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schmetective · 2 months

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home;

pairing: Nathaniel Sewell x the Detective synopsis: (Somewhere in Book 3,) After a night of sleep for all of Unit Bravo (humor me), Nate insists on seeing the Detective off when they leave the Warehouse for the police station. The Detective muses about home.

“Mmm,” you hum against Nate’s lips, resolve forcing you to lift your hands from his waist to his chest so that you can pull away. Your words are framed with soft laughter as you force yourself to say them. “Okay, I really have to go now.”

The rays of the summer morning sun peek through the canopy of trees surrounding the clearing around the warehouse, making Nate’s skin look as if he’s glowing. You hear Morgan’s voice somewhere in your head, arguing with no malice that Maybe you’re just that in love with him. You can hear a smirk in her voice to boot. And maybe you are just that in love with him. Your heart, let alone your mind, can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth as you gaze at the tall vampire, suddenly thankful once again that real vampires aren’t like the vampires of myth. You get to enjoy how he looks in the glow of the morning; see the soft breeze play with his brown hair like you had done earlier in the morning. You refrain from following suit now, though, because then you really wouldn’t be able to leave.

At your words, he opens his eyes slowly. Something akin to sadness swims and swirls inside the warmth of them, but he smiles gently nonetheless. For a moment, you wonder protectively with a heavy heart about what, besides you leaving, makes him sad. “Do you?” He asks, no real force behind the question. “You’re welcome to stay home for one more day, you know.”

Home. Your heart flutters when he calls the warehouse that.

You let out a soft breath of laughter, and it draws Nate close once more, nestling the tip of his nose in your cheek as his smile grows. Your chest tightens with sadness at his words— how you wished you could stay. But your town needed you. You were meant to keep them safe, and all you did was be the cause of their loved ones going missing. You wished you could stay. You wished everything was fine in Wayhaven so that you couldstay.

The thoughts have your smile fading just a bit, your gaze dropping to the ground. But the way Nate pulls you even closer to him has you forgetting them until all you’re thinking of is him.

And how you don’t want to leave him.

“Nate,” you laugh again in protest. Despite the facade you were trying to keep up, your arms find their way around his neck in a loose embrace. “I’m going to be late now…”

This time when he pulls away, he laughs. Heaves a little, albeit still dramatic, sigh.

And surely it’s meant to tug at your heart (it does).

You smile.

He smiles too.

“Okay,” he says with another sigh, running a hand over his hair, then letting it rest at the back of his neck.

“Okay?” You confirm, eyebrows raised. Feeling the chill the breeze brings along with it now that he’s no longer holding you.

As if thinking, he purses his lips for a moment then nods and smiles reassuringly. “Yes,” he says with a laugh. “Now go.”

You reflect his smile. “All right…” You take a step back. “I’ll be home again before you even notice I’m gone.”

A couple weeks ago, home was your apartment. Home was Wayhaven. Nate calls the warehouse your home. But maybe…

Maybe home wasn’t really any of those places, or maybe it was. Maybe home was him. Nathaniel Sewell.

Nate’s eyes widen when you call the warehouse ‘home,’ but soon enough, the surprise is melting into a soft, gentle gaze. He highly doubts you could be home again before he notices you’re gone— he already misses you.

And he’s tempted to tell you just as much, but instead he just squints teasingly at you as he watches you walk back towards your car. The teasing look softens when you finally stop walking backwards and turn around. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his green pajama pants to keep from reaching out for you again.

His soft words float on the morning breeze, dancing as they make their way over to you and beckon you to turn around once more just as you reach your car.

Your eyes meet his, noticing their haziness; hazy again but not with sleep… “See you soon, ya rouhi.”

… with love.

He’s got this warmth washing over you even though he’s standing yards away— something only he can make possible. It washes over you and makes you feel as if you’re melting in the best way possible. Like sinking into a warm bath after a long day or burrowing yourself under a blanket for a nap. You bite down on your lower lip, trying to keep the smile on your lips from growing any wider. Searching and failing to find it in you to speak, you nod.

You reach for the car door handle halfheartedly, giving him a little wave with your other hand. He mimics it before his hand disappears into his pocket again.

Because if he hadn’t done so, then he really would be walking over to you. He really would reach out to you and take your hand, pulling you gently out of the car so he could hold you once more. You’ve got his heart in your hands, after all. Even as you buckle yourself into your little car and start the engine. How was he to stop himself from following after it?

He catches your eye through the windshield. Faintly hears your heart thud in your chest the moment your gazes connect. A smile spreads across his face at the sound, and he lets out a breath of laughter as it does.

I love you, Nate mouths to you over the sound of your car’s engine.

——————————

“That’s gotta be the longest goodbye,” Farah says with a grin, watching from the window of the common room as the Detective’s car rolls away. She watches Nate finally turn around and make his way back inside.

“You creep,” Morgan comments, plopping herself down on a chair and sighing. “Why are you watching them?”

It’s not really a question.

“That took like ten minutes! It’s like he’s sending them off to war or something.” Farah snickers at her own joke, surely waking the commanding agent if he’s not already up and about by now (he is).

Morgan lifts her foot and rests it on Nate’s coffee table, a smirk making its way to her face. “Watch it be fifteen tomorrow.”

“Is that a bet? I think it’s a—“

“You have a gambling addiction,” comes the voice of Adam as he steps into the room.

“Come on, Adam,” Farah laughs, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms with a bright smile. “What’ll it be? I’m betting twenty minutes. Morgan’s got fifteen.”

Morgan’s gaze shifts to Adam, an eyebrow raised. The blond crosses his arms as well as he looks at Farah.

A moment of silence.

The vampires hear Nate’s footsteps as he make his way to them.

Then, Adam smirks.

“Thirty.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing!”

“Is your foot on my table?”

