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#ava du mortain x f!detective
songofsoma · 1 year
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a little reward
fandom: the wayhaven chronicles pairing: ava du mortain x f!detective (cecilia beck) words: 2,098 rating: explicit
read it on ao3
“Again,” Ava barked.
Cecilia groaned from her spot sprawled along the mats covering the hard floor. Even with the added cushion, she swore every bone in her body jostled at every rough impact. “Ava, please,” she whined. “Have a little mercy.”
Clearly, that response was not well received judging how Ava crouched over her, seriousness hardening her already icy gaze. “Do you think Trappers will have mercy? Or rogue supernaturals? Do you think they’ll see you’re tired and offer a water break?” She scoffed.
“No need to be rude,” she grumbled.
Her face softened at that and she held out her hand, which Cecilia took begrudgingly. Ava planted her hands on either arm, steadying her in place. “You are more than capable. I’ve seen it. But this is still important.” The look that lingered on her face told Cecilia the unspoken words reeling behind that thick skull of Ava’s.
I can’t risk losing you . 
One hand rose to cup Cecilia’s cheek, a calloused thumb brushing along plush skin. Cecilia covered Ava’s hand with her own. A few uninterrupted heartbeats passed between them before she spoke.
“I’ll do it again, but you have to reward me afterward.”
Ava raised a brow. Her grasp dropped, loosely holding Cecilia’s hips. “And what might that be?”
Cecilia grinned and tapped her lips. “I think I deserve a little kiss, don’t you?”
With a snort, Ava rolled her eyes. “I would hardly call that a reward.”
“Why? You think you’re a bad kisser?” she paused. “Or are you calling me a bad kisser?”
“I am saying neither.”
“Then what?”
“I kiss you all the time. Shouldn’t a reward be something…special?” She shrugged.
It was Cecilia’s turn to appear suspicious. “Special?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “If a kiss is what you desire, then a kiss it is. Get in position.”
Cecilia huffed but did as she was told. 
She took her place on the mat, bending her knees like she had been instructed. Her fists were hovered in front of her, ready for whatever may lie ahead. In mission-related circumstances what lay ahead was unknown. But in the training room, it just meant Ava flipping her onto her back in every way but the one she wanted. 
Ava stood across from her, posture mimicking Cecilia’s, as she was mulling over what way to attack this time around. Whatever it was, she would handle it because by god did Cecilia think she deserved at least a little kiss for all her hard work. 
She shook her head, clearing away all the thoughts that weren’t focused on the situation at hand. Even though it was hard not to be distracted by the way Ava’s exposed abdomen rippled with every moment and how her creamy skin was glistening with sweat. Cecilia truly was so brave for sparring with her insanely sexy girlfriend and not jumping her bones the moment Ava had peeled off her t-shirt. 
Her determination to not get distracted almost caused her to miss the first indication of Ava’s step-off. Luckily, Cecilia dodged just in time. She could feel the air of Ava’s hands blow by her with centimeters to spare. 
Cecilia knew she had little luck going on the offensive. Even if she was more than capable of handling herself in a fight, one with a vampire—especially one such as Ava—was a battle rarely won in making the first move.
Ava flew towards her again and Cecilia ducked but managed to get a foot out to send Ava tumbling to the ground. Much to her disdain, she fell too as Ava’s hand wrapped around her leg.
Cecilia swore loudly, but her fall thankfully was cushioned by Ava. They both huffed and puffed heavily for a few seconds before Cecilia planted her hands on Ava’s clavicle to push herself up to make eye contact. And the moment she did, Cecilia busted out into a fit of giggles.
Rolling her eyes, Ava let her head fall back against the mat, but the amused grin pulling at her lips couldn’t be denied nor could the way her hands immediately found Cecilia’s waist. She shivered at the added heat sliding against her already flush skin. Dressed in her small workout shorts and a sports bra, a lot of skin was left exposed to Ava’s touch. A factor she seemed to be taking advantage of.
“Do I get my kiss now?” she breathed, suddenly desperate for it.
Hazy eyes drifted over her face lazily as the tips of her fingers dug into her skin. “Come here then.”
Cecilia lurched forward, hands coming to press against either side of Ava’s head to hold herself steady. There was no time wasted as their lips found each other. Her long ponytail fell over a shoulder, the ends tickling Ava’s neck, though she made no indication of it bothering her. 
Instead, the hands that had been kneading her hips were beginning to slide up Cecilia’s back to teasingly play with the strappy back of her bra. 
“Ava,” she whispered against her lips.
A soft hum was her only reply.
Cecilia could feel that familiar need growing within her. She tried to adjust herself to quench it but slipped and ended up slotted against one of Ava’s raised thighs. 
The immediate friction shot through her, making her gasp, nails digging into the mat. 
It didn’t go unnoticed by Ava who could most definitely feel the heat of her arousal pressed against her leg now. “Something wrong, love?” she murmured, lips beginning to venture over her jaw to the curve of Cecilia’s neck. And to be a real brat, Ava moved her leg a fraction, smirking at the way Cecilia jolted.
“Fuck,” she wheezed. “I-I just lost my balance and now you’re teasing.” Cecilia struggled to try and begin to stand—until two strong hands caught her, holding her in place.
“Who said I was teasing?”
Her eyes widened. “Anyone could walk in.”
Ava’s eyes were becoming dark with desire. “Guess we’ll just have to be quick then.” With her grip, she dragged Cecilia’s hips along her thigh making her sputter a surprised moan.
“Fuck, Ava ,” she whined, beginning to aid her by moving on her own. Cecilia was still hunched over her. The top layer of the mats was beginning to give way and peel from the way her nails were still digging into them. 
Pleasure was radiating through her entire body from the way she ground against Ava’s thigh. The ridges of muscle adding extra sensation with every movement of her hips. 
When Cecilia’s hips were beginning to stutter in their rhythm, Ava took over once again, not once being merciful in her pace. Like before, her fingers were digging into her flesh, this time hard enough that there would be bruises left behind. But Cecilia loved it. 
Ava bombarded her exposed throat with kisses, sucking on the skin until a dark mark was left behind. She liked to mark what was hers. They had been through hell and back to get to this point, no one was going to take what was hers now. 
Cecilia couldn’t stop Ava’s name from falling from her lips as the tension grew. She wasn’t going to last much longer with Ava’s viscous pace and the attention being paid to the sensitive areas of her neck.
 “Come for me,” she rumbled against her skin.
She whined some incoherent response as Ava pressed her leg further against Cecilia’s crotch. That last bit of added pressure was what she needed to send her over the edge. 
Ava sat up right as Cecilia collapsed against her chest in a trembling mess, kissing the top of her head. “My sweet girl,” she praised but the words were lost as the sound of rushing blood filled her ears.
She panted softly, slumped against Ava as she came down from her climax, enjoying the gentle hand brushing over her hair.
“Was that enough of a reward?” Ava murmured into her ear, making Cecilia huff a laugh.
“I like this new training strategy,” she mused.
“If we’re giving out rewards, I think I deserve one too for putting up with you.”
Cecilia drew back, eyebrows raised. But she wasn’t able to say anything before Ava scooted her off her thigh and onto the mats.
She pointed to her cotton shorts with a very obvious wet spot on one leg. Cecilia’s face heated immediately. “You made such a mess. I think I should be allowed to clean it up.”
Her lips parted as she eagerly nodded, not trusting her words. 
Ava moved to kneel in front of her, easing Cecilia’s back against the mat before hooking her fingers beneath the waistband of her soiled shorts. They hooked onto her knees and Ava pushed her legs back against Cecilia’s chest. “Hold them there.”
Cecilia’s view was obstructed by the fabric, but she could feel Ava’s rough thumbs parting her and her hot breath fan over her skin. And then she felt the flat of her tongue drag up the length of her sex. It was agonizingly slow and she just avoided her clit making Cecilia squirm in frustration as she did it again. 
“This is one mess I don’t mind cleaning up,” she teased, clearly knowing Cecilia’s agony of not yet getting what she wanted. 
“Ava,” she whined in protest, but the vampire ignored her, going back to her teasing licks.
She chuckled when Cecilia huffed dramatically, finally appeasing her by circling her tongue around her swollen clit. 
The suddenness of it made Cecilia moan before a hand clamped over her mouth and green eyes were piercing into hers. “Quiet, love. You live in a place crawling with people with extra sensitive hearing.”
Her eyes widened making Ava smirk. She hadn’t even considered that. God forbid if someone heard and came to investigate. Especially if it was Farah who came in to find Cecilia with her shorts pulled to her knees and Ava’s head between her legs in the middle of the training room—she’d never live it down.
Ava went back to her task at hand, wrapping her lips around Cecilia’s clit, sucking and licking until her back was arching. She knew just how to drive Cecilia nuts. The steady pressure moved into her tongue lapping desperately at her wet heat as if she had never had a meal in her life. 
She was already sensitive from her first orgasm and a second one was approaching fast.
“Close,” she panted. “Ava, I’m so close.”
Cecilia couldn’t tell if Ava was trying to look at her face from her pants blocking her view. She knew she had heard her desperate cries and could feel her walls convulsing around her tongue. Ava pulled her hips harder against her mouth, face shaking side to side as she was speared on her tongue, nose bumping against her clit with each motion.
For the second time, her muscles began to quiver. Cecilia nearly sobbed as her grip on her legs loosened, Ava having to catch them to keep her spread open as she finished. Her chest heaved and her hips jolted every time Ava caught her overstimulated clit with her lips or tongue. It didn’t deter Ava from taking her time in coming up for air.
When she finally did, the bottom half of her face glistened with Cecilia’s wetness. And the prideful grin on her face was enough to make Cecilia smile. Though the moment was short-lived as Ava tensed and cocked her head to the door.
