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lvllns · 3 years

Text

my everything is you

the wayhaven chronicles. mason x sparrow kingston (nb detective). 800+ words of soft mason, enjoy.

ao3 link

Flopping back onto the couch in the library at the warehouse, Sparrow sighs and closes their eyes for a moment.

They’d been gone for a week with Tina and Verda, a conference in the city that they couldn’t weasel their way out of. It had been hectic. A whirlwind of trying to keep their focus evenly split between seemingly a hundred different things. The only form of respite had been Mason’s texts and the late night phone calls.

Sparrow wiggles their body. Moves around until their legs are stretched out in front of them, back propped up against the arm of the sofa. The book in their hand is something they’ve read before but they’re not looking for a distraction. All they need is to pass the time, however much of it is left, until Mason is back from his own patrol with Ava.

Simple enough, to crack open the nearly ancient edition of The Prince in their hand and fall into it.

So simple, in fact, that they miss the heavy footsteps coming down the hall. They miss the way they slow to a halt right outside the library door. How Mason waits for a minute before he steps inside. They don’t notice he’s in the room until he’s close enough that they smell him, sandalwood and leather and cigarette smoke.

The book falls to their chest, and they watch as he carefully peels his jacket off. Tosses it on the back of a nearby chair. And then he nudges one of their legs out of the way. Settles a broad palm on their thigh and dramatically falls down right between their legs.

“Hello to you too, amore mio,” Sparrow says softly. “How was your patrol?”

Mason doesn’t speak. He presses his nose to their belly, the fabric of their shirt bunching up under his face. His left arm winds around, slips under their lower back until his fingers are curling around their opposite hip. Sparrow moves their leg. Pushes it underneath his right arm so their heel rests along his spine. Mason slides his right hand under their shirt. Splays it against their ribs. Drags his thumb over the bones and muscle, over the freckles he can’t see.

“That bad, huh?” They try again as they carefully set the book on the nearby table. Their hand drops to his scalp and they push their fingers into his hair. He grumbles. Squeezes the hand on their hip. “Was Felix terrible company while I was gone?”

He tenses between their thighs. Grunts and moves so his chin is resting along the waistband of their jeans. “He’s so loud, songbird.”

Sparrow snorts. Scratches at his scalp as they run their fingers through his hair. Mason pushes up into the touch with a soft sigh, grey eyes fluttering shut. “Tina is the same,” they murmur. He drops his cheek to their stomach. They press their thumb into the back of his neck. Mason shivers. Scoots closer, as close as he can, while he tightens his hold on them. “I missed this.” He hums, something low and rough that they can feel against their thighs as it rumbles through his chest. “Did you sleep at all while I was gone?”

A shrug. It jostles them a little bit, so wound together with him, and they chuckle. Tension bleeds from him, his shoulders drooping as he melts against them. Sparrow draws circles behind his ear before dragging their blunt nails along his scalp again.

“Going to guess that’s a no.”

“Bird,” he says, voice rough and thick. Mason pulls back to look at them, eyes half-lidded. “Missed you.” He blinks. Watches their face go soft and then he ducks his head. Noses their shirt out of the way enough to press a kiss to their hip. Chaste, affectionate. And then he’s moving up their body, draping himself over them and sliding his arms around so his hands are between their shoulder blades. Mason rests his head on their chest with a soft sigh. “You’re comfortable.”

Sparrow laughs, their hand dragging along his shoulders. “And you’re heavy.”

“Don’t be fucking rude.”

“Don’t call me a fucking pillow, you bastard.”

His body shakes as he laughs, face rolling so he can look up at them, and the smile that breaks across his face is brighter than any sunrise. “Fuck you too, sweetheart.”

They pinch his ear, grinning, before sweeping their touch up and down his spine. “Get some sleep,” Sparrow whispers, fingers moving back to play with his hair.

They start to move, to reach for their book, but he grumbles and frees a hand to pluck it off the table for them. A kiss to the top of his head, and then another. One that lingers, one that’s full of promises. Mason presses his lips to the middle of their chest, right over their heart, before closing his eyes and settling down with a long, soft exhale.

He’s asleep before they finish opening the book.

