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jamespotterthefirst · 3 years

Text

Caress (Adam x f!detective)

Pairing: Adam du Mortain x f!detective (Emilia Miranda) Word count: 1.1K Warnings: None Summary: The detective got a new haircut and Unit Bravo is quick to notice, some more than others.

Author’s Note: Hi, I’m Bree. I just finished TWC and was left with a lot of feelings. It’s been days and I haven’t stopped thinking about that option to change the detective’s hair in the book 3 demo. So here we are.

Thank you @aestheticartsx for pre-reading!

The Detective's heartbeat flutters wildly, like the wings of a desperate, terrified hummingbird. Adam can hear the erratic rhythm even before Unit Bravo strides into the station that morning.

They pass the officers and staff whose names he hadn't bothered to learn, the drumming of her pulse reaching a fever pitch. It becomes evident that Emilia is nervous, even terrified, of something. By the time they reach her door, his mind has conjured a multitude of scenarios where her safety is compromised, each more horrifying than the last.

Adam quickens his stride, every nerve on high alert, his muscles coiled with concern.

Until his eyes land on her.

Her back is to them but even then, he can immediately appreciate the difference in her appearance. The curtain of long, glossy hair that once rippled down her back in the most maddening way is gone, for the most part. It is replaced instead with a blunt sheet of waves that barely reach her chin.

Adam feels a sharp, inexplicable pang of loss at the absence of tantalizing brown waves. And then she turns to face them, the full effect of sharper cheekbones and a graceful, long neck halting his steps.

Felix wolf whistles. “Em, you look—”

For the first time in a long time, even Felix is speechless.

“Hot.”

Shell shocked, everyone turns to Mason, already seated in his dark corner, a plume of smoke swirling from his cigarette. He shrugs, unabashed about the brief compliment.

Felix nods in solemn agreement.

“More than hot.” His fingers make a faux photo frame, inspecting Emilia through it as though she was a piece of fine art. “Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before.”

Emilia lets out an unrestrained bout of laughter. Adam revels in the sound, incredulous that he once found it irritating.

“I never should have sent you that meme,” she says to Felix, though the rosy bloom of her cheeks indicates she's flattered.

“You look lovely, Em,” Nate informs her earnestly before taking his usual seat.

Emilia gives Nate a grateful smile that makes Adam's insides twist with longing.

A short silence ensues and everyone's attention falls on Adam, no doubt awaiting his reaction.

Except he has no words.

“It's…” he begins, his voice sounding gruffer than usual even to his own ears.

Immediately, he amends that last thought. He could think of many words, in many languages, that could begin to pay homage to her. They would fall short, never encapsulating her incandescent charm or her arresting beauty, but for a second, Adam wants to spend hundreds of years trying.

The detective visibly takes in a breath through parted, pink lips as she waits for the end of that sentence. Her heartbeat picks up again and it dawns on him that this is what she was so nervous about.

Adam's teeth clench together, masterfully stifling the wave of emotion she effortlessly draws.

“... Practical.”

Emilia's expression falls, her gaze moving away from his with a resignation that makes his stomach clench painfully.

“It is,” she says in a small voice.

The words feel like a blunt knife.

She doesn't look at him once for the duration of their meeting, even when he offers brusque input from his spot by the window. By the time their time together draws to a close, Adam's crossed arms dig into his chest, every nerve ending aware of her every move.

“You really do look great, Em,” Felix is saying with a simper as he prepares to leave. “Don't mind Adam, though. He's only upset he can't fantasize about pulling your hair from—”

The murderous look Adam throws the younger vampire cuts the words short. Instead, Felix dissolves into a wicked laugh before following Nate and Mason out of the office.

Adam begins to follow, too, but he stops at the door. Shoulders pinched with tension, he turns to face her, despite his better judgment. Her gaze clicks with his, paralyzing him on the spot and charging the air around him with crackling energy.

The silence is heavy, deafening.

Then, Emilia glances away, busying herself with some documents on her desk. An errant lock of hair falls across her face with the movement and Adam's fingers curl at his sides.

“Is there anything else, Commanding Agent du Mortain?”

The use of his professional moniker is expected. Yet, that doesn't ease the sting of hearing it.

“Not at all, Detective Miranda.”

She barely nods in acknowledgement, already making her way to the exit with a purposeful gait. “Good. If you'll excuse me, I have to meet with Verda about—”

Her words stop abruptly when Adam remains fixed on the spot, blocking her path out the door.

Their considerable height difference has her staring straight at his chest. Beautiful, soulful brown eyes move to his neck like the delicate, featherlight caress of a lover. By the time her gaze reaches his eyes, Adam's mouth is dry, his skin feeling too tight for his body.

He swallows with much effort, unable to look away.

They remain like that, mere inches apart. Emilia searches his expression, desperately hoping to find something.

“It suits you.”

The words leave Adam before he can stop them.

“What?”

“You hair.”

Emilia blinks, unsure of what to say.

Having her so close that her breath brushes his skin is pure torture for Adam, his body aching to pull her closer still. Before reason kicks in, he reaches out to her, his fingers brushing away that stray piece of hair.

The detective sucks in a shuddering breath but she doesn't move away from his touch. Instead, her eyes flutter closed, long lashes casting shadows across jutting cheekbones.

Adam's fingers move to the plane of her cheeks, tracing a path so delicate, it's as if he's afraid to scare her away.

In a way, he is.

He is terrified she will realize just how undeserving he is of her.

His eyes follow the movements with as much intensity, enraptured by how right their skin looks, pressed together. The pad of his thumb reaches the corner of her mouth, aching to travel the swell of her bottom lip.

“Emilia, Verda is wondering—Oh.”

The officer called Tina comes to an abrupt stop a few paces behind Adam.

“I'll be right there,” Emilia calls to her friend.

Adam opens his mouth though he is unsure what to say. It doesn't matter because the detective has already averted her gaze, her spine straightening with quiet dignity.

Perhaps she knows that had it not been for her friend's interruption, Adam would have retreated, as he always did.

author’s note: Thank you if you read this!

Tags: @aestheticartsx, @kat-tia801, @lady-calypso, @fictional-affections, @alyssalauren , @rav3n23 , @aworldoffandoms , @gryffindordaughterofathena , @missmiimiie , @danijimenezv , @canigetanawwjunk

#twc #The Wayhaven Chronicles #adam du mortain #adam x detective #adam du mortain x detective #a du mortain #my writing

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writer-ish · 3 years

Text

the little things

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 3K words | rating: T (language)

summary: An exhausted and overworked Detective gets a sweet surprise. For Week 2, Day 6 of @wayhavensummer: Farmer's Market.

special note: After maybe a month or so of writing nothing (aside from 100-200 words here and there that, had they not been on a computer, I would have immediately crumpled them up and thrown them into a wastebasket), I sat down today and wrote this entire thing in a few hours. It is raw, unedited, and probably more reflective of my own personal state of mind than I'd like. That said, I am yeeting it into the tumblr void and then going out for the night - so uh, enjoy? be kind? and thank you for reading. ♥️

“Let’s go to the thing.”

Detective Grace Bennett looked up from her computer screen, her gaze blurry and unfocused, as she tried to parse together the words she’d just heard coming from the doorway to her office.

“The… thing?” she mumbled distractedly, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets in an attempt to violently will them to work properly. What time is it—? It must still be midnight or close to it—

Blinking rapidly, she watched as the numbers on the bottom of her computer screen came into a sort of unsettled, electric focus.

6:02 AM.

Fuck.

She had been working on her reports for seven fucking hours. All the way through the night. Once again, forgoing sleep in an attempt to pretend she had a grasp on all the things that she was responsible for - Detective of Wayhaven, Agency liaison, good friend, good daughter, good—

She looked up, remembering once more that she was no longer alone at the station.

Mason stood in the doorway, languidly leaning against its frame, arms crossed. To the casual observer, his posture was relaxed, his expression nondescript.

But Grace knew him well enough now to recognize the sharp keenness in his eyes. The way they took in every detail of her appearance, from the haphazardly tossed-up hair, to the rumpled blouse, to what she could only presume were lines of haggard exhaustion running through her features.

He could likely smell the day-old ice cold coffee by her side. The half-eaten ham sandwich crumpled beside it.

Again, his expression hardly belied a recognition of any of that. Instead, he appeared to simply be a person waiting patiently to hear the answer to a question he’d asked.

But somehow - she didn’t know how, and yet - Grace knew better.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh, pushing away from her desk. “What did you say again?”

“It’s Friday,” was his reply.

She inwardly groaned. Grace was not in the mood for riddles, and the enigmatic, indifferent phrasing of his response caused a surge of exhaustion-induced annoyance to flow through her body. Dropping her head into her hands, she took a deep breath.

Perhaps he took pity on her. Perhaps he realized that his typical reticent abruptness was not going to go over well this morning.

Whatever it was, Grace suddenly felt a hand on the back of her down-turned head. A light pat, then strong fingertips moving through the locks until they hit her scalp, kneading gently on contact.

She let out a soft groan, her shoulders wilting further, elbows almost giving out, as the painful yet pleasurable push of his fingers worked her sore and tired head and nape.

“The market thing,” he said softly after a moment, a moment in which she was certain she had become a barely-sentient pile of mush on top of her keyboard. “That they do in the square. It’s Friday. You like to go. I was going to take you.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the pleasure haze encompassing her weary brain, but when they did, she felt her body still.

He was offering to go to the Farmer’s Market with her?

It was true, she did enjoy going. Before the infiltration of Unit Bravo into their lives, her and Tina used to go together every week in the summer to peruse the wares and fresh produce of the local farmers—most coming from just outside the small city limits of Wayhaven, but others from even further away. There was always something delicious and fresh to purchase or some trinket that would catch their eye. Grace had lost count of the number of handmade soaps she’d impulsively bought, only to shove them under her bathroom sink and never use them.

But then, after the arrival of Unit Bravo, after Grace’s promotion, when things got busier - when things got more dangerous - she would find herself able to go less and less. If she did manage to make it out, she’d usually end up taking Nate with her for protection. It was the type of thing he enjoyed, too; just the concept of it, as well as the simple pleasure of a new experience. Plus, Mason had always refused to be caught dead anywhere near such a cacophonic plethora of different people, bright colours, and various smells.

So the fact that he was offering to take her today, now, was an incredibly unexpected development.

“Are you sure?” she asked, barely even trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice. She looked up at him, standing so closely to her, his hand still warm and comforting on the back of her neck. “You know it’s—the same, as it’s always been. Right?”

He snorted. “Yeah, I know. And yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright, well—” She was about to acquiesce, self consciously taking her hair out of its messy bun and running her fingers through it in an ineffectual attempt to make it look presentable, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the computer screen and groaned. Suddenly she felt a need to backtrack on her initial agreement.

“Honestly? I look wrecked, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, and I doubt I’d be very good company right now. Also, you hate the Farmer’s Market. Why torture us both?”

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was making excuses for his sake more than her own. The fact was, she’d gotten a surge of adrenaline at the idea of going now, on a quiet, cool summer morning, when things would just be opening up and most of the town was still sleeping—to get a nice hot coffee and a pastry. To pick up some strawberries and peaches. To look for a new candle or maybe another handmade tsotchke that she didn’t need to add to her already colourful and cheerfully cluttered space. And, most of all, to spend the time with Mason.

But still. She looked like shit and she knew he hated the thought of going - Why did he offer, then? her traitorous thoughts couldn’t help but wonder - so what was the point?

As though he could read her roiling thoughts - the fact that she wanted to go and the reasons why she thought they shouldn’t - he affected a frustrated sigh and leaned over her, bracing one hand on her desk and running the other from her neck down to her back.

“Get up, Detective.” With the one arm around her back, he hoisted her out of her seat. She found herself stumbling into the warm comfort of his chest, her cheek resting against the soft material of his black t-shirt.

Her hands grasped at the back of it as she steadied herself and she looked up at him, even closer now, chest to chest, their arms around each other. He leaned forward and her breath hitched slightly, but his lips only met the tip of her nose before he pulled back and held her at arm’s length.

“Change,” he commanded, pointedly looking at her wrinkled shirt and coffee-stained trousers, “and then meet me outside the station. You have three minutes.”

Still reeling from the playful kiss, she touched her nose lightly and watched him saunter out.

It took her a moment to snap back to reality and remember what she was supposed to be doing. “Right, clothes.”

In two-and-a-half minutes, she had stripped down, shoved her old clothes in her bag, and changed into the spare outfit she kept in the office: a winning combo of bicycle shorts and a light-grey oversized shirt with the words WAYHAVEN PD on it in large block letters. She’d ditched the heels, slipped on her spare runners, and did a quick rinse and spit into her old coffee cup with the mouthwash she kept in her desk “for emergencies” only, managing to meet Mason outside with thirty seconds to spare.

She caught him flick his cigarette to the ground before straightening up as she approached.

As she always did when she had the opportunity, she found herself admiring the view he provided - tall, broad-shouldered and sinewy, like a Hellenic sculpture come to life. His hair tumbled in dark waves towards his shoulders - he needed a cut, she thought to herself - his mouth naturally sullen, even when it was pulled to the side in a smirk, like it was in that moment. Hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, half-tucked into his standard black boots, which he still wore despite the heat that was already beginning to infiltrate the crisp morning air.

He looked like a goddamn supermodel, while she looked like she was taking her two-point-five children to soccer practice. She tugged self-consciously at her shorts.

“This is all I had—” she began apologetically as soon as she got close to him, but her words were cut off by his lips on hers.

All thoughts of self-consciousness vanished as she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. She felt her feet leave the ground as he held her closer to him, his mouth tasting faintly of cigarettes and entirely of Mason, a combination that always managed to make her feel lightheaded. She couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped from deep in her throat and he tightened his grip on her further, stroking her tongue with his, leaving her pulse racing in more places than one.

