@wayhavensummer – Camp, feat. Nat Sewell and Det. Innes Calimeris (they/them)
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sehya getting nate ready for his first pride!!💖
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The Pride Week at @wayhavensummer has begun and i guess i'm throwing in my hat too. 😬
prompt: first pride (+ belonging)
pairing: Agent Morgan x f!detective (Arzoo Shafri) ft. Farah Hauville, Nate Sewell
word count: ~1200 words, phew.
summary: Arzoo's choice to stay back with Morgan instead of going for Fun Timez at the Pride parade slips into a discussion about what pride means to Arzoo and why forgoing the parade it isn't as big a sacrifice as Morgan's made it out to be.
Farah is certainly...keen on attending the Pride celebration in the big city today. Morgan's not sure Farah's slept a wink since Tina mentioned it over a week ago. It's not like she needs the sleep but Morgan cannot help but give her a look of concern every so often.
"Will there be music too?"
"You're coming too, right?"
"Should I wear this? How do I look? Is this enough? Should I add more rainbows to my outfit?"
"You look grea—"
"You're coming, aren't you? Wait, will there be dancing? Are there going to be any carnival floa— can I get on one?"
"I don't remember seeing anything about that—"
"Oh no, wait, really? But you're coming along, aren't you?" Farah finished finally, looking between Arzoo and Morgan.
Morgan winces almost imperceptibly at the number of times Farah has asked that question. Almost . Morgan looks up to look at Arzoo and finds her gaze pass over her briefly. Huh.
"Actually," Arzoo begins to reply, "I don't think so." She speaks almost hesitantly. Like she's tasting the words before they leave her mouth.
"Not this time. I'm fresh out of my social battery," Arzoo explains at the sight of Farah's frown, punctuating it with a little, soft laugh.
Morgan catches her glance again. Okay, no way is this the whole truth now.
[find this on AO3 too!]
Farah lets out a groan in reply. "But Arzoo! We—"
"Will miss you thoroughly! But we understand if you don't want to join us. Right, Farah?" Nate slips in seamlessly, evidently having overheard the conversation. As always. The strained smile on his face attempting to communicate what he has to say about where this discussion is headed.
"We- we do! Yes!" Farah catches on quickly. "I'm so excited about this, though! So many years here, and you'd think I must've gone for one of these already. But there's always been something. The first year, I was obviously only just getting a hang of things here. I thought I should've been able to go, but people at the Agency didn't think it would've been such a good idea. And then the second year..." she continued, in an attempt to change the course of the discussion.
It is amazing how they think Morgan cannot see what they're all doing. And if she were being honest, endearing , even. She really wouldn't have minded being left alone for a while. She'd have taken a smoke on the roof for most of the time anyway. Arzoo shouldn't have to stay back for her...it's bullshit.
"We'll get you all the goodies though!" Farah's exclamation manages to catch Morgan's attention.
"You too, grumpy ," she utters the nickname purposefully, throwing in a nearly infuriating smirk for good measure. Morgan's discontent must've shown because Farah barks out a laugh before waving goodbye. Nate waits back a moment to cast a glance at Morgan, his smile slightly strained still. She only barely contains the spark of irritation it makes her feel.
"Seriously? You thought of packing your little painting set over a few more sets of clothes?" Morgan asks incredulously. They're making their way to the Warehouse roof, Arzoo carrying a box of art supplies as Morgan carries a heavier box; it contains pebbles, apparently.
"Not that I mind, though," she adds almost too quickly, a slightly forced smirk pasted on her face. Not even that seems to be able to defuse this odd...tension that Morgan senses between them. She knows what has caused it. It's quite unlike her but she cannot bring herself to address it. Not yet anyway.
Surprisingly, Arzoo doesn't seem to notice the strain in Morgan's words. A chuckle escapes her instead, and she swats at Morgan's arm.
"I only came over for the weekend, remember?" She looks over her shoulder before looking ahead. "And there's something about the view on the roof that I like."
