#Abby Brùn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thecryptidenthusiast · 1 year

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Title: willingness to bend

Rating: PG? Nothing much but some arguing further in. Abby is stubborn and not thinking straight, and Nate isn’t helping his case.

Pairing: Detective Abigail ‘Abby’ Brùn/Nate Sewell

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: how the post-forest argument would have actually gone between Abby ‘fiercely independent and stubborn’ Brùn and Nate ‘worries SO MUCH but terrible about talking through things’ Sewell. Also known as ‘these two care a lot about each other they’re just bad at saying so’

I was disappointed there was no sort of conversation or confrontation with these post-trapper, especially picking the dialogue option that gets you the famous “i won’t allow you to endanger yourself” line. so I’m rectifying it by making things worse <3 no spoilers really this all takes place in the timeframe of the demo, but I’ll tag it just to be safe.

Abby wasn’t expecting Nate to be waiting for her.

She’d lingered behind at the Facility after the debriefing. Longer than she probably should have, given the circumstances of…everything going on. But she’d needed some kind of respite, a little time to process without Unit Bravo looming over her shoulder.

Getting food with Vieno had been the perfect excuse for some time away.

Unit Victor had been an unexpected surprise, but ultimately a pleasant one. The group had no problems dragging chairs over and making themselves comfortable. Willing to talk about everything and nothing, they had little regard for personal boundaries.

Apparently news about her traveled far, and she wasn’t sure how she felt being at the center of it.

It seemed positive, at least.

The conversations were light. Nothing more than gossip to fuel the rumor mills. Was Adam as hard headed as everyone claimed, something Abby only gave a noncommittal shrug to because the last thing she needed was her answer somehow cycling its way back to him. They’d reached a tentative peace, she didn’t feel the need to argue with him at every comment, and he seemed to tolerate her being around. No need to upheave that progress.

They’d asked about Nate afterwards. About her relationship with him, and she couldn’t bring herself to answer around the sudden lump in her throat. Vieno steered them off by calling them a bunch of ‘nosy gossips’, and it was all Abby could do to give them a grateful nod at the intervention. Conversation still flowed afterwards as they all talked amongst themselves, and she happily let herself drift to the background.

But the lump never eased.

It’s- ridiculous. Selfish, even. Everything that’s happened in the past 24 hours, and it’s her own personal problems sitting on her mind like lead weights, something she couldn’t shake off. Added salt to the wounds of everything else.

Maybe it stung because Nate had been her point of peace. Someone that could help keep her afloat even when it felt like she was spiraling. She didn’t have that now and she felt- she felt alone.

Too lost in her own mind to be considered anything remotely close to ‘good company’, she gave a distracted good-bye before excusing herself and somehow managing to find her way to her car.

The drive back, trapped in the silence, hurt more than it helped.

She couldn’t stop herself from replaying everything over in her mind, trying to pick out where she’d gone wrong to make him so frustrated. Outside of the level of danger that was becoming a regular occurrence in her life, she’d come out of the attack fine. Stressed, a little shaken, but unhurt. She hadn’t even fought, technically. The thorny mess of underbrush had done the work for her; she’d just taken advantage of her…familiarity with the area.

Not that it mattered. Nate still hadn’t been happy she wasn’t willing to let him hide her away while everyone else fought in her place.

So, he yelled. Sort of. As much as Nate ever raises his voice.

And in turn, she yelled back at him. And if she hadn’t been so caught off guard, she would’ve been embarrassed that it all happened in front of the rest of the team.

No, that didn’t settle in until afterwards. After the chaos settled and the adrenaline faded, forced to sit through a debriefing with as much distance as she could manage between her and Nate. It mixed with the slow burning anger she’d tried to swallow down until it formed something toxic that left a bitterness in her throat.

It wasn’t Nate’s frustration that stung. Or the yelling - though that hadn’t helped. That, alone, she could have taken; sat with and picked apart into pieces of something that made sense, given enough time.

I won’t allow you.

No, the anger came even before they’d been reduced to shouting at each other. It was the declaration of what she was allowed to do, as if that’s a decision he had the right to take away from her. One sentence, buried in her mind like a splinter. The more she dug at it, the more raw she’s left afterwards.

It’s not rational, not really. One panicked phrase, said in the heat of a dangerous situation, shouldn't have struck her as hard as it did. But whether or not it was sane or fair didn’t matter - it left her feeling angry and constricted.

She doesn’t register the drive until she’s sitting outside the chain link fence of the Warehouse. It takes effort to uncurl her fingers, idly rubbing out the cramps brought on by the white-knuckled grip she’d had on the steering wheel. Staring up at the decrepit facade, with her headlights painting shadows in the gloom of the night, a part of her considers turning around. Peeling out before she has to face anyone, although…she has nowhere to go besides here. A stray thought passes through her mind about crashing at Tina’s, but she squashes it before it has a chance to take root. It’s well past 2 in the morning, and while Tina would open her door to her, Abby wouldn’t put her out like that. And she isn’t sure she wants to deal with the line of questioning that would bring on, either. And, Adam had been clear about her order to come directly back to the Warehouse afterwards.

Another order. Another decision made for her. Only this one smarts less, because she’s used to Adam telling her what to do.

So, against every nerve in her body, she forces herself to shut the car off and climb out. Mentally talking herself into taking each step forward, more mechanical feeling than anything natural. She’s not in the right headspace to handle anything more than collapsing into bed.

It’s late, anyways. Maybe she’ll be lucky and everyone will be busy doing whatever it is that keeps vampires busy throughout the night. They’ll hear her arrival, she’ll be able to get to her room and push off dealing with anything for at least a few more hours.

She wasn’t planning on Nate being up and about. Even if she shouldn’t have expected anything less from him.

“You’re back.” He startles her out of her thoughts. Perched on the couch in the living room, a book in hand, it’s clear he’d been waiting for her return. He’s smiling, doing his best to look relaxed, but she knows him too well for him to hide the tension in his body. The concern in his eyes as he looks her over.

Both get worse when she chooses to stay rooted to her spot by the door instead of moving to join him.

“I was at the Facility.” She says, words stilted and awkward as she debates her chances of making it if she were to just rush through the room and leave. She’d thought- a part of her hoped her aggravation would ease, if she gave herself time, but seeing him has it trying to claw its way to the surface again, settling like a burning coal in her chest.