“Someone’s coming,” she hissed standing so fast it made Cecilia’s eyes spin. Ava hoisted her onto her jelly legs and pulled her pants up quickly, patting her ass for good measure.
“Your face.” Cecilia grinned, leaning against her side for support.
Ava’s eyes sparkled in recognition as she quickly dragged her forearm over her mouth and chin to try and rid herself of any evidence. 
It was just in time too as the door opened to reveal Morgan.
She looked uninterested in the two already in the room, towel slung over her shoulder as she made her way to one of the wooden dummies. But then she paused and sniffed the air.
“Why the fuck does it smell like sex in here?” she asked, turning to the couple.
Ava shrugged, face a mask of indifference. 
“It’s probably just you,” Cecilia remarked.
Morgan thought for a second, then sniffed her shirt. “Whatever.” She turned away from them, once more uninterested.
It was all she could do to hold back her laughter as Ava hauled her out of the room.
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mavidraws · 2 months
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meet my twc detectives: gigi and rose ✨
more information under the cut
gigi chan
full name: genevieve grace chan
age: 27
height: 5'9
sexuality: bisexual
romance option: farah
best friend: nate
birthdate: august 26th
mbti: isti
moral alignment: lawful neutral
clothing style: formal
apartment style: minimal
drink of choice: tea
knows a bit about languages
personality
charming 63 | 37 intimidating
impulsive 29 | 71 cautious
sarcastic 35 | 65 genuine
friendly 65 | 35 stoic
easygoing 63 | 37 stubborn
traits
heart 20 | 80 mind
optimist 54 | 46 pessimist
team player 66 | 34 independent
skills
people/psychology: 86
combat/physical: 26
science/technology: 16
deduction/knowledge: 48
by the book 72 | 28 bend the rules
personal relationships
rebecca: not a very close relationship, though she understands her absences
current relationship: 59%
bobby: acquaintance. a reporter with bad morals.
professional relationships
mayor friedman: 1
police captain: 7
team stats
adam: close friends
nate: bffs
farah: bold 46 | 54 shy
morgan: sort of maybe friends
key decisions
book 1
joined the wayhaven p.d. because she wanted to help people and make them feel safe
didn’t shoot adam
went out to the bar and saved douglas
reaction to vampire revelation: disbelieving
didn’t agree to agency blood tests
murphy bit her on the neck
murphy was captured
book 2
focused on supernatural research
saved farah from the trappers, but sanja still survived
the maa-alused signed the treaty with the agency
got into a relationship with farah
book 3
focused on supernatural research
encouraged verda to be accepting of the supernatural world
accepted rebecca's help in the final mission
cessair was captured
gigi is deeply knowledgeable about human psychology, easily identifying the intentions of anyone who crosses her path—a skill that, paired with her ambition and undeniable competence, has allowed her a quick rise in her career. she is also incredibly adaptable and flexible, modifying her behavior according to the situation without any difficulty. for this reason, it appears almost impossible to know what is truly going on in her mind—something that not even gigi herself seems to know. maybe that was why meeting farah—who always seemed to be wearing her heart on her sleeve—impacted gigi so profoundly.
maybe gigi could finally, finally be her real self with someone.
gigi is also remarkably observant and has great deduction skills—her highly logical mind can find patterns even when there is very little information available. this also helps her to keep a level head even in the most adverse situations, which has proven especially useful now that the entire supernatural world seems to be out for her blood. still, the constant attacks on innocent people because of her are beginning to take its toll—gigi doesn't know how much more she can take before she finally snaps.
rose blackthorn
full name: rosalie marie blackthorn
age: 26
height: 5’4
sexuality: lesbian
romance option: ava/nat
best friend: farah
birthdate: june 12th
mbti: entp
moral alignment: chaotic good
clothing style: casual
apartment style: cosy
drink of choice: coffee (she totally doesn’t have an addiction to it. totally)
fluent in many languages
personality
charming 81 | 19 intimidating
impulsive 73 | 27 cautious
sarcastic 91 | 9 genuine
friendly 59 | 41 stoic
easygoing 35 | 65 stubborn
traits
heart 36 | 64 mind
optimist 34 | 66 pessimist
team player 34 | 66 independent
skills
people/psychology: 35
combat/physical: 57
science/technology: 8
deduction/knowledge: 86
by the book 27 | 73 bend the rules
personal relationships
rebecca: tense relationship, due to her absences.
current relationship: 28%
bobby: college friend. certainly far from friends now. jerk.
professional relationships
mayor friedman: 0
police captain: 1
team stats
ava: bold 60 | 40 shy
nat: bold 54 | 46 shy
farah: bffs
morgan: sort of maybe friends
key decisions
book 1
joined the wayhaven p.d. because it was the best career she could put her mind to use
shoot ava (she kinda deserved it, come on)
stayed in the office and got bugged by bobby
reaction to vampire revelation: confused
agreed to agency blood tests
murphy didn’t bite her
murphy was captured
book 2
buried the memory of murphy’s attack deep
focused on supernatural combat
saved sanja from the trappers
the maa-alused signed the treaty with the agency
tina learned the truth about the supernatural despite rose’s attempts to stop her
didn’t get into a relationship with nat
book 3
got closer to ava
focused on supernatural combat
refused rebecca's help in the final mission, leading to bobby being turned
cessair escaped and was later killed
encouraged tina and adrian's relationship
rose is highly intelligent and resourceful, with a profound aptitude to notice and draw deductions from seemingly unimportant details. that being said, she habituated herself to ignoring everyone she considered her intellectual inferiors. this, paired with her blatant disregard for rules and authority figures, makes her incredibly antagonistic toward her superiors in the police force. while her demeanor is usually seen as arrogance and impertinence—and, in a way, it is—to rose, it's just the logical outcome. besides, she simply enjoys tearing down just about anyone who challenges her—something ava had to learn the hard way when they first met.
she's also a skilled fighter—an activity that, at first, was just a way of dealing with her proneness to boredom, but quickly evolved into an obsession due to her need to excel at everything. combined with her deductive reasoning, this allows her to identify the weaknesses of her opponents before she strikes them, which really comes in handy when fighting trappers and supernaturals. unfortunately, rose’s concern for the people involved in her cases can lead her to act impulsively and borderline suicidal if the situation calls for it. for nat's and ava's sake, she just hopes this doesn't prove to be an issue now that trappers have shown a particular interest in her blood.
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finalgirl-horatio · 11 months
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i have finally done it,,, finished the little ava/ysla fanfic thats been rotting in my brain
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deepinifhell · 7 months
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Resilience
Rating: General
Relationships: Nat Sewell x F!Detective (@stolenoc's Rory Kingston)
Word Count: 2,267
For the @wayhavenficexchange. This was a really fun challenge and I hope I did Rory justice! Click the title for AO3 link.
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Nat has spent centuries admiring poetic words about broken hearts, only to find them wanting when she needs them most. Her heart is not merely broken. It is shredded , and every day without finding Aurora, every mission where Unit Bravo finds her blood instead of her, rips away another piece of it. 
Weeks have passed since Rory was taken from Nat— from all of them. There was no warning before it happened, no confrontation or suspicious sightings. One morning Nat kissed her beloved goodbye before she went to work, and she never came back. 
The team found Rory’s apartment in a state of disarray and the air laden heavily with magic, but little else to help direct their search. The first few days after Rory’s disappearance were spent combing every inch of the town and the surrounding area outside of it. The Agency even sent in Unit Alpha to assist, tracking being one of their specialties. 
Nat’s vivid imagination has gotten her through plenty of hardships in her past, but she curses it now. Visions of Rory calling out for Nat, needing her, as she is ripped from her apartment plague Nat. How frightened must she have been? 
“She’ll produce more blood alive than dead,” Morgan offered as a comfort to Nat who, at the time, was on her knees in the middle of Rory’s apartment, refusing to leave until they found something .  Unfortunately, they all know from experience that ‘alive’ does not mean ‘well’. As long as their product is breathing, that will be enough for her captors. In fact, it’s probably safer for them to break her mind than her body. 
Nat forces herself to bury those thoughts every time they bubble up to the surface. They won’t help her find Rory, and Rory has to be alive. There is no other option. It has only been a few months, but already she cannot imagine a life without her. 
A firm, solid hand lands on Nat’s shoulder, drawing her attention away from the pile of recent mission and patrol logs she has been poring over all day. Nat forces a small smile on her face as she turns to look at Ava, but she doesn’t get the chance to speak. 
“We have a lead.” 
Far Outside of Wayhaven
The dilapidated brick building looms behind Unit Bravo. At one point, decades ago, it had been a hospital. Now the building looks as though it doesn’t belong among the sprawling untamed field that has sprouted up around it.
“Commanding Agent Du Mortain?” Lesedi’s voice filters through over the radio.
“Copy.” 
“Two suspects have fled the building on foot. One unit should pursue the suspects and the other should search the building.” Lesedi pauses, allowing the situation to sink in. “Who do you want to pursue?” 
For a moment, there is conflict on Ava’s face as she considers the information provided, but it passes quickly.  “Agreed. Unit Bravo will search the area. Unit Alpha can pursue the suspects,” Ava doles out tasks.
They are all exhausted, having spent weeks chasing down lead after lead, most of them dead ends. The situation only worsened once Rory’s blood hit the supernatural black market. The Agency needed their top teams (and the one most experienced with the detective’s blood) to help handle the outbreaks of massively powerful supernaturals. 
None of them are at their best right now, but Nat has not slept in…she tries to remember the last time she got real sleep. More than just falling asleep for a few minutes on accident. Three weeks? Her healing abilities can only compensate for so much. 
All eyes turn to Nat, whose eyes glisten with unshed tears. 
“Thank you, Ava,” she says. Ava nods stiffly to Nat and then gestures to the building. The team launches into action. 
Inside the Abandoned Hospital
Nat can smell Aurora’s blood in the distance, and she turns to the rest of the team to confirm that they too can smell it, that her mind has not taken to trying to appease her with hallucinations. 
They are already looking back at her. The smell is strongest from the lower levels, but most of Unit Bravo know better than to get their hopes up now. Not Nat, though. Somehow, even after so many times, the scent of Aurora’s blood has hope swelling in Nat’s chest. 
“According to our intelligence, the building has five levels including one below ground,” Ava begins. “We will clear the first floor together and then split up to cover the remaining levels. Nat, you will take the lower level. Farah, clear the top level and the stairwells. Morgan gets the third.” 
As expected, the first floor is empty. The area is fairly open, a bad place for anyone to hide. Most likely it was a lobby and waiting area in the hospital’s heyday. Nat wastes no time, sprinting down the cracking concrete stairwell to reach the building’s basement. There are no windows, just sprawling hallways of rusted metal doors and cracking paint. 
“Rory! Are you down here?” Nat calls out. There’s no answer, but she doesn’t truly expect one. Soon though, the sound of a rapid fluttering heartbeat comes into focus. 
She recognizes it instantly. Aurora. 
“She’s down here!” Nat shouts into the radio. There’s a response, but the words don’t register for Nat. She is much too busy pulling at the handle of one particular door with additional shiny silver locks, clearly out of place among the older hardware on all the other doors.“Rory!?” 
The doorway breaks before the door, leaving behind splintered wood and plaster. At one point the small padded room behind the door may have been white, but age and lack of maintenance have turned the cushions a dingy beige color. 
“Ya rouhi,” Nat gasps the endearment with equal measures of relief and horror. Ava is the first to make it down to Nat, and promptly takes the door from her hands, propping it up against the wall of the hallway. Morgan and Farah follow shortly after. Morgan gives the team leader a short nod, and Farah flashes a thumbs up, confirming the building is clear of any threats. 
Rory is curled up in the corner, alive, wide-eyed with shock from the loud noises, and in one piece. That is the good news. The bad news is just about everything else.
Her wrists are red and swollen from the handcuffs she has on, a sharp contrast against her unusually pallid skin. Her breaths come short and shallow, and her expression is distant and weak. She’s lost weight. A few inches of medical tubing stick out of her arm, the ends covered by small plastic caps. Despite all of that, Rory’s expression lights up when she sees Nat, making warm affection bloom in Nat’s chest. 
In a flash of motion, Nat crosses the room to kneel at Rory’s side one hand cupping her cheek reverently. 
“Nat?” She asks, voice hoarse from disuse. Then she shifts a little to get a better view through the doorway. The movement is sluggish, but it doesn’t seem to cause her pain at least. “Ava? Is everyone here?” 
“All here and ready to rescue you!” Farah pokes her head around the now crumbling doorway, a relieved grin on her face. 
“It’s us,” Nat speaks softly, as though to a frightened animal. Rory isn’t well, of course, but Nat cannot find any injuries beyond the superficial wounds on her wrist and some bruising. “We’re getting you out of here. Can you walk?” 
“I think so,” Rory says, shifting her weight to stand only to wobble unsteadily. Strong, toned arms reach out to stabilize her. 
“Is it alright if I carry you?” Nat asks, doing her best to keep her voice from cracking. Rory’s gaze is hazy and unfocused, and she has to pause in order to process the question. 
“Yeah,” she croaks. The word hardly gets out before Nat has her scooped up into a bridal-style carry. Morgan grabs Farah by the back of the shirt, yanking her out of the way of the doorway, while Ava advises Agent Kingston of their status. She will handle coordinating the medics. 
 Nat is grateful for the rest of the team, because she isn’t sure she could stand to leave Rory’s side though she knows she will have to eventually. 
A Few Hours Later, At the Agency Facility
Nat shoves her hands into her pockets for what feels like the hundredth time. Her and Rebecca both stand outside of the infirmary, anxiously awaiting news. The door behind them bursts open, and Morgan trudges in with a bag of Rory’s things slung over her shoulder. 
“There’s a couple books in there,” Morgan gruffs as she pushes the bag into Nat’s hands. 
“Thank you, Morgan.” Nat manages a small smile when she takes the bag. Morgan glances at the door to the infirmary and then back to Nat. 
“They haven’t let you see her yet?” Morgan asks, voice tinged with a thread of concern. Nat shakes her head. 
“She’s gonna be okay, Natkins,” Farah slaps a reassuring hand on Nat’s back in an effort to lighten the mood. 
The door to the waiting room swings open again, much more quietly this time. Ava strides in with two facility room keys in her hand and holds them out to Rebecca and Nat. 
“Get some sleep. I will keep watch over Aurora. We will notify you when she is allowed visitors,” Ava says firmly. Rebecca hesitates, but she glances to the infirmary door, and then to Nat, and eventually takes the key. 
“Thank you, Agent,” Rebecca says. She leaves the room quickly, perhaps eager to get away from prying eyes. Ava’s gaze then flicks to Nat, who wilts under the stare with a heavy sigh. 
“I’ll go. You don’t need to order me.” She can’t help but look back at the infirmary door as she leaves. Rory may be safe now, but is she scared? Is there any permanent damage? 
In the end, she gets a couple of hours of fitful sleep before Ava comes to get her. 
Inside Rory’s Recovery Room
Rory is propped up in the hospital bed. She’s cleaner, wrists sanitized and bandaged, and more alert than she was at first, but the smile she plasters on when Nat enters the room is clearly fake. 
“How are you feeling?” Nat asks gently, settling into a chair by the bed and taking one of Rory’s hands in her own. 
“I’m alright. They’re just keeping me overnight for observation.”
“You know that it’s okay if you’re not alright, right? It took us so long to find you…” Nat trails off, words failing her yet again, as they often do when it comes to Aurora. “I can’t imagine what they must have put you through.” 
“I’m not sure it feels real yet. That I’ve been rescued,” Rory admits. Her eyes flicker over to her left arm, where the IV is inserted. Nat follows her gaze, heart clenching in her chest as she realizes the Agency medics left in whatever permanent line Rory’s captors had given her. 
It was Trappers as it turns out, using stolen supernatural powers to cover their tracks. Thankfully, Unit Alpha managed to capture the entire outfit of them, including the crooked doctor they’d been using to collect Aurora’s blood. Their work isn’t done, of course, the Agency suspects they do not have all of the blood in their possession, 
The Agency must have had a good reason for keeping it, but that does nothing for the haunted look in Rory’s eyes. Nat squeezes Rory’s hand gently, in an effort to draw her attention back. It works, at least for a moment, Rory turns her head back to look at Nat. 
“They were able to capture everyone that was in the building,” Nat assures her, as though that means anything. As though there are not a seemingly infinite number of Trappers. 
“I’m really okay, Nat. You came and got me, just like I knew you would.” Rory truly means that when she says it. There is no resentment that Unit Bravo, that Nat, was not there sooner or to prevent the kidnapping at all. 
The genuine acceptance is a balm for Nat’s wounded, guilty heart. In that moment, she falls just a little bit more in love with Rory. Beautiful, wonderful, incredibly resilient Rory who looks absolutely exhausted. Of course she would be, after the day she has had. 
“You should rest,” Nat urges softly, eyes flooded with concern. Rory starts to blink, but her eyes stay closed for a little longer than they should as if she’s considering the suggestion. “I can read to you if you think it might help you sleep?”
Rory nods. With her free hand, Nat reaches down and unzips the duffle bag, not quite ready to let go just yet.  There are, in fact, two books right at the top, though Nat can’t help but purse her lips at the improper storage of them. One of them is unfamiliar to her, most likely something Rory had in her room, so Nat grabs that one.
“Is this one alright, rouhi?” Nat asks. She turns the book’s cover to face Rory, gripping it carefully to try and use the heat of her hands the smooth out the paperback’s rumpled corners. In answer, Rory snuggles down into the thin hospital blanket and shuts her eyes. This time, the smile that crosses Nat’s face is more genuine, and she cracks open the book. 
Rory falls asleep to the warm sound of Nat’s voice chasing away her fears.
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evilbunnyking · 10 months
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Tenderness (Part 8)
A x f!Detective x N; love triangle route, Part 8 of 12. Angst, accidental love confessions, jealousy sex; and a resolution, one way or another. Rating M - minors dni. I would reread the previous part quickly before reading this-
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
Ava.
--
  ‘Still, I would know you, Ava.  
  I would love you again, if you would allow it.’
--
The pages sit heavy in Ava’s hands.
When she looks up Nate’s expression is wry, his eyes bright in the tired shadows of his face. “There are many more,” he says, and he worries at the cuffs of his sleeve. “You were not... supposed to ever read them.”
"Why, then...?" Is all she manages to ask, and his expression shifts, free flowing and open, as open as she’s seen him in years.
"Because-" He pauses to take a breath, steadying his voice. "Because it hasn’t changed. Because, I still..." and he steps closer to her now, and she is suddenly so very aware of where they are. The familiar scent of him: his cologne, the heat of his skin, rainwater, sweat. The thick, overpowering scent of the lilies.
"For all this time," he says, more quietly now, into the small distance between them. "And all of our centuries, Ava, I... have loved you."
She feels set adrift. She feels her hull cracked open and the sea water forcing its way in, and it is relief and something else, so torrential and flooding that it would sweep her away if she let it.
"I love you, Ava." He says it so gently, his head bowed towards hers. "And while I hope that you would return my feelings, I do not expect you to, and I do not require an answer, if you do not wish to give it. I only…"
He swallows, and she sees the bob of his throat, the long line of his neck hazed by lingering rain water.