“Yeah right…”

#thinking thoughts about the evasive vampire. i will find out your secrets.#the wayhaven chronicles #nathaniel sewell x reader #nate sewell x reader #if you saw this on ao3 no you didn’t #jk i just cross-posted #also what are the girlies (gn) writing twc tagging their stuff with

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lovelyfoolish · 5 months

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you have occupied my mind

nate x f!detective (yael greene) / 1.5K/ M

⇢ summary: fate and pancakes.

⇢ notes: a thank you for @serenpedac for all you did for @wayhavensecretsanta ♡ i don't know if you had to sacrifice your own surprise to run the event, but in case you did, here's a different one.

🥞 ‎

set the mood

🍋 ‎

When he holds out the lemon, examining it with those shrewd, dark eyes of his, it looks as though he’s plucked a bright yellow, dimpled sun from the sky, just for her.

It feels like the ribbons of smoke from the fireworks have remained like the champagne glasses on the counter, distorting the edges of the clouds, but perhaps she just hasn’t woken up entirely yet. This could be a dream, anyway — Nathaniel Sewell in her — their — kitchen, making pancakes, on the first morning of a new year. Like a ritual.

The air is crisp and cold and crackling with an indescribable energy, and everything is hazy, but he is so clear, silhouetted by the window, humming to himself as he rinses the fruit, careful hands cutting the tops from the strawberries and leaves them in one of her painted-flower bowls, a gentle smile that must not be conscious on his lips. Yael always sees him smiling like that in her dreams, when everything has ended, and they are at peace.

But — there’s a stray eyelash on his cheek.

No one in a dream ever has an eyelash on their cheek.

He is subtly and ever so slightly dishevelled, a strand of hair (looping in on itself, dark and long and so obviously hers) on the shoulder of his jumper with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing Nate’s forearms and the lines of vein that criss-cross them.

It must be from earlier. Another all-too-brief moment that she could have dreamed of instead of living. When she lay on his chest with her eyes closed as he read that book with yellow-tinged and water-warped pages that she swears he’s been reading for a month, her still half-asleep and wearing their fallen snow-white duvet and the late morning light, clinging to him like velvet on the antler of a buck.

“You’re thinking about something,” Nate says from in front of the fridge, an adoring accusation, head cocked as he looks back at her, still smiling, “What’s on your mind, Yael joonam?” He comes closer, until he places his palms on the island and lowers his head, leaning forward to meet her, their faces so close that she swears she can feel it when he grins, “Am I distracting you right now? Do you want me to distract you?”

She wants something else from him. A kiss like a cocoon, to wrap herself up in. A kiss like a lightning strike, leaving streaks of light where his lips met her skin. A kiss like plunging into cold water on New Year’s Day, awake and alive, hurting headfirst into a new year.

Yael touches his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I was thinking that I was still dreaming,” she says, serious. “That I’ve dreamed about you smiling like that before.”

“I suppose that makes me your dream man,” Nate says, standing up straight again and catching her hand before it drops, lightly kissing her knuckles. He dusts kisses over the rest of her fingers, and the back of her hand, and the inside of her wrist, looking at her with that gaze she’d describe as apocalyptic — when he looks at her like that, the world ceases to exist. There is only him.

“No,” she says, laughing when his lips brush against the inside of her elbow, tickling her, “I don’t think I could have ever dreamed I’d love someone like you.”

He left a mark on her shoulder last night, well after midnight, champagne on their tongues, fingers tangled in her curls as he lifted them to kiss her bare skin. He’s getting closer and closer to it, pulling her from her chair and into his arms, wrapped around her waist.

“Yael,” he murmurs, “Do you believe that this was fate?”

She closes her eyes for a long moment, contemplating his question. When she opens them again, they’re swaying, and Nate holds his arm out, coaxing her into a spin. How many thousands of times have they danced together in this room, tracing the same steps over and over again, closer and closer each time? Could that have been fate? She doesn’t know if she can wrap her head around the idea that love is anything less than purposeful.

“There was this girl,” Yael says, palms on his chest, “When I was little. We were the same age. She attended a class I did. Maybe a painting class. Something to do with art. I liked her. She was nice. I would have called her a friend, if you had asked me then. But we didn’t see each other outside of that. We went home and went our separate ways. After the class ended, I thought I’d never see her again. I didn’t think of her. I’m sure she never thought of me. Just one of those people that is in your life briefly and then is gone again. I knew that already.”

‘Even so young’ hangs in the space between them before Nate presses closer to her, closing the gap between them.

How she loves the way he watches her when she talks to him, his focus entirely on her. Perhaps he too thinks of these moments as the end of the rest of the world.

“A few years later — maybe a decade — we were older by then, teenagers — I met her again. She was getting on the same train as me. In another city. Not here. I’d only ever seen her here, but maybe she was from somewhere else. I think we both thought it was a strange coincidence, but it was nice to see her again. We talked for a little bit, caught up on each other’s lives, and said goodbye again. I didn’t give her my number or anything like that. I thought again — and I remember this so distinctly — that I’d never see her again. Especially because she said she was moving. Not just to the city. Across the ocean. Her parents were moving and she was going with them. I’m sure I thought ‘that was interesting, I’m glad she’s well’ and thought nothing further of her after that.”

When Nate lifts her onto the counter, next to the bowl of batter, ending their dance, she wraps her legs around him, holding him in place for a moment.

“But you saw her again,” he says, eyes wide.

“Of course,” Yael says, and her smile feels tight at the corners. She doesn’t find this sad. She’s never found this sad. She doesn’t know why she feels sad. Perhaps it’s because — now she’s imagining Nate in her place. “But — we didn’t meet in Wayhaven. Or in the city. Or the place she moved. We met when I was travelling, a few years ago. Across a different ocean. She was in a crowd I was in. I didn’t say anything to her. Our eyes met, but — I think we both knew that we weren’t going to ever have anything more than those brief moments. Sometimes I feel like I should have spoken to her then. That maybe we were supposed to be friends, or something else, even more than that, that something beyond our comprehension or control was pushing us together.”

“Fate,” Nate says, voice low.

“Fate,” she agrees, “But not the kind people think of. Ours was to be acquaintances, over and over again. We never became close. Or even just — the kind of friends who spend time together. I never had her number. I never knew what her favourite colour was. Or what she likes to eat on top of pancakes.”

“Berries and cream,” he says, “Surely. Or lemon and sugar, like you.”

“Maybe,” she says, “But maybe she doesn’t like pancakes at all.”

That look on his face might be awe.

“Maybe — if that was fate — you and I would have ended up meeting the same one. Paths crossing, over and over again, too stubborn to choose each other. I would see you from across rooms and train platforms and think how handsome you were, or that I missed seeing your face in the reflection of the windows. But I never would have spoken to you about anything more than a seat, or an exhibit.”

“I would have taken matters into my own hands if I had to see you standing by yourself more than once,” Nate says slyly, the corner of his mouth lifting, and his kiss is sweet as the lemon and sugar she adores.

She laughs against his lips, arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him close to her, unwilling to let him go until she has to. “I know you would have. But — would that be fate, or an intervention?”

For a long moment, he is quiet as he turns the stove on, still brushing against her, the kitchen suddenly warm, and anything he could say would be lost under the sound of butter sizzling in the pan.

“You should, at least, know that I would love you from the moment I first spoke to you,” he says.

Her voice catches in her throat.

“So,” Nate says, smile back on his lips, “What else do I do in your dreams, shefele?”

🫐 ‎

i thought about writing something more angsty for you - a supplement to that conversation between yael and nate, where they say goodbye, because i loved the roots you uncovered so much - but for new year's breakfast my dad makes pancakes.

one of the most precious memories i have of my childhood was saturday morning pancakes. my dad would make two little round ears and call them mickey mouse pancakes. we'd make a tiny one with extra batter for my doll.

my flatmate made heart shaped pancakes for us once and i see the picture whenever i scroll through my archive on instagram. (she introduced me to lemon and sugar.)

i texted someone that i wanted to eat pancakes with them as a way of saying "i love you".

so. pancakes was the only thing it could be ♡

yael's story about a childhood friend who showed up in the strangest of places but she never became close to is one of my own - my childhood friend and i took piano lessons together as children, then met five years later in a biology classroom as teenagers across the city (when she abruptly moved to italy), and five years after that met as young adults across the ocean from our hometown.

i wonder about the next place i'll see her.

i hope this all makes sense with how you conceive of nate and yael, and thank you again for being so lovely to all of us ♡

i always feel bad giving words as gifts since i worry about creating a sense of obligation, so please don't worry about engaging!

#[waluigi wah]#didn't have your sheet and couldn't ask around about it so just read yael content again :)#hopefully she can still be recognisable through my eyes :)#v important to do justice to a fellow curly haired queen #twc #nate sewell #stealing from gomez addams a wee bit #couldn't resist

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honourlight · 4 years

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did a rough lil sketch and paint of my detective Sehya and her very very tall vamp bf Nate😌

(yeah she’s short short... like. this is her in heels)

tags below!

tags: @keviriass @tyrils-star @anotherbeingsworld @chaotic-ramsay-queen @openheart12 @missameliep @cingerix @my-name-is-lumien @twc-thoughts-you-didnt-ask-for @agentnatesewell

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agentnatesewell · 3 years

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Wayhaven Summer | Week Three | Day Four | Flowers

@wayhavensummer | commission by @chaaistheanswer

I love you between shadow and soul. I love you as the plant that hasn't bloomed yet, and carries hidden within itself the light of flowers. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. Because of you, the dense fragrance that rises from the earth lives in my body, rioting with hunger for the eternity of our victorious kisses ~ Pablo Neruda

#the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell #nathaniel sewell #wayhavensummer #nate x detective #twc #twc fanart #tulip: eternal love #jasmine: love sensuality innocence #i've been so excited to post this thank you clara!#mar commissions #otp: nuri #ship: bougie blueberries

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khiita · 3 years

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masked for @wayhavenfrights !

you show up to the town's halloween costume party and see the detective and his impossibly handsome tree of a boyfriend dressed like this wdyd 😳

#gabe putting on a corset to be christine: i hope this doesn't awaken anything in me #the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven detective #n sewell #nate sewell #wayhaven frights #wayhavenfrights #nathaniel sewell #n sewell x detective #the detective #x: gabe and nate #my art #oc: gabriel

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bellarxse · 3 years

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go down you blood red roses, go down (chapter three)

A failed thrust draws Nate in further than before, and in a moment their blades are locked in an embrace that entices Nate far too much, the proximity almost intoxicating. O’Connor’s blade seems to slip, and Nate dares to advance, pressing his sabre more firmly against the other.

Read on AO3

Thank you so much @masonsfangs for this amazing commission! If you get the chance, please commission Becky - she was so wonderful to work with and the results speak for themselves!

#the wayhaven chronicles #n sewell #nate sewell #agent n #nathaniel sewell #n x detective #nate x detective #nate/mickey #detective mickey o’connor #rosie writes #commissions #my son #my beautiful pirate son #this is so wonderful thank you so much!! <3 #look at his lil shit-eating smirk i adore him

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ellenembee · 3 years

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Research

A stand-alone fic of a "skipped" moment in The Wayhaven Chronicles books.

Ophelia heads to the warehouse for a second day of research with Nate, and while there, she finally realizes maybe Nate isn't just being friendly. Panic ensues.

"I started writing things down as it got more complex. I have quite a few questions, but I'll have to read through my notes... to... find..." She trailed off as she noticed a strange look on his face. He was smiling, so she understood he must be happy, but his face seemed... different. Softer, maybe? She dropped her gaze to the notes and then glanced at him through her lashes. "What?" "Hmmm?" Nate blinked before his smile intensified. "Oh. Nothing. Well, not nothing. I was just thinking how glad I am that we... that I met you." She licked her lips as the jitters sparked out from her chest to dance over her skin. His eyes darted to her mouth, and her heart kicked into a faster rhythm.

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #nathaniel sewell #adam du mortain #love triangle #n sewell x detective #a du mortain x detective #a du mortain #n sewell #ophelia maven #twc detective #emotionally stunted detective #she's having too many feelings for her poor brain and heart to process #oblivious mc #she's so bad at flirting #in between series

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s-ewell · 3 years

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Hi @dierosenrot !! Here’s my gift to you for the @loveinwayhaven exchange! I had a lot of fun with this and hope I was able to do Agatha justice! ❤️

(open for better quality!)

#loveinwayhaven #The Wayhaven Chronicles #twc #twc art #nate sewell #nathaniel sewell #n sewell #nate x detective #my art #my art 2021

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thelionheartedo3 · 7 months

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for one brief shining moment

summary: Princess Elyse has been promised to a stranger to wed to help end a war. She isn’t thrilled by the prospect.

pairing: Nate Sewell x f!Detective; Adam du Mortain x f!Detective

rating: mature

wc: 5.4k

chapter: 2/10

“Where are your guards?” she asks, her voice trembling despite her best intentions. Nathaniel’s lips twist up in a smile that looks more like a grimace. “My knights are at our camp.” The grimace fades as his smile warms. “The one that I mentioned but moments ago, I might add.” She wishes he wouldn’t. Her eyes narrow at him. “Why aren’t you?”

[read the rest on ao3]

#the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell x detective #adam du mortain x detective #ely and nate officially meet! ely is Not Thrilled! :D #rinn writes vampire fic

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lem-20 · 3 years

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Dreams

Fandom/Pairing: The Wayhaven Chronicles/Nate Sewell x f!detective (Kira Langford) feat. Mason

Summary: Not taking the next step in her relationship with Nate is bothering the detective more than she realises. Set after book 3 demos.

Word Count: 2.5k

Rating: Mature (some swearing and sexual content)

A/N: Apparently sexual frustration is the first thing that comes to mind when I write about my detective and Nate 🤭 It may not be an issue after this one though 😏 This has taken me so long to write, I hope it's turned out okay. There may be a part 2 to this one at some point.

Read on AO3

Lying on the bed—completely naked—she watches him intently, her eyes wandering over every inch of him as he disregards the last of his clothes.

She swallows hard at the sight, still in disbelief that this moment is finally happening.

As he climbs onto the bed next to her she sucks in a deep breath—every part of her tingling and aching to be touched by him.

"Beautiful," he states as his eyes roam her body, before cupping her cheek with his hand.

The anticipation is too much—she can't wait any longer. Her lips crash into his and she wraps her fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him in close.

He moves his body over hers and she stares into his eyes for a moment before they continue. Those beautiful grey(?!) eyes.

Beep Beep Beep.

She flings her arm out to turn off the alarm and sits up quickly.

Her eyes dart around the room as though she's certain someone must be there, watching, knowing all about the dream she'd just had.

There's no one there of course, that would be weird—not to mention creepy.

She lets out a long breath as she calms herself, but she can't shift the niggling feeling of guilt.

Why the hell was she having a dream like that about Mason? Nate was the only man—well vampire—for her. He was sweet and kind and perfect, and Mason was...the complete opposite.

It was just a stupid dream, she tells herself, just stop thinking about it. No one ever has to know it even happened.

But that's easier said than done when you live with a bunch of vampires.

After getting dressed Kira makes her way to the kitchen for some breakfast.

The civilised atmosphere Nate had tried to maintain is long gone now that she's been there for several weeks, and Felix and Mason sit gulping down their blood pouches, definitely not caring what it looks like or who's watching.

She looks at them in turn and as soon as her eyes land on Mason the dream is at the forefront of her mind again.

She immediately feels awkward. Her heart rate increases and a blush creeps up her neck. Mason's eyes meet hers and he instantly frowns before breaking into a smirk.

She averts her eyes as quickly as possible, but she knows her reaction didn't go unnoticed.

Just then she notices that Nate is laying out breakfast for her, that was one thing that hadn't changed in these weeks—he always took such good care of her. He was the perfect host, the perfect boyfriend, perfect everything.

There was that guilt again.

"Good morning," he says greeting her with a warm smile that still makes her go weak at the knees.

"Morning," she replies and he leans in to kiss her.

As he steps back she glances across at Mason who is watching her, intrigue written all over his face.

She suddenly doesn't feel like sticking around.

"I've got loads of paperwork to catch up with at the station, so I can't stop this morning I'm afraid." She grabs some fruit and pastries.

"Okay, not a problem," Nate replies. "I'll walk you to your car."

"Or maybe I can?" Mason smirks, causing Nate to frown at him.

Ideally she'd like distance from all of the vampires right now, but she really doesn't want the situation to become any more awkward than it already is. "Okay, thank you," she replies threading her fingers through Nate's and hurrying out the door.

Luckily there's enough to deal with at the station that her dream gets pushed to the back of her mind, and it's late when she eventually returns to the warehouse.

She makes her way to the living room where she finds Nate and Mason.

Mason watches her as she enters, almost as though he's waiting to see if she reacts to him again, which instantly causes her to feel embarrassed and awkward.

"I'm just going to get something to eat," she mumbles as she turns back around and makes her way out of the room—before Nate has even had a chance to greet her.

She's not even hungry as she starts to absent mindedly open the fridge and cupboards. This was getting ridiculous. It was a silly dream that meant nothing, but she had never felt so vulnerable around the vampires, especially as Mason had seemingly picked up on something so quickly.

She's soon interrupted from her thoughts by a voice coming from behind her.

"What's the matter with you?"

She turns to find Mason casually leaning against the wall near the door, an unlit cigarette pinched between his fingers.

"What do you mean? Nothing's the matter with me." The heat creeping up her face says otherwise.

"There's definitely something going on. Apart from the obvious blush every time you look at me, your heart rate increases so much it's almost defening."

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

She makes her way towards the door, desperately trying to escape the utter embarrassment of this moment or hoping that maybe the ground will open up and swallow her on the way.

"Thinking you chose the wrong vampire?" he teases moving in front of her to lean on the doorframe.

"Absolutely not," she replies, insulted just by the suggestion. "Mason, please can you just let it go."

"I'd love to, but he'll notice. That's if he hasn't already."

She knows he's right and she lets out a long sigh. "It's really embarrassing, and I don't want Nate to find out about it."

"Maybe telling me will help, and I'm far too intrigued to let this go. Especially when I know it's got something to do with me," he smirks again.

She rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head. "I had a dream last night..."

"That you were in bed with me?"

"What?! Why would you just jump to that conclusion. Are you really that full of yourself?"

"But I'm right though?"

"Well yes, I mean, no. I don't know. You know what dreams are like—vampires dream right? Well I know you don't sleep much, but...anyway that's beside the point," she says trying to get herself back on track. "In dreams, sometimes things are a little fuzzy—people don't always look like they do in real life."

"How do you know it was me then?"

"Because the person I was...with had grey eyes."

"It wasn't me," he states confidently.

"And how would you know that exactly?" she asks with a furrowed brow.

"Because even dream me would've been the best you've ever had. You'd definitely remember."

She can't stop herself from letting out a laugh. "You really are sure of yourself aren't you."

He shrugs. "Just stating a fact," he replies with a hint of smugness.

"Well luckily my alarm woke me up before things really got started."

"If that's the case, then why are you being all weird about it?"

"Because I feel guilty. Nate is the only person I look at like that and I don't want to be having dreams involving someone else."

He seems to ponder for a moment as he takes a seat at the table and lights his cigarette. She seats herself at the opposite end of the table, still very much not a fan of his heavy smoking.

He catches her glancing at the glowing stick between his fingers and takes one long drag before stubbing it out in an ashtray placed at the centre of the table.

She doesn't say anything, but gives him a small smile in thanks.

"You know what I think the problem is? Nate isn't satisfying you. So dream you is looking elsewhere, because let's face it, real you is too much of a goody two shoes."

"That's not the case at all," she frowns. "Nate and I haven't even...we haven't..."

He watches in amusement for a moment as she struggles to think of how to word it, then finally puts her out of her misery. "You haven't screwed," he states bluntly. "Oh yes, we're all fully aware of that."

She tuts as she turns bright red. "Well that's just great. Thanks."

He grins at her awkwardness as she tries to compose herself.

"Has he always been like this?" she asks.

"Like what? Slow as fuck to get to the good stuff?"

She struggles to contain a laugh at Mason's crassness. "Not exactly how I would put it, but yes."

"Always. Although he does seem to be extra slow with you."

She feels her face fall.

"I'd take that as a compliment. The thing with Nate is that he'll want it to be all perfect and romantic and shit..." his faces scrunches up in disgust at the thought of all that effort. "...but he's immortal—he has time to wait, whereas you are literally decaying by the minute."

"Nice," she rolls her eyes at him, while trying to suppress a smile.

"Again, I'm just stating a fact."

She can't help but grin at him.

"If you want to do it, just tell him. I very much doubt he'll say no."

"That's not very romantic though is it?"

"Who cares about it being romantic? You're just satisfying a need. Romance wastes too much time, time that could be spent having fun."

"Well I happen to enjoy a bit of romance," she defends.

"More fool you," he smiles. "Seriously though, just talk to him before he starts to think something's wrong."

She gives him a nod. "Okay, I will."

She walks over to the door, turning back before she leaves. "Thank you."

"I would say you're welcome, but I don't want you to make a habit of talking to me about this relationship crap."

"Could've fooled me," she smiles. "I think you secretly enjoy it."

"Yeah, okay," he scoffs. "Off you go," he gestures towards the door, before lighting another cigarette.

She heads back to the living room, where she finds Nate reading alone. He looks towards the door as she walks in and instantly places the book down before standing to greet her.

"Hi," he presses a kiss to her lips. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything's fine."

"Are you sure? I feel like you've been acting a little strangely today. You know you can talk to me about anything don't you?" he says, taking her hand in his.

"I know. It's just that this particular thing is a little embarrassing."

"You don't need to feel embarrassed around me Kira. Please tell me what's on your mind."

"Well...you know how much I love our time together don't you, and I love how sweet and gentlemanly you are..." He looks mildly concerned about the direction of the conversation and she smiles to reassure him. "...But we've been together a while now and I've lived here for several weeks. I guess I just thought that by now we would have...taken the next step." She blushes for what feels like the hundredth time that day.

"Oh. Yes I know what you're saying. It's not that I haven't wanted to—you do know know that I want to don't you?"

"Yes, I mean, you do definitely want to?"

"Of course. Kira you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. The thought has definitely entered my mind on many occasions."

Her heart rate increases immediately and Nate tries to disguise a smile in response.

"I think I was waiting for a perfect moment, but the longer we wait, the more pressure I've been putting on myself to choose the right time." He pulls her in close, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I didn't mean for this much time to pass, but I'm more than happy to rectify it right now, if you'd like?"

"I don't want to ruin any plans you had," she replies, desperately trying not to jump on him right there.

He shakes his head. "I could wait for a perfect moment, make romantic plans, but in all honesty, the moment will be perfect no matter what, as long as I'm sharing it with you."

She lets out a sigh almost melting on the spot. "How are you real?"

He chuckles. "I ask myself that question about you every day."

How does almost everything that comes out of his mouth make her feel as though her heart may burst?

"Do you want to?" he whispers in her ear.

"I really really do, but I don't want it to happen just because I've said about it. That's not how I'd been imagining it."

"And how have you been imagining it?" he asks, kissing down her neck.

She closes her eyes as she enjoys the sensation. "I don't know. Just a little more spontaneous maybe."

He pulls his face back to look at her. "Okay. Now isn't the right time then, but I promise you it'll be very soon."

"I'm gonna go have a shower and probably just get into bed." It'll have to be a cold one she thinks.

"Okay, I hope you dream of me Kira," he says, kissing the back of her hand and she's almost certain that she will be.

A little while later she lies in bed tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about him.

Her shower did nothing to extinguish the raging desire she currently has for Nate. Why the hell she didn't just drag him back to her room she'll never know. This was utter torture.

About half an hour has passed when she hears a knock on her door.

Please be Nate, please be Nate is all that's going through her mind as she scrambles out of bed.

Her prayers are answered as she opens the door to find his handsome face smiling back at her.

"Sorry Kira, I hope I didn't wake you."

"No you didn't, it's okay," she's trying to be calm and casual, but she doesn't need a vampires hyper senses to know her heart is almost bursting out of her chest. She's not fooling anyone.

"I umm," he pauses to smile, "couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Same. I mean thinking about you obviously."

He smiles broadly at her sudden nervousness.

"I know it's a little sooner than you were probably expecting, but if it's okay, I wish to spend the night with you. I don't want to wait any longer."

"Yes." She's sure it's the fastest she's ever answered a question in her life, but she doesn't care how eager it makes her seem. If she doesn't have him right now, she's certain she'll actually explode.

Tags: @starrystarrytrouble @pixie88 @gryffindordaughterofathena @writer-ish @takemyopenheart @maurine07

His face lights up with a huge grin and she grabs him, pulling him into the room and kicking the door shut behind them.

Part 2

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell x f!detective #nate sewell x detective #nate sewell #nathaniel sewell #twc f!detective #twc mason #agent m #twc fanfic

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romaniangothic · 3 years

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nate and theo bcs i have brain worms <3

#grrrrrrrrrr goes feral over them #yes theo is my a-mancer dw about it #poly lt route rights #the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven chronicles #nathaniel sewell #nate sewell #wayhaven detective #n x detective #oc: theodore 'theo' cullen #my art #theo x nate #theodore cullen #twc tag

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lovelyfoolish · 10 months

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dig deep into me

nate x f!detective / 2.6K / E (strictly 18+)

⇢ summary: clothes soaked from a sudden rainstorm have nowhere to go but off.

⇢ notes: a very (very, very, very, like years) overdue answer to @agentnatesewell‘s “they saw you in my written words”, which really inspired me the first time i read it ♡ also inspired by this.

♡

Nathaniel Sewell is neither lucky nor unlucky.

Most people, in his experience, have the tendency to fall into one category or the other; carrying with them strings of fate that can only ever be slightly severed (at best, and only if they’re the lucky kind) by intervention. An unlucky person can occasionally be lucky, and the reverse, but generally, their lives compound instead of fracture, lucky event piled on lucky event piled on lucky event, run of bad luck on run of bad luck on run of bad luck.

(The house always wins. Sometimes a person is the house.)

He is both: it is lucky he survived the great wrath of the sea. Unlucky he lost his life on the deck anyway. Unlucky he became monstrous and inhuman with his last gasps of salty sea air. Lucky he could witness the wealth of centuries with that inhumanity. Lucky and unlucky to have come across Adam du Mortain.

Lucky and unlucky to lock eyes with Bella, standing in the rain and glowing red from the reflection of the streetlights off the wet road, arms crossed, smiling with her lips parted.

Glorious.

Merciless.

♡

She glances over her shoulder, studying him in the dim light of her kitchen.

The top buttons of his shirt are open, fabric transparent from the rain, his sleeves pushed up his forearms to expose their ropey veins. Nate has this slow way of crossing his legs that makes the movement seem practised, a motion he must have repeated a thousand times to make himself accustomed to the informality she assumes he felt suffocated by at first, a slouch that doesn’t quite fit neatly with the air of quiet dignity he ordinarily carries himself with.

“You’re shivering,” he says, head tilted inquisitively, damp, dark curls falling into his eyes before he lifts his hand, languidly brushing them aside, “Come here, we should dry you off.”

His orders never sound like such. He makes them sound like questions, as if perpetually asking for permission.

She wouldn’t expect anything less of him.

She has to imagine him faltering, addressing her as though she was one of his men when he was an officer.

If Mason is a maze — taunting in his simplicity, half-dead ends and half-hope of an exit — Nate is a labyrinth, honey-tongued and heart-eating. There is no way out of him — she can only go deeper in, a skein of thread trailing alongside her so she doesn’t lose her way among his twisting paths, awaiting the monster that lies in the dark at his centre, that creature he is so unwilling to warn her about.

He’s deceptively easy to toy with, following her movements with his shrewd gaze — Bella glances at his lap, leaning towards him, her locket dangling in the space between them. He hooks a finger in the chain, using the necklace to pull her closer, the metal cold on the back of her neck.

“I was looking at you,” she says, her voice clear and unwavering, “I didn’t want to come inside.”

Tiny drops of water bead on his bare skin. They cling to him, as unwilling to let go of him as she is.

“I’m here,” he says, the intensity of the look in his eyes making her shoulders shake — she isn’t cold. Not with him so close, radiating warmth. “I won’t move. Look at me.” He says it so seriously, with such gravity, swearing it like a vow. She has the sense he is promising something more than where he will sit as she stares at him wide-eyed and frozen, suspended in motion, begging wordlessly to touch him, to take off that sopping wet shirt of his, undo the rest of his buttons and trace patterns on his dark skin with the tips of her fingers, tendrils of his hair wound around her fingers.

She kisses him, finally, hands cradling his jaw, and he smiles against her lips and turns his head to kiss her cheek, the brush of his stubble making her laugh. She exposes her throat to him, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her into his lap as he presses his lips to the side of her neck, lavishing kisses behind her ear, her eyes closing, expression shifting.

Bella is acutely aware of the chill of the air on her soaked clothes and her wet hair, but he has her necklace in his mouth, leaving her to drift in and out of the haze of anticipation as he slips one of his big hands beneath her shirt, palm pressed to her stomach, fabric sticking to him too.

He’s smiling again.

She pulls away, following the curve of his lips with her finger, blush-coloured nails like petals falling on his cheeks as she touches his face.

“You’re pretty,” she says, holding him between two hands, and she feels his skin become hot.

“Don’t tease me, ya rouhi,” Nate says, fingers wrapping around one of her wrists and bringing her hand to his mouth to kiss the backs of her fingers, and her palm, and the place where it’s easiest to take her pulse, her heart picking up speed, fluttering in her chest. “I won’t survive.”

♡

Her hair was soaked from the rain. It becomes darker, almost black, when wet, clinging to her shoulders in long, snaking strands that look more and more like something from the deepest depths of the sea until I blink and they’re wound around my fingers and I am wet too.

There is no salt stinging in my lungs when I inhale.

Instead: a vaguely pear-scented shampoo, cloyingly sweet but distinctly hers. I think I like it now. I didn’t always.

There’s also that gardenia perfume she thinks never lasts long enough but sticks to my own skin for days, wearing her so obviously I find myself flushed beneath Adam’s gaze, my ears hot, fingers flexed into fists of warning.

‘Say nothing,’ I say, ‘Let me have her to myself a little while longer. I beg you.’

Can’t I have just one more secret we have asked each other to keep?

♡

She feels illuminated by his attention, his gaze warm as the sun, leaving her lightheaded and glowing as Nate kisses down her exposed stomach. The rain is still clicking relentlessly against the window. Her thoughts are fragmented and incomplete, mostly variations of his name and what she wants him to do to her, her back arching, hips rising, lips parted in a gasp as he reaches the edge of her underwear, a finger slipped between the smooth fabric and her hip.

He sits up, on his knees between Bella’s parted thighs, her legs wrapped around his waist, and undoes the rest of his buttons, shedding the shirt that had clung to him like skin and reaching out for her, pulling her closer.

They’re both wearing too much.

As he touches her, she is thinking about the veins on his hands, what his long fingers would feel like inside of her, if he would fit, what they would taste like pressed to her tongue.

In her daydream — it is still day, barely, maybe, if not evening, time has begun to flow strangely, each hour of the clock replaced by his name — he tells her how lewd and desperate she looks in that position, her mouth open, beneath him, damp hair fanned over her pillow. The kind of vulnerability that feels like the ecstasy a hedonist would die chasing. She could die clinging to him just like this.

Not for the first time, she envies that “forever” comes so easily to him, so easy to promise.

Her “forever” has an end.

“You’re so beautiful, ayouni,” Nate says, his voice deeper, and she swears it drips from his mouth and down onto her like honey, leaving her thighs sticky. His eyes have darkened, looking down at her in her underwear, and as though he knows what she dreams of him doing, the corner of his mouth rises, a crooked smile that makes her heart flutter, stomach clenching. “I want to taste you.”

“Do it,” she says, stretching, “What was it — ‘Don’t tease me. You’ll be the death of me, darling.’”

He laughs, kissing her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around him for a moment, holding him there, pressed close to her, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. “I think it was something like, ‘I won’t survive’,” he murmurs, lips on her neck. “You’ll be my ruin. The poets will write about you endlessly. How you were my downfall. How I would have given everything to you, how I ended up with nothing because it was all for you.”

“You’re exaggerating,” she says, letting go of him, pouting with her lower lip stuck out.

“Never,” he says, tone sharp and serious, kissing her cheek, then stealing a kiss from her lips, his breath hot on her jaw as he rises, “If the poets won’t do it then I’ll write about you.”

He hooks his thumbs in the band of her underwear, and she lifts her hips, allowing him to undress her, like he did in the kitchen, the neat slacks she wore to work left somewhere on the floor, her wet blouse in the hallway, her body already flushed from his kisses when he took it off button by button. She can’t wear them again. She’ll think of his lips every time she wears them. Laundry detergent and hot water could never be enough to wash away the memory of the way he pressed her against the wall and knelt in front of her to undo the last button.

“What does it mean?” Bella asks, hands in his hair as he kisses her hip bones and pushes her thighs apart again, knees rising, lowering onto his stomach on the bed. Her fingers weave through his curls, repeating the word. “‘Ayouni’.”

He’s so close. She can feel him between her legs, the stubble on his cheeks grazing her thighs, a sting that makes her eyes shut tightly, a needy moan spilling from her open mouth, head tipping back against her pillow.

She can’t remember what she just asked him.

“‘My eyes’,” Nate says throatily, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she shudders, fingers flexing into a fist in his hair, coaxing a groan from him. “‘I would give you even my eyes’.”

She wants to tell him “then give them to me”, that streak of arrogance only he can bring out of her that usually makes him look at her as though she is the only person alive with him, but he touches her in a place that makes her jolt. Her legs threaten to close around his head, and she hears him laughing softly over the sound of her pulse crashing like waves in her ears, his giggle so sweet, entirely at odds with what he is doing to her. He must be pleased with himself.