Maybe he’ll let it go. Maybe he’ll just say goodnight and let her go-

“I was worried.”

He means it, that’s the worst part of it all. A passing remark made with nothing but genuine care in mind, because he always worries when she’s away. When he can’t be around. He just wants her safe. And there’s a small, logical part of her that knows that. The part that’s fighting and failing to pull her temper back knows it’s meant in kindness.

But the threats she’d been desperately grasping onto snap, all the same.

“I was with Vieno. And another Unit.” Her tone is flat, bordering on harsh. “Do I need your permission so you can allow me to go anywhere without you?”

She’s lashing out now. Feeling twisted up too tight, throwing barbs in the hopes of something sticking. There’s no pleasure when her words hit their mark though, no enjoyment in the way she sees him flinch. Just a building pressure under her skin, a rolling nausea in her stomach.

She hates this. Hates everything she’s feeling, but is too far in to pull back now.

He sighs as he pushes up from the couch, and she shuffles the rest of the way into the living room to take a place in front of the fireplace. Just- to give herself somewhere to stand besides the front door, so it didn’t seem like she was seconds away from bolting. She keeps her eyes on the ground though, just to find something to look at that isn’t him. Still, she feels him take a place beside her, even with the deliberate space he’s kept between them.

“I suppose we need to talk.”

“Yeah, we really do.” As if drawn by a magnet, her eyes flit in his direction, unsure of what she’ll find. Frustration on his face? Exasperation in his eyes at her attitude? She’s not being kind, it would be deserved.

She isn’t prepared for the deep crease between his pinched brows. She isn’t prepared to find him looking so incredibly sad.

“I know I didn’t handle the…situation with the Trappers properly.” He starts after a brief pause, clearly trying to gather up his thoughts. She lets herself relax, just a little. At least this seems like a step in the right direction. “Seeing them close in on you, while I was too far to help, filled me with terror. Every worst case scenario went through my mind, and I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

He sounds properly contrite, at least. His shoulders are drawn, hands pushed deep into his pockets. It's only her own stubbornness that keeps her from reaching out to him though. “It worked out, though.”

“That it did.” He smiles, but it’s a wobbly thing. Brittle. “All it takes is once, though. As I said, they will stoop to whatever means necessary to take you and I- I cannot bear the thought of that happening.”

“And I can’t handle sitting back, doing nothing while everyone else fights my fights.” She turns to face him now, and he mirrors her movement. “And I can’t handle you telling me what I’m allowed to do.”

“It’s our job to protect you, and we don’t mind-“

“But I do!” She snaps, cutting him off. She knows they’re making no progress. Two steps forward, three backwards. Unlike before though, she can see him trying to figure out a way to diffuse the rising tensions before they can come to head.

“We’re getting off point, and I’ve upset you again. I apologize, for then and now.” His apology soothes her annoyance, if only a little.

“Thank you.” He takes a few tentative steps forward at that, trying to close the distance. “But again, Nate, it’s not just the fight. It’s you trying to tell me what you’ll allow me to do.”

He pauses then, and she realizes he’d been hoping she’d just pass that point over in favor of being angry about everything else. “I shouldn’t have phrased it that way,” He says finally, carefully, and she narrows her eyes. “I misspoke, I’m not trying to make every decision in your life.”

Just certain ones, the thought is a cranky, nasty little one. “You’re going to have to let me help. If I’m going to be part of the team, let me act like it.”

His brows furrow at that. Reaching out, hesitating just long enough to give her a chance to push him away, he cups her face in his palm. Cradling her like she’s something precious, she can’t help but lean into him as his thumb traces her cheekbone. “Being a part of a team also means accepting your limitations and allowing us to help you, though.”

Any warmth from his touch vanishes then, chilling in her veins as she shakes him off. “What does that mean?”

“I told you to hide because, at that moment, that was the best thing you could have done to help us.” His tone is gentle, but Abby knows him well enough now to know he’s picking his words with care, working up to his point in a very Nate-like way. Kind, always so kind, but unwilling to budge. “Your safety is my priority, always. At times, that means you have to be willing to let us protect you.”

He’s not listening. He’s not hearing a word she’s saying, and she can feel her anger rising again.

“I handled myself though.” She’s trying to be reasonable. To quell the part of her that wants to snap, and snarl, and fight. “I didn’t even fight, I was able to handle it my way.”

“And what if you couldn’t? What then?” Nate crosses his arms, as if he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands now that she’s out of his reach once again, and Abby has never thought he looked more stubborn. “I just wish for you to be safe, is that a bad thing?”

“It is when you expect me to sit back and let my family fend for themselves!” She won’t let herself focus on the fact that was the first word that came to mind, slipping out before she could stop it. Not here, not now. Not with so much tension, or with the storm of emotions making her chest ache. Or with Nate’s face lighting up, even in the midst of her yelling at him. She’ll dissect it later, with nothing but four walls watching her and the safety of an empty room around her.

“I’m simply asking for you to trust us,” He says slowly, as if to placate her, though all it does is further stoke her temper. “I- We can handle threats against ourselves, but you-“

“You almost didn’t before!” She shouts, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Memories of Nate, battered and bruised, laying in his own blood, flash in her mind, too quick for her to block them out. As if sensing her distress, he reaches out on instinct, but she jerks back before he can make contact.

She can almost pretend like the flash of hurt on his face doesn’t make her ache.

“I was taking care of myself long before you guys showed up.” As soon as the words are out there, she wants to snatch them back. Bury them, stuffed away in the dark where they belong. Panic and embarrassment has her pacing now, too much of something buzzing just under her skin. She was prepared for fighting, yelling she- she’s not ready to see pity from him.

Because maybe, that’s the true, awful core to all of this. Why Nate’s protectiveness feels like an ill-fitting coat, clinging too tightly. So long with no one, pushed to grow up too fast. She doesn’t know how to let somebody else care for her.

Would she even want to? To let herself be that vulnerable with someone else?

And Nate knows. Of course he does. Even with ehr pacing, and her stubborn refusal to meet his eyes, she can feel him watching. Picking up on every little thing she wants to hide from him but can’t, because he’s always seen too much of her. He’s close to hovering, she’s sure, wanting to provide comfort but unsure how. The thought makes her cross her arms, as if she can make herself a smaller target.

That’s what makes him finally move, though. A gentle hand on her arm to stop her in her tracks, providing a warmth she can feel even through her layers of clothes.

