Anyway I kinda don’t rlly use this blog rn/might not again but I’m v active over at @tuomniia , where i post both art and writing, and rb memes and twc content !!
Anyway I kinda don’t rlly use this blog rn/might not again but I’m v active over at @tuomniia , where i post both art and writing, and rb memes and twc content !!
Anyway I kinda don’t rlly use this blog rn/might not again but I’m v active over at @tuomniia , where i post both art and writing, and rb memes and twc content !!
like.... as she-ra or??? I dont think they’d fit into it very well dkgjsdlgs I dont truthfully like twc/spop crossover very much. I suppose they’d be hot as an 8-ft tall warrior... they’d probably really dig the talking horse. they’d be like well my gf is already a vampire, this may as well happen
but honestly they. would not fit into the au without major character changes sdkjfsldg its an interesting idea though! I like that you thought of it :flushed:
Yoooo 'It's not okay! You're not fine!' for the angst prompts? 👀
from this prompt list (feel free to send one in)
Pairing: Ava du Mortain x NB!Detective (Cameron Greene)
Word count: approx. 2000
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Blood TW, Death mentions
Summary: Cameron looks up again, feeling suddenly very dizzy. “Okay.” They say instead, stumbling backwards a step. The world spins around them. “I’m okay.”
Cameron laughs as they successfully dodge another strike. Sidestepping with skill they don’t usually possess, and whirling around to slam the butt of their taser into the base of the trapper’s skull.
The man collapses against the ground in a jumble of limbs and bruises.
They were never particularly skilled at combat. Cameron’s tiny frame, lack of any impressive muscles, and general gravitation towards passive problem-solving all add up to make their fighting skills rather pathetic.
An observation Ava is keen to point out every chance she gets. But maybe they’re getting better at it, because the man at their feet groans but doesn’t move again.
They stop patting their own back long enough to look around at the unit’s handiwork. Twelve trappers between the five of them had been pretty straightforward. Especially considering four of those five were superpowered vampires. The fighting had started and been ended in under five minutes.
Cameron smirks and reclines back on their heels. Easy-peasy.
They spin around to see what the rest of the team is thinking, though their eyes instinctually look for the team leader first. The adrenaline from the fight adds extra flare to their movements, and they almost trip over their own legs in the rush. A grin has already settled itself on Cameron’s lips by the time they steady themselves. There she is.
She’s standing the farthest away compared to the rest, who are kicking through the bodies to make sure they’re all well and truly out for the count.
She tosses down a pipe she’d been wielding as a weapon and glances up to meet Cameron’s eyes. Ava had been truly terrifying, swinging the iron with so much force that Cameron was more than sure that a few trappers would have some serious recovery time ahead of them. If they even survived.
The look shared between them is an unspoken reassurance that the other is okay. Full of meaning, tides of emotion that makes Cameron’s heart swell as much as the confines of their ribs will allow. They both got out without getting hurt. Cameron’s own relief is reflected in Ava’s softening expression. They’re met in turn with a gentle quirk of her lips. Meant only for Cameron. Though they’re very aware of Farah snickering over their shoulder.
A few strands of dark blonde hair has been pulled loose from her bun and hangs loosely in front of her cool eyes.
Their heart flutters like butterfly wings, brushing against their insides pleasantly.
They’re about to walk over, to see about maybe pushing that hair out of the way to see Ava’s green eyes clearly. To feel the softness of her skin under the tips of their fingers. But a scuffling noise just behind them makes them turn around instead.
The man they thought they’d knocked unconscious has risen unsteadily to his feet. His bulk is no less intimidating now that he’s wobbling and off balance.
It takes Cameron a second too long to realize what’s happening, and they’re a second too late to stop it before it’s over.
The man takes a quick, stumbling step towards them and shoves his entire weight into their slim body. The weight of his mass knocking them breathless as they both fall to the ground. He’s heavy. Reeks of stale cigarette smoke. Something sharp, maybe their holstered gun or his belt buckle, pinches their middle. The skin over their hip burns—
Cameron gasps when pain explodes in the back of their head. Their skull meets the pavement with a crack that reverberates right down their spine. Stars flash behind their eyes, colours they can’t name. Colours that don’t have a name. The air, forced from their lungs by the weight of the trapper, escapes as a strangled choking sound they will definitely be made fun of for, later.
The man is torn off of them before they get a chance to do it themselves.
Morgan hauls him to his feet with so much ease, it’s as though she’s only lifting a stack of papers. She tosses him hard into the aluminum wall of the factory warehouse they were gathered under. The sound of the metal collapsing under the force rattles around inside their head painfully.
She sneers as he hits the ground again, once more unmoving. He will not be getting back up this time.
“Thanks.” Cameron chokes out, voice hoarse from the effort of trying to breathe. Standing upright afterwards is difficult and it takes them a few stumbling attempts. Their legs don’t seem to want to work.
