea takes a step back. She's dangerously close to the stove so Ava reaches around her, turning the burner off. "It was flattering."

Bea's face is bright red, freckles like stars across her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," she breathes, voice laced with something Ava might call shame. She frowns. That's not what she wanted. But Bea sees her frown and rushes to add, "It's not my intention to make you uncomfortable. And we- It's just been the two of us. I-" Her eyes start to shimmer. "I cannot apologize enough. I understand if you- I'll sleep on the couch."

"Woah, slow down." Ava ducks her head to catch Bea's eyes. She brushes her thumb across Bea's knuckles. Her other hand hovers over Bea's hip but she doesn't dare let it fall yet. "I'm not mad."

Bea blinks a few times. "I understand if you-"

"I'm not mad or uncomfortable," she interrupts. Bea's mouth snaps closed audibly. She looks down at her hand hovering and back up at Bea. She searches Bea's eyes and finds something that lets her know it'd be okay to touch Bea. Her hand lands lightly against her hip. She watches Bea fight off a shiver. "Actually, I'm..."

"Don't say flattered," Bea says in a halting voice, like she's pulling the words out from clenched teeth.

Ava smiles softly. "I won't say that, then." She strokes her thumb across Bea's hipbone. She can't hide the shiver this time. "How about I say... I've been waiting for you to say that."

Bea's eyes widen slightly, her mouth falling open. "You..."

"Me." Ava lowers her hand to Bea's other hip. This time when she steps in, Bea doesn't step back. "And if it's a relief, really. Because I was worried I was the only one feeling this. But I'm not. Right?" A tendril of doubt ripples through her. Maybe she read it wrong.

But Bea just stares at her for a moment before she shakes her nearly imperceptibly. Relief blossoms in her chest.

"Cool. Cool, cool." Ava's smile starts slow but spreads wide. She takes another step in. She can see the panic in Bea's eyes and she wants it to disappear. Her hand tighten a little more purposefully. "So I think we have two options, right? The first is that we totally forget this conversation happened and the next time you start talking in your sleep, I'll ignore it."

Bea's throat bobs as she swallows. "And the second option?"

"I kiss you right now."

"Oh," Bea breathes.

"Oh," Ava echoes with a smile. Bea doesn't move, seemingly frozen. Ava knows she needs to be gentle, to approach this like she's trying to convince a fawn to come closer. So she lifts a hand, rests it against Bea's cheek, and smiles. "Beatrice, I'm going to kiss you."

She doesn't wait. She follows the words right to Bea's lips, pressing her own softly against them. Bea is frozen underneath her and Ava thinks about pulling back before Bea moves, coming alive. Her hand curls around Ava's neck, pulling her back in those few precious inches Ava had put between them. It feels like a long stretch in a patch of sunlight, like coming home and taking off her shoes, like sliding into fresh sheets.

The kiss ebbs into a smile and they stay pressed together like that for a moment before Ava tips her head back, pressing an even softer kiss to Bea's forehead.

"Oh," Bea says again.

Ava smiles. "Same."

"I've been waiting for you to do that," Bea admits. "I couldn't- It couldn't be me."

Ava strokes her thumb across Bea's cheek. "Well, now we've done it. And we're going to keep doing that." It isn't a question, but Bea nods anyway. "In fact, we're going to start right now."

"But breakfast is-"

Ava leans in, stopping the rest of the words. She's never wanted a meal less in her life. Bea doesn't seem to hesitate either, kissing her back instantly. Ava smiles and feels Bea's fingers flex on her neck and feels like they could face anything together and win every time.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #i am just spending my holiday break banging these out so sorry for the spamming in the tag #i decided there needed to be some happiness after all #we can't all thrive on angst can we? no we cannot it's not sustainable #so have some AU switzerland era vibes

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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

