#twc fic

[slushrottweiler]

Hold on tight

My little contribution to the @wayhavenficexchange for this year. My lovely giftee was @doulyeah, with a request for Mason and F!detective, including funny twilight references and banter. I hope you like what I've come up with. Your detective sounds so fun!

Mason was halfway out the window when he heard her heartbeat.

Well - honestly, he had been hearing it more and more recently. It was like a little part of his mind was always honed in on the steady thump thump thump of the detective’s pulse, his ears straining for the sound no matter the distance. He heard it so often that it had become a gentle background noise; a calming beat that seemed to blend into the jumble of sounds that Wayhaven had to offer.

Tonight, with the heavy sounds of wind through the forest trees and the mile wide circle of nocturnal wildlife cavorting around, her heartbeat was still a gentle echo that grew louder the closer to the roof he got. Mason cursed under his breath and considered whether he should just slip back into the building and find somewhere else to dull the pounding in his head. When had his rooftop perch become their meeting place? Now where the fuck was he supposed to go?

“Mason? Why are you hanging off the gutter like a spider monkey?”

“Spider what?” Mason snapped back, head popping over the roof edge to shoot the detective an indignant look.

Fuck, she looked good in the moon light.

All that soft beige skin; skin he knew shivered when he stood too close, or blushed russet when he murmured in her ear; it looked bronzed in the silver light. Far too much of it was visible for such cool weather, and goosebumps were clearly visible all the way from the sleeves of her tank top down her arms. Her legs swung down over the edge, bare feet kicking in the empty air. That heartbeat of hers picked up slightly as she met his gaze, and for a moment he forgot to be annoyed. But only for a moment.

“Is that another of your sparkle vamp tropes Sweetheart?” he asked, dropping down to sit shoulder to shoulder with her. When had he crossed the roof? He didn’t even remember choosing to sit down.

But the moment his shoulder brushed hers, a little of his headache faded. He supposed it was easier to focus on her, than on the racket of his senses. She took up a good amount of space, as far as distractions went.

The laugh she sent up into the sky held his attention far better than any of the forest noises. The flash of her grin seemed to defuse the bright moonlight, and his clothes didn’t feel so damn scratchy when he could feel the heat of her through it.

“Ah HA! You do remember!” She pointed her finger at him, and Mason caught her wrist on instinct.

“How could I not,” he grumbled, “those damn films are akin to torture. I cannot believe you convinced Felix that they were fun.”

“Because they are!”

“Nothing about watching a couple of blue tinted morons angst at each other could possibly be fun.”

“Admit it, you’re team Jacob and you’re just mad he didn’t get the girl.”

“I ain’t on the dog’s side!”

Again, her laughter bubbled out of her. Mason wasn’t used to making someone laugh this much. That must be why it made his chest tight. He had to acclimate to it. Yeah, that’s it.

Mason did not pout. But he did change the topic. “How did you know I was there?”

She shook her head at him with a smirk. “I could see the smoke.”

“Smoke?”

A faint orange glow reflected back at him from her dark eyes, and Mason remembered he had a lit cigarette between his lips. The burn of the nicotine, the acrid smell; he’d barely noticed it since he saw her. Without questioning it, Mason reached up and stubbed out the smoke beside him, flicking the butt off into the woods as he watched the shadows soften on the detective’s face now that only the moonlight lit her.

“Well aren’t you observant?”

“Yeah, not like that’s my job or anything.”

He shook his head. “Or maybe you just know this is my spot. “

“I mean, was I wrong?”

It was Mason’s turn to tease. “Aww,” he crooned, “did you miss me? Have a bad dream?”

He expected a glib comeback. Something sarcastic to get him all worked up. Instead, the detective snapped away from him, spine ramrod straight. She tore her gaze from his, and it stung behind his own eyes. A stiff breeze picked up, catching her dark curls and whipping them around her face. Pushing the scent of her toward him.

The salty tang of fear mixed with her usual scent and Mason froze. She sighed, shoving her hair back with a shaky hand.

Without the sharper shadows from his cigarette, he could clearly see the tired circles under the detective’s eyes. What he had thought were only goosebumps were actually a mild tremor. Holding her wrist, he could feel the warped texture of her scar, raised and tight. He stroked his thumb over it, and felt her pulse skitter under his touch. Maybe her heartbeat hadn’t picked up when he’d appeared. Maybe it had already been pounding. Maybe there was a reason she was out here in the freezing night air, still in her sleep clothes, alert to anything as small as a tendril of smoke.

“Hey” Mason started, but she cut him off.

“Wait Sweetheart-” But she was already pulling away, and the world was rushing back in. His clothes felt like sandpaper, the wind stung as it whipped at his face. Animals skitters, birds hollered. Somewhere downstairs, Nate and Adam were talking quietly in the study. His own heart was beating a tattoo behind his eyes. It matched her own.

“You’re right. I should go. This is your spot, I shouldn’t have come…”

Don’t go.

She froze and he yanked. The grip he had on her wrist tightened just enough to pull her closer, she fell more securely against him. Shoulders, hips, thighs, all aligned now. The world receded away as she whirled to look at him, shocked eyes wide. But she didn’t try to get up again.

Slowly, like he was trying not to startle her, Mason lifted her scarred wrist to his own lips and, whilst still holding her gaze, he pressed a soft kiss to the raised skin. He felt her tremble. Her heartbeat was the only thing he could hear, fluttering and erratic for a different reason now.

He should do something. Say something. Apologise.

Fuck it.

Mason curled his other arm around her and pulled her in tight. He felt it as her tensed muscles slowly relaxed, until she melted down. Her head dropped onto his shoulder and her other hand reached up to grip his shirt, tightly at first, then looser as she took in deep breaths. Normally, it was her who initiated their hugs. She, who wrapped him up in her arms.

He could hold on tight. Just for tonight.

“Just for tonight.” he murmured into the top of her head. A weak chuckle puffed out of her.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven fic exchange 2k23 #mason x f!detective #fluffy #twc mason #twc detective #twc fic #gift exchange

[sunshineandviolets]

Into the Unknown.

Happy (late) holidays to @yakov-vasilyev, I was your secret santa <3. Much enjoyed learning all about Devon, esp her relationship with Farah and Bobby! Hope I did your girl justice and this new year has been treating you well!! 🥰🤗💕 Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Characters: Devon Kang x Farah Hauville (& Bobby Marks) @wayhavensecretsanta

The chill of the winter evening would be enough to make time slow down. From the small prickly hedgehogs curled up asleep within a pile of leaves till the warmth of spring was ready to greet them again, to the silent awes and faint twinkle in a young child’s eye as they witnessed their first snowflake. Jack frost nipped at their nose and in return heard the softest giggle as the confusion shifted to intrigue then finally pure wonder. 

It was just past 5pm and the sun had already started to set, however the crowds of townspeople on the street still remained as lively as before.- regardless of the loud honks from a vehicle that was on the verge of collapse. The night sky was lit up from the endless colourful string lights that decorated the streets. No order, just chaos spurred all over the surrounded homes. 

Devon squinted as she glanced up towards the car’s rear view mirror and grumbled once noticed the increased number of civilians that kept ‘mistaken’ the main road for a damn walkway. Her dark eyes ached with the continuous flash of lights directed towards her. The shine highlighted noticeable dark eye bags that had been one of the few consistent variables in her life thus far.  A child or even an naive adult would describe the first snowfall to commence the winter season as ‘magical’ but for someone whose car’s heating would not turn on - despite the amount of times she had punched the button to no reward - Devon was not feeling to share those same reactions as she pulled her coat furthered into herself.

 “Only a few more blocks to go”, she thought as she gripped the steering wheel tight and clenched her teeth to forcibly stop the chatter. A few more blocks till she would arrive back to a place that was once familiar and now is but a stranger. 

Devon never wanted to become an officer in the first place, that was a position forced upon her as punishment for acts of delinquency. Devon Kang - the woman who had a promising future laid out in front of her when she was growing up. She was meant to gain a successful career as a lawyer, being on top - exceeding far from other’s expectations of her. That was until he came into her life. Took her trust, her heart and had let her lay her armour down, only from him stabbed her from behind. The single revelation of the betrayal from someone she once could call hers, led to her eventual down spiral. A fallen angel , knocked off her pedestal and into a string of bad choices and decisions. Her downfall was his fault. She let him in, to drop her guard and only for him to - urgh. It was his fault.

“ So why can’t I - ? ”

Devon let out a low grunt at the nuisance of the thought of those strikingly blue eyes flashed before her, but it was another that they changed out for. Eyes as bright as the sun that rose up from the darkness, like an unexpected gift from under the tree - the reason why Devon cannot fully regret becoming the detective… if it had meant she got to meet the terrifying surprise that tipped her world upside down.

Thoughts of the sunshine vampire whirled into her mind. A bitter laugh left her as she reminiscenced their first kiss all those months ago. Strange yet needed, as through it’s what she had been missing despite never thinking to look. The vulnerable expression of Farah as she asked her for the kiss - did Farah expect her to say no? Should she have? Any doubt that remained was erased once Devon’s mind shifted to the taste of Farah’s candy scented lip gloss. It happened in almost an instant, yet remained gentle and soft like a touch of a sunny clear day.  Felt the sweetness of newly bloomed roses. After they both moved apart, that blissful kiss still lingered on her lips. The deeper she delved in thought about her new girlfriend, the increase of a chill crept along her back. This is new territory for her and one that Devon has yet to believe or understand that she even deserved. 

A few moments passed and Devon eventually arrived at the station. It was once a home away from home, but ever since her forced promotion at the agency she had found herself hesitant by the foot of the stone steps. She watched as the light shined brightly through the windows from the cold shadows. She never understood how her old co-workers could just easily stroll in a place and make conversation without a stumble. All it had taken was a single look from Devon and the others would avoid and cower like she had the plague. She certainly never smelt bad - always remained rather pristine and put together with style, she thought whilst she smoothed down her pressed shirt. 

A ping from her phone broke her chain of thought. Devon does not save people's numbers usually. A small contact list, less names to remember - only those that she actually cares about. 

Tina Poname, 5:12pm. Seen. 

“Dev! You coming to pick your things up or what?”

Tina Poname, 5:13pm. Seen.

“Don’t make me throw your shit in the trash - I will do it 😤”

Devon rolled her eyes, typed out a quick response then shoved the phone back into her coat pocket. Tina’s threats are not some to dismiss. 

Devon Kang, 5:13pm. Sent.

“Try it and I will break your plant.” 

She sighed whilst taking the steps back into a place that felt more as a distant memory. Devon brushed past individuals that made their way out of the building, ignorant of the pleasantries that were thrown her way. 

***

In and out. 

That was all it was supposed to be.

Get in, grab her stuff then leave. In and out. As easy as that. So, why was she stood in front of a bare naked pine tree with a box of cheap plastic ornaments in her hands. Devon wrinkled her nose when she remembered Tina’s big and bold pleading eyes. Devon was about to shrug her request off before Tina pulled out her trap card. 

“Well this could be a rather difficult task, if you think you won’t be able to handle it then I suppose I could have another - ”

Devon sneered at her past self’s foolishness to fall for such a low blow trick that had landed her to decorate a tree over twice her size. Devon dealt with worse, she knew she didn't need help to assist with such a mindless task. Anyone around her knew better to ask or dealt with the agent’s stone cold glare that could rival Adams. 

Like a blur, time sped up whilst Devon concentrated with the decorations. Volunteers, co workers, guests flew around and past her in all directions - but her focus remained on the tree. No time for pointless greetings or goodbyes, she had a system and it would be followed.

The moment she was unable to find the star topper, Devon decided it was a decent time for a break. That and her stomach betrayed her. She headed for the vending machine, typed out the number, tapped her card and waited for her chips.

And waited.  

… Still waited. 

Devon inched closer with anticipation whilst the bag started to tilt forward and … nothing. It just remained still, mocked her from behind the glass. She kicked at the machine, once or perhaps multiple times, but the chips still refused to budge. How was it that she could shove over an old powerful supernatural, but it was a single bag of chips that held its own against her? At least most people had already left for the day to not see a grown woman’s beef with a mechanical box.

“Oh angel, take it easy on the machine. You are going to leave a dent.” 

Devon groaned and the hairs on the back of her neck stiffened up at that dreadful name. Not even needed to glance away from her new inanimate enemy, she already knew exactly who arrived. She let out another low grunt as she gave the machine one last hard kick, yet the chips remained attached on the rack. 

“Need some assistance there, before you break company property - oh! I meant your ex - company’s property.” Devon made the fatal mistake and shifted her gaze to glance up at the taller man with his smug grin that pierced a burnt feeling in her chest. Bobby Marks leaned against the vending machine with a journalist pass displayed around his neck.

“Ah great. Just when my headache was thought to have gone” She rolled her eyes and spoke in a neutral tone, “the detective is not present, you have no business here.” “Who said I was here for business and not pleasure?” He winked and Devon just barely managed to hold in another groan. He already used that line once before in the past.

