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ejunkiet · 9 months

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strawberry mentos

for @sunshineandviolets from your @wayhavenficexchange giftee!

Set in book 3, spinning off of the wonderful backstory of Karthik having a young daughter named Meera - and who am I to resist writing about UB and children??

the wayhaven chronicles: detective karthik achari/mason

–

strawberry mentos

“Do you like kids?”

Mason’s lip curls at the question before he hesitates, flicking his eyes over to catch the dark depths of Karthik’s gaze. He’s leaning against the opposite counter in the warehouse kitchen, his eyes on him steady, unwavering, and seemingly without judgement.

He shrugs, as if to say it was just a question. And it is just a question.

But it isn’t just anyone asking.

Mason’s fingers twitch at his side in an aborted movement, reaching for a pack of cigarettes that have long since been emptied.

How long has it been since he’d wanted a smoke?

With the purification of his crystal, it’s been easier to go without it, easier to just enjoy the beneficial effects of the detective’s company, Karthik’s impossible ability to ease the burden of his heightened senses, tame the neverending roar of their everyday into a dull murmur.

Something to do with the blood, Mason thinks, his eyes flicking away and down, down the golden slope of the other man’s neck, until he can see the flutter of his pulse. The curl of his dark hair threatens to obscure it, but Mason doesn’t need his enhanced senses to hear Karthik’s heartbeat, to track his movements from across the room.

From across the goddamn compound some days, and it’d piss him off more, if it wasn’t such a relief.

He blinks at the thought, before his lip curls again. Fuck, he needs a smoke.

“Kids don’t like me,” is what he says in response, as the other man was still waiting. Watching him, the chocolate of his iris deep enough to swallow the edges of his pupil, patient and so fucking unreadable. He lets out a scoff. “Meera didn’t, anyway.”

That seems to break Karthik out of whatever funk he was in, his brow furrowing, a frown twisting his lips. “What makes you say that?”

Mason glances back up to catch his gaze again, giving him a flat look. “I have a pretty good read on people. She wouldn’t make eye contact, wouldn’t cross the room, and flinched whenever I made a move. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

Karthik’s frown deepens, before he glances away, breaking eye contact. He shifts on his feet, and his demeanour changes, his scent changes. Anxiety, worry. For his kid?

Shit.

“I didn’t mean to scare her,” He says, and means it. He doesn’t know why he needs Karthik to know that, to believe it, but he does. Mason really hadn’t tried anything with the kid. He’d just walked into the room, and that had been it. Kids really didn’t like him. “I’ll keep my distance in future, I promise.”

“No, it’s- it’s not that.” Karthik takes a breath, slow and steadying, shifting against the counter top. He’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing the broad line of his forearms and the dark lines of hair that cross it, the muscles flexing under his grip. “She’s not - scared of you. She’s just - not good at things like that. Meeting new people.”

Mason releases a soft snort. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me, handsome”

Karthik’s dark eyes rise to meet his. “I’m not. She’s - a lot like you, actually. The whole world, it’s - it’s hard on her. Everything is just, too much, all at once.” He pauses again, thinking for a long moment. “It could help her, actually, talking to you.”

Help her? Talking to him? He wants to scoff again, but Karthik’s eyes on his are wide and honest, his belief in the statement clear in his gaze. Mason bites his lip, before blurting in disbelief, “You mean that.”

“I do.” The unease in Karthik’s posture has faded, a smile tugging at his lips. “And I think if you two tried again, you’d get along really well.”

Mason thinks on that for a long moment. Karthik wouldn’t have offered it if he wasn’t serious. There wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body, the man wearing his heart on his sleeve, as much as it frustrated Mason sometimes to see it.

There wasn’t a subtle bone there either, Karthik’s eyes on him bright and hopeful, almost expectant, and shit.

“This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

Karthik’s smile widens until his eyes crease with it, and he nods, the movement sending the dark strands of his hair dancing across his forehead. “It does.”

And of course it would. This was his kid. Nothing meant more to this man than his Meera. It had been her name he’d whispered in Mason’s arms after Murphy’s attack, his blood staining the dirty floor of the warehouse they’d found in him, his strength failing, his dark eyes wide and desperate and focused on Mason. Tell her I love her. That I will always love her. And - keep her safe.

