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thee-morrigan · 1 year

Text

sincerity is scary

character(s): Holland Townsend, plus a lil Verda at the beginning (technically, Nate's not in this but my god is he living rent-free in Holland's mind) wc/rating: 3.2k / T (swearing) warnings: so many spoilers for Book 3 (all below the cut ofc!) read on ao3 in case anyone’s wondering, Holland still thinks the scariest thing she’s up against is her own stupid heart.

“Come on, Verda, you have to have something for me. I want to do things. I need to do things.”

“You know, some research suggests that feeling the need to be busy all the time is a trauma response,” the pathologist responded mildly, not looking up from the tray of instruments he was busy sterilizing. “That it’s a fear-based compulsion to distract your brain from meaningfully processing traumatic events.”

“You wanna send me those citations, then, and I can distract myself with some light reading?” Holland snapped back, but there was no heat in it.

Verda paused his work then and turned, giving a huff of laughter whose lightness was somewhat diminished by the careful assessment in his eyes as they swept her face. Although they’d started out, as many good friends do, brought together not by fate or fortune but chance proximity, they had quickly discovered bright shared threads of themselves in each other beneath the veneer of professional courtesy and had found themselves fast companions ever since.

He respected her as a colleague, of course; more than he’d expected, if he was honest. She had a stronger background in his line of work than he’d dared to hope in such a small station, which made her a useful colleague to have when he found himself stymied by something. And — perhaps most importantly — she didn’t pester him with questions she didn’t even know were asinine when a case experienced delays. He’d liked Detective Reele more or less, but she’d been marginally tolerable when things didn’t move at the speed she decided appropriate, regardless of whether he could make degraded tissue spontaneously re-materialize when she decided she wanted clearer fingerprints. No, Detective Townsend was a better colleague, that was certain.

More than just respecting her work, though, he liked Holland in general; she brought a borderline acerbic levity to the station that balanced against Tina’s more exuberant nature and his own tendency to forget to venture upstairs at least once a day. She wasn’t calmer than Tina, exactly — he wasn’t sure calm was a word that had ever been used to describe Holland Townsend. But if Tina was something in the neighborhood of bubbly, all iridescent soap shine and rounded edges, Holland was something sharper, something fizzing, like a live wire.

When he looked at her now, though, he saw less of the bright crackle of energy and more of the kind of nervous energy that led people to market abhorrent devices like fidget spinners. She looked restless. She looked tired.

—

Holland was tired. Goddamn exhausted, actually, if she was honest with herself, which seemed to be almost never these days. She didn’t let herself linger on the way that thought chafed any more than she let herself slow down enough for that bone-deep weariness to press its full weight against her.

It was better to keep moving.

“You know, you’re probably overdue for a vacation,” Verda’s voice, more tinged with concern than it had been a moment ago, cut through her reverie. “I’m pretty sure your promotion to detective didn’t entitle you to less PTO.”

The spark of wry humor in his comment didn’t fully mask the shade of careful observation in his eyes, but…it was an attempt. An easy out for her to muster her usual grinning nonchalance — the irreverent charm Adam had once snarked at her about relying on too heavily.

If it ain’t broke, I guess, she thought, swallowing the urge to sigh as she indeed summoned a half-smile, made herself look her friend in the eye as she tilted her head at him.

“There you go with that concern again, V,” she teased, rising from her perch on the edge of a spare lab bench.

“It’s almost like we’re friends,” he said dryly, although some of the tension in his face eased.

“Which is why I’m gonna let you get back to it and quit bugging you.” Holland moved toward the open lab door and paused, resting one hand against the door jamb as she flashed Verda a more genuine smile. “Thanks, though. For letting me bug you.”

He waved her comment off, though he returned her smile. “Anytime. Besides, I’m hoping things will finally start calming back down with those recent cases sorted. Then we’ll both probably relish any interruptions to the usual humdrum.”

It was all she could do to dredge up a hum of laughter in agreement before stepping back into the corridor, only letting her shoulders slump once she was safely ensconced in her office.

She hadn’t told any of them yet that she was leaving the station. She’d have to soon; she knew that, knew she’d been putting it off far too long already. And, as her mother had pointed out, it wasn’t as if she was never going to be able to see them again. Her friends would still be her friends. They just wouldn’t work together anymore.

Or mostly get to know what she even did for work anymore.

She wasn’t even entirely sure how much she could still keep Tina in the loop, as much as she might wish to. She didn’t have any reason to be particularly suspicious of Agent Pierson, the woman the Agency had sent to spy on Tina from within the station. But as much as she trusted Tina —with her secrets but also to take care of herself— she worried that the balm of having a confidant who was just hers was no longer truly available to her, at least not in the way it had been. Part of that fear, she knew, came from knowing she couldn’t reveal that the so-called new officer was not exactly who she seemed. In all likelihood, the whole arrangement probably really was for Tina’s safety, and probably nothing to worry about, but…Holland still felt like she was lying to her. And not the kind of lying she was comfortable with.

A liar and a coward, she thought as she sat at her desk, chin propped in her hands. She felt that constricting weight begin to settle against her, her skin too tight along her bones, and jerked to her feet again before that melancholia could curl catlike into her lap and trap her there.

She supposed it was useful that everyone had become so inured to her abrupt comings and goings from the station; no one bothered to look up as she walked out into the bright heat of the midday sun, its sticky warmth blanketing her body after a morning spent in the over-conditioned chill of the station’s air.

—

She ended up back in her apartment more out of habit than any real desire to be there. For a while, she found herself drifting, unmoored and aimless, between rooms. She should try to rest, she knew that, knew that if she could sleep she would feel better.

These days, though, she too often found herself reaching for sleep only to close her fist around endless, empty time.

She tried to read, to lose herself in another universe for a while, but gave up after she realized that while she’d technically read a whole chapter, she had no idea what had happened in it.

She thought about playing guitar but figured if she couldn’t focus on reading, she probably wouldn’t fare much better at making anything that sounded like music instead of discordant strumming.

Plus she was already bored of sitting still in the empty quiet of her apartment.