After a moment he set her down and pulled away, keeping one arm loosely wrapped around her shoulders.

“Better go now before we don’t go at all,” he said gruffly, leading her to her car.

By the time they got to the Farmer’s Market, the majority of the stands had opened, farmers and local merchants laying out their produce and wares.

All feelings of tiredness that had begun to seep into Grace’s consciousness on the drive over - Mason had generously offered to drive “this heap of crap”, as he’d put it, seeing how she was probably in no state to operate heavy machinery - vanished as they parked and approached the town square.

She looked up and watched as Mason appeared to brace himself, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.

“Hey.” He looked down at the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand resting gently on his chest. “Are you sure about this?”

She watched as his body appeared to physically drain of tension, his hitched-up shoulders gentling slowly downwards, his jaw unclenching, fists unfurling. His eyes closed briefly and he placed his hand over the one that still lay over his heart.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” His smirk came back to his lips slowly. “Let’s buy you some fruit.”

She laughed at the intentional absurdity of his remark, feeling something akin to joy bubble up in her chest. She knew better than to chalk it up to anything but sleep deprivation-induced delirium, but whatever it was, it was a high she was planning to ride for as long as she could before the inevitable crash.

They wandered through the colourful stalls, Mason waiting patiently as Grace felt for the good peaches, smelled the baskets of strawberries, picked through for the perfect cherries. He dutifully held the baskets and burlap bags she handed to him, shooing away her concerns about the smells or the feel of the scratchy material on his skin.

It was still early for Wayhaven and they were practically the only two there, aside from the people at their stands and Haley, as always, ready with her carafe of coffee and some fresh-baked pastries for selling.

Grace gratefully filled her cup with a smile, before noticing that Haley was gesturing her forward. Leaning in, she gave her friend a quizzical look.

“You guys are good now?” she whispered, nodding over Grace’s shoulder.

Grace turned in the direction Haley had gestured, her eyes catching on Mason. He was looking intently at a collection of wind chimes a few stalls down, his hands full of the fruits and goodies she’d acquired, a long baguette sticking out of one of the bags.

Her heart swelled at the sight of him, in that sharp, needful way it always did, a pleasure-pain that reminded her of the way he’d stroked her hair earlier. So necessary, so vital, so scary, so new: all these things that she held to be true about her feelings towards him. The knowledge that she needed him, perhaps—no, certainly more than he needed her, and the fear that it was all-too fleeting. Nothing more than just a memory, already half cooked.

“Yeah,” she said softly, feeling her mouth turn upwards into a smile she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s—we’re good.”

Haley nodded, pleased, before offering Grace a cherry danish that she refused to accept payment for. Grace took another bracing sip of hot coffee and turned back to Mason, only to find he’d disappeared.

She meandered a bit through the remaining stalls, debated the necessity of yet another vanilla sandalwood candle or birthstone necklace, and glanced up more than occasionally to see if she could spot where he’d gone or if he was going to return.

Right at the point where she was starting to worry, the weariness of her wakeful hours suddenly threatening to catch up to her in the kind of hysteria that only exhaustion could create, he appeared.

He still carried her two baskets of fruit and a large burlap reusable shopping bag with that telltale baguette and a few other things she couldn’t even remember now, but in his arms was—

In his arms, he was holding—

Okay, she was crying.

Goddamn lack of sleep, she was actually fucking crying in the middle of the Farmer’s Market.

As soon as he got close enough to see her tears, he came to a dead stop and threw his hands up in the air, weighted down as they were.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” His tone was a mix of fond exasperation and abject disbelief at the sight of Grace, coffee in hand, forgotten danish dripping cherry filling onto the ground, blubbering like a baby in the midst of all the produce and plants.

But she couldn’t help it, damn it, because he’d gotten her flowers.

Her grouchy, hundred-year-old, vampire non-boyfriend, who hated Farmer’s Markets and crowds and flowers themselves, had gone off on his own and come back with a bouquet of sunflowers, delphiniums, lilacs, and daisies and Detective Grace Bennett—

Could.

Not.

Handle.

It.

She pressed her lips together tightly, just for another sob to escape.

“Jesus Christ, Gracie.” He gently put down everything he was holding to approach her, likely exhibiting extra caution because of how incredibly unhinged she must have appeared in that moment, before bracing his hands on her shoulders. “What the hell is the matter?”

“Honestly—” Her calm, mostly unwavering tone probably leant her an even more psychotic air, as she could feel the tears continue to streak down her cheeks. “—I’m just really tired, but also I really, really love those flowers.” She hiccuped. “So much.”

His face cleared of its worry and instead he shook his head, affectionate exasperation back in his expression. “You’re nuts, you know that?” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She leaned into him, partly from weariness and partly because she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

He squeezed her tightly for a moment and then, bending over, he picked up her bags and the flowers as she scrubbed her face with her hands. He made to hand her the bouquet wrapped in plastic and newspaper, but when she reached for it, he suddenly pulled it back with a tsk-ing noise.

“No more crying, got it?” He pointed the flowers at her along with his warning.

She laughed, even as she felt the telltale tingle start in her nose once more.

“Yes, no more crying. I promise,” she added, making an X over her chest with her pointer finger. “Gimme.”

He passed her the bouquet, a soft smile on his lips as he watched her bury her face in the colourful blooms and take a big inhale.

“Magical,” she sighed happily, before looking up him. She could feel her eyes fill again and his own eyes narrowed, but she just smiled and shook her head. “Thank you.”

His expression softened and he gave her a nod. “Let’s go. Get you to bed.”

She made a teasing noise, a heckling gesture that acknowledged his innuendo, but he just snorted and shook his head.

“You, sweetheart, are sleeping for the next twelve hours. I don’t care how much you beg.”

“But you love it when I beg,” she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder, then giggled as he looked at her in surprise.

“Are you drunk?” he asked incredulously and she couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles again.

“Just delirious, I think,” she said, wiping more tears - these ones from mirth, rather than an overwhelming feeling of adoration over a thoughtful gesture from a sort-of boyfriend - from her eyes. “But yeah. We should go.”

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, transferring her Farmer’s Market treasures to his other hand and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders so he could guide her out of the town square.

She looked up at him, this big, grouchy vampire man, so reticent to talk about his feelings and yet so quick to show her how much he cared in a million little ways: his nose subtly wrinkling from the smell of the flowers that he’d gotten for her, his tight hold on her purchases, his arm protectively around her shoulders, shielding her from the growing crowd and guiding her back to her car.

The way he kept looking down at her, eyes scanning her face for further outbursts.

The fact that he’d brought her here in the first place, simply because he knew it was something she liked.

Was she going to be okay?

“Oh yeah,” she said, laughing at his groan upon seeing tears well up in her eyes again. She shook her head to try and get her emotions in check, before standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He shot her a disgruntled look that just made her laugh even harder.

A summer morning. The sights and sounds of the Wayhaven Farmer’s Market. Mason’s arm around her. All the tiredness, the endless work, the stress - it all just disappeared in that moment and Grace could only think of one word to describe how she felt.

“I’m perfect.”

- ☀️🍓💐 -

#wayhavensummer #the wayhaven chronicles #mason x detective #twc mason #twc fic #farmer's market #wayhaven summer: day 6 #day 6: farmer's market #a thing!!!#i have written!#let us rejoice!#mason x grace

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morningbluue · 3 years

Text

the way to your heart - chapter nine

pairing: fuckboy!exbestfriend!Tom x reader | college au

summary: Tom Holland was your best friend in middle and high school, and now he is the biggest player in college. Everything changed in only a few years and the only thing you want is to stay away from trouble, especially because Tom is the definition of trouble. But it is hard to stay away if there is a post-it note with a cheesy pickup line on your desk every day — from none other than Tom Holland.

warnings: swearing, angst, a fight

word count: 2,1k

A/N: i hope you all enjoy this chap ;))

series masterlist

You swing open the door to your dorm and let out a loud groan. “I can’t believe it,” you scoff as you notice Steph on the couch.

A smirk makes its way onto her face. “Let me guess,” she says and places her index finger on her chin to look like she is thinking. “It wasn’t the end.”

Shaking your head, you let yourself fall on the seat next to her. “No, it was not,” you mumble and close your eyes for a second. “It was too good to be true, wasn’t it?”

“There is a reason behind everything that happens, and you know that, y/n. What is meant to be, will always be,” she winks, and you roll your eyes.

You punch her gently against her upper arm, and she pouts jokingly. “We are not meant to be.”

She smiles. “Whatever you say. Now show me what he wrote you,” she commands, and you can hear that she is excited.

You sling your arms around your knees. “I throw it away after I found it,” you mumble and give her an apologetic look.

Steph rises her eyebrows. “No, you did not.”

“I did!” you contradict.

“I don’t believe you, y/n.”

Crossing your arms over your chest like a little kid, you send a warning glance into her direction. “Fine,” you scoff, giving up, “it’s in my jacket pocket.”

“I knew it!”

Against all your contradiction Steph forced you to still get milkshakes with Nate like you three planned to do a few hours ago. And as soon as you take your first sip of your chocolate milkshake you are happy that she did.

Sometimes the world feels a bit lighter and happier after a good milkshake with good friends. But sometimes it makes you think about the good old days too. The days where everything was so different to today, but still unforgettable. The days were the brunette boy and you were still friends.

“Y/n?” Nate rips you out of your thoughts as he waves his hand in front of your face. “Everything okay?”

You nod, a smile automatically appearing on your lips. “Yeah, I was just thinking about something.”

The three of you are sitting in Steph’s car while she drives around the city and plays the playlist you all made together a while ago. Nate is sitting on the passengers seat because he always shouts shotgun when he is already running towards the car.

You were staring out of the window almost the whole time, your favorite songs playing in the background. The world passes by you and here and there you see some people outside, alone or with some friends, and you cannot believe that every one of them experienced another day today.

Some people had a good day, some had a bad day. Some of them fell in love today with someone, and some of them probably got their heart broken. It was a beginning or an ending, and for everyone it was different.

Nate turns around to you in his seat, giving you a look that you cannot quite identify. “You know that you can talk to Tom if you want.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head and hesitates for a second. “Steph told me about the new note.” She meets your gaze in the rearview mirror, and you know this is her way of saying sorry. “And I know you good enough to know that you want to get something off of your heart,” he adds.

Letting your shoulders hang, you sigh softly. “I don’t want to get involved in his life anymore. But I feel like we are crossing paths a lot at the moment.”

“You can always talk to him and tell him to stop,” Steph says.

“I know, but I do not want to. I wish he would understand that I don’t want to be part of his little stupid game,” you sigh. “I thought he got it after I talked to him the last time.”

Nate and Steph give you a compassionate glance. “Well, I think he did not,” the blonde says, and you nod. “Or he does not care,” Steph adds.

“He is a freaking asshole if he does not care,” you scoff and feel the anger rush through your body, making your cheeks turn warm. “Does he really think he can do whatever he wants? That every girl is running after him to get a little bit of his attention?”

Steph rolls her eyes at your comment, “but sadly a lot of girls are running after him to get his attention. I guess that makes him think this is okay.”

Furrowing your brows, you lean forward in your seat. “But it’s not! It’s not okay to do whatever he wants with someone else’s life.” You let your shoulders fall, quietly mumbling: “everything was better before those dumb post-it notes appeared.”

Nate studied your face the whole time you were talking, quietly thinking about whenever he should say his opinion or not. “Y/n,” he mumbles, and gains your attention, “I can talk to him if you want. He needs to understand that he is doing something wrong.”

You force a smile onto your lips. “No, I have to talk to him myself. I know him better than you and I know how I can get him to understand it. But thank you tho, Nate.”

The blonde nods a few times and turns around in his seat again, and you hope you did the right decision.

“So you are going to talk to him?” Steph asks.

“Not now. I’m gonna wait and hope he is intelligent enough to realize what he is doing,” you answer honestly and pray he has some brain cells left to think.

Nate rises his hand. “I’m gonna bet a round of milkshakes that he is not intelligent enough,” he laughs, and you smile instantly.

Day after day no new note is laying on your desk or sticks on your chair, and maybe you should be facilitated because the problem solved itself, right? Maybe Tom has actually some brain cells left in his head.

But nonetheless, you are walking around campus as if everything could go down every second. Honestly, you are scared for another post-it note and another hit in the face. You do not know how much more you can take.

It makes you angry and sad that after you talked to Tom the last time, and he literally apologized for it, he just keeps doing it. Does he not know what he is doing to you? Or does he not care at all?

Even if you feel like he is following you most of the time, you haven’t seen him for a while and that seems weird to you. After you have crossed paths so much in the last weeks, how could he disappear so suddenly?

Maybe he quit college, or he just skips his classes to have some fun, and you never have to see him again.

But sometimes you get excited too soon.

When you see Tom the next time, you are on your way home and only see him in the last second before you turn around the next corner. But you stop dead in your tracks and walk a few steps backward because you need to make sure that you aren’t hallucinating.

Tom is standing in front of one of the buildings and talks to a blonde boy that you have seen with him a few times already. But that is not what makes your heart beat rapidly in your chest. Tom holds something in his left hand and without looking a second time you know that it is the yellow post-it notes.

He did it again.

You turn around and start running to the last room you had a class in, not caring about the weird stares that the other students give you. You run as if your life depends on it, but you have to know if there is a new pick-up line, you need to know if there is a new note laying on your desk.

You slam the door open and thankfully there is no one inside the room. The room is quiet and empty.

Except one yellow post-it note.

Swallowing the big lump down your throat, your fingers slowly approach the little paper and for a moment you let your finger wander over his handwriting. There is something wrong with my cell phone. It doesn't have your number in it. -T

And for a second you wish everything would be different.