#the wayhaven chronicles #txt #writing tag #mason x sparrow #c: sparrow kingston #caiti.txt #surprise #nobody asked for this but sparrow whacked me over the head last night so here we are #sprint writes this in 25 minutes and hands it to you #i am forcibly trying to break myself out of this weird. only write wips and never finish them.#the fact that this is under 1k words is a miracle lmao

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lvllns · 3 years

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Mason feels it in the way their thighs tense up, fingers stilling against his scalp, and he knows whatever they say next isn’t going to be great.

“Do you ever think about dying?” Sparrow’s voice is soft, their accent slipping over the words and threatening to put him on the edge of sleep again.

He rubs both hands over his face roughly, pressing the meat of his palms into his eyes before he rolls his head in their lap so he can look up at them. They are, not surprisingly, staring at the television that’s playing some documentary that they’ve been bitching about for the last hour. Really, why do they even have it on at this point?

Their body is unmoving beneath him. He sits up. That makes them stiffen up even worse until he leans back in, shoulder bumping theirs. “Why are you asking this?” Mason cocks his head. “What happened?”

Sparrow twitches, fingers flexing in a way that Mason knows is them wishing they had their phone to flip in their hand. He reaches over. Threads his fingers through theirs and pulls their hand into his lap with a gentle squeeze. That seems to knock them out of their head, and they blink a few times.

“Nothing happened, not really,” they whisper. They still won’t look at him and now he’s getting anxious.

“Bird, if something is bothering you—”

“It’s just Ava is nine hundred years old and Nat is three hundred years old,” they blurt out, their grip on his hand going knuckle white. His eyebrows knit together. “And you’re, fuck, you’re one hundred or something like that and I’m just…” Sparrow trails off, eyes darting around their living room before settling on their joined hands. “I’m not—”

“No,” Mason snaps.

Both of them jump at how hard his voice is, the whip crack of it splitting the moment and breaking it like glass. Sparrow looks at him, gentle hazel eyes wide and mouth hanging open a little bit. They snap it shut. Mason looks away and takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“We can’t just ignore it forever.”

“We sure as fuck can,” he growls. He exhales through his nose, slow and measured. Their thumb runs over his knuckles as they wait for him to sort his thoughts out. To put them in some kind of order. “I don’t think about dying, Sparrow, but I—” Mason rolls his tongue over his teeth behind his lips. “—I think about...losing you, and I don’t want. Fuck.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “I am aware of what I am and what you are and what that means. Can we please, please, leave it there?”

The couch dips as they move closer, pulling their hand from his to wrap around his waist. Sparrow tucks their face under his chin, against his neck, and he automatically tilts his head to rest against theirs. “It’s unpleasant, I know but...”

“It’s something that we have to...talk about,” Mason grits out as he finishes their sentence. There is dirt in his mouth. He swallows. “Ava has been on my case about it from day fucking one so.” He shrugs, jostling them as they snort and press ever closer.

“You know I love you, right?” They whisper into the skin of his throat.

He shivers. “I do.”

They hum. “Good.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #writing tag #c: sparrow kingston #mason x sparrow #caiti.txt #this has been sittin and idk how to finish it so i’m plopping it here for y’all to read i guess #odds are i will expand on this later but this feels Done to me you know?#like i don’t wanna push this any further and run the risk of stretching it weirdly so #ANYWAY here take this weirdly soft angst thing idk sldjshsdkshs #sparrow and their soft welsh accent 🥺

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lvllns · 3 years

Note

45. comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together

for kincaid/felix please? 🥺

they them these two

45. comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together

—

Felix is stretched out on the sofa in Kincaid’s office watching him glare at the stack of paperwork spread all over his desk when he decides he’s seen enough.

First, he’s bored. So bored. He’s tried to let Kincaid work but it’s been hours, and the last ten minutes has been mostly silent, only sometimes broken up by an annoyed grumble or growl from Kincaid. Second, there’s a knot forming between Kincaid’s eyebrows that he always gets when he’s frustrated. The tension will settle across to his temples before his shoulders go tight and then it’s just a whole thing.

So it’s easier to step in before it gets to that point.

“Give me your hand,” Felix says as he stands.

Kincaid startles in his seat, eyes going wide, and he just catches himself from toppling over onto the ground. “Fuckin’ hell.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “What?”

Felix clicks his tongue and hops up onto the desk. Right on top of whatever report Kincaid was trying to read. “Hand, please.”

“Fee, I have to—“

“You’ve spent the last ten minutes doing nothing. Give me your hand and take a break.”