Their pulse throbs between their temples and through to the back of their slull, it hurts so much that it’s hard to think.
They look up from the collapsed trapper, a joke already forming on their lips. Something about how they should have checked twice. But the sudden statue-like forms of their teammates silence anything they might have said. Cameron frowns, following their razor focus down to their own waist.
“Oh.” They whisper, breathless with shock.
Blood.
So much of it has stained their shirt, seeping through the cotton shirt under their unzipped jacket. As they watch, the dark substance of it seeps like a flower in bloom through the thick material of their coat. Shakily, they gently pull back the flap to reveal the bone handle of a knife jutting out of their stomach, just above their hip. Burried right up to the hilt.
“Okay.” They swallow, glancing up. Drawing a shuddering breath, their eyes find Ava again.
Her cold eyes are trained with a single-minded, predatory intensity at the blood that is spreading down their leg through the fabric of their jeans. They can feel it collecting in their boot. Hot and sticky.
Cameron shifts their weight to keep from falling back down, and without thinking they grip the handle. The knife slides free. They let go. The blade clattering impossibly loud against the hard ground. Glancing down, the blade is stained red. Glinting and saturated in the daylight. Long and serrated. A hunting knife? Bowie? Cameron suddenly can’t place the name. It’s big, whatever it is. It doesn’t matter because blood begins to flow like a tap set on high. The heat of it burns against Cameron’s numbing legs. There is so much of it. Impossible amounts. There’s no way humans have this much blood.
They wonder suddenly if Unit Bravo is okay with this. No. Of course not. How could they be? It’s blood. Cameron’s blood. Their modified blood, blood that attracts supernaturals from miles around. Nat. Morgan. Farah. Ava. They’re not okay. Cameron wants to apologize, but the words stick in their throat.
Cameron looks up again, feeling suddenly very dizzy. “Okay.” They say instead, stumbling backwards a step. The world spins around them. “I’m okay.”
The pain registers next. Hot and unbearable and consuming. Someone has jammed a red iron through their insides. It’s burning like fire through to their core. It makes them double over and drop to their knees. The jarring movement of it sends another searing wave of pain surging up their middle.
They gasp and choke on their next breath from the sheer force of it.
Unit bravo seems to snap out of their haze as soon as Cameron hits the ground. Farah is the first one to reach them, propping Cameron upright by their shoulder and saying… something. Cameron can’t hear it over the pain. Can’t hear anything. Nat’s features come into focus to their right, and she’s saying something too, a phone in her hand. They think. They’re not sure. They’re seeing doubles.
Cameron stares at Farah’s golden eyes. Or maybe Nat’s brown? Both. They goance between them. She’s talking. Someone is talking.
What is she saying?
Sound comes back to them in an overwhelming rush, a roaring wave that makes them blink in recoil. Too loud. Overwhelming their senses. They wince away from it, but a firm hand holds them in place.
“Hey! It’s going to be fine. We’re going to get you to a hospital.” Farah assures them frantically, glancing up at Morgan who has a lit cigarette in her mouth and is drawing deep breaths of the acrid smelling smoke. Cameron tries to decipher her expression but the harder they stare the more their vision blurs. They think that Morgan looks worried too, but they can’t be sure. Smoke collects infront of her in an intoxicating cloud.
“It’s okay.” They insist, “I’m okay.”
Ava drops into their vision, frantic and breathless. “Cam.” She breathes their nickname with such a weight that it brings some clarity back to Cameron’s thoughts. So much intensity that just for a moment, their life is’nt leaking onto the ground. Isn’t accumulating in a rich, impossibly red pool around their knees.
“Ava.” They croak back. The taste of copper stings the back of their throat. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”
Ava’s green eyes, wide with fear, drop to the wound that pulses blood in time with the slowing beat of their heart. She drags her gaze away from it and meets Cameron’s eyes again.
They want to brush the hair out of her eyes, and so their hand moves without permission. Gently grazing against Ava’s cheek. Unimpeded by self-doubt or second thoughts. Their fingers are bloody, and they leave several streaks of fresh crimson along her cheekbone. They tuck the loose hair behind her ear. She allows Cameron to touch her. But Ava is shaking. No. Wait. It’s Cameron who shakes. Why are they shaking so badly? They’d been steady a moment ago.
It doesn’t matter. Ava looks sick. That matters.
Her face is paler than usual. Eyes glittering brightly. Like a sun-bleached gemstone, wet from a summer rain. Is she. Crying?
No. Ava doesn’t cry.
But she is. Why?
“Nat, you called the agency?” Someone asks in the background. Cameron isn’t sure who. But the voice is familiar.
A reply, sounding farther away than the last, “They’re coming.”
Ava’s hands tremble as she reaches forward to press against the wound in their side. Needing to stop the free flowing red. Needing to. She can’t. They think they hear her muttering the words under her breath. Cameron hisses at the spike of discomfort, and their arm automatically snaps forward to clamp their hand around Ava’s bicep. It’s warm and solid under their own unsteady hand.
They want to rest their head on her arm. They’re tired, they realize. So tired.
“Cameron, stay awake.” Ava commands with her usual authority when their eyes begin to flutter.
They try to keep them open. It’s hard. Getting harder.
Have they always felt this heavy?
Nausea rolls around inside them like loose cargo on a ship at sea, and they want to close their eyes to brace against the storm.
It would be so nice to just… go to sleep for a little while.
“Hey!” Ava snaps again, much closer this time. Her face is right in front of Cameron now. “Stay with me.”
“I’m okay.” Cameron replies, the words thick on their tongue. They think they might be slurring a little.
They are not okay.
Ava knows that too. Her brows furrow even tighter and she snaps. “It’s not okay!” Her voice shakes, volume rising. It’s too loud. Cameron thinks that they’ve never seen her this terrified before. “You’re not fine!”
“I am.” It’s all Cameron can think to say. Their thoughts are turning to sludge. Thick. Unmoving. They don’t want her to worry.
They want to kiss the worry from her lips.
Softly. Sweetly. They wonder how she tastes.
Does she taste of iron? Of stone?
“Ava,” a voice. Nat? No. Morgan. “Keep it together long enough to get them help, okay? Panicking isn't going to…”
Cameron doesn’t hear the rest as the world swims around them. Shapes blur into colours, and the colours turn to something black but not.
They can only see the green right in front of them.
Pale, like jade.
The most beautiful green they’ve ever seen.
Cold, usually. Not in the morning though, when they warm with the light.
Their favourite colour.
They never had one until now, they think. Until Ava.
Ava.
She’s shaking their shoulders.
“Stay awake!”
Why are they laying down now? When did that happen?
The sky is so huge.
She’s outlined in white.
Lights flash at the corners of their vision.
Red. Blue. Red. Blue.
Pretty.
But not.
Beautiful.
Not like her green.
“Cameron.”
Her voice is muffled as though separated by miles of water.
what if you 😳 told me some things 😳 about Cameron 😳 and I listened to you 😳 with genuine interest 😳 because I'm your friend 😳 and your ocs slap 😳 (and we were both lesbians) 😳
Omg bienie where... where do I even start. I love them So Much.
They’re super outwardly chill because a lifetime of basically raising themself taught them they need to be calm if they’re going to be taken seriously by older people (mainly applying to when they were a kid after their dad died and Rebecca was always away)
And this chillness is really handy when being introduced to the supernatural world, even if all the sudden change kind of agrivates a hidden anxiety disorder.
But it also puts Ava at ease bc most humans flip their shit when they find out supernaturals are real but Cam was calm and accepting. Cam has a big heart, and instantly accepts the value of supernatural lives. They’re not monsters, they’re part of our world and deserve to be treated with kindness like anyone else.
But also cameron has a really hard time taking danger seriously. Like they KNOW when it’s bad, they know!! And they’re not going to just wave things off, not really. But making jokes and being sarcastic alleviates the tension and helps them keep their own anxiety under wraps. As much as it upsets Ava, bc Cam just almost got hit by a car outside the bakery and theyre laughing about it instead of being more careful.
This also means that when they’re seriously hurt they avoid getting proper medical treatment. They don’t like the attention, don’t like being inside hospitals. They’d have to be on deaths door before they allow themselves to be admitted to a hospital. Which has happened. More than they’re ever going to admit to Ava or Nat, because they don’t need the lecture. They know. They just don’t care.
all we do is think about the feelings that we hide
Pairing: Ava du Mortain x NB!Detective (Cameron Greene)
Word count: 5414
Rating: General
Warnings: Blood TW
Summary:
It’s not real, he’s gone.
I’m so lost in the memory of what happened, what he did to me, and how it felt to be so powerless against him, that I don’t notice the figure that’s appeared in my doorway.
“Detective?” A familiar voice calls softly into my room.
———
Teeth glinted at the corners of my vision, a flash of red in the dark that surrounds me like a suffocating blanket.
Chittering laughter of a man not altogether sane echoes off far away walls I cannot see.
I hear the slow, syrupy drip of something viscous through the heavy black, and I attempt to turn to try and find the source. But it’s so dark, and I find I can’t move my arms or legs from where they are already positioned.
I glance down at myself and find the darkness has coiled around my wrists and ankles, trapping me.
Panic begins to well up in my chest as the gaunt face of Murphy looms out of the darkness, deep red dripping from his manic grin in time with the sound of the dripping.
“Please…” I try to say, but my voice is trapped in my chest and only comes out as a strangled cry that burns my throat.
Murphy’s grin spreads impossibly wide, rows upon rows of razor teeth glinting crimson in the gloom.
My heart pounds like thunder against my ribs, wild, erratic, and painful.
Murphy draws a clawed finger along the delicate skin of my inner arm, the razor sensation of it making me jerk against my tightening restraints.