With the paper in the one hand you walk through the halls, knowing exactly where you want to go. There is only one place and only one person you need to see and talk to right now.

“I thought we were done,” you say through gritted teeth, and Tom’s eyes are as big as a bowling ball when you stop in front of him and show him his note. The blonde boy next to him rises his brows in confusion, but you can see the amusement in his blue eyes.

“I thought you wanted to leave me alone,” you hiss, a bit louder this time after the brunette still hasn’t reacted. If it weren’t summer you would think he is frozen. “Play your little game with someone else?”

Tom blinks a few times. “Y/n can we talk about this somewhere else?” he whispers and wants to touch your arm, but you snatch it away.

“Oh, sorry, am I not allowed to talk to you? Is your reputation so important to you?” you question back, and he knits his brows together in confusion.

“No,” he tilts his head, “I don’t want the whole campus to stare at us.”

You let your shoulders fall as you notice the stares. “Okay.”

Tom opens his front door for the both of you, and you cannot believe that you are already the second time here. The brunette offers you a seat on his sofa, but you refuse.

He opens his mouth to say something, and you lift your hand in the same moment to demonstrate him to listen to you first.

“Why are you doing this, Tom?” you ask and don’t miss the way how tired you sound.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You always took the notes with you, so I guessed you kinda liked the whole thing.”

“What the fuck?!” you snap back.

“What? Was that wrong?”

You want to slap him for being this dumb, and you cannot believe he said something that dumb. Looks like he actually has no brain cells left. “I literally told you I don’t want to talk to you anymore. What makes you think I want the dumb notes?”

“They aren’t dumb,” he scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest like a little child that doesn’t get what he wants.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

Running a hand through his messy curls, he lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, y/n.”

“You already said that but still kept doing this shit,” you spit out and feel the blood boil in your body. The anger slowly takes control over you.

“I guess I did not really think about it.” He pushes his hands into his jeans pockets and looks to the ground to escape your burning eyes.

You take a moment to calm yourself down because you are only a few seconds away from slapping him right in the face. “Why the hell did you think it was okay to write me another notes?”

Tom looks up again and the way his eyes changed, runs a shiver down your spine. “I already told you I don’t know. I had no reason!” he hisses.

“Are you kidding me right now?! You are an asshole, Tom. I can’t believe I was friends with you!” You take a step back, ready to leave his apartment and when the door closes behind you, you want him to be gone forever.

But his next words stop you.

“I’m not the asshole here, y/n! I’m not the selfish one that pushes my friends away!” he shouts and rises his arms, but you are too deep in your own anger to realize that he is not furious but disappointed.

“Stop!” You stare him down with a hatred look in your eyes that he has never seen before, and it feels like a slap right in the face that he is the reason for all the hate and anger you have inside you. “What the fuck do you want, Tom?!” you scream again.

“To be friends again!”

if you want to be added to the taglist, send me an ask!!! :)

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bosspigeon · 3 years

Text

a space between the shadows

My VERY last-minute prompt fill for @wayhavensummer, which turned into YET ANOTHER character study of my Sad Werewolf Detective~ Prompt: 🌈First Pride, Belonging Pairing: Adam/Male Detective, Bonus Found Family Vibes~ Words: 2137 Summary: Arlo has some... complex feelings around his identity, his relationship with his closest friend, and who he is supposed to be in a place like Wayhaven. CW for allusions to homophobia, slurs, and implications of religious trauma/bigotry

Seeing as someone actually bothered to submit paperwork this time, Arlo feels it’s safe to assume there will be no (or at least fewer) strange supernatural occurrences involved in this festival. Still, he’s not sure what to make of it.

“I don’t… have to go, do I?” he asks Tina.

Tina blinks slowly at him, as if he’s suddenly become the stupidest creature to ever draw breath. “Yes,” she says simply.

“I’m just a detective, and it’s Wayhaven, it won’t be anything crazy, so I don’t have to be there to keep things—”

“Oh, no, of course not,” she interjects, well acquainted with his nervous babbling by now. He’s barely exhaled his relieved sigh when she leans her elbows on his desk and grins in his face. “We’re going in a purely civilian capacity.”

“But I don’t want to,” he says quietly, and he knows he sounds like a pouty little kid, but he can’t help it.

Tina pouts mockingly right back at him. “I don’t care.”

And that sort of sums up their entire relationship, he thinks.

Adam, of course, is about as pleased as Arlo is. Unfortunately, Adam has not yet learned what Arlo knew by sixteen— that there is no force in the known universe more powerful than Tina Poname's stubbornness. She simply can't be defeated.

"She's a little bisexual juggernaut," Arlo sighs. He's annoyed, sure, but he can't keep the fondness from his tone as he watches her swan back and forth from the safety of the sitting room.

Naturally, Tina and Felix get on like a house on fire, and the two of them have commandeered Arlo's studio. The floor is a minefield of water cups, washable paint, and drying posters. Felix has Tina's flag tied around his neck like a cape.

Mason disappeared the second the first tube of paint was popped open, though his sharpy retort of "I like what I like" when Tina asked what his persuasion was (so that she could make him a poster as well) did launch her into her practiced dissertation on the intricacies of bi and pan identities, and how they mean similar things, how at their core neither are meant to be exclusive, and it is simply a matter of personal identity and choice which one suits an individual best.

"Have you been to a Pride festival before?" Nate asks, setting down two mugs of tea on Arlo's coffee table, carefully out of the way of the map of Wayhaven he and Adam are poring over. More for Adam's peace of mind than anything. It's mostly taking place in the local park, and while there will be a parade, the route is short enough to keep things contained.

"Yeah, once," Arlo says with a shrug, and he and Adam are sitting close enough on the sofa for their shoulders to brush with the motion. "When I was at uni."

Nate hums and sits down in the armchair across from them. "I assume it was… unpleasant for you?"

Arlo smiles, flustered, and rubs at the back of his neck. "It was fine. Fun, even. I mean, I went to art school, so the turnout was great. Nerve-wracking, yeah, because so many people, but seeing your anthropology professor riding a mechanical bull in little more than nipple pasties is one hell of a distraction."

He can feel the scandalized look Adam is giving him, but he knows if he turns to meet his eyes, he'll blush all the way to his hairline, so he sips deeply from his mug instead.

Nate tilts his head, lips pursed. There's a brief twitch of amusement to them, but it settles as his brow furrows thoughtfully. "I'm afraid I don't understand. If you had a good time at the last festival you attended, why are you so hesitant to participate in one closer to home?"

Arlo looks down at his mug, thumbing at a chip in the black enamel, exposing an ellipse of white ceramic underneath. The silence is heavy, and he knows if he lets it go on too long, Nate's going to start apologizing, so he sighs hard through his nose before he barrels on. "It's… it's different here. Back at school, I wasn't… I wasn't the Detective's weird brat. I was just Priestley, the weird performing arts major." He picks a little harder at his mug. "Might sound odd, but I didn't have to perform there, not the way I do here. I could just be Arlo. Not a shadow. Just… the fuckoff huge goth from your sociology lecture hall who just so happens to like men."

He doesn't look up, but he can tell Nate is chewing over the information. As he considers, Adam shifts on the sofa, closing the bare inch of space between them so their thighs press together. Arlo peeks up, and Adam's giving him that look. The one that makes him go all soft around the edges. "I know small towns can be… conservative," he begins, and his mouth twists distastefully around the word. "But I have never gotten the impression that Wayhaven was…"

"Anything but refreshingly progressive," Nate finishes for him.

Arlo looks up with a wry smile. "Yeah, no, it's great on that front. I'm damned lucky I didn't have to grow up with Rebecca's family. It's just…" He shifts his weight, and before he can sprout claws to really start menacing his poor mug, Adam plucks it from his hands and sets it out of the way. "There's a legacy for me here," he murmurs. "One I never asked for. Sure, I don't have to worry about getting called slurs," he chews his lip, "at least, not anymore after the whole Graham thing, but I'm still… I don't really get to be me here. People here don't look at me and see Arlo. They see Rook's kid. They see Detective Priestley the Second." He huffs out a laugh. "I didn't even get to come out on my own here. I honestly don't think I ever have outside of school. Everyone knows everything they want to know about me, because I've been a landmark since I was born. This month, it's just a landmark with a rainbow flag."

Nate is giving him that sad-eyed look he gets whenever Arlo and Rebecca get into it. The one that says he wants to help, but he's not sure how.

Arlo rubs his hands over the worn denim of his dark jeans, picking at a frayed thread. There’s a spiderweb of cracks forming in the fresh coat of black polish on his thumb where the nail has begun to thicken in response to his emotional state. He sighs a little, but he doesn’t have the time to sink too deeply into his own head, because there is a pale hand creeping cautiously over his.

“Why do it, then?” Adam asks, head tilted and brows drawn, as if he truly doesn’t understand. “Officer Poname cares deeply for you. I am sure she would understand if you were honest with her.” His lips twitch faintly, and the smile he gives Arlo is touching in its earnest, if stilted, effort. “Bisexual juggernaut or no. Though, she is only little to you.”

Arlo snickers weakly, turning his face away so he can hide behind the fall of his hair. Adam doesn’t let him hide, though, brushing it out of his face, knuckles skimming the detective’s cheekbone. Arlo can’t help but sigh and lean into the touch, eyes fluttering closed.

There’s a crash and a cry from the other room, but it’s Nate’s startled noise that makes the two of them leap apart as if burned, putting a few inches of space between them.

Arlo’s face flushes hotly when Nate smiles at them, and there’s a mischievous twinkle to his dark eyes. “I wonder what that’s about!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together and springing to his feet. “I’ll go check on them, shall I? Make sure they’re not causing too much trouble.” And before Arlo can even stutter out a… something—an explanation, or maybe an apology for third-wheeling the poor man—Nate is striding off towards the studio with a spring in his step the detective can’t help but find incredibly mocking.

He closes the door behind him with a parting smile and a decisive click.

They’re left on the sofa sitting guiltily apart like a pair of teenagers caught canoodling, and surprisingly it’s Adam who breaks the stalemate by huffing through his nose and turning to Arlo again, reaching out for his hand and tugging it between his own. “You were saying?” he presses gently, his thumb tracing ticklish lines alone Arlo’s palm.

Arlo tilts his head and sighs “I guess I just… Tina’s like my sister, you know? And we wound up going to different universities in different cities, and I didn’t really get to share any of those big milestones with her. She’s not the type to be jealous I made other friends or went and had fun without her, but it feels sort of… I want to be able to share this with her, since she was one of the first people who ever bothered to… to not just care about me, but to care about me enough to…” He furrows his brow and chews at his lip, trying to figure out how to make sense of the feelings he’s never really been able to express out loud. “Neither of us belonged here, really. Sure, I was born here, but I never really felt like I was supposed to be here. I just felt like I was filling a space someone more important than me left vacant.”

He looks down at Adam’s hands, sturdy and strong, tangled up around his freckled, long-fingered one. He swallows. “Tina’s the one who looked at that space, then decided it wasn’t for either of us, and she carved out one that was.” He smiles fondly, thinking of the way Tina bullied her way into his lonely life and gave it some much-needed color. “She made a space where we could both fit. It was messy, and awkward, and we were still outcasts, but we were outcasts together.” He laughs, and it sounds suspiciously wet even to his own ears. Thankfully, Adam doesn’t bring attention to it. “Christ, I’m rambling. Does this make any sense at all?”

Adam is quiet, thoughtful for a moment, but he squeezes Arlo’s fingers to draw his eyes up again. He’s smiling, a real smile, one that Arlo is seeing more and more these days. A man could get addicted to a smile like that. “It does,” he murmurs, bringing Arlo’s hand to his mouth to brush a kiss to his palm. It’s such a simple little touch, it barely lasts a second, but it steals all the air from Arlo’s lungs.

Adam shifts, and his face scrunches a bit. “While I won’t say I am looking forward to the chaos, I am…” He looks up at Arlo again, his brows drawn, his jaw set with the same fierce determination with which he stares down trappers. “I am honored to share this with you.”

It is really not fair, the way he can just say things like that, things that would sound trite and cheesy coming from anyone else, with such naked honesty. Arlo has no choice but to kiss him. He’s rewarded by a sweet, startled noise rumbling against his mouth, but he draws back before they can get too distracted, seeing as their friends are just a room away. If Adam is pouting, Arlo’s certainly not going to be the one to tell him.

“I guess, in a way, it’s a first for the both of us, right?” he coughs, just to ease the heavy atmosphere a bit. “My first Pride in Wayhaven, and your first entirely.” He pokes Adam in the chest. “We’ll have to get you a flag. You look good in pastels.”

“Are you certain the rainbow is not too at odds with your aesthetic?” Adam teases in return.

“Goth is a state of mind,” Arlo replies archly.

They laugh quietly together, shifting again to close the distance between them. Adam turns to face Arlo more fully, their shoulders bumping in a way that is incredibly comforting in its charming awkwardness. “What is wrong with Agent Priestley’s family?” he asks, keeping his voice low so as not to draw the attention of their companions chattering in the other room.

Arlo tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a tense grimace. “Catholic,” he snorts.

Adam’s expression mirrors his so perfectly, Arlo has to clap a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t bark out a laugh. “Ah,” the vampire says primly. “I understand.”

Arlo gives up and collapses against the vampire, snickering helplessly into his neck.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhavensummer #adam du mortain #a du mortain #tina poname #i hope this makes any sort of sense #i know i kinda went off the wall w the prompt #but my logic is that there's ANOTHER prompt that will be for the actual festival #so this is more an introduction to the First Pride????#fhdkjashdkjsg if its bad its bad okay #yeehaw #oc: arlo priestley #arlo's issues aren't with his identity so much as with the fact that his identity never really mattered to people in wayhaven #just who his parents are #arlo wants to be allowed to be himself without feeling like he has to live up to someone else first #and tina helped him with that #tina is the one who helped him feel pride #so he wants to be able to share this with her #its not directly mentioned here but naturally adam is trans yeehaw #pidge writes

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ironwhumper359 · 3 years

Note

What are your top five favorite whump scenes you've seen movies/tv shows?