Christ, Mason was going to do this, wasn’t he?

Mason lets out a low groan, and Karthik - healthy and whole and beautiful - knows he’s won, his grin widening until his dimples are visible, crinkling his cheeks, and god dammit.

“Alright, fine. We’ll try it.” Karthik lets out a sound that could almost be a whoop, and Mason tilts his head back, letting out a louder, more exasperated groan. “No promises that this will work, though. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Karthik laughs, shifting forward to close the distance between them, finally, his palm wide and warm and so right as he cups the side of Mason’s neck, before leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss is chaste, sweet. Karthik’s lips are soft and warm, and all Mason feels is the heat of it, the intimacy of having him so close, his breath a soft rush against his face as Karthik draws back and runs the worn pad of his thumb along the curve of his cheek.

“Thank you, sunshine.”

Mason scoffs at the nickname, or at least he tries to, but he’s smiling, he can feel the tug of it at the corners of his mouth, despite himself. “You’ll have to make it up to me, handsome.”

Karthik matches his smile. “Oh, I can think of a few ways…”

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #mason twc #agent sunshine #wayhavenficexchange

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grapecaseschoices · 1 year

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i’ve only read two books so far but book 3 moments living rent free in my mind

M’s -- paranoia at the antique house

That tender moment between M and the detective at the antique house (hand holding!! /sobbing ferally about it)

“Do you want me to cheer you up?” - F HAUVILLE HOW YOU SO PERFECT

F opening up about their past in the romance route. Just every thing about it.

That quiet moment with F in the kitchen that you get whether or not you’re romancing them.

The different ways the bathroom scene can go with M.

I have more but I got to go to work. I’ll add to this as I catch up / remember.

#twc book 3 #twc book 3 spoilers #f hauville #agent m #the wayhaven chronicles #whew #i cant #so many emotions #felix hauville #mason twc #farah hauville #morgan twc #im ill #feel free to add yalls faves if you want #grapecase posts #grapecase sobs

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gaylatteart · 6 months

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Anytime my detective introduces M to someone, they add “(S)he has no last name, like Cher.”

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #mason twc #Morgan twc

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gamingtrashbasin · 2 years

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M!UB's reaction to "I want a baby"

Nate:

Adam:

Mason:

Felix:

Bonus (bc my detective Carena absolutely WOULD message her friends this)

Tina:

Verda:

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #wayhaven #choice of games #nate sewell #adam du mortain #special agent mason #mason twc #the wayhaven chronicles mason #felix hauville #twc felix #twc adam #twc nate

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lykegenia · 12 days

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Toying with a Wayhaven AU where UB are the vampire lords (gender neutral) ruling over the territory of Wayhaven: A and N make sure humans aren't killed - N because of self-tortured compassion and A because in the long term it's the best way to not have townspeople coming at you with pitchforks - and M goes along with it though they couldnt care less either way. F is a vampire noble from a faraway land who sought refuge with UB, who thinks the idea of not drinking humans to death is a peculiar novelty, but they see the benefits to it.

And then the MC shows up, escaped from Murphy, who wanted to use their blood to become a vampire high king or something. Rebecca is an old friend of UB and said they could be trusted, and there's not much choice when there's a supercharged vampire maniac on your trail. UB offer MC protection after seeing what their blood can do to a vampire's powers, but vow that none of them will take it because in addition to making them more powerful it would drive them mad and make them turn on the rest of their family.

Of course that's harder said than done when the temptation is right there and only growing stronger...

#i don't want to write this please someone else write this #unrelated i should watch castlevania again #the wayhaven chronicles #a du mortain #ava du mortain #adam du mortain #n sewell #nate sewell #nat sewell #f hauville #felix hauville #farah hauville #specialist agent m #mason twc #morgan twc #please can my brain stop coming up with aus for FIVE MINUTES

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somewillwin · 10 months

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Mason x detective request for the pride event 🏳️‍🌈

Kofi

#the wayhaven chronicles #mason twc #mason x detective #mason x Mc #twc #fanart #kofi event #myart #i always forget if his name is spelled Paris or Parris 🫠🫠🫠

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lovelyfoolish · 1 year

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you make me laugh again, feelin' so good

mason x f!detective / 1.6K (drabble) / M (for mason)

⇢ summary: intimidating as he is, the butterflies love mason.