Pushing herself off her window seat, Holland strode to her dresser and tugged out shorts and a sports bra. Experience had taught her long ago that she couldn’t outrun her own brain, but at least she could tire her body enough that she was forced to sleep, at least a little.

—

Because she was already tired, it took longer than usual to find her pace, especially without any music to give her a cadence she could match. In deference to safety, she’d decided against headphones; probably a wise choice — definitely a wise choice, she reminded herself, hardly a choice at all unless she decided to start actively courting disaster — but one that did nothing to lessen the weight of that heaviness that kept pulling at her, brutal and swift as a rip current. Still, after three miles, she felt some of the tension in her body ebb, some of that near-constant tightness in her chest yielding its grip enough for breathing to come easier, deep and steady draughts of air filling her lungs.

For a long while, there was only the blessed gentle warmth of summer air, the quiet scraping thump of her sneakers against the sidewalk, and the pleasant ache of her muscles stretching and contracting. Slowly, mile after mile, she felt her body become less foreign, each pounding step bringing it closer to the skin and bones and thudding heart that she recognized as her own. Felt each clenching beat of that too-human muscle in her chest insisting it was where it belonged, safe within its cage of bone and flesh. Felt the reassurance that her heart hadn’t been torn from her chest and left, raw and bleeding, outside her body.

No matter how it might feel lately.

A liar and a coward.

The sharp dig of a knife between her ribs, the claws of that familiar tightness latching into her chest again, and—

Breathe.

She sucked in air with a sharp gasp, forced her lungs to expand, to draw air in and in and in until she could feel those claws retract.

Until she felt the thought she’d almost had, the one she still hadn’t let herself articulate even within her own mind, retract with them.

Another kind of lie. Another thing she was too much of a coward to confront.

Holland sucked in another breath, letting the sultry weight of that summer air fill her, fill all the cold, empty spaces that lurked within her. Let the warmth of it incinerate the other unarticulated thoughts and shadows of memory before they could turn their baleful, accusatory eyes back toward her.

Turning her own gaze outward once more, she scanned her surroundings, squinting at a nearby street sign as she passed and trying to decide how much further until she really would need to loop back. Holland’s run had taken her well into the outskirts of town. It wasn’t her preferred route, which snaked through the woods near the Cornerstones and eventually toward the marina, but at least this route hadn’t taken her through Wayhaven proper. Or required her to skirt the station, as her usual path would have. Even if she was leaving — even if no one seemed to really notice or care whether she was, at any given moment, in her office these days — she still didn’t think running directly past the station in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon was necessarily appropriate.

So Holland found herself instead approaching the winding series of long hills that would eventually lead her toward the hospital. Her knees ached just thinking about those hills. None were particularly steep, but they stretched further than was typically noticeable in a car. On foot, though…no, it was probably past time for her to begin finding her way back home.

It had been a while since she’d been on a long run. A long while, actually, and she knew her legs would likely ache come morning, even with the shorter maintenance runs she tried to squeeze in whenever she could. Which had been no chance at all these past weeks, between work and what felt like an endless cycle of injury and suffocatingly long recovery. Indeed, she felt the muscles in her thighs protest as she crested one hill before veering right, toward the streets leading back into town. Oh, she would certainly feel the cost of this impromptu long run in the morning.

Although it might be a nice change, she supposed, if her body ached from something other than having the shit kicked out of her by Trappers. Or crumbling buildings. Or winged giants who caused said buildings to end up in pieces on top of her. And those were only some of the most recent aches.

She rolled her shoulders, shaking her arms to diffuse the pressing tension of that memory, her breath a sharp scrape against her throat.

Fine. She was fine. Despite the strain of these past months, she continued to be perfectly fine. Had gotten through everything that’d been thrown at her. Not entirely smoothly, certainly not effortlessly, but…she had gotten through it. Would continue to do so, perhaps with greater ease than before if her new role indeed provided increased training. She could handle it. She would handle it.

It was the same argument she’d given Nate after the auction, almost two weeks ago now. As to whether she believed it any more now than she had then…another thought she wasn’t ready to have yet.

I am in love with you, Holland.

Another familiar ache in her chest, one more bruise on her already battered heart. She shut down that train of thought, almost stumbling as she worked to redirect that particular train of thought. To shut out the image that flashed across her mind’s eye, of how Nate’s face had looked in that conversation. The way he’d looked at her, the agony that had streaked across his beautiful face, and how neatly and thoroughly it had eviscerated her.

That pain. That pain that she had caused.

I don’t know how this is going to work.

She’d had to remind herself how to breathe. Had to remind herself to breathe through the lashing pain of how much she’d hated herself for putting that look on his face. And for knowing that it would likely be far from the last time.

Because she didn’t know either.

She didn’t know how to avoid it, this hurting him. Didn’t know how to be an easier person to love.

And as for what she did know, what she’d suspected and quietly fretted over for weeks now…

That hideous weight tugged beneath her ribs and Holland sped up, pushing past the bleating tremor in her thighs, the burning ache in her chest. Pushed that thought out, out, out—

“Fuck!” The word was little more than a hiss as the world tipped and roiled and Holland went flying, elbows skidding and knees barking as she hit the pavement.

Between the subsequent string of violent curses and what remained of her pride, she supposed she was relieved to still be closer to the outskirts than the town center. If running past the station in the middle of a Tuesday was arguably inappropriate, the selection of words that flew out of her mouth as she eased to a seat on the ground was indisputably so.

She winced as she examined the shredded skin on her forearms, her knees. She hadn’t even fallen well: the most she’d done before splaying gracelessly on the street had been to land more on her arms than her hands. Not her first choice, or at least it shouldn’t have been, but at least she hadn’t broken her wrists. Or anything else, as far as she could tell, looking her latest batch of wounds over as she rose to her feet.

Holland hissed again as she gingerly flexed her left leg, which had borne the brunt of the impact and now sported angry red scrapes along her knee and halfway up her thigh. Just scrapes, but ones that stretched painfully when she bent her leg.