Oooh, good question! Let me think...

Okay, so first off we have one of my favorite shows, Leverage, with season 2, episode 12, The Zanzibar Marketplace Job. Starting off with this one because as far as whump goes it's pretty tame, but I love it for how the characters handle themselves. Team leader Nate and his ex-wife Maggie are held hostage, and the villain wants the Fabergé egg the team came to steal in exchange for their release. What I love about this part of the episode (besides the fact that Nate and Maggie have been kidnapped and their lives are in danger, but they're too busy arguing about whose fault it is to really care) is how Eliot Spencer deals with the situation. He's been on just about every side of a hostage negotiation before, and he knows what to say and do in order to get Nate out, but you can see underneath his calm exterior that he's really worried about his friends.

Second! Criminal Minds, season 4 episode 3: Minimal Loss. Spencer Reid and Emily Prentiss are FBI agents who go to a cult compound under cover as CPS agent in order to investigate allegations of child abuse. While inside the compound, the cult leader learns that one of the CPS agents is actually with the FBI (not knowing that it's actually both of them), and demands to know who, or he will kill them both. Emily reveals her status as FBI to protect Reid, and is locked up and beaten as a result. The whole episode is a tense hostage situation, with both Reid and Emily on the inside trying to stay alive and undermine the cult, while the rest of the team works to negotiate their release. One of my favorite episodes!

Ok, Leverage again, because I just love it a lot, ok? Season 4, episode 7, The Grave Danger Job. While trying to take down a corrupt funeral director with ties to the Mexican drug cartels, Hardison is kidnapped and imprisoned in a coffin, which is then buried in a cemetary. The team races to find him before the claustrophobic hacker suffocates to death. Parker must stay on the phone with Hardison to keep him from spiraling into a panic attack and wasting more oxygen as they search for him, even as she herself is struggling to maintain composure while the man she's falling in love with is in danger. Great whump scenario all around, and also fantastic performances by both Aldis Hodge and Beth Riesgraf.

Let's take a break from TV for a minute and go to a movie! Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows, staring Robert Downey Jr. as Sherlock Holmes and Jude Law as Watson. There's a scene where Holmes has been captured by Moriarty, and is tortured for information by being suspended in the air by a meat hook driven into his shoulder. During the torture, Moriarty sings along with a phonograph recording of Franz Schubert's lied "Die Forelle," which is about a fisherman trying to catch an elusive fish (this song serves as a metaphor for Holmes and Moriarty's relationship throughout the movie). A PA system for the factory they're in is also turned on in the room, so that both the music and Holmes's screams are echoing across the factory grounds. Watson does eventually rescue Holmes...by blowing up the tower he and Moriarty are in and pulling him from the rubble. Great stuff!

And finally, an absolute classic that might just be my favorite of all time...

Star Trek The Next Generation, season 6, episodes 10 & 11: The Chain of Command parts 1&2. This has it all! Physical torture of all sorts, HEAPS of psychological torture from a creepy whumper who specializes in breaking down the will of his victim, Picard is a defiant whumpee who, as the episodes go along, we see getting closer and closer to the breaking point. Eventually the whumper realizes that Picard doesn't know the information he's been trying to torture out of him, but he doesn't even care about the information at this point, he's determined to break Picard's will, just to prove to himself that he can. The crew also cannot just storm in and rescue him, as the political situation surrounding Picard's capture is EXTREMELY delicate, and in order to maintain peace for the entire federation, they may have to sacrifice Picard's freedom. It's a great two part episode, Patrick Stewart is phenomenal, and it's one of my all time favorite whump scenes! Thanks so much for asking!

#whump #whump scenes #whump gifs #leverage #criminal minds #star trek: tng #sherlock holmes: game of shadows

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tuagonia · 3 years

Text

mistletoe - adam du mortain x f! detective

Pairing: Adam du Mortain x f!detective Summary: The detective catches an unsuspecting Adam under the mistletoe during the division’s holiday party. Rating: G/T (to be sure).Pretty tame, just fluff. Warning: alcohol mention. Word Count: 2.3k Note: I just really really wanted to write this scene that cropped up in my head during a f u n bout of insomnia. I’d like to think this takes place teetering on the edge right before the deep romance sweeps these two fools away. Anyway i used this fic as a way to get over my fear of writing for twc and to get to know my detective... before i launch into the other ideas i have.

—

It’s not that she’s drunk.

No. Not drunk.

Happy, most definitely, and loquacious. More than the usual amount of conversation that he’s used to. And more laughter.

Definitely more laughter.

It’s an unrefined, rough, pitched-at-the-end sound he’s grown used to (fond of?) over the last year.

Where the more uncouth the subject... the more untamed it becomes, and fighting the stiff edges of his mouth to remain in place becomes an active task.

There’s something so unsuspecting about it too, like how everything concerning her has been up to now.

Olivia dances with Felix and Nate, and his oldest friend attempts to teach her how to move with the steps that feel like a lifetime ago. Where her shoulders, ankles, hips twist and she turns on the spot.

She sways with the motions of days gone past, as if she’s caught time in her hands — the elixir to it in her mug of wine clasped firmly in her grip — and Nate praises her.

Adam didn’t catch the name, he didn’t care for it six decades ago and he doesn’t think he’ll bother remembering it now. But he’s certain it’s something as ridiculous sounding as it looks... if she weren’t doing it surprising justice.

When she spins in Felix’s arms, the silver, sparkling discs of her dress catch in the station’s white light and he’s dazzled...more than he usually already is.

No. Not drunk.

Just happy.

In the handful of instances she stops by him during her social rounds, she asks if he wants anything -- a refill of the uninspiring wine? -- and his responses are short. Yes. No. Good. Hmm. And when he doesn’t have the words he manages a slight shake of his head or a passive shrug.

Too distracted by the smile on her face, the mischief he can see twinkling behind her eyes. Sometimes, he can believe it. That she was a troublemaker, up to no good with too much time on her hands, and not this...woman...this decorous facade of pencil skirts, unscuffed heels, and neatly ironed blouses.

He can hear it in the deep, unearthed tone she takes when she lands a passing, unassuming, coquettish comment.

The reason he keeps his answers mono-syllabic.

He watches as she hovers over the snack table, where the food has undoubtedly gone cold, compiling a paper plate of random assortments and grabbing a tin of soda. And when he can no longer see her, he follows the sound of her heels out of the main floor towards the entrance -- barely visible from the wall he’s been hugging all night.

Olivia places the plate on the officer’s desk currently on graveyard duty. He's been longingly listening to and watching the party taking place just a few steps away. But he thanks the detective kindly, playfully clinks tin against mug of wine.

She meets his eye on the way back -- brief, ever so brief -- before turning her gaze downward.

“You should come,” she said, directing her attention to the rest of the group. She avoided his stare, almost always avoiding his stare when it came to matters of bypassing his jurisdiction. But flitted reflexively to him, and then swivelled back to Nate and Felix (briefly over Mason), and she repeated. “All of you. You’re practically honourary members of the division.”

And although she didn’t say it to him, Adam knows (hopes?) she expected him to answer the invitation.

Earlier in the evening (much earlier because how long is this going to go on for?), Nate asks him if he’s enjoying himself and Adam muddles together a gruff answer.

His response, with the words “work commitment” hardly audible, prompts bark-like laughter from the second-in-command and claps him on the shoulder before heading back towards the crowd.

At the end of the night, which finally arrives right when Adam decides he can’t take another rendition of the tracklist that’s been on loop for the past four hours, he stays behind to help the detective clean up.

He sends the rest of the unit home, much to Mason’s relief and much to Felix’s displeasure, and volunteers to make sure the detective catches her cab and gets home safely.

Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself after Felix winks at him, corralled out of the station by Nate.

And then they’re alone... save for the officer who’s gone on his break.

She moves about space, clearing paper cups and forgotten plates of food in a large garbage bag. And she talks, and talks, and talks.

Adam loses track of what exactly, he’s just too busy listening to the quality of her voice. A little hoarse after all the chatting over the music and enthusiastic laughter. It gives it a new edge, one he could grow to like -- the sudden deep, tender quality of it.

Definitely not drunk as she launches into a spiel about something or other Nate taught her last week.

She tends to do this, jabber on about absolutely nothing in particular when it’s just the two of them. And although he prefers silence, he welcomes it. Because sometimes she’s not actually talking to him, instead using the stoic agent’s still presence to bounce ideas off of.

Not like he minds.

He’ll be whatever she needs him to be.

Adam tenses, unaware of where the thought could have surfaced out of so easily. He shocks himself out of his trance, out of following the detective around the room with soft, measured steps. Out of the unconscious non-committal noises he punctuates breaks in her speech with.

He stops just short of the doorway of the kitchenette.

Olivia turns to face him after dumping a number of coffee cups in the sink. She quirks an eyebrow, wiping her hands in a tea towel before casting it aside. Her mouth opens, but whatever witty remark she has ready dies in her throat.

Adam can’t decipher the zoetrope of emotions that flicker then disappear, hiding and lurking behind a wily smile. Her mouth is the colour of wild berries, purples and reds, and the crisp jasmine notes in her perfume remind him of a frosty mid-afternoon -- low winter sun in his eyes as he wades through a forest.

He can’t look right at her.

Gleaming winks of silver, a peek of white teeth, and a twinkle behind a dark curtain of hair.

“What?”

He can scarcely recognise his voice, mostly a husky and unexpected croak.

A full view of pearly teeth and the stretch of Mondeuse Blanche shiraz-coloured lips.

Adam almost misses the throw-away manner she points a finger up in the space in between them. For a fraction of a second, he’s distracted from the sudden kick of her heart and flickers his gaze to where she’s directing him.

Obnoxious oval-shaped gold leaves, thickly crowded plastic branches, and pearly-coloured fake berries hover in the space he’s decidedly placed between them. His stomach lurches in immediate recognition of the artificial plant.

“Mistletoe,” she chuckles an airy sort of sound. Different from all the crass, rough gleeful noises she made all night.

A sound, maybe, she might wield against his sanity?

Adam’s gone rigid, the heat he’s been staving off all night makes a mockery of him, only egged on by the tugging of her lips when he glances back down at her.

She steps closer and he can’t react fast enough, genetic mutations damned under her vexatious gaze. Her heart thumps a little heavier, a chaotically determined sound he can’t fend off.

His own heart starts up that racket he’s grown to call reckless.

“I heard,” she begins, so close now he can see the little scar on her nose from an old piercing. Tannin, oak, and jasmines -- the sparkling and sweet scent of violet from her lipstick, “that it’s bad luck...to refuse a kiss under the mistletoe.”

The click of the ‘k’ and the hiss of the ‘s’ in that word hanging so heavy in the air, the breath of its remnants brush his cheek. Faintly, his mind wanders between two realms. One of old wives tales and superstitions where a kiss is required for every berry in the bunch and, the second, how, if it weren’t for those heels, where would that breath have landed instead?

Her sly grin is tickled by his lack of response, the stiffness creeping into his muscles and his conflicted expression.

“Commanding Agent, do you -- maybe -- want to help me…” she begins, another step closer and this time he doesn't think he wants to move, “fight off any unnecessary misfortunes?”

Adam doesn’t recognise himself. He doesn’t know where it comes from, or how he’s sanctioned the movement of his body. It’s minimal, but to Olivia, who has spent the last year fighting off the hunger from the nearly nonexistent mementoes, it’s colossal.

The smug smile on her face nearly slips.

It’s the tiniest, faintest, barely discernible half-nod as his gaze refuses to leave the curve of her lower lip. Fuller, rounder... he’s thought of the seam of her mouth longer than he’d like to dwell on.

She moves forward and there are no thoughts just the drumming in his chest that pounds a deafening beat. Her hand finds his first, a comfort from the heat roaring inside him, and he responds by tracing the lines of her palms with jittery fingertips.

Olivia shivers and why does that thrill him? He wonders how long until she decides to put him out of his misery.

Please. Please. Please. The thumping against his ribcage wants to meet the erratic pulse of hers.

Roused by his response, her other hand so warm and soft draws a curious path up his arm, over the swell of his bicep and past his shoulder before it hesitates to fully press at the back of his neck where he knows she can feel fevered skin.

It takes her an eternity, staring up at him with hooded eyes, dark fluttering eyelashes almost touching the tops of her cheeks. And he’d wait until whatever comes after that eternity.

This is the closest she’s ever been to him and he can’t help but revere the details he once took for granted.

Olivia rises and the hand behind his neck cautiously coaxes him to meet her.

And then, right as he thinks the world beneath his feet as he knows it will be thrown off its axis, she tilts her head a fraction and the hot press of her mouth meets his blushing cheek instead.

She lingers and everything amplifies.

She is a dizzying bottle of Chianti, left out in the sun too long, and warming him all the way down with each indulgent sip.

A field of blooming shrubs of jasmines.

Warm, brisk, spring morning sun.

He hears her deeply inhale, and does he have the same effect on her like she does on him?

His heightened senses register the moment she parts and moves away, suddenly cold and left with the weight of the cream of her lipstick.

Her touch is deliberate, soaking up the feel of his skin, the fine hairs at his nape, under her gliding palms -- and she settles back on her heels.

The imprint of her lips remains on his cheek, willing it to singe him -- mark him -- so he never has to forget what they feel like. The pressure of her mouth, the moment her breath shuddered.