⇢ notes: i can’t quite remember who gave me this idea but i think it was silv? maybe? we talk about flowers a lot ♡

♡

A ‘morning after’ is a mirror — when she looks down at herself, sheet pooled in her lap, sweat making her hair stick to the back of her neck, Mason turned away from her and towards the light, asleep or pretending to be — there is a record of ‘the night before’ clearly reflected on her body, impossible to mistake as anything else.

Bruises the shape of kisses that are such a vibrant shade of purple she could pluck them like plums from her thighs. The places his teeth grazed her throat, a shiver from remembering the way she could feel the tip of a fang, not so unlike one of her own canines when she ran her tongue over it. Lines that emerged from under nails, twin marks made when he held her by the waist to pull her down to where he wanted her, their underwear, and her cardigan, and his shirt, and a lone sock, still on the floor.

In this moment, they could be the only two people alive.

She should do the laundry.

Mina blinks slowly, drawing her fingers through her hair and sweeping it back from her face, eyes narrowed. He has her hair tie. She can see it on his wrist.

It’s early enough that there are notes of hesitation in the birds’ songs and the sunlight is a thin stream of pale gold, trickling through the blinds at the pace of honey dripping from a ladle. Her bedroom is glowing, Mason’s tan skin set aflame next to her. How pretty it all is. It feels like the world is trembling slightly, as if in anticipation of something, everything so — vivid. Alive. Real. He’s touching her even in his sleep, brushing up against her.

She left her dishes in the sink last night, abandoning order and the inevitable superiority complex that arises from having a constantly clean apartment for open-mouthed kisses and the inherent chaos of two bodies tangled together. She’s half-dressed when she leaves the bedroom, her underwear and the soft, cream-coloured cardigan from the floor, which isn’t ideal, but she pushes up her sleeves, tipping her head back to get her hair out of her eyes again — it was her last fucking hair tie, and it’s on his wrist — opening the windows and turning on the water.

The breeze that drifts into the kitchen smells slightly sweet before it’s drowned in the heavy scent of her floral dish soap.

“What’re you doing?”

“Hair tie. Please.”

Mason looks into her eyes before pulling his own hair back, slipping the tie from his wrist to secure it, because he likes to toy with people, constantly stricken with an insatiable need to piss everyone around him off. She arches a brow, tipping her head back so she won’t have to touch her hair with the sopping wet, neon pink dish gloves, bangs in her eyes still. He should feel bad about this. It’s his fault. But he’s smirking, crossing his arms so his biceps bulge and leaning against the doorframe. His hair is still tied in that stupid ponytail.

“You’re eating, right?”

“Yeah. When I finish.”

She used to think of these early-morning-after conversations as uncomfortable half-somethings. But they’ve become worn, softening the way leather does, or wool, and now the incomplete sentences feel more like uncut jewels, rough with possibility, an entire language constructed from what they leave unsaid — he did not always ask this, uninterested in anything beyond what he could see, or touch, but now it is routine.

“You forgot to take your earrings off.”

Mina reaches up to touch her ear, remembering the dish gloves too late and flinching.

“Does it hurt?” There’s a note of something indecipherable in his tone, and as she inhales, he comes closer, steely eyes on hers and making her shiver. He touches her jaw first, fingers splayed across the edge of it, thumb slipping into the space behind her ear and stroking it as if trying to soothe an imagined wound. The motion feels like being plunged suddenly into cold water, or the first shot of the liquor someone always kept in the freezer in the house she lived in when she was twenty, but she doesn’t flinch again, leaning into his touch, eyes closing.

The way she feels about him is always like that. So intentional, always on purpose, a choice she has to make, turning towards him, glancing back at him, drawing closer to him, pulled by his unique gravity, circling in his orbit, growing-blooming-fruiting in his light.

The wind is picking up, just slightly, a breeze whistling through the open window.