“You shouldn’t have had to.” He sounds so soft, so sure of himself. Steady, where she’s drifting. “And if I could, I would mend that for you. But you don’t have to now.”

Let me care, the words are there. Unspoken, left to hang between them, but there nonetheless. I would if you’d let me. I want to.

And it would be so easy to let him. To drop her guard and let him in. To let him take the few final pieces of her heart she has hidden away, because he’s already taken the rest. Given to him willingly the first time they’d kissed

She could.

She wants-

I won’t allow you.

But she won’t. Can’t.

“Well, I did.” She cuts through the silence that had grown between them with sharp precision. Squaring her shoulders, she turns to face him, trying not to miss his touch as his hand slips away, and forces herself to meet his gaze head-on. Whatever he sees when he looks at her has his shoulders slumping, ever so slightly. “Which means I don’t need you panicking over every little thing that could potentially go wrong, or you deciding what I’m allowed to do.”

There’s a rare flash of frustration in his eyes, there too fast for him to be able to tuck it out of her sight. “It’s not about permission, Abigail.”

“That’s exactly what all of this has been about!” She snaps, barely resisting the urge to yank on her hair in frustration and instead settles for pulling at her sleeves to give her something to dig her nails into. Her tone is rising again and she can’t stop. This is falling apart in front of her, too fast for her to do anything but embrace the inevitable crash waiting for her at the end. “You’re trying to tell me what you’ll allow me to do, stressing over things that might happen. None of this is going to work if you don’t trust me to know my own limits.”

“You ask me to trust you, yet you have an alarming pattern of paying little regard to your own wellbeing. So forgive me if I’m inclined to doubt your choices.” His tone is harsher than she’s ever heard it, words sharp enough to make her wince. He notices, immediately softening as he scrambles to backtrack. “I care about you Abby. So much.”

That’s all this is about. Everything it boils down to. But it’s not enough to fix anything. And that realization has her deflating, a sadness creeping in to replace the anger.

“But I’m human.” It’s a quiet sort of admission. One that hurts, because it doesn’t matter what she does in the end. How much she prepares herself, or tries to help. She’s still the weak link, and Nate will always treat her as such.

Half a dozen emotions flicker across his face in that instance, almost too fast for her to recognize. Fear. Frustration. Affection. Something- something heavier, deeper than the others, and she feels her heart thumping painfully against her ribs.

“That-“ He cuts himself off, tearing his gaze away to look at the wall. There’s something more there, that much she’s certain of. Something he’s barely bitten back, and part of her wants to grab him. Shake him and demand an answer, an explanation, anything to tell her she’s wrong. “You are.”

Nothing more. No deeper answer. Just a heavy hearted agreement, that hurts more than her own words had.

A bitter part of her wonders why she expected anything any different.

The fight leaves her as quickly as it had come. The exhaustion of everything suddenly presses down on her with such a fierceness that she’s left aching. So she crosses her arms again, like she can hold herself together a little while longer as she shuffles backwards. Desperate to space between them.

“I can’t do this right now.” She’s speaking more to herself than to him at this point, turning towards the door. “I can’t- I need to go.”

“Abby?” There’s a thread of alarm in his voice now, and she hears his muffled footsteps on the carpet as he keeps pace behind her. “Wait, we can talk-“

“All we’ve been doing is talking, Nate. And I’m done.” There’s a hollowness in her, like something carved out a piece of her, and she rubs her chest as if she can massage the ache away. A chill has seeped through her clothes, settling all the way down to the tips of her fingers, and she chooses to blame it on the lack of sleep.

“Please.” It’s one word, practically begged, but it’s enough to make her stall. Enough to have her spare one more glance at him. Frozen halfway from touching her, panic and desperation have brought a sheen to his usually warm eyes. Torn between having her stay, and afraid of pushing her further away has him teetering on an edge. “Please, stay?”

It hurts. So much, more than it should, and it isn’t fair. Leaving him like this, when a part of her wants to turn around and let him soothe away everything. Let herself be lost in him awhile and pretend like everything is fine between them. To take the easy path.

But she knows how that will end. Another fight, sooner rather than later. She knows she can’t keep burying things away, as much as he wants to when things get tough.

So she shakes her head, pulling the door open and forcing herself to look away before he can notice the tears she can feel burning her eyes. “I just need some time, okay? Give me some space.”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer. She can’t, not if she’s going to keep her resolve. So she leaves, letting the door slam closed behind her. And maybe, everything will feel a little less painful when the sun rises.

#Nate sewell #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #n Sewell #twc spoilers #my writing #this is so rough but I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing alskdldk #and the lack of ANY follow up to the argument bugged me #so I had to put my spin on it #Abby isn’t being Nice because she doesn’t know how to let ppl care and it scares her <3 thanks Rebecca lmao #she took nate going ‘i won’t allow it’ as him trying to control her. didn’t cross her mind that he’s genuinely terrified for her and in love #anyways they’re entire relationship timeline is getting shifted in my brain and slowed down from what it was in the book #and Nate doesn’t think he can protect her but is afraid to say that. since we see him saying he doesn’t think he’s enough for the MC #so his own panic at losing abby and her stubbornness lead to messes #if you see mistakes no you don’t lmao I’ve rewritten this three times now?#if mistakes survived they belong in here now

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thecryptidenthusiast · 3 years

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My heart and head are full of nothing but thoughts for (1) vamp. I got my commission from the amazing @mooreaux last night and it’s living in my head right beside the demo

#nate sewell #n sewell #Abby Brùn #was this the scene that had me hooked on these two in book one? yes it was #I love them so much I just want to stare at this #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #otp: gentle giants

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thecryptidenthusiast · 4 years

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Detective Wardrobe Tag!

Tagged by @agentnate !!!! Thank you so much!!

Fashion can reveal a lot about a characters taste in colours, designs, and practicality. Show me what your Detective wears to work, at night, fancy evening wear, and when on missions.

Diiiiid this take me absolutely forever to get to? Yes it did. Plus Abby is a mess so figuring out what she’d wear was not easy lol.

My Detective: Abigail ‘Abby’ Brún

(I absolutely can’t draw so here’s my favorite picrew of her)

Work Wear: Abby’s the epitome of ‘I’m going to bury myself in clothes so I have no discernable shape’. Layers and lots of baggy tops with some old jeans that she doesn’t have to worry about getting torn up. She’s an anxious giant that likes to blend in.