Olivia makes to touch his cheek, to wipe away all evidence with the sweep of her thumb, but Adam stops her. He catches her wrist with reflexes she’ll never get used to.

He closes his eyes and he tunes in to the demanding call of his heart, thundering, thundering, thundering. And it won’t still.

Just a moment longer.

Is what it would ask.

Just a moment longer, so he can memorise the feel of her mark on his skin -- of the instance she cherished him, made room for him, during a fleeting blip that will be her life.

Olivia moves again, fighting against the gentle strength of his hand, and she rubs the pad of her thumb once, twice, three times. Until the smudge of her affection is reduced to a memory.

She smiles, unlike the smiles she shared earlier. There is no arrogance, no teasing, no playful ridicule.

She smiles -- with those lips that have touched him.

A sharp ringing echoes in the tiny kitchenette and, like he’s waking from a deep sleep, he blinks away the haze of their bewitchment.

As if nothing happened, Olivia digs into her purse, sources her mobile and answers. The conversation is brief, he doesn’t follow any of it, still reeling from her magnetism.

“My cab’s outside,” she says when she hangs up.

Still paralyzed, Olivia meets his eye and grins, before she drops her gaze to the floor.

She shakes her head and releases a small, anxious laugh. She touches his arm when she moves past him, out of the kitchenette, and heads for the exit.

He watches her leave, listening to the light click-clack of heels, still shaking her head and-- he practically hears the smile in her voice when she calls out behind her.

“Happy holidays, Commanding Agent du Mortain.”

Note II: Yeah, it’s The Twist. Nate was teaching Felix and Olivia the twist....because I said so and because i hc N being really into the 60s/70s music scene....long legs.....in....flared....jeans. So many typos. But if I didn’t post it when I did I was never going to post it.

#the wayhaven chronicles #a du mortain #adam du mortain #adam du mortain x detective #i wrote this in a haze of sleep deprivation ...bone smack the teeth #writing #y’all see typos you look away I’m too fra jeel e.#the amount of #repetition is astounding lol okay I’m done rereading before I go 🍌#I really loved an italicized word huh #tuagonia writes twc

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Secret Love Part 4 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note:

Warnings: cursing, discussion of sexual activities

Word Count: 3,911

~~~~

You’d tossed and turned for almost an hour before you had eventually drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken by the Denver sunrise spilling through the window. Groaning softly you made a mental note for the shopping trip...curtains...Cale definitely needed curtains. Laying on the couch, you played on your phone for a few minutes before the need to use the bathroom finally took over.

After knocking quietly on Cale’s door with no response, you cracked it open hoping to sneak through to the bathroom without disturbing him. As you tiptoed across his bedroom floor, you couldn’t help but let your eyes fall on him. As expected, he was shirtless, blankets falling only midway up his exposed chest. His hair was a mess, and a relaxed expression covered his face. Quietly closing the bathroom door behind you, you chastised yourself for the heat that flooded through you. You were just friends and despite his now single status, that was all this was ever going to be.

Relieving yourself, you then quickly brushed your teeth before quietly moving back to the living room, easing his door shut behind you. His parents were going to be here in about an hour and after starting a pot of coffee you examined the contents of Cale’s fridge and cabinets. Finding bacon, eggs, and pancake mix you decided to make everyone breakfast. It was as you were moving around the kitchen that Cale finally appeared, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re making breakfast?” He murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of your head.

“I am…” You smiled, checking on the bacon in the oven as you scrambled eggs in a pan on the stove. Cale poured himself a cup of coffee and you felt his eyes on you once more.

“Anything I can do?” He questioned after a moment.

“Get some plates?” You requested. “How do you want your eggs?” The clatter of plates filled your ears for a moment as Cale set plates beside you.

“However you’re making them is perfect.” He insisted, sharing a warm grin now that he was a little bit more awake. Nodding you took one of the plates and scooped a hefty portion of eggs onto it before pulling the bacon from the oven and the pancakes from where they were keeping warm in the microwave and piling those onto the plate as well.

“Eat up.” You grinned, turning to place the plate in front of one of the bar stools at the island. Doing another batch of eggs quickly you set everything aside to keep warm before serving yourself a much smaller portion. Taking a seat beside him, you shook your head as you watched Cale continue to dig into his breakfast. The moment felt a little too domestic and natural so you were thankful when there was a knock at the door that signaled that Laura and Gary had arrived.

It wasn’t long after that before you were quickly getting ready and heading out with Laura to go shopping for things for Cale’s apartment. The first place you stopped was Starbucks and then you were off to a local shopping center to do some damage.

“You seem more relaxed…” Laura mentioned as she sat waiting for the light to turn green.

“Yeah uh...we talked after dinner last night. We’re good.” You shrugged. Yes you were close with Laura, but you really didn’t want to tell her the details of your friendship with her son. She seemed to accept that because she nodded and smiled.

“Good. I’m glad.” Her response ended the subject and instead she focused on the task ahead. “So you’ve spent a decent amount of time in Cale’s apartment...what does he still need other than what he mentioned to me?”

“Well curtains would be good. Waking up to the sun isn’t always ideal.” You said, a yawn slipping from your throat. “He could also use a throw blanket for the couch.” You added, pondering over what comforts Cale’s apartment seemed to be missing that would make it feel more like a home.

Wandering through aisles, Laura did most of the shopping, occasionally asking for your thoughts on something before either tossing it into the cart or putting it back on the shelf. As you walked through the aisle containing photo frames you paused.

“What do you think about surprising him with some pictures?” You suggested. He had a couple pieces of ‘artwork’ but there really weren’t any family photos to be found as far as you could see.

“Why don’t you take the reins on that?” Laura replied, a soft look you couldn’t place filling her eyes as she handed you her phone. “Text yourself anything from my camera roll.” As she looked through possible throw pillows, you quickly scanned through the pictures, texting yourself a half dozen that would be perfect. Agreeing to meet up in about fifteen minutes, you headed back to the instant photo machine, plugging your phone in to print the pictures from Laura’s gallery as well as a couple from your own. Satisfied with what you had, you moved back to the frames, picking out one for each photo before moving to find some command strips to hang them with.

On the car ride back to Cale’s place, you worked to get each photo into a frame. By the time Laura pulled back into the garage you were finished and you helped her carry all of the shopping bags inside. Cale had given his mom the spare key in case the two of you were done before he got back and after letting yourselves inside, you went to work on making Cale’s apartment feel just a little cozier. Together you hung curtains up in his living room, tossing pillows and the sherpa throw onto the couch. Then Laura helped you with hanging photos on his bedroom wall while a few of them were placed stationary on a side table in his living room. Laura unpacked the rest of the things Cale had asked her to buy and then the two of you settled onto the couch to watch tv until the guys arrived.

Gary and Cale had picked up lunch on the way home, so the four of you sat down to eat. When you finished, Cale handed you a gift bag and though you had a feeling you knew what it was, you were still anxious to open it. Navy fabric accented with maroon and white spilled around your fingers and you gently ran your fingers over the number 8 and lettering of the nameplate.

“Can’t have you come to the game tonight without proper apparel.” Cale murmured and you jumped up quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“It’s perfect.” You agreed. You’d packed the Makar home jersey that you’d bought yourself at the beginning of the season, but you had to admit the thirds were your favorite jersey and getting the jersey from Cale meant just a little bit more than buying one for yourself.

As you cleaned up lunch, Cale started to settle in, getting ready to take his pregame nap. He had acknowledged the curtains, blanket, pillows and other things his mom had gotten him but it wasn’t until he disappeared into his bedroom for a moment that his eyes must have caught the photos. He’d only been gone maybe 30 seconds when he returned, pulling his mom into a huge hug, his eyes soft.

“You framed pictures for me?” He muttered softly.

“That idea was all Y/N.” Laura quickly clarified and immediately Cale turned to you, his arms wrapping around you just as tightly.

“That’s incredible. Thank you.” He whispered into your ear, and when he pulled back his hands lingered on your hips for a moment more.

Soon you were grabbing everything you’d need for the game because you were headed with Laura and Gary to play tourist while Cale napped and then headed to the rink. Laura and Gary had already headed downstairs while you debated on a shirt to wear and you didn’t even notice Cale come up beside you as you dug through your bag.

“Wear that one.” He instructed, pointing to a wine red long-sleeved off-the-shoulder blouse. “We’re going out after the game if we win.” He clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. You were already wearing your favorite pair of jeans and had thrown on a cute pair of tennis shoes for running around. You weren’t exactly a club type of person but going out with Cale and his teammates did seem fun.

“Okay.” You agreed, disappearing into his bathroom to change tops before returning. “Have a good nap. And kick some ass tonight.” You teased, grabbing your makeup bag because you’d barely put any on to go shopping and if you were going out tonight you were going to need to rethink your current makeup. With everything you needed, you snuck a kiss to Cale’s cheek before disappearing out the door to meet Gary and Laura down at the car.

____

The last time you saw Cale play live was versus Calgary during the playoffs. So sitting in the stands of the Pepsi Center watching him warm up was an entirely different experience. You’d watched him on tv many times but in person it was clear to see just how much his game was growing every day. He was almost mesmerizing to watch and tucked in next to Laura, wrapped in his jersey, you felt at peace. Well, at least until the puck dropped for real.

During a commercial break in the first period, the Avs announced a promo game. After the participant was introduced and the game was explained, a baby picture popped up on the screen. In it, a little boy, no more than 9 or 10 months old, sat between the legs of a little girl around the age of five who had a book in her hands. Immediately your own cheeks flushed as you recognized the picture, it was one of your favorites from when you and Cale were super little. The fan playing got one guess of who it was with no options to win an autographed jersey, but they were way off and guessed Nate for some reason. Then multiple choice popped up with Cale’s name, JT’s, and Gabe for a chance at an autographed puck. You didn’t even pay attention to the guess beyond hearing the boos signaling they got it wrong, but instead your gaze landed on Cale who was looking up at the screen, hiding a smile as he took some ribbing by his teammates. Eventually his eyes drifted up to where you were seated and he sent a little wink that you would have missed if you weren’t looking at him. From beside you Laura just smiled and bumped your shoulder, signaling without words just how strong your friendship with Cale really was.

The Avs played a solid all around game and you cheered with each goal scored. Cale had two assists on the night and with the team coming out with the win you knew he was going to be in a good mood. Heading down to the locker room, you listened as Gary rambled on about the game as hockey dads do while sharing looks with Laura that made you burst into laughter.

When Cale finally stepped out of the locker room he hugged his parents before lifting you up and spinning you around.

“You ready to go have some fun?” He inquired, boyish smile on his face.

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Laura warned, though her expression wasn’t all that serious.

“As if I’d let him.” You joked. For years Cale’s family had the running joke of you being the more responsible one keeping Cale in line. It wasn’t always true obviously, but for the most part the point stood. Still after the past few weeks Cale had had, you were willing to let him go just a little bit crazy tonight, knowing that you would be there as his safety net.

“We’ll see you both tomorrow.” Gary grinned. “Go relax and have a good time.” Cale’s arm drifted around your waist as he tugged you to his car. Once there, you stripped off the jersey leaving you in just the blouse and as he pulled out of the garage you mussed up your hair just a little bit. Using the mirror, you carefully added a little more eyeliner before throwing on a dark lipstick, tossing both cylinders into the cupholder beside you.

By the time you stepped out of the car at the club you felt ready for a night out and as you watched Cale shed his jacket, you felt his eyes on you once more.

Waiting for him to be ready to head inside, you watched as a tall redhead approached, beautiful woman tucked into his side.

“Y/N...this is JT and his girlfriend Lauren.” Cale introduced and you reached a hand out to shake theirs before tucking your hand back into your pocket.

“So this is the best friend.” JT said, smirking. “Bout time Cale finally brought you around, he’s been talking about you for forever.”

“Really?” You teased, ready to throw out a semi-embarrassing tidbit until Cale grabbed you by the waist, his finger falling to your lips to shush you as he guided you inside.

“Can you at least let me get a drink or two in me before you start spilling the embarrassing stories?” He pleaded jokingly.

“I suppose.” You conceded, smiling as he guided you up to the VIP lounge and over to the bar. Settling for a glass of wine, you watched him order a beer for himself before leading you over to one of the many couches. It wasn’t long before you were being introduced to all of Cale’s teammates.

Gabe was boisterous and funny and the way that he looked at his wife Mel made you smile brightly. Josty was a character, he had you laughing almost immediately as he told stories about all of the media events he’d done with Cale and what he’d learned from residing in the same building. He was definitely giving you ammo to use later. Then again they all were, chirps had been flying left and right all night.

You’d been nursing the same glass of wine for about an hour, watching as Cale downed another 2-3 beers as well as a shot that Burky handed him. It was nice to see Cale out with people that clearly cared about him and you knew this was probably the first time he had really been able to let go of all of the stress since the pregnancy scare.

Eventually Mel and Lauren dragged you out onto the dance floor with the other better halves and even though you’d barely had anything to drink, the beat of the music had you relaxing, enjoying the time you had getting to know the people who were part of Cale’s other family.

“You know his eyes haven’t left you all night.” Mel eventually declared, her voice barely audible over the loud music.

“He’s always been a little protective…” You simply shrugged. The look Mel and Lauren shared suggested that they weren’t buying that logic but they didn’t push things. After a few more songs, you left the dance floor to head to the bar for a bottle of water. While there a tall….like really tall, dark haired man who looked like he should star in the next hollywood vampire blockbuster, slipped up beside you, his arm brushing against yours lightly. As you placed him as Cale’s d-partner you smiled up at him before looking back at where the bartender was rushing back and forth.

“You know none of us have ever seen him like this before…” Ryan murmured. “He comes out but he never really lets loose. Now I don’t know whether that’s because it’s the first time we’ve been out since everything happened or if it’s because you’re here but I suspect it’s more to do with the latter.” You didn’t really know what to say to that so you shrugged. “And I’m not saying that in the manner of he feels like you’re the babysitter who will take care of him, I’m saying that he feels comfortable because you’re here in a way he was never comfortable either by himself or with Sara.” Ryan finally managed to get the bartender’s attention and he ordered your water along with whatever he was drinking before continuing. “And I’m sure Cale never said anything and neither did anyone else but...you should know everyone really likes you. And I can’t say the same for Sara.” Just as quickly as he’d appeared, Ryan had walked off and you glanced over at Cale to see his eyes planted firmly on you, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol.

Water in hand, you moved to Cale’s side, his arm wrapping around you immediately. The redness in his eyes told you he’d had a little bit more to drink than he probably should have and you pushed your water his way, not wanting him to be completely impossible to drag home. The grin on his face was lazy as he took the bottle, showing how completely relaxed and at ease he was.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a long sip of the water and you tilted your head to observe him, tie gone and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His fingers slipped just under the edge of your shirt along your hip and you took your own sip from the bottle of water trying to hide the flush that filled your body at the feeling of his fingertips on your bare skin. Passing the water back to him, it was soon gone and once the bottle was empty you stood, looking over your shoulder.

“Are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come dance with me?” You inquired, your tongue running against your bottom lip. Stumbling just slightly, Cale slipped out of the booth and his hand fell to the curve of your back as he guided you over to where his teammates and their significant others were dancing.

With Cale’s chest pressed against your back, his hands fell to your hips once more and the pads of his fingers wandered over every inch of skin they could reach. His touch had never affected you like this before, he’d never been this brazen before, but you chalked both of those factors up to the alcohol. Though you’d only had two glasses of wine since you arrived, wine had always made you far warmer than any other form of alcohol so the heat in your skin was definitely just from that.

“So I have a question…” Cale’s breath fanned over your ear as he leaned down to whisper yell at you, allowing you to hear him over the rap song that was playing.

“Yes Cale?” You replied, tilting your body back against his so that you could see his face. It was even rosier than before and his soft smile was replaced by a serious and focused look causing your eyebrow to quirk at the sight.

“Women like having oral sex performed on them right?” For a split second you were certain that it was only Cale’s hold on you that kept you from falling right over. Choking on your own saliva as you tried to swallow you quickly coughed, your cheeks even more flushed than you could attribute to the wine.

“I...I mean from what I’ve heard yeah…” You finally stumbled out an answer. “Why?” Your question was ignored as Cale’s hands tightened around your hips.

“You’ve heard?” Cale prodded. “You don’t know?” Cursing under your breath you shivered as Cale’s thumb stroked a sensitive spot along your side.

“Cale…” You mumbled, not drunk enough for this conversation. He poked you in the side though signaling you to continue and you groaned. “I mean...I had sex for the first time freshman year of college and we didn’t exactly know what we were doing…” You explained, softly enough that only Cale would hear you. “And I mean I’ve only had sex one other time...it was a one night stand and we were both way too drunk to do anything but fuck. So yeah...I’m just taking other people’s word on it...why are you asking Cale?” You finished, twisting in his arms so that you could look at him properly. His head ducked to press against the crook of your neck and he hissed quietly as you drug your nails along his lower back.

“Just curious…” Cale breathed. “Sara never let me...I mean I wanted to but...she told me she wasn’t interested.” For a moment you didn’t know what to say as that little piece of you celebrated the fact that it seemed there were a lot of things he didn’t do with his ex girlfriend.

“Oh...I mean everyone has their own likes and dislikes…” You reminded him. “But generally equal reciprocation is definitely appreciated.”

As the song ended, Gabe called Cale’s name to go take another shot and you pushed him to go murmuring that you were going to run to the bathroom. By the time you returned, you suspected it was definitely time to get Cale home, so you sidled up to his side, slipping your hand in his front pocket for his car keys.

“I think it’s time we get you home and to bed rockstar.” You declared. Thankfully Cale didn’t put up much of a fight, closing his tab before letting you lead him out of the club. By the time you had parked in his garage, you could see how sleepy the alcohol was making him and you moved around to help him out of the car, his body nearly dragging yours down with its weight.

Stumbling through the door, you urged him to start to bed while you got him more water and some pain killers. Gathering both, you moved to his room after checking to ensure the front door was locked. You found him sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in only boxer briefs and though you tried not to stare, your body couldn’t help but notice that gone was the teenage boy you once knew and in his place was a man plain and simple. Setting the water and pills on his bedside table, you urged him to take his contacts out.

Once you were certain he was fairly settled, you turned to make your way to the couch. Instead, Cale’s hands reached out to pull you back to him and as he scooted to the far side of the bed, he drug you down with him.

“Cale…” You mumbled in complaint but his eyes were already closed and his breathing was starting to steady out, his hands keeping your body pressed tightly against his. Sighing, you managed to work yourself out of your jeans before giving in and settling in his arms.

Between your conversation with Gravy, the looks Mel and Lauren were giving you, Cale’s inquiry, wandering hands, and this, so many lines had been blurred tonight that it was making you dizzy.

For the second night in a row...your mind reeled as you fell into a fitful sleep.

Blouse:

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #cavalanche #038

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homeformyheart · 3 years

Text

simply be mine - adam du mortain x f!detective (twc)