Swallowing another mouthful of curses, she pulled free the water bottle attached to her running belt, unstoppering it with her teeth before she squeezed a stream of water along first one leg, then the other, and then the smaller scrapes on her arms and elbows. They stung like all hell, but at least they looked slightly better with most of the dirt and grime rinsed away. Naturally, she’d forgotten to bother checking if she’d needed to restock the handful of bandages she usually kept in one of the belt’s pockets; naturally, she only unearthed one after fumbling through every goddamned pocket, the lone bandage too small to be of much use unless she fancied ripping adhesive off part of an open wound later.

She exhaled, sharp and impatient, and raked a hand over the sweat-dampened strands of hair that had broken free of her stubby ponytail and now lay plastered to her forehead.

No new scars indeed. She snorted as she recalled Nate’s words in that forest clearing, back before they’d even known what manner of myth hunted her. She doubted it had occurred to him that she’d likely continue to rack up scars earned through her own sheer stupidity. God, but that felt like a lifetime ago.

She drained the remains of her water bottle before slotting it back in its elastic holster at her hip. She toed the ground, wincing at her protesting kneecap, and considered. Depending on the route she took, she wasn’t that far from her apartment. The circuitous route she’d intended to follow was obviously out, but she could take a more direct one and be back relatively quickly. Walking, it would take…she did the math, frowning. Walking back, assuming she kept her regular pace, would likely take her the better part of two hours. She stretched her legs again, shifting experimentally from one foot to the other. She was hurt, yes, but it was definitely only superficial, and not so bad she couldn’t probably run home as well as she could walk. Running would be faster, even with what would certainly be a much slower pace. Would likely cut the return time in half, actually, though she knew it would hurt. Of course, it would hurt to walk home, too.

Holland’s shoulders sagged. Since she’d stopped moving, her body had started to register physical exhaustion, had begun to grow heavy with it, and she wanted to be home. Wanted a shower and her bed and a different kind of silence than the kind that felt like a scream.

She did have another option, some small part of her mind pointed out before she shut that thought out, too. Technically, the warehouse, where she had a bed and a shower and certainly less silence, was a bit closer to her current location than her own apartment. However begrudgingly, Holland had to admit the thought tempted her. Tempted her more when she thought of the magic-imbued salve, leftover from what had been her most recent batch of injuries, stashed in a bathroom cabinet. To say nothing of the vampire whose mere presence soothed her more than any medicine.

Her frown deepened. She was tired of showing up at the warehouse battered and bloody. Really goddamned tired of it.

She straightened, rolling her shoulders and breathing deep. Her apartment wasn’t that far, and it was only a skinned knee. Well, two skinned knees, actually, and her elbows, but…

Holland released that deep breath and set off, a tentative jog while she found her new pace, toward the town center and her apartment beyond.

She didn’t much feel like reminding anyone how easily she broke apart.

#this is so maudlin lmao sorry #she's not having a great time #katie writes things #twc book 3 spoilers #twc spoilers #twc fics #oc: holland townsend #ship: your entire heart

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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.

#happy book 3 here's some sex #ava du mortain #ava du mortain x detective #ava du mortain x f!detective #ava x cecilia #oc: cecilia #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven #twc a #twc fics #wayhaven chronicles #a du mortain

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hydrngea · 1 year

Text

it’s nice to have a friend

a/n : it’s finally here! perfect pick part 2!!! sososososo sorry for the wait. irl stuff got in the way of me working on this. again. severely unedited. sorry 🫣

notes : fic can be read as a one shot or connected to perfect pick 2. part 3 tbd. this one is full of rafe fluff!

summary : maybe rafe was a little bit more than just ur best friends brother.

part one | series masterlist | masterlist

there was a period of time between your tenth birthday and your eleventh where you and rafe were actually friends. real friends. almost comparable to the way you and sarah were.

——

for some reason sleep feels impossible tonight. even though sarah’s deep into her oblivion. even though her ceiling is darkened and even though the room is quiet save for the gentle ticking of the alarm clock on her nightstand.

you decide to blame it on thirst, pulling yourself out of your sleeping bag and carefully slipinhg out her bedroom while walking on the tips of your toes.

you’re familar with the layout of tannyhill. It’s practically been your second home ever since you were born. you’ve had hundreds of sleepovers with sarah and spent many holidays with the cameron’s; your families were just so close.

you make your way towards their kitchen and startle a little when you realize someone else is there,too. you still suck at reading manual clocks but you guess that it’s sometime after midnight.

“ah!” you yelp and the person turns around while agressivly shushing you.

“why are you screaming?” rafe whisper yells as he sets a pint of ice cream onto the island.

“you scared me.” you respond with a much quieter tone, looking down at your feet and avoiding eye contact.

you hear a snicker come from him, “are you wearing unicorn pajamas? aren’t you ten?”

you wrap your arms over your chest, insecurely covering up the horn of the large creature printed into your nightgown.

“isn’t it too late at night to be eating ice cream?” yoy quip back.

rafe gestures to the clock on the wall beside him. “isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“isn’t it past yours?”

you can faintly tell that he rolls his eyes at that, and he brings a spoonful of ice cream up to his lips.

“what flavor it that?” you question, approaching his spot behind the island.

his voice is muffled due to the ice scream still melting in his mouth, “didn’t you say it’s too late to be eating ice cream right now?”

“i’m just asking what flavor, rafe.”

he’s quiet for a moment before responding with a sigh. “chocolate.”

he tells you because he knows it’s your favorite. you’re a chocolate girl through and through- it was the flavor of your birthday cake at your party a couple of weeks ago, as it had been for all your previous birthdays before.

your eyes light up and his chest swells in a weird way he puts off as a delayed brain freeze. “can i have a bite?”

to your surprise he says yes, pulling out a spoon from the drawer besides him and handing it to you. he holds the pint close to you so you can take a scoop, and just when the metal of the utensil touches the cold desert he raises the container up so you can’t reach it.

he’s only a year older than you, but even the slight difference makes him a whole lot taller than you. you hop and chase him all around the kitchen in attempt to retrieve the ice cream and it makes you so angry that he’s having fun in your suffering; almost as much as it makes you feel like you’re gonna melt because he’s having fun. with you.

you let out a huff and stop your chasing, and he finally walks back towards you and let’s you have the pint.

