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thee-morrigan · 11 months

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what happens after you?

the wayhaven chronicles // nate sewell x holland townsend (f!detective) // rated E bc smut (with feelings! and so much eye contact!) // ~4.7k words // cw: mild body horror in the intro (concerning the skeletal mechanics of becoming a vampire)

Well, sex with your vampire boyfriend is one way to distract yourself from a nightmare about turning into one yourself, I guess.

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Two hundred and six.

There are two hundred and six bones in her body, and all of them are breaking, each one beginning to remake itself before the break is even fully realized.

These are messy, cracking fractures: crush-injury fissures snaking along her ribs, spiderwebbing across her sternum, the irregular cavities of her spine chipping into shrapnel that tears at the soft, friable tissue of the organs that evolution built them to protect.

Two hundred and six pieces of her very foundation, powerless against this too-foreign threat of supernatural seismology. Bones turned to bombs, to just-fired bullets, casing exploding free, all surroundings made collateral damage.

In any other circumstance, she might appreciate the humor in bone growth cells being called osteoblasts.

Most of the joints in the adult human body are considered freely movable. She knows this, tries to remind herself how many of the connection points across her bones are built to stretch, to fall apart and fall back together. Tries to forget those that are considered immovable, like the sutures between the flat bones of her skull, which feels like it is attempting to supersede basic biology in an encore ossification that her body is not meant to handle. Not built to endure.

Tries to remind herself of the extraordinary capacity of bone tissue to remodel itself in response to mechanical stress, but she can’t think, can’t think, can’t think around this devastation and reform. Can hardly breathe through it, as if her ribs have caged the very air in her lungs.

However moveable her joints were meant to be, she does not think they were meant to stretch this feely.

Does not think her bones — her cartilage — her tendons — were supposed to demand space from her in this way, to demand space for themselves that her body would have forfeited sometime around her twentieth birthday. To demand space she doesn’t have, is not supposed to have at this point, cartilage pushing relentlessly through the seams of her, sure as ivy on old buildings.

And just as invasive.

Pushing and pushing and pushing, until there are no words she knows to voice any emotion, let alone the aching roar rending through her bones. No language to give shape to the relentless, gripping pressure squeezing her limbs, holding her down, restraining her, containing her in this body that is not her body—

“Holland.”

If he hadn’t had supernatural reflexes, she might have broken his nose.

Some small part of her subconscious latched onto the sweet sound of his voice like a lifeline and she jerked awake and upright with a strangled cry. She wrenched her body away from the mattress as if she weren’t sure she could, kicking her legs free of the tangle of sheets and duvet before folding herself over her bent knees. She pressed her forehead against her kneecaps and willed her breathing to level out, willed herself to focus on the sensations she felt now, the ones that were real, instead of the ones in her mind.

The stretch of muscle in her shoulders — mild, almost pleasant — as she leaned forward.

The cool pressure of her own fingers against the backs of her ankles, the sharp edges of her fingernails against her skin, and the little half-moon indentations she was undoubtedly leaving there.

The gentle weight of Nate’s hand on her back, smoothing slow lines along her spine, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin cotton of the oversized t-shirt she'd worn to bed. His hands were always so much warmer than hers, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into it, the warmth of that body heat, wonderfully solid and real.

“Are you okay, rouhi?” His voice was a murmur, as soft and gentle as the caress of his hand along her spine.

Holland gave herself one more deep breath to settle the frenetic drumming of her heart. One more breath, and she unclenched her hands from her ankles, easing her shoulders back and turning her head to look at him, cheek resting against her knees.

One hand still rubbing her back, Nate leaned forward and brushed the other over the side of her face, smoothing back the hair that had fallen across it, the pale strands almost silvery in the dim glow of the street lamps and moonlight that filtered through her bedroom windows.

“Yeah,” she rasped, wincing at the dryness in her mouth. And at the worry creasing his face as he watched hers.

Cleared her throat. Tried to clear her mind. “Just bad dreams.”

"So I gathered." His frown deepened, and she had to flick her eyes away from his, from the sadness and concern clouding them.