"I cannot deny it, any longer. I would not deny it. And I do not think- that I am truly alone in this. We are more to each other, are we not? We have always been... more."
"...Rose," is all she manages to say. Because she had believed - she had consigned herself to the fact that he was in love with Rose and finally beyond her reach, and it had been such a sweet relief, and it had been such a terrible agony, like she'd reached into her own chest and pulled out a rib.
"She knows," is Nate's answer, and a tremor passes through him as he says it. "I have... She knows. It is, in large part, why it is over. The rest is no fault but my own." He gives her another lopsided, self-deprecating smile. "I do not deserve her. I do not deserve you, but still, I..."
His control is unravelling, his words clipping short. He takes the packet from her hands and she lets him, mute and still, a tension in her shoulders as he flicks through the letters for another that he gives to her instead. She will not read it.
"Ava-"
"Nate," she says, at last.
At her voice he stops, and then he pulls his head up to meet her gaze, his brown eyes almost black in this light.
She can hear his heartbeat, fast and erratic, afraid. Her heart beats much the same and it's on the edge of overwhelming, this wealth of feeling, and this is part of what had scared her before. This... totality. This loss of control. She does not know herself, like this. She doesn't know herself with him, and yet-
But she has not been alone, she knows, these last centuries. She cannot deny it. She has known him, she has been known by him, for all that she’d turned from what that meant. The person that she has become - she would not know herself, if not for him.
She is no longer solely Ava du Mortain. She has not been since she found him, three centuries ago. She has always had Nate, even when she would not have him, and when she’d thought she’d lose him, she had...
There are the glimmer of tears, caught in his eyelashes. His chest heaves with each breath and so she reaches out, flattening her palm against his chest. She can feel the shiver of his heartbeat to the skin, beating and beating.
She isn't sure whether she’d meant to push him away, but she doesn't. After a moment he folds his hand over hers, letting the letters fall to the floor, and she feels that ache again, that tightness in her chest.
He reaches up with his other hand, touching her cheek, and she closes her eyes as he traces his fingertips to her jaw. He is so very careful. Gentle.
She doesn't how to broach this distance between them. She doesn’t know the words to say in the face of all this time, and all this pain - she’s never had the words for what she feels, or wants, when it comes to him.
He exhales, his breath shaking, and she feels him sway closer, dipping until she can almost taste the distance between them.
He does not cross it. He waits, for her to make that choice.
It was easy, before, that first time so long ago. It is harder now, and as she hesitates, he makes to pull away.
She opens her eyes, curling her fingers in his shirt to hold him still.
“I am afraid,” she breathes, and the confession squeezes in her chest.
And he returns to her, tilting his head until their foreheads touch, and there is warmth fluttering behind her ribs; there is life, displacing and addictive.
“What are you are afraid of?” he whispers back.
  You. Myself. Our past. What’s to come.
“Too much,” she says, and feels him laugh, softly and unsteadily.
“In three hundred years, my dear Ava," he says, and his voice is so very fond and warm, for its teasing. "What is there that we have not seen? What is there that we have not come to know, or overcome-”
He will always speak, when instead he should act.
Pushing upwards onto the balls of her feet, she pulls him across that final distance and kisses him. She kisses him, and after a moment of surprise, she feels, she tastes, his humour and bravado falling away, and then there is just - him. His arm at her waist, pressing her flush against him. His hand at the back of her head, his fingers curling into her hair, and the warm pressure of his lips, moving against hers.
It is impulse, for all that it is also a choice. It is selfish, and wanting, but it is... it is a choice.
The letters rustle at their feet as they move closer to each other, crumpled and abandoned.
She still does not know- she does not know what this will lead to. She does not know what she can give to him, truly, after so much  time and after a moment she breaks away - her lips tingling, body humming. She draws away far enough to drop back to her heels, their breaths mingling and shared.
“Nate-” she is breathless, the ache of all this feeling welling up in her chest, warm and uncontained. “I-”
His hold around her tightens. “Please,” he says, and there’s old and new pain in his voice, raw and open, “Ava, please, do not-”
Leave me again, is what she thinks he’ll say, and the flare of pain at that plea takes what breath she has from her lungs, because yes, she deserves that.
“No,” she says, and her grip on his shirt tightens again, her other hand wrapping around the back of his neck to hold him close. “I did not mean that. I will not - I will not leave you again. Not as before. I will not leave you, Nate.”
“Okay,” he says, his voice broken. And then, “I am sorry, Ava. I love you, and I am so, so very sorry-”
She frames his cheeks in her palms and then she kisses him again, to quiet him and to comfort them both. There is the rain in the forest around the warehouse, and she is here, in this room and this moment, Nate’s heartbeat thundering against her own.
---Chap fin
Next chapter
(oh no, we’re not done, peeps, there’s at least three more parts- but how nice it is, for this moment to finally be happening?!)
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thee-morrigan · 11 months
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staring at the sun
the wayhaven chronicles // ava du mortain x petra carlisle (f!detective) // G, no warnings (aside from obvious references to the end of B3) // 1.7k words // read on ao3
Ava is definitely letting Petra go. Just like they are definitely having a full, honest conversation with each other.
"I must seem so young to you," she says finally, not lifting her gaze from her hands, her scraped knuckles a bruised ridged knot in her lap, dark brows knotting in turn as she stares down at them. 
Ava wants to reach out and fold her hand over the detective's, use her other to smooth the tension from her brow. 
No, she thinks, not the detective anymore. Or not for much longer, in any case. Not to the Agency, not now.
Not to her. Hasn't been merely the detective to her for longer still. Too much longer, she knows, and still not nearly — not even close to being — as long as she wants. As much as she wants.
She wants...
She wants to not want that.
Petra's voice again, low and tired and, yes, young — too young to have shouldered what she has, what she will still. 
"I get it. I do." She looks up then and Ava understands —wholly, viscerally — Nat's fear of the sea, because she meets Petra's eyes and she is drowning, swept and sinking into the clear blue of them. 
"I mean, I don't usually fail at things. I never fail, actually." She winces slightly as if to temper the statement, but her eyes stay focused, unmoving from Ava's as she continues. "I know how that sounds, but it's true. I'm smart, and I'm driven, and I work really, really hard to be the best at the things I care about. I'm used to succeeding. Even when it seems unlikely. Even when it's hard. I wasn't lying when I told you I like a challenge." Petra's mouth twitches with the barest hint of amusement, there and gone almost before even Ava can register the motion.
"So for me," she continues, those eyes still too large and solemn and weary, too old, for the face of the woman before her, "a lot of this just feels like, I dunno, extra-hard challenges. I'm not..." Her brows knit as she considers, eyes flicking away, and Ava isn't sure whether the brief reprieve of that sharp focus makes breathing easier or infinitely harder. 
"I'm not used to things going the way they did the other night," Petra finally says, still staring at some unseen point beyond Ava's shoulder. "So, embarrassingly, it didn't occur to me until then how I must seem to you. How…reckless, how naive I must often seem, I mean." 
She exhales sharply.
 "It must feel like trying to keep a toddler from sticking their fingers in a socket. Or whatever it is that kids do when they don’t know any better. Not exactly my area of expertise." Her gaze flickers back down to her lap for half a heartbeat and then her eyes are back on Ava's, scanning her face as if she's trying to find something. Then it passes, that sharp, searching look, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with a gentle attempt at a smile. Weak, but…an attempt. The small, tight curve of her lips, the squaring of her slim shoulders. All of it an attempt to regain her footing, restore any sense of the equilibrium she's lost these months, beneath the strain of everything that's happened. To all of them, yes, but mostly, overwhelmingly, to Petra.
It takes every remaining shred of Ava's self-control not to apologize, not to get on her knees and beg forgiveness for being one of those many things that have happened to her. 
That keeps happening to her.
"Anyway," Petra sighs, that small smile flickering like candlelight. She unclasps her hands, presses her palms flat against her thighs, and eases to her feet. "That's all I wanted to say. That I understand, I mean."
You don't understand anything, Ava wants to say. 
God knows she doesn't. 
Doesn't understand why the entirety of her considerable immortal focus disappears around Petra. Why centuries of clear resolve, of unflinching decisiveness in impossible situations, have fully abandoned her, all reason drowned out by the steady song of a single human heartbeat, have left her in this purgatory of longing without any reckoning. Why she has left Petra in this same limbo, time frozen by her own indecision. 
Doesn't understand why she hasn't been able to get the taste of her, the soft, perfect warmth of her mouth, off her own tongue since surrendering to that terrible, exquisite impulse and kissing her. 
And perhaps some of those useless emotions bleed into her expression despite herself, because Petra pauses near the open doorway and looks back at her, flickers of emotion limning her features. Regret, an emotion Ava knows all too well, and something else, something Ava doesn’t — something she won’t — recognize. Ava feels her own lips part slightly and some small, distant part of her wonders what exactly she thinks she’s going to say. 
“Is that what you think? That you’ve failed?” Whatever unbidden thoughts Ava had worried might fall from her lips, that question had not been among them. 
Petra, too, seems surprised at the question, head cocked as she turns back fully to face Ava again, a pensive frown creasing her face. 
“I—what?”
“Earlier. You implied that you think you’ve failed.” A few steps have Ava across the room, standing closer to Petra than she has in days. Since that disastrous (magnificent) kiss, that moment when Ava had taken the remains of her reason and self-control in both hands and thrown them as far as she could. 
So there is nothing left to remind her that it is a bad idea to reach as she does for Petra, hand cupping her face, tilting her chin up to meet her eyes. 