Warily, like he thinks this might be a trick of some sort, Kincaid places a hand in Felix’s, palm down. Felix immediately flips it over so his palm is facing up and then he splays his own hand over it. Felix isn’t short, he’s average height thank you very much, but Kincaid is a giant of a person and his hands are just as big and something sparks at the base of Felix’s spine that he quickly shoves aside.

“Your hands are ridiculous,” he says. He taps his fingers against Kincaid’s. “And your fingers are so long.”

Kincaid wiggles said fingers. “Never had any complaints.” The grin he shoots Felix is toothy, lopsided.

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” He reaches for Kincaid’s other hand and finds it given over much more readily. Felix lays his hand atop his and hums. “Those fingers are crooked.” He taps Kincaid’s middle and ring finger on his right hand with his thumb.

“Ah, bar fight.” Kincaid adjusts his hand. Moves so Felix can see the bend to them. “They fractured and I set them myself.”

“Kincaid.”

“What?” He looks a little sheepish and Felix knows he’d be rubbing the back of his neck if he dared to take his hands back. “I set ‘em just fine.”

Felix snorts. “Obviously not, they’re crooked.”

“Oh for—barely, barely crooked.” Kincaid shakes his head. “‘Sides, other dude ended up a lot worse.”

Felix curls his fingers then, links them with Kincaid’s, and tilts his head. “Tell me about it?” He squeezes Kincaid’s hand, once, twice. “Sounds way more exciting than boring paperwork.”

Kincaid laughs. Leans forward to rest his face against Felix’s shoulder and he just starts talking. About the bar fight, the setting of his own bones, and Felix realizes, abruptly, how much Kincaid has gone through on his own. With nobody to lean on. No support, just himself.

Felix feels himself frown, knows he’s done it because Kincaid frees a hand to cup his face.

“Fee?”

“I love you,” he says. Kincaid blinks at him. “And you’re never going to have to fix any broken fingers alone ever again because I’ll be there.”

The way Kincaid is looking at him makes him shift on the desk. Tighten his hold on Kincaid’s hand, just a bit.

“Thank you,” Kincaid whispers, rough and soft in the scant space between them. “I love you too, darlin’.”

Felix grins. Places a loud, smacking kiss right in the middle of Kincaid’s forehead. “Can you be done with paperwork for now?”

“Yeah, yes I can.”

#caiti.txt #ask tag #magebastard #writing tag #c: kincaid anderson #felix x kincaid #marty thank u for this 🥺🥺🥺#i love these to so much i just ahhhhh THEM #kincaid with his crooked fingers and his crooked nose and scars my beloved #*two not to i am cursed

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lvllns · 3 years

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i’m gonna be published. i’m gonna. one of my poems got accepted to be published in my school’s literary journal i’m. i’m shaking a little bit i’m going to be PUBLISHED.

#caiti.txt #reed does college #i'm maybe crying at my desk HOLY SHIT

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lvllns · 4 years

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you better sink your teeth before i disappear. bite down, bite down into me. [template]

#the wayhaven chronicles #img #c: kincaid anderson #those are his end of book 2 stats and .....UH the man is an optimist #i luv him about as much as i love sparrow though SO YOU KNOW here we are #i have so many facts abt him i need to sort everything out lmao #caiti.txt #anyway have a Man

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lvllns · 3 years

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21. holding hands while one is balancing on a small wall for mason and sparrow? :O

okay omg this was really cute owen thank u

21. holding hands while one is balancing on a small wall

—

“The fuck are you doing?”

Sparrow pauses, hands resting on the low stone wall, and looks over their shoulder at Mason. “I feel like being tall.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose but can’t stop the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

They’re out walking, spending the last day in Scotland wandering aimlessly around the countryside. Sparrow had called it a vacation, even as Ava reminded them constantly they were here for a case. Which they dealt with quick enough to give them three days full of nothing before having to go back to Wayhaven. Mason is grateful for the break. Even more grateful for a flood of days in an isolated cottage surrounded by fields full of sheep penned in by low stone walls.

One of which Sparrow is in the middle of scaling despite it being over half their height.

“If you fall and break something, Ava’s never gonna let us go anywhere alone ever again.”

They scoff. Push with their arms and gracefully hop onto the rough stone. “It’s like three feet tall, Mase, I’ll be fine. Besides,” they say as they stand, crooked grin on their face, “you’ll catch me, right?”