I feel the sharp pain growing from every point his cold fingers brush my skin, accompanied by the hot, wet sensation of what I know is blood pouring freely from my veins.
Through my now familiar agony, I drag my gaze up to the dark soulless pits where his eyes should be just in time to see his jaw snap open impossibly wide and clamp down on my neck.
I jerk out of my dream so fast that I crack my head against the headboard, the sound reverberating out my open bedroom door and through the labyrinthine halls of the warehouse.
I take no notice of it though as I wince and sit upright, swinging my legs out from under the covers and planting them on the cool wooden floors of my room. Carefully I touch the spot where I hit my head, wincing when I find it tender.
That will definitely bruise by the morning, I think to myself.
I’m shaking, I notice as I bring my hand down from my aching head. I clench my fist to calm my fingers, but my whole arm shakes, so instead I tuck it against my stomach in a further effort to be still, but my whole body shakes with fear and adrenaline and I can do nothing to ease the turbulent storm tossing around inside my head.
I sigh and close my eyes against the emotions that are consuming me. It’s been months, and I had hoped that by now I would be over it.
Why can’t I move past this?
The surrounding room does not reflect the tempest inside, and I allow myself to draw comfort from the soft familiarity of it. Cozy, like my apartment back in town. All warm colours, collected memories, and mismatching furniture.
I’d brought a few of my more cherished items from my apartment to the warehouse as I gradually began to spend more time here, for reasons that I chose not to acknowledge. They were fond memories mostly. Gifts and souvenirs from outings with friends and family. Well, what family I had left anyways.
Through the soft, blue tinted gloom, my eyes land on the soft ducky prize Ava had won at the carnival back in the spring. The familiar sight of it sitting guard on my night stand makes the edges of my mouth quirk upwards. Though it’s fleeting, and I find myself lowering my head back into my hands, continuing to shiver. My tired muscles begin to ache their protest.
His laughter continues to echo in my thoughts, and I scrunch my eyes shut tighter in an effort to block out the noise in vain.
It’s not real, he’s gone.
I’m so lost in the memory of what happened, what he did to me, and how it felt to be so powerless against him, that I don’t notice the figure that’s appeared in my doorway.
“Detective?” A familiar voice calls softly into my room.
My head snaps up so fast that it brings back the ache of my earlier clash with the headboard. I wince, rubbing at the newly formed bump as I take in the sight of Ava standing stiffly — as she does — with one hand gripping the door frame.
The lack of light does nothing to diminish her demanding presence or her beauty. Moonlight filters in through my open window, illuminating her silhouette and softening her usually hardened features. Her eyes, a cool green, now dark in the lowlight. Their usual ice nowhere to be seen, replaced instead with thinly veiled worry.
I notice she’s not wearing her usual daytime clothes, and is instead dressed in the much less formal attire of a loose fitting tank top, and lighter grey sweatpants. There’s lettering down the legs of them, but it’s too dark to see and I’m too tired to care. Too caught up in how casual she looks and how it all drapes loosely over her, and I think this must be what she sleeps in. Her blonde hair hangs loosely around her face, brushing the bare skin of her shoulders. I rarely see her with her hair down. It makes her seem less like a statue and more like a living, breathing being.
It’s not all that different from my flannel pyjama pants and old Wayhaven PD shirt I’m in. My own hair free of its usual partial ponytail, and continually falling into my eyes. I doubt that I look even half as graceful about it as she does, though.
“Ava.” I find myself whispering back to her, and then I clear my throat and sit a little straighter. “Do you need something?”
Ava’s eyes flit up from where they’d been trained on my hands, which had become balled into the fabric of the bedsheets at my side when I noticed her, trying to quickly hide the shake of them.
“I came to check if you were alright.”
I force a small smile, and nod. “Of course.” I reply, though my voice is more hoarse than I would like it to be. “Why?”
Ava shifts her weight so that she’s not leaning quite so heavily on the door frame. “I heard your heart- I heard a noise.”
I frown, noticing how she is very slightly out of breath as if she had run here.
Ava’s expression hardens, and her eyes flit away at her stumble and I find myself admiring her profile as she scans my bedroom for dangers I know only exist in my memories tonight.
“Yeah, I just banged my head. No need to worry though, you should see the other guy.” I reply, thumbing over my shoulder at the headboard and grinning.
“I see.” She nods and I think I see a flicker of amusement at my sad attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but she doesn’t withdraw back into the hallway like I thought she might.
“Are you sure you don’t need something?” I ask, bringing my arm back down from over my shoulder and resting my hand over the scar Murphy had left on my forearm.
“No.”
I nod, unsure how to respond. My thumb tracing over the slightly raised tissue on the otherwise unmarked skin of my arm.
I hear the slow drip of my blood in Murphy's mouth repeating itself in sinister whispers between my thoughts.
Ava continues to stand almost awkwardly in my doorway. She still refuses to look at me, but I know she’s noticed where my hands are because I know that she rarely misses anything.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask finally, still unable to completely shake the fearful tilt in my voice.
She finally snaps her attention back to me, so fast it’s almost unnerving. Almost. I’d gotten used to the quickness of Unit Bravo’s movements.
Ava seems to hesitate then, so I pat the spot next to me on the bed as further invitation.
That seems to be enough for her, and she finally steps into the room. Halting only to close my door as the sounds of Farah and Morgan bickering down the hall grew louder. I hadn’t even noticed the noise until now.
I wonder, absently, if Farah has tried to palm off her laundry on Morgan again.
Ava makes her way across the short space between the edge of my bed and the door, and sits down stiffly next to me. There’s space between us, and I know it’s only a few inches but it may as well be miles.
I swallow and drop my gaze back down to the floor, following the flowing patterns in the wood grain with my eyes.
Ava continues to say nothing, and eventually the steady sound of her breathing next to me begins to soothe my nerves. Finally, the stuttering beat in my chest begins to settle, and I let out a soft breath of relief.
She seems to relax a little too. I glance up to find her looking at me.
“Murphy.” I manage, and she quietly nods. Waiting for me to continue. “I- he just-“
I take a frustrated and shaky breath and draw my fingers through my hair, unsure of how to put it into words. I notice how Ava’s eyes track the motion, but she says nothing.
“I can’t stop reliving it.” I finally manage. “I close my eyes, and he’s always there. It was just. More vivid than usual tonight, I guess.”
It’s a lie, a bad one at that. They’re always vivid and jarring and leave me feeling dark in their wake.
I find myself shrugging it off, and Ava’s expression softens— albeit only slightly. I wonder if she’s capable of being more than slight and controlled about any emotion she expresses. Other than stubbornness, of course.
“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I continue, forcing back a small smile.
She doesn’t look convinced. Guilt cracks her softening expression open just a little further. I know she blames herself for not being able to protect me from him. I never felt that she should, though. Murphy fought dirty. DMB, surprise daytime thralls, and a quick dose of my blood had made for a quick takedown and kidnapping.
I allow silence to fill the space between us again, but too tired, too relieved to have her here to look away. She watches back, and I notice how occasionally her eyes begin to drift downwards towards my mouth and back up again.
Ava nods suddenly, a quick downwards jerk of her chin, eyes flitting instead to the door. “Are you afraid of us— of vampires?” She asks in a softer voice than her usual, and the tiny catch of her breath on the word ‘us’ tells me she doesn't truly mean ‘us’ at all. “It would be … understandable if you are.”
She’s asked me this before. I get the distinct impression she’s waiting for me to say yes.
“Never.” My answer is quick, and I see relief in her expression, though it’s quickly hidden away again. “I could never be afraid of you.”
I know she will choose to believe I mean all of Unit Bravo. I know that in this moment, I’m only speaking about her. I know that she knows it too.
I’ve been asked this question many times since discovering the team’s secret, by many people. I’ve never been afraid of them. Or any supernaturals really, except for Murphy. But not of demons, or of fae, or of her.
“I still feel that you should be, Detective.” Ava replies after the silence continues for just a little too long.
“Why should I be?” I ask, quirking a brow up at her.
“I- we could kill you if we wished. Your life would go out and you would be lost to me— to us.”
“But you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You cannot know that, Detective.”
“I do, though.”
Ava frowns. I watch her jaw work as she struggles to further her argument, but eventually she seems to let it go. It surprises me, because Ava is. Well, Ava. She doesn’t back down.
“What makes you so sure of … us?”
The edge of my mouth twitches upwards a little at this, but it’s gone just as quickly. A new ache forms in my chest, familiar and pointing desperately in the direction of my friend and teammate.
“You make me feel safe.” I shrug.
“Detective-“ she starts, but I cut her off.
“Cameron.”
She sighs, a short sound. Her jaw once again working, “Cameron.”
I smile.
She opens her mouth to continue but closes it again, seemingly deciding against whatever she wanted to say.
“Are you afraid of me?” The words tumble out before I can weigh the consequences. Ava doesn’t have a stellar reputation for sticking through serious conversation when it came to feelings. I wait for her to tell me goodnight and leave through my door, maybe breaking it on her way out for good measure.
Ava stiffens and her expression hardens. “How could I be afraid of you? You’re a human.”
“I dunno, I could probably take you if I really set my mind to it.” I grin at her.
Ava’s surprised laugh lightens the room just a bit. It’s small, a breath, a whisper. It almost doesn’t count as a laugh, but I know that it must because the sound fills all the darkened corners of my chest. Makes me feel warm, and light, and my heart aches with emotion.
“You could not.” She retorts, the edge of her mouth tilting upwards a fraction of an inch.
“I could!” I insist, “but I would never. I would never hurt you.”
Ava’s momentary lighthearted expression fades away again, and I know she understands what I’ve said. She’s silent for a long, contemplative moment.
“You could.” She breathes finally.
“I know.” I breathe back.
I clear my throat quietly and force my attention back onto the floor.
“You should get some rest.” Ava says, like she was trying to be decisive about it, but her voice doesn't hold her usual conviction.
I look to my other side, at my tangled sheets and scattered pillows. A cold breeze blows in through my open window and makes goosebumps rise on my arms. It may be summer, but it’s early summer and the chill hasn’t quite left the nights yet.
My fingers trace the scar again.
I can only bring myself to sigh and reply in a heavy voice. “Yeah.”
I feel Ava shift next to me, and out of the corner of my eye I can see her flexing her fingers as though she wants to reach out.
I wish that she would.
Murphy’s inhuman laugh echoes through my thoughts again and I visibly wince and put my head back into my hands. Trying to force away the thoughts.
“Dete-“ a pause. “Cameron.”
I force myself upright and nod to her, miraculously finding the energy to smile. It feels heavy and fake, and she doesn’t believe me. But I do it anyway.
Her eyebrows furrow at me from where she’s changed positions. Now standing directly in front of me.
I open my mouth to tell her I’m okay, that it’s fine. It’s only a dream after all, and she can go back to doing whatever it is she was doing before I disturbed her.
“Please stay.” I plead instead, barely a murmur.
I expect her to bristle, to grow stiff and turn to stone. To tell me she can’t again, like in the library. But she surprises me. Her expression grows slightly warmer.
“If you wish.”
Her lips soften into an almost smile, but not quite. Though strangely, it’s enough for me. Butterflies come to life and awaken my insides. I almost smile back.
Ava gestures at my bed again, more insistently this time. I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her, eager to dispel the feeling of making my fears known. Ava sighs at me, but I can tell she’s amused.
I scoot backwards onto my bed again and bring my legs back up onto the mattress and pull my duvet over my lower half again. Twisting around to fix my pillows, then leaning back against the headboard. Ava watches my actions, nodding when she’s satisfied.
Her eyes glance to my side, at the empty half of the bed. They linger there for a moment, then move inwards to the rest of my room. Past my lacking bookshelf and the small pile of clothes I had been too lazy to fold before I went to bed. Landing finally on the cushioned seat over by the second window in the farthest corner of my room.
My heart sinks a little as her gaze lingers there for a long minute, clearly lost in thought. She opens her mouth as though to say something, raising a hand to gesture at the chair.
“Farah broke it.” I blurt, interrupting her.
If Ava could be startled, this would be it. Her face whips around to me with her eyebrows raised in question.
I decide to stick to my terrible lie. “Yeah, the legs are super loose. We got a little overzealous with paper airplanes the other day.”
Ava’s expression sinks into an unimpressed one, and it slowly dawns on me that the chair doesn’t exactly have legs. It sits almost directly against the floor.
I stare back at her, my expression unwavering.
She sighs heavily and glances back at the empty spot next to me. She doesn’t confront me on my poor excuse.
I remember, suddenly, that she’s wearing sleepwear.
“Oh, uh.” I wince at my own selfishness, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. Were you planning on sleeping tonight?”
“I was considering it. But I can do without.”
Guilt rolls in my stomach like a hot stone, and I frown at her.
I find myself babbling. “You know what, it’s okay. You can go and sleep. I’ll be okay. Really.”
Ava looks disappointed for a moment, or at least I think that she does. It’s gone so fast, and it’s so dark that I’m not entirely sure I saw anything at all.
She seems to ignore my sudden babbling though, and looks to my bookshelf. Pacing over to it and scanning its meagre contents.
I bite my lip, watching her and waiting to see what she will decide. Letting out a breath when she turns to me and asks, “what do you suggest?”
“What?”
“I will read while you sleep. I’m interested in knowing what you like- what you have here on your shelf. Your collection, I mean.” She gestures with a hand towards my books. Not acknowledging her stumble.
“Oh.” I murmur, and slip back out from under my covers to join her. She seems exasperated that I’ve gotten back out of bed, but she doesn’t comment.
I kneel down to one of the lowest shelves and run my fingers over the spines until I feel the most worn edges of the collection. I tug it free and stand up again, holding it out to her with two hands.
“Here.”
Ava looks down at the worn out cover of one of my favourite books.
“Sherlock Holmes?” She asks, one of her eyebrows jerking upwards at me. It feels dangerously close to a tease as she takes the book from me.
“And the Hound of the Baskervilles.” I nod, grinning at her and tapping the cover.
“You’re a detective.”
“Yeah, and?”
“You read Sherlock Holmes?”
“You’ve read Dracula.” I retort, placing my hands on my hips.
She opens her mouth to retort, then closes it again. Nodding in defeat. “Touché.”
Smiling at her, I spin on my heel and head back over to my warm bed. The cold of the wooden floor had sent a chill up my legs and into my spine. I tuck myself back under my covers and sigh as my preserved body heat brings warmth back into my toes.
Ava followed me, although with more grace than my ‘cold feet’ dance would suggest of me.
She hesitates at the opposite edge of my bed before settling in next to me. Though she doesn't get under the covers, which I frown at.
“What?” She asks, frowning back at me.
“Aren’t you cold?” I gesture to my open window and then to her tank top.
She glances at the window, and I see just for a moment a quiver run over her shoulders. As though she’s been attempting to hide it. She’s probably been cold this entire time, I realize.
“Yes.” She admits, though I suspect that pulling a tooth would have been easier for her.
I stare at her until she almost growls at me, and slides her legs begrudgingly under the covers. I smirk triumphantly over at her, and settle deeper into the blankets.
Ava opens my book in her lap, fingers spread over the pages to keep it open on the first page. “Why don’t you just close the window? Would that not be more comfortable?”
“I like sleeping in the cold. It means I can bundle up in a heavy blanket. Or, uh. Share a bed without getting too hot.”
Ava’s jaw tightens, but she nods.
I try to tear my eyes away from her silhouette, outlined by the pale moonlight from behind. Detailing her striking features in luminescent silver. I find myself tracing the outline of her face over and over again. Memorizing it.
“Get some rest.” Her voice is softer now, less demanding than before. “I will stay here, as you asked.”
“Okay.” I murmur softly in return. I allow myself one last glance at her profile, gazing down at the pages of my book. Then I roll over onto my side, back to her, and settle into my pillow.
There’s plenty of room on the bed, but I manoeuvre myself as subtly as I can so that we’re almost touching anyways. She doesn’t move away, despite the fact she has the space to. I tell myself it’s to help with the cold.
Ava’s quiet breathing and the heat I can feel from her on my back work together to soothe me quickly into sleep.
—
Ava does her best to remain still as to not wake the detective who is now, finally, sleeping by her side.
She had planned on sleeping tonight, was exhausted in fact and in dire need of a few hours of rest. But just as she’d been about to crawl into her bed, the crash from the detectives room had torn her immediately away from any thoughts on sleep.
She hadn’t even hesitated, she’d sped out of her room, flinging open the door as she’d gone, and headed directly to Cameron’s room.
As she’d grown closer, she could hear the erratic and unsteady heartbeat. She didn’t even notice Nat attempting to reach out to her as she sped around the corner. If she had paused, she might have heard Nat telling her it was just a nightmare and not her worst fears manifesting.
But when she’d arrived, Cameron had been fine. Physically, anyways. Coming upon the scene of Cameron with their head in their hands, shaking, breath hitching in their throat though… It had taken all of Ava’s willpower not to rush into the room and slip her arm around the detectives shoulders.
Then, seeing their expression when they noticed Ava’s presence had almost shattered what will she had managed to muster.
Now the detective —Cameron— lay much too close. Not touching, but she could feel their heat. Hear their heart as it thrummed its slow and regular rhythm.
She didn’t want to leave Cameron alone, and had been worryingly relieved when they’d pleaded for her to stay. A gesture that had made her own heart trip and squeeze with hardly suppressed longing. A feeling she had been fighting a losing battle against since meeting the detective in their office all those months ago.
So, here she lay. Cameron’s book in hand, reading through the classic mystery with her detective’s steady heart to keep her company.
The detective, not hers. She must stop thinking this way.
Cameron sighs quietly in their sleep next to her and Ava fights the urge to glance over. Forcing herself to remain focused on the pages. She was interested after all —although she shouldn't be— about the detective’s hobbies and interests. She didn’t get to learn a lot about what they did in their free time while they weren’t working together.
Sometimes she thinks to ask, wants to, but never does.
Her fingers tighten on the edges of the book.
She wants to learn everything about them. Everything they deign to share and more.
Cameron shifts next to her, rolling onto their back. Their leg stretches and grazes against Ava’s. She almost jerks her knee to get away from the heat of their skin. But she doesn’t.
Ava glances up, she can’t see through the duvet over them both, but she can see the vague shapes of both their legs. Cameron is soft and warm, and their presence fills the spaces between her ribs even when they’re sound asleep. So different from the usual empty chill of her own bed.
She doesn’t mind the emptiness of her own room, but she could easily come to prefer this.
Without thinking, she allows her eyes to travel up the slopes and curves of the detective’s sleeping form. Their face is tilted gently towards their chest, facing Ava. Relaxed. Free of their omnipresent playful smirk. Free of the fear and pain that had been hiding shallowly beneath the surface of their facade through their talk this evening.
So at peace. She’d never seen them like this before, and she drew a breath to quell the balling emotion in her throat.
Ava found herself counting the freckles on their face. There were more than she thought. Every time she thought she’d found them all, she’d find another. Dotting their skin like stars in an evening sky, revealing more of the infinite universe the further the sun sank below the horizon.