The sink is still running. They’re being so wasteful.

“I didn’t even notice,” Mina says, opening her eyes, tilting her head so she can feel the full weight and warmth of his palm against her cheek, giving him that look he calls lethal when he knows she’s listening, “You can take help me take them out now, if you want.”

Mason’s eyes narrow as his brows lower. Sometimes the silver shade of his gaze is like a mirror, and in it her reflection is mesmerising, the most beautiful she’s ever been.

He touches one of her earrings, the little gold hoops she usually only takes off to sleep, or shower, the only gift Rebecca has ever given her she’s actually kept. “They look good on you,” he says, reaching past her to turn off the water, side of his arm so close to the curve of her waist, making the hairs on her arms stand straight up, skin prickling with gooseflesh.

She is so aware of the thinness of her sweater, of how little he’s wearing, his bare stomach and the sheen of sweat and the ache in the backs of her thighs.

“You’ve been so quiet lately,” he says.

She laughs, the sharp sound harsher than she meant, slipping out of his grasp. “I’m always quiet.”

Mina can barely remember her childhood, it’s distant and hazy in the way a lost youth usually is, but her memories are streaked with blue skies viewed in silence, turning her head to watch her classmates in the distance, head in the grass, always alone. Some people had found that concerning. She didn’t speak for days, weeks, going for such long wordless periods that she was easily forgotten even by the people who were tasked with remembering her.

She’s always been like this. He knows this.

“No — you’re not. Not like this. You’re always talking. It’s different. Something’s different.”

How startling it is to be viewed so completely that even the slightest change in her circumstances does not escape his notice. She swallows, a sound she knows he hears, and turns away, back to the sink and the still unwashed dishes, crossing her arms, her hair falling back in her eyes.

“It’s fine,” she says coolly, brushing him off.

“Mina,” Mason says.

He always makes her name into a complete sentence, and she just knows that one day, he’s going to ruin her with it, the way he says it so reverently, so rarely, so —

“You know — you can tell me anything, right. Don’t just want to know the things you know you can tell someone else.” She can’t see his face, but his voice — it’s striking something deep within her. “I want to hear about the ugly parts of your life. The shit days. When you’re mad. Or upset. Or scared. You don’t have to hide from me. Don’t hide from me.”

It sounds like something she once begged of the Mason that inhabits her dreams, to let her in. Her hands are shaking in those aggressively pink rubber gloves.

When she turns back to look at him, his eyes are fixed on hers, and everything she could possibly say sticks in her throat.

In her periphery, something moves, and she realises there’s a butterfly in her kitchen, floating in through the open window, maybe drawn to the bright lavender scent of her dish soap, or the flowers on the table. A swallowtail, butter yellow and tiger striped and blue tipped, drawing her eye as it flutters towards Mason, landing on his naked shoulder and making him stiffen. He tries to wave it away, a quick flick of his hand, but it remains there, twitching slightly, wavering in the breeze.

Another one lands on his outstretched hand, still another circling his head, making him look up as it haloes him, and she laughs, bringing her hand to her mouth as he inhales and closes his eyes, as though perhaps stillness will do something.

“What did you do,” he says slowly.

“Just — don’t move,” she says, grinning so wide it feels as though she’ll wear that expression the rest of the day, her face stuck that way, like parents always warn. “I want to take a picture.”

He’s being so gentle with them, even though she can read the irritation in his expression. It would be so easy for him to crush them in his palms, his reflexes are faster than they are, they’re so delicate — she is more like these butterflies than she wants to imagine, the perpetual subject of a well-hidden and seemingly endless well of patience he draws from.

“Don’t send it to anyone,” he says, clenching his jaw. “Mina —”

“They’re gone,” she promises in a sweet coo, reaching up to touch his cheeks, pausing before she does so he knows that she’s going to from the radiating heat of her hands. “I’ll close the window.”

His skin is hot beneath her palms.

She finally made him blush, the way he always makes her.

“Okay,” Mina says, pulling him down to kiss her with one hand on the nape of his neck, “I’ll tell you everything.”

With the other, she pulls the tie from his dark hair.

