I go by Blue (He/Him,30), and I am relatively new to The Wayhaven Chronicles by Mishka Jenkins.
My good friend @rowanandco who's introduced me to the lovely series and I have since then put on my best clown makeup to join de A romance circus.
About my detective :
Name / Pronouns: Ethan Ulrich (He/Him)
Age: 34
Height: Just about 6' feet tall (1.80 meter)
Body type: Scrawny (hidden by lots of layers...)
Ethan was a relatively rebellious kid due to the absence of parental role models. He had no ill intentions, but the need to be seen outgrew the need to be a "good" child and resulted in him hanging with the wrong crowds. He struggled with substance abuse in his late teenage/early adult life and hit rock bottom when he accidentally killed someone.
His estranged mother, Rebecca Ulrich, was able to pull some strings and ultimately managed to replace his jail sentence with a mandatory service for the police forces.
From that moment on, Ethan saw this woman in a new light. With enough respect to be in her company, but not fully capable of forgiving the negligence she'd put him through.
Ethan now lives a quiet-ish life in the town of Wayhaven.
Celebrating his 10 years of sobriety, he's now grown very determined to offer his entire support to keep the local community safe and sound alongside his friends Tina and Verda...
here come real stars to fill the upper skies, and here on earth come emulating flies, that though they never equal stars in size, (and they were never really stars at heart), achieve at times a very star-like start. only, of course, they can’t sustain the part ~ robert frost
Thank you @artistpolly for this gorgeous, enchanting art of Nate and Suri
Dedicated to all the fireflies on all the summer nights this year
For nothing was ever enough for du Mortain, the first-born, the legitimate son of his father, with titles upon titles given to him upon his birth. Nothing was ever enough...
Nate feels his fingers form into fists, as he trembles at the notion. Truth be told, through all of the years, which he spent upon this soil against his will, in near unvarying agony, he hoped to find someone who'd understand his struggles but... It was foolish to expect him of all men, to do just so.
For du Mortain could never truly understand how Nate felt, for him to be born an illegitimate son of his mother, with a step-father who, although willing to accept him into the fold, could never look upon him without a reminder of a sin committed, staining his family's name through association alone.
How could du Mortain understand that dreadful feeling, of Nate standing side by side with his half-brother, whom he adored dearly and yet, there was such a clear distinction between them, such a clear line drawn by the society itself...
was talking with blue about it and sjdgbjhgbs you guys I think Noelle's crashout song is caramelldansen.
at first i was like "gotta pick a Proper Sad Song for her to feel her feelings to" but then on further consideration, I was like.... I think instead she'd pick a song loud and busy enough to muffle any sounds of her crying or falling apart, actually? like she wouldn't want neighbors hearing her listen to some fucking slow song and wailing for an hour, that's humiliating.
and then I remembered that fucking meme and was like THAT. IS ACTUALLY PERFECT. i couldn't remember the song name and @detectiveethanulrich saved my sanity by knowing Exactly what i was badly trying to explain sdbgjhsbghjsd
like please. UB standing outside her apartment building seeing/hearing this. nate just "oh. ... I should have brought snacks" and mason like "if you don't make that shit stop in the next two minutes i'm killing this entire town."
noelle in book 4 during the Li-Sar LT era. the whole warehouse is full of the sound of that song on loop and also they can still hear her crashing out so it's not even doing its purpose it's just making the vampires all suffer with her.
Rating: Explicit (mdni)
Word Count: ~2600
Pairing: Mason/Sai
Tags: deep conversations during a hand job, inappropriate use of a laundry room, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mason being blunt but soft at the same time
Summary: Sometimes, the anxiety hits at the worst possible moment. Sometimes, the questions about who he is and where he belongs get so strong they crowd out everything else. Sometimes, during an intimate moment with the vampire he's pretty sure he loves.
Read in full on AO3 or below the cut if not a registered user.
Had someone told him that one day he would willingly be in a laundry room with his boyfriend pinning him to the wall grinding him into a lust-drunk frenzy he would have called them insane. Had they told him he would also have a game with this boyfriend betting on how long it would take until he forgot to modulate his volume and get them caught he would have been aghast and horrified.
And yet.
He moans into Mason’s mouth, hands tangling into his wild hair desperate to keep him right there because oh, oh he knows he's getting louder, but he can’t stop himself. One of Mason's hands is gripping his hip, his fingers sometimes squeezing just hard enough for the dull pain to bleed into the rising pleasure, and he's thrusting against him in a way that's just right, the friction and the pressure and the angle, and oh, oh God-!
Sai throws his head back and it's only Mason’s quick reflexes to slide his hand between him and the wall that saves him from ruining the mood by concussing himself as he chokes on a whine. He's close, so close, and he clamps his hand over his mouth in a belated effort to smother his own whimpering cries of Mason's name and pleas to keep going as his hips jerk and he chases after the high right there right—!
The hand gripping his hip pins him to the wall effortlessly, stilling him as Mason smirks up at him and pulls just enough away to deny him. Because this is his second favorite game, arguably a cheat for the first one: edging Sai along the precipice of madness until he forgets to care about being caught in the first place.
Sai furrows his brow and scowls at his vampire, though he can only imagine how nonthreatening it must look, what with how his hair is half-falling from its knot and his face is flushed and his chest is heaving and his eyes are barely focusing. Mason certainly seems unbothered, smirking as he plucks Sai's hand from over his mouth to chivalrously replace it with his own mouth, swallowing down any complaints or groans he wished to share.
Sai feels both weak and energized, like he could slump to the floor beside the washing machine and also like he could rip off Mason's jeans and give him a taste of his own delicious medicine. He settles for leaning back against the wall and panting breathlessly, eyes closed in resignation of this sweet torture. Mason's chuckle rumbles into his own chest as close as they're pressed together, and he angles his head in hopeful anticipation of another kiss that he grants a moment later.
It's sloppy and too wet but they're both too lost in heated haze to mind, passing low groans back and forth as they lick into each other's mouths. The white-hot knot in his belly unwinds gradually, the string pulled taut in his spine going lax once more, and Mason can clearly tell as he shifts his focus and his attentions. Sai smiles at the sweet little kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth before Mason trails his lips down along his jaw, nipping playfully along his path to press his nose into the space behind the joint where Sai had learned the smell of his blood lingered strongest.
A content little hum blends into a soft moan as Mason's nuzzling kisses turn hungrier, a prick of fangs and flat press of tongue, tempting tasting teasing bites that always so carefully toe the line of something sharper. He does wonder what sort of prey response he exhibits, because it hardly makes sense the way his body goes loose and heavy when he feels sharp fangs at his carotid like this. The logical response would be panic and discomfort. Even the sexual response should be tension and arousal. But he merely goes limp, like a puppet with its strings cut, fully trusting the predator at his neck to hold him up while playing with his food.
He leaves one arm loosely wrapped around Mason's shoulders while the other slides down, his hand trailing down his lover's back until his thumb hooks into the waistband of his jeans, idly swiping back and forth against the tender skin at the base of his vampire's spine. He'd found by now that Mason really was very sensitive, that the gentlest touches wound him up the most, which suited his own tastes quite perfectly.
Mason's tongue presses to his pulse thumping too hard, and there's the gentlest scrape of four sharp points surrounding the touch. The swipe of wet heat against his skin has Sai moaning through a sigh, dropping his shoulder as he tilts his head, trying to expose as much surface area as he can under the suggestive onslaught. Soft lips press around fangs and there's pressure as he sucks, clearly intending to leave another bruise, proof of his presence and conquest.
Sai loves the way it makes him feel so wanted, knowing that he tests Mason's careful control, that he drives him so wild for his fangs to emerge; he loves the way he feels so absolutely safe, the way he knows the danger and yet knows even more that Mason would never ever hurt him. He's pretty sure Mason loves it, too. The way he's looked at him sometimes when Sai puts his life so readily into the vampire's hands, like he's confused but also desperately overwhelmed and awed. The fact that he bares his throat and offers his wrist and never once has flinched at the prick of a fang behind lips that so tenderly caress his flesh. The way Mason always favors kissing over the scars he carries, in a way he's never quite been able to decide if it's an apology or a promise, if it's grieving or possessively marking, but always leaves his knees weak and his heart full.
Somewhere between the wet heat of Mason's mouth at his chest and the realization his shirt has been unbuttoned and pushed off his shoulders to drape at his elbows, his heart lurches with his wandering thoughts. A memory of a conversation from a hospital bed, a reminder that his mutation and Murphy's experiment would make him so tempting to supernaturals, make him smell overwhelmingly enticing. The heat in him cools and the arm wrapped around his lover's shoulders goes lax, the thumb gently overstimulating his lower back stilling.
Is that all any of this is? Friendships assigned for everyone's protection, a vampire enticed by forbidden temptation, drawn like a moth to flame, always indulging in the gentlest most innocent way he can? Surely someone like Mason, so confident and independent and strong, wouldn't choose someone like him if not so lured and distracted. He thinks of—
Of nothing, briefly, as a smack to his ass makes him jump with a gasp, fingers curling into Mason's shirt tight as he's pulled out of his head and back into his body. "What have I told you, sweetheart?" Mason asks, the faintest scrape of fangs on the underside of his jaw complementing the rumbling growl that vibrates into his own chest.
Sai breathes a chastised laugh and shifts restlessly, very aware suddenly of how Mason's been busily re-stoking the tight knot of heat in his belly while he was distracted. "Think only of you?" he rasps, rocking his hips forward to test if Mason will allow it.
He does. He slips his hand up Sai's bared back, mindful of a healing bruise in a way that almost distracts Sai again because can he somehow feel it, like is the skin warmer or is there minor swelling his fingers can detect, or has he just memorized where every single ache is on his body that thoroughly, and what does it—
"Good boy," Mason absolutely purrs right before he bites (ever so mindfully) over the scar, right before he curls his hand back down Sai's spine with just the precise pressure and angle to have his back arching and a strangled moan grating out of his throat.
And it nearly works, too. It does, for a bit. How can Sai be worried about blood work when Mason kisses him breathless and then a little longer just to make sure his head is utterly empty? How could he possibly spare a single coherent thought when Mason puts a bit of space between them just long enough to pluck and slide and push open his jeans to slip his hand under the waistband of his briefs to grab his cock?
Mason's thumb swipes over him before he slides his grip down, always just the right pressure, the right speed, to have Sai thumping his head against the wall with a choked cry. The heat that had cooled to embers reignites eagerly and the thought flickers quickly through Sai's head that 'it was never this intense before'. Does Mason feel it, too? Probably not, someone as experienced as him.
He writhes between the wall and his vampire, the rising tension taut in his spine again making him feel restless, like he needs to move even though there's nowhere else he wants to be. Mason's hand is steadily stoking his lust, the up-swipe-twist-down making every ragged breath come harder than the last. His blood is roaring in his ears to drown out whatever other noise he might make as Mason presses a wet kiss on his chest, right over his hammering pulse. There's a drag of fangs on his skin, enough to make him squirm and buck his hips pleadingly, and he feels more than he hears the rumble of Mason's pleased groan, the hot wash of his breath on damp skin.
“Would you still be interested in me if I didn’t have this mutation?” It comes out wheezing and more pitiful than he'd intended. It coming out at all, actually, was unintended. But there it is, the insistent loathsome whisper at the base of his skull, the thought that the only reason Mason is here is some siren-song of his blood luring him.
“What.” When Sai lifts his head and blinks his eyes into focus, it's to see Mason staring up at him with a look he hasn't been on the receiving end of since their early days first working together. That look of bewildered annoyance, one that used to intimidate him but now he knows too well to be hurt by it: brows furrowed low, eyes narrowed, lip lifted on one side to currently expose a fang.
Sai stares at him in return. He's not sure what he's supposed to say next. He can't tell if that was a sincere request to repeat himself. He licks his lower lip. “Would— would you still be inter—“
“I heard you, sweetheart.“ His hand squeezes around his cock and slowly drags up its length. “We’re gonna have to work on your idea of dirty talk.”
Sai gasps and curls forward, hiding his face against Mason’s shoulder as a whimper catches on every ragged breath. God, if he had the lung capacity, he’d assure Mason his brain annoys him too, would insist he also wishes he wasn’t like this, brain snagged on one miserable thought even as he’s falling happily apart. A shudder crawls up his spine as Mason strokes him a little quicker, squeezing with the twist of his wrist in the way that always makes him desperate. He chokes out a low moan as his hips twitch pleadingly.
And yet.
“Mason,” he pleads breathlessly. His vampire growls in a way that makes him inappropriately excited, and he squirms helplessly in Mason’s hold. “Would you?”
Mason rumbles but his hand slows then stills, and he straightens as he gently nudges Sai back against the wall so he can look at him. His eyes dart over his face in that way Sai has come to know is more a vampiric study of evidence than anything else. Anyone else making this much eye contact with him would be overwhelming but somehow with Mason he always just feels— understood.
His cock gives one very confused throb.
“You’d still have a great ass and a pretty face,” Mason very sincerely decides, and Sai shakes with an almost-laugh of a breath that shudders out of him. ”So we good now, handsome?”
Sai considers through the loud static. “But would it have— would you have just been— just one and done with me, if I didn't smell so…?”
Mason’s studying him again, and Sai wonders if this is technically cheating on his end, the way he doesn’t have to actually say everything in order to still be heard. It’s comforting, knowing his partner can read every tiny detail of every muscle twitch or hormone shift or micro-expression.
“I don’t know,” he admits, brutally honest in the way Sai’s come to rely upon. ”What’s it matter? You do have your blood, and you do smell fucking fantastic, and we’re kind of in the middle of much more than one and nowhere near done,” Mason reminds him, giving a pointed squeeze and swipe of his thumb that makes Sai squeak and jerk full-body in response.
And he’s right, he should be right, but it’s sticking in his head prickly and unsettling and he wishes he could turn his brain off, could just enjoy what they have, what they’re doing, but it doesn’t work that way and he hates it too and—
“Would you still be into me if I wasn’t a vampire?” Mason interrupts his spiral.
Sai blinks his eyes and furrows his brow at his lover. They stare at each other in what should be awkward silence, but Sai just feels… incredibly seen, but not in a way that leaves him vulnerable or ashamed. He swallows thickly and wets his lips, giving the question the same honest consideration Mason gave his. “I think so.”
Mason smirks. “I know you're into my fangs,” he reminds him. “And you like how easily I can lift you. You also like how utterly transparent you are to me.“ His brow is arched in wry challenge.
“Y-yes, but—! But I— I like more than just that about you.” He swallows down the word that wanted to come out instead of like. He fights the urge to list every single thing he loves about Mason, like his protectiveness of the people he's chosen, and how patient he can be, and his acceptance of him even when he's being an anxious idiot, and how the safety he feels with him only has a little to do with his physical strength, and—
Mason's smirk widens into a smile like he knows anyway, and Sai feels a pressure on his chest lift at the sight. It's the smile that feels like it's just for him, and he loves that, too.
"We done with this pointless discussion then?" Mason asks, and his wrist rotates as he slides his hand lower to cup Sai's balls and rip a sharp gasp from his chest at the gentle motion of his fingers. "Because I was kind of in the middle of something here."
"Yes, sorry," Sai pants, feeling his face burn with the belated humiliating shame of realizing he just interrupted some of the best sex of his life to have an existential crisis. The turmoil doesn't last very long, though, as Mason's smile sharpens to that predatory smirk he favors most and he gracefully lowers to his knees before him.
It's still heady every time, having someone so commanding and so dominating choose to put his pleasure first, choose to take him apart piece by overwhelming piece. He slides his fingers into Mason's hair, gently massaging little circles into his scalp, and he wishes he could look away from the grey eyes that hold him captive as Mason leans in and licks a hot trail up his cock. He swallows down a whine as his attention catches on the long fangs on proud display, as they shrink into normal canines by the time soft lips press to the head of his pulsing arousal.
"Now what's the rule, sweetheart?" he asks, and his breath puffs warm-and-quickly-cooling against him in a way that has Sai squirming until Mason grips his hip and stills him.
Sai trails a hand from Mason's hair down to his cheek, and he suspects the touch may be too gentle and tender in such an explicit position, but he can't help himself. "Think only of you." His smile tinges with self-deprecation as he amends, "Think only of you and I, right here and now, and what you make me feel?"
Mason's grin is sharp, even with his fangs tucked away. "Good boy," he purrs in approval, and then swallows Sai down greedily.
Sai doesn't swallow down his hoarse, breathless moan that fills the space around them, and he doesn't even spare a thought for the game he was always destined to lose. All he thinks about is molten heat and grey eyes and the fuzzy, staticky certainty that they are both exactly where they want to be.
tagging my lovely lineup (and please remember you can always ask anytime to be add or removed): @fauville @blu-ewraith @agentnatesewell @thee-morrigan @mornynge @kurczakmarty @xx-toto-xx
Well, it is what it is and I don't think I'll be participating in the "Summer in Wayhaven" event. It sounded so very fun but I fell back and I have nothing to show. Part of me feel very disappointed because I felt very excited for it, but there's no use for me to feel bad abt myself because I couldn't get to prepare/draw anything for it.
I can't wait to see what you all come up with though! 💙
heyyyy! its my bday today. can i get a themed ask? lol
i wanted to know how each of them would be acting about birthdays: is it big gesture time, noncommittal gifts, or maybe not remembering it at all?
wishing you well!!
Oh! Happy belated birthday! I hope it was a magical one!
Hm...
A would do something small but incredibly meaningful. They would want the MC to know that they really care but they can't let anyone else know, lol!
N would be big romantic birthday gestures, but surprise ones. Probably small things throughout the day leading to a big thing later.
F would also be big birthday gestures but not so much the surprise as they wouldn't be able to contain their excitement, lol! Lots of balloons, decorations, gifts—the works!
M, it's not that M would forget, but M is more of an actions speak louder than words person. So the MC might think M forgot, but then M would do something that would make it obvious M really hadn't forgotten, they just don't do balloons and cakes!
He's beautiful. That's not news. She knew he was before, too, but now--! Now it's like the difference between having seen a picture of a painting in a book, and you know that painting is clearly well-done and it's nice to look at and all. But then you actually go to the museum and you stand in front of the painting yourself and you can see every brush stroke, can see the way the paint is layered on the canvas, can see the richness of the undertones and the brilliance of every highlight. All of those little parts that made the whole are so much more obvious now, so loud and so clear and she could stand before him for hours just soaking in the sight of him.
---
Or, a soft and sweet and a little smutty exploration of Noelle's first time seeing Nate after becoming a vampire. All these new senses and superior senses leave her in awe of him anew, and thankfully he is more than happy to let her take her time exploring him thoroughly.
Read it on AO3 here, or for anyone not registered there, below the cut.
She stands on the other side of Nate's open door and stares at him quietly. Usually her attention is flighty and brief, darting around spaces and faces to find something of interest that becomes boring soon after and away her focus goes. But now? Now she stares at Nate and she's utterly captivated. Did his hair always have all those colors to it, did the light always catch in it so golden honey warm? Every single strand so shiny and stupid-model-perfect, the way they can swoop and curl and tumble around his face like that.
And his face! She steps closer and reaches up her hands, and he's still the same perfectly polite and obliging Nate of course so he bends to meet her request. His skin is-- soft isn't quite right anymore, she used to say that, but it's-- she grins and breathes a quiet laugh to herself. Nate probably has the words for it. She could ask him, he's right here, but it doesn't feel important enough to know right now. Later, maybe. It's soft but she can feel the subtle landscape of his pores, of fine hairs 'soft' and bending under her touch across his brow, swooping down to follow the curve of his cheekbones and feeling the shifting of muscles as he smiles, as his eyes study her like she studies him. Her fingers slip down over his lips, a different soft, and she presses against them gently as she drags her touch down to his chin and the different hairs there and prickling-scratching-scraping-tickling-itching against her palms as she moves along his jaw to cradle his face in her hands.
He's beautiful. That's not news. She knew he was before, too, but now--! Now it's like the difference between having seen a picture of a painting in a book, and you know that painting is clearly well-done and it's nice to look at and all. But then you actually go to the museum and you stand in front of the painting yourself and you can see every brush stroke, can see the way the paint is layered on the canvas, can see the richness of the undertones and the brilliance of every highlight. All of those little parts that made the whole are so much more obvious now, so loud and so clear and she could stand before him for hours just soaking in the sight of him.
He smells good, too. He usually does. She gets that more now though, and maybe later she'll laughingly apologize for every time she kept insisting her cheap body sprays were a delight. (She tried spritzing one earlier and nearly retched; what used to be a sweet and fruity scent is now overwhelmingly chemical and plasticky in a way that had coated the back of her throat and had Felix howling that she looked like a funny cat video he'd seen last week.) But Nate! He smells tantalizing. She recognizes some of it, though it's all so Different now in her head, but she knows some of those things to be his moisturizer, and his fancy soap he specialty-orders, and that shampoo and conditioner with the foreign name she always makes up new ways to mispronounce, and the laundry detergent on his clothes...
She leans in and closes her eyes so she doesn't get distracted staring at his skin more as she bumps her nose against the side of his throat. Her hands drop to his shoulders to steady herself and she inhales deep, big, like a little Noelle-vacuum trying to get all his good smells inside her immediately. She hears and feels him exhale as she does, a shuddering little sigh, and his big warm hands are at her waist in the same delicate careful hold she's so used to from him. Always holding but Not Too Tight, Not Too Hard, Not Too Much. It feels featherlight now and she can't tell if he's being extra-extra careful or if she's the one Different.
Not currently important.
She inhales again, her nose against his pulse, and she can feel the beat of his heart in the rush of his blood. It's faster than it was a minute ago, and she smiles and steps in to press herself even closer to him. Every spot they touch-- even spots they don't-- feels so hot and alive and energized. The warmth of his body isn't new, but the way she can feel how alive he is? The blood moving through every little vein and artery, a little busy interstate of blood coming and going, the way she can track the ever-quickening pace of his pulse from it? The shifting of every individual muscle against her and the little prickle of something she hasn't defined yet but she's pretty sure it's something to do with emotions or-- or some sciencey shit related to them or-- whatever. He's prickly like when there's a static buildup and you know the moment you Fully Touch it's going to zap you but in that pre-touch space it's just zippy and sparky and crackly and kinda exciting.
She takes another greedy breath of him and something curls warm in her belly at the smell of him. Describing smells or tastes was never her thing, she tried doing that fancy wine tasting shit once and was just making up things because what do you MEAN it has an oak-essence from the aged barrel and oh yes I can get a hint of cardamom under my tongue and that's such bullshit it was winey and tasted winelike you morons. So she's not sure what Nate smells like, except that he's delicious. Under all the fancy shit he uses he just smells so-- so--
She makes a noise in her throat that makes Nate let out a little groan from his and the next deep breath has something more to it, and it's not exactly the same but some little animal instinct in her brain lights up with a blinking marquee that screams AROUSAL and yeah, that just feels correct. It's all instinct that has her tipping her head and pressing against him tight and parting her lips so she can drag her tongue over his racing thumping pulse and god it's like curling up in a Bubble Of Nate every single sense just so full of every part of him and it's perfect and not enough at once. She can taste that same unnamed Nate-ness with that thick syrupy tang of arousal and she presses teeth and lips to his throat and when she breathes him in it's like a haze in her nose and throat and mouth and oh that's her making that low growling noise, not him.
He's clutching at her waist, fingers pressing hard into her back to hold her close (and that's much better, she likes that, likes that he can stop being delicate with her now, can hold her as tight as he wants), and he's breathing out her name shakily. She gives another swipe of her tongue over that tempting thumping hot delicious pounding of his carotid before she pulls back enough to look up at him and demand, "Again" in a voice she hardly recognizes as her own, rough and low and hungry. "Say my name again."
He smiles, and she is almost distracted in watching how his lips stretch and shift, the twitch of muscles lifting one side playfully higher. "Noelle," he whispers, and she watches how his lips and tongue form her name.
She slides her hands from his shoulders down to press to his chest. Along the way she looks again at his throat and she is briefly distracted that where it's wet from her kisses, his skin almost seems to sparkle. She grins. "Again," she remembers, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breaths. Loud, he breathes so loud. It's nice though, like-- like the sound of the ocean, steady and whisper-soft and surrounding.
"Noelle," he obliges, his voice a little louder, not a whisper anymore, real. She presses her palms harder to his chest as she feels the vibrations there and closes her eyes. "Noelle," he purrs, and she shivers and turns her head fully so she can press her ear beside her hands, and he slides his arms around her fully. “Noelle, ya rouhi, I will say whatever you wish to hear for as long as you wish to listen,” he promises, and she can feel the way her hair shifts against her scalp, his breath on the top of her head as he must be looking down at her.
She always knew he had a pretty voice, but there’s no way to define how much— how it’s More now. A recording on a casette from a radio show versus a live concert. And it's not just that her hearing is better now, because she has heard other voices more clearly to compare against him, and his is just better in every way. Smoother but with this rumble to it that is felt more than heard, and the cadence so steady and lyrical, and—
And God, she laughs against his absurdly fancy shirt that she now properly can appreciate (even if he is a ridiculous spoiled dork with stupid fancy foreign things) because how fucking smitten is she?! Much as she’s stared at anyone or anything else since waking, she knows she’s not studied and been fascinated the way she is with Nate, and she’s definitely going to need...
To...
She lifts her head and tilts back to look up at Nate, who is watching her with the same gentle adoration he always has. She looks between his eyes, taking in exactly how the light around them reflects off the warm rich brown of them, the slope of them, the size of his pupils, every single eyelash, the little minute twitches as he looks between her eyes just the same….
“Hi,” she breathes.
His eyes crinkle with his smile. “Hi,” he replies.
She feels his voice from her fingertips to her toes. And there is nowhere else she needs to be than right here with him. Certainly not on a road. Just trying to think how coarse and filthy and stinky and hard asphalt is probably going to be against her face now, she thinks she'd much rather just stay right here and lose herself in Nate.
Can he tell what she's thinking even now? Will she learn to tell what he's thinking? He smells so good, but she can tell if she tries to really focus on it that it's... shifting. Not changing, not different, just--
He leans down further and tilts his head so that he can slot their mouths together, and she stops thinking about how he smells. All she can focus on is the press of their lips together, and the whisper-soft sound of skin-on-skin as she shifts a little to deepen the kiss. Then it's another good bubble of him, the slick curl of his tongue against hers, hot and wet and the faint but so loud feeling of bumps and texture and who cares about that honestly because the taste of him is so much more important. Similar but not exactly the same as the taste of his skin, completely indescribable except Rich and Smooth and Good, and there's this earthy almost dirt-like thing happening that she thinks must be from tea and she doesn't really like it but also she isn't hating it, at least not like this. And there's something else, too, something that pulls another little rumbly something from her throat as she chases it, focuses on it, something a little sharp and distinctly coppery.
She gives a shove against his chest and he stumbles back-- genuinely stumbles, she notices, and the sparky unnamed staticky feeling comes back as his scent gets that musky syrupy layer to it again and that makes something hot and pleasant wriggle in her belly. Her grin is wider than she meant it to be as she steps inside and closes his door behind her, stalking after him. "You know, snookums," she drawls, and it's not as light as she meant it to come out, but that's okay because his pupils are blowing out and she can hear his heartrate picking up again. "I should probably take my time really getting fully reacquainted with you and figuring out all these new signals I'm getting from you."
His smile is familiar, the one when he's in his element and he knows he's got her complete attention. She wonders if he's the inventor of Bedroom Eyes, if that sly seductive heavily lidded look over his cocky sweet smile is like patented somewhere or something. "Oh, most definitely," he agrees. "You know I am always happy to help you study. I'm yours for as long as you need."
"It's a very good thing neither of us need to worry about sleep," she realizes, pulling him close with a yank to his belt, "or exhaustion, or water breaks," she lists as she curls her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, "or snack breaks, or paperwork, or leaving marks, or--"
And she laughs into his mouth as she promptly follows her own advice and doesn't worry about anything else. For a while.
---
tagging my lovely lineup (and please remember you can always ask anytime to be add or removed): @lovetriangleroute @blu-ewraith @agentnatesewell @mornynge @thee-morrigan @kurczakmarty @xx-toto-xx @ohmypawsandwhiskers @nevira-names @orianaquinn @loreofyore @lalizah
I'm not dead I promise, it's just been a couple of more difficult days, but I manage and I try to take everything one step at the time.
I'm looking forward to potentially make a few pieces for the Summer in Wayhaven event, but I fear I'll most probably won't be able to "complete" it if that makes sense?
I hope you've all been well, I can't wait to have enough energy to catch back with you 💙
hiiii jaaaaaaayy. ♥ thank you for asking after my woobies. prompts from here!
Lapsang Souchong: If Noelle was a scented candle, what would she smell like?
i mean part of me wants to cheat and use how i describe her blood to smell to nate, but that also feels too Specific to Nate Personally.
so i think she would smell like... hm. she's more complex under the surface than she pretends to be, so as funny as it would be to say she's a scented candle of monster energy and buttercream frosting, I'm saying maybe something like patchouli and tobacco. something a little Too Much even, that you either love or hate.
Ginger: What always brightens Noelle’s day?
an absolute disasterpiece of a text from Nate that's partially incomprehensible even with decoded context clues. the fact he tries for her is charming, and seeing him Absolutely Suck at it makes it even better.
or Adam nearly pulling a jaw muscle clenching it so hard because he just discovered her latest prank.
Matcha: What is Sai's preferred little treat?
he doesn't have nearly as big of a sweet tooth as noelle, so for him a nice little treat would actually be just a nice cup of tea; I know Nate's got to have some bougie blends he's gotten during his travels and he and Sai sometimes share a cup.
he also likes hwachae, i think. he'd enjoy lots of fruits and something bright and fresh and refreshing.
Pu-erh: What does Sai do when he's stuck indoors for a day or two?
that isn't even uncommon for him. he can get a little wrapped up in various projects sometimes, especially if he's throwing himself into some research. he's a homebody at heart. so he might do some reading, he might work on some tinkering projects for people; if he's at the warehouse he's definitely in the lab excited at all the various tools and supplies they have stocked, or in the library working through some books Nate's recommended on various supernaturals.
Ethan's space unfortunately feels very cluttered.
It's not that he doesn't care to keep things clean and tidy, but I think he spends a lot of energy and time making sure to keep more important things orderly. Result; it's a bit of a mess most times.
In terms of style and decoration though, he enjoys more of an industrial décor!
Lemon Balm: Does your OC have any bedtime habits or rituals?
Mhh... I never really thought about this one before, oddly!
I think he'd be very prone to exercise before bed. Either go on a jog if he's allowed to go outside by himself (y'know...), otherwise he'd use a treadmill. Then shower, and hop! Away to bed!
Pu-erh: What does your OC do when they’re stuck indoors for a day or two?
If Ethan happens to be stuck indoors, it's the perfect opportunity for him to lock-in and attempt to clear anything that needs tending. Work, chores, repairs, projects left to the side... No time can be wasted!
Ginger: What always brightens your OC’s day?
Mornings spent together with Unit Bravo.
Simply put, I think he enjoys the quietude and casual atmosphere of early mornings with them. Smoking in "complete silence" with Mason if he allows it that day, Helping with breakfast (The blood pouches don't make him feel uneasy.), catching up on some lecture with Nate, chatting up with Felix and even sometimes managing to behave like a normal person with Adam. 🤭
A pleasant morning will always brighten his day much more than people would expect.