“Always.”

And maybe he says it a little too quick, a little too sincerely, but he can’t be mad at the way the truth slips off his tongue when it makes them melt. Eyes softening, a tiny smile, every muscle going lax.

Sparrow runs their fingers through his hair before turning to keep walking. Mason falls into step next to them. Lifts his hand and catches theirs, threads their fingers together with a gentle squeeze.

“This has been nice.” They look down at him and it’s odd, seeing them so much taller than usual. “Not the case, but the after.”

He hums. Shoves his free hand into the pocket of his jeans and tries to keep an eye on their steps as casually as he can. “Quiet at least.” Far off, a sheep bleats. Mason’s nose wrinkles. “Could do without the smell of sheep shit.”

Sparrow snorts. “I’ll agree with that.”

“‘Course, ‘cause I’m right.”

Their thumb brushes over the knuckle of his index finger. “Aside from the smell, did you enjoy these last few days?”

Mason stops walking. Pulls them to a halt. They turn to look at him, curious, and he steps closer. Keeps their hand in his but slips his other from his jeans to rest on their thigh. A deep breath, steadying and even, before, “I always enjoy myself whenever I’m with you.” Sparrow blinks. Looks away from him for a second before their attention is drawn back when he tightens his grip on their leg. “This was nice, songbird. Really nice.”

“Good,” they whisper, voice hoarse. Fingers card through his hair, pausing when their palm cups the back of his skull. “Same, for the record.”

Mason scoffs, not able to suppress the grin. “I get all sweet on you, and you come back with same?”

Sparrow laughs. Bright, bubbly. Something carefree and intoxicating and Mason wants more. “I could write you a poem, if you’d like?” They’re smirking down at him now, hazel eyes alight with mischief.

He hums. Leans forward to press a kiss to their hip before he starts walking again, still holding their hand as they keep pace on the wall.

“Better be a fuckin’ good poem, sweetheart.”

“I’ll get started as soon as possible, sunshine.”

#caiti.txt #ask tag #impossible-rat- babies #writing tag #c: sparrow kingston #mason x sparrow #I LOVE THEM BOTH SO MUCH #thank u for this owen omg 🥺🥺🥺#i see a sparrow and mason prompt in my ask box #i go bonkers that’s just how it is #gods they’re just. babies. i love they.

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lvllns · 3 years

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wip wednesday

i got tagged by @impossible-rat-babies and @montliyets tagged me in a wip meme the other day so two birds one stone y’all! thank u both for the tags!!

i reach into my bag of wips and hand you yet another felix and kincaid piece that i cut off right before it gets Spicy

—

Kincaid is halfway through pulling his shirt off when his phone rings. “Gimme a sec darlin’,” he mutters to himself as he finishes stripping to the waist before swiping his thumb over the screen. “Fee.”

There’s a soft sigh, distorted through the phone, and then “Cade.” A pause. “It went okay then?”

He hums an affirmative. “It did. They were very cooperative and receptive to joinin’ the Agency which I’m glad about, made things a little easier.” He shifts his phone in his hand, leaning back to rest against the headboard and kick his legs up on the bed. “How is everything there?”

“Fine,” Felix says. Kincaid can hear the rustling of fabric, a blanket maybe, before, “Quiet. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Kincaid closes his eyes, head tipping back to thump against the wood behind him. Fuck but he misses Felix. One week apart and they’re clawing at the walls trying to get back to each other. “I’ll be home tomorrow, or, well today I guess.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Few hours, Mason wants to be on the road by four.” Felix makes a distressed sound. “It’s fine, Mason offered to drive so I can sleep on the way back.”

“Good, good.” It’s not difficult to pick up just how relieved Felix feels as he speaks. “I should let you get some sleep.”

“Stay on the phone?” Kincaid feels his cheeks heat as he asks. He clears his throat. “It’s just, uh, nice to hear your voice.”

“Of course.” Felix chuckles briefly before he asks, “Is this where I ask what you’re wearing?”

Kincaid snorts. “Ratty old jeans covered in...oh, I hope that’s mud.” He blinks. Looks down at his bed and grimaces. “Shit, maybe I shouldn’t be lying on the bed.”

“Babe, you’re not very good at this.”

He rolls his eyes, a fond smile splitting his face as he stands up. “I need to get out of these rank clothes.”