You snatch it out of his grasp, making your way to the kitchen stools with him following closely behind you. he brings his spoon too, and you roll your eyes when he nudges you for some more of the ice cream. you tilt the container in your hands towards him and he digs into it once more.

The lopsided smile he sends you in response is enough to freeze your heart and melt any annoyance you felt towards him.

—————————-

you knuckles rap against his bedroom door. the same pattern as you’ve been doing for the past 4 months, sneaking out of sarah’s bright pink bedroom and into rafes contrasting blue.

he lets you in and you find solace ontop of his large gaming chair, having unofficially claimed it as your own. rafe let’s you take over it without complaint, lately opting to to settle beside the wall across from you instead of his own seat.

you get tossed a dvd case and you barely catch it. your eyes graze over the cover and take in the title. you let out a huff, “why do we always watch the movie you choose?”

rafe pauses for a split second before responding.

“but it’s the dark knight.”

you throw the case back at him, the plastic hitting his arm. “ouch.” rafe mutters, rubbing at the aggictated skin.

“this is a boy movie.”

he snorts. “i’m a boy.”

you cross your arms over your chest. “i’m not.”

it’s true, he always manages to convince you to watch what he picks out. but the dark knight is the best action movie ever. can’t you just let it slide one last time?

you glare at him and rafe relents, as he always does when it comes to you. he lets out a sigh and slides his box full of dvds towards you. “fine. find an alternative.”

it seems like you know exactly which movie you want to watch. you pull it out and feed it into the dvd player, grinning.

“we’re not watching it.”

“why? are you too scared, rafey?”

He scoots on the floor closer next to you. “No. Its just a stupid movie.”

You giggle, pulling his blanket off his bed and wrapping it around your torso. “You’re just a scary cat.” You shrug.

“am not.”

“are too.”

rafe sucks in a tense breath. he knows he can’t get out of this.

“turn it on?”

“are you sure you won’t pee your pants, rafey.”

he reaches forward and grabs the tv remote, clicking the play button.

(surprisingly, rafe proved you wrong. he did not pee his pants. even if there were multiple close calls. you guys made it to the movie without any accidents, somehow shuffled close together and sharing the same navy throw blanket; a comforting warmth shared between the two as he falls asleep with his cheek on your shoulder. his mother catches the two of you in the morning. snaps a picture with her phone without saying anything, and retreating back to her bedroom with a smile spread across her face)

——-

whenever you had sleepovers at the cameron’s, you’d always be the first one up. even if you were the last one asleep.

okay. you were the second one up, after mrs. cameron.

you had an unspoken sleepover routine. you’d usually be up by seven thirty, and there’d be pancake batter on the griddle for you starting at seven fifteen; always the first to enjoy a fresh stack of mrs.cameron’s signature blueberry pancakes.

you shut the door to sarah’s room, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled towards the kitchen.

“morning, mrs. cameron.” you greet while stifling a yawn. you blink a couple times, adjusting to the absurdly bright room.

it’s not mrs. cameron in the kitchen. instead, you’re met with rafe behind the island, again. pouring whole milk into a bowl of cereal.

“moms still asleep.” he says, words rough on the edges.

you don’t respond, opting to climb onto one of the island stools in silence. you watch his brow furrow as he making sure the perfect ratio of milk falls into his breakfast. the feature is similar to the way his mother forhead wrinkles while she meticulously pours a ladle full of bluberry batter onto the griddle.

“what cereal?” you mumble, shifting so your hands settle between the seat and your legs.

rafe tightens the cap of the milk, then shoved it back into the kitchen aid fridge. “pebbles.”

you open your mouth to ask about the flavor, but he responds before anything comes out.

“cocoa pebbles. you want some?”

you nod, begining to pull yourself off the stool so you can make yourself a bowl. but instead, he pushes his bowl towards you.

“have it. i’ll make another.” he offers with a tight lipped smile.

“thanks,” your heart stutters at the gesture. you take the spoon and swirl the cereal around so the milk can become chocolatey. you take a sip of it, enjoying the sweetness on your tongue.

he makes himself another bowl and brings it to the stool besides you.

“why are you up so early?” you question while he settles onto the seat and he shrugs.

“i guess i just wanted to see you before you left.”

the words almost make you choke on your cocoa puffs, the milk almost pouring out your nostrils. you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“you really wanted to be blessed with my obnoxious presence this early in the morning?”

“i don’t think you’re obnoxious, y/n.” rafe confesses, voice quiet as if he wanted you to be the only one to hear.

suddenly, it felt like the necklace which laid under your pajamas was burning a hole on your neck. you pull it out and start playing with its pendent in between your thumb and your index finger.

“i don’t think you’re obnoxious either.” you say, because you don’t know what else would be right to say in the moment. he looks expectantly at you with a soft gaze, eyes flickering from your own iris’s to the silver chain you’ve exposed. his lips curve into a smile which mirrors your own.

“yeah?”

“yea.” you confirm, tilting your head towards him with a brightening smile before looking back down at your bowl of now soggy cereal.

“yeah.” he breathes again, bringing his spoon up to his lips to take a bite of his breakfast.

you two remain smiling, even after you’ve departed from tannyhill.

————-

taglist (let me know if u want to be added or removed!)

tagging those who asked to be tagged in part 2 @kkmstblog @spicykimchiiii @whore4drew @diorgirl444 @outerbankspov @maybankslover @writtenwordslover @drewstarkeyirlgf @vert-pomme @octaviareina @everythingmarveltopgun @hangmanshomecoming @fallingwallsh @millies0bsimp @pickingviolets @fulla02 @denise417 @mad-die45 @callsignwidow @leclerc16s @yomnajir @ash5monster01 @spear-bearing-bi-witch @grxcisxhy-wp @iluvpills @user09 @cat-or-kitten @bellstwd @mrsstarkey1 @illicitfixations @willowpains @penny4yourthoughts @book-place @sangytv @sweetestdesire @mvybanks @rafesmoon @a-aexotic

reblog + comment and i’ll do the same for you <333

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fauville · 3 days

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sweet dreams

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles

rating: mature

pairings: ava du mortain/female detective (vesper graves), nate sewell/female detective (charlie langford)

chapters: 3/?