“If you don’t like something I’m doing, tell me,” he says, holding her legs apart, his voice distant, her head swimming already, “I want you to feel good.”

The slide of his finger inside of her. The flick of his tongue. Her grip on his hair tightens involuntarily, unable to stay still. She doesn’t know what “good” means. This is — something else. She’s slept with people who weren’t him before, but no one who ever made her feel like this. There’s the sting of anticipation, looming desire and desperation burning hot in her chest. She wants him closer. She wants to kiss him, even if it means she tastes herself on his mouth. That feeling, like being drunk, is building impossibly fast, her breathing quickening, her stomach rising and falling in panted gasps.

As if she could say anything. As if she wouldn’t like this.

Release, and his name, half-buried in a desperate, hoarse sound.

He sits up, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping her off of him, the obscene gesture catching her off-guard, and her thighs, still slick from his mouth and her arousal, press tightly together without him between them.

“You’re still shivering,” Nate says, teasing her, laying next to her with his head on his arm and gazing at her as she comes down, her breathing still unsteady. There’s something she can only describe as wonder in his eyes, reaching out to move damp strands of her dark hair out of her eyes — rain or sweat, she doesn’t know. He might. They must taste different on her skin. “Should I warm you up, habibti?”

“Your eyes,” she says, finally returning to her senses, turning to face him, meeting his eyes, “Didn’t you promise me your eyes? That’s what I want.”

“Of course,” he says, giving her a genuine smile that makes her own cheeks hurt trying to match it, “A promise is a promise. I would give you anything you desired, ayouni.”

Bella sits up, lifting her hair off the back of her neck, a few loose tendrils sticking to it still. She really should shower. Maybe he’ll want to come with her. Maybe she’ll be unable to move, exhausted, when they’re finished, and he’ll have to bring her her medication and a glass of cool water, open her mouth for her. She feels the shape of his fingers inside of her, as though he is still between her legs.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” she says, getting on her knees and toying with the locket hanging from her neck, the only thing she’s still wearing. He’s flushing. She can feel it when she touches his face, winding one of the curls on his forehead around her finger.

His mouth opens as his fist closes, stroking himself at a steady pace, building up a rhythm, his hips thrusting. She must have looked the same way when she was beneath him, glassy-eyed, unable to string together complete sentences, her vocabulary reduced to the single syllables of his name and “please” and “more” and “there”.

Maybe Nate’s thinking of the look on her face when she came from the way he touched her while he touches himself now, moaning from deep in his chest, his eyes closing.

She feels the sound in her stomach.

“Bella,” Nate groans, “I —” Her name. He rarely calls her that in private, using endearments whose meanings are lost on her, or “darling”, or kissing the top of her head instead of calling for her. She likes the way he fits his mouth around her name, the slight lilt, the note of desperation in the way he says it. “I want —”

She wants to touch him.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, rising on her knees and leaning over him, tracing a line down his forehead with her thumb.

He looks almost — angelic. She’s never thought of him as such before. Nate is always handsome, sharply so, his features carved by centuries of life. And he’s pretty, when his skin gleams in the light like some precious metal only she’s discovered, his eyes liquid, wearing a smile she sees in her dreams. But when he’s on her bed, touching himself because she asked him to, eyes closed and lips parted in pleasure, “handsome” and “pretty” aren’t enough to describe him.

“Touch me,” he breathes.

She does as he asks.

♡

She has a mole on her left breast, usually exposed only when she is undressed next to me, turned on her hip with her hair on the pillow, the mark barely visible except in shadow and sometimes swallowed up by a mark I made.

I wonder if she knows it’s there, or if it is a part of her she is so accustomed to her eyes have the tendency to render it invisible when she sees it in the mirror.

I wonder if I too could once day become something she sees through.

just something to say

next week someone very important to me is having surgery. there’s a not insignificant chance they will find cancer. a few weeks after that i will be having surgery myself. i’ve been waiting for clearance for this surgery for months and i’m ready for it to be over with but that doesn’t make it any less overwhelming.

the poet-artist jenny holzer wrote that sex and surgery had fundamental similarities: “IT'S AN EXTRAORDINARY FEELING WHEN PARTS OF YOUR BODY ARE TOUCHED FOR THE FIRST TIME. I'M THINKING OF THE SENSATIONS FROM SEX AND SURGERY.”

as i waited for these two dates to arrive, i came back to this story. i started it a long time ago, after being inspired by the way mar depicted sensuality and sexuality without being explicit, something i am personally uncomfortable with.

(i can’t resist sharing, so to entice you here’s one of my favourite sentences from that story. go read the entire thing! mar deserves your love!

“Conservative kisses and careful curls of his tongue, he explored her until, ah, that release of tension, a sharp inhale and “yes, there!” exhaled.“

i mean it! it is a masterclass in writing intimacy! read it!)

i’ll see you again after my surgery.

thank you for listening, and i hope if you are also going through something that maybe we can be alone together now.

♡ cami

credits

the curly haired-nate agenda is my own but i tend to use panicfast’s vision of nate as a reference for my own and i just thought i should shout that out for once

honey-tongued (μελίγλωσσος) and heart-eating (δακέθυμος) are greek epithets i chose to match the labyrinth reference, with gratitude to terpsikeraunos’s many “ancient greek word(s) of the day” (we love learning)

#nate sewell #n sewell #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #had one of those realisations about recovery the other day #my friend kissed my cheek and in my heart i was so delighted but i think i pulled away and i think they noticed #but they like to play with the loose skin on my elbows (any stretchy girlies out there?) and my earlobes #so i always offer them my arm #and i guess it just made me realise #that being comfortable with being touched is a process #i inevitably felt a little broken by the kiss #the realisation i don't linger in hugs like i used to before #but i gave them my arm #i guess love is giving someone your arm if you can't give them your cheek #this is my arm #(lol)#maybe someday it'll be my cheek

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