Felix laughs again, bright and happy. “Oh yeah, babe, talk dirty to me.”

Fingers on the button of his jeans, Kincaid pauses. Swallows. The silence settles between them and he hears Felix fidget, the noise of the blankets loud through the phone. “You want me to?”

#caiti.txt #writing tag #me trying to hold all these felix/kincaid wips but they keep falling out of my arms:#is this an excuse to write ***** ***? yes. yes it is.#as always this is fine to rb

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lvllns · 3 years

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pain is a well-intentioned weatherman

pairing: adam x f!detective (callahan esposito) rating: g, little angsty though words: ~1.9k notes: i have....never written adam before and i think it shows but whatever. this is finished and i’ll take it because i haven’t been able to finish anything in months yikes. ao3 link

—

She gives up trying to sleep after three hours of staring at the wall, eyes blank and thumb methodically rubbing over the scar on her wrist. The bounty is hanging over her head and it’s all too much. Pressure beats down on her shoulders and there is only so far she can bend before breaking.

Callahan crawls out of bed. Throws on whatever clothes her fingers find in the dark and slips from her room at the warehouse. She blinks as her eyes adjust to the lack of light in the hallway, fingers trailing along the wall as she makes for the kitchen. It’s two in the morning, late or early for her, not so much for the pack of vampires she shares her life with now. Light seeps under the doors of a few rooms as she passes. She hopes desperately that the kitchen will be empty when she reaches it.

No such luck, as the light bleeds out into the hallway when she steps through the door. Adam looks up from where he’s leaning against the counter, a mug of something cradled gently between his hands. She can’t quite make out the smell of it over whatever body wash he’s used, the peppermint sting of it overwhelming the space. He’s clearly been training and cleaned up.

“Detective?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a sharp pinch of disappointment when he doesn’t say her name. She bats it away and shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” she murmurs.

Stepping further into the room, she grabs her own mug and starts fiddling with the coffee machine.

Adam snorts. She looks over her shoulder to find him watching her, one brow quirked and a small half-smile not quite concealed behind his cup.

“What?”

“Coffee is hardly going to help you get any sleep.” There’s a thread of something in his voice. Cal thinks it might be concern.

The machine clicks on with a soft whir and she hops up on the counter to wait. “I’m not going to get back to sleep so I may as well start my day now.”

“That’s…” Adam trails off. A crease forms right over his nose as he frowns. Callahan places her hands in her lap, tangling her fingers together and squeezing until her knuckles bleed white. “Unwise.”

“It is what it is,” she says, eyes darting from his pinched-up face to the floor. “Nightmares and anxiety don’t exactly make for a relaxing time.” He jerks his head up to look at her, eyes narrowing. She ignores him. Plucks at a thread on the shirt she’s wearing and ah, it’s an old one of Tina’s she never gave back. “Why are you awake?” Adam stares at her. She sighs. “Aside from the obvious not needing much sleep.”

“I...I was training,” he says hesitantly, words escaping from his mouth as though he wishes he could bury them back down.

There’s a loud beep as the coffee finishes and Callahan reaches for the pot, almost missing the wave of relief that washes over Adam. She lifts her mug to her face. Takes a deep breath and knocks back a few mouthfuls before slipping from the counter to rummage through the fridge.

“Did you not just burn your mouth?”

She twists around to look at him and he looks horrified. Eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar. A snort leaves her before she can stop it. With a shake of her head, she says, “Nothing I can’t handle.” Just to prove a point, she takes another large drink. Adam blinks. Mumbles something under his breath in French and drops it. With a triumphant sound, she holds up a container of blackberries and grins. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Cal—Detective, you do not need to leave.” The words rush from him. A dam bursting, water running and flooding the plains beneath. “I’m almost done, I should—”

Callahan bumps the door shut with her hip. “We can both share the kitchen Adam,” she says, cautious and delicate.

“I do not wish to overstep.”

“You could never.”

And, okay, maybe that’s a little more honest than she should be considering whatever they are to each other. He winces, physically winces, shoulders jerking and fingers tightening around his mug. She hops back up on the counter, space between them. Enough, she hopes, for him to not feel cornered and run.

Silence settles then and it’s...pleasant. Not comfortable, not entirely with the weird undercurrent of tension that seems to trail the both of them like a shadow wherever they go.

She drinks her coffee.

He sips his tea.