“De-Petra. You are many things. Many often infuriating things. But you are not a failure. You have accomplished — you have been so much more than we — than I — could have hoped.” She lets her hand drop from Petra’s face and has to grit her teeth against the urge to put it right back, to regain the perfect warmth of Petra’s skin beneath her fingers. 
Petra gives a hiss of a laugh, dipping her head back down. “If I’d asked you a few months ago, I wonder if you would have sounded so encouraging of my exceeding your expectations.” 
The comment is so unexpected that Ava can’t help the breath of amusement that escapes her, the slant of a smile. “Perhaps not. But that does not mean it is such a bad thing. I don’t think I remembered, perhaps never understood, what it is to hope like that. Like you do.”
Petra’s smile fades, twists into something like disappointment. “Or maybe you were right the first time. Maybe that hopefulness is just…maybe you were right.”
The words unspoken drag at them, making the air between them heavy and dense. And what Ava hopes most, in that moment, is that the bright ember of Petra’s optimism is not snuffed out by what they do. By what Ava keeps doing to her. That this world of monsters, of nightmares made flesh, does not kill the dreamer.
“No,” she says, and the command in her tone has Petra looking up again, brows raised. 
“No,” Ava says again. “I do not think I was right. And I do not think it is reckless or naive to choose hope in the face of everything you have been made to endure. I think it is brave. I think you are brave.  I was not lying to you when I said I admired your strength. You are so much stronger than you believe yourself to be. The only true failure would be if you stopped trying.” 
For a long moment, neither of them speaks or moves. And though Petra had been the one to move toward the door first earlier, Ava is the one who breaks the thick stillness, moving to step past Petra and into the hallway beyond. Before she can take more than a step, though, Petra’s voice cuts through the remains of that heavy silence. 
“I’m so sorry, Ava.”
When Ava risks another glance at the deep blue current of those eyes, their seriousness is so incongruous with the soft attempt at a smile curling at the corners of her lips that the thing in Ava’s chest, already so brittle and aching, seems to crack further. 
Her voice is quiet when she speaks again, though she is relieved to find it is at least steady. 
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says finally, mouth dry.
“I do. And I am. I am sorry for pushing you. For causing you pain. For ever making you feel that you are not enough. For making you feel like I might — like I ever could hate you. I could never hate you, Ava. Least of all for doing what you need to do for yourself. You —you were clear about what you needed, and you were generous enough to tell me why. You were willing to share your pain with me and still I only thought about myself. I only thought about what it might mean for what I want. You don’t deserve that.  You do not deserve another person adding to your pain. So I am sorry, Ava, for pushing you when you asked me not to. I am sorry.”
They stand again in prolonged, heavy silence for one heartbeat. Two. Ava can feel the press of Petra’s gaze on her like a phantom hand sweeping along the back of her neck. Still, she doesn’t risk turning to look at her again. Cannot let herself risk seeing whatever emotions swim in that crystalline gaze. Cannot risk feeling whatever emotions of her own might bubble up in response, might already be simmering too close to the surface.
She is letting her go. It is the least she can offer, and she will do this. If it preserves any scrap of that hope, if it allows Petra to remain a dreamer in the face of the nightmares she’s been made to weather, and those she will doubtless endure in the future…she will let her go.
So she does not allow herself to speak, not just yet. Not until she hears Petra leave, hears her step finally into the hallway and beyond, footsteps and steady heartbeat a distant rhythm, does she finally respond, Petra’s quiet and insistent voice still echoing in her mind.
I am sorry, Ava.
To the empty room, Ava replies, “I am not.”
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not-sewell · 3 years
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A: ... *sighs irritably*
Detective:
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lilyoffandoms · 4 years
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Family @kundool
Commissions are still open so go and get you some art!
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felanndaris · 3 years
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Safe in Your Arms
Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Ava du Mortain x f!Detective (Kira Langford) Rating: general Word Count: 388 Tags: pure, self-indulgent fluff
Their room was dark, save for the moonlight seeping in through the window and leaving long shadows on the floor. They had no intention of turning the lights on — Ava didn't need them to see well enough, and Kira's eyes were too tired to handle the brightness without discomfort. 
Kira kicked her shoes off, not caring where they land as the heavy weight of exhaustion dragged her down. She padded up to Ava, whose back was turned to her, and wrapped her arms around her torso as her face nuzzled into her T-shirt.
"Come to bed with me," she mumbled, her sleepiness and Ava's shirt muffling the sound making the request almost incoherent.
There was a short pause as the vampire seemed to consider the request.
"I don't think that's the best idea. You are barely awake as it is," she replied, confusion clear in her voice.
Kira needed a moment to process Ava's words, but once she finally did, she let out a tiny, amused snort. She tightened her hold on Ava as she squished her cheek against the other woman's back.
"I didn't mean sex," she corrected, before adding, "Well, not today anyway. I just thought we could sleep together."
"I've been meaning to go over the mission reports while you're sleeping," came Ava's reply. It didn't sound too firm, though, so Kira decided to try her luck. She walked around Ava to face her, her arms never leaving the woman's waist as she looked up at her with her best attempt at puppy-dog eyes.
"Yeah, but you know I always sleep best when feeling safe in your arms." She topped the sentence off with an exaggerated pout, although she wasn't sure it was even needed; challenging Ava — or, in this case, stroking her ego — was usually enough to convince the woman to do almost anything.
Ava heaved a long sigh as she rolled her eyes and Kira waited patiently for her response.
"I suppose I've no other choice but to join you then." Ava's eyes looked down into Kira's softly, a hint of a smile threatening to appear on her lips.
Kira grinned from ear to ear as her hands moved to Ava's cheeks, holding her face between them and lifting herself up on her toes to give the vampire a tender kiss.
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songofsoma · 1 year
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a wish to be loved
CONTAINS BOOK 3 SPOILERS set right after the ava kiss scene, at least cece has great friends
fandom: the wayhaven chronicles words: 1,525 rating: general
read it on ao3
When the door shut behind Ava that sick yet familiar feeling of loneliness began to fill the space. It wound through her like tendrils, wrapping around her throat until she felt like she couldn’t breathe and plugging her ears until the rang. All she could feel was the rawness of her lips from being kissed, the heat on her thighs where Ava’s hands had lifted her, and the ache settling deep in her chest.
Cecilia knew what loneliness was more than most. 
It was like a second home.
Every single person in her life who she had truly loved left her at some point.
It happened when she was seven and her dad died. Her favorite person in the entire world cruelly ripped away.
Then every time her mother chose work over her, leaving her with a random babysitter until Cecilia was deemed old enough to care for herself. After that, it was just Cecilia coming home from school to an empty house to cook herself dinner and put herself to bed hoping she might get a chance to see her mom in the morning, even if in passing. 
There was no more childhood after Rook died.
Her poor heart was broken in so many ways, but this time might just be the one to leave it completely shattered when the woman she loved left her.
The dried tears from before were quickly replaced with fresh ones. Since the start of the kidnappings, it was like every time she wasn’t good enough was a new crack in her sanity. She was on the brink of disaster and was only held together by some shitty scotch tape at best.
Cecilia did her best to hide it, putting on a smile and making sure those around her were alright. If she focused on them it would allow her to not think about herself. She knew others could tell from the way Farah stared at her sometimes and even Nat when she thought Cecilia wasn’t looking. No one said anything outright.
She turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and suddenly it was like she was a child again. Dad dead. Mom busy working. Left to take care of herself even when she was raw and vulnerable. 
Her eyes slid away from her reflection, unable to handle the memories any longer, and landed on the soft shape of the duck stuffy sitting on top of her dresser. It felt like a lifetime ago since the carnival and her and Ava’s “fake” date. Cecilia remembered her excitement when Ava handed the prize to her, claiming she had no use for it. 
Cecilia loved that fucking duck. She had been so relieved that it hadn’t been ruined in her apartment accident. 
She stood before it now, staring into its little glass eyes and it all suddenly became too much. 
The first sob shook her and the ones following brought her to her knees as she cried.
She cried for her lost childhood. She cried because she was so damn lonely. And mostly, she cried because she wished someone would love her in the way she loved them. 
*
At some point, Cecilia had made it to bed.
She lay on her side in the quiet darkness, stuffed duck nestled in her arms. 
A hesitant knock sounded on the door. It opened before she could respond.
“Cece?” Farah called quietly into the room. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
Luckily the vampire didn’t need light to navigate the dark bedroom and crawled onto the bed quickly. “I’ll even let you be the little spoon,” Farah teased, slotting herself behind Cecilia beneath the covers. 
Cecilia was grateful for her best friend’s comfort. A hand curled around Farah’s soft forearm as a few coils of hair tickled her cheek. The feeling of familiarity was a blessing as the smell of her friend’s soap and the slightest hint of cinnamon sliced through the dreaded loneliness. 
“I would’ve come sooner but thought you might need some time,” she murmured.
She nodded. “Thank you,” Cecilia rasped, her voice hoarse from crying.
Farah was silent for a few seconds before saying, “We could always break into Nat’s special room and find her stash of old alcohol. Not like she’s going to use it. Besides, I think she’d let you do just about anything right now.”
That made Cecilia snort. “As tempting as that sounds, my head already hurts enough.”
She felt Farah shrug the shoulder not pressed against the mattress. “Fair. Offer still stands.”
It made Cecilia finally produce a small smile.
They lay there without saying much for a while. Cecilia wasn’t up for talking and Farah clearly understood. With someone else with her, she was finally feeling the exhaustion of her emotions surging forward until her eyelids were becoming heavier by the second. Farah had come dressed in her pajamas, having already intended to stay with her best friend as long as she was needed.
“Hey, Farah,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I love you. You really are my best friend.”
Farah’s arm squeezed her tightly. “You’re my best friend too. I love you so much that I considered kicking Ava’s arms out from under her earlier so she would faceplant into the ground.”
Cecilia smiled, although she wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. Still, she appreciated the sentiment.
*
She and Farah parted ways the next morning. Morgan had come and banged on Cecilia’s door trying to find Farah so they could go on their patrol. To say Farah was uncharacteristically irritated with Morgan after was an understatement.
Cecilia hugged her goodbye, smiling at the promise they would watch stupid movies later together when she returned.
Knowing it would be stupid of her to hole up in her room, Cecilia made the brave decision of venturing out into the kitchen. She pushed the thought of seeing Ava to the back of her mind while trying to ignore the way her stomach turned at the idea.
Thankfully, there was only Nat seated at the table, squinting at a crossword puzzle with her lips pursed. A pencil twirled absent-mindedly in her fingers.
“What’s the question?”
Nat looked up seeming a bit surprised by Cecilia’s presence. She recovered quickly though, looking back down to her paper. “Who don’t you put in a corner?”
Cecilia crossed the room to stand behind her and looked over her shoulder. “Baby.”
The woman twisted in her seat, a look of confusion pulled at her features. “Why on earth would you put a baby in a corner?”
She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “No, the character’s name is Baby. It’s from the movie Dirty Dancing.” Cecilia took a seat in the chair next to Nat. “Why did you choose a pop culture crossword anyway?”
“Farah printed it out for me. She said it would keep me busy.” Nat paused, long fingers drumming on the table in thought. “I suppose she was right on the keeping me busy part because I have no idea what half of these words mean strung together like this.”
Cecilia smiled—until Nat truly looked at her in her Nat way that openly read I know you aren’t okay. Then her lips curled into a frown. 
“Are you doing alright?” she asked, reaching over to place a hand on top of Cecilia’s. 
She let out a long sigh. Her head still hurt from crying last night and she was sure her eyes were puffy so she looked a wreck. “I guess.”
Nat squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to be. It’s completely understandable.”
“I’m sure you already know what happened then,” Cecilia mumbled, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. Something about their friendly warmth made her feel unworthy. 
“Secrets don’t seem to last long around here,” she said, then followed by, “Farah told me after she saw Ava in the hall.”
Cecilia stared at the pattern in the wooden grains of the tabletop. The muscles in her jaw were already beginning to ache from the way she clenched it. “It just…” she trailed off at first, finger tracing the space where her gaze went. “It just hurts.”
“What does?”
Swallowing hard, Cecilia finally met Nat’s concerned look. “Loving someone who doesn’t love you back. No, let me rephrase. Loving someone who feels the same but won’t let herself and breaks my heart over and over again in the process.”
Nat frowned but nodded in understanding. 
She felt tears flooding her eyes once more. “I’m not strong anymore, Nat,” Cecilia whispered. “I feel like I’m falling apart. I don’t know how much more I can take.” 
By the end, her voice was wobbling and Nat moved from her chair to kneel in front of Cecilia, pulling her into a hug. Cecilia clung to her tightly, willing herself not to break into tears all over again.
“I wish there was something I could do,” Nat whispered.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cecilia caught movement. She turned her head just in time to see the figure of Ava slinking back into the hallway and the mournful look clouding her face. “Me too, Nat. Me too.”
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mavidraws · 2 years
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finally took some time to draw my favorite route in the wayhaven chronicles (yeah, i know. at this point i just accepted i enjoy suffering)
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itsyensyd · 5 years
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Felix: You should impress A, Detective. That should encourage them to give in to their feelings for you
Detective: How hell am I supposed to impress a vampire?
Felix: We’re not all that different when it comes to pleasing someone, y’know.
Detective: Alright, then what does A like?
Felix: You?
Detective: Other than me!
Felix: ...
Felix: You?
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tuagonia · 3 years
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this perfect place - ava du mortain x f!detective
pairing: ava du mortain x f!detective
summary: the detective undoes ava’s hair after a long day.
rating: T
warning: nothing really, just kissing.
word count: 570ish
note: i saw a piece of ava art, i wrote a thing. i love my wife.
--
Late summer shadows drape down the walls.
There’s the quiet silhouette of sleepy leaves and the obscure edges of her bookshelf, trapped between shade and golden light spilling through the window. At the centre of it all, the firm outline of her hand.
Lithe fingers, softened at the joints, unspooled hair slipping past her knuckles. Tickles.
This is Genevieve’s favourite part of the day.
She fits here comfortably. Perfectly. And the thought is just the thing she needs to crack her smile wide open. If Ava were looking at her, she’d ask (with subdued hesitance) to share what Genevieve finds so amusing.
Instead, dark blonde eyelashes brush the tops of her pale cheeks; her green irises hidden. Her lips, pink and promising, parted as she relaxes into Genevieve’s touch.
It must be Ava’s favourite part of the day too.
Sinking into the couch, her body sags in relief. At ease, soldier— Genevieve would quip. But traces of the commander persist. In the wide, but sure, spread of her legs. Her boots planted firmly on the carpet, and tensed shoulders in line with the cushions.
Every afternoon, she finds her place (this perfect place) on Ava’s lap. The way she leans back just enough to welcome Genevieve; an arm bracing her at the waist. The way she wiggles her boots into the fibres of the floor; safeguarding the seat she makes for her.
It’s how Genevieve knows this is much more than just love. This camaraderie. This enigmatic gravitational movement of bodies.
This is their favourite part of the day.
The gentle...gentle...gentle tug at the tight knot of Ava’s hair. Genevieve’s practiced fingers. Golden strands coming loose. Bright, aureate afternoon sun filters through the gaps of her fingers, threading through thin tendrils.
She runs her touch from Ava’s scalp, to its ends (staggers at a knot or two); helps regain its shape after a long day wound at the back of her head.
Gentle… gentle… gentle with her nails and—
—Ava sighs.
Her thumb (resting at Genevieve’s hip) twitches, starts an easy rhythm and brushes at the fabric until she can stroke the sliver of skin there.
Genevieve grazes her nose at her temple. Ava is lemongrass (maybe), last night’s shampoo (possibly), and that thing she can’t place but equates to the softest skin she’s ever kissed (surely).
Ava tilts her head, eyes finding hers (drowsy, glazed over, content), and nudges her nose with hers.
The impossibility of their kiss, like the soft pressure of Ava’s arm, encouraging her closer, will never stop surprising Genevieve. She calms the eager rush to touch, to claim, to take. Countless times Ava has soothed her frantic racing heart, her jittery palms, with an “I’m here. I’m here now.”
No need to state the obvious. No need to say: “I’m not going anywhere.”
Instead shows it with the firm press of her lips on Genevieve’s waiting mouth, free hand cupping her face as Genevieve’s undoes her hard work at the back of Ava’s head. Her hold at Genevieve’s waist brings her closer and she tips her head back; gives into the unyielding kiss.
Their shape in the shadow (fading by evening’s greedy ingress) is an indecipherable nothing. But to Genevieve it’s everything.
To Genevieve, it’s the perfect place.
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evilbunnyking · 11 months
Text
Tenderness (Part 6)
A x f!Detective x N; love triangle route, Part 6 of 12. Angst, accidental love confessions, jealousy sex; and a resolution, one way or another. Rating M - minors dni.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6.
Read on AO3
--
Ava.
It is different, this time.
He is different, with Rose, and it is only when she sees Nate on his knees in the mud and the blood at the warehouse with the detective cradled to his chest, her dark hair tangled in his fingers, that Ava begins to feel off-footed, like she has taken a misstep where once her pace was sure.
There's an itch that takes to her fingers as Nate watches the medics take the detective away, his shoulders slumped and warm beneath her palm, the rain soaking the both of them and slowly washing away the scent-taste of the blood. There's a tightening in her chest as he lets her pull him to his feet and to the car, his head turning towards the space the ambulance had been, its sirens faded into the sheeting rain.
She ignores the warning. Detective Okamoto and her wellbeing is their assignment, unconventional as it is; and considering how much time and personal investment it has required so far it is... unsurprising that personal and professional lines would blur.
But Nathaniel knows their duty, and their responsibilities here. He knows their purpose, and how this could only ever be temporary, and so Ava disregards the painful, chilling fear that catches at her, warning her to wait.
There is a time, not long after Murphy is finally captured and the detective (Rose, as Nate reminds her, almost absently) is recovering, that Nate finds Ava in the main facility, bent over her notes in the office she's commandeered.
"Ava", Nate says from the doorway, grazing his knuckles over the open door. And then, as he steps inside and nudges the door closed, "I have a request."
She barely glances up from her paperwork, mired in the disciplinary procedures that followed the use of DMB in the detective's retrieval. "Ask."
She does not regret her choice. That monster deserved worse and she would not have let any other member of her team take responsibility for it, but the triplicate reports alone are enough to make her pause, next time.
Nate drifts forward, pulling a chair from against the wall and placing it in front of the desk before taking a seat. "I was wondering," he starts, uncharacteristically indirect. "How long we might stay, this time."
Here, he means. In Wayhaven.
"That is not quite a request," she says, and she can feel the way he smiles at her pedantry.
"True. But allow it of me."
Ava looks up at him and he watches her with an animation in his gaze she's seen more often, these days.
She thinks she knows why he's asking.
"This assignment is temporary, Nate," she reminds him, attempting to cut to the quick of it. "It can only be temporary. We are Unit Bravo, not babysitters."
He blinks at her bluntness but rallies quickly. "Rose is not a child, Ava." Rose. The way he says her name tightens something in Ava's chest. "And while the mission is important, that's not... entirely what I meant."
"Is she not?" she asks, instead of anything else, not entirely unserious.
"A child?" He clicks his tongue, bemused. "Ava, if we judge everyone by your measure, we'd all be children."
"You are all children," she grumbles, not quite under her breath, and he laughs sincerely at that.
"And you are an old woman. Somehow, we still listen to you." And cheekily, as her eyebrows rise: "With all due respect, commanding agent du Mortain."
She barks a laugh despite herself, sitting back in her borrowed chair and crossing her arms across her chest. "Insubordination," she observes, and he grins back at her, entirely nonplussed.
"I wouldn't go that far, old friend."
"You are not so young yourself, Nathaniel."
He laughs and she smiles, brief and broad enough that she suspects her cheeks dimple.
"...Detective Okamoto is not a child," she concedes eventually, ignoring the twist behind her ribs at the tenderness in his responding smile. "But she is young, for as much as she knows. Of us, and our world."
"She has not done so badly, considering." Nate cups his chin in his hand. "At one point, she rather had us over the barrel."
She gives him a pointed look. "That was not entirely unavoidable." Nate had strewn enough breadcrumbs to lead the detective to that point, in his fight to tell her the truth.
"I'd argue the fault was all of ours. We are not as adept at hiding ourselves as we believe ourselves to be; we've have been closed away from the world for far too long for that. Even if I wasn't... unhappy with the result."
She snorts and he allows it, a smile playing across his lips.
But his original question remains. She doesn't want to address it, but she is not one to avoid confronting what she must.
"I... cannot guarantee when or where we will be assigned next," she says, at length. "As you know, Nate."
He sighs. "I know. I just..." He looks towards the shuttered window, his expression troubled, his gaze seeking out the glimpses of light through the closed blinds. "We have dealt with the core threat, yes, but the potential of Rose's blood... remains. And the danger. Does it not?"
She does not deny it. After a moment he continues, more quietly: "If the tests are correct, and the effects are as strong as they appear to be, then, there is the temptation it - she - represents. There is the likely response, especially after the news spreads outside of the agency."
And it will, they both know it will; it always does.
"I'm not sure there will come a time when she will be safe, again," he says, "and I-"
He stops before he can say more and frowns down at his hands, fingers flexing as if recalling a sense memory.
Rain over bloodstained concrete. Nate's expression as he cradled the fragile, human woman in his arms, carefully smoothing her wet hair away from her cheeks.
Ava hesitates a moment, flattening her hand over the desk until she can feel the solid press of the hard wood against her palm. There is that tightness in her chest, again. She ignores it. She is used to ignoring it.
"That is a possibility," she says, and her voice is quieter than she'd intended. "But there are other teams, ones that are potentially more... suited, for her protection. And in the end, it will be Agent Okamoto's decision."
He looks up at her then, his eyes dark and ever so slightly pained. "And if she asks us to stay?"
Ava doesn't want to stay. She wants them all to leave, together, leave this small, isolated town and its inhabitants far behind them.
"...Then we will stay," she says levelly. "As is our duty."
"Right," he says, and then, "I am glad to hear it," and she does not hold his gaze long enough to see if he smiles. Ava returns to her forms in triplicate, frowning at the ink splotch she's left on one of the pages. Her grip is tight enough around the fountain pen that she fears the metal will bend.
"I think, that Felix will be glad as well," Nate continues. "It's been a long time since we've truly settled anywhere."
"...You speak as if it is decided," she says and she's reaching for her usual bemusement, but she feels unsteady again, on the off-foot.
"Well," he says, "we will simply have to hope, then," and then he pulls himself upright, picking up the chair by its back to return it to where he found it.
As he steps back towards the door she finds herself looking up after him, the pen and the papers falling back to the desk.
"...Nathaniel."
He stops, turning to look at her.
"Yes?" he asks, when she doesn't continue.
"I..."
But she cannot... she cannot say the things she wants to. She cannot ask if he wants to stay for the detective. She cannot ask if he is serious in these burgeoning feelings - she does not have the right, and it is not... It should not be her concern.
"Make sure you rest tonight," she says, instead. "It has been a long couple of days. The detective - Rose - will recover; let the nurses see to her care."
There is something in the way he looks at her, briefly, that makes her wonder if she said the wrong thing. If she should have said more. There is an expression that flickers through his gaze, a pinch to his brow, before it's all smoothed away.
He smiles, lopsidedly.
"You too, Ava."
She watches his back as he leaves, and that fluttering, prickling uncertainty becomes a roar.
--
Nate, Wayhaven, current day
Nate finds Ava in the training room, as is her habit. She spars with the latest punching bag sent by the facility, layered with resilience spells that will last maybe a week before she requires another. It is a challenge, a gauntlet thrown by her magesmith, a game they have been playing for the past three decades.
She only looks up when he is close enough to hold the bag still between blows.
"Nate," she says, blinking in surprise. "I did not realise you were-"
She pauses as she takes in his lack of appropriate clothing and the strain in his features, the unsteady pattern of his heartbeat.
"What's wrong?" She steps around the bag to peer at him closer, searchingly, concerned. "You do not look… yourself."
She chooses not to finish the sentence as she might have, and he is tempted to dare her to do so. Instead, he takes a breath, holding his tongue against his teeth a moment as he masters the fear that has his heart thudding in his chest.
"Do you have a moment?" he manages. "I would like to- I need- to talk to you. Alone."
She starts to unwrap the bandages from her hands with quick, efficient movements, flicking the ends over her wrists. "Of course." And after a rare hesitation- "What has happened?"
"Not here," he says, and he smiles, a little haplessly. It feels like his heartbeat might out pace him but he rallies with the flash of pain of his nails digging into his palms. “Please.”
She examines his features again, probably reading the pain there, the exhaustion, and then she tosses her wraps towards the towel bin in the corner.
"Lead the way."
He heads to the door and she follows only a step or two behind him, taking position at his back as if she could protect him from the mess he's made of them all, again. He wishes- he wishes a lot of things, bitter and petty and so hopelessly in love, but he wishes she could.
He wishes she'd walk beside him instead, his hand unclenching from its fist and flexing uselessly at his side.
He takes her to his room, for privacy if nothing else. She hesitates only a moment before she follows him over the threshold, her bare feet quiet over the polished wood floors, her gaze scanning over it before he feels her focus on him again. She allows him to draw her to the centre of the room. She waits.
His room is not alien to her; they have shared apartments, rooms, beds, but since they settled in Wayhaven (since, since Rose), it has been a while since they'd lingered here, together. They would retreat to the living room, and the kitchen. The library and the training rooms.
It is only now that he realises how long it's been, the distances that have been attempted between them.
The lilies have wilted on the desk as he draws her inside, drooping petals and pollen to the varnished wood. The air of the room is thick with it, sweet and overripe, catching on the back of the tongue.
“Nathaniel,” she says again, and he realises how the silence has stretched. “Nate.”
He doesn't know how to begin.
After a moment he walks to his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a manuscript and beneath it, wrapped in satin, a packet of letters. He holds them like a talisman at first. In his hands he holds the record of three centuries, longing and love and loss. There have been others; he has loved others. Not all of these letters are for her. But many... many of them are.
And he cannot deny them, now.
There is a light touch on his arm, and he starts. Ava is beside him, considering him carefully, and her eyes are washed grey-green in the half-light of the room, the light that enters from the hall. He has forgotten to switch on a lamp. It doesn't matter, to either of them, but the way the light catches her in profile, settling over the softened line of her mouth-
"Will you not tell me?" she says softly.
Her eyes are seaglass. Jade, when he is generous. He has described them as such and so much more.
And he could laugh, because he is still so afraid. Afraid of this truth- afraid of this conversation, and her answer, rejection or not.
When he brings himself to speak, his words stumble together. “I have, a confession to make. And a question to ask.”
She frowns, a natural crease over her brow.
“Then ask it,” she says, when he does not speak. “You know that I will do what I-”
“Will you?” The words escape him. “Can you?”
And she hesitates, her touch falling away. She is uncharacteristically quiet before she says, at length, as if pulling the words from herself, “is it Rose?”
He feels emotion swell in his breath again, a tightness in his chest. Because the conclusion is simple - he is late, and he is alone, and she can likely still smell Rose on him, despite the rain. Because - Ava has only been like this, so unlike herself, since they settled here; and there was always a foolish part of himself that had latched onto that, and hoped-
“No,” he says, for the pain it gives him to say it. “I believe that it is done between us. She is not- I am not sure that I ever truly-”
He feels when Ava's guarded uncertainty switches to anger, warm and familiar. “Did she-” dare, he thinks she would have said, and there is that selfish relief again, a warm torrent; oh how he wants for her to want.
“No, Ava.” He stays her with a lift of his hand. “I was the one that- it was me.”
And she is silent again, looking at him wide-eyed. Something else flickers in her gaze as well, too quickly for him to read, but he thinks that she can guess some of what has happened, as much as she would deny that.
“I do not understand,” she says, finally, and still so carefully.
He still cannot find the words.
Instead, he turns the packet in his hands, and then undoes the ribbon, letting it hang from his fingers. He hands her the letters.
He has kept them, all of this time, because he cannot escape that final, quiet truth:
I am yours, he’d said, two centuries ago. I am yours.
---chap fin
Next Part here.
Reminder that you can read this on AO3 here.
Combined these two parts here so we have a nice long update. It was either this, or combine the next two chapters; I think this works better, as we get a flashback and the continuation of the main story. They are finally!! Talking!!!
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homeformyheart · 3 years
Text
birthday drabbles - a du mortain (twc)
author’s note: a series of birthday drabbles for my favorite commanding agent. I am so so so soft for Adina and bff!A, so just forced myself to put my thoughts on paper. hope you all enjoy!
copyright: all characters, except the oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – adam du mortain x f!detective (regina bishop) & bff!ava du mortain x nb!detective (harley bishop) rating/warnings: 13+; fluff, blood mention in 2nd drabble word count: ~1.1k total (~750 for adam x regina, ~300 for ava & harley) summary: a set of drabbles around the celebration of a du mortain’s birthday.
1. adam du mortain x regina bishop (~200 words) 2. adam du mortain x regina bishop (~550 words) 3. ava du mortain & harley bishop (~300 words)
1. adam du mortain x regina bishop (~200 words)
adam tucks the folder under his arm as the team makes their way out of the facility, where they just wrapped up a meeting with rebecca. he reaches into his pocket to find his sunglasses, the glow of the setting sun a bit too bright as he follows his team toward their SUV.
his fingers curl around thick cardstock and he pulls out the offending item from his pocket, brow furrowing in confusion. the frown on his face immediately disappears as he recognizes the colored drawing on the front – a faceless gray blob with yellow and peach-colored circles above it and black lines below it, holding the hands of two much smaller peach colored blobs.
unbeknownst to him, the dimples on his cheeks deepen as he opens the card and reads the scrawling handwriting of his children.
a mix of letters he can roughly tell is supposed to say “happy birthday, papa” and “we love you.”
he feels the corner of his eyes get misty when a comforting hand appears on his shoulder. he looks up at nate’s knowing smile.
“they were pretty upset that i went to work today,” adam murmurs sheepishly, tucking the card carefully into his folder.
nate smiles. “so go home to them now. we’ll see you tomorrow.”
adam looks up and realizes that morgan is sitting in the drivers’ seat of the SUV and gives his friend an appreciative nod before heading off in the opposite direction toward their family home.
***** 2. adam du mortain x regina bishop (~550 words); tw: blood mention
adam remains still, laying on his back in their empty bedroom and staring up at the ceiling. his hands are folded over his stomach, fingers intertwined, as he waits. he’s had almost a millennia to learn how to be patient, but he finds all that time means nothing when it comes to being with his family.
his wife. who also lovingly threatened requested that he pretend to be asleep and stay in the room until the children were ready with their surprise.
he can hear them all the way downstairs in the kitchen, squealing and yelling over each other, fighting over who gets to bring what up to him and he can’t help but smile at the image of a pregnant regina trying to wrangle their two very energetic children.
finally, he hears them make their way up the stairs, their two little ones scampering up ahead of regina’s slow, deliberate steps. his fingers twitch at the image of her carrying a tray of breakfast items (that he knows he will have to pretend to enjoy as they have not yet told their children that he does not need to eat real food) since he would prefer that she stay off her feet and let him help.
(but he knows by now – after two kids – that even suggesting that will earn him an earful about how she is not helpless just because she is pregnant).
he closes his eyes just as the door is nudged open and the hallway light spills into the room.
“surprise! happy birthday papa!” jacques and cecilia scream out as they clamber up onto the bed and jump up and down.
“thank you, my loves,” he murmurs, wrapping them both up in his arms and pulling them down to his side as he sits up against the headboard.
regina’s eyes sparkle as she approaches the bed with the tray, sitting carefully on the edge by his side. he grabs the tray from her and sets it down over his lap, before wrapping his arm around her waist. she reaches for the black tumbler and hands it to him before grabbing a mug of her own decaf coffee.
“your coffee that the kids helped make,” she says with a wink.
“did they now?” he chuckles, taking the tumbler from her and looking down at the single waffle on the tray that he knows she will eat after he “insists” that she needs it more than him.
it’s a routine that’s worked very well for them throughout her pregnancy and saves him from having to eat human food too often (even though they both know he would do anything to make his family happy).
“yeah, we helped!” jacques says proudly, his tongue peeking out from the gap in the top row of his teeth.
adam takes a careful sip, bracing himself for the awfully bitter, dirt-like flavor that his hypersenses reduces coffee to. his eyes open in pleasant surprise as the taste of slightly warm blood hits his tongue instead, the color hidden by the black color of the container.
“what do you think, papa?” cecilia asks eagerly, her sandy brown pigtails bouncing up and down.
“it’s the best breakfast i’ve ever had,” he says honestly as he wraps his other arm tightly around them both, smiling as they squeal and laugh.
***** 3. bff!ava du mortain & harley bishop (x felix hauville) (~300 words)
ava turns off the SUV’s engine and steps out, leaves crunching underfoot as she takes in her surroundings. she takes off her sunglasses and peers around the clearing before glancing at the note in her hand.
commanding agent du mortain –
we need you to pick up a package that will be left at the coordinates below. the rest of the team will stand by at the warehouse.
agent bishop’s signature at the bottom made it easy for her to move out without hesitation. she trusts rebecca and thus far has had no reason to question her orders.
but an uneasy feeling settles in her stomach and her brow furrows in thought.
if this assignment is so low-risk, why send her? it seems like something felix and the detective could handle easily, and they would more than jump at the chance to do something together.
she approaches the package, which is really a basket, laid out on top of a checkered blanket. she reaches for the note taped to the top of the basket, eyes softening at the message.
hey ava,
i know you would probably prefer to avoid whatever felix wanted to plan for your birthday and i managed to convince him to let me take over instead. we thought you might enjoy some time alone – we packed a book, some reports, a bottle of your favorite wine and your breakfast blood in the sippy cup (i’m really sorry, i had to give felix at least that).
happy birthday.
take your time, we’ll take care of anything that comes up on our end.
- harley
commanding agent du mortain is not soft by most definitions of the word, but she certainly feels touched. appreciated. loved.
and once more she has her family to thank for that. including the detective.
* * * * * permatag: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @writer-ish; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @fhauvilles; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart;
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not-sewell · 3 years
Note
Not sure if you’ve answered this question before but.... what do you think UBs reaction to mc dying would be? And i dont mean them getting old and dying from that but like, on a mission perhaps👀
well i haven't and i honestly should’ve seen this coming but–
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but okay, i’m looking at not the most immediate reactions but, say, the general emotional state that lingers on the most, a few months after the incident.
so let’s get to it, shall we? (also, thanks for asking! 💖)
TW: mentions of death and grief
N:
N often finds themself staring at that photo of the two of them from the carnival, trying to squeeze out a little bit of the detective’s essence from the photograph before locking it away for another time. they can still hear their laugh from when the photograph was taken. it had the most beautiful ring to it. it had always lingered: their laugh. it does so even more after they’ve gone. 
other members of Unit Bravo have found N sitting in the kitchen late into the night, on multiple occasions, listening to voicemails and audio notes sent by the detective. “just wanted to listen to the way they said my name,” they’d said once, finally. if they were being completely honest, they’d say it is because they wanted to hold onto the detective’s voice. listening to the voicemails and audio notes made them sound present. well. alive. 
N also makes a trip to the florist’s to buy the detective’s favourite flowers every evening, which they would place on the detective's grave. some days, they also carry a small collection of the poems the detective enjoyed listening to N recite, for them to do just that. 
N knows they’re grasping at straws, they always do. but they have also known that they would break themself to keep the detective. and so, they do.
A:
A hasn’t visited the detective’s grave yet. they cannot. the sight of the grave will only make all of it more real than they could possibly handle. 
A spends time reliving the day they lost everything, instead. the moments that led to the detective collapsing. they spend time mulling over how things went wrong; every quiet moment they find is occupied with the memories of the fight. the failed rescue mission. the way it claimed the life of the detective too. how they could have prevented that from happening. how they should have prevented that from happening. how they failed everyone: the Agency, Rebecca...the detective.
even now, they can feel their scream stuck in their throat, still fighting to come out. A doesn’t know, for sure, why they haven’t let it out yet; or is it that they don’t want to let it out? maybe they’re afraid of what they’ll let out with the scream. maybe they’re afraid they won’t ever regain their composure. maybe they’re afraid they’ll also lose whatever little of the detective that lives with them.
they know they must face it. they will. maybe someday they’ll find it in them to visit the detective’s grave. maybe they’ll fall to their knees and apologise. maybe let their unshed tears fall, finally. maybe they’ll forgive themself. someday.
F:
F had never felt grief like this; like falling through a void: vast and endless, and empty and...stifling. they are left with such a storm of emotions but, funnily enough, they cannot feel anything anymore. the others try to help, they really do, but anything F does manage to feel is heavily muted by the loss they continue to experience.
the only time they felt anything was when the detective appeared in their dreams: calling out to them, reaching out to them, smiling at them, softly touching their face, placing insistent kisses all over their face. just as their heart soared with the promise of reunion, they lost the detective, leaving them in the lurch. 
they always find the detective to lose them all over again. always. an endless loop. the gasps have ceased to escape from them. they don’t even cry anymore. they cannot. all they can do is stare at the ceiling, silently begging for a dreamless sleep the next time around. it never comes easy.
eventually, they begin to avoid sleep altogether. they cannot trust themself with it anymore. they don’t have it in them to go through it all again. F could never be the same again. grief changes you, after all. maybe they didn’t lose just the detective that fateful day. maybe somewhere, they lost themself.
M:
M has not known peace. not since the incident. they barely remember flying into a rage after they saw the detective fall. they hadn’t even registered the screams and shrieks of the assailants until N wrapped their arms around them, gentle but firm -- more of an attempt to ground than restrain them. but what they do remember is the feeling all of it left in their chest.
perhaps there isn’t much remembering to do, for the feeling still exists: there exists in their chest an emptiness, a gaping hole that leaves their ears buzzing. a heaviness that tugs at them incessantly. the weight of absence and longing that they cannot carry.
they continue to simmer with anger. anger that they cannot placate. anger that they cannot let out. anger that will never find its rightful recipient anymore. they feel love. gods, so much of it. and nowhere to take it. so they carry simply it with them, the feeling of having loved. and lost.
and lose they did. everything.
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