♡

all my friends were in the sustainable development association in uni can you tell

anyway mason shut it off because the sound was annoying him and he washed her dishes when the butterflies left him alone even though those rubber gloves are the worst feeling in the world so yeah. it’s love

if you are a visual person these are the swallowtails that are on mason!

(picture via thomas--bombadil)

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #mason twc #agent m #wayhaven #it's like this. sometimes you try to lay your soul bare and instead you give the world mason covered in butterflies #but #maybe that is my soul laid bare

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wayhaveners · 1 year

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Moments in M’s route that altered my brain chemistry, part 4:

the love

#CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT #JUST KNOW THAT I’LL BE DOING THE SAME #the wayhaven chronicles #twc book 3 #mason twc #m #screenshots #original post

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pinayelf · 1 year

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I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye

(glow-y version under the cut)

i couldn't decide which version i wanted, i love mood lighting but i like the full-lit version too cause you can see the details

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #mason wayhaven #twc mason #mason twc #agent m #art tag #amihan marasigan #amihan x mason #i know such a cliched song lyric choice fhudfu but it fits #twc posting

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writer-ish · 1 year

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About halfway through the M route and just wondering what I’m supposed to do with these crumbs? Like I’m literally starving here.

#also is it me #or is mishka’s writing getting worse #like this is painful #call me when the fics start #twc #mason route #m route #the wayhaven chronicles #it’s ok to tag on main #m*shka is blocked af #anyway #wake me up when they finally fuck #twc spoilers #agent m #agent mason #mason twc

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thcscus · 8 months

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chapter 9 out of 10 :)

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

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ejunkiet · 1 year

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dancing in the dark

in light of the new book release, I finally finished this wip. some mild twc book 3 spoilers, but mostly just a lot of UST hehehehe >:3

the wayhaven chronicles: mason/olivia greene

She’d seen his flinch when the water had met his skin, the tightness of his jaw from the pressure and heat, but he hadn’t pulled back, and he hadn’t let her go.

This - whatever it was between them - was changing.

READ ON AO3 | olivia and mason masterlist

dancing in the dark.

After everything that’s happened, she thinks she’s earned this.

No mission. No cases. Just a moment of quiet and calm, for herself.

The room fills with curls of steam, sweetly perfumed with the delicate scent of the bath salts she’d found in a little wicker basket beneath the towels, the deep basin of the tub just about filled to the brim around her.

The heat of the water is perfect, easing the tension from her muscles, and she releases a long sigh, sinking into it, taking a second to appreciate the moment.

For as long as it lasts, at least.

A smile curling up her lips, she tilts her head towards the door, to where Mason lingers on the threshold, his shoulder resting against the doorframe, lower lip between his teeth as he traces over her form in the water.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

Mason’s lips curl into a wide smile, his eyes dark and heavy lidded.

“Just savouring the moment, sweetheart.”

He walks over, stride long and lazy as he comes to stand by the side of the tub, grey eyes flickering over where she's submerged in the water, the bath salts turning the water milky white.

His dark eyes flicking back up to hers, he lowers himself to a crouch, rolling up the sleeves of his burgundy henley as he leans over the side of the tub.

His fingers drag across the ceramic lip until they brush against her arm. His eyes are dark, focused on his touch as he glides his fingers along her skin, and she suppresses a shiver as she watches him.

“You look comfortable.” His fingers dip into the water, his lip curling as he removes them quickly, flicking the water from his fingertips. “Not sure how you can stand the heat.”

Her gaze catches his and holds steady. “I’ve handled worse.”

He trails his hand back along her arm, barely more than a whisper, before a smirk curves up his lips. “I don’t doubt it, sweetheart.”

He leaves his hand there a moment, thumb rubbing idle circles against her damp skin, before he pulls away completely.

Glancing around the small space, he leans forward to snag her towel, bundling it onto the floor beneath him as he twists around to lean against the bathroom wall. His elbow perches on the rim of the tub as he lets out a low sigh, shifting into a more comfortable position.

“You’re staying then?” She isn’t quite sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this.