Neither of them speak until:

“How have you been fairing?” Adam’s top lip catches on the rim of his mug for a moment before he pulls back. Swipes his thumb across his mouth. Callahan forces herself not to follow the movement by staring down at her coffee. “With the kidnapping and the bounty...it cannot be easy.”

She laughs, mirthless and exhausted. “It’s...it’s a lot honestly.” Callahan sets her cup down and presses her palms to her eyes. “I’m still trying to process Murphy, you know?” A shake of her head. Hands falling to her lap once more as her thumb brushes over the scar on her wrist. Adam’s eyes drop to the movement, following the line of her arm back up to her face. “The bounty, fuck, I try not to think about it.”

“Do...do you wish to talk about what happened with Murphy?”

Bless his heart, he’s trying, she thinks. He’s settled against the counter, fingers running around the rim of his empty cup. Their friendship will always be more important to her than anything else but sometimes she wishes...and she wants in a way that threatens to consume them both in a blaze. And she can’t lie, it stings when he drapes his arm on the bench behind her only to turn around and put so much distance between the two of them that she hardly sees him for days on end except for team meetings.

“There really isn’t much to talk about,” she says. Callahan shakes her head and sighs. She fiddles with the container of blackberries for a moment before mumbling, “You were there after all.”

A full-body flinch and it would be comical, watching this tank of a man attempt to fold in on himself, except he clearly blames himself for whatever catastrophic part he believes he played in her maiming.

The container rocks on the counter as she blinks. “Shit, I didn’t mean to—”

He lifts a hand to stop her. “No, I...I was there, you are right.” He exhales through his nose. “I should have been quicker.”

“Adam don’t—”

“Cal,” he whispers, eyes lifting from his hands to her face. He is pleading with her and she is weak to him. “I should have protected you better.” Adam scoffs and he sounds so much like Mason, she has to blink a few times to make sure Adam is still the one beside her. “It will not happen again.” He looks straight ahead at the empty doorway. “I will not let you go so easily in the future.”

Her head is spinning. Fingers trembling where they’re now tangled together. His voice is barely a whisper in the dark but the conviction…

She shivers. Twists her head to look at him and there’s a bright burst of anger beneath her ribs. It flares, burning wild, and engulfs her lungs. “What are you doing?” The words rasp over her tongue, sharper than intended and he snaps his gaze to her. “Adam, what...I…” Frustration drips from her fingertips only to be replaced by exhaustion. “I can’t keep doing this.” She laughs. Tips her head back until it hits the cabinet with a dull thump.

“Can’t keep doing what?” He’s gone tense, shoulders tight beneath the shirt he’s wearing.

Callahan levels him with a blank stare. “Adam.” He says nothing. She groans. “I value our friendship above everything else, but I...sometimes I think…” Well, there’s nothing for it, is there? She focuses her attention back on the blackberries and says, “I care about you, Adam, a whole fucking lot, and sometimes I think you care about me too but then you go and make yourself so scarce we don’t see each other for days at a time.”

Adam swallows hard. “What would you have of me?”

“Your honesty.”

He scrubs his hands over his face. Brushes them over his hair and clasps them on the back of his neck. “It is late and—”

“Right.”

“Callahan.” She pauses at the use of her name, searching his face for...for something. What, she doesn’t know, but something, anything would be a start. “This is...a conversation better had when we are both well-rested.” The way he speaks, low and calming, his usual clipped accent softening, it soothes her nerves and she feels tension melt from her shoulders.

“You’re right,” she whispers, eyes darting back to the berries sitting on the counter. “I just...you know I’m not asking for you to, like, I don’t know, do something outrageous, right?”

“Calla—”

“I just want you to be honest, Adam.” Callahan lifts her gaze and meets his stare head-on. His knuckles are white where they curl around his mug and she can see the start of a hairline fracture in the ceramic. “With me, but with yourself most of all.” One fluid motion has her off the counter, blackberries in-hand, and she moves to set them back in the fridge, her appetite gone now. “Just...be honest.”

“That is easier said than done,” Adam rasps out. She watches the crack in the mug grow. “There...are things you do not know or understand…”

Arms crossed over her chest, she leans against the refrigerator. “And I’m willing to wait, Adam.” He flinches for the third time tonight, shoulders curling forward. She smothers the urge to reach out, to comfort him. Piles dirt on the fire and lets it flicker out. “I just...I can’t handle the way you run from me. Work out whatever you need to, but please don’t hide from me.” Callahan wipes at her face. “I like your company, Adam.”