A/N: ROOK!!!!!!!!!

taglist: @agentnatesewell, @carriehobbs, @lalizah, @saintalessia (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

summary:

This is what her life is right now, she thinks.

Dreaming of endless and endless breakfasts with her father in limbo. She wonders if she has been forgotten in the waking world after three long years. She wonders if she still matters to the universe.

“What are you thinking about, little dove?” Rook asks her. He has a stain of ketchup on his chin and his eyeglasses are crooked on his nose, which makes Vesper smile a little despite her inner gloom.

read in ao3.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc fanfic #ava du mortain #nate sewell #vilna writes #fic: sweet dreams

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nat-seal-well · 8 months

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Idk I find it… interesting? Ironic? That for all that N hates being seen as “perfect” it doesn’t stop them from putting the Detective on a pedestal. It’s just something I like to think about a lot <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc n sewell #twc nat #twc nate #fun thoughts to entertain me at night when I can’t sleep #that may or may not show up in a fic at some point

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sixtysixproblems · 3 months

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aaaaand its more sketchy af commander cody WIPS! this one will probably (someday) get done though. everyone meet The Commander, from @heartofroses112's fic Our Own Choices. And get this, he canonically has a MULLET long-ish hair!! more fun for me, mr hates drawing short hair.

not pictured: bly wheezing in the background

#commander cody #the clone wars #the kalidescope view #twc fanart #clone wars fanart #fic fanart #our own choices #clone wars #star wars the clone wars #i cant do mr morrison justice but boy am i going to try #fuck mouths i hate drawing mouths #my stuff #behold! my stuff

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thee-morrigan · 1 year

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else fine

the wayhaven chronicles | nate/holland (f!detective) | rated T | read on ao3

Holland is tired of feeling like she's being mollified. Set immediately after the last demo for Book 3 (so, reader beware: here be spoilers).

The ride back to the warehouse had been...tense, to say the least. After the unexpected turn of events with the Annunaki, there had been very little conversation. Even Felix hadn’t tried very hard to break the strange, thick silence that had descended. Muscle memory drove her hand into her bag in search of headphones, and Holland felt the smooth, rubbery tangle of cords under her fingers before it occurred to her that there was little point to them in a car full of vampires. She supposed, somewhat acidly, that she was just lucky they couldn’t overhear her brain, which was teeming: a roiling tumult of nerves and emotions ricocheting off of each other with nowhere to land.

She leaned her head against the window, half-watching the verdant blur of the tree line as Adam drove them past it, half-watching her own reflection in the tinted glass of the Agency’s sleek (ridiculous, she thought) SUV. Fingers at her throat, worrying the chain around her neck, the dull glint of the gold band hanging from it reflected in the window as she watched.

Her father’s police academy ring. The only time she’d ever seen him without it, she’d known, even then, tiny and overwhelmed and furious, that it was not him she was seeing. Not her father. Her father never lay still like that, in starched suits like that, quiet and unsmiling. Her father was — he was —

Her father was; this strange likeness set before her is. A permanent line in the sand, etched by time itself, deep and uncrossable as any chasm.

She’d spent so much of that day furious, her whole body full to bursting with it, the simmering, pent-up rage of children already weary of feeling impotent and either overlooked or overly looked at, frustrated with too many adults with too pitying faces peering down at hers, too many hands smoothing over her hair, squeezing her shoulders.

Poor thing, they’d said. Over and over, some variation of the same chorus: poor little thing. It made her want to scream. Part of her had wondered if anyone would actually notice if she did. Probably they would just keep repeating their mechanical mantra at her, going through the motions of smoothing over the wrinkles of her grief, draped over her like a mantle, her own shroud, the folds of it too bulky, its fabric much too heavy for her child’s body to bear.

She hadn’t screamed, of course. Hadn’t caused a scene. She’d stood there beside her mother and let herself be a poor little thing. Like an accessory to Widow Barbie. She’d spent that entire, awful day letting herself be a prop to the funereal spectacle. And then, when they’d finally returned home, she’d promptly snuck into her parents’ room (just her mother’s room, now, she remembered thinking) and stolen her father’s ring. Filched it out of her mother’s jewelry box while Rebecca was elsewhere and hid it in her room.

Her mother never actually found where she’d hidden it; Holland had already begun to develop a certain sense of secrecy about herself, although it would be years before anyone pointed out that trying to keep yourself tucked away wasn’t necessarily typical behavior. But, still, Rebecca knew immediately that it had been her daughter who spirited the totem away. She never asked about it outright: she knew, even then, that Holland wouldn’t have divulged the ring’s location, or even likely have confirmed it was in her possession. Instead, she gave Holland a small lacquered box a few days later, claiming to have found it when cleaning out some hall closet or another, and suggested it was a good place to store tiny treasures. Then, for Christmas that year, she’d given Holland the gold chain, suggesting it might be useful someday, too, for trinkets or charms.

She never suggested, on either occasion, that Rook’s ring, or any other ring for that matter, might be worth storing in the box or wearing on a chain. She never even mentioned it was missing from her own possessions. If she had, Holland never would have accepted either gift.

Even now, so many years after the fact, Holland tried not to think about how cleverly her mother had laid the groundwork for her to be able to keep both Rook’s ring and her own sense of pride about it. She knew what Rebecca was doing.

Even now, she couldn’t decide if she was madder at how deftly Rebecca had handled the whole thing or if she was simply irritated at herself for noticing… and for caring. For the instinctive swell of sentimental gratitude that accompanied the knowledge that not only had Rebecca known immediately that she’d stolen the ring, but she’d also known her daughter well enough to know how to handle it. Most probably, Holland’s annoyance stemmed from some combination of all of the above.