At Night: Less baggy just because she hates feeling like she’s tangled up. Has some really obnoxiously printed sweats that she likes to wear.

Fancy Evening Wear: Want Abby to feel really, really weird? Make her dress up for formal occasions lol. She hates it. Would probably go for a suit, either black or blue, no colors that would make her stand out. Nothing that requires her to wear heels. She could be coerced into maybe wearing a jumpsuit, depending on who asks lol.

When on missions: Just....a less baggy version of her work clothes honestly. Baggy overshirts get switched for leather jackets for more protection, and her comfortable work shoes get switched to combat boots.

Who I’m tagging: I know @peggycaarters & @pippii-punkstockings both have detectives, so I’m tagging them, but anybody else that sees this that hasn’t done it yet is welcome to consider themselves tagged! Just tag me so I can see it I love seeing everybody’s detectives 💙

#Abby Brùn #my anxious giant gets her debut post on my blog lol #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc detective

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thecryptidenthusiast · 3 years

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who will be there for you when you fall apart

Pairing: Nate Sewell/Abby Brùn (non-detective OC)

Rating: T?

Wordcount: 2814

Summary: A solo mission Nate is sent on goes south, and Abby takes it upon herself to take care of him (also known as, I wanted to write soft content for these two)

Four weeks.

An entire month, since Abby had last seen Nate. He’d been sent out of the country for a mission that was only supposed to be two weeks, at most. A mission that, apparently, outranked her clearance level to know any specifics about. He was somewhere in Europe, and he was needed for negotiations, research, and translations, is all she’d been told.

A month. And she’d only heard from him a handful of times. Wherever he was, wherever he’d been sent, was isolated enough that cell services were spotty. Everything about this mission made her antsy - anxiously pacing, checking her phone. Checking with the others. It was weeks of being trapped in a whirlwind of worry, unable to do much else besides think about him.

What if he got hurt? He’d been sent with other agents, a different group. This was supposed to be simple -not a month, only two weeks at most- and they didn’t want to leave Wayhaven unprotected. To leave Maeve and Abby unguarded, not with the Trappers bounties looming over them.

Nate is strong. Smart. Capable. She knows this. And yet, knowing that did nothing to quell the fear.

Then, the few and far between messages stopped entirely by the end of the third week.

The silence wore on them all, putting the rest of them on edge. Farah did her best to keep a brave face, to smile and lighten the room whenever possible, but it was obvious she was putting on a face for them. Her own worries, and the worries of everyone else, weighed heavy in her eyes whenever she thought no one was looking.

Morgan’s temper was short - shorter than usual, even with Maeve by her side. A piece of her family was missing, and the stress was wearing on her. More time on the roof, more cigarettes just to keep her hands busy.

Ava was stony, stoic in a way they had never seen her. Either making calls -to Rebecca, to other agents, to anyone that could give them answers- or destroying training dummies in the gym.

It’s Rebecca that finally calls them all into the common room, to fill them in. When Abby felt as if the ground had tilted beneath her feet.

‘The mission...failed. The treaty fell through. No information on what set the group off. There were some casualties. Nate was hurt, but he’s recovering and set to be on a plane back.’

There were casualties

Nate was

Hurt.

Abby didn’t sleep for a full 24 hours after the meeting.

The others checked in -quiet, careful around her. None tried to make any sort of conversation, aware that she was too lost to give more than one-worded answers.

(Farah gave her sad smiles. Hugs and quiet promises of ‘he’s okay’ and ‘we’ll be alright’)

She wished they worked. She wished the reassurances eased her worries.

She’s in his room when he finally comes home, late into the evening. She’d taken to staying in his rather than her own - being surrounded by pieces of him provided at least a small bit of comfort. Made the loneliness a little less all-consuming.

He comes to her like a ghost.

She stands from her seat at the desk as soon as the door opens - she’d been trying to read, trying to give herself something to focus on besides the clock hands that didn’t seem to be moving fast enough, waiting for him to come back.

He looks - two dimensional. There but not, almost terrifyingly hollow. His hair is a mess, clothes wrinkled, clearly the same ones he’d been wearing for some time now.

He looks exhausted, worn too thin. Her heart aches at the sight.

Still, she hovers where she’s standing, almost too afraid to approach him. As if, by breaking the silence of the room, he’d vanish into thin air.

Dropping the bag slung over his shoulder with a dull thud, his eyes finally focus a little, finally coming to the here and now, and he smiles at her -(it’s a strained gesture, too heavy to be genuine, something for her sake rather than his). His voice is airy, a whisper nearly lost in the space between them. “Hello.”

With the trance now broken, she’s across the room in just a few strides. Throwing her arms around his neck with a shaky laugh, it’s less of a hug and more of her just crashing into him; she tries, tries to be mindful of how unsteady he seems, how he sways on the spot, but the urge to hold onto him and never let go is overwhelming. “Nate,” She tests his name, sighs it into his shoulder, as if seeing if this was all real. He’s hugging her back with just as much force, as if he’s trying to lose himself in her. “I was so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” His voice is muffled, head tucked into her neck. He sounds so small, fragile and uneven. Splinters - spiderweb cracks in glass, and she’s terrified he’s close to shattering.

“Don’t be,” She draws back, just far enough to be able to look at him, only as far as either of them are willing to be apart. Runs her hands up his sides, along his shoulders, finally coming up to cup his cheeks. Her eyes sting, but she does her best to will the tears away, instead trying to focus entirely on him. Him, alive and here again. Reaching up, she brushes his hair from his face, watching as his eyes flutter closed, leaning into the touch. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Nate signs then, breathing heavily through his nose. He doesn’t open his eyes, and she doesn’t push him to. Not when she can see how clenched his jaw is, or the way his brows are pinched. Heavy thoughts are hanging over him like storm clouds, threatening to drag him under.

One hand still holding his hair away, she brushes a thumb along the deep wrinkle between his brows, a small effort to try and smooth it. “Let me help,” She whispers, tracing his cheek, his jaw. Safe, he’s safe. Running through her mental checklist of what she can do, what needs to be done. “Let me take care of you.”

With his hand in hers, she guides him towards his bathroom.