He traced his thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone, a feather-light graze. She leaned into it, that gentle touch, pressed her cheek against his hand like a stroked cat, her eyes drifting shut as she released another slow breath. Let the sensation ground her, pull her out of the hollow, jangly space in her mind, fragmented with remnants of the nightmare, lightning-quick flashes of slides on a reel. Pull her back out of that dream-body, frozen and breaking, hers and yet not.

"You were screaming," he added, and even with her eyes closed, the thread of worry in his voice burned a bright line through her, wove itself into a burning knot in her chest.

She grimaced and opened her eyes again. At least they'd stayed at her apartment last night instead of the warehouse. Otherwise, she'd have gotten the added bonus of probably alarming all four vampires rather than just the one in her bed.

"Sorry," she said, apology streaking across her face. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

His frown deepened again, briefly, before smoothing into a gentle smile, though it didn't entirely mask the worry in his eyes. "Please don’t apologize. I’d rather you wake me than deal with it alone," he said, running his thumb over her cheek again.

“You are incessantly good to me,” she said, the taut line of her mouth easing a bit as she straightened, shifting closer to nestle her body into his. He wrapped his arms around her, letting her tuck herself against him as he leaned back against the headboard.

"It's very easy to be good to you," he murmured, fingers brushing along the ends of her hair, stroking the back of her neck. "And you deserve nothing less."

Curled up against him like this, Nate’s voice was something she felt as much as she heard. Lulled by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body, Holland felt herself start to relax, the tension in her muscles easing. She let out a contented sigh as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

At this hour — whatever hour it was — it was so easy to let herself drift into this feeling, to cocoon herself in the soothing scent and feel and sound of him, without interrogating it. Without wondering if and how much she should worry about the effect he always seemed to have on her. Whether she relied on it too much.

Without wondering, too, as she sometimes did, whether he realized just how deeply he affected her. The hold he had on her.

His fingers still rubbing gentle circles along the back of her neck, he spoke again, his voice a susurrant rumble against her ear. “Would it help to talk about it?”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I doubt it. I only remember bits and pieces, anyway.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, a warm drop of sunlight.

“You could tell me the bits and pieces,” he said into her hair.

I was the bits and pieces, she thought, though she kept it to herself, swallowing the accompanying bubble of mirthless laughter that threatened. She knew her tendency towards casual irreverence usually tended to make him worry about her more.

Especially if that irreverent commentary happened to be about a nightmare wherein she was fairly confident she had been midway through becoming a vampire herself. Or about to die trying.

Although perhaps that at least answered the question of exactly which part of what he’d said to her all those weeks ago had scared her most. Or at least had latched itself most securely into her brain, where it now shifted and scraped like a stone in her shoe. Which was kind of refreshing, she supposed, if she wanted to be all silver-linings about it.

When you’re my age, I’ll remind you of this conversation.

At the time, she’d been more fixated on a different piece of subtext in his comment: the casual confidence with which he’d seemed to be suggesting —assuming — that they’d still be together, or at the very least still in each other’s lives, after a few hundred years.

As if that were something anyone could possibly know.

Let alone with the degree of certainty usually reserved for statements like, "The sky is blue."

Honestly, she’d given relatively little thought to the other implication in his words that day. At least, not in the context of their relationship. Tried not to think about it in that particular context, actually.

Her humanity. Her mortality.

Later, she knew, she would have to. Later, she would have to think about it — would have to talk about it — in a great many contexts, probably. Would have to face questions whose answers eluded her, ones that she couldn't answer, at least not now.

She hoped they even had answers. Hoped they were ones she could face.

And hoped that, when she did have to face them, those questions, their corresponding answers were better than — were something other than — “I don’t know.”

Her stomach clenched. No, that was not a conversation she was prepared to have right now. Not with him or anyone else.

Herself included.

It was much easier to focus on the steady beat of his heart and the way his fingers moved along her skin, coaxing her into a state of calm.

"Honestly," she said finally, shifting against him as she tilted her face up to look at him. "I'd rather just forget about it."