She was tired, she had a very brief moment of weakness and it was late - way too late. Devon was usually quite pragmatic, but in that moment, her mind betrayed her when she held the door open for him. Without a second to process, she felt a rough wet collision between their lips. An overwhelming scent of his cologne scraped against her nose. The kiss itself is as she expected. A fight for control. Urgency or desperation? Doesn’t matter. It was over as quick as it had started. After the sounds of betrayal, almost used once again for nothing more than a scoop - she will not allow herself to fall for that same mistake again. 

“But really what a surprise to find you here after your sudden promotion, must be a christmas miracle - “ “It’s the fourth of December.”

Bobby continued as though she never interrupted, “and here I worried that agency of yours had kept you locked up and you’d tragically never see my handsome face again.” Devon noted the venom laced on his tongue at the slight mention of the agency. She managed to array Bobby’s suspicions of her new workplace and unordinary colleagues for the past couple of months, but how long will that secret last? Knowing Bobby for as long as she does, he won’t stop till he figured out the truth. 

Devon rolled her eyes again at his comment, but stopped at the sound of a bag drop. Her eyes darted towards the row ‘035’ and that very same chip bag had indeed fallen onto the tray. When her gaze moved towards the control panel, her surprise quickly shifted to a glare towards her conversation partner who was in the process of putting away his card.

“I did not need your help.” Bobby scoffed lightly, “Bold of you to assume these were for you.” He reached down faster enough to beat her for the winning prize. He opened her bag. He took out her chips. With the usual smirk drawn on his face, crunched down on each chip. One by one. However, it did not last as that nauseating smirk faded into a knowing grimace.

Bobby let out a loud cough and tossed the bag onto an empty desk, “Kale? Who on earth would choose to eat kale flavoured chips?” Devon scoffs with a small quirk of a smile “it’s called being healthy, why don’t you try it some time?” Bobby rubbed a hand on the corners of his mouth, “it’s called being pretentious, Kang.”

“Takes one to know one, Marks.”  

Bobby took a few steps closer towards Devon, leaned down to match her height “we always had much in common, hadn’t we? Shame truly we don’t spend nearly enough time together anymore to explore - “

Devon was about to snap back at him, if it wasn’t for her surprise wrapped up in all colours of the rainbow. 

“Dev!! Honey! I saw your car outside, are you in here?”

Farah’s booming voice echoed through the office, a pleasant chime to the ears. She had a peppy spring to her steps, with her poofy skirt bouncing along with her and colourful rainbow stockings proudly on display. She swung around a small woven tote bag, whilst she skipped with a beaming smile towards Devon. 

“You would not believe what I managed to score, and for free as well!” Farah’s excitement could radiate an entire room with how much twinkle would shine from her amber eyes. 

Bobby let out a loud cough and Farah’s bounce halted and finally realised his existence in the scene. He was not amused, “We were having a conversation here.” Farah threw him a disinterested gaze up and down with a shrug “emphasis on ‘were’. You are no longer needed - not when the real gift has arrived!” She gives a small twirl of the skirt and sent a wink at Devon. Devon snorted at the man’s insulted face. She hesitated at first but reached over for Farah’s hand and gave it a small squeeze. 

Bobby glanced between both women then at their joined hands, gave a slight roll of the eyes before he plastered a tight smile. “Oh! It seems I am getting a call,”  He whipped out his phone and very obviously typed out a number. He kept his gaze locked onto Devon as he spoke, “Hello there Harriet, did you miss me?” Devon just scoffed at his antics. 

Farah stuck her tongue out at the man when he headed out of the station, then shook her head and sighed, “What a total weirdo. Good thing you totally upgraded from that, right honey?” She glanced towards her with an anxious smile. Farah has always been rather open, going through life, her heart on her sleeve, even a hint of insecurity can easily slip past that smiley façade. However, without the necessity of words, Devon lifted their joined hands to press a faint kiss on her knuckles and those once anxious thoughts simply faded away. 

Farah’s cheeks darkened and sputtered out a soft laugh “oh gosh - wow. Gotta say babes, I'm never truly tired of finding these surprises of yours hidden within.” Devon showed a small inch of a smile and Farah’s grin widened, then blinked for a second “Wait, what was I going to say again?” Devon glanced at the tote bag and raised a single brow, Farah clapped her hands “Oh right! Check it.” She opened the bag and revealed a small box of freshly baked mince pies. “Some old human was selling a bunch on the street and she ended up giving me a box with no charge! Must have been hypnotised by my adorable face, haha!” Devon purses her lips in slight confusion, “firstly I am not going to argue about ‘adorableness’ of your face as that’s obviously true to a fact,” Farah blew her a kiss. “But you are a vampire, aren’t you not? You don’t need to eat actual foods.” Farah flapped her hand, “Need? No. But I heard these small pie things are a big deal this time of the year, so I was curious what all the hype was about.” Farah shuffled near, their hands still joined, the sudden closeness caused a warmth to bloom on Devon’s cheeks. “And I thought you might appreciate the snack.”

Devon hadn’t told anyone she was heading to the station. Hadn’t told anyone if she was eating out or staying in. But despite not knowing if they were going to meet, Farah still thought of her. She used her free hand to gently cup her girlfriend’s cheek. Examined her for any possible ulterior motives, tricks or tomfoolery - but what she deduced was nothing but the earnest truth, as she has always been.

“You are forever on my mind, honey. I hope you know that. If not, I do not mind getting to remind you every second of every day.” Left speechless, Devon responded with a slow nod. She leaned up slightly for a gentle kiss with a short breath of relief that escaped her lips. Farah’s leg propped up with her arms around Devon’s waist, kept her close and near. A picturesque portrait with the newly decorated tree behind the blossoming couple and seemingly Devon finally found the star. 

All she wishes for this Christmas season is not to lose her shooting star anytime soon. 

The End.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhavensecretsanta #farah hauville #farah x detective #twc fic #twc edit #my writings #my edits #my fav thing is when people have a designated tag for their oc #so much fun just looking through to find little details #aka the kale chips haha #anyways i had such a blast writing Devon!! #love me a grumpy intimidating woman with a soft spot

[writer-ish]

insecure

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 2.3k | rating: T+ (maybe higher idk i'm rusty pls lmk) timeline: uhhh somewhere in book 3? when feelings are still relatively uncertain? after the demo scenes though. summary: grace is insecure. mason has a solution. author note: wow the brain rot is so real i guess because here we are??? i can't pretend like i wrote this whole thing in the last few days - half of it had been manifested (lol) after the book 3 demo and i just put some lipstick on it and sent it out into the world. anyway please do not perceive me 😶‍🌫️

Somehow, they manage to sneak away. 

Adam wants to debrief and Nate hopes to ask Grace a question about a specific translation and Felix starts pulling out their favourite board game—

But Mason wants her more. 

Grace, as always, tries her best to accommodate the needs of all the others and almost doesn't see him there in the doorway, gaze searing into her, his eyes conveying a message for her and her alone. 

But when she does, it causes her to stumble on her words as she speaks to Nate. To claim a headache when Felix says she can be the banker this time. To tell Adam she'll meet him later to discuss what needs to be discussed.

At least, that’s what she assumes happens, since her recollection turns fuzzy after seeing Mason waiting for her like that, his intent clear. 

They make it only a few steps away from the meeting room before he has her against the wall, lips on hers in a kiss so heatedly possessive, she thinks maybe she’s imagining the intensity. But no - there's something different about his behaviour, something intentional. The way his mouth moves over hers, stroking and claiming. The way he holds her so close, pressing her body to his. One hand roaming up to her hair, tightening there, while the other moves down to her bottom and secures her in place. 

Lost in the moment, she wraps her arms around his neck, giving in to the tenderness she usually curbs when she’s with him. There’s always that part of her that feels like she needs to protect herself against the inevitable backlash. His words at the bakery still cut deeper than he’ll ever realize - deeper than she'll ever let on - putting a voice to the very fears that plague her about him; about them.

Except now she relents to the ever-present temptation to touch and to stroke. She lets her fingers move into his hair, to scrape against his scalp, her other hand stroking his nape in a soft gesture. He lets out a low rumble, pulling her even closer, tilting his head to open her mouth wider and stroke her with his tongue just so. 

He pulls away and she lets out a soft gasp as his mouth immediately finds her neck, licking her pulse points, biting gently. The soft-sharp touch sends a zing of electricity through her, warming all her limbs and traveling into her lower belly. Tugging on his hair slightly, she makes him look up and meet her gaze. He stops immediately at her unspoken signal, head lifting and hands moving to rest on her hips. 

“Take me to your room,” she whispers, resisting the urge to glance down the hall to see if anyone heard her, caught them. 

His eyes darken and a smirk turns the corner of his lip up, knowing what it took for her to say those words. Wordlessly, he entwines his fingers with hers and practically drags her away from the wall, pulling her in the direction of his room at the Warehouse.

The second his door closes behind them, she’s up against it, his lips on hers once more. His agile hands make quick work of her clothes, unbuttoning her shirt, unzipping the back of her skirt. 

“Did I tell you how good your ass looked in this fucking little skirt?” he growls against her mouth, nipping at her jaw. “I’ve been thinking of this all day, from the second you waltzed in wearing it.” He pushes it off past her thighs and it falls to the ground. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you put it on specifically to torture me.” His head drops and his mouth finds her bare shoulder, kissing on either end of the bra strap there. “But for some reason your silly little head doesn’t think that way.” 

She laughs breathlessly, self-consciously. “The only thing I thought about as I put it on was that it was tighter than it was the last time I wore it,” she admits, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she steps out of the material at her feet.  

“You crazy?” he mutters, running his hands over her until they settle on her bottom, giving it an appreciative squeeze. "Fits perfect."

She doesn't know if she's talking about her skirt or her ass in his hands, but either way, his grip on her tightens and he lifts her up effortlessly, carrying her to his bed and dropping her down unceremoniously. For a moment he just stands there at the foot of his bed, still fully clothed, his eyes running over her half-naked form. 

And she thinks about Bobby.

The unwanted image in that moment feels visceral - like a slap. It’s the last thing she ever wanted to cross her mind, especially here, now, with Mason.

But his presence has been weighing heavily on her lately. His tendency to pop up when she’s at her most vulnerable. His careless dismissal of her devotion to the ethics of her work. 

The kiss he took from her unwillingly. 

It brings to mind other visions of Bobby, intrusive and unsolicited.

Bobby who had always found her lacking, who’d always seemed to have a comment about a dimple on her thigh or a roll in her stomach or the way she couldn’t fill a bra cup. 

Bobby who seemed to master the art of taking, while overlooking the ability to give. 

Bobby who almost fucked up everything standing in front of her right now, because of one unwanted action and a few flippant words. 

She’d touched death more times than she even cared to count in the last six months. And the one lasting traumatic experience for her had been with goddamn Bobby. 

Figures.

She realizes Mason has grown quiet and still, not joining her on the bed like she expected him to, so she looks up. 

He’s staring at her differently now, curious and a tad wary. Something in her face must have given away her thoughts; or, at the very least, the fact that they weren’t pleasant ones. 

Unhappy with this turn of events brought on by her own inability to smother trauma down into the darkest recesses of her brain like a normal person, she sits up and closes the distance between them, pressing her body to his, feeling the folds and fabric of his clothing on her oversensitive skin. 

He allows her to embrace him and she feels his hands gliding over her in return, one reaching the nape of her neck, the other settling on her lower back, long fingers resting on the curve of her round bottom. 

She tilts her head up, prepared to kiss him, relieved that he didn’t mention the weird expression he must have seen, when—

“You going to tell me what you were thinking just now?”

Rats. 

He speaks the words against her lips, then tilts his head back just far enough to keep her from kissing him and force her to answer him. 

“I was—” No. It’s stupid. She shouldn’t even say his name; not here, not now. She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.” 

“Tell me,” he insists, one hand still caressing her lower back. 

She tucks her face under his chin, her nipples puckering under the lace of her bra against the soft leather of his jacket. 

“It’s—I was just thinking about—” She swallows hard. Will he give it up if she says nothing? One look at his face tells her the answer. Sighing, she responds: “I was thinking about Bobby.” 

At her words he pulls away suddenly and she gasps as she lurches forward. His hands are still braced on her arms so she doesn’t fall, but the cool air of his room hits her all at once, the absence of his heat more apparent than ever. She could kill herself for her stupid, abrupt wording, for a brain that fails to connect properly to her mouth right when it matters the most. 

“Why?” he says eventually, his face a mask of disgust and anger and—hurt? Possibly? 

“No, not because of anything—not because—ugghhh,” she groans loudly, burying her face in her hands briefly. “I can’t stand Bobby, okay? It’s just that—I’m still so mad at him for that day in the town square. For thinking he could come up to us - to you - and spew his filth as if what he did to me that night meant a goddamn thing.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, cold and finally self-conscious now, feeling exposed in more ways than one. Mason makes no effort to draw her into his arms again. He lets go of her, in fact, and stands a few steps away now. Instead of any sort of sympathy or concern on his face - two emotions she should have known better than to expect - he eyes her warily. 

“You already explained, sweetheart.” He speaks slowly, as though trying to process something in his own mind; something she isn’t privy to. “I don’t understand why that asshole needs to also be here, right now.” 

“Because—” She folds her legs and sits down on the bed now, clenching her hands together tightly. Mason eyes her hands, but says nothing, waiting for her to continue. “The difference between you and him—the way you make me feel—”

Oh god, why was she talking about this? Why did she bring it up?

She’s horrified with herself, but has no choice except to persevere, considering she’d already instigated the verbal equivalent of missing the bunny hills and going straight down the Black Diamond. Without poles. 

“Bobby was a time in my life that invited a lot of…awful feelings.” She takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands, fingers still wrung together, to avoid looking at Mason. She continues down her expert level ski-hill, hitting every tree on the way. “Feelings about who I am. What I’m...worth. And it took a long time for me to move past that. A long time.” 

She still can’t look at him, although she can feel his eyes on her, piercing and intent. The words are spilling out faster now, in a bid to say them all so then she doesn’t have to say anything else.

“And I hate, so much, that he interfered at all with what—we have. Because, being with you, this ill-defined—thing that we are, regardless of the fact that we don’t have any of the labels or—or whatever. It just feels... better. You feel better. You make me feel better. Than I ever have before.” 

Okay there, you said it. Now, shut up. Just shut up. 

Sufficiently humiliated, certain she has blown the moment to smithereens, she looks up reluctantly and meets his gaze. 

As expected, the intensity in his eyes is enough to make her skin prickle with awareness. His expression is inscrutable, but it’s clear that he’s been listening very carefully to what she’s saying and her words have had some sort of effect on him. She holds her breath, waiting for whatever it is he’s going to say. At this point, it could be anything from a “welp, see ya later” to some sort of declaration of adoration; she truly doesn’t know what to expect from him anymore. Her head is in an absolute tailspin and nothing he says at this point can possibly surprise her. 

“Okay.”

...Except maybe that. 

Okay? Just okay? She pours her guts out and he responds with OKAY?

Before she can even process this lack of response, he’s lifting her up off the bed and into his arms, holding her tightly against him, her feet almost completely off the ground. Strangely, she can feel his heart pounding through his chest.

He releases a noise into her neck, a strange exhale that teeters on the edge of a groan, and he bites her. Actually bites her. Not enough to draw blood - his canines aren’t even extended as far as she can tell - but enough so she feels it. He pulls back to look at her again.

“Let me kill him.” 

It’s a statement, not a question or a plea, and he says it earnestly yet casually. As if he were offering to buy her a coffee. Or put gas in her car. 

And Grace—god help her. She considers it. 

He must see the expression on her face, the quick double blink as she truly contemplates a life without Bobby always lurking around the corner, because he barks out a laugh. 

“You have everyone fooled except me, Detective,” he says, pushing her back down on the bed.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she responds, bordering on indignant, even as she slides back to make room for him.

“Everyone thinks you’re just sweet as pie. Little Gracie. Protector of the town. Miss By-the-Book. Crossing her Ts and dotting those Is on all her little reports.” He grins, flashing white teeth as he puts his knee down on the mattress and moves towards her, over her. “I see you, though. I see that dirty mouth and that mercenary heart. You’d let me do it. Wouldn’t you?”

She waits until he’s full on top of her, his body covering hers, arms braced on either side of her. His long, dark waves fall over his face like a curtain, close enough to almost skim her body, grey eyes flashing as he looks at her, half-amused and half-something else that she can’t define. He makes her feel light - light and free and all the things she never thought she could be. Even amidst the uncertainty, she realizes he brings out a side of her that she didn't even know existed before he came into her life and turned it all upside down.

Bringing her hands up she cups his cheeks, stroking the high cheekbones reverently. Gently she pulls his head down until his ear is near her mouth. She nips it playfully and smiles as he groans, before whispering against his skin:

“Maybe.” 

@ejunkiet and @coldshrugs this is for you 🖤

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #twc fic #specialist agent m #mason x detective #idk what this is tbh #but here you go #twc #twc mason

[magesmiths]

salt in the wound

twc detective luca stein & rebecca, mother-son relationship rating/warnings: G, rook's death and grief is discussed word count: 1,501 read on ao3

Luca stops short. He should’ve known she’d be here today of all days, but it still comes as a shock. 

Rebecca doesn’t appear to have noticed his approach - that doesn’t shock him. He watches her for a moment, her head bent, shoulders hunched. He rarely sees her like this, a genuine vulnerability in comparison to her pale attempts at reconciliation with him. Only when it comes to Rook does true emotion seem to seep through the cracks in her composure. Luca alone was never enough for that. 

He lingers by the trees for a moment more, taking in an old, familiar sight, before walking back to the path and back around the familiar graveyard. Luca had known it well as a child; in the few years his grandmother had lived nearby, she brought him here frequently. He grew up tending to the plants on his father’s grave with her, listening to stories about a man he would never know. Following her death, his only visits were on this date every year, his nanny holding his hand as they watched Rebecca from a few metres back. 

From his early teens Luca could recognise that the grief he felt was not his own. It belonged to his mother, to his grandmother, to strangers who mourned the absence of a father in a child’s life. His grandmother’s grief was felt the most keenly; she alone spoke of Rook to him. She had shared her son’s life with his son, had given him the recipe books that would let Luca find Rook for himself. 

Rebecca’s grief was unknowable. She was unknowable. 

Luca looks back down the path he’s walked, back towards Rook’s grave, towards Rebecca. He can’t figure her out, can’t understand where her newfound insistence on a relationship comes from. For 27 years his existence has come second to the loss of Rook. No - not second, that was the agency. Third, at best. And yet here she was, time and time again, asking to be closer. 

The sun is cutting through the tall trees on the outskirts of the graveyard, dappling the moss covered path. His grandmother had loved that about this graveyard, the way the late afternoon light made its way through the leaves. She had been meticulous in her care for Rook’s grave, had even picked the spot for him herself. ‘High enough on the hill to give him a good view, away from trees where the birds perch.’ She and Luca had picked out every stray leaf and trimmed the foliage on every visit. And then they would walk through Rook’s final resting place, noting his neighbours, greeting everyone they came across to know who he was here with. 

It had never been the same with Rebecca who simply stood in front of Rook’s grave alone and spoke to no one. Though she had never said it, Luca hadn’t felt welcome at her side. This was her husband, her grief, her time. He was the intruder, the leftover, the afterthought. 

He passes familiar graves, smiles at a family he recognises, and circles back to Rook’s grave. If he’s lucky, Rebecca will be gone. If not… Well, she’d probably not notice anyway. 

She’s not there. He’s not sure why relief isn’t the only thing he’s feeling. 

Kneeling in front of the grave, he begins plucking the dead leaves from a couple plants, careful to place them in the bag he brought with him. 

He doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him. 

“I didn’t know you came here.” 

Luca’s jaw clenches and he freezes in place not needing to turn around to know who the words belong to. “Who did you think looked after it?” He glances over his shoulder at her and sees Rebecca look away at his words, arms folding over her chest. 

He stands, taking a moment to gather himself whilst looking at Rook’s grave, and then turns around to face her. She’s still not looking at him and after a minute, when she still says nothing, he begins to walk away. 

It doesn’t take long before he can hear her heels on the path behind him. He makes it all the way to his car, hand on the key, before she says something. 

“He really wanted you, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Rook - he - I.” Luca watches as she stumbles over her words, makes to walk closer to him, then seemingly changes her mind and comes to a halt a few metres away. Rebecca takes a deep breath before trying again, eyes on the gravel in front of her. “Your father, he really wanted children.”

When Luca doesn’t respond but also doesn’t leave, she seems to take this as a sign to carry on. The words come out quickly, as though she’s not sure how much time she has to convince him to hear her out. “I knew he’d be a good dad from the first week we dated. He was so great with kids, great with everyone, really. I felt selfish even seeing him when I wasn’t sure if that was something I wanted.” 

He’s never heard her like this before. A little desperation to her voice, words less measured. Yet there’s still no warmth to it and Luca’s not sure why she’s choosing this to tell him. This isn’t affection, it’s confession. 

“He wanted children, and I…” Rebecca looks up and makes eye contact with Luca for the first time that day. He knows she’s thinking about his eyes and, not for the first time, he wishes they weren’t Rook’s replicas.

“You wanted him.” 

Silence stretches and stretches between them, cavernous. 

“Do you know that’s the first real thing you’ve ever told me about him?” She flinches but doesn’t yet look away. “I know you lost your husband and I’m very sorry. But it has been 27 years and if it were up to you, I would have been deprived of even the memory of my father.” 

“Luca…” 

He closes his eyes and turns away. “You keep asking if we can become closer.” 

“Because I want to be.”

“Is that because of me? Or because I’m the closest you will get to having a piece of Rook back?”

His heart is beating so loud it feels like that’s all he can hear for a moment. He looks up and sees Rebecca’s reflection in the window of his car, frozen a few steps behind him. He waits. If she’s going to deny it or try to reach him or do something, it would be now, right? She doesn’t move.

He lets out a sharp breath, finally opens his car door and gets in. Before he closes the door he turns back to her. What more can he say? This feels like a chance to break it permanently or extend a hand to her, a tightrope he feels like he’s walking endlessly. But it’s harder to sever it either way, so he’ll continue the charade, allow them both to teeter helplessly until a later date. He closes the door. 

As he drives away, he can’t help but replay the conversation over and over until it starts to give him a headache. Confirmation that she’d never really wanted a child repeating itself on a loop. 

He pulls out his phone, eyes still on the road, and calls the first number on his speed dial before he can think twice about it. 

Adam picks up on the second ring. 

“Detective?”

Luca smiles despite himself at the formality. “Hey.”  

“Are you okay?” 

“Just peachy, thanks.” 

Adam doesn’t reply and they both let the silence hang for a moment. He wonders for a second if he should've called Farah instead. She's perceptive, but willing to go for a distraction rather than silently interrogate. But he can't help but feel lighter for hearing Adam's voice.

“You really should not speak on the phone while you’re driving.” 

Luca snorts. “What are you gonna do, call the cops?” 

“Yes, very funny. Are you sure everything’s alright?” 

He pauses again for a moment, chews on his lip and finally says. “It was Rook’s birthday today.” There is a small release of breath on the other side, but Adam doesn’t say anything. He’s giving Luca time. “I went to visit his grave.” He leaves out that Rebecca was there, tries to forget her presence himself. 

“Do you go there often?” 

“Every couple of months. It’s nice, quiet. A place to reflect, to remember.” 

“I’m glad you have that place.”

Luca smiles, “Me too.” 

He watches the sun set in his rear view mirror, thinks about asking Adam if he could come to the warehouse, maybe bake something.

“If you would allow, perhaps I could come with you next time.” 

His first instinct is to say no, to keep this part of Rook to himself. His father, his ritual. But then... it's Adam. Adam, who hasn’t shied away from this, who wants to know, who, despite his insistence on calling Luca ‘Detective’, wants to be let in. 

“I’d like that.”

#twc #twc fic #oc: luca stein #idk man this all just poured out of me today so here u go #this coming to u from visiting graves with my own grandmother as a child #writing #oh and yeah the title is a boygenius song bc ofc it is

[brother-genitivi]

gimme "you deserve to know" for Mason and Aydın pls

tysm for the request Laura!!!

Rating: teen + up Pairing: Mason / Aydın Word count: 1k Contains Book 3 spoilers!

“Hi, baba.”

There’s no reply.

Aydın sits cross-legged in the grass, a bundle of blue forget-me-nots bunched in his hand. He fiddles with the stems of the flowers.

“Sorry I haven’t been here in a while,” he says. He keeps his eyes trained on the stems, weaving them into a wonky wreath of some sorts.

Aydın makes a noise of frustration. “I’m struggling to talk to a grave. I sound like a fucking idiot.”

He used to come every week. He’d talk about his day, about the horrid essay he was procrastinating finishing. Weeks turned into months, months into years, now suddenly he’s twenty six years old and he hasn’t visited in eight years.

It just felt like talking to a stranger.

“Whatever, who cares. I, um, wanted to say that I met someone. I wish you could meet him, too.”

He stops abruptly as a crack sounds from behind him. He tenses, scanning the ground for something he can use to defend himself. There's nothing, not even a rock, just grass and more grass-

Aydın can’t stop the shriek that escapes his lips when a hand touches his shoulder. He whirls around, taking a large step backwards.

“Fucking hell! Oh, it’s you!” Aydın breathes.

Mason raises a dark brow. He’s dressed in his usual attire of a burgundy shirt and dark jeans. The crystal around his neck is thankfully still clear, though it hasn’t been too long since they visited the antique shop together.

“Expecting someone else?” Mason says. His brows quickly furrow with worry. “You alright? What’re you doing in a graveyard?”

Aydın holds up his hands, one still clenching the wreath. He takes deep, measured breaths. “I’m fine, fine. Sorry. Jumpy.”

Mason nods in understanding. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. Must feel like everyone’s out to get you now.”

Aydın shivers as a chill passes over him. He nods.

“Oh!” he says suddenly. “To answer your other question, I’m visiting my father.”

“Visiting- huh.” Mason’s gaze lands on the weathered headstone. “I can leave if you want.”

Aydın manages a small smile, shaking his head. He's getting what he wants, in a way. For Mason to meet his father.

He sits on the ground again. Mason follows suit, his grey eyes flicking between Aydın and the headstone.

Aydın continues with the wreath, tying the ends together with another flower’s stem. Mason watches his hands move with great interest.

A comfortable silence descends between them. Aydın rests the wreath on the headstone.

Odd. Someone must’ve cleaned it recently. They took the time to painstakingly remove the moss from the engraved letters, as well as washing the dirt off the stone. Probably my mother, Aydın thinks.

“What’s that?” Mason asks, pointing at a small object on top of the headstone.

Aydın touches the chess piece with his fingers. It sends a jolt of energy down his arm. “A knight. Huh.”

He brings his arm back to his side, thinking nothing more of it. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. Bye, baba.”

Aydın takes Mason to the field next to the graveyard. He sinks into the grass and leans backwards to face the clear sky. Aydın finally allows himself to relax, knowing that he’s safe with Mason there. He sucks in a deep breath, content to enjoy the quiet for as long as he can.

His skin heats up as a finger wraps around his pinkie. Aydın slides his hand into Mason’s, their fingers clasping tightly together. Mason’s hands are far warmer than his own, larger and freckled, but soft. Aydın runs a thumb over his knuckles, the movement entirely instinctual.

His phone buzzes. Aydın resists the urge to fling it against the ground in the hopes it might shatter. He extricates his hand from Mason's with a small apology and looks at the notification.

“It’s from Reyhan,” he murmurs. “She wants to see me so we can talk about things.”

“Do you want to?” Mason asks.

Aydın shrugs, his shoulders tensing. The truth is, no, he doesn’t want to. She can ask all she wants, but the answer is always going to be no.

He pushes aside a prickle of guilt that threatens to work its way up his spine.

“I can’t help but think my father would want me to reconcile things with her,” Aydın says. He lets out a strained chuckle. “I mean, obviously. She’s his wife. I don't know if I want to. But should I?”

Mason makes a noise. “Who gives a fuck what you should do? It’s about what you want, handsome.”

Aydın tilts his head at Mason. He wasn’t expecting that answer. Mason’s loyalty to Unit Bravo is unparalleled, and by extension, his loyalty to Reyhan as well. He makes his respect for her clear, at the very least.

“You deserve to know,” Mason continues. “That it’s up to you, I mean. Screw that. You deserve better.”

Aydın climbs onto Mason’s lap, his legs wrapping around his back so he straddles his middle. “I have better, Mason. I have the best. I have you.”

Mason grins at him, his hands resting behind Aydın’s neck and supporting his weight. He pulls Aydın in, closing the gap between them.

Aydın gnaws at his lip, unable to shove down the anxiety fluttering around in his chest. Butterflies, he thinks, is too nice a word for feelings that make him want to explode (in the best way, of course).

“You think I’m the best?” Mason teases.

Aydın makes a face, moving away. “Did I actually say best? I can’t recall. I think I meant the grouchiest, grumpiest ray of sunsh-”

Mason responds by removing his hands from behind Aydın’s neck. Aydın falls backwards into the grass with a small thump.

“Rude.”

Mason clambers on top of him, his hands on either side of Aydın’s head, effectively pinning him in place. “You love it. Admit it.”

Aydın huffs, a flush creeping onto his cheeks. “I love…”

You.

“I love it,” he says, swallowing thickly. “Satisfied?”

Mason cocks his head to one side. His grey eyes almost seem to soften.

Aydın waits for Mason’s usual flirtation, some horrendous line he will end up waving off or laughing at. But it never comes. It’s almost as if Mason is afraid to lose the gentle moment.

He smiles one of his rarer, genuine smiles, his teeth fully exposed. It’s a smile Aydın is seeing more and more often, reserved only for him.

“Satisfied.”

I love you, Aydın thinks.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc book 3 spoilers #twc spoilers #twc mason #specialist agent mason #twc detective #twc fic #mason x detective #aydın çağlayan #maydın #my writing #i love them sm. anyways LOL

[thcscus]

IM BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN

#i wrote this instead of my thesis #the found family was too much to resist #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc mason #mason x detective #twc fic

[sysba]

untitled twc drabble

this has no title because the doc where i drafted it is just called "mommy issues" and it says all you need to know about it. told @night-triumphantt edith would say something to rebecca after that book 3 birthday flashback/convo so here it is, unfiltered unedited brainrot happy sunday i love siblings<3 i love hating rebecca<3

Edith’s eyes are fixed on the same spot even after Kiara leaves, a scowl so deep one would guess the door personally insulted her; in the busy aftermath of the mission no one seems to notice her troubled look, or the subtle shake of her shoulders as she folds her arms impossibly tight.

She swallows once. Then again. 

It’s been like this ever since she’s started working with Unit Bravo: she’s been biting her tongue, pushing down words that would’ve darted out of her before and hit their bullseye. Instead she’s been stuck with this acrid taste in her mouth, uncharacteristically docile as she ends unborn conversations and walks away before the hellos.

And that’s what her every instinct is telling her to do now, too. Say nothing, walk away. It’s the smart choice, the self-preserving one. But when it comes to her sister she can’t afford to do damage control.

“You don’t listen to her.” It’s out of her mouth before she can think twice of it, her tone clipped and decisive.

She hasn’t yelled, has not even raised her voice, but she feels like she might have. Everyone stops, sensing the shift in the air. 

Rebecca is frozen on the spot, looking right at Edith like she just threw ice water on her. Like she knew the accusation was directed at her.

Unit Bravo glances between them in confusion, but nobody speaks. Edith doesn’t even spare a quick look their way, all of her focus on Rebecca. She steels herself. 

Too late to go back now.

“You never listen to her.” She doesn’t have to say Kiara’s name to see Rebecca’s unyielding features soften, settling into hurt. “She told you she was hurt, and you made it about yourself.” 

Again. That last word hangs between them, unspoken and unforgiving.

Rebecca frowns. “That was not my intention.”

“It never is, no,” Edith sighs through her nose, shoulders falling a bit. 

Tiring, so tiring… She wants to do this for Kiara, stand up for her because she won’t, but it’s as if every cutting word she aims at Rebecca is shot back at her. 

She hugs herself tighter, the blood on her tongue feeling almost as sickening as her next words. “You remember organising a kids’ birthday party and feeling guilty about having to miss it. What I remember is a seven-year-old kid in a dress too big for her, trying not cry in front of all of her friends after you left. Even saved you a slice of cake that she knew was gonna get thrown away. She was staring up at me with those giant weepy eyes and I couldn’t do shit about it.”

“Edith…” Rebecca’s tone is soft, regretful, and it’s but a water drop on a pyre. “That wasn’t your responsibility.” 

“Then why’d you leave me to pick up your slack, huh?” Edith snaps, then reins herself in when she notices the way Nate is looking at her. “Whatever, that’s not what I–” Her jaw clenches briefly as she looks away. 

That’s not what she wants to talk about, it doesn’t matter. She’s glad Kiara isn’t here right now, lest she think she resents her. Truth is, taking care of her sister was never something Edith did just because there was no one else. It was a choice, one that she hasn’t stopped making (because having to choose, she would always choose Kiara). 

But telling Rebecca where she went wrong as a mother somewhat means reminding her she has two kids, something Edith is not all too keen on doing. It’s the same as throwing a grenade and then stand there, waiting for the shrapnel to tear into you. 

Right now I’d pick the fucking grenade. 

Edith’s lips purse as she meets Rebecca’s gaze again. “Two days later, at school, one of Kiara’s classmates made fun of her. Said ‘not even her mom cared about her birthday.’ I threw my lunch at him during break and got sent to the principal, so they called you. You didn’t show up there either,” she adds the last part with a smirk so venomous Rebecca almost recoils.

It’s true, though. Rebecca was too busy at work that day, so she had sent a sitter instead. And then grounded Edith for “using her hands and not her words”... as if a cold cheeseburger hurled at your head would hurt as bad as a punch.

Rebecca fidgets on the spot, the few wrinkles on her face more evident as her brow furrows in guilt. Edith can sense the apology before it comes.

“I am–”

“Don’t.” She doesn’t need any of this from her mother, doesn’t need her to be sorry. It’s too late for the two of them, anyway. 

But maybe there’s something they can both fix. 

“That’s not why I’m telling you. You get that, right?”

Edith’s gaze pierces through Rebecca, who faces it bravely this time. Eventually she nods, lips pursed and poise stiff. 

“I’ll do better. I want to be better… for her.”

Edith smiles at that. It’s bittersweet, and not all that trustful, but it’s there. 

Maybe there is something the two of them have in common, after all.

#twc fic #twc detective #mywritings #edith blake #kiara kingston #kiara & edith #agent rebecca #am normal about them [lies intensify] #myposts

[elismor]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: CT-6116 | Kix, CC-1010 | Fox, CC-4477 | Thire, Clone Commander Thorn (Star Wars) Additional Tags: CT-6116 | Kix is So Done, Coruscant Guard (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Shenanigans (Star Wars), Triple Drabble Series: Part 4 of You Oughta Be In Pictures Summary:

It’s going to work. These magnificent drunken bastards are going to pull it off.

Ficlet No 4 in the ongoing saga of Kix trying to film a karking training vid...

#twc fic #clone medic kix #competent corries #SO CLOSE

[blinkvlink]

i'm lying on the moon (my dear, i'll be there soon)

F!Detective x Adam du Mortain

Summary: life gets hard, Helena tries to hold on.

TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Mentioned Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm Themes

Read on AO3

1

'Love shouldn’t be made of fear.’ She read in her father’s journal. The leather was torn and dashed, on the cover. She had sunk her nails into it while she sat on her childhood room’s floor. ‘We should love with heart. Life is too short for anything else.’

She thinks he must have written that after meeting her. The woman with the dark brown hair, cold eyes yet soft hands. She can’t figure out how they work. She decides it’s due to not holding for a long time. From not caressing and pressing down. One doesn’t need to touch so hard and so long to push. It is a movement that happens in the blink of an eye after all. 

He must have noticed the need for bravery in the art of doting after he met her. After he saw the way she carried herself. She wonders if he listened close enough to hear the metal cling of her armor when she moved. Were the words written in an unapproving gaze? Or was he trying to find the courage within himself to love her despite who she was. It doesn’t matter, she thinks. In the end of the day, he fell for her, made space for himself in her heart. So big and so vast that with him gone, she is no longer whole.

We should love with heart, she wants to say to him, wants to beg on her knees, to scream it in his face. She thinks if she does any of that, she will find the power within herself too. But he leaves, slams the door shut. And she stays, a part of her still reaching out. 

‘You are so much like him.’ they all say, referring to both body and soul. Looking at the mirror becomes a chore. She bites down on the answer, blood and flesh alike. ‘No. I am not brave enough to love.’

*

Farah, the girl with eyes and heart of gold tells her jokes, keeps her heart light and soft. One day, after a long and never ending face painting event for the Wayhaven Elementary School, she sits her down and dips the thin tip of the brush to the yellow paint. Puts small dots on her nose, on her cheeks and she leans down, presses her lips to her forehead. Tells her she was made of stardust and light. Her words are confirmed when the young vampire flashes her a grin brighter than the sun, their laughter echoing like it will resonate within the four walls evermore.

“Are you giving up?” she asks one day, as they sit in front of the television. Jake Gylnhall starts screaming, she can’t make out a word he says. “Or did you already give up?”

Her feet are dangled in Helena’s lap, they are wearing pajamas and sipping on vodka and cherry juice. It burns as she swallows, sweet and bitter in her mouth. It has captivated the entire flat, the sharp scent. She can feel the bright gaze on the side of her neck. Her therapist who she last saw months ago would be disappointed in the counter question she hears within her own mind. ‘On what?’ 

“I don’t know.” she mumbles. Silence presses down, curious. “I don’t know.”

They leave it at that. She is forever grateful for it. 

*

He tells her about his family, and describes them in detail. Says he got his blond, shining hair from his father. The green belonged to his mother, a color he and his sibling shared. 12 years between them, yet Cecilia and him were the ones that looked alike the most, slightly different versions of each other. From their dimples to their laughs. He confesses, before he can stop it, that when he found her, bloodied and drained of life, he thought he was looking at his own corpse. And how he still wishes it was so.

She doesn’t-can’t- say anything as she reaches out, hand landing on his shoulder and she squeezes. His eyes blink shut, and she counts. 1,2,3…8 seconds to draw away from the touch, to hide himself behind all too familiar walls. He mumbles out words which she can hear but can’t understand and then he leaves like he does. She stands outside, barefoot, grass underneath. She doesn’t tell him that this is where she grew up, waiting. Doesn’t tell him how her own mother didn’t- couldn’t- look at her in the face because it was just so similar to his. She never had a body to look over and think she was staring into a lifeless version of herself, only reflections. All she had was photos and a single headstone she sat by, silent and hopeful. Besides, his eyes shine in every single captured moment her mother lets her see. So she can’t imagine him without a heartbeat, she just can’t.

*

The woman's face haunts her in her nightmares, her motionless body lying down at her feet as Helena stares at her hands, crimson red. He looks at her and screams. Asks 'What have you done?' She has made the wrong choice again. There is blood on her hands. Will it wash away if she drowns herself in the waters the woman touched with the tip of her finger?

'Forgive me, please-'

When she wakes up, her eyes are wet. She blinks the tears away before pressing her face down at her pillow, fingers grabbing the sheets so hard she is sure they will pierce through them. Guilt ripples within her like rain. She whispers thousands of little apologies until she falls asleep.

*

Nate keeps a close eye on her, watches her movements when he thinks she isn’t seeing. When she turns to face him, his smile is as bright, assuring. So is her’s. They mirror each other, talk about everything and anything. But when she looks somewhere else, she can see the way his face falls, from the corner of her eye.

She wonders if he can feel her slipping, feel her pull away, slowly. Can he hear when she thinks of retreating somewhere safe, somewhere warm? Is the dark circles around her eyes worse than she thought? The other’s don’t seem to think anything is wrong with her. They are all the same. So why isn’t he?

One night, she is on her way out from the warehouse when he stops her in the middle of the hallway. The clock on the gray wall shows 2 and her eyes burn from the lack of rest. Yet she gives it her all, chuckles at the beat and doesn't cross her arms over her chest. Shows him that she is open, that this is her and there is nothing hiding in the dark. 

When the small talk is over, he extends her a book. She takes it from his hands, slow and delicate.

“I recently finished it.” he says, his smile still lingering on his lips. She can’t help but break one as well, teeth and all. “I remember you saying you wanted to but didn’t know what to read. I thought this might help you get back into the habit.”

She turns the book around, stares at the brown pages. It's old. She can tell. And not 10 years kind of old. 50 or 70 years perhaps. Pages that were around when she wasn't.

“Thank you.” she chimes, looks him in the eye. That's when his smile falters. Slowly. 

“Are you okay, Helena?”

It's like a bullet finding its target, sudden and painful. Her entire body works together to keep the smile she wears afloat. She plays the scene well. 

“Yes. I’m okay.”

*

Chemistry class, 10 in the morning. Her eyes stared down the window of the second floor and she imagined the fall. The screams and the terror and the bone and the flesh. Skull cracked open like an egg, eyes watching the sun go down from both where it belonged and from somewhere further, where no one could see. Seeing from above as they buried her upon her father, soil traveling down her throat as insects diminished her form. A surrender of sorts, to the arms of the only one who would not be scared of the love within her that wants to bloom out of her.

She decided against the idea, in the end. There was no telling if it was all certain. And she needed a promise, needed the word of something greater that if she took the risk and she did the deed, his smile would be guaranteed.

Yet time changed her, touched her and set her aflame. She took the risk, swallowed it down and lied down on her bed. It was night time, outside there were a thousand stars ready to welcome her home. She was 17.

 

*

The unusual stillness within her mind let itself wander into places it couldn’t before because it was so focused on surviving. She recalled the day where she and her were in the armory of the warehouse, where her dear mother told her that she had no idea about the details of her father’s death. That she didn’t have the clearance for it at the time. And that caused conflict in her mind. How could a chamber member not be in the clearance to know the details of their own husband’s death?

The rest is still blurry, she notices. The walk to find Rebecca, the fight itself. The only thing she actually remembers from it all is the way her face twisted when Helena blurted out the connection she made. She is pretty sure, however, that’s when she started screaming.

*

What took her to show up was her heart stopping and being started again by force.

*

Things happen, things escalate. It slides down her throat like water until the bottle is empty, a perfect resemblance to what she feels as her head gets lighter and lighter. But something is pulling her down. A tug, to the gentle floor and beyond that, to the soil. She let’s it take her. And that’s when he finds her. Lying down on the carpet, eyes red. Heart clawing at her chest to jump out and end it all.

When he carries her to her room, he calls her detective. Anger burns her more than the alcohol did. She tells him to fuck off.

“I don’t have time like you do.” she whispers, tears sliding down. She is trying to push herself away but it’s in her blood to pull, to stay and to hope. When he grabs her arms and tries to keep her steady, she notices her hands are not like his. Hers are wounded, unsmooth. How long has she been grabbing at things that leave her bleeding, alone? Where does it all begin?

 “When will you kiss me? When my heart stops and my eyes lose the light within them? Will you tell me you love me when my headstone is placed on my grave? Or will you wait until there is nothing left but bones just to be sure?”

She hates that she loves the way his body responds to the questions, the way his muscles tense as if something pierced his skin and found its way underneath. She wants to dig deeper, tear muscle by muscle. Wants to look him in the eyes and asks if it hurts. But he opens the door, lays her down. His green eyes shine with unshed tears underneath the fairy lights she forgot to turn off. And then he leaves. He leaves, he leaves, he leaves-

“You said you were not strong enough to break again.” she whispers from behind him. She trusts that he will hear every word. “It didn’t matter, did it? You broke me instead.”

*

They don't talk about it, they let it die. He doesn't let it get to him. A soldier through and through. 

She can feel its ghost haunt her though. And she can swear there are scars behind the curtain. A few months ago, she would have reached out and asked if she could help, knowing she opened them. But now, she watches him as he walks and keeps her mouth shut. God knows she said all she could say to him.

*

She is still there, barefoot. She waits, silent.

*

Old habits greet her like old friends. It feels as if they have been waiting at the edge of her mind, patiently, looking out for the moment where she would bend enough to break. She settles into them, closes her eyes, tries and fails to ignore how easily the smoke rolls down her throat, as if the last time she allowed herself to inhale it wasn’t 3  years ago. She ignores the gutting feeling of hunger until she can't form a single thought, starves herself and pushes her limits. 

She takes away seconds from her future to feel the warmth which she just can’t seem to find in the people she wants to find it in the most. Punishes herself for things she knows she didn't do. 

One day, Morgan catches her outside, cigarette between her two fingers. Her brows rise, seemingly not being able to hide the shock. She collects herself quickly though, and calls Helena a hypocrite. She laughs and agrees before swallowing the smoke like it's water. 

They are returning from the facility back to Wayhaven when she grabs her arm and stops her from walking towards the car. Her touch is soft, like the way she would want to be held. And her usual wolfish appearance is softened at the edges by worry. Nose wrinkled as if the words she is about to speak are sour upon her tongue. Nate and Farah keep walking, leaves crunching beneath their feet as they do. 

“Don’t do this to yourself.” she whispers, knowing damn well the other two will hear. She practically spits it out from between her teeth, canines sharp as she sneers and frowns at the same time. “It’s hurting you, he is hurting you, Hel.” 

She is partially both happy and sad that he is not there with them to hear her speak. He is still deep underground, walking the halls of the facility with her, running errands and discussing plans. She doubts he would do anything if he heard any of the things Morgan said, doubts that he would give her anything other than a pained glance before he hid himself away again. It’s what he did, as they were leaving. Brown and green met for the shortest moment, he was saying a thousand words in that gaze, singing a thousand songs. She wanted to lean forward- her very soul was pulling her forward to hear them, hear every single thing he held in his grasp before he deafened her again, left her scared and abandoned in the dark. 

Her lips part to say something, to say anything. To say that she doesn’t care or doesn’t mind. That she understands. But it doesn’t come out. She is out of lies to birth.

“I-”

“Helena. I care about that stupid brick of a man. I do. But I care about you too.” she meets her eye and gives it to her straight. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. Do you hear me?"

There is something else there, she doesn’t let it roll off of her tongue but says it anyway. 

‘It’s going to kill you. He will be the death of you.’

Tears. She hates herself, she does. All she can do is nod as she feels the lesson being burned into her existence once more. Morgan doesn’t say anything about the way her face shines. She simply squeezes her shoulder, and keeps her walking. Keeps her moving. Her hand remains on the edge of her neck until they reach the car.

Exhaustion creeps up on her, strangling her in the back seat. When she is defeated, she lets her head fall on the vampire’s shoulder, eyes fluttering close. They both know neither of them will tell a word about how Morgan places her own head upon Helena’s. It’s a silent agreement. She keeps the oath close to her heart as street lights linger on them for a mere moment and then pass like kisses from a lover. 

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #a du mortain #adam du mortain #twc 3 #the wayhaven chronicles book 3 #twc rebecca #farah hauville #twc detective #nate sewell #twc morgan #twc fic

[wayhavenots]

I Can't See Me Lovin' Nobody But You

Chapter 2: Running Through a Bad Dream

Summary: Bridget is not happy about this situation or their new houseguests. Meanwhile, Nate has a moment alone with Avery, who wants to help.

Excerpt:

Down the hall, the bedroom door swings open, dragging him away from thoughts of his past. A few moments later, Avery is shuffling into the kitchen in striped pajama pants and an oversized white T-shirt, which reads “Wayhaven High Robotics Club.” Below strawberry-scented body wash, her blood smells like a soothing blend of chamomile and lavender.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was the daughter of the detective and the Chamberwoman, and he didn’t know that she had the mutation. Not until she walked through the door yesterday. 

And he didn’t know that she looked so adorable in the early morning, light brown hair tousled, dark brown eyes blinking sleepily at him.

#rook lives au #this was supposed to have more parts...but it was too long lol #more plot next time :) #nate x detective #twc fic

[sunshineandviolets]

Had the absolute pleasure getting to write for @ava-du-mortain, surprise hehe <3 Had a blast learning about your darling Areen - I adore her!! This was for the @wayhavenficexchange - had so much fun getting back in the groove to write!

Darkness. From the moment she opened and adjusted her eyes, pitch black was all that surrounded her. Complete and utter darkness. Shivers crawled up her spine. The hairs along her arms stood straight, unable to curl back into itself. Jaw clenched. Teeth grinded against one and another as she tried to find an exit. She has to find an exit, where was the exit -  

 Breathe Areen. You have to breathe.

What sort of abyss was she floating or falling amongst? A black hole that had collapsed within itself, that blocked out the light. There was nothing, to see nor to feel. She slammed her eyes shut again to calm her mind with deep breaths, hoped to wake up from the suffocating night and ignore the whiff of salt that brushed against her nose.

Salt?

No, that cannot be correct. Surely not.

Then as if she was in a movie, the scene was quick to change. From the black void that was once before, Areen found herself laid on top of a hard wooden surface. With a rough texture that had scraped against her back. She glanced up and saw that dark grey clouds had filled every inch of the night sky, not a single star nor constellation could have peaked through the water-filled fluff bubbles that won’t need much time to pop. When Areen had begun to stand, that whiff of salt had rushed back to tickle her nose. She glanced around to observe her surroundings and noted there was no doubt she was in fact on a boat. From the gentle rocking back and forth that could jumble your stomach, to hearing the sounds of the waves that crashed against the side of the boat. She could hear the flaps of the sails, the whistling winds and slow pitter patter of raindrops that started to fall. The coldness had returned, as if it never left. However, the more she gazed and wandered around the ship, there was only one question that remained in her mind.

Where is the crew? Anyone… Everyone – where are they?

Besides the crashing waves and the burst clouds, there had been nothing but silence. Areen knew she was alone. Alone and lost on a ship with no direction stated. In that moment of realisation her lungs started to tighten, eyes started to swell up with tears and she hugged her knees fiercely towards her chest. Was this how it ended for her? Lost and separated from those she loves, unable to figure out which way to turn to return home. To reunite with her friends, her family, her love.

The coldness swarm around her with the icy breath of the whistling winds that started to freeze her cheeks. However instead of a frozen statue, Areen felt herself melt with the sudden warmth. As she glanced up, she was greeted with the amber light highlighting the shore edge. Her ears perked up at the muffled voices that had become louder and louder as the boat drew near. The light beamed through the once grey clouds and tickled her cheek like sweet soft kisses to help calm her mind, which brought a smile when she could see –

Beep!

A smile that was bigger than her own, a face blurred –

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Areen groaned as she tiredly shut off the alarm that had ever so rudely interrupted a nice end to a terrible nightmare. One that had brought shivers when she was forced to think about it again. Half past seven in the morning, the sun arose for the day. The shine peaked through a gap in her curtains, warmed an already warm apartment. Areen had found herself humming to the melody of the early birds, a tune she had been used to each morning. Soft and peaceful. Despite the sudden loud beeps of her alarm, or the blinding sun that greets every day or even the bird’s melodic tune – it was another that truly could wake Areen up.

“Good morning, babes!! 🥰😘”

Her darling Farah. The most cheerful, colourful vampire she was forever thankful to meet that faithful day at the library. Not even the warmth of the sun itself could compare to how a single text from Farah was able to light up Areen’s face in an instance.

As Areen went to freshen up in the bathroom, Farah sent another message.

“Hope you dreamt of me 😉’cause you know I was dreaming about you hehe 💕”

The remembrance of her dream, or more so a nightmare, crawled up her back. The icy cold atmosphere brought back the shivers. She took a deep breath and glanced towards the mirror. Dark oceanic eyes piercing back towards her. Another breath in, another breath out.

It was not real. You are here, you are fine. Everything is fine.

“Morning to you as well, darling” Areen sent to Farah, “You know any dream with you could always cheer up my mornings x”.

“Aww babes! Sooo was that a yes, someone can’t keep me out her mind hm?”

“Of course, x,” More than you could realise. “and it seems that I am not the only one, I hope?”

“Thinking of you? How could I not! 😊 –“

Areen let out a soft chuckle when Farah listed every possible compliment she could give. With each passing compliment had caused her insides to flip. Her cheeks darken as she read on. That gorgeous vampire of hers never failed to make Areen fluster, even when she was not present in the room.

 “You flatter me, darling. But that’s one of the things I adore about you.”

After the last message sent, Areen dusted herself off and made her way through the apartment. It was on the smaller side to most, but the warmer colourful décor and soft plush couches scattered with pillows helped her turn it from a bland boring apartment to a cosy respite she was glad to call home. Her style would be considered vintage, with intricate patterns and favouring natural wood over newer styles. Her apartment may look old or like ‘stepping out of a time machine’ as Farah ever so lovingly put it before,  but it is what makes her most comfortable. Having a space that reflects her, regardless of if others considered it odd with the severe lack of modern technology. She preferred her space to be cluttered with books, as though she lived in her own personal library.

Areen reached over to pick up the book that was spilled open on her coffee table. It was an older tome, quite delicate that she had borrowed from Nate when she wished to research further into the arcane. An unusual topic to choose if she were to speak to others in town, but after meeting with Unit Bravo and found out about the supernatural world – It had become a topic she had more interest to learn about. If you had told her a year ago about belief in the arcane or supernaturals in general, she would’ve simply shaken her head at the absurd idea. Past Areen wouldn’t fathom the reality of magic or that she even ended up with a girlfriend who was an actual real-life vampire!

She let out a short laugh at how a year could’ve changed as she tucked the book in her bag – had made a mental note to return it back to Nate when she could meet up with him after work. Before she left, Areen took a final glance at herself in the hall mirror. She ran a hand over her tightly coiled braids, straightened out her cardigan and turtleneck. Took a breath as those blue eyes stared at her down. Kept the sounds of the crashing waves and an intruding storm at bay as she strolled through the door, was ready for the day to start.

♡♡♡

A benefit of having lived in such a small town as Wayhaven, the need to drive to get around places was practically non-existent. Instead of being stuck in traffic, Areen was able to enjoy the early summer breeze when she walked to work. The morning sky, whilst still had a few clouds, was a pleasant sight to see. The warm winds that blew her braids away from her face. The lush green trees, as full as a local at a dinner party, swayed without a care in the world. However, even if they made for a lovely sight, Areen was always mindful of those low hanging branches. With her long legs, she was one step away from getting smacked in the face.

Areen had kept her head high as she walked with purpose to the library. No distractions, only focused on the 10-minute walk from her apartment to her work. No distractions - but like a sailor who caught in a trap of a siren’s song, the smell of freshly baked bread and sweet sugary goodness geared her to a halt. Areen tended to pass on breakfast, as it doesn’t usually agree with her stomach so early in the day. However, it seemed that a whiff of sweetness tickled her nose and caused her to change direction into the local bakery. A short delay won’t hurt and at least she got to say morning to a dear friend.

The soft chimes rung as Areen entered and she was once again greeted with that gust of sweetness in the air. The bakery had been decorated with bold and bright summer colours, neat floral arrangements on every table  - each slightly different from the other. A large chalkboard was seen behind the counter, with the day’s special offers written in colourful chalk. Considering it was very early in the morning, there had been no line and only a few patrons that had already sat down with a drink. As though she had sensed her arrival, Haley’s smile beamed brighter when she noticed Areen.

“Morning Areen! Did not expect to see you so early in the day.”

“It’s good to see you Haley, and I suppose the smell of the warm pastries baking drew me in” She maintained a soft yet calm smile, “But I can never say no to see a good friend.”

Haley had let out a soft laugh, “and I very much appreciate that, would you like your usual?”

Areen glanced at the glass counter then nodded at the question. Haley was one of her closest friends, someone who spent a while getting to know and enjoyed being around – both at the bakery or out of work. It was no surprise that Haley was able to memorise something as simple as Areen’s order regardless of the time or day, a warm green tea with a pastry.

Haley returned a pleasant smile, “very well, feel free to take a seat and I’ll bring it over in a moment.”

Areen glanced around the bakery when she went to grab a seat. The bakery patrons ranged from an elderly couple huddled close whilst working on the morning crossword puzzle to a group of young perky teens who clearly forgot to do the day’s homework with them fretting around. Her heart warmed when the elderly woman leaned to press a soft kiss on her partner’s cheek. The sheer idea of becoming old with the one you love and cherish made her heart flutter. Well until the partner sent a scolding glare towards Areen’s direction and muttered “what do you think you’re looking at?”. The wife sent an apologetic smile before she turned back to her love. 

Speaking of love, Areen heard a ping from her mobile and her eyes lit up to another message from Farah.

“Missing you already babes , stuck in such a boooring meeting 😩!”   

Attached to the message was a rather cute selfie of Farah with an exhausted expression. Despite Areen’s main focus was on the pretty vampire, she had not missed the blurriness of a grumpy Mason and unamused Ava in the back. The sight let a chuckle out of her and responded back.

“Focus Ferfer, As much as I want, you can’t spend all your time thinking of me haha. ”

After a few minutes’ past, Haley arrived with her order and her usual kind-hearted soft smile. “Here you go, one green tea and fresh pastry as expected.”

“Thank you, I was just glad that I arrived before the morning rush fully started – “

In a sudden flash, the bakery door fling wide open – almost knocked over the nearby plant – and stood was a curly haired, freckled, cheeky grinned detective. Tina’s voice booms “Work doesn’t start till the sugar hits!” Areen had a small smile from that whilst shaking her head.

Haley instantly brightened when she noticed who arrived. Her cheeks had gotten more rosey when Tina greeted her with her usual amount of perkiness. Their hands brushed when Haley handed Tina her drink order, with the pile of sugar packets on the side. Areen noticed how a small touch had caused Haley’s face to become warmer than it usually was. Similar to how Areen got when she was with Farah, that vampire seemed to know exactly what it took to make her fluster like she was a hormonal teenager again. Areen glanced over at Tina and sighed as it seemed she was completely unaware of how her presence affected the young baker.

When Areen eyed the packets and gave Tina a look as she sat down at her table, Tina scoffed with a smile “You can’t say anything, Ms sweet tooth that makes the dentist shiver.”

Areen raised her hands in peace with a calm smile, “I didn’t even say a word.”

Tina stuck her tongue out, “you didn’t have too.”

The banter continued between the three of them, majority from Tina with various funny anecdotes from the station. Areen was fine simply listening to her rambles. Another message interrupted the conversation, but it was not something Areen would ever be mad about.

“Surely you know by now I can never get tired thinking of you, 🌞 or 🌑 <3 !!”

Her smitten expression must have been noticeable, when she looked up and saw Haley had a sweet smile, whilst Tina let out a groan.

“Gonna make us jealous over here with you fawning over that girlfriend of yours.”

Areen paused with a raised brow, “How did you know who I could be talking to?”

Tina barked out a laugh, “Oh please! There’s only one person that can make you light up like a flame.” Haley did not respond but nodded in confirmation.

Areen’s cheeks darkened but let out a cough and got up from her seat “It was lovely to speak with you both, but it seems time has gotten away, don’t wish to be late for work.”

Tina smirked as she poured more sugar in her coffee, “No need to get shy Ari, it's sweet to see you like that. Gosh I wished I had someone to receive cute messages from” She let out an exaggerated loud sigh.

Areen stopped at the door, glanced over her shoulder at both women “Perhaps the person you are looking for has been near the whole time.”

Haley was quick to go back to her work, cleaning up dishes and cups, whilst Tina rolled her eyes and groaned “urgh I wish – that would make things easier huh?”

Areen shook her head with a short laugh after she said her goodbyes and made her way to work.

♡♡♡

One of Areen’s favourite parts from working at the library was to see everyone that walked through those doors. Maintained a relaxed yet polite smile when she greeted the visitors , answered any and all questions they had. She sorted out tasks to the employees that worked that day and managed any queries that arose. She was known to be a sociable woman, having easily flown conversations with the visitors and calmed rather excitable children down when she led them to the children’s section for story time. Being around a community was like a warm blanket and she had no intention to leave the comfort it provided.

Whilst she was reshelving a collection of recently returned books, her tall height prevented her the need to use a step ladder, a single paper aeroplane flew across and landed perfectly on her book. The aeroplane was slightly crumpled with various hand drawn doodles and stickers scattered around. No rhyme or order, just an array of stars, hearts, well drawn flowers and even a colourful unicorn. The unicorn had a speech bubble with a phase written in curly writing.

♡ Open Me ♡

Even before she opened the aeroplane, Areen knew exactly who it was from. The artistically messy handwriting, adorable doodles and explosion of bright colours was an obvious giveaway – and yet still brought a small, surprised smile on her face. Her heart bloomed when she read what was hidden inside.

“Human realm roses are red,   Your eyes are strikingly blue,   Turn around ‘cause behind …  there is a gorgeous gift waiting for you ”.

So, she did and stood there was her beautiful girlfriend that invaded her thoughts every passing moment. She had her usual purple woollen beanie that barely covered her coiled poofy hair and beaming smile that reached her eyes. Farah flicked a two-finger salute with one hand still behind her back.

Areen had a questioning yet slightly amused expression, “Farah? I thought you were busy with the agency business?”

Farah shrugged with a cheeky grin, “I mean my patrol route was nearby, so I just had to see my favourite girl” she sent her a wink “Something about your expression tells me you do not mind one bit, did I get that right babe?”

Areen rolled her eyes still with pure affection on display, “You are always welcome here, as your company is whose I treasure the most.”

Farah cooed as she moved closer then paused when she remembered that she had a surprise behind her back. “Oh! I almost forgot – I wanted to give you these,” She held out a collection of wildflowers wrapped with a golden coloured ribbon. “I know Nate would say to choose each flower carefully and coordinate with their meanings and what goes together blah blah blah – but I thought they looked pretty, like you and hoped you would like them too.” Then would pause when she started to wave a hand, “Unless you don’t like these types and I could find another that you prefer or – “

Areen moved closer, used her free hand, and interrupted her rambles by taking a hold of hers. She gave it a gentle squeeze and leaned down to press a soft kiss on Farah’s cheek. “I love them, habibti. Thank you.” She watched as Farah’s eyes fluttered closed for a second and the kiss seemed to help ease her darling’s breaths. Farah gazed up through her lashes, her eyes beaming bright like the sun and had a soft genuine smile.

“And I love you, Ari”.

Those three words caused instant heart palpitations and for the social butterfly to become stunned silent. Her whole body warmed even more as Areen’s hands brushed against Farahs to take the flowers.

“You don’t mind if I stick around for longer?” Farah had the audacity to ask, as though she was unaware Areen would never say no. Not ever, not in a million years. Areen leaned against the bookshelf and watched as Farah had slipped into conversation with some of the visitors, charming them with a grin.

Being stranded lost and alone had always been a dark fear in the back of her mind. But in that moment, Areen stood amongst the personification of sunshine and spoke a silent whisper of endearment, a secret only heard by the two of them.  

She would not let herself drown within the darkness, not when those bright amber eyes found her gaze. Her own beacon of hope that shall guide her way back home.

“I love you. My heart, my soul, my lighthouse”

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhavenficexchange #twc fic #farah hauville #oc x farah hauville #my writings #i adored getting to write Areen #and getting to learn more about her! #her and farah are so cute

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

hullo!! for the prompts, can I ask for 'I knew you would be here' for Raine/Adam/Nate??? 👀

Thank you for the prompt and all your patience!

Read on AO3 or find more prompts here

Nate’s side of the bed has grown cold. Or rather, the side of the bed that Nate usually slips into at night, chest pressed close to Raine’s back and just enough reach to brush his fingers against Adam’s hand, no longer radiates with the familiar warmth Adam has grown used to. He had been roused earlier when Nate had shifted, moving carefully so as to not awaken their perpetually sleep-deprived partner, but he had not thought too much of it. Nate would be back soon.

That had been three hours prior.

Nate had been a little off all day, his smile less quick to arrive, his eyes focusing off in the distance more often, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Something must have been said while he was on patrol with Felix. Not that he’d mentioned as much to Adam, but Adam had known the man for centuries long enough to recognize when an offhand comment got under his skin.

He disentangles Raine’s arm from his waist, being gentle especially as Raine grumbles in his sleep. He reaches out to Adam’s side of the bed, settling for dragging Adam’s pillow to his chest. Adam chuckles softly at the sight. He brushes a few stray hairs from Raine’s face before he steps away, intent on finding out what Nate has gotten up to.

He offers a passing glance to the few items that have become begrudging additions to his decor. Fighting off Nate's tendency of excess was bad enough when they’d first arrived at the compound, but it was a losing battle the second Raine got involved, as well. The large stuffed wolf sitting on the floor near his desk, a few of Nate's jackets draped over chairs and forgotten, various books both fiction and not left about by both, a few extra seating options for his lovers. There's not enough to really hinder defensive measures should the need arise, though it doesn't stop him from occasionally complaining of it to the two.

Allowing his senses to draw in from further reaches, Adam takes note of Felix watching a movie quietly from within his room and Mason smoking up on the roof, no doubt enjoying his time before the sun rises. At the edges of the building, he can hear the soft clatter of kitchen utensils and the smell of fresh baked bread. He sighs at the sure signs of Nate’s stress manifesting.

It is a quick trip to go from Adam's room to the kitchens. In the early hours, the compound is blissfully quiet and, if Felix hears him, the young vampire doesn't leave his room to see what the commotion is about.

The kitchen is in a spot of chaos when he reaches it. Nate, who is usually tidy and overly organized in his cooking endeavors, has strewn ingredients and implements alike across the counters. There's a fine dusting of flour on most surfaces including, it would seem, on Nate. On the dining table, seemingly the eye of the storm as the only clean space around, sit a few dishes of extravagantly plated food. Adam takes quick stock of the grilled tomatoes, vegetable hash, black pudding, french toast, roasted mushrooms, thick cut bacon, and the little ramekin of whipped butter and what looks to be either raspberry or strawberry preserves. There’s a loaf of what smells like rosemary bread cooling on a wire rack.

“I don’t believe even Ciaran will be able to eat all this,” Adam says, tone gently teasing.

Nate turns to face him, his long fingers curled around the handle of a slotted spoon. Some of his hair has fallen loose from the hair tie at the nape of his neck. There’s a distressed edge to the downward curl of his lips that makes Adam’s shoulders tense. He ignores the joke, instead he swipes his hand over the stray hairs falling into his face, though they fall back the second he drops his hand.

“We have a minor disaster,” Nate laments. He gestures towards the pot on the stove with the slotted spoon.

Adam approaches the stove. There’s a collection of poached eggs on a small plate on the counter beside Nate. Nate moves aside enough for Adam to peer into the boiling pot of water. Nothing of particular note catches his eye. He looks back up at Nate, raising an eyebrow.

Nate sighs, shaking his head and muttering something incredulous in Arabic. He dips the spoon into the water and, with a sharp twist of his wrist, pulls it out again. He holds it up to eye level between them. A thin, nearly translucent wisp of egg white trails from the end of it. “The eggs aren’t fresh enough,” Nate grumbles. He sets the spoon down on its rest with more force than necessary. “And if I run out to get fresh ones, everything else will get cold.”

Adam rests a hand on Nate’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “I am certain, were he here, Ciaran would assure you he’s fine with reheating anything.” He spares the poached eggs another glance. “I doubt he will even notice any flaws in the eggs you’ve made already.”

Nate passes a despairing glance over the breakfast he’s prepared. “It needs to be perfect.”

Nate’s shoulders are tense beneath his touch, his jaw set hard, and his focus drifting once more. Adam lets his arm fall back to his side. His jaws works as he meticulously picks how to approach the topic he can feel simmering just beneath the tight lid Nate keeps on his anxieties.

Like most times, he doesn’t need to actually say anything aloud for when Nate meets his gaze, he sighs deeply. "I'm going to tell him." He leans over and turns the stove off.

Adam mulls the concept over a moment before he nods. "How much?" 

Nate's shoulders slump. "All of it. My powers, my past, what happened on the Queen's Sabre." He shoves his hands as deep into the pockets of his apron as he can manage, only slightly wincing as they both hear a few of the stitches pop at the force. "Felix is right, I can't keep hiding from Raine. It's not fair to him."

"You think he'll react poorly." Adam crosses his arms over his chest, though he's unsure of whether it's in disapproval of the lack of faith in their partner or that such uncertainty is potentially warranted.

"I don't want to believe he will," Nate says, pulling the thoughts directly from Adam's head. "He has been incredibly accepting of everything we seem to drop in his lap."

Adam's frown deepens. "Nothing he has learned of is so hard to grasp."

Nate offers him a wry smile, "So says the man who’s had nearly a millennium to acclimate to everything we’ve lived through."

Adam presses his lips into a thin line, glancing away, but says nothing. When Nate chuckles, he can feel his cheeks heating as a flush settles across them. He reigns his pride back where it rears its ugly head. As he looks back at Nate, he shifts his weight for better balance, as though stability will make his words more true. "However he responds, I will be here to lend you strength."

The smile on Nate's face softens and he extricates a hand to lay it gently on Adam's cheek. "Thank you, amar. Your strength means more to me than you know." 

He strokes his thumb across Adam's cheekbone, brushing against his nose, and Adam reaches up to take Nate's hand in his own. He pulls Nate's hand down to his lips, his eyes closing as he presses kisses across Nate's knuckles. If only he had more to give, more to offer to assuage Nate’s fears, but this is something he cannot truly help with. Adam opens his eyes to see Nate's lips curling into that smile he had thought so long reserved only for Raine. The knowledge that it is his to share in brings warmth like rays of summer sunlight pooling in his chest.

“How is it I just knew you two would be here?” Raine’s voice is low, still raspy from sleep, but light with amusement. Nate jumps at the sound, though Adam does not. Neither had heard him approaching, it would seem.

Adam turns to see him, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he leans against the door frame. He lets his arms drop as he saunters into the kitchen. There’s the slightest hesitation in his step as his eyes catch on the breakfast laid out upon the table. A flash of a frown pulls at his lips, but he wipes it away the next second.

“We did not mean to wake you,” Adam starts, but Raine waves a hand dismissively.

“You didn’t,” he assures them with a lazy smile. “What are you two up to? Trying to stop Nate from stress cooking the entire pantry?” He offers the table another glance. “Although I’m afraid you’ve failed that one.” Raine presses a kiss to Nate’s cheek. “What has you so anxious, a chuisle?”

The gentle tease draws a warm flush of embarrassment to Nate’s face. He clears his throat, smoothing his hands over the front of his apron, though it does little except smear flour further across the fabric. He grimaces down at the mess before working to untie the offending apron. “You should sit down,” Nate says as he tosses it onto a clear patch of the counter. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something you should know about me.”

Raine’s gaze flashes to Adam’s, an unspoken question filled with anxiety in his hazel eyes. Adam gives a small nod and he relaxes slightly with the gesture. He doesn’t fake a smile the way he would have done before, just nods and takes a seat. He makes space between the plates so he can rest his elbows on the table - a habit that normally makes Nate wince, though he’s too distracted to take note of it now.

Nate comes to sit down opposite of Raine, his hands laced together on the table to keep himself from sticking them back in his pockets. Adam looks between the two, pressing his lips into a fine line as he catches the way Raine leans his head on his hands to hide his frown, how Nate’s shoulders are pulled back and taught like he might collapse without the tension holding him upright. As much as he’s aware that taking a seat will make him more on edge, he’s aware of the fact that were he to remain standing, he’d just exacerbate the stress in the room. He bites back a sigh and takes a seat beside Nate.

“What’s this about then?” Raine’s tone has that light edge to it that he keeps when he’s joking, but Adam can catch the cracks in that facade now.

Nate opens his mouth, shutting it again when the words stick in his throat. Under the table, Adam reaches over and rests his hand lightly on Nate’s knee. His head snaps to Adam and they share a long look before there’s a twitch at the corner of Nate’s lips, what he can muster of a grateful smile. He returns his attention back to Raine and begins to speak.

#cigs writes #twc fic #twc detective #fic: raine callaghan #ship: perpetual bachelors #nate sewell #adam du mortain #Nate Sewell/Adam du Mortain

[dwead-piwate-meggers]

It Seems Like I Should Say, "As Long As This Is Love"

Chapter 5 (1, 2, 3, 4)

Fed up with dealing with her feelings alone, Charlotte begins to write some letters. She doesn’t send them. She can’t send them. But at least she can pretend to tell him how she feels. Spoilers for Book 3.

Adam du Mortain x f!detective rating: t warnings: none Read Chapter 5 on Ao3

tag list: @brightpinkpeppercorn

The Warehouse

Written on Agency Letterhead

Here we are again. Penning the things I can’t (won’t) say to your face. I suppose I should be flattered that you seem to believe that I’m fearless. Are you so wrapped up in yourself that you can’t sense it? Or do I hide it so well that even a vampire can’t tell?

I’m not fearless, Adam. I wish I was. Christ, do I wish I was. It might make all of this easier. I'm not though. I'm scared. So scared. Of so many things. Of being the source of all this trouble for my home. Of watching you and Morgan and Nate and Farah put yourselves on the line for me, again and again. Of having to spend the rest of my life running and fighting just to be free. Life expectancy keeps creeping up - I could live well past 80. I’ve got a lot of fight in me (you know that). I don’t know if I have another 50 years of it.

The day’s going to come that I’m too tired to run or fight anymore. I’m scared of… of being taken again. Of being someone else’s experiment. Of being a tool, a battery. Being used to commit who knows what monstrosities. Of… of all… of that.

And I’m scared of loving you.

I have… Historically, the people I have loved lie to me and leave me. Overtly or by omission, through death or abandonment, I’m lied to and left.

I don’t know if you’ve ever lied to me. I'd like to think you haven’t, that you wouldn’t. But you've hidden things, haven’t you? Sometimes it’s been because of orders. (And we can debate the morality of that another time.) Sometimes, though, sometimes it hasn’t. (I don’t mean your family. That’s personal. That was your right to keep to yourself.) DMB? Trappers? There wasn’t really a reason not to explain those to me, not when I had clearance (I had clearance, didn’t I?) but you wanted to keep that information from me anyway. And maybe that’s not the same as an outright lie, but damn if secrets don’t feel close.

As for death or abandonment…well. Given your functional immortality, I’ve got a feeling for which of the two options is more likely. We sort of live there, don’t we?

C.

#twc #twc book 3 #twc fic #a du mortain #adam du mortain #charlotte langford #adam du mortain/f!detective #not-love-letters #well it's been a hot minute since i had to tag something like this

[brother-genitivi]

10 for a wayhaven pairing? Uwu

hound tsym!! 10 - "please. please just listen to me.”

Rating: teen + up Pairing: Mason / Aydın Word count: 1k

“Hear me out-”

“No way. I don’t do weddings.” Mason comes to a stop near his room. Just as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he regrets them. He hates weddings, it’s true. But it is Aydın who’s asking. He’d go for him.

“Listen for just a second!” Aydın���s voice rises in pitch. A nervous giggle escapes his mouth. “Wait, wait. Please, please just listen to me.”

Mason leans against the warehouse wall and folds his arms. He makes a movement with his head as if to say, ‘I am listening’. His mouth curls into a comfortable smirk.

Aydın points a very serious finger at him. “Don’t look at me like that!”

Mason's smirk grows wider.

“I’m asking for your help. Or to just hear me out. Pretty please- are you laughing at me?” Aydın thunders. “Asshole.”

He breaks out into a huge grin and aims a playful punch at Mason’s shoulder. Mason is behind him in a flash. He slides his hands onto Aydın’s wrists, gently pinning him to the wall.

“Unfair,” Aydın mutters. His eyes bore into Mason’s, deep dark browns soft with adoration. Mason wouldn’t mind losing himself in them.

His mood sours as his thumbs gingerly press into Aydın’s pulse points. Not because of how they quicken (that would normally give Mason a sense of satisfaction), but because of what lies under his skin, rushing through his veins.

Temptation.

Mason releases him and draws back, jamming his hands into his pockets. A flash of concern passes over Aydın’s face.