His lips quirk into a half smile, and he lifts his shoulder in a shrug, tilting his head back until it rests against the wall. He lets his eyes slip shut, dark lashes brushing against the dusting of freckles along his cheekbones, glistening slightly in the steam from the water.

“Got nothing better to do.”

His voice is softer than his words would suggest, and there’s a calm about him that makes her feel at ease too as she relaxes back into the water. “Suit yourself, sunshine.”

He huffs out a laugh, his upper lip pulling back to reveal a glimmer of a sharp canine that sends a shiver running through her. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

She hums as she settles into the water.

–

“Turn around, and tilt your head back.”

Glancing back over her shoulder, she finds his grey eyes on her, dark and unreadable in the muted lighting. He hasn’t moved from his position against the tiles, his head tilted back to reveal the smooth expanse of his throat, a spray of freckles darkening his skin. “What?”

“I said, tilt your head back.” There’s an intensity in those grey depths that she can’t quite read. He reaches forward to tug the bottle from her grip, placing it on the side, before he adds, softly, barely more than a murmur. “Trust me.”

Biting her lip, she does as he asks, leaning forward as his free hand trails along her arm, tracing up to her shoulder and along the line of her neck, barely softer than a whisper before it disappears.

She can hear the sound of the plastic bottle, before his hands find her hair, sinking into the wet strands, his grip firm and steady, and oh.

He’s good at this.

His touch is firm and purposeful as he runs his fingers through her hair, squeezing the water from the ends before massaging the lotion into them, twisting it into a coil over her shoulder before turning his attention to the rest.

It’s intimate, the way he cradles her head, fingers strong and sure as he massages her scalp, before he leans over to grab the shower nozzle, rinsing the conditioner from her hair.

His touch lingers after he shuts off the water, his eyes dark and unreadable as she shifts in the water to face him. Holding his gaze, she reaches out to his cheek, and something warm and flickering ignites in her chest when he leans into the simple touch.

Her hand flexing, she brings him closer, until their lips are hovering just millimetres away from each other, the rush of his breath warm against her cheek.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His hand raises to trace along the length of her arm, until his fingers circle her wrist. The heat of his palm is like a brand against her skin, his thumb tracing against the soft skin there. “Unless you want to start something.”

She lifts her shoulder in a shrug, drawing back enough that she can catch his gaze. “And what if I did?”

He holds her stare, his eyes a winter storm, swallowed by the weight of his pupils. There is a heat in his gaze, there’s no denying that, but he doesn’t act on it, his dark eyes flickering between hers. “Is that what you want?”

Her breath catches as the tension sparks between them, bright as a livewire. A part of her does, helpless to resist this attraction between them, this pull, relentless and all-consuming.

But then her mind flits back to a memory from a few weeks ago, in this same room. The way he hadn’t hesitated when he’d stepped into the shower to catch her weight, water splashing against the dark material of his clothing, soaking him to the skin.

She’d seen his flinch when the water had met his skin, the tightness of his jaw from the pressure and heat, but he hadn’t pulled back, and he hadn’t let her go.

This - whatever it was between them - was changing.

You think I’d be able to cope without you now?

Her next breath is tight, a swell of an emotion she still doesn’t want to name rising inside her chest, until she can barely breathe around it. A furrow forms between his dark brows, but before he can say anything, she closes the distance between them and meets his lips with her own.

The kiss is soft at first, almost sweet, like the one she’d given him in the aftermath of the trapper attack in the sewers. His lips part on instinct, caught unawares, but he’s quick to lean into the kiss, his hand curving around her cheek as he matches her pace, the heat increasing as they entangle in each other.

They’re both breathless when they finally part, his dark eyes on hers, his pupils blown until only a sliver of the winter storm of his iris remains. His voice is a low murmur as he asks, “What was that for?”

“To say thank you.” She means more than just tonight, by the low hum that vibrates from his chest, shivering against her fingertips, he knows it. His thumb traces the curve of her cheek, slipping down until he can tilt her chin up, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her throat.

“Ready to move this somewhere else, sweetheart?”

She leans into the heat of his touch, a smile curling up her lips. “Lead the way.”

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc writing #olivia and mason #mason twc #hehehe #these two have a thing with bath tubs okay #a motif lets say #writing

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