Nate traced his fingers over her jawline, thumbing her bottom lip free from her teeth, where she’d been worrying it absentmindedly, digging her canines into a corner of her mouth as she thought.

“All right,” he said softly, eyes searching her face, thumb still resting against her lips. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I am always happy to listen if ever you do.”

That burning knot in her chest tightened again at the depth of emotion that simmered in his dark eyes, the open sincerity of his face. Her throat bobbed. She knew he meant it. Knew he'd be just as willing to listen even if he knew what thoughts shaped her nightmares, what fears woke her in the middle of the night.

It was too much. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he made her feel.

She had no idea what to do with it, with everything he made her feel.

She knew one thing, though: she didn't want to let it go.

She reached up to trace the curve of his jaw, her fingers trailing down his neck as she leaned forward to brush her mouth against his.

It was slow at first: gentle, indolent, as if they were savoring the taste of each other, and she let herself sink into the warmth of it, the warmth of him, seeping into her skin and settling against her unbroken bones.

They broke apart for a moment and Nate rested his forehead against hers, voice soft as breath against her skin. "Are you sure you're okay?"

No. Maybe. She would be, anyway.

"Yeah." She opened her eyes to meet his, dark with wanting, though not so much that it masked the shimmer of concern. "I'm okay," she murmured.

He searched her eyes for a moment longer before leaning in to kiss her again, more deeply this time, sucking gently at her bottom lip and coaxing a moan from her. He smoothed his hands down the curve of her back, sliding beneath the hem of her t-shirt, tracing the soft skin of her hips, her waist, his fingertips feather-light as they skimmed over her bare skin.

She shivered at his touch, leaning into it, into him, threading her fingers through his hair as she deepened the kiss, pulled him closer. It was always like this with Nate — a slow-motion free fall into something that felt increasingly — dangerously — essential. His hands tightened on her waist, tugging her forward until she was straddling him, bare thighs bracketing his hips, her body flush against his. He rolled his hips up into her and she arched her back, a soft gasp spilling from her lips as he broke the kiss, brushing his lips over the curve of her jaw.

Her fingers trailed down the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine, and he couldn't resist the urge to kiss her again, slow and thorough, savoring the sweetness of her mouth. He'd never had anything like her—had never felt so drawn to someone, so consumed by their presence. It still surprised him, the effect she had on him, the intensity of his feelings for her. He pulled her closer, running his hands over the smooth skin of her thighs, and up along the curves of her hips, hands tightening as she rocked into him, sliding a hand down his chest and tracing lines along the smooth, skin-warm fabric of his shirt, fingers toying with the buttons.

She flicked the top one open as she broke the kiss with a shuddered breath and trailed open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck. Her tongue dipped into the hollow of his throat as she thumbed open the next button and Nate groaned at the gentle scrape of her teeth against his collarbone. By the time she reached the third, her mouth had almost caught up to her hands, a wandering trail of kisses against his chest, his skin like silk against her tongue, a flame against her skin.

He pulled back, releasing her just long enough to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

“So impatient,” she teased, angling forward again and nipping at the soft skin just beneath his ear.

He closed his eyes, skin prickling at the sensation, his hands tightening on her hips as he pulled her flush against him again.

“You have that effect on me,” he replied, the words a warm kiss of uneven breath against her throat as he lowered his mouth to her skin once more.

She laughed even as she arched into him, breath catching at the coaxing, languid kisses he was pressing up the curve of her neck. “I’m just saying,” she breathed, unable to keep the half-smile from her face, her voice, “I’m not the one who was so insistent about enjoying the anticipation. Something about it being ‘delicious’, I think?”

He slid his fingers along her jaw, tipping her face to his as he kissed her again. Again. Again.

“You are delicious,” he murmured against her lips, a soft smile curving his mouth as he pulled back to look at her. "And I intend to savor every inch of you."

The midnight-softness of his voice slid over her like a physical touch, a warm caress across her skin, and she loosed a breath at the warmth that pooled in her, even as she arched a brow at him, another ghost of a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Promises, promises."

He skimmed his hands along her thighs, her hips, as though he were mapping her body by touch, his eyes darkening with an irresistible combