#Mason's dimension warping trip | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ejunkiet · 4 years ago

Text

ejunkiet’s tumblr masterlist

a few excellent fic masterlists have been posted this week, and as my blog is a hot mess of fic, art and tags, I’m taking a leaf out of their books (thank you <3)

quick links: writing tag ; twc fics ; olivia ; emma ; elizabeth.

art by sermna from the Mason & Olivia series

soft, unspoken sounds (Nate & Emma)

Discussions (and more) on music, 17th century Italian opera, and the nature of love. Nate Sewell and Detective Emma Kingston.

Soft moments shared between Agent Nathaniel Sewell and the people he cares for.

ao3 series link; art for this series: x,x

(and you with your) tender offerings - After nearly three centuries, Nate considers the nature of his own immortality.

(and you and your) sweetest song - Discussions (and more) on music, 17th century Italian opera, and the nature of love.

death with dignity (18+) - In the wake of unexpected news, Nate offers comfort. follow up: sexy green pajamas, the origin of the pajama set, burn after reading.

starlight and entropy (art) - The scientist vs. the romantic.

OC questions: most treasured possession; research interests.

detective emma kingston asks, art & other snippets - tumblr tag

scattered reflections (Falk & Emma)

The leader of the maa-alused has made a habit of appearing in her bedroom uninvited. Falk and Detective Emma Kingston.

Intimate moments shared with the man in the mirror.

ao3 series link; art for this series: x,x

devil like me (18+) - The leader of the maa-alused has made a habit of appearing in her bedroom uninvited.

mirrors and dreams (follows on directly from ‘devil like me’, a steamy interlude - 18+) - After their first night together, she dreams of him.

mirror image (prequel) - Emma has been thinking a lot about Falk recently.

please don’t bite - (Mason & Olivia)

There are many types of kisses, Olivia learns, during the first few months she spends with Mason. Mason and Detective Olivia Greene.

A series that maps the progression of the relationship between Detective Olivia Greene and Specialist Agent Mason.

ao3 series link - full series timeline & masterlist

art for this series: x,x,x,x,x,x,x,x,x,x

in chronological order (tumblr links): a kiss on the throat - (not a) booty call - (really not a) booty call (18+) - (just a) movie night - “are you drunk?” - in the aftermath

soaked series (ao3, 18+): part one, part two, part three, part four, about olivia (fin). sequel (wip w/ art).

ns*w ficlets (18+): something about mason, texts (½), texts (2/2)

book 3 demo spoilers: i know the end ; kiss on the (middle) finger ; kiss on the hip (18+), kiss on the mouth (finale, 18+).

a question of trust (18+) (& sequel, finale) - Silk blindfolds and other ties. He’d asked that she trust him, and the fact of the matter was that she did.

things you didn’t say / things you said in writing - There are things they don’t talk about. This is one of them. (AKA the story behind how Mason and Olivia became exclusive while not dating)

save a horse, ride a cowboy (18+) - Olivia asks Mason for a favour. A very self-indulgent, very smutty romp that bridges the gap between arcs two and three.

fire and the flood (18+) - Intimacy, in its many forms. Olivia and Mason get sidetracked at an Agency retreat. aka the shower sex fic.

mini-fics: nightmares: [1,2,3]; seven minutes in heaven

OC Qs: illusion, on turning, necessities, travel, (un)skilled

detective olivia greene asks, art & other snippets - tumblr tag

ménage à trois - (Morgan & Pearl & Mason)

Mason stumbles through a mirror into the bedroom of a detective who is in a relationship with his female counterpart. Morgan, Mason and Detective Pearl White. (Pearl belongs to the lovely @obsessivedino)

M-related shenanigans (pun intended). pwp.

ao3 series link; art for this series: x,x

make me an offer I cannot refuse - Mason stumbles through a mirror into the bedroom of a detective who is in a relationship with his female counterpart. (M-related shenanigans ensue - nearly shameless pwp, 18+)

epilogue part one: apologies - Mason still has the shirt. It’s a little worse for wear, considering its mileage.