“So why exactly do you need me to come?” Mason asks quickly. Aydın tilts his head to the side, but thankfully decides to answer his question.

“I was talking to my teyze and she misheard something I said. Now she thinks I have a boyfriend and I felt too awkward to correct her because she kept saying ‘oh, it’s about time!’ and ‘I am so happy for you, it’s been years now!’, like okay, goddamn, and she’s given me an invite for my imaginary boyfriend and already told the entire family about him because I keep getting texts from everyone asking if he’s hot or not and if we’ll make gorgeous half-Turkish children with curly hair, so I need to show up with someone or I’ll explode and die. I don’t even want children!”

He heaves in a deep breath. Mason stares at him, processing.

“Seriously, Mason, I will never hear the end of it if I go by myself. Turkish women are tenacious.”

“And you want me to… help? I’m your go-to?” Mason asks incredulously. “Not Nate?”

It’s true, they have been close for a while now. He can tell Aydın anything, or not say anything at all and still feel comfortable with him. He enjoys their shared silences the most.

But it’s Nate that Aydın spends most of his time with (when he isn’t with Mason). He naturally assumed that Nate would be his go-to.

“Oh, I love Nate,” Aydın says nonchalantly. “But I already brought him to the henna night party. And made it very clear that we’re just friends. Like I said, Turkish women are tenacious. Always assuming and always in other people’s business.”

“And you want me to go with you instead?”

Mason already knows the answer. Yet, for some reason, he wants to hear Aydın say it.

“I do.” He wrings his fingers. “But not if you’re uncomfortable with it. I don’t want to pressure you. I went to you first because I trust you.”

Hearing that Aydın trusts him is a strange kind of euphoria. Suddenly he feels light, happy. It doesn’t feel wrong. Just… normal.

It's almost as if Mason is in-

“But you can and should say no if you want to.” Aydın says firmly, cutting across Mason's train of thought. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Mason’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. Why does he have to be so damned genuine all the time? It wrenches his heart for a reason he can’t identify.

He makes a thrumming motion against his arm with freckled fingers. His grey eyes narrow then soften, the crinkle between his brows disappearing entirely.

“I’ll go with you,” he says finally.

Aydın peers at him curiously. “Are you sure? I really don’t want you to do something you’re not happy with. I mean it, you can say-”

“I’ll go with you,” Mason repeats. “I want to.”

The shining smile he receives is worth any discomfort he’ll have to go through later. Though, with Aydın there, he might not be uncomfortable at all. Mason can admit that to himself, at least. As much as it frustrates him not knowing why.

Aydın rises to the tips of his toes, his hands coming to rest on the line of Mason’s jaw. “Thank you, güneşim.”

He plants a soft kiss on Mason’s cheek. Aydın draws back and makes his way to his own room, a lightness in his steps. Mason watches him go, stunned into silence, using the wall as a backrest.

He touches the spot where Aydın kissed him. His heart rattles against his ribcage, a hot flush creeping up his neck. Aydın has kissed him there before (the only time he's kissed Mason, really), after they rescued Sanja, but something has changed since then.

It’s different. There was something different in that kiss. Such a simple motion, lips pressed against his skin, fleeting, but it’s left Mason even more confused than before. He wonders what Aydın's lips would feel like against his own.

It feels like the evening after the auction, where Aydın eased his nightmares just by being near him. They had slept in the same bed, side by side, curled into one another. A perfect fit. Normal. And more than what they were before.

Whatever that means.

It’s then that Mason realises he doesn’t want to go to the wedding at all. Not if it means pretending to be Aydın’s partner. Not if they have to part ways afterwards, back to how they were before without another word, constantly dancing around an issue Mason didn’t realise existed.

He wants it to be real.

And he has no idea why.

“Aydi, what the fuck are you doing to me?” Mason growls quietly.

He stays slumped against the wall for a little while longer, until the sun begins to dip beneath the trees. Finally, he heads off towards his room to find a nice shirt.

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc mason #specialist agent mason #twc fic #twc detective #mason x detective #aydın çağlayan #maydın #my writing #tysm for the request!!!! they make me INSANE #they are both idiots ur honour #aydın has like... 3 aunts on his dad's side (including dead auntie dearest) and a bajillion other family members #so. fake dating... -> real dating am I right

[thcscus]

chapter 9 out of 10 :)

#to drink from a poisoned well #mason x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fic #mason twc

[colibritas]

syzygy

pairing: bobby marks x f!detective (camilla reyes) (past) (listen. i know.)

word count: 1,738 words | rating: T, brief mentions of alcohol ig?

summary: The detective goes on a walk and stumbles upon a memory. (post book 3 Bobby route - vague spoilers ahead!)

author’s note: i have no words and no excuses but i think it would be neat if they get some closure B) i literally can’t believe my first fic for this fandom heavily focuses on bobby marks, don’t look at me

read on ao3!

There’s a weathered old wooden bench near the cliffs at the lighthouse, where the stars shine brightly on clear nights, and the breeze coasting in from the ocean is cold but smells like salt and memory.

Camilla doesn’t pass it often, these days. The nostalgic ache it stirs in her tastes like cheap rum and cheap promises, makes her feel a little too hollow.

She’s not totally sure what brings her there tonight. She knows she shouldn’t be wandering the shaded paths of Wayhaven alone at night, with her blood calling like a siren song to every Trapper and toothed creature in a hundred miles.

But there’s always been an itch in her soul, compels her to wander to ease the stirring. Walking a beat used to help, particularly at night when she had Tina’s laughter to keep her company.

Now, the shadows are no longer friends to shelter her, but the promise of some new horror to steal her away. There is no laughter to keep her company, just the whisper of the wind and the way her skin prickles at the groaning of the trees.

The waves lapping along the shore still her mind with a static fuzz, and the night is quiet and velvet. It’s late summer, the perfect time for a near-midnight walk, and the dying embers of the season are pleasant to warm herself to even though clouds cover the blanket of stars. A soft summer storm had swept through earlier that day, and the air is fresh and verdant with the ghost of it, grass and earth damp beneath her shoes. As she approaches the bend where the bench looks out over the waterline she slows, seeing a worried figure seated there, hunched over.

The smart thing would be to turn and walk away before they notice her, and she nearly does before she catches a glimpse of caramel-coloured hair dripping with silver in the faint moonlight. It would still be the smart thing to turn and walk away; now more than ever, maybe.

“Bobby?”

He spins to face her, coiled like a spring as he leaps to his feet. Tense, anticipatory. She raises both hands like a white flag. “Just me. Didn’t want to sneak up on you. Is that pepper spray in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

Camilla nods at where his hand hovers not too far from his belt.

He settles back into a more Bobby-like cadence and forcibly relaxes. “I’m always happy to see you, angel,” he drawls. It’s not very convincing. Even through the dim light she can see the shimmer of tension in his fingers. “You just caught me by surprise, is all.”

Slowly, she steps toward him, still keeping her hands raised at first, but lowering them as he eases his own arms down at his sides, looking a little less like he’s going to snap and blast pepper spray in her eyes. His gaze is unfocused in a way she’s not used to, no longer liquid and confident. She approaches like she might a wounded animal before settling down on one edge of the bench. He sits at the other, and a thick, heavy quiet settles on its haunches between them.

And, eventually, once the blanketing silence grows too oppressive in the warm night:

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here since we broke up,” he says, voice a little too loud, a little too strained against the darkness.

“Because I haven’t been,” Camilla mumbles. “Figured you’d probably not want me skulking around if you decided to bring a new partner here.”

He goes a bit quiet, at that. “C’mon, Camilla,” he mutters. “This was our spot.”

The tide rolls in. It smells like summer. Reminds her of warm, sloppy kisses at the tail end of summer break, the wooden slats of this weathered old bench uncomfortable under the heels of her palms, and the first time he said he loved her. She’d believed him, then.

The ache gnaws at her.

“You still come out here often?” She asks, instead of saying the thing she really wants to say. She’s not sure if she wants the answer to this question, either, now that she thinks about it, but it’s already out of her mouth and she can’t take it back. Maybe she’ll get lucky and he’ll deflect it with some sort of flirtation or angle, anyway, like he always does.

“Yeah. When I need to think,” he says instead, the moonlight softening him, fuzzing his edges.

She bites back the short reply at the tip of her tongue. He doesn’t deserve her scorn, not when he says something genuine for once. Something in her, the ungenerous part that’s still a little raw, reminds her that he’s often used his own vulnerability as the scalpel to cut her open in the past. It’s long past the time when she should have stopped falling for it, but she still does every time. Hook, line, sinker.

“What were you thinking about?”

“How fucked up it’s all gotten,” he says with a strained laugh. “I mean, Jesus. You ever see all of this coming?”

“Shit, Bobby. If I saw half of this coming I’d’ve bought several lottery tickets by now. I’d be relaxing on a beach somewhere, with a margarita in each hand and not a care in the world.”

“I hope one of the margaritas would be for me?”

“Not a chance, get your own damn margaritas.”

They both chuckle a little, soft and quiet. It’s easy, until it hurts. Their laughter trails off into silence.

The waves against the beach. Kisses that tasted like cheap rum and empty promises. The ache gnaws her hollow, licks the meat off her bones.

She tucks her knees up to her chest and leans back. The wooden planks dig into her spine, but it feels real and not like the haze of memory.

“If I asked you something right now, would you tell me the truth?” She whispers into the breeze. Almost hoping the wind will catch her voice and toss it high above their heads where no-one will hear it.

Bobby hesitates. “At this point, angel, I don’t think you’d believe me if I lied.”

“Did you love me?”

“Camilla,” he says, sounding strangled. He forces a laugh. “I don’t think anyone could’ve grown up with you and not fallen in love with you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. The truth from him hurts more than the lies, sometimes.

And, quieter, he says: “Of course I love you. —Loved.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t know,” he lies.

They quiet, that silence sitting hunched between them still.

He bridges it first. Stretches a hand across the ten inches of eternity between them; she sees the movement from the corner of her eye. He’d never been one for romantic gestures, when they were together. It was all— pageantry, ego-stroking. And she (fatherless, motherless) had devoured every morsel of attention like oxygen to a flame even if she knew deep down it didn’t mean to him what it did to her.

Hook, line, sinker. She closes the space, brushes her knuckles against his, and he interlaces their fingers. The summer air is warm, but his hand is cold. There’s a tremble to the pulse she can feel thrumming in his wrist, like a hummingbird heart.

“It’s too late for us, isn’t it?” He mumbles.

Camilla gives his hand a squeeze. Years ago, she might have felt a spark of hope at their interlocked fingers, the way his hand warms at her touch.

“I think that ship has sailed.” She turns to give him a small smile. There’s no spark of hope there anymore, just a used-to-be. A sigh runs ragged over his lips. He looks… tired, actually. A little worn. Not quite as coiffed and shining as he usually is, though he still strikes a handsome silhouette with the faded moonlight casting him in soft, luminescent edges.

“Yeah, I thought so.” He hesitates. “Are you… happy?”

Camilla thinks of warm brown eyes, honey-sweet, filling her mouth with poetry.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Even with the world going crazy and knowing there are monsters out there that want to kill you? With the danger?”

“The world was already crazy, and I was already in danger. Have you seen my car?”

He grimaces. “I try not to. You can hear it before you see it, anyway, so you can just scrunch your eyes closed and—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. “Some part of me honestly still feels like… like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and none of it will be real. But yeah. I’m happy. I don’t have to do it alone, you know?”

When he falls silent, she nudges herself across the gap, until their knees touch, their shoulders bump together. “And you don’t, either.”

He sighs, releases her hand so he can stretch an arm around her shoulder. It’s a move he’s made before, sitting here on this bench, but it doesn’t feel the same. None of the fire, like whiskey burning a trail down your throat. None of the heavy-lidded gazes. She’s surprised to find that it doesn’t hurt. It almost feels… comfortable, this time. She’ll always love him, too, a part of her recognizes—but not the way she used to.

“I don’t, huh? You think you can get me the number of any of those sexy agents, then?”

“Ugh, you suck.” Camilla swats at his knee playfully, no real bite to her words. He laughs in response.

His arm pulls a little closer around her shoulders, and he points up at the sky. “Hey, look.”

The clouds have parted, and above them the sky glitters like a gown studded with so many diamonds. When she hastens a careful glance up at him, he’s smiling. A small smile, relaxed, not the usual suggestive smirk she’s grown used to. She feels her face light with a smile, too, and it feels a bit like forgiveness.

The stars shine down on them and the waves crash, but the air tastes like rain and summer, like damp grass and fragrant earth. It’s not the same as it was because they’re not the same as they were, and it’s… good. At least in this moment, the ache she’d grown used to feels like the dull twinge of a broken bone healing.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc fic #twc fanfic #bobby marks #bobby marks x detective #yikes!!!!!! #oc: camilla reyes #dropkicks this and RUNS #no editing we die like men!!!!! #oh also i guess there’s some nate/detective if you squint