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avatrice + flaw

[wonderful prompt @analogoose made me immediately feral :)]

you're drunk, which isn't that rare an occurrence, but with all the training you've been doing lately, you don't usually let it get this out of hand. but there had been a pretty girl — sara, maybe? with the most gorgeous brown skin and a nose ring — who had been doing shots and dancing with you when you finished your shift, and, like, sure, maybe you don't believe you'll die, right? maybe you can beat adriel, there's gotta be a way, but, still —

you're a little teary just thinking about it, as you climb the stairs on exhausted legs and feel way more drunk than you had ten minutes ago when you'd left the bar. you unlock the door on your third try, then try your absolute hardest to be quiet. bea has left out some snacks for you, these chips you love that she finds 'disgusting, ava,' and you take them with you into the bathroom, which seems polite and quiet, even if it's kind of gross. you sit in the bathtub without any water and eat your chips in the dark, and then you get up and wash your face in the sink, brush your teeth, and strip out of your pants. you have a crop top and underwear on and, like, that's going to have to be good enough, because it's sweltering in your apartment and bea won't touch you anyway. you love her and you're in love with her and it had occurred to you days ago, when she was concentrating so hard, a little furrow between her brows, listening to hans explain the rules of gin rummy. you're in love with her and, god, it would be so selfish, it would be thoughtless and, like, there are other fish in the sea, or there will be, you guess, but even sara, who was beautiful and kind and pressed you up against the wall in the bathroom and scraped her teeth along your jaw — you're in love with beatrice, and she won't touch you.

you get into bed without too much noise, which is a fucking feat, thank you very much, and settle under the thin blanket beatrice had switched out instead of the quilt during the heat wave. ever faithful, she's in a big t-shirt and boxers, acceptable and very theoretically unsexy sleep clothes, but her hair is loose and light and her eyelashes are so long and the moonlight tints her skin silver, like a sword or a shield or a glass of communion wine. and, like, okay, it's probably ethically wrong that, when sara was kissing you, you closed your eyes and pretended that it was bea, but you were a bunch of tequila shots in and you might die soon, you've already died once, or twice, maybe, so — it's fine. it's fine, the world is going to shit but it's fine.

you're apparently wiggling too much, trying to get comfortable, because beatrice sighs and cracks open an eye and says, 'ava, you're wiggling,' exhaustedly.

'sorry, sorry.'

she sighs again, half asleep. 'it's okay.'

it's not, probably, but she's kind. 'hey,' you whisper, loudly, and you should definitely let her sleep but she's curled up on her side with her hands tucked under her chin, which makes you feel the kind of crazy that could destroy whole temples, just to protect her.

'what, ava?'

you're undeterred by her frustrated tone; she uses it very, very often so it doesn't have the same bite as it used to. 'do you — do you really think being gay, or, like, you know, liking girls, is a flaw?'

'ava.'

you just stay quiet and will the halo not to vibrate out of your skin.

'no,' she says, after a few silent seconds that felt like years. 'no, of course i don't think it's a flaw.'

'because, you know, i like girls.'

'yes, ava, i know.' it's a little pained.

'have you kissed a girl before?'

it's probably, definitely, invasive, but it's the middle of the night and you can't stop thinking about it. 'wouldn't you like to know.'

it pulls a laugh out of you, right from your heartspace, and her smile is soft and bright, pleased with herself. 'well, you weren't always a nun.'

'not always,' she murmurs, and the room is too blurry for you to really figure out what that means. she's so close to you, though, and you reach your hand out — a fucking miracle, still, to be able to move and run and dance and hold someone while you kiss them, while you stand up and let them press you back against a wall, or a bed, or the barstool after closing, and feel the firm press of muscles along their back, or the swell of someone's hips and stomach over their waistband, or — you touch her face, featherlight fingertips, over her cheeks, down her nose, along her dark brows. she lets you, maybe because it's the middle of the night or maybe because she wasn't always a nun, maybe because she likes to be pressed against things too. maybe she loves you back, and it's easier to be touched than to touch, for her. maybe.

'do you think i'm pretty?'

she doesn't even bother to say your name this time, just slams her eyes shut.

too far. 'sorry.'

'it's — of course,' she says, a little broken, a lot brave. 'of course i think you're pretty, ava. you're beautiful.'

'no one has told me that before.' it's a little like standing in a puddle of water while it gets hit by lightning, or watching moths flutter for the first time in lamplight — haze and magic, breathless — to admit. 'i — i didn't get to look at myself, very much at all, before, you know, the halo.'

she just hums, but it's soft and tender.

'did you ever get bullied?' you ask. you know she said that she was punished, for not fitting in, but you can't imagine her, really — powerful, exacting, gorgeous beatrice — being picked on.

'are we playing a very invasive game of twenty questions? it's three in the morning.'

'we can go to sleep, if you want.'

you think she will; you think she'll roll over, that she'll roll away from you, that you'll never get to tell her all that you mean. but then: 'i was bullied a lot, as a child in primary school, actually.'

'they were all jealous, obviously.'

she huffs a laugh. 'my eyes, first and most often.' she frowns and the halo buzzes in your back a little, reflecting your immediate and deep anger. 'my last name, sometimes; the food my nanny would pack for lunch.' her jaw clenches but then she sees the glow of the halo, which you don't bother to try to tamp down, not in the dark, not in this safe bed with someone you love, someone who has had cruelty handed down to her her entire life and has emerged gentle and brilliant and kind. she smiles slightly at the light from your back. 'and then, less seriously, my freckles.'

'oh, fuck that.' you bring a fingertip back to touch her face again. 'your eyes are, like, the craziest cool color? especially in the morning, when we're going to train and the sun is just coming up.' a poem in a book one of your friends had given you recently: you could drown in those eyes, i said. 'and their shape is gorgeous. they're part of who you are.'

she seems genuinely touched by the drunk, inelegant sentiment. 'well, tell that to ronnie white.'

'if i ever meet him, i sure will. i bet he's ugly.'

she laughs.

'and, also, all food fucking rocks, so that's ridiculous. and your freckles, are like, i don't even know, bea. like stars.'

she lets you trace them; she has freckles on her shoulders, now, in the summer sun, and a few on her collarbone; one, that plagues you, sometimes, on the top of her left hand.

'in his own image, or whatever, right?'

you still your hand on her jaw and it takes a moment to answer: 'well, allegorically, yes.'

'allegorically, whatever. fuck those kids.'

'it was a long time ago, ava. i'm fine.'

the way she holds herself, compact, even in sleep, to make herself smaller — it's a life she chose, but you don't think anyone really gave her much of a choice. 'fuck those kids, bea. fuck your parents, and fuck the shitty nuns who didn't treat me with any dignity, and fuck, you know, the whole goddamn patriarchy, while we're at it.'

'you know,' she says, a smile reluctantly lifting her mouth, 'i do enjoy a good moment of sheer hate for the patriarchy.'

'obviously, you're awesome.'

'you should sleep, ava.'

'yeah, probably.'

'okay. goodnight.'

'bea?'

'yes, ava?'

'you're really, really beautiful. i just wanted to say, in case no one has told you either.'

her eyes in the moonlight flash gold, a better gold than the halo, warmer and gentler. you could drown in those eyes, so it's summer, so it's suicide, so we're restless in sleep and —

'sleep well, ava,' she says. it feels like a miracle, when she brings her hand, calloused and careful, to run through your hair, and then pulls it back against her chest. she doesn't turn away from you, only scoots a little closer and lets you nuzzle your way into her body, little movements and warmth, the smooth skin of her legs against yours.

so it's summer — you think, as her hand sneaks its way under your shirt and rests in the middle of your back; your underwear are slick with wet heat but — you've risen from the dead; she won't touch you but this is close, her little breaths against the top of your head as her body grows slack. in another universe this is real life; in another universe you met in college, or at the beach, or she was your ski instructor, or you swiped right on an app after smoking a blunt and she messaged you back — in another universe this is just an afterthought, an ache that neither of you can explain some nights at twilight after a hard day when you come home to a vine over the door and a dog who runs back to you when you call. in another universe you get to love her; she touches you.

in this universe, her gentle fingertips pressed to your back and her freckles blooming more every day in the sun — this is just another miracle.

'sweet dreams, bea.'

#wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #prompts #wow sorry this took me so long !!#switzerland era screaming always a classic i hope its ok!!

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