She was almost surprised she hadn’t worn the engravings on the ring smooth by now, she fiddled with it so often, fingers worrying over the necklace like a rosary, the fine gold chain weighted down by the thick, solid mass of Rook’s ring. As if it were prayer beads or some kind of protective talisman.

Maybe it is, she thought wryly, almost smirking at her own reflection. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen today. Or this year. And it might explain how a perfectly ordinary human woman had managed to survive a kidnapping, a supernatural blood transfusion, and several altercations over the past few months — including tonight’s failed abduction attempt.

She studied the shadowy smudge of her reflection in the car window, periodically brought into sharp relief by streaks of the streetlights. She did not look like a person who should have been able to physically overpower a being that was almost (maybe more than) twice her size. She looked fragile. At least, she did relative to the situations in which she continued to find herself.

She looked as incapable of protecting herself as Nate seemed to think she was. As, she supposed, they all probably thought she was. Although the only face she’d been watching in the clearing had been Nate’s, Holland imagined if she had looked at any of the rest of Unit Bravo, she would have seen various echoes of the same expression.

Poor thing. Poor little thing.

Even the beginnings of the almost-apology Nate had given her in the clearing had felt to Holland like nothing more than a verbal attempt to smooth her over. A hand passing over her hair, squeezing her shoulder, warm and sorrowful and suffocating.

She was out of the car before Adam switched the ignition off, barely after he’d shifted to park. She wondered if next she’d be warned about the dangers of opening the doors of not-quite-stopped cars. Maybe they could turn on the child locks, she thought, immediately hating it, hating her brain for having such a petulant thought so consciously. Too bad the car wasn’t actually moving; if it were, maybe it could’ve just put them all out of their misery and run her over.

“I’m taking a shower,” she called to no one in particular, waving a hand over her shoulder without so much as a backward glance. What she really wanted was a long run, but she didn’t have the energy to point out the existence of the indoor track on the second floor of the training room when the inevitable comment about her goddamned safety was made. So a scalding shower would have to suffice.

She half-heard Adam say something about a debriefing and the imminent arrival of her mother and paused to rub at the bridge of her nose. Christ almighty. If she had to sit and process her mother’s feelings and be subjected to another round of wounded-dog eyes because she was past the point in her life where she wanted her mom, she might track down and offer herself to the fucking bird-man if it meant a respite from feeling like a complete asshole.

He’d had terribly sad eyes too though, she remembered. And had called her a child. So maybe that wasn’t much of an alternative to a conversation with her mother.

“So meet without me,” she said flatly, then amended her suggestion at the look on Adam’s face. “Or wait, if that’s what you wanna do. Not my preference, but that’s your prerogative. I’m taking a shower. That’s mine.”

She turned and resumed walking towards the warehouse, feeling even more like a sulky kid retreating to her room.

This time, no one stopped her.

She stayed under the steaming spray until her whole body was flushed and tingling and her skin no longer felt too tight for the skeleton underneath.

She wondered if they’d had the debriefing without her and, if so, how long they might have (or might not have) waited before giving up. If there were etiquette standards regarding the acceptable length of time to await a person’s arrival at a meeting, Holland would bet money that both Nate and Adam would know them backward and forwards. Her mother probably would, too, for that matter.

Her mother.

Holland sighed. She wondered if her mother were still here. Assuming they hadn’t waited for her and had finished their meeting. She hoped they hadn’t waited. She wasn’t sure precisely how long she’d spent dissociating in the shower, but she’d guess it was the better part of an hour.

So much for a respite from feeling like a complete asshole. Not that she deserved one, since she was, in fact, being a total dick.

She rifled through the chaotic and limited selection of clothes she’d grabbed before leaving her newly waterlogged apartment, finally settling on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. Christ knew what she’d unearth to wear to the office tomorrow, but at least she’d managed to find something approximating sleepwear that wasn’t too embarrassing to wear in common spaces. Although she doubted Rebecca (or Adam, for that matter) would find a shirt whose slogan referred to killing fascists particularly appropriate for most settings.

Now that she’d dressed, Holland debated whether she wanted to be a coward as well as an asshole by staying in her room all night, feeling the familiar anger-hangover of guilt and self-loathing kick in now that she no longer felt like shouting at ghosts.

She’d probably hate herself a bit less if she checked in tonight. Probably.

She rolled her shoulders once, twice, to loosen some of the tension that had begun to creep back in as her fingers closed around the door handle. Tugged the door open, only to give a choked yelp of surprise. The sentiment (if not the mortifying sound) seemed to be mirrored on the face of the person standing on the other side of her door.

Holland’s mouth twitched towards a smile reflexively, a breath of a laugh following at the surprise mirrored on Nate’s face, one hand frozen in the process of reaching forward to — presumably — knock.

He smiled back at her, probably also reflexively.

“Um. Hi.”

A brilliant start.

“Hi,” he echoed, lowering his half-raised hand and easing it into his pocket.

She stepped back from the open doorway, letting her own hand drop from the handle and fall to her side. Resisted the urge to twist her fingers in the hem of her t-shirt, anxious and off-balance. Summoned, instead, the cool charm on which she so heavily relied lately. If she’d thought about it, she might have realized how like her mother she was in this way, in this capacity for performative normalcy. (Which would have, of course, deeply annoyed her.)

She smoothed her smile into something warmer and less frayed, looking up at the man in her doorway, her head cocked. “The whole formal-invitation thing is a myth, right?”

Without waiting for a response, she backed further into her bedroom, immensely relieved when Nate huffed a laugh and followed her, letting the door shut behind him.

Holland made herself focus on immediate, mundane questions, like where to sit that wasn’t at the foot of her bed. Or any other section thereupon.

Her room here was much larger than her actual bedroom at home, and the extra space meant there was room for a loveseat in one corner. This seemed like a reasonably neutral place to land, so she sat there, curled in one plush corner, bare legs folded up underneath her.

“Do you wanna sit?” She tilted her head toward the other end of the loveseat. “You can sit. If you want to, I mean.”