epilogue part two: through a glass, darkly - Mason returns from his trip through the mirror. Nate has questions.

show me yours (and I'll show you mine) 18+ - smutty sequel. Morgan has been gone for two months. (F!Detective/Morgan)

the maelstrom - Ava & Elizabeth

Ava du Mortain is madly, repressively in love with the detective. Ava du Mortain and Detective Elizabeth Quail.

ao3 link; art for this series: x,x

this chaos, that feeling - Elizabeth Quail invites Unit Bravo to join her in celebrating her 29th birthday.

wild winters, warm coffee - Ava invites the detective on a breakfast date.

OC questions: what drew you to Ava?; when did you first realise?

detective elizabeth quail asks, art & other snippets - tumblr tag

through the centuries (Ava & Nate, 1800s)

Nathaniel Sewell writes letters and falls in love.

A series that explores the relationship between Ava du Mortain and Nathaniel Sewell through the centuries.

ao3 series link; art for this series: x,x

and you (or your memory) - Nathaniel Sewell writes letters and falls in love. Ava and Nate in a shared apartment in Paris, mid-to-late 1800s.

Side stories: Ink formulations ; Montemartre ; waking (Nate’s POV)

Frost Fairs: [art & snippet]. Ava and Nate in bankside, 1814.

Misc. wayhaven (gifts & side stories)

quiet, endless (aftermath) - Nate makes a choice. It's quiet, in the aftermath. Part of lay me down to rest with evilbunnyking.

jasmine and juniper (18+) - For all their skills as a linguist, Eve has yet to master the language of flowers. (Nate/f!detective)

Roberta Marks Can F**k Herself - Detective Gwyneth Davies meets her ex-girlfriend while on duty at a benefit. It goes about as well as can be expected. (Morgan/f!detective)

pillow talk - Helena and Mason, deeper romance. Mason stays over. feat. mismatched socks and conversations about ghosts. (gift fic for evilbunnyking with her greek (!!) detective, Helena Papas)

and I know it well - Mason and the detective on their 20th anniversary. “It’s not too late, you know. To change your mind.” (Mason/f!detective)

(not in the blood) - Natalie Sewell walks in on Specialist Agent Mason in an intimate moment. ao3 link (with additional short stories)

Check out my twc writing tag for snippets and WIPs.

#twc #twc writing #writing #the wayhaven chronicles #detective emma kingston #detective olivia greene #detective elizabeth quail #Mason's dimension warping trip

105 notes · View notes

ejunkiet · 4 years ago

Photo

SDAKJHFGAJ 😳😳😳

#Morgan Monday - an incredibly self-indulgent thing where I post a drawing of Morgan (and Pearl) every Monday, or at least I hope I do.

This has been a long time coming, but thank you so much @ejunkiet for writing ‘make me an offer I cannot refuse’, an enticing sandwich between my favorites. Here is a little tribute to it 💖

#😳😳😳😳😳#I MEAN #also my OT3 who am I kidding #BLESS YOU #(she *definitely* likes what she sees - fdgdghjd who wouldn't??)#oh this is delicious #thank you for this!! glad you liked this romp!!! >:3 #oh man this is gonna live in my brain all day #mmmmm!#this also just hit over a hundred kudos which made me pretty happy :D #aaaah there is a series tag for this #Mason's dimension warping trip #>:D #THERE WE GO #hmmmm mason's side of this does need resolution....#maybe there will be a little more to this series <3 #detective pearl white

108 notes · View notes

ejunkiet · 4 years ago

Text

make me an offer I cannot refuse

Pairing: Morgan x Detective x Mason.

Authors notes: this is part one of the ménage à trois gift fic with Morgan and Mason, and has been a very fun distraction the last few days. This first part fits the prompt ‘villain’ from Day 8 of the @31daysofwayhaven prompt challenge..!

This has an M rating, which will go up to E for the next chapter: 18+ only.