Morgan lays her box down as they settle. "And you want to paint that on these pebbles?"
It's...not unheard of, but it's not really something that she thought Arzoo would enjoy doing. It's nice learning new things about her, though. She wants to do more of it each day she spends with her.
Arzoo only shrugs at the question. "The world is my canvas," she says with a smile.
Morgan watches as Arzoo begins to paint wordlessly. She watches the colours connect with a smooth pebble. She watches as they blend, unbothered. She watches as the colours meet the water in the old mug, finding their place there too. She watches as the colours transform every inch of the surface they touch, as though they belong there.
She watches Arzoo give in to painting. She's probably never sounded this relaxed. There is an ease about her movements that Morgan has never truly witnessed before. It's almost infectious, the calm. And something in Morgan itches to disturb it.
"You should've gone, you know," Morgan finally murmurs weakly. "It's something you've done for a while now and I think it's fucking stupid to sit back here because I find everything so prickly."
She huffs out a breath, and with it, leaves the weight she had felt all this while.
Arzoo looks up, a little taken aback – perhaps by the way Morgan chose to word the way she felt. And she frowns.
"What makes you say that?"
"It's clearly important to you. You may not always show it, but I know what it means for you to find a community," she explains, quoting Tina. "Isn't that what they always keep talking about anyway?"
"And what makes you think I don't find it here? With you?" Arzoo raises an eyebrow. She doesn't seem too bothered with the silence that follows either, choosing to search Morgan's face instead.
"Pride has been a lot more than simply finding a community to me," Arzoo begins with a sigh a few moments later. "That really simplifies what it means to me. It has been about belongingness – standing at the edge of the crowd and still feeling very much a part of it, about finding a place for yourself. It's the shared understanding and acceptance of each other. It is the way you feel connected with someone from this understanding. It is...like blending with and finding yourself in something so much bigger than yourself - without truly losing sight of yourself and the role you play."
She reaches out to hold Morgan's hand, a soft smile creeping on her beautiful face.
"More importantly, it is about finding comfort – comfort to accept yourself, comfort to just...be, to be unapologetically yourself." Arzoo's eyes twinkle, as though in anticipation of what she's about to say. "And I find all of this with you, Morgan. I am not giving up something when I'm with you. Not today. Not in this matter."
"And," she continues, with a smile that's now quickly becoming a smirk, "while it is true that I stayed back to keep you company, it is also true that I've run out of my quota for social interaction. But it's cute that you are so considerate of my feelings."
Morgan groans at that. "It's not cute ," she says, rolling her eyes, prepared to argue over it (and blissfully unaware of Arzoo's action of dipping her fingers in paint). "I'm not cute."
Arzoo gently runs her three fingers – dipped in pink, yellow and blue – snorting at the look on Morgan's face, whatever it is.
"Sure, you're not. Happy Pride, sunshine," she whispers, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.
A genuine smile makes its way onto Morgan's face too, who leans in further to press a quick but soft kiss on her lover's cheek. "To you too, sweetheart."
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@wayhavensummer 's pride in wayhaven week day 1: first pride
oooh you just know i had to draw my boys for this one so here's theo, adam and nate vibing 👨❤️💋👨
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❤ first pride ❤
its finally time for @wayhavensummer !! this is for day one: first pride!! a lil story and a doodle to go with it under the cut ☀
title: first pride
pairing: Nate/m!detective (Nel Fairweather)
word count: 895
summary: Nate attends his first Pride Festival, accompanied by his chipper boyfriend and a few nerves.
"We packed the water bottle, right?" Nate asks, collecting the backpack Nel had provided from the table. "And sunscreen? And a few--"
"Snacks yep, sunscreen yep, water yep. And sunglasses," Nel quickly adds, "For both of us, before you ask."
"The camera, yep."