Please stop talking, a tiny voice in her brain demanded tiredly.

Some of the lingering awkward tension seemed to dissipate with the flicker of pleased relief on Nate’s face as he crossed to join her, and for just a moment, Holland felt less like a scratch on a lens, distorting everything around her, making it look wrong from anywhere she stood.

The loveseat was small enough that it was impossible to sit for them to sit without touching, and it took so much of her flagging energy not to just let her body slump fully against his. He was warm, and he smelled good, and she was really, really tired.

She leaned mostly against the back cushion instead, twisting to face him, her cheek against the upholstery, shins pressed against his thigh.

“We should talk,” Nate started, then paused, seeming, for once, at a brief loss for words.

Holland sighed, eyes drifting up to meet his gaze. “Yeah, probably.”

Nate reached for her hand, kept his own soft and loose, his eyes on her face. Watching her reaction, seeing if she’d pull away. She didn’t.

(She wouldn’t.)

He was right, probably. They should talk about what had happened in the clearing, and everything after. She should apologize, probably. Definitely.

But she wasn’t sure if she had it in her to come up with the right words tonight. And if she couldn’t find the right ones, she’d probably use the wrong ones, the ones with the ugliest versions of the truth, turning meaner thoughts into words that too readily shot to kill when she didn’t take care. In her current state, she knew she was far too likely to say things she didn't mean. Or worse still: she might say things she did.

Gods, she was exhausted.

Or maybe just exhausting. She couldn’t decide which of the two she felt applied more to her at the current moment. Both, probably. She exhausted herself.

She wasn’t sure she had it in her to rehash the argument of what was or was not in her best interest, and whether it was reckless and foolhardy to throw herself into dangerous situations.

Not that it had been.

Another thing she decided against saying aloud. Nothing she’d done today was even close to reckless on the very well-established Townsend Scale of Reckless Endangerment and Dumbassery. But it wasn’t worth mentioning. If he thought defending herself was reckless, it probably wouldn’t be helpful to give him concrete examples of actual reckless behavior.

Not that it would have changed anything for her if it had been. She couldn’t have acted differently if she’d wanted to. The idea of choosing not to engage, to let others fight her battles for her, when she might be able to help?

(When she was the reason anyone was in danger in the first place.)

She pushed down the acid-sharp sting of that thought and recalibrated, shoving her mind back into the present, back into focus. Squeezed Nate’s fingers with her own, rubbed her fingertips along the slopes of his knuckles like an odd, living rosary.

“We should talk,” She agreed finally, voice quiet and hoarse with fatigue. “But can we do it tomorrow? Please?”

Tomorrow, when she might feel like less of an ass. Less maudlin. Less likely to want to apologize for not knowing how to be different than who she was.

And less worried about what that might mean for her relationship, still so new and fragile and good.

Maybe it was an inevitable truth of caring for another person. Sooner or later, you would wound them. Become both balm and bruise, desperately hoping to be more of one than the other, and forever unable to not think of its cost.

He lifted a hand to cup her face, long fingers stroking along her cheek, smoothing into her hairline. And maybe she looked as adrift as she felt, because a long moment later, “tomorrow,” was all he said.

#Holland really said 'i can fit so much self-loathing into this one small body!'#katie writes things #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #nate x detective #twc fics #oc: holland townsend #ship: your entire heart

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songofsoma · 1 year

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all you need is love (and salt)

happy valentine's day!!!! <33

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles pairing: ava du mortain x f!detective (cecilia beck) words: rating: general

read it on ao3

She had circled the date multiple times in red ink on her little desk calendar. February 14th, a momentous holiday for lovers and to her, for the last nine-hundred-something years, an ordinary Tuesday or whatever day it happened to fall on.

Ava drummed her fingers on the surface of her desk. The only time she had even realized Valentine’s Day had come and passed was when Farah came back with bags full of half-priced candy that she swore would last her until candy went on sale again after Easter—it never did.

That prospect on the so-called holiday changed once Ava landed herself something she had thought she wouldn’t have to worry about. A girlfriend. And just her luck, it happened to be a girlfriend who adored Valentine’s Day.

Since the end of January, Cecilia’s apartment had been full of vases of flowers and various heart-shaped decorations. Ava swore she decorated more for this than Christmas which was saying a lot. For a virtually unimportant holiday, the woman even had heart-shaped plates in various shades of reds and pinks she had Ava help her bring from storage so she could use over February.

“I just love Valentine’s Day,” Cecilia sighed dreamily as she replaced her normal plates with the festive ones. “I think it’s my favorite. I just love love.”

From that moment, Ava knew she was in trouble.

“You’re still worried about this?” Farah chided as she followed Nat into the room who at least had the decency to knock before entering.

Ava turned in her chair, annoyed at the invasion of her bedroom. She thought that maybe she might find some privacy in her personal space, but clearly, that wasn’t the case.

Nat’s help had been enlisted before in the matter of what to do about Valentine’s Day. She was the one that had actually dated people over the years and was more knowledgeable about human traditions. Ava always thought of being interested in the human world had the equivalent of watching a couple of ants interact. Unimportant and fleeting given how short mortal lives tended to be. Then she just had to go and fall in love with a human so now she begrudgingly knows things like who Doja Cat is and that teenagers no longer aspire to be doctors but instead want to blow up on the Tiktok. She still wasn’t exactly sure how shaking one’s posterior meant getting rich, but that was neither here nor there.

“Yes,” she growled, angrily scrolling through an article titled 50 Valentine Gifts for Her. Ava should’ve clicked off upon seeing the first thing on the list which was matching His and Hers shirts. “Excuse me for trying to give my girlfriend the perfect Valentine’s Day.”

Farah plopped down on the edge of Ava’s bed. “Why are you looking at sites meant for middle-aged men? You think you’re going to find your answer there?”

“At least it’s a start,” Nat tried to add to quench Ava’s visible annoyance.

Ava slammed her laptop shut, burying her face in her hands to muffle a groan. “This is ridiculous. Human holidays are absurd.”

“You just hate fun,” Farah teased, picking at the end of a bright purple nail.

