she's an anomaly, and they can't help but be infatuated with her.
NO SMUT OR SEXUALIZING ━ if any of the triplets are uncomfortable with this fanfiction, it will be taken down immediately.
matt sturniolo x fem! oc x chris sturniolo (LOVE TRIANGLE)
l...
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𝖝𝖝𝖛𝖎𝖎. Choose Me
MAEVE'S SLEEP IS restless and light, despite the comfort of Chris. Her brother visits her in her dreams. He stands by the window, looking at the city with a strange sorrow, before turning back to her. "There are others," Cassian says. "You have to find them."
"I will," Maeve promises him, her voice heavy with sleep.
Then it's four o'clock in the morning and she doesn't have any more time for dreams. Chris wakes her slowly, mumbling in her ear that it's time. They have to be up and ready for the long hours ahead. Perhaps the most important hours of their entire lives.
When Maeve is finished changing out of her night gown and into something better fit for what's coming, she finally catches a glimpse of Chris' face in the still-dark room. He's pale, paler than usual, and there are purple circles beneath his eyes. It appears as though he didn't sleep the whole night, but, despite that, he still looks as sharp as ever.
She approaches him, and, after a moment of hesitation, he pulls her into a hug, his warmth filling her limbs and her blood and her heart. She tries to ignore the cold that's beginning to drip from him, the only sign that he's afraid. He presses his lips to her hair, mumbling what he said last night: "We'll be fine."
She can only hope.
They're outside in a few agonizing minutes, walking in shadows behind War Command to wait at their place between the structure and the outer wall. Their spot is perfect; they're able to see the Square and the Bridge, with most of War Command's gilded roof blocking them from the patrols. Maeve doesn't need a clock to know that they're right on time.
Above them, the night begins to fade, giving way to dark blue. The dawn is coming.
At this hour, the city is quieter than Maeve ever thought possible. Even the patrol guards are drowsy, slowly moving from post to post. Excitement and anxiety trill through her in a concerning combination, making her legs shake. Somehow, Chris keeps still, barely even blinking. He stares through the diamondglass wall, always watching the Bridge. His focus is staggering.
"They're late," he whispers, never moving.
"I'm not."
If Maeve didn't know better, she'd think Cyrus was a shadow, able to shift in and out of visibility. She seems to melt out of semidarkness, pulling herself up from a drain.
Maeve offers her a hand, but the blonde woman pushes herself to her feet alone. "Where are the others?" the Deuveux asks.