He closes his eyes, head bowing. Lines travel up toward the rim of his mug, racing toward the top. “I apologize,” he says, voice low. “I...I will try.”

The mug cracks with an audible snap. Adam jerks, hands catching sharp pieces of ceramic between his palms. Callahan jumps, eyes going wide. She moves closer, hand outstretched, but he waves dismissively.

“Careless,” he says with a shake of his head. She’s not entirely sure he’s talking about the mug. Shards clink together in his palms, the gentle sound filling the otherwise silent space.

“Did you cut yourself?”

“Mhm.” Adam shifts all the pieces into one hand. Raises the other so she can see the cut across his fingers. “It will heal shortly.”

She blinks. “Ah. Right. Forgot.” He quirks a brow, and she watches him push down the smile that pulls at the corner of his lips. “I’ll just get out of your hair and let you clean this up.”

He laughs, soft and quiet. “At least it was empty.”

“It’s the little things,” she says with a lopsided smile.

Adam looks up at her. Grins, wide enough to reveal his dimples before he turns to set the broken pieces in the sink. It’s so easy to slip away from the tension. To fall back into the easy camaraderie they have together. Callahan lets it happen. Doesn’t fight it, doesn’t try to press for more. He’s right anyway, this is better talked about when she’s actually had some sleep.

She sighs and leaves the kitchen, lifting her hand in goodbye when he notices her retreating and turns around.

Whatever they have, it’s enough for now.

#the wayhaven chronicles #writing tag #long post #c: callahan esposito #adam x cal #i have zero idea what this is but it's finished so that's something #hopefully this......breaks me out of whatever weird funk i've been in :\#also guess the two lines in here that are the reason callahan even exists lmao #it ends a little abruptly but it's fine this is fine #caiti.txt

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lvllns · 4 years

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*blows a kiss to the sky* for zevran

#caiti.txt #that’s it i have nothing else to say #i miss him n want him back but also do not touch him bioware leave him alone

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lvllns · 3 years

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wip wednesday

i got tagged by @magebastard, thank u so much marty 🥺🥺

i think everyone has been tagged already, so i won’t tag anyone but if u see this and wanna do it, then ur tagged now.

anyway uhhhh ha ha ha sweats.

—

There’s a big ass mirror in Sparrow’s bedroom.

Mason blinks. He’s been in their bedroom before, plenty of times, but that mirror has decidedly never been present. It’s floor length, tucked in a corner next to their dresser, and he would remember seeing it. Wouldn’t he? Sure he’s usually distracted when they’re in here, but something that size would catch his eye.

Sparrow turns to look over their shoulder, hands pausing their rummaging through a drawer. “Mase?”

“When did you get that?” He quirks a brow. Points at the mirror and watches as they turn, brows furrowed, until they see what he’s looking at.

“I’ve had it for years,” they say, looking back down at the clothes they’re searching through. “I covered it after all the shit with Falk, shoved it into a closet, and just finally decided it was safe to put it back.”

He crosses the room and sits on the bed. Watches his reflection do the same and oh, that’s an idea. Mason makes a considering noise at the back of his throat, one he knows will catch Bird’s attention and yeah, there they go. Hazel eyes flick to him, confusion clear on their face. He jerks his head toward the mirror as he leans back to rest on his palms, legs falling open just a little. Sparrow rolls their eyes but steps back, just enough to be able to look at him straight on, and Mason can’t stop the grin at the sharp uptick of their heartbeat.

Their mouth drops open, a little “o” that makes him smile wide enough to flash his fangs. He drops a hand to the hem of his shirt. Slides his hand up, up under the fabric, up until his palm is splayed across his chest and Sparrow is staring at the exposed skin through the mirror. He stands and whips his shirt off over his head in one movement. They start to turn but he grabs their hips. Keeps them facing the mirror. Presses his chest to their back, molds himself against them, and they slot together so easily he shivers with it.

Mason hooks his chin over their shoulder as he skims a palm up to rest over their stomach. “‘S nice,” he whispers right against their ear. Sparrow’s eyes snap shut and he clicks his tongue. “Eyes open, sweetheart.”

#caiti.txt #writing tag #implied spice but listen #I CAN EXPLAIN—[BOLTS FROM THE ROOM]

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