"Insoles, hand wipes, bandaids, hairbands, portable chargers, cords...I think that's just about everything, Nate," Nel says, eyes bright with a laugh that he's holding back to the best of his ability. "And if we're missing anything, I'm sure someone there will lend us a hand." He takes the bag gingerly from Nate's hands, and mocks almost dropping it with wide eyes and a wider grin. "Oof! I think I've brought less stuff to go camping in the woods for a week."
"I'd hate for us to be unprepared, that's all," Nate says fondly, settling an arm around Nel's solid shoulders, drawing him into his chest. "I've never been to a festival before, let alone Pride, and I'm excited to spend the day with you." He presses a kiss to Nel's forehead where his scars come to meet his hairline. "What a shame it would be if our day had to end early because of sore feet or unruly hair."
"Come on, now! I'm a little tougher than that." The giggle finally bursts free, painting Nel's face in an expression of good humor. Holding Nate's arm in place, Nel hops up onto tiptoe and kissses the cut of Nate's chin in return. "When we run out of granola bars, that's when I'll drag us home."
"It's a good thing I've packed nearly thirty of them then." Chuckling, Nate begins to guide them towards the door. "Do you have your--"
"Wallet, phone, yep and yep," Nel says, lovingly patting the front pockets of his well-worn jeans. "Are you ready?" With a raised eyebrow, he adjusts the pink-purple-blue pin affixed to Nate's chest.
"More than ready." Nate walks at an ambling pace, content to enjoy the warmth of the detective crooked under his arm for as long as possible. It's not often that the two of them have time alone--even if their alone time will be quite the opposite, spent among the masses of their community--but the rest of their little family had all agreed to meet up later in the day, giving Nel and Nate their time and space together. "Excited, even." And he is. "A little..."
Tilting his head in thought, Nate hums. "Apprehensive might be a better word," he says with a quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pushes the hidden exit open, letting a stream of summer sunlight into the artificial halls. It's only then that Nel leaves his side, eager for fresh air.
"Ah, don't be," he says as he inhales deeply, sighs happily. "It's like going to your family's house." The sunshine sets his warm brown hair alight as he happily skips past rubble and ruin, looking back at Nate over his shoulder. "If your family was like, a thousand people who love impromptu dance parties and glitter."
"People never truly change. One of the many wonderful things about humanity," Nate says, smiling. Stepping carefully through over broken stone and metal and glass, the two of them carefully make their way across the lot to the gate; the lock bleeps and clicks, and Nate pushes it aside with a flourish, arm extended, offering Nel first passage. He laughs--a sweet laugh, genuine, much like everything he does--and curtsies, holding the skirts of an invisible dress as he does.
"I'm glad you have some experience with them then, even if it's your first Pride," Nel says, headed towards the silver monstrosity that he lovingly refers to as a car. "That's really all it is. Don't worry--" He turns back to Nate once more, carefree as anything, lackadaisical and cheerful. "--I'll be by your side."
Though the sun is brilliantly radiant, it could never compare to Nel's smile, Nate thinks.
He can't help but mirror it.
"And I, by yours."
Nel acquiesces to being pulled into another embrace, though he squirms regardless--not from discomfort, as Nate has learned, but because he simply couldn't stop moving even if his life depended on it. Too much energy, too much enthusiasm, too much vigor trapped in such a compact person, all of which he pours into the kiss that Nate starts, but Nel quickly takes over.
The thought that, if they never even make it to the festival--so blissfully lost in the way Nel's lips slide against his mouth, in the smile that he can feel flush to his own--that would be just fine, dances through Nate's head, and he finds he agrees with it.
They will, eventually. When they finally reach the battered and bruised hatchback (after a few more kisses and a little time spent in the shade), the burrowing nerves that Nate had been fighting with have just about dissipated, replaced only with the warm glow of Nel's sunkissed optimism and anticipation of the day ahead. Nel asks if he's ready once more, and Nate nods and means it wholeheartedly.
Affection coloring his expression, he watches Nel bound to the other side of the car, whistling some upbeat tune, patting his pockets--
And then stop.