She flips the light on, keeping the dimmer as low as possible, more for the sake of his eyes than her own, before letting go and heading towards the bathtub. She’d teased him once about his, in her opinion, overly extravagant bathtub. Something large, old-styled - a claw-footed tub she hated thinking about how awful it must’ve been hauling into the Warehouse. But now, as she’s turning the water on and getting the temperature right, she’s grateful for it.

As the tub begins to fill, she turns to find Nate still standing where she’d left him. He’s unfocused again, eyes miles away, drifting off. She takes deliberately careful steps until she’s in front of him, giving him a gentle smile. With the better lighting in the bathroom, she can see just how exhausted he really looks now - dark circles under his eyes, looking almost like heavy bruises. She knew he didn’t need to sleep much, but also knew it wasn’t good for him to go days without it.

Taking a hold of the edges of his jacket, she tugs lightly to get his attention. “May I?” He blinks, before finally nodding.

They’re quiet as she helps him undress, the only sounds in the room the running water and their own breaths. It’s comfortably intimate, carefully peeling the layers away, folding them and setting them on the nearby counter with care. They’d need to be washed, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Nate, and his lost expression, is her only focus right now.

Bare from the waist up, her hands wander again. It’s more out of habit and for her own peace of mind -he’s really, truly home- than anything else. It’s during this impromptu check-over that she sees the bruises mottling his right side, terrifyingly dark even in the low light of the bathroom.

“Nate.” The air feels knocked from her lungs, his name a rushed whisper. She traces the yellowing edges with a featherlight touch, trying to see how far it went.

He takes her hand, dropping it limply to his side. “It’s alright. It’s healing.” He’s tense, in voice and posture now, clearly ending the conversation before it can start. Again, she doesn’t push any further. She doesn’t - can’t dwell on the thought of what caused such a wound. That with his healing ability, for the bruise to still be so visible, points to the fact that his ribs had likely been broken at one point. If she dwells on that, the sting in her eyes and the lump in her throat gets harder to push aside. So, she brings herself back to the now. He’s here, and he needs her.

She only leaves him when she realizes the tub is nearing full, going to turn the tap off while he finishes undressing. He just kicks the rest of his clothes off to the side, clearly not having the energy to deal with them.

“Go ahead, the water should be fine.” She whispers, touching his arm as she passes, grabbing his jeans and folding them for him as he goes and gets in the tub. He’s still tense, hands curling and gripping the edge of the tub, even as she comes over and settles on her knees behind where he’s leaning.

She’s gently gathering up his hair when he finally breaks the silence that had fallen over them again, quiet and tired. “You don’t need to do all this, love.”

“I know,” And she does. She knows she doesn’t have to dote over him like this, “I want to though, as long as you’re okay with it. I can- I’ll leave, if you want me to.” She’d understand if he didn’t want her there, if he wanted space right now. It wouldn’t be easy, but she wouldn’t impose on him.

“Don’t,” His answer is rushed, almost panicked, and her chest aches. “Please, don’t go.”

So, she doesn’t. She shuffles around, grabbing what she’d need - his hairbrush, first. Something wooden with boar’s hair bristles, heavy and expensive and entirely him. Slowly, gently, she starts to work it through his hair. It’s long, longer than the last time she’d seen him, and it’s an almost unruly mess of knots and curls. He’d not been dealing with it while he was away, probably just tying it up again and again to keep it out of his face. She tries to be careful, working from the ends up, she does what she can to keep from tugging too hard, and any tug is followed by a soft apology and a kiss to the top of his head.

After she’s done and she can brush her fingers through it without snagging, she’s shuffling around again to gather his hair products. Multiple steps, all expensive, and some with labels she doesn’t understand. Another habit of his she’d lovingly teased him about. She’d called it all excessive, at one point, when he managed to talk her into allowing him to wash her hair with his own products. It was a long standing battle between them: she thought anything beyond a single step was too much effort, and he hated her cheap shampoo that she kept filling with water to get as much use out of as possible - a battle she lost, since her own shampoo had mysteriously vanished from his shower when she left it there.

Still, while she might not understand all the labels, she knew the routine, unintentionally memorizing it. Just as she knew how he preferred his tea, and he knew how she took her coffee. A little piece of him she carried in her mind.

Actually washing his hair is a slower process now, seeing as there’s so much of it to deal with. The quiet blanket over the room interrupted only by soft requests, ‘lean up’ and ‘tilt your head back for me’. Working the shampoo through, her fingers rub his scalp, earning a quiet hum from him that has her smiling. Conditioner is after, then an oil that leaves her hands slick and smelling of something almost like cinnamon.

It isn’t until the oil is left to sit that she scoots over, moving into his line of sight, resting her chin on the lip of the tub. He’s watching her, expression hard to read in the dim light.

“Hello.” His voice is a low mumble, not as strained but still so tired. She smiles, idly trailing her fingers down his cheek.

“Hey.”

“Thank you, habibi. You didn’t have to go through all this,” She thinks there’s a tug of guilt in his voice, even though he’s smiling -a weak, shadow of one, but a real smile nonetheless. “I don’t mean to have you fretting over me.”

“You do enough fretting for the both of us, it’s only fair I get to take care of you every once in a while.” Her teasing earns her a soft laugh, gentle kisses to the tips of her fingers, still settled on his cheek. She doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to break the bubble of comfort over them, but worry still weighs heavily on her mind. “Do you...want to talk about it?”

He sighs, shaking his head before taking her hand in his own wet one. “I don’t.” Intertwines their fingers, pressing a kiss to each of her knuckles. He’s deflecting, she recognizes the pattern now. Avoids subjects he doesn’t want to dwell on with affection. It doesn’t ease her worry, but she doesn’t push him, certain that he’ll open up when he feels comfortable.

(It will eat at her until then, she also knows this. Her Nate, with his bleeding heart and a penchant to want to help everyone. Whatever happened will loom, following him like a shadow - whatever loss and death he saw will not leave him, and all she can do is hope he’ll share the burden with her some day)

Instead, she just uses her free hand to trace the gentle slope of his nose. Down, up, and down again, until he’s scrunching his face and smiling again, until she’s smiling too. “Let’s get your hair rinsed.”

This is faster than washing had been - it only takes a few minutes to rinse the rest of the product from his hair, and after she grabs a few towels for him, leaving him to dry off.

Getting ready to lay down is a familiar routine, a comfortable song and dance for them by now. A single set of his pajamas: the pants for him, the shirt for her to steal. Their rhythm is only interrupted by the quiet exchange of words, stolen kisses. Neither drifting far from the other for long, being drawn together once more.