author’s note: i needed to write a fluff piece after my last fic, “cottage by the sea,” and got inspiration while listening to a couple songs (see prompt line below) for a new years’ eve party fic. i hope you enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – adam du mortain x f!detective (regina bishop) rating/warnings: 14+; descriptions of drinking word count: 3.1k based on/prompt: “only girl in the world” by rihanna / “one and only” by adele summary: adam struggles to understand why anyone would care about human new years’ eve traditions, but when he finds out regina enjoys them, he finds himself intrigued.

simply be mine

when regina walked into the warehouse living room an hour before the agency’s new years’ eve party, she was pleasantly surprised to see unit bravo somewhat dressed up, even if they were standing around brooding like usual. she was both surprised and excited that she was invited to attend as well, without having to be someone’s plus one, even though she had been assured by both nate and farah that they would’ve invited her. she giggled internally at the memory of farah practically jumping off the walls of the warehouse living room in excitement, yelling what seemed like a hundred words per minute about going shopping and getting ready together.

she quickly learned that the rest of unit bravo hated attending agency work functions and avoided them as much as they could. however, everyone was “strongly encouraged” to attend the new years’ eve party, which she gathered from both morgan and adam that what the agency meant was “we better see you there or we’ll give you the worst cases next year.” she thought they were probably exaggerating a tiny bit, but let it slide.

perhaps to make up for the fact that they’d have to spend the night in a brightly lit and loud room for several hours with colleagues they didn’t care for, regina found that unit bravo had already started pregaming before she arrived, and they pregamed hard. she saw firsthand the sheer amount of alcohol they needed to consume just to feel a little buzzed.

another rare upside to being human, regina noted, a couple of shots of any brown liquor and she was good to go. of course, she only managed one shot of nate’s vintage prohibition-era whiskey before he snatched it away and started lecturing her on its rarity and history and had to settle for farah’s tequila.

“regina, do a shot with me!” farah practically screamed, bounding over to her with a half-empty bottle of tequila and limes in one hand and a pinch of salt in the palm of her other hand.

“who taught you how to do a tequila shot?” she asked incredulously as farah poured a generous shot for them both and handed her a lime.

“i looked it up online!” she said with such a proud look on her face that regina could only smile fondly at the person who had become her best friend on the team.

they both knocked back the shots and cringed, the salt and limes providing little relief to the burn; regina could only assume it was maybe ten times worse for farah. but then farah drained whatever was left in the bottle and let out a loud whoop before wrapping regina up in a big hug.

“i am soooooooo glad we get to celebrate with youuu!! you are the best person on this teammmmmm, after me, of course,” farah shouted and regina couldn’t help but laugh.

adam raised an eyebrow. “you mean she’s the best human on the team, don’t you, farah?”

“nopeeeeeeeeeeee. regina’s the bestttttttttt of us and you can’t convince me otherwiseeeee,” she said in a singsong voice, much to everyone else’s annoyance.

“hey farah, why don’t you put on some pre-party music?” regina suggested. farah’s eyes lit up and she sped away and disappeared before regina could blink.

she felt adam’s large presence behind her, casting a figurative shadow over her in the living room. the room was softly lit by the chandelier farah herself had selected, much to morgan’s annoyance. regina let herself lean back slightly without actually touching adam’s chest, knowing it would tempt him to wrap his hands around her waist.

except he only kept one hand hovering near her hip as he said in a low murmur, “you really shouldn’t encourage her, you know.”

the corner of her lips twitched as though it wanted to break into a smile, but regina knew adam wouldn’t appreciate being teased about being a ‘stick in the mud’ considering each member of unit bravo took their turn throughout the day telling him to lighten up.

“you know she’s not going to stop, so just let her have her fun,” she winked as a familiar song started vibrating through the walls, followed by farah’s vocals. “we’ll be heading out soon anyway.”

morgan let out a sound that was a cross between a loud huff and a growl as she stomped outside, cigarettes in hand.

“i want you to love me, like a hot ride,” farah sang out as she appeared in the living room, twirling gracefully as she leaped over the table to land in front of regina. “be thinking of me, doing what you like.”

regina laughed as adam sighed loudly, intending obviously for them to hear, before he walked over to where nate was leaning against the bookshelf with a glass of wine. she immediately missed the warmth of his body behind her, or rather, the tingle she got in her spine from the prospect of his touch. she took a long sip of her whiskey, willing herself to actually enjoy tonight and not dwell on the lack of progress between her and adam.

“come on, regina, sing with me!” farah grabbed her hand and started twirling her around, whatever was left of the whiskey sloshing out of the glass and on to the floor.

“want you to make me feel, like i’m the only girl in the world,” regina belted alongside farah, throwing her head back. “like i’m the only one you’ll ever love; like i’m the only one who knows your heart.”

farah grabbed the wine bottle on the table by nate before he could intervene and put it to her mouth like a microphone. “only girl in the worlddddd,” she crooned, before collapsing into a giggling fit on the couch, bringing regina down with her.

despite wanting to roll his eyes at farah’s antics, even nate couldn’t help but smile at how cheerful his family was and how nice it was to celebrate the holidays together.

“we should get going soon,” he said, finishing his glass of wine.

“no, wait, regina’s not dressed!” farah said, immediately standing and pulling regina up with her.

“what are you talking about? i am dressed,” regina protested, motioning toward her tailored dress pants and blouse.

farah wrinkled her nose. “oh honey, no. this is a fancy party and you need to dress like it. come on!” before she could protest further, farah had dragged her back toward her room.

* * * * * “you know, regina might appreciate it if you partake in some new years’ traditions,” nate said quietly, glancing over at his longtime friend, who was staring out the window.

adam looked over at him with one eyebrow raised. “and what traditions would that be?”

nate smiled mischievously. “well, the one that seems to be really popular among humans is kissing someone at midnight.”

nate could feel adam’s shoulders tense a fraction of a second before he saw the physical movement itself. “that is an impractical and inane tradition. i would think the detective to be above such childish antics.”

now it was nate’s turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “and i think she’d appreciate the romantic gesture. it’s not childish to want to ring in the new year with someone you care for.”

before adam could retort, the sound of heels clacking along the hallway and the gentle swishing movement of fabric drew his attention toward the only thing that was capable of unraveling centuries of carefully architected walls with a single glance. regina appeared in the living room, farah’s arm looped in hers, dressed in a strapless black floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline and slit that went all the way up to her mid-thigh.

adam’s eyes followed the length of the slit; the creamy complexion of her skin drawing him in. his gaze traced the way the fabric clung to her curves, dipping at the waist before cupping her chest. her hair was styled in soft waves to one side, leaving her collarbone and neck exposed. he didn’t realize his eyes were continuing to trace the delicate lines of her neck and jaw, before they landed on her red lips. they were lighter than blood and yet, just as, if not more, enticing to him.

he watched as the corner of those luscious lips quirked up into a smirk, which seemed to snap him out of his trance. his gaze shot upward to meet her teasing blue ones, not realizing that his feet seemed to move of their own accord until he was standing right in front of her.

“can i help you, commanding agent du mortain?” regina said, the low and sultry tone of her voice sending warmth south in an unfamiliar, but not wholly unpleasant way.

adam’s throat suddenly felt dry – an odd, human-like sensation that made him pause, until he realized that regina was suddenly very close. too close. he inwardly begged his legs to take a step back, but they wouldn’t budge, and he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to anyway.

“your… dress. it’s impractical. what if you were to get attacked?” he said slowly after clearing his throat, clasping his hands behind his back.

regina smiled and gazed up at him knowingly, a look that was both infuriating and intoxicating. as though she could read every piece of his soul back to him and love all of him anyway.

“don’t worry, i have my volt gun strapped to my thigh, see?” she reached for his hand, her touch sending a jolt up his arm that would worry him for medical reasons if he were human, but instead was stoking a deep primal urge within him as she moved it toward the back of her thigh.

the familiar rectangular gun was firm underneath his fingers and even though regina had let go of his hand, he held on, not quite allowing himself to graze her skin, but feeling her body heat at the tips of his fingertips all the same.

“besides, i know you all will be keeping an eye on me,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. adam could hear the flutter of each lash against the air and found himself wondering how they’d feel against his skin as she kissed her way down his chest.

“of course, i— i mean, we, won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, moving his hand back behind him, flexing it once before resuming his stance.

“well, i only care that you are keeping an eye on me, commanding agent,” she said, giving him a flirty wink before putting on her coat and following farah out to the car.

adam let out an audible groan and rubbed his face with his hands. nate clasped a hand on his shoulder and he looked over to see his best friend was smirking at him.

“it’s okay. but if you’re going to pretend like there’s nothing between you all night, then you won’t mind if we all take turns dancing with her, right?” his smile only widened as adam’s mouth parted in stunned surprise. “come on or we’ll be late.”

* * * * * adam stood, tense and rigid, in a corner of the ballroom near the balcony doors with morgan, who ducked out every so often when the lights and sounds got to be too much, while nate and farah took turns dancing with regina. it baffled him how an entire room full of trained agents could let themselves potentially be compromised by partaking in such celebratory activities. even his own team, although he would admit only to himself that they needed the break.

farah loved the upbeat songs that allowed her to twirl regina around as fast as she could, and he wondered how regina could handle what must be incredibly dizzying and nauseating for a human. and then there was nate, who took advantage of the slow ballads and classic waltzing music sprinkled throughout the evening, to lead regina around in simple box steps. it was very unlike adam to care what his team did during events like this, as long as they behaved themselves, but something about how nate would lean in every once in a while to say something and make regina laugh made him want to crush every glass in sight.

he crossed his arms and glared at the back of nate’s head, knowing he was doing this to antagonize him, somehow. he felt his gaze unwillingly soften, however, whenever he felt regina’s eyes glance over at him. he quickly looked away when he realized she was walking toward him, surveying the room as though he was being vigilant.

“not fond of dancing?” she asked, the words coming out in soft gasps as she sought to catch her breath.

“i don’t see the point,” he said quickly, the defensiveness in his tone catching even him by surprise. surely, he didn’t need to explain himself.

“sometimes things don’t have to have a point to be enjoyable,” she offered, her voice pleasantly cutting through the din of the party. “and i really like dancing.”

regina let out a soft hum as nate arrived and handed her a drink. she drank it gratefully, giving nate a gentle smile that made adam grit his teeth. morgan appeared next to her and swiftly took regina’s drink, finishing it despite her half-hearted protest.

“so, regina, what is your favorite new years’ eve tradition?” nate asked, hiding his smile behind his glass of wine and ignoring adam’s pointed glare.

“oh well, i always like how excited everyone gets and parties like this are definitely fun,” regina answered, pausing for just a moment to look down at her glass hesitantly before continuing, “but the best one is of course getting to kiss someone at midnight.”

“it’ll be midnight soon, do you have anyone you plan to kiss yet?” morgan asked, slinging an arm around regina’s shoulders. “i’m free at midnight, if you’re interested.”

adam cleared his throat. “that would be unprofessional, agent.”

morgan brought another cigarette to her lips. nate stopped her hand with the lighter and motioned to the balcony. “let’s get some air, morgan, and leave these two alone.”

“sure, if you think that means he’ll actually kiss her before i do,” morgan snickered, too soft for regina to hear but it was obviously directed at adam.

a soft romantic melody started playing over the speakers; a love ballad that regina was familiar with, judging by the way she started humming along and swaying gently in place.

i don't know why i'm scared i've been here before every feeling, every word i've imagined it all you'll never know if you never try to forget your past and simply be mine

regina blinked at adam’s sudden appearance in front of her, his large figure towering over hers and blocking the chandelier from her sight.

“you like this song.” it technically wasn’t a question.

“um, i guess?” she asked, puzzled.

“you should dance,” he said, his hands itching to reach for hers.

regina tilted her head to the side and looked up at him searchingly, her blue eyes delicately framed by her long dark lashes. “are you asking me to dance?”

he pursed his lips into a thin, straight line. “you would need a partner, and seeing as no one else is around, i can… dance with you. if you’d like.”

her eyebrows shot up in surprise. she was not expecting adam du mortain to willingly admit to asking her to dance. she quickly looked around and noticed that most of the agents had gone out on the balcony to watch the fireworks.

she smiled and tucked her hand gently into his and led him to the dance floor. they settled into a swaying rhythm as regina wrapped her arms around his neck. adam hesitantly placed his hands on her waist, and a sweet heat bloomed throughout her body, making her feel flushed.

“i thought dancing was pointless?” she asked teasingly after encouraging him to shift his weight between his feet to match her movements.

adam lowered his head, as if he didn’t want anyone reading his lips or hearing what he was about to say. “with you… it doesn’t seem that way.”

regina shook her head fondly. “you continue to surprise me, commanding agent.”

i dare you to let me be your, your one and only i promise i'm worthy to hold in your arms so come on and give me the chance to prove i am the one who can walk that mile until the end starts

“i hope so,” he muttered quietly. “i have lived over nine centuries, yet every day with you seems new and uncertain.”

regina was afraid to ruin the moment by saying anything and decided to step closer and rest her head on his shoulder instead. she smiled when his hands tightened around her waist, bunching the fabric in a way that she was sure would leave wrinkles.

“10…9…8”

her head shot up at the sound of the crowd outside counting down the last few seconds to the new year. “i didn’t realize it was almost midnight, we should go join everyone.”

adam’s green eyes bore into hers and she was close enough that she could see little specks of gold reflected in them from the chandeliers and ornate décor throughout the room. “you… you want to kiss mor—ahem, someone at midnight.”

“7…6…5”

“oh, i didn’t mean anything by it,” she said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. she tried taking a step back only to find that adam was holding her tightly in place.

“but it’s a tradition you enjoy.” it was a statement, but he was looking for confirmation while trying to maintain his composure despite his heart hammering so loudly in his chest he thought regina would be able to hear it.

“4…3…2”

she dropped her hands from his shoulders and let them rest on his chest, fiddling with the lapels of his jacket nervously. “oh well, i— i suppose with someone i care for, yes.”

the final second and cheers from the balcony faded into the background as adam leaned forward and touched his lips lightly to hers; they were softer than he imagined, even with the layer of faded lipstick between them.

regina’s body instinctively arched closer to his as she sought to deepen the kiss, her hands scrambling for some part of his shirt she could hold on to. she barely registered that it was over all too soon as adam pulled back, her head spinning from the kiss in a good way.

“happy new year, detective,” he whispered hoarsely, resting his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back and walking away.

regina touched her lips to savor the pleasant tingling feeling the kiss had left behind. happy new year indeed.

* * * * * mentions: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @writer-ish; @fhauvilles;

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gingerbreton · 3 years

Text

first impressions

Summary:

After a rather bumpy first day working with Unit Bravo, Detective Neve Langford vents to Tina about one particular agent's lasting impression. (aka Adam made a bad first impression and Neve is gonna die mad about it)

Pairing: Tina & f!detective (background/future Adam x f!detective)

Notes:

This is my first time writing anything Wayhaven, I'm still feeling out character voices and getting used to Neve. Discord chat reminded me of my visceral reaction to the way Adam said "shock" in that first meeting scene. And so this teeny venture into Wayhaven was born, to let Neve have the rant she's been holding in for two and a bit books! Plus it was a fun excuse to write short sweet banter with my best girls. couldn’t resist the hot fuzz reference

Rating: T Word Count: 815

[Read of AO3]

The front doors of the station swing shut with a click, but Neve waits another moment just to be sure.

Beep boop beep boop…

Douglas’s game starting up again is confirmation enough that her new “colleagues” have finally left the building.

Something between a long held-back growl and scream breaks from her throat, shattering the silence of her office—the sound barely contained behind tightly pursed lips. Less than 24 hours into her first case and—

“I’ve been wondering how long it’d take you to make that noise since your mum showed up this morning,” Tina leans around the door, brandishing a steaming cup of coffee like a shield.

“I am having the shittiest day, Tee,” Neve whines, drumming her feet under the desk in a mini-tantrum.

“You had the shittiest day?” She flops dramatically into the chair opposite Neve. “The cast of CSI Wayhaven waltz into your office, and you have the audacity to tell me you’ve had a shitty day.”

“They work for my mother.” Tina whinces in sympathy as Neve pushes up from her desk, abandoning her coffee to pace in front of the window. “And their team leader is such a—”

She drags her fingers roughly through her hair - a waterfall of strawberry blonde falling back in front of her eyes when she’s done, and she still can’t find a word to adequately describe Commanding Agent Adam du Mortain. Dick just doesn’t seem to cut it.

A Chesire cat grin stretches across her friend’s face.

“Oh I see…”

“No, you don’t.” Neve ignores the gratuitous eyebrow waggling aimed at her from over the desk. “Seriously though, listen to this: so, I start talking about our victim and I say ‘we don’t have a cause of death yet’ and do you know what he said?” She pinches her fingers together to emphasise the point. “Shock.”

“No.”

“Mmhmm. Shock.” Neve manages to pause in her pacing long enough to fold her arms for effect before her rant continues.

“The fact that, yes, the woman did die of shock is beside the point. It’s the way he said it, Tee.” Her temper flares again just thinking about the exchange. “It wasn’t ‘the victim will have died of shock, Detective Langford’. It was ‘oh, surprise surprise, PC Plod. Fuck off back to Sandyford, the swan’s escaped.”

Neve snaps her lips shut, rolling them for good measure, having just realised how loud her rant had gotten.

“Right, I don’t care how hot they are,”—Tina stands to wrap her friend in a hug—“for you, I will glare at them all tomorrow. And not like a smouldering glare. Proper stink-eye.”