Nate's face falls almost in sync with Nel's own.
"Oh," he says with a sheepish snicker, "I forgot my car keys."
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The slowburn continues-ish? 🥺 I love them ur honor.
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you cannot tell me N Sewell doesn't love to wear slutty little outfits
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OH. 48 for adam and nate,,, 🚶♂️
48. kisses with trembling lips
"We have got to stop meeting like this," Nate chuckles weakly, head lolling against the pillows when he hears the door click shut.
He can't see the scowl Adam is most assuredly wearing, but one does not know a man for centuries without gaining a sense of how he reacts to things like flirtatious comments delivered from one's sickbed. Not that Nate was making many flirtatious comments from his sickbed in those centuries. None that he can remember, at least. Or, rather, none that he would ever admit to remembering.
Blood loss does funny things to a man's head, after all.
"Do I need to call Dr. Tuft for a psychological evaluation as well?" Adam growls at him.
Well, he must be in much worse shape than he thought. He sinks deeper into the pillows propping him upright, tugging his blanket up over his bare chest to hide the bandages wound around his middle.
"You're upset with me," Nate observes astutely.
Adam laughs, and the bitterness sticks somewhere deep in Nate's still-healing gut, acrid and sharp as the venomous stinger that pierced him through not too terribly long ago. Perhaps mere hours ago, he thinks, depending on how long he slept. It's difficult to tell the time when he can't even see, and while vampires do have an innate sense of where the sun is at any given time whether they can see it or not, Nate is perhaps a bit addled by the circumstances, and is not currently at his best.
"You are lucid enough to understand that, at least."
"Bodes well for my recovery, don't you think?" Nate offers. He tries to sound cheery, but it falls flat.
Adam's footsteps are quiet and purposeful as he approaches Nate's bedside, and it will never cease to be a wonder how he can walk so softly in his thick-soled combat boots. He stands there, silent, for a moment that stretches on for what feels like years, but what are years when Nate has spent centuries aching at Adam's side?
The silence is torture, yes, but at least it's a softer one than he's used to.
Nate can feel the potential energy of Adam's tension practically radiating from him, a low hum of tangled nerves and taut muscle. He reaches out blindly, biting back a noise as the motion pulls at his slowly knitting wound. He clearly doesn't bite it back hard enough, because Adam graciously shifts close enough that Nate's hand can land somewhere on his person.
He squeezes lightly, just to be sure of what it is, and is perhaps visibly pleased than he should be at the gentle give of Adam's chest.
At least he can feel how hard Adam is fighting an indulgent chuckle, so he can't be too cross with Nate.
"Sit down?" he asks, and if he endeavors to sound just a touch more pitiful than he feels, that is no one's business but his.
The edge of the bed gives under Adam's weight, and he makes a point not to dislodge the hand resting on his chest, over his heart.
"You have to admit, it is a bit refreshing to have the roles reversed, isn't it?" Nate smiles rakishly, and he thinks perhaps he should be grateful for the acid burns, as the bandages over his eyes are protecting him from the force of the glare Adam is certainly giving him, because if he could see it, and if looks could kill, Nate would be dead and buried several times over.
"I do not see the humor in this situation," Adam grumbles.
"Nor did I any of the countless times I had to sit at your bedside, old friend," Nate retorts primly.
"That is—" Adam quickly realizes how close he is to shouting, and, not wishing to be hauled out of Nate's room by the scruff of his neck by the only nurse the Agency assigns to any of them at this point (he hopes Elidor's salary reflects how much work he puts in, dealing with their lot) lowers his voice to a furious hiss, "That is not the same thing, and you know it."
"Why not?" Nate fires back. "I've seen you in much worse shape than this, and far more often too." And it tore him apart every time, nearly pried to truth out of him, just in case every time was his last chance to tell the stubborn fool he loved him, but he always shoved at down at the last minute and told himself that stubborn fool was too damned stubborn to die.