(She offers to help with his hair for the night, tie it up somehow so it won’t bother him, but he turns her down with another kiss, a murmur of ‘I’d rather just rest’)

In bed, she draws him to her without a word, and he gladly takes his place at her side (a place that had been too empty for too long). With his head on her chest and his arms around her, they become a comfortable tangle of limbs. She’s hugging him, probably a little tighter than necessary -he’s home and safe and her’s once more- running her fingers through his still-damp hair.

Almost immediately, any lingering tension drains from him, relaxing in her hold. His voice is low, already getting heavier, and she knows her concerns about his lack of sleep were valid ones. “I love you,” She feels him grip her shirt, as if to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere, “Thank you, again, for...everything.”

She wants to promise that she isn’t going anywhere. That he’s safe, that she’ll be here to chase any night terrors away. That she won’t let him go. But the words don’t come, because she can’t make those promises, not truly, no matter how much she wishes she could. The nightmares will still come, she can only be there for comfort after the fact - the balm to an ache he won’t share with her. She can’t promise to never let him go, just as he can’t make that promise to her, not with the lives they lead.

So, instead she settles for pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too,” Another kiss, as close to his forehead as she can manage with their position, “Sleep, a chuisle.”

It isn’t long before his breathing is steady and slow, leaving her to silently watch the ceiling well into the rest of the night.

#nate sewell #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #n sewell #otp: gentle giants #this is...dumb i just wanted soft content. i apologize lol #this also has a spicy follow up in the works already because my brain just wandered apparently #but we’ll see if that gets finished #my writing #Abby Brùn

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thecryptidenthusiast · 3 years

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Hi yes, I’m still on my bs with this ‘Abby’s single one night stand ended up being Nate’ thing so. Whoops

She feels like she’s been dropped in a whirlwind, off-balanced and entirely out of her element, the only thing keeping her steady is the vice grip she has on his jacket, and the hold he has on her hips. They haven’t moved, still just slightly swaying on the spot, trapped in one another’s spaces, close enough that all she feels is his warmth and all she can smell is that sharp, expensive cologne he’s wearing. He’s waiting - for more confirmation, for her to move, to take the first step into whatever is happening and it’s all-

Exhilarating. Overwhelming. Terrifying.

With the only light in the room being the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, she can barely see his face now, even as pressed together as they are. She thinks she catches the shadow of a smile, and imagines that glimmer in his eyes she’d seen before.

What the hell has gotten into her?

As if sensing her loss, he tilts his head, closing in just enough to press his lips to her cheek. Tender and warm, and her breath hitches at the gesture. “We can still stop.” He offers again, breath hot against her face. He smells like nature, and cologne, and whiskey, and she feels like her head is spinning. It’s the same offer he’d made outside the room. The same check-in. “This goes only as far as you wish it too. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Her heart feels trapped in her throat, threatens to choke her, pulse ringing in her ears. Excitement and adrenaline and want. She- should want this. She does. This is what she’d been looking for, right? A night with no strings, a night to feel something on the one day a year she feels utterly and entirely alone.

And yet, she feels entirely tied up. Caught in strings and nets of something that doesn’t make sense. She shouldn’t feel these kinds of tugs, she shouldn’t feel as if her head and heart are in the clouds. He’s- no one, just as she’s nobody to him. But here’s this stranger, with his soft smiles and warm brown eyes, making her feel more than she’s ever felt. Making her feel safe.

She’s reeling again, like she’s lost.

(No. Not lost. It’s as if she’d been lost before tonight. Wandering aimlessly towards some unknown. Like all along she was meant to be pulled into his orbit.

As if they were always meant to meet)

Hoping to bypass actual words, because she can’t find the right ones and she doesn’t trust her own voice, she moves to kiss him. Something warm and tender, completely unlike the frantic ones they’d shared in the hall, but her hand rests on the back of his neck, inching into his hair. Nervous, edging into more, but he breaks away before she gets the chance. He doesn’t go far, nudging his nose against hers.

It’s strange, and intimate, and her heart skips a beat.

“I would like to hear the words, if that’s alright with you.” His forehead against hers, she doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s smiling, enjoying the teasing, just like she doesn’t need a mirror to know she’s blushing all the way to the tips of her ears. “I want to hear you. To hear that you want this.”

“I do.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Another kiss. She’s shaking and unsteady, and all she’s sure of is how much she wants to feel his lips again. “Nate, please. I want this.”

#nate sewell #Abby Brùn #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #my writing #twc writing wip #I’m so Invested in This Idea alsksldk #just 😚👌 perfect amount of drama

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thecryptidenthusiast · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday!

Thank you for the tags @elmshore and @forestcreatures!! I appreciate it!! I don’t really have anything exciting to share, but here’s some of the fallout from that ‘Murphy Fic’ ive been messing around with.

Tagging whoever sees this!

Nate won’t look at her.

He’s still sitting in the chair beside her bed, head hung, shoulders bunched around his ears. He hasn’t looked up from the floor since she woke up.

The silence in the room -interrupted only by the rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor- is stifling. She won’t look at him either, but she doesn’t need to see him to know he’s angry. It practically rolls off of him in waves, quietly brewing to a breaking point but no less intense.

Would it be better if he yelled? Stormed out? Anything, anything has to be better than the bitter silent treatment he’s giving her.

It’s funny, really. All these years they’ve been together, and she’s only seen him lose his temper a handful of times. It’s always buried so deep, tucked away behind carefully managed composure and smiles. He always wants to talk and keep a level head.

All this time, and she’s never been on the receiving end of his anger.

It hurts. But she expected this. This was her choice - a bed she made, now she has to lie in it.

And she doesn’t regret it.

(Maybe, maybe that’s a lie - she regrets hurting him. Going behind his back. Lying, betraying his trust. The trust of the team.

If she could’ve done this without collateral damage, she would have. But that wasn’t an option)

“I wish,” He whispers, voice cracked and broken. She looks at the ceiling so she doesn’t have to see him crumble before her. “I wish you’d care about yourself -your own well-being- as much as I do.”

Why do I have to care enough for the both of us, she’s sure he wants to say. Why can’t you be easier to handle? Why can’t you stay safe?

#my writing #abby brùn #twc snippet #not super exciting I’ve been in a Funk #and my writing has suffered but I wanted to try posting something alskdk #twc #otp: gentle giants #but yeah - Abby goes on her suicide mission #doesn’t die #and is like oh? consequences to my actions?

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thecryptidenthusiast · 3 years

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Hey Abby! Talk to me about Nate's teeth! (Do I remember that wonderful 'sharp' prompt you wrote way back when YEA)

She frowns a little as her brows furrow, oblivious to the sudden grins on Farah and Morgan’s faces. “Uh, they’re- they’re nice? Some kind of supernatural prerequisite, I think. Gives them like, perfect teeth, I mean-“

“I don’t think that’s what they meant, Abby.” Morgan cuts her off with a scoff.

She blinks then, glancing around at the others in the room. Morgan is still smirking from her spot against the wall. Farah’s propped herself up onto her knees in her seat, practically hanging off the edge with an excited gleam in her eyes. Beside her on the couch, Nate is trying - and failing miserably - to seem as if he isn’t listening, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh. Oh.” Realization sets in - her eyes widen a little, a flush of heat rising on her cheeks. “You mean..”

Farah’s just about vibrating in her seat now. She speaks in a sing-song voice, “Yeah Abs, talk about Natey’s fangs.”

“Right. Okay.” The blush on her face just gets worse as she shifts in her seat, “They- Theyre nice too.”

Farah’s grin only widens, eyes glimmering, “‘Nice?’ Is that all?”

“Farah, just leave her alone.” Nate tries to intervene for her sake, but Farah won’t be deterred.

“What? She’s bright red and her heart sounds like it’s going to beat out of her chest.” She shrugs, “I think she should just elaborate, that’s all.”

Abby throws her hands up. “I don’t know what to say! I like them. Nate doesn’t. I’ve only- I mean I’ve only seen them a few times.”

“Like when they’re f-“

“Morgan!” Chaos erupts as the vampires talk loudly between one another - Morgan, nonchalantly shrugging off the comments while Nate looks mortified for the both of them. Farah continues to interject, goading them further.

While the rest are distracted and the attention is off of her, Abby scoots forward to be heard over the commotion. “They don’t bother him as much as they used to - he doesn’t try to hide them from me anymore at least.” She smiles then, something small but playful, “They’re....impressive, too. When he’s, you know- hair down, disheveled, fangs out, it’s definitely a good look.”

Ask my OCs a question!

#alskdldld thank you so much for this bunny #filling this out made me laugh #Abby: confused at first but definitely trying to be respectful and not Weird #Farah and Morgan loudly: Tell Them About Your Fang Kink #Nate Sewell #Abby Brùn #twc #ask #my writing #evilbunnyking

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thecryptidenthusiast · 3 years

Note

abby and nate + "deep into the night, eyes closing, heart swollen with my loving for you, a solid embrace, kind face, and then the hurt starts leaving the room" from a closeness by dermot kennedy!

!!! Thank you for the ask!!!

30-minute ficlets (accepting!)

Pairing: Abby/Nate

Rating: T?

Word Count: 698

There are nights where Nate dreams of the sea.

Nights where he is Nathaniel once more - newly turned, back on the deck of the ship. He is cold; a teeth chattering, aching chill wrapped around him, settling deep in his bones. He’s being whipped by wind and rain, both hurting

When did the rain hurt quite like this?

(He thinks, at first, that he has died. That he is just another dead sailor, lost to the ocean, and that this is some kind of hellish damnation of an afterlife.

It won’t be until he washes up on shore that he wishes that was the case)

It’s these nights that there is screaming, echoing all around him. When there is blood in the air, red staining his face and clothes. The smell is - pungent. Enticing. It hangs in the back of his throat, sits heavy on his tongue. A temptation. One he can’t resist.

It is on nights like tonight when he is lost and alone once more; no longer himself and scared. He is no longer a being he recognizes. There has been an irreversible damage. A change he never asked for, part of him taken —

“Nate!” A voice cuts through the dream, sharp and loud. It startles him awake - yanks him back into reality with enough force that he shoots upright.

There is no ocean. No ship.

He is not lost.

He is - himself. Nate. In his bed, in his home.

And he is not alone.

Abby’s beside him, propped up onto her knees so she can face him fully. Her hair and clothes are tousled from sleep, and part of him wants to apologize for waking her, but the worry shining in her eyes kills the words before he even has the chance to find them. One of her hands settle on his bicep while the other reaches up, gentle as she brushes his sweat-damped hair from his face. He lets his eyes flutter closed, trying to focus on nothing but her. His own hands stay in his lap, flexing, fingers curling - he doesn’t trust himself to reach out and hold her just yet.

Minutes pass before she finally speaks, voice much softer now, as she asks the question he’d been anticipating: “Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s always the same offer on nights such as this. A gentle invitation to share his burdens with her, one she never expects him to accept. He wants to, that much he is certain of. A part of him wants to finally share these painfully raw parts of himself, because that part of him knows he’ll be met with nothing but understanding. With care and love, because that’s all she ever gives him.

(But another part of him holds it all back. The side of him that feels cowardly - that wants to shove the memories back into the deepest recesses of his mind where they belong until he can pretend to forget. The part that has him convinced these darker parts of him will scare her away.

And that’s a potential risk he can’t bring himself to face)

“I don’t.” Not now. His voice is rough when he finally finds it, a shaking edge to his words. He looks at her once more - her brows are furrowed, clearly still worried but unwilling to pry. Never wanting to push, still waiting for the day for him to come to her. He reaches out and grasps her sides, tugging gently in a wordless encouragement that she follows so willingly. Straddling his lap, she hooks her arms around his neck as his own arms loop around her waist, pressing her against him. “Just- stay here. Please.”

And she does. One hand rubs his back, idly tracing patterns against his skin, while the other comes to settle on the back of his head. He tucks his face against her shoulder - letting himself drown in the almost overwhelming presence that is her until his nightmare is nothing but a distant memory once more

#twc #Nate Sewell #the wayhaven chronicles #went over the 30 minute mark cleaning this up because I can’t SPELL apparently but!#thank you for this!#kicked me out of my writing funk I’ve been in - it was fun!#also thank you for the song in general I’ve had it on repeat aslkjdsalkj #my writing #Abby Brùn #otp: gentle giants

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thecryptidenthusiast · 3 years

Text

So I decided to try and give the @wayhavenmonthly prompts a go this month! I definitely won’t get to all 28, but hopefully I’ll get a handful done!

Prompt 2: Interruption

Pairing: Nate Sewell/Abby Brùn (non-detective MC)

Rating: M? Spicy...implications, nothing explicit.

Wordcount: 1225

Summary: Abby doesn’t want to deal with a meeting, and decides to try and be a distraction to Nate.

Of all the things Abby has come to learn about Nate, his focus and level of patience were two things that never ceased to amaze her. She’s unsure if these were parts of him he’s always carried, or if they’re skills he’s honed over the many years he’s spent on the earth. Whatever the reason, these were also the skills that helped him thrive as one of the key researchers for the Agency. His love of books and learning certainly helped, but she has witnessed firsthand how easily he loses himself amongst his tomes, hours passing as he scours texts for whatever answer he’s searching for.

An unwavering focus and a seemingly endless level of patience. Both admirable. Both are things she enjoys making difficult.

Distracting him this afternoon had been easier than past attempts - a task always more simple when he’s reading for pleasure and not for work. While her game is a fun one, she is careful to keep from interrupting research. A smile, lingering touches.

(The thrill of knowing she affects him as much as he does her is borderline intoxicating - it’s a surge of enjoyment in itself)

What she hadn’t been expecting was how easily he followed her to one of the darkened corners of the library, the eager way he allowed her to press him back against one of his shelves.

“Abby,” He sighs against her lips, not drawing away or pushing her off, even as his voice carries the familiar tone of disappointment at the looming interruption. “This isn’t-“ The right time for this. A good idea. A dozen possible endings to that statement, none of which are what she wants to hear. She slips her free hand -the one not currently tangled in his hair- under his shirts, tracing the planes of his stomach, cutting him off before he can finish speaking.

She pulls away, just enough to catch her breath, giving him a smile. “Something wrong?” He’s looking at her, eyes flicking across her face - from eyes to lips and back again. Surely he can hear the rapid beating of her heart, the way her breaths are almost rushed now.

He takes a breath, clearly trying to gather some semblance of composure. A task she provides no help in, brushing her hand further up, brushing along his side. “We have a meeting we need to attend.” He stumbles, fighting to find the words. The hand in his hair comes down, brushing along his cheek and his eyes flutter at the soft touch, before she’s pressing her palm along his jaw. Cradling his face, somewhere between tender and possessive.

She wants to say that, chances are, they’re probably already late to said meeting. And said meeting was part of her reasoning to be a nuisance for her boyfriend while he was trying to read. Instead, she tries to assure him, “It’s fine, Maeve’s there. She’ll fill us in.” She taps along his stomach, muscles jumping under her touch. “This is just some check-in thing anyways.”

The look he gives her, even as he shivers under her teasing, is a knowing one. He’s onto her, she’s sure: her desire to avoid seeing Rebecca. Before, it was easy showing up late - blame traffic or work problems. But now that she’s all but living in the Warehouse, she can’t fall back on her regular excuses.

“We’re expected to be there, Abby.” He tries again. Tries to be the logical, responsible one, even as her hand settles just above his pants, as her thumbnail traces along his belt. He swallows, her eyes following the movement, and the breath he takes is shaky. Tempting, too much to pass up, she leans in, pressing a kiss over his pulse.

“Do you want me to stop?” She’s teasing, but there’s an edge of seriousness under the playful demeanor. She would, if he were to say yes - this game only goes as far as he wants it to. And it’s the logical decision he’s trying to push her to: stop, and go to this meeting before running the risk of someone coming to find them.

(Even if ending here and now would feel like a terrible loss)

His grip on her hips tightening is the only warning she gets before her world blurs. Suddenly spun around, she’s crowded back against the shelf, knocking a gasp from her as she scrambles to grip his shoulders to steady herself.

She manages to laugh, even as the near-black look in his eyes has excitement skating up her spine. “I’ll take that as a no?”

Her answer comes as a kiss, borderline scalding and stealing the air from her lungs. The energy between them shifts - what had been playful and warm becomes electric, something heavy. Hands wander, rucking shirts up, exposing skin to the cool air of the library. She’s blindly tugging at his belt as he’s cupping her breast in one large palm. His mouth trails down, down, finding that spot under her jaw that has her head spinning, repeating his name like a prayer.

She hooks a leg at his hip, a vain attempt to drag him closer, closer, never close enough, and he grabs her thigh, holds her with ease. “Abby…” he groans her name, breath hot on her neck. His hips jerk, and she can feel the hard press of him through the fabric-

“Natey! Abs!” The door to the library being thrown open, and Farah’s loud yelling, shatters the moment. She startles at the sudden crash, Nate’s hold on her the only thing keeping her steady. Even though they’re well out of sight, tucked too far amongst the shelves, Nate shifts to provide her cover. “I’m sure you guys are having fun in here, but Agent Brùn says you need to get to the common room!”

“We’ll be-“ He has to stop to clear his throat, trying to hide the obvious rasp in his voice. Abby’s shaking, barely containing her quiet laughter at the absurdity of it all, and even he’s struggling to keep a smile from tugging at his lips. “We’ll be right there, thank you.”

The door closes with another loud bang, and Farah’s laughter can be heard all the way down the hallway.

“Well. I guess that’s that.” She grins as they derange from one another, adjusting their clothes to put everything back into place. Her own shirts and jacket are easy enough to put back, and while he’s tucking his shirt back in she reaches up to smooth the mess she made of his hair. “No playing hooky this time.”

“I suppose not. At least it was Farah that came to find us and not your- Rebecca.” She snorts at that thought. She was a regular disappointment to Rebecca, having her catch them in a position like that would just be the cherry on top.

“Farah would’ve loved that more than finding us herself.” They’re both presentable enough now. Nate’s hair is still a bit of a mess, and there are definitely wrinkles in their shirts, but it’ll have to do.

Nate catches her hand as she goes to step away, bringing it back up to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Though, the sooner we go, the sooner we can pick this back up somewhere more...suitable.”

She shivers at that, flashing him a grin. “I’m going to hold you to that, Agent Sewell.”

#28dateswithunitbravo #nate sewell #abby brùn #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #I’m sorry for this aldalkasdlk #I’m trying to get back into writing after lapsing for awhile #is this good? no #but it’s here anyways aslkjdsalkj #posting with like 12 mins to spare lmao #my writing #otp: gentle giants #N

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