“Morgan, you said your name was. You smell like the others. Du Mortain. Sewell.” He hesitates, his fingers twitching - a nervous tic, and this she recognises too. “You smell like me.”

Her eyes are narrowed as she takes him in. “Do you have a name?”

“Mason,” he says simply. “And I’m starting to think I’m in the wrong place.”

read both parts on ao3

part one: doppelgangers and home invasions

If you asked her how this started, she wouldn’t be sure of her answer.

Magic. There was magic involved, definitely, that much was clear - from the sharp crackle of it through the air, the tinny, foul smelling smoke that floods the small space of her apartment. She’d barely had more than a moment's warning before the body came - dark haired and leather-clad, smelling of woodfire and cigarettes - stumbling out of the full length mirror onto the floor of her bedroom.

Her fingers are wrapped tightly around her phone, her thumb already pressed against the speed dial, Morgan’s voice sharp on the other side of the line as she calls her name, rising in volume when she doesn’t respond.

Pearl is frozen in place, her eyes on the stooped figure as they pick themselves slowly off the ground, a snarl on from their lips that slowly increases in volume as they glance around the apartment, dark, shadowed eyes finally settling on where she stands in the doorway.

“Pearl-!” Morgan’s voice again, from the phone, before she cuts herself off with a muffled curse, the line going dead as Pearl lowers the phone and takes a slow step back from the door. A sharp growl halts her in her tracks, and she winces, wishing she’d thought to move closer to her holster, tucked securely into a drawer on the other side of her apartment.

“Stay… stay right where you are.” The words are whispered between panted breaths, and she can smell the metallic scent of blood, heavy and thick on the air.

“Who are you?”

A muffled snort, and she can see a flash of fang when he replies, the sight of the long curved canine causing her heart to skip a beat within her chest. Vampire.

“I should be asking you that question.”

There’s a weight to those words that she doesn’t understand - and in a flash, he appears in front of her, and she can see the details of him, streaked with soot and dried blood - deep olive skin with a scattering of freckles across the cheeks, dark, stormy grey eyes that she - recognises, despite herself.

He studies her for one long moment, eyes narrowed, and the aggression in him wanes as confusion takes its place.

“What are you?” His voice is soft as he leans in closer, angling his head until he can take a deep inhale of the skin above her neck. “You smell like her. Look like her, even. But you’re not her.”

He grabs her wrist, thrusting back her sleeve and holding it up to the light, releasing a soft breath of triumph, as if the action had proved something. “ See.”

See what? The skin of her wrist is pale against his, light blue veins visible under the surface, almost translucent in the low light. She twists her hand, trying to break his grip, but he only brings her in closer, his eyes dark, pupils dilated, swallowing the storm of his irises.

His voice is a low growl as he asks again, “What are you?”

There’s a vicious snarl from behind them as the door flies open with a resounding crack, the wood splintering under the force of it as it crashes into the wall. She glances back, catches a glimpse of dark hair and wild eyes, red lips curled back to reveal lethal, gleaming fangs.

“Get off of her.” The words are barely audible around the growl that accompanies them, and then warm hands are wrapping around her waist, tugging her backwards into a familiar form.

Morgan.

Her chest is heaving, visibly out of breath in a way that Pearl's rarely seen before, but she’s here, and the sense of relief she gets from her presence is almost overwhelming. She reaches back, until her fingers brush the warmth of her stomach, winding her fingers into the soft material of her henley, anchoring there.

A muted snarl comes from the man before them, his expression dangerous as he takes another step forward, bringing him into the light cast from kitchen - and there’s that flash of familiarity again, in the way he moves, the narrow way he examines the new threat, hands flexing at his sides.

He’s heavily injured, but no less dangerous for it, his own dark henley stained with crimson, his wounds visible beneath the tears in the cloth, although the skin is rapidly healing.

Morgan stiffens behind her, a vicious snarl erupting from her lips as she shifts her position, pushing Pearl behind her, and it’s then that the familiarity clicks, startlingly obvious now that she thinks about it.

She can’t stop the question from blurting from her once she’s thought of it. “Are you two related?”

Both vampires pause, the tension effectively broken as they turn to give her an incredulous look.

“What?” Morgan’s voice is strained, the words muffled around her fangs as she keeps her focus centered on the other vampire.

Pearl’s cheeks are red, she knows it: she can feel the flush of heat there, but now that she’s noticed it, it’s not something she can ignore. Her resolve growing, she tightens her grip on Morgan’s henley, glancing up to meet her gaze.

“Look at him. There are - so many similarities between the two of you. Look at his necklace,” she nods towards the leather cords that band his neck, the familiar crystal that hangs there. “His eyes.”

He’s watching them, storm grey eyes narrowed, teeth - blunted now - biting into his lip as he looks between them.

Pearl turns to Morgan, and there’s a similar confusion in her expression, her dark eyes narrowed as they flicker across the other man’s features, studying him in turn, before her lip curls and she shakes her head.

“You should leave. Call Agent White.” Her voice is gentle but insistent, a small growl escaping her when Pearl hesitates. “Pearl.”

She wants to go. She really does, but - she can’t. She can’t leave him here like this - there’s something inside her that tells her that she should stay, that she needs to help him.

“He’s not a threat, Morgan.” She says it with a certainty she feels right to her core, although the origins of the thought are unclear. “He’s alone. And injured.”

Her cool grey eyes flick back to meet hers, softening for a moment, and the man before them lets out a snort.

“I’m not dead yet. I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss me.”

The fangs are back, his eyes glittering, but the threat seems almost half-hearted as he frowns, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Morgan, you said your name was. You smell like the others. Du Mortain. Sewell.” He hesitates, his fingers twitching - a nervous tic, as if they’re used to holding something, and this she recognises too. “You smell like me.”

Her eyes are narrowed as she takes him in. “Do you have a name?”

“Mason,” he says simply. “And I’m starting to think I’m in the wrong place.”

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror, the tap on and the water running, staring at her reflection. The sound of running water drowns out everything else, as she takes a deep breath, and then another, her eyes on the swirl of water down the drain as her mind races, her thoughts too loud inside her head.

She's left the two vampires in the kitchen, the air between them thick with tension as each watches over the other with mutual distrust - but a truce of sorts had been put in place, when they realised just what was at stake here.

Some basic facts have been established: Mason and Morgan were more alike than she ever could have imagined - they were, in fact, the same. Identical in every detail aside from gender - including her.

("Pearl, in my world, has a scar here," he traced his nails along the inside of his wrist, his expression dark. It only gets darker when she turns her head to the side, revealing the scar on her neck.)

It's all - a lot to take in, and her fingers find the edges of the sink, digging into the ceramic as she closes her eyes and tries to regain control of her breathing. Everything will be fine.

There’s a gentle creak as the door opens behind her, and she opens her eyes to see a familiar shape in the doorway, waiting for her permission to enter. She nods, and Morgan approaches, dark eyes muted in the light, considering as she closes the distance between them.

Looking back to her reflection, she watches as Morgan studies her, her gaze flickering across her face before falling to her lips, lingering there for a long, drawn-out moment that makes her heart skip a beat.

“You’ve been in here a while, sweetheart.”

Her voice curls against her ear on a soft breath, and she can feel the heat of her against her back, solid and steady, as Morgan’s hands find purchase on her hips, drawing her in closer.

Her grey eyes are on hers again, softer now above the scattering of freckles across her cheeks, her hands warm around her waist, anchoring her as she leans into the touch, every brush of her thumb across her skin helping to alleviate the curl of anxiety inside her chest.

Mason watches them from the bedroom, stormy eyes conflicted, before he turns away, jaw clenching as he moves towards the window.

"Do you have a smoke?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but Morgan beats her to it, her voice little more than a growl. "Not in the house."

He lets out a laugh but there’s not much humour in it, jamming his hands into his tattered jacket pockets. "Some things don't change."

She’s had enough time to get herself together. Taking another deep breath, she reaches out and turns off the tap. Morgan steps back when she straightens, giving her space as she turns away from the mirror, although her hand lingers on her waist, a warm anchor as they leave the room.

Once they’re back in the muted lighting of her bedroom, Morgan turns to address the vampire by the window.

"You can't stay here." He snorts, as if to say that much was obvious, his hands flexing with agitation at his sides. "Do you know how to get back?"

He glances towards the mirror, lips twisting into a scowl. "I have an idea, but I don't like it. It will - take a while."

He pauses, a frown twisting his features as his gaze moves to meet hers. "And I'll need help."

"What exactly will you need?" His dark eyes hold Pearl's for a moment longer, before flickering back to meet his counterpart’s stormy grey gaze.

"Blood, for the mirror." He jerks his chin towards her, and his expression is unreadable as he continues with a growl. "Her blood."

Morgan’s lip curls back in a low snarl and she takes a step forward, placing herself between Pearl and the other vampire. “No.”

He sneers back, his hands flexing at his sides once more, storm grey eyes bright beneath his dark hair.

"Not much. Just enough to catch someone's attention, in my world. He owes me a favour."

She responds with another snarl. “I said no. ”

“I’ll do it.” The words escape her before she has a chance to think them through completely, but she means it, holding firm even as Morgan’s dark eyes turn on her, vicious and angry.

“Pearl.”

“I’d do the same, if it were you.” She holds her stare, the statement effectively cutting off any further objections she might have raised, and satisfied, she turns to meet Mason’s gaze. “What do you need?”

All it takes is a finger prick, enough for blood to well on the pad of her thumb, before she presses the print of it against the glass. After a moment’s hesitation, Mason unties the leather strap from around his neck and drapes it over the frame, the crystal swaying with the movement until it settles against the mark.

He looks - vulnerable without it, his eyes troubled as he steps away from the frame, and as she looks closer, she thinks his hands might be shaking.

“And that’s it?” Morgan’s voice is harsh as it cuts through the silence that’s fallen around them.

“That’s it.” His scowl is back, dark eyes narrowed in a glare as he looks back to the glass. “Now we wait."

Morgan lets out a scoff, turning her back on him as she glances back at Pearl, meeting her gaze once again. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

It’s not hard to read the concern in her gaze, and she gives her a small smile, reaching out to snag her sleeve, running her fingers gently down her arm until the tension in her loosens. “I’m sure.”

She doesn’t miss the way Mason grimaces before glancing away, and a pang of guilt hits her then - this can’t have been easy on him, it’s not as if he’d chosen to come here. “Can I get you anything?”

He gives her a skeptical look, his lip curling. “No.” He suppresses a shiver, his frown deepening as he glances down at his clothes. “Unless you’ve got something else I can wear?”

It’s not a polite request, and to be honest, she’s not sure if she does , but Morgan answers for her, nodding towards the chest of drawers in the corner. “In there. Bottom drawer.”

He releases a frustrated growl and moves to the dresser as the other vampire crosses the room, her hands finding Pearl’s waist once more.

Her finger still stings, and she inspects it, the mark left by the needle she’d used - santised in rubbing alcohol, the best thing she had on hand - before a muted snarl draws her attention away.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She glances over to see him holding up one of her favourite nightshirts: an oversized lime green tee, that should, in fact, fit him.

“What’s the problem?”

His expression twists in disgust as he rotates the shirt, revealing the logo emblazoned across the front: an adorable sleepy panda curled up in a bamboo forest, with the words ‘BEARLY AWAKE’ printed beneath it.

Morgan’s lips curl up into a smirk. “You gotta make do with what you’ve got.”

He shoots her a dark look before he drops the shirt onto the bed, stripping out of his own with a low growl. It falls apart within his hands, barely more than strips of cloth at this point, and she catches a glimpse of his bloodied chest as he tosses the tattered remains of it into the trash.

He straightens, turning to face her fully, and her breath catches in her throat.

He’s striking - leanly built, muscles well defined beneath tan skin and dark hair, and even covered in blood from his recently healed wounds, he is - beautiful.

Her heart thuds, once, inside of her chest. Hard.

It’s not like the way she feels around Morgan, the overpowering draw of her, the way she’s consumed by her presence, but still - it’s close. Noticeable.

Noticeable enough that Mason pauses in mid-motion, reaching for the shirt, a strange glint in his dark eyes as they find hers. The hands at her waist shift minutely, and his cool gaze flickers above her shoulder, settling there, before his lips lift into a smirk.

“Seems like she likes what she sees.”

The intensity of her blush threatens to burn her skin, and she tries to pull away and hide her face, but Morgan’s hands steady her, preventing the movement.

The dark curtain of her hair brushes against her cheek as Morgan leans forward, her voice a low purr in her ear. “Is that right, sweetheart?”

It’s immediate, the effect those words have on her. It’s always like this with Morgan: the overwhelming intensity of it, the memory of her mouth on her and what she can do sending her heart ricocheting inside of her chest.

Morgan’s hands move across her, trailing across her stomach as her lips brush against her neck, tasting the flush that’s settled there, before she hums, low and considering in the back of her throat.

“How much time do we have?” The question is directed at the man before them, and Pearl can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes have darkened, pupils blown.

“Enough” His dark eyes fall to meet hers once again, the intensity of his stare taking her breath away. “If you’re both willing.”

Morgan hums again, before her hands pull back, settling back on her waist, thumbs rubbing circles against the skin there. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

It’d be impossible to misunderstand the proposition.

Her throat is dry, and she swallows to clear it, the flex of the fingers at her waist nearly stealing her breath again. “What exactly... did you have in mind?”

“You. Me. Her.” He jerks his head towards the bed. “There.”

Soft lips trail against her neck, nibbling at that spot just behind her ear until she shivers, the hands at her waist dipping low, playing with the waistband of her sleeping shorts.

Her cheeks are warm as heat pools in the pit of her stomach, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want this. That she wasn’t curious.

Breathless, with her heart in her throat, she manages a hushed, “yes.”

Twin grins meet her statement, glinting dangerously in the half light.

final note: i meant it when i said the rating is going up in part two. ahem.

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc morgan #twc mason #twc writing #writing #morgan/detective #mason/detective #morgan/detective/mason #okay #done #see you in part two #Mason's dimension warping trip

61 notes · View notes

ejunkiet · 4 years ago

Text

through a glass, darkly (grief, mason)

Mason returns from his trip through the mirror. Nate has questions.

This is the epilogue to ‘make me an offer I cannot refuse’, and was written for the prompt of “grief” from @31daysofwayhaven.

through a glass, darkly

"Mason." It’s said softly and without inflection, but still, Mason can hear the unspoken concern in the word.

It's been a week since he was discharged from the hospital, the trip through the mirror and the wounds he had sustained before it ensuring that Agent White made the call, even if in the end it was unnecessary. He'd healed, as he always does, his latent abilities unaffected by the journey, even if the trip itself was unprecedented.

Not many survive the passage through a portal - no other in the history of the Agency had made the trip twice.

Agent White is professional, if stiff, during his debrief. She still won't maintain eye contact with him for longer periods of time, and he doesn't blame her. She hadn't taken to Bobby either, and he doesn't fault her instincts - they'd never made it official, but it had been obvious that something had been going on between him and her daughter.

And now it was over.

He takes a puff of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl around his lips as he glances to the side, meeting the warm, expectant gaze that’s been watching him for a while, Nate’s expression unreadable as he stands in the entrance to the rec area.

"Need something?"

"No." He pauses, a moment of hesitation that speaks volumes. “I wanted to ask if you needed anything.”

Mason raises a brow. "And what would I need?"

He considers his answer carefully, expression mild as his hand raises to smooth through the stubble on his jaw. "An ear, perhaps."

“I don’t have anything to talk about.”

Nate lets out a low hum, leaning against the frame of the door as his eyes slide to the window, where the figures of Felix and Pearl are visible in the distance, playing in the litter of fallen leaves that has enveloped the warehouse.

They’re both bundled up for the weather with layers upon layers of scarves and coats, almost to the point of absurdity, the detective’s cheeks rosy with the chill, lips bitten and red as she laughs.

Nate’s voice is softer when he speaks again. “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Mason’s hackles raise, and when he speaks again, his voice is louder, words tinged with a growl. “I said, there’s nothing to talk about.”

The other vampire’s features crease into a frown at the vehemence of the response and Mason lets out a low curse. Shit. There was no avoiding this now.

He sticks the cigarette back between his lips and takes a deep pull, appreciating the slow burn of the smoke as it works down his throat, settling the shifting mess of his emotions.

When he’s calmer, he glances back up to meet Nate’s gaze, closer now, after he’s crossed the short distance between them, leaning against the pool table, his posture nonchalant, hands sunk deep into his pockets.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

A corner of his mouth lifts, breaking the innocuous facade, before he asks, “What happened over there?”

“It’s in the report.” Most of it, anyway. He’d kept back some of the details, such as the intimacies they’d shared together in the apartment - it’d just make for smutty literature, and wasn’t relevant to the interests of the Agency.

(Still, that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it. Often, in his room, when he’s alone.)

“I’ve read the report.” Nate agrees and Mason blinks, pulling his focus back to the continuing conversation. “You said there was another version of yourself. Another detective.”

He lets out a small huff in acknowledgement; they’d already gone over this in the debrief. “Are you going to get to the point?”

“You know, I’m not a stranger to heartbreak.”

That was an understatement, if there ever was one. Agent Sewell was a monument to the lovesick, leaving a long line of fractured, broken relationships behind him - but the fact that he’s bringing this up now-

Mason takes another deep pull of his cigarette, swallowing a lungful of smoke that tastes like ash, tobacco mostly gone, the thing itself almost burned down to the stub.

“My heart’s doing just fine.” He lets out a forceful snort, smoke writhing across his features. “Hell, I’m the reason we broke it off. She wanted more.”

Lifting his shoulder in a shrug, he ignores the way his chest tightens at the thought. They had a good thing going, that’s all. His little… trip had just reminded him of that. Of how good it was.

“You didn’t?”

The question is soft, barely more than a murmur, but the words are clear all the same.

He bites down on his cigarette, hard, severing the butt, the burnt out stub falling to the floor. He spits out the rest, flicking it towards the trashcan in the corner, before meeting Nate’s gaze, his lips twisted into a grimace - at the taste of tobacco and ash on his tongue or the question, he doesn't know.

“No.” It’s said with a viciousness that surprises even him, the anger sudden and unexpected, a roiling tangle of heat in the center of his chest, and shit. Shit.

Turning on his heel, he makes his way out of the room, ignoring the concern in Nate’s voice as he calls after him. He doesn’t stop until he reaches his room, slamming the door behind him, and he’s alone again, chest heaving under the strain of some emotion he can’t identify, hot and clawing at his throat.

He didn’t.

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc writing #this is queue'd for a little later #so hopefully it works #writing #agent sunshine #agent suavewell #or rather agent lovesick #Mason's dimension warping trip

38 notes · View notes

ejunkiet · 4 years ago

Text

through a glass, darkly (epilogue)

This is the epilogue to the very spicy ‘make me an offer I cannot refuse’, which is now complete.

Pairing: Morgan x f!Detective x Mason Rating: Explicit (18+ only, minors dni)

Mason returns from his trip through the mirror. Nate has questions.

“My heart’s doing just fine.” He lets out a forceful snort, smoke writhing across his features. “Hell, I’m the reason we broke it off. She wanted more.”

"You didn't?"

read in its entirety on ao3

through a glass, darkly

"Mason." It’s said softly and without inflection, but still, Mason can hear the unspoken concern in the word.

Not many survive the passage through a portal - no other in the history of the Agency had made the trip twice.

And now it was over.

"Need something?"

"No." He pauses, a moment of hesitation that speaks volumes. “I wanted to ask if you needed anything.”

Mason raises a brow. "And what would I need?"

He considers his answer carefully, expression mild as his hand raises to smooth through the stubble on his jaw. "An ear, perhaps."

“I don’t have anything to talk about.”

Nate’s voice is softer when he speaks again. “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Mason’s hackles raise, and when he speaks again, his voice is louder, words tinged with a growl. “I said, there’s nothing to talk about.”

The other vampire’s features crease into a frown at the vehemence of the response and Mason lets out a low curse. Shit. There was no avoiding this now.

He sticks the cigarette back between his lips and takes a deep pull, appreciating the slow burn of the smoke as it works down his throat, settling the shifting mess of his emotions.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

A corner of his mouth lifts, breaking the innocuous facade, before he asks, “What happened over there?”

(Still, that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it. Often, in his room, when he’s alone.)

“I’ve read the report.” Nate agrees and Mason blinks, pulling his focus back to the continuing conversation. “You said there was another version of yourself. Another detective.”

He lets out a small huff in acknowledgement; they’d already gone over this in the debrief. “Are you going to get to the point?”

“You know, I’m not a stranger to heartbreak.”

Mason takes another deep pull of his cigarette, swallowing a lungful of smoke that tastes like ash, tobacco mostly gone, the thing itself almost burned down to the stub.

“My heart’s doing just fine.” He lets out a forceful snort, smoke writhing across his features. “Hell, I’m the reason we broke it off. She wanted more.”

Lifting his shoulder in a shrug, he ignores the way his chest tightens at the thought. They had a good thing going, that’s all. His little… trip had just reminded him of that. Of how good it was.

“You didn’t?”

The question is soft, barely more than a murmur, but the words are clear all the same.

“No.” It’s said with a viciousness that surprises even him, the anger sudden and unexpected, a roiling tangle of heat in the center of his chest, and shit. Shit.

He didn’t.

He still has the shirt.

It's a little worse for wear, considering its mileage.

The trip back through the portal hadn’t been an easy one: the whirlwind of magic had singed his hair and clothes, made his mouth taste of copper, as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of pennies. He'd vomited blood on the other side, painting a gruesome picture on the floor of the canvas tent - and this was Sanja's tent, once, before the kidnapping, before the end of the truce negotiations and the start of the conflict that had led to this, even if she was no longer here to claim it.

While Mason could smell the smoke-eyed fae on the air in the tent, the one whose mirror this belonged to, the man himself was nowhere to be seen. It was Adam who had found him amongst the wreckage of the old fairgrounds and helped him back to the agency facility.

(There was naked emotion in the other man's expression as he’d helped him through the forest, something Mason has only seen a handful of times, and it’d prompted him to ask, "How long was I gone?"

Adam's jaw had flexed, his eyes shadowed as he glanced down to meet his gaze, and when he spoke, his voice was strained. "A few days. Our trackers couldn't find you."

His eyes widened at the implication as he choked and tried not to swallow his own tongue.

They’d thought he was dead.)

The shirt no longer smells of her; no longer smells of anything but his blood and sweat, with a faint undercurrent of magic, and that knowledge shouldn't affect him the way it does.

In the least, his detective - the detective here, doesn’t know that he has it.

He doesn’t want to know what she’d think if she knew he was wearing one of her nightshirts - can’t imagine what she’d think of the moments that led up to his possession of it.

(Would he apologise, if she found out?)

(He doesn't think he would.)

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc writing #agent sunshine #twc mason #Mason's dimension warping trip #writing #there is technically one more part to this #but it's more of a prequel snippet #and very unfinished #i also tweaked the ending of the previous chapter #ehehehe #closing this project for now

27 notes · View notes