"It's different," Adam insists, but his voice falters. "It's— You—"
It dawns on Nate slowly, and perhaps it's the sedatives and painkillers pumped into his system, and perhaps it's simply the side effects of centuries of repression that are to blame for how long it takes. "Oh," he breathes as it hits him. "Oh, Adam." He swallows hard, patting at the blankets until he finds Adam's thigh, and then further until he can find his hands, balled into fists in his lap. It takes some doing with his muddled dexterity, but he manages to pry them open, and slots his fingers clumsily between his commander's and squeezes.
Nate has been so caught up in the sheer, unadulterated elation of finally, finally having what he's wanted with every part of him for so long, he forgets sometimes that, for all the time he was aching, dragged under by the weight of feelings ignored, words unsaid, Adam was aching too.
He's been so tangled up in the... the honeymoon phase of this thing between them, that he has not even spared a moment to realize that now that they have this, whatever it is, whatever they're calling it, that now they have something new and precious to lose.
Perhaps he did realize it, even without conscious thought, seeing as he threw himself into harm's way the second Adam was threatened, never mind that, of the two of them, Adam is much more likely to walk away from a thirteen-inch stinger through his torso.
"Oh, Adam," he says again, stricken with guilt. "I'm... I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, I only— You were distracted, and I thought—" He laughs and tugs Adam's hands to his mouth, brushing kisses across his knuckles. He knows the bruises there have healed, but he is deliberately gentle regardless, as if he could ever make up for the mess he's made.
Adam's hands pull away from his, and he tries to cling to them stubbornly, to dig in his heels and shake his head like a petulant child, but he stills when Adam pinches his chin between two fingers and tilts up his face, pressing his mouth to the bandages over his eyes, first one, then the other. When he kisses Nate's lips, his own are trembling, and while Nate can't see his face, he can taste salt in the air.
He knows better than to mention it. And if he sheds a few tears of his own, cupping Adam's face in his hands so he can kiss him back more deeply, pouring apologies he can't say into Adam's mouth, the bandages will do well to hide the evidence.
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softest of ‘em smooches
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have you written Nate x Adam? If you're not up to trying them, then Chase and Mason. 35. wake up kisses
35. Wake-up Kisses
As a vampire, sleep is not something they need as often as humans do. As a a vampire less than a century shy of his first millennium, Adam needs even less sleep than the rest of his unit. He snatches a few hours per week to maintain his energy and stay in top form, and any more than that he claims makes him feel sluggish and weighed-down, not to mention as if he is wasting precious time that could be used doing other, more worthwhile things.
So Nate resolves to reward him thoroughly for indulging an old friend's quirks. Doubly so when he is gifted the pleasure of waking to the sound of birdsong and the near-silent measure of Adam's breathing.
He didn't expect him to still be in bed when he woke.
"Sleep with me?" Nate asked, a soft request. He expected dismissal, the politest Adam is capable of, but dismissal nonetheless.
What he received was a quirked eyebrow, Adam making a concerted effort to be playful, even with red licking like flames up his pale neck and ears, staining his high cheekbones. "Again?" he asked, his lips twitching.
Nate chuckled, but he shifted across the rumpled sheets, slipped his hand over Adam's where it reached for his discarded trousers. "Perhaps later," he teased gently in return, if only to see how far the blush would spread. "But, for now, just to sleep?" Adam opened his mouth, as if to protest. They both had duties to attend to, after all, and Adam was nothing if not a consummate workaholic, but Nate pressed. "Please? I'd like to hold you for a while. At least until I fall asleep."
Adam's eyes widened, bright seaglass green muted by the shadows of the late evening, all his hard edges softened in the glow of the single antique lamp at Nate's bedside. His mouth snapped closed with an audible click of his teeth. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Of course," he said in a near-whisper.
Nate could not contain his beaming smile as he squeezed Adam;s hand and pulled him closer, drawing him back into the nest of blankets that still smelled like him, and would as often as Nate could convince him to spend enough time there to tangle his scent into every fiber.
The windows are high, the glass frosted, so that any who stumble across the warehouse from the outside won't see any signs of life inside, and they lend a sort of strange, dreamy quality to the morning light that spills through Nate's plush curtains. Adam's face is tucked just below the notch of Nate's collarbones, and surely the thick hair there must tickle, but he does not seem at all bothered by it. His arm is heavy where it rests over Nate's waist, but it is a comforting weight, warm and solid. The soft light washes him in muted shades of white-gold and ivory, and Nate is struck by the sudden thought that this is what Psyche must have felt, leaning over a sleeping Eros, and seeing him for the first time in the light of her oil lamp.
He chuckles to himself, quietly amused by his own private theatrics, and the rumble of his chest jostles the other vampire, who makes a disgruntled noise low in his throat (Nate would never call such a noise cute--at least not anywhere Adam could hear) but miraculously doesn't wake, only nestles his face deeper into Nate's chest.
Thankfully, the sudden powerful thud of Nate's heart doesn't seem to disturb him either.
He watches him quietly for a while, simply basking in the warmth, the intimacy. Adam's calves tangled with his, the strong hand draped, limp but possessive, over his thigh, the rhythm of his breathing tickling through the dark curls of Nate's chest. The places they aren't touching are fewer than the ones they are, but it still doesn't feel like quite enough. Nate runs his hand carefully over the back of Adam's skull, ruffling through his hair. It's beginning to grow out more than Adam usually allows it to, enough to curl delicately over Nate's fingers. He closes his eyes and remembers when it was long enough to curl into Adam's collar. He remembers how desperately he ached to touch it, those centuries ago. How he mourned it like a lost friend when Adam decided to crop it short.
He stifles another laugh, but not quite well enough, and Adam stirs again, his hand squeezing at Nate's thigh. His forehead wrinkles, his nose scrunching, and Nate has been in love with this man for centuries, easily three human lifetimes, and still, somehow, he finds he can fall yet further.
He presses a kiss to the bridge of that bold nose, and then to the pucker between Adam's brows, the gilded fan of lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks. They tickle, feather-soft, against his lips, and he feels like he's being lit up from the inside, a warm glow desperate to spill over, too bright to contain.
Adam's eyes open, thin slits of jade-green, squinting with displeasure at the light.
"Good morning," Nate sighs, gliding his thumb along the sharp curve of his cheekbone and kissing there as well. "Is it finally time to get to all that work we've neglected?" He kisses Adam's chin as well, and then drops one to his shoulder.
Adam blinks up at him, sleepy-soft and bathed in the liminal glow, and clearly not nearly awake enough to delight in this sweet, magical space Nate has found carved between their strict routines. Perhaps this is what he meant, when he said too much sleep left him sluggish. Nate feels privileged to see it.
He kisses the grumpy curve of Adam's mouth, and it softens under the touch, opening with a wispy sigh. Nate presses harder, deeper, determined to imprint the shape of his smile onto his dear friend's lips.
Good morning, indeed.
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updated with my “canon” detective this time
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a1 nate requested by @sosolenoo !
thank you!! ~ becky ☀️
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N speaking Farsi is. wow. they would speak so melodically bc its Farsi but since N is a language chameleon it would be straight up magic! i feel like my 3rd eye just opened i am literally 👁️👄👁️ 💖😍
RIGHT?! it is a known fact that N loves to learn languages. and it is also known that N knows (and speaks) Farsi, among all the other languages that they know.
but also (BOOK 3 SPOILERS!):
N's father was canonically Persian! so i'm pretty sure they learnt Farsi as a way to connect with their father's side of their heritage (and possibly, in a way, their father too)! maybe their mother made conscious efforts to teach them Farsi or simply encouraged their excitement about it. and like, the more they learnt the language, the more in-touch they tried to get with their Persian heritage.
either way, i kinda HC that N speaks Farsi almost like their second language(???) which then gives a Farsi [redacted pet name] so much more significance.