They sighed in their sleep, their breath disturbing strands of auburn hair that had fallen across their eyes. She almost reached out to brush them away, but restrained herself— though only barely.
Their hair was almost always in their face, a reality that often irked Ava irrationally. She would say it was because it hinders their vision and reduces efficiency. But it doesn’t, Cameron always seems to see just fine. The terrifying truth of it was that she just wanted to see their eyes, to have a chance to brush her fingers over their skin. To be close enough to see every fleck of copper in their iris’ and count them like the stars on their skin.
Sometimes if Ava found herself in a particularly serendipitous moment, she would glance at the detective at just the right moment and see the sunlight reflecting in their eyes, turning them the colour of rich liquid honey caught in the final rays of daylight.
She frowns at the thought, scolding herself harshly for thinking this way. Still, Ava can’t seem to pull her eyes away.
Her gaze drifts along their face, committing it to memory again and again. She finds her gaze settling on the scar on their lower lip. Cameron had been reluctant to explain what had happened when Farah had prodded about it.
Later, she overheard the detective explaining to Farah in private about how they’d once had a lip piercing but Bobby had ripped it out by accident, forever marring their mouth. Jealousy had burned a gaping hole through her insides until Cameron further explained that it was during their rather unceremonious breakup, when Bobby threw her phone at them during the fight. It had caught the edge, and torn the piercing right out.
Cameron had joked that the relationship ended in blood-letting, and allowed the subject to move forward when the mystery of it all disappeared and Farah decided it was time to go have another paper airplane competition.
The thought still turns her stomach, and she feels her jaw clench at the idea of that insolent reporter ever having touched the detective.
Her hand leaves her lap against her will and is hovering near Cameron’s face hesitantly, wishing only to run her thumb over the scar and feel the softness of their mouth under it. The intense desire to press her lips softly against the subtle divot almost consumes her though, and she whips her hand away and returns her attention back to the novel’s pages as though she’d been burned.
Enough, she chastises. Control yourself.
She takes a deep breath, and begins once again to gradually make her way through the pages.
Hours pass by without much incident, thankfully. But between the late hour, her own weariness, the warmth of Cameron’s body and the soothing thrum of their heart, Ava is struggling to stay awake.
She’s nearing the final pages of Cameron’s book and fighting to keep her eyes focused. She’d guessed exactly who the culprit had been long ago, but still wanted to finish it. Telling herself it was because she was interested-- and she was. Truly. But some hidden piece of her just wanted to make Cameron happy.
Ava is just in the process of closing the book and setting it on the side table to be put away later, when Cameron’s heart trips and becomes erratic as though they’d been startled. She whips her gaze around and frowns at the twitching of Cameron’s face in concern.
Their face has turned sideways, half hidden by the pillow but Ava doesn’t need an unobstructed view to see the growing distress. A quiet whimper escapes their mouth and their whole body tenses as though in pain.
Ava shifts onto her side and balances her weight on her elbow, reaching with her free hand to gently press on Cameron’s shoulder. She can feel the taut muscles under her palm. She isn’t sure if she should wake them up, or further attempt to communicate that they are okay.
“You’re alright.” She murmurs softly, gently massaging their shoulder. “You’re safe.”
Ava sighs her relief as Cameron’s face begins to relax, only to immediately tense again as their eyes flutter open.
“Ava?” Their voice is rough with sleep, and barely comprehensible through their grogginess.
She says nothing, regretting accidentally waking them.
Cameron sighs and drags their sleep heavy gaze over Ava’s face, and for a moment they look like they’re going to allow sleep to pull them back.
Instead, much to Ava’s surprise, Cameron rolls onto their side and sluggishly moves until they are pressed almost completely against Ava. Tucking themselves against her chest and pressing their face against her collar. Their fingers gently gripping the fabric of her top, effectively pinning Ava to the spot.
“Detective-” She starts, but falls silent when she feels their breath. Hot, and slow against the skin of her neck as they sigh in contentment. They’ve already fallen back into sleep.
Ava’s iron will crumbles faster than she ever could have imagined, and she allows herself to slowly relax into the bed. In a moment of weakness, she allows herself to rest her arm over Cameron’s waist and pull them closer still. They fit against her as though they were two lost puzzle pieces who had finally found their match-- beginning to become an image that made sense.
She rests her head against the cool pillow, still unsure. Every voice of reason she has ever had all screaming that she should leave, but she doesn’t. Not with Cameron’s fingers caught in the fabric of her shirt, not with their warmth chasing away the chill she’d been ignoring all night.
Their heart settles back into its slow, regular rhythm and Ava allows the breath she had been holding to escape.
Dawn is nearing the horizon, but the room is still dark. And Ava knows that she needs to leave, but she doesn’t. Her detective’s scent floods her senses, heavy and familiar, and she feels her mouth twitch in a contented smile.
Ava’s final thought before she too succumbs to sleep is how she doesn’t mind the emptiness of her own room, but that she greatly prefers this.
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