“Why don’t you just ask Cecilia what she wants?” Nat asked, resting a hand on the back of her desk chair.

“Because then she knows that I’m clueless and terrible at this!”

Nat pursed her lips. “What are her favorite flowers?”

“Lilies!” Farah yelled before Ava had a chance to answer. “And you should get one of those stuffed bears that are like huge!” She jumped back onto her feet to show them both about how tall the bear was. “You know, with a card that says I’m sorry I suck at being romantic. Here’s a giant bear. I love you, Cecilia.” Farah then proceeded to turn her back and make kissing noises, her arms wrapping around herself and hands groping her back.

Nat wrinkled her nose before turning her back to Farah, stepping in front of Ava’s line of sight of her. “What Farah is trying to say is get Cecilia her favorite flowers, maybe put them in a nice vase to match her stuff. Why don’t you two do something together? Cook her favorite meal or take her to a museum.”

“No!” Farah cried from behind them.

Ava looked down at her sheet of ideas and ran a hand over her hair, the loose ends tickling the skin exposed by her tank top. “I can cook.”

Farah groaned in despair while Nat smiled cheerfully.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

When Cecilia opened the door to her apartment, she was immediately hit with the smell of fish.

She covered her nose with the sleeve of her sweater as she blinked in confusion. It wasn’t that she didn’t like fish, it was just that she wasn’t expecting it. She hadn’t bought any type of fish in ages because of the way it stinks up her little apartment and having little windows that barely opened made the task of ridding the stench even harder.

“Hello?” she called out in confusion, dropping her purse before venturing further into the apartment. There were only a few people who had spare keys to her apartment so the options on who it was were limited. But the last thing she ever expected to find was Ava du Mortain in her kitchen cooking.

It accounted for the fishy smell as the sound of salmon sizzling in a pan filled the space of the kitchen as she stood in the doorway. Ava clearly hadn’t heard her come in, which was unusual. Normally, she could tell where Cecilia was from outside the building. But the intense look of concentration on her face acted as an explanation.

The entire thing was an abnormality.

Cecilia gently set the package she was holding on the counter and approached, wrapping her arms around Ava’s broad torso. “Are you my housewife now?” she teased, kissing the shoulder that didn’t have a towel slung over it.

Ava jumped a bit, startled at her appearance. She recovered quickly, turning to hold Cecilia properly. And when she did, she bent down and gave her the sweetest kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” she murmured, her voice wonderfully low and husky.

She smiled. “You remembered!”

Blonde brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, almost sounding offended.

Cecilia shrugged, moving to lean on the counter beside the stove. “It’s a human holiday. I know you don’t celebrate them.”

“Well,” Ava started and cupped her cheek, directing Cecilia’s gaze to the tiny round dining table where a vase of rose lilies sat. “I wanted to do it for you.”

She gasped and hurried to the table, immediately smelling the flowers before stumbling upon the card and a box of chocolates. “You got me flowers and chocolate?” she said, nearly bouncing in excitement.

“And I wanted to cook you dinner. But there’s also something in the bedroom for you.” Cecilia raised a brow. “The bedroom?” she said haughtily.

Ava chuckled.

She didn’t wait for an explanation before crossing the living room to stand in the doorway of her room. “Holy shit. It’s huge!”

On the bed sat a teddy bear that had to be close to her height. It was absolutely massive, nearly taking up most of her full-sized mattress. She ran her hand across its fur, noticing how soft it was, and admiring the red ribbon tied in a bow around its neck.

When she stepped out of the bedroom and came back to the kitchen, Ava was smiling a bit shyer than normal. “It was Farah’s idea.”

Cecilia shook her head and grabbed the collar of her shirt, pulling Ava down to kiss her. “God, I love you.” She relished in the way the tips of Ava’s ears reddened.

Dinner was soon done and Ava set her plate in front of where Cecilia sat at the table. She had really gone all out. Candles framing the bouquet as the centerpiece, and an expensive bottle of white wine the worker swore up and down complimented the salmon wonderfully. She had even made sure to dish everything out on Cecilia’s favorite holiday heart-shaped plates.

Cecilia stole one last kiss before Ava stood up. “This looks delicious,” she commented as Ava poured her a glass of wine.

“I hope it tastes okay,” she said, sitting across from her to pour her own glass.

“I’m sure it will.” She smiled and cut into the fish. But when she began to chew, it took everything in her to keep her face the same. Cecilia didn’t know what on earth Ava had done, but it was somehow overpoweringly fishy whilst bland at the same time. “Oh, wow. That is delicious.” She took another bite as Ava watched her expectantly.

Thankfully, she didn’t catch the lie because her shoulders relaxed and a pleased look covered her face.

She hurriedly took a drink of her wine, hoping to chase the taste away.

It was a battle to get through the meal but Cecilia really loved Ava and her gratitude for the attempt made trumped how truly disgusting the food was. Plus, the wine helped ease it all down and Ava seemed happy with herself.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Cecilia jumped up, running to retrieve the package that she had been hiding at the station. She handed it to Ava. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ava looked between her and the parcel for a long second before beginning to open it. Cecilia watched excitedly as she pulled out something in a glass casing. When she flipped it over, her eyes widened. “Cecilia,” she gasped.

“I can’t get you the real thing, but I found this and thought you would like it just as much.” She stayed beside Ava to watch her marvel at the model car encased in the glass.

It was the car she had mentioned to be her “dream car.” A 1965 Jaguar in the most gorgeous shade of green.

Ava turned to look at her wide-eyed. “You remembered?”

“Of course I did, silly.” She kissed her forehead with a giggle. “I commit everything you tell me about yourself to memory because I’m obsessed with you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile didn’t disappear from her lips. “Come here.” Ava tugged on Cecilia’s hand to pull her onto her lap, the display car being safely sat on the table. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am undeserving.”

Their foreheads pressed together, noses barely brushing as Cecilia smiled. “Is this a good holiday now, then?”

Ava nodded. “Most definitely. I understand it now,” she whispered before stealing Cecilia’s future words with a kiss.

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