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I love them your honor 🥺😭
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i was tagged by the wonderful @tuagonia for wip wednesday! instead of forcing you all to look at more 90sNate AU, I offer a humble scrap from my lil poly au:
He loves Adam, and the rest of his team. He still loves sunsets. He once loved a woman with skin like copper and a deep, startling laugh who touched his hair like it was hers to own. He still (re)loves pomegranates. He once loved a man with eyes so blue, sapphires should have wept with jealousy, who kissed like the first time every time. He knows how to love.
Nate continues to be unknowable to me, but I’m gonna try!!!
it is almost no longer wednesday here, but if you do see this, please consider yourself tagged, and do tag me!!
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What is it Amor?
The Wayhaven Chronicles | Nate Sewell x Valerie Rodriguez | Rating: T (13 and up) | I am sort of on my domestic drabbles phase, so please bare with me |
"Nate?" She turned, her palm resting on his naked arm, patting it in light touches of confirmation.
"Are you awake?"
He changed his side, eyelids still drooping heavily in sleep as he gave her small irritated smile, "What is it Amor?"
His arms lazily found a way to get beneath her head, pulling her close to his bare chest, his now grown shoulder length hair brushing her forehead.
Valerie looked at him, her heart swelling again and again against the warmth he provided her, "I can't sleep."
His sleep-ladened gaze opened wide, concern washing over him as he looked at her, "Is it the nightmares again?"
She chuckled -another suprising act- shaking her head, "No, thankfully. I just don't feel sleepy all of a sudden."
He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ears, planting a light as feather kiss on her forehead, "Then what are you planning to do for the rest of the night?"
She considered the question, snuggling further into his chest, inhaling him around her, as her mind swirled, resulting in nothing. She pouted, looking at him with the corner of her eye, finding him waiting patiently for a response. His calm demeanor almost made her feel guilty for waking him up.
"I don't know... I think I am probably gonna spend the night staring at the ceiling while overthinking all the horrible decisions of my life." She laughed softly, stroking his jaw with her fingers, "Sorry for waking you up."
He shut his eyes close, the smile still looming on his face as he leaned into her mild touch. The softness of the gesture and the familiar callouses of her hands making his blood rush. Something he was never going to get used to.
"There is nothing to apologize Val, and I am definitely not going back to sleep knowing that you'll be spending the night self-loathing."
She sat up in a quick motion, the covers still covering half of their figures, as the cold air brushed against her thin clothed body, "Well, I didn't exactly say loathing..." she couldn't escape the playful glare he threw at her on her words, making her look away with a grin of mixed emotions.
It wasn't a new feeling, him already knowing what she used to mean by her words, which were absolutely not spoken in a literal sense. "I am going to get some air, you wanna come?"
Nate finally mirrored her, sitting up beside her as he sealed her lips in a soft kiss. Her palms immediately reached his face, grazing the light stubble he had grown. His messed up hair somehow managed to give him a whole another layer of attractiveness, as she pushed herself closer to him.
"Let me put on some proper clothes." He chuckled, pulling away as she pressed her bottom lip between her teeth. "Okay."
Both of them got out of the bed, getting changed as quickly as they could, the room suddenly feeling too suffocating to stay inside of. She slid her arms inside her beige trenchcoat, since winter was never really kind.
Nate came beside her, as she found him in his jeans, green shirt and the brown jacket. "Aren't you gonna tie your hair?" She asked, her eyes glimmering at his sight as he gave her a simple shrug, "Do you not like it this way?"
She punched him playfully on the shoulder, earning a melodious laugh from him, "You know why I asked! You usually like to keep your hair tied."
He looped his arm around her waist, as both of them made their way outside.
It was 4am in the morning, and it was nice to see the misty Wayhaven. The chilled air kept contradicting the warmth they felt as they continued walking close to each other.