With a laugh, the pair sit back against the edge of the desk and Neve lets out a long sigh, trying to push away the last of her lingering irritation.

“You’ve got to admit though…” Tina smirks. “There was some chemistry.”

“There was not,” Neve snaps back, a little too fast —the memory of icy green eyes intruding on her thoughts.

“I can’t remember the last time you shouted at someone.”

“I can’t remember the last time I met someone that infuriating.”

She huffs, hoping a minor show of annoyance might hide the flush which creeps up the back of her neck, and bury the butterflies back under her mood.

‘Sparks.” Tina continues.

“There were no sparks.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s a good job we’re over the road from the fire station. That heat!”

“Stop it!”

But the conviction behind her words falls into laughter, the same way it always does when Tina brings her round from a bad mood.

---

A little way down the street, Unit Bravo stand looking towards the detective’s lit office window.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse.”

Nate decides to leave the fact that it obviously could’ve gone better to the imagination of the group.

“That’s true,” Farah chuckles, and he can tell what’s coming next before she opens her mouth again. “At least she didn’t pepper spray our almighty leader. This time.”

Adam shoves his fists with enough force into his coat pockets that it’s a miracle of tailoring the seams don’t tear. His mouth has been set in a tight line, brows deeply furrowed since it became evident he was the subject of the detective’s outburst.

“Don’t worry, Adam.” Farah reaches up to pat the team leader on the shoulder. “This’ll make for the best meet-cute story when I give my best woman speech at your wedding.”

If looks could kill, the glare Adam shoots her would’ve left a second body for the detective to investigate come the morning. Although, if anything, it only spurs on Farah’s laughter.

“Can we just get this over with?” Morgan stubs out her cigarette and gestures in the direction of the Farris warehouse.

Adam nods sharply and turns on his heel—evidently grateful to get away from the sound of the detective’s laughter.

#adam x neve #the wayhaven chronicles #twc detective #detective neve langford #neve langford #tina poname #adam du mortain #adam x detective #this is the first time i've posted fic on main in nearly 2 years and its scary af

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giggle-me-this · 3 years

Note

K 😳

5. Firm Kiss

Nate was lounging on Harriet’s made bed, blowing particularly artful (if Nate did say so himself—which he always did—) smoke rings from the lit joint that hung between his fingers. Loxley Blair was spinning in slow, lazy circles in a wheeled desk chair next to the bed, while Harriet herself was sat on the floor keeping her hands busy by rolling them another joint (unnecessary, certainly, but appreciated nonetheless…).

It reminded Nate of the dorm rooms at Ilvermorny, he thought with a striking sense of deja vu.

In fact, the three of them had been exiled for a few hours at the safehouse for being too American—apparently, three American accents all together could be grating on their European counterparts, the snobby pricks. Hence, hotboxing Nate’s sister’s bedroom.

“Never?” Harriet questioned Blair in her bored affect before licking the rolling paper and pressing it closed—her standard tone, but Nate could tell after years of picking up nuance that she was genuinely, somewhat surprised by this news.

“Nope,” answered Loxley, popping the ‘p’ at the end like a toddler.

“Not even a once?” Her green eyes flitted up for one moment and then back down to her task.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Bullshit…” Nate interjected, the side of his mouth twisted up in a smirk. “…I was your roommate. I heard noises—”

“But never because of me asking for it!” Loxley insisted, good-naturedly defensive. “It was always more like, I dunno—Tyler telling me I was a bad friend if I refused to be kissed. Platonically or whatever. But I never asked…”

“Okay. So what do you call this, then?” Nate raised a brow at the Naturalist, watching the cogs grind to a halt in Loxley’s thick skull as Nate metaphorically put his Queen in Check.

Loxley made a face, and then a lopsided grin. “…curiosity?”

Nate choked back a cough-laugh hybrid and sat up to put out the joint in the ashtray, while Harriet snickered and muttered something under her breath that sounded like ‘if I had a Knut for every time I heard that one…’

Nate shared a look with her, a silent exchange that could not have lasted more than several seconds. ‘Dare me?’ his seemed to say, and Harriet’s returning eyebrow-shrug was a resounding, ‘Please, like you don't want it.’

And then Nate turned his trifling smirk on Loxley-fucking-Blair—who was less-so tragically bi-curious and, obviously, more just Pinnock-curious. Join the motherfucking club.

“God—you’re such a cliché…” Nate said, amused, and then reached out with a hand on the back of Loxley’s neck to pull (or, more like wheel) the latter into a commanding kiss.

Loxley tensed and sputtered against Nate’s mouth for just a moment of resistance before sighing and relaxing into it. Nate heard Harriet whistle with mocking triumph, before he heard the clicking sound of a lighter sparking the next joint.

(@harrietpinnock)

#meme #loxley #harriet #drugs cw #nate and xi's flat #putney #drabble

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dlwritings · 4 years

Text

Little Fall of Rain | Peter Parker

masterlist found here

pairing - Peter x reader word count - 2,828 warnings - ANGST ANGST ANGST A/N - I watched Les Mis yesterday and got way deep in my feels and decided to write this

summary - You love Peter so much, and when he falls for your best friend, you have a hard time handling it. Who knew so much could go wrong so fast?

“(Y/N)! Wait up!”

You closed your locker and looked down the hall to see Peter running over to you. You smiled as he accidentally bumped into someone, paused to help them pick up their things, and continued his jog in your direction. “Hey,” you said with a chuckle. “What’s up?”

“You’re pretty close to MJ, right?” he asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Yeah? I guess.”

“Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?” he asked. Your heart dropped a bit, but you maintained your poker face.

“I’m not sure,” you said. “I don’t think so.”

“Has she ever-” He hesitated. “Well, we’ve been talking a little more lately, and I, I kind of have a crush on her?” The tips of his ears turned pink, but despite the embarrassment, he kept talking. “I just can’t tell if she feels the same way about me.” He looked at you expectantly, but you just stared at him blankly. “Could you maybe ask her? Not obviously,” he quickly added. “Just, see if you can casually drop it into a conversation.”

“Seriously?” you said.

“I’d owe you big time,” he said. “Please, (Y/N)?”

You hated his fucking puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” you said, giving him a tight smile. “Sure.”

“Ah, you’re the best!” he said, giving you a tight, eager hug. You relished in the feeling of his arms around you for a second before he let go and gave you a bright smile.

You and Peter had been good friends for a long time. Since elementary school. You developed a crush on him around middle school, and now you were seniors in high school, and the feelings were just as strong as ever.

And now he liked MJ? Your other best friend? And you were just supposed to accept that? You certainly couldn’t tell him how you felt, and you couldn’t just lash out at him or ignore his wishes. It wouldn’t be a big deal. MJ definitely didn’t like Peter, so once you let him down easy, you could be his shoulder to cry on.

“Peter likes me?” MJ asked, her face lighting up when you told her.

Okay, so maybe you had some things wrong.

“Yeah,” you said. “I know, it’s weird, right? I’ll just tell him you don’t-”

“No, no!” MJ said quickly. “No, I do. Like him, I mean. I like him. I have for a while. I just had no idea he felt the same! He’s so shy and awkward, you know?”

“Well, I mean, you’re a little awkward too,” you mumbled.

“Maybe that’s why our relationship would work,” she joked. You gave a half-hearted laugh, which MJ didn’t notice. “Will you talk to him for me?” she asked. You held back a sigh and just raised your eyebrows.

“And say what?” you asked.

“Just, I don’t know,” she said, suddenly a little bashful. “Tell him I like him. Maybe he’ll ask me out if he hears from you that I like him too.”

You groaned dramatically, knowing MJ wouldn’t think anything of it. “Fine.”

“Yes, you’re the best!” she said.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I know.”

High school relationships rarely lasted. Sure, maybe Peter and MJ would go on one date, but it wouldn’t go anywhere. All you’d have to do in the end would be provide them both with shoulders to cry on.

“She doesn’t feel the same way. Sorry Pete.”

The lie rolled off your tongue, and there was no way you could take it back. Peter’s shoulders dropped, and you swallowed back the guilt creeping up your throat.

“Oh,” he said. “I guess that’s fine. Thanks for doing that for me.” The two of you were standing at your lockers, waiting for the bell to ring. “I think I’m, uh-” He hesitated as the bell chimed through the speakers. “I’m gonna head home. I’ve had a headache all day.”

“But you still have sixth and seventh pe-”

“I’ll see you later, okay?” he said. You nodded and watched him walk through the front doors of the school, skipping class like it didn’t matter at all. And that was so not like Peter Parker. Okay, so maybe you had broken his heart a little bit, but he’d heal.

After school that day, you headed home to the Barton’s house. You were an Avenger, and Clint was the one who had discovered you. He saw you kicking some mugger’s ass in an alley, and at first, you just appeared like a tough teenager. Then, you bolted from the scene in a blur of speed, and a wave of emotion hit him as he was reminded of Pietro. Instantly, he knew you were a hero worth pursuing. When he found out you were a homeless teenager, he wouldn’t have it. He brought you into his home when you were 14, and now three years later, you basically were a member of the family.

“I’m home,” you called when you opened the front door. You found Clint and Laura in the kitchen, and the kids were all sitting at the kitchen table eating their after-school snacks.

“Hi!” Nate called. You smiled and waved at him, then approached all three of them to give them high fives in greetings.

You fished through the cupboards for a mug to make something to drink, mumbling an, “Excuse me,” to Clint who was standing in front of the cupboard.

“You okay?” Laura asked, chuckling slightly. You sighed and leaned up against the kitchen counter.

“I think I did something stupid,” you said, folding your arms across your chest.

“You think?” Clint teased. You rolled your eyes. “Whoa,” he said, a slight frown growing on his face. “I didn’t even get a playful smile. This is serious.”

“Ugh,” you whined. “Can I have some tea?”

Laura laughed. “Of course. You two go in the living room and chat. I’ll bring you your drink when it’s ready.”

You thanked her and walked through the house to plop on the couch. When the kids were finished in the kitchen, they headed to their rooms to work on homework, so you and the two adults were alone.

“You know Peter,” you said.

“Parker?” Clint clarified. You nodded.

“You’ve got a crush on him, right?” Laura asked, handing you your tea.

“Laura,” you whined.

Clint laughed. “You think we didn’t notice?”

“Ugh!” you said for the second time since you arrived at their house.

You spilled everything. You told them about how Peter liked MJ and MJ liked Peter but you convinced him she didn’t just because you were jealous and desperately in love with your best friend. “I don’t know what to do,” you said, hyper-aware of the fact that you were holding back tears. You felt pathetic. “I know I messed up, but if I lose him to MJ, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Clint sighed. “You should’ve just told him how you felt, (Y/N).”

“What would that’ve done except humiliate me?” you asked.

“Why do you say that?” Laura asked.

“Because he doesn’t like me back,” you said. “And this isn’t one of those cliche stories where he actually does. Peter very clearly likes MJ, so what would telling him how I feel do except break my own heart and make things awkward between us?”

“At least he wouldn’t have made you play match-maker between him and MJ,” Clint said. Laura nodded in agreement.

“Well what do I do now?” you asked. Clint and Laura shared a look that you couldn’t decipher.

“You know you have to tell him the truth,” Laura said. “If you really care for him like you say you do, you should tell him how MJ really feels.”

“You owe him that much,” Clint added.

“Ugh,” you groaned again. “I hate when you guys are right.”

“Then why do you talk to us about this kind of stuff?” he teased. “Because we’re always right.”

“You know, one of these days I’m just going to ask you to lie.”

Clint laughed and gave you a quick side hug. “It’s movie night,” he said. “You wanna pick?”

“Come on,” you scoffed. “Do you even have to ask?”

That weekend, chaos ensued. Not in terms of your high school drama, but in the greater scheme of things. You know, like end-of-the-world chaos. Hydra had been working to program a new army of killer-super-soldiers, each designed to kill anyone they saw as a threat: government officials, millionaires and billionaires, CEOs of major companies, and, of course, the Avengers.

So there you were, suiting up at the compound on a cloudy Saturday afternoon. When you were ready, you joined the others in the boardroom. You sat beside Peter who gave you a small smile. Things between the two of you had been weird since you told him about MJ on Tuesday. Your routines didn’t change. You still ate lunch together, waited for each other by your lockers in the morning, and worked together on chemistry homework, but the vibes were different. You really had upset him by lying about MJ, and everyday you felt more and more guilty about it. “You okay?” you asked him, keeping your voice soft. His smile was just as small as it had been when you first sat down.

“Always,” he said.

“Okay,” Tony said, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “The soldiers’ programming is a lot like Bucky’s. So there’s no way to reason. Unless you can condense Shuri’s work into a millisecond action, these people are lost causes. All we can do is shoot first and capture them if we can.”

“The primary goal is to save the citizens,” Steve added. “Wanda and Clint are on evacuation. Nat and Bruce are working with local officers. We found Whitehall and Bakshi’s command center, so Bucky and I are going to head there and take them down. The rest of you are on the ground in the battle. Save as many civilians as you can, and watch each other’s backs.” You all nodded and chorused back various agreements, then stood up to head to your stations. As you and Peter started to leave the compound, you stopped him.

“What’s up?” Peter asked. “We gotta go.”

“You’re acting weird,” you said. “And it’s bumming me out. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he said. “Mr. Rogers said-”

“I don’t care what he said,” you huffed. “You’re my best friend, and I don’t like seeing you this way.”

He sighed. “I just can’t stop thinking about MJ. I really thought she liked me, (Y/N).” You licked your lips and let a puff of air out of your nose.

Sure, maybe you needed to tell him you lied, but now was not the time to do so.

“I know,” you said. “I’m sorry, Pete. Try not to let it get to you. At least not right now. After the battle, I’ll sit with you and eat ice cream while we watch a cheesy rom com.” This managed to make Peter laugh a little, so you gave him a side hug and made your way out of the compound.

The fight was crazy. Not only were there super soldiers on your ass, you were crazy outnumbered by members of Hydra. “How are we looking on the battlefield?” Steve asked through the coms.

“Sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard,” Shuri said.

“Like sure, we’re trying,” Peter added.

“But it’s almost effortless,” you finished.

“I hate you guys,” Sam said.

“Can anyone answer me seriously?” Steve asked.

“Did we get a specific count on how many soldiers there are?” Strange asked. “Because we seem to kill one and it’s like two more take their place.”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of their thing,” Bucky said.

You were getting frustrated. This shouldn’t have been a difficult mission. Hell, you defeated Thanos! Maybe you were all a little off your game at this point, worn out from the big universe-saving event. Now, simple Hydra agents were kicking your ass. Shouldn’t Steve and Bucky have gotten to Whitehall and Bakshi by now?

You took a deep breath and wiped some sweat from your forehead as you got rid of all the agents around you. When you glanced in Peter’s direction, you saw he was struggling. He was fighting off one of the super soldiers, and while Peter was strong and had his Iron Spidey suit, the soldier had serum running through his veins. It was a pretty equal fight. And Peter was so busy with that soldier that he didn’t notice the Hydra agent approaching him from behind. Your eyes grew wide, and you called Peter’s name. He either didn’t hear you or was too busy to turn. So, you mustered up your super speed, rushed behind him, and took the bullet meant for him in your stomach.

Peter heard the shot ring out and felt your body slump against him. He turned and yanked the gun out of the agent’s hands with his web and shot a taser web at his heart. Tony approached to help with the super soldier, so Peter collapsed to your side. “(Y/N),” he said.

He felt like everything fell silent. He didn’t know what was happening. All he saw was your limp body and the blood gushing through your shirt. You put your hand on the wound and winced, then felt a drop of rain hit your nose. Just like that, it started to pour, making the blood soak into your suit faster. You could just make out the rest of the team speaking in the coms.

“We got Whitehall and Bakshi,” Steve said. “How’s it-”

“(Y/N)’s down!” Peter cried. “We, I don’t know, shit!”

“What happened?” Clint asked.

“Gunshot,” he said. “In, in the stomach. It’s-” He cut himself off with a shaky breath.

“All super soldiers are down,” Thor said. “We’re all coming to you now.”

Peter held you in his arms and pushed some hair from your face. “What were you thinking?” he whispered. Before you could say anything, a rumble of thunder sounded and he added, “We gotta get you out of this rain.”

“Pete,” you laughed breathlessly, “a little fall of rain isn’t going to hurt me now, and you know it.”

“Don't talk like that,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay.” You felt blood drip out of your mouth, and Peter wiped it away.

“MJ likes you,” you said.

“What?” Peter asked, keeping his hand on your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I lied to you. MJ really likes you. I just didn’t want to tell you.” He opened his mouth like he was about to ask why, but he figured it out just as fast.

“(Y/N),” he whispered. “We can get you help. Just-”

“I’m okay,” you assured him. “Nothing hurts, and-” You paused and smiled weakly. “You’re here, and that’s all I need. Just don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” he whispered, pushing some more hair away from your face. Tears mixed with the rain hitting his face, and his body was shaking now. “If I could make all of this go away just by reminding you how much I love you, I would.”

“Just hold me,” you said. “It’s okay.”

The others were starting to walk over to the pair of you, but Peter didn’t move from your side. He rocked you softly in his arms. “I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.” You were quiet for a moment, and he feared he already lost you. Then, you spoke again, so softly it was barely audible.

“Peter?” you asked.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Will you do something for me?” you said.

“Anything.”

You swallowed thickly and let your eyes flutter closed. “Kiss me when I’m gone,” you whispered. “I’ll feel it.”

“(Y/N)-”

“You know what, Peter Parker?” you said, cutting him off. You forced your eyes open and gave him one last smile. “I think I’ve always been in love with you.”

Peter could see the life leave your eyes. Still, he sniffed and pressed his hand to your cheek. “(Y/N)?” he croaked out. “Please. Please, wake up.”

“Pete,” Tony said, resting his hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“No,” he cried. “No. She’s okay. She has to be okay.”

Peter looked at the man behind him, then over his shoulder at all the others watching. They all looked devastated. Clint was standing with his back to the scene, his shoulders visibly shaking. Nat stood beside him and rubbed his back. Peter blinked back some more tears and looked back down at you. He closed your eyes with the pads of his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered.

Peter never loved you the way you loved him, but there was still love there. Now, holding your limp body in his arms, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever love again.

----- ----- ----- -----

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