Sometimes, it almost felt unbelievable that they had been together for almost four years then. Life was never simple for either, and neither was the start of their relationship. But that? Something that they shared together, just felt so... easy, and good, and happy.
She had given up on everything, knowing that nobody wanted to bear her burden, knowing that nobody would accept her, after seeing her scars, mental scars. But he just made everything so simple.
Why won't he love her? He loves every part of her. Why do you need to have so many conditions to love? Can't you just love them for who they are?
That's how easy it felt.
Her smile faltered, as she her gaze grew distant, just taking in the sight of the place she grew up in. Nate couldn't help himself, as he held her hand in his, fitting perfectly together like two lost puzzled pieces.
"Ready to tell me what's wrong?"
He knew. Obviously he knew. No matter how much she would try to overshadow it with her smiles. Charm was never really her forte.
A sigh escaped her, her gaze darting away as blood rushed to her cheeks, "It's honestly nothing."
Another silence lingered between them, the air deciding to not get thinner any further. She groaned quietly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips, while she rolled her eyes at herself. He played that card.
"I was– am not feeling well about myself. You know, the usual, 'self-loathing'?" The admission was honest, as honest and clear she could make it at that point. Nate stopped in his tracks, holding onto her hand as she looked back at him, finding him two steps behind.
His lips pressed in a frown, as he realised his words won't be enough this time, she needed to figure this out on her own, she wanted to figure it out on her own. And all he could do was be there, right there, by her side, whenever she was ready.
"I know. I'm sorry. I don't want to burden you with this when I know you're trying. I just– it's something I have been doing for so long -cursing herself- to cope with everything."
He caught up to her, his arms wrapping around her shoulder as she smiled, looking at him directly. The deep brown eyes overwhelming her with pleasant heat during winter's peak. "Please don't ever say that again."
"Say what?" Her look became quizzical at the statement, almost mockingly so, but the seriousness of his tone made her hold back her mock non-chalancy.
"That you're a burden. Because you're not Val. Not to me. And you can never become one."
She leaned in, pressing her lips against his lightly, her lips shivering with her as the cold temperature rose in the surrounding, while the colour of their skins reddened deeper.
Taglist: @anotherbeingsworld | @detectivehathaway | @beezybean | @sosolenoo | @little-flowers-on-heaven | @takemyopenheart | @gryffindordaughterofathena |
(Comment to get added to the taglist! :)
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okay, with Mishka saying that it's a matter of the moment just "feeling right" for N to drop the [redacted pet name] on the romanced detective, i was talking with @agentnatesewell about N (as one does) and just-
imagine N and the detective chilling - say in the library, at Haley's or in either of their beds - and the detective does or says something (likely mundane but also Not) and N just calls the detective a term of endearment in, say, Farsi? like, it simply spills out of them without much of a conscious thought.
it just. makes me so soft because, clearly, the act of calling someone by that pet name means something to N. can you imagine being filled with so much love for a person that something so meaningful just slips out from you without you intending it to? like, the mere sight of this person making it unbearable for your mind to keep the love to itself and it just sort of bursts out of you?
then maybe N fully realises this belatedly, maybe a moment or few later. it's probably now that they newly realise the full depth of their feelings and what this love has uncovered for them in a very "oh wow, this is new"-kind of way.
and then they call the detective by this pet name with intention - a purposeful, intentional, conscious usage of it - but with just every but of a lovesick smile on their face as they had when they called the detective that the first time.
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conflicted - featuring the love triangle (adam du mortain x detective lyra kingston x nate sewell) from the wayhaven chronicles (by @seraphinitegames)
thank you @fel-fisk for capturing lyra’s personable demeanor and how well she gets along with nate. of course, the love triangle isn’t complete without angst du mortain looking on longingly 😅.
*goes without saying, but do not repost.
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Oh god. Oh my god. Oh fuck. They’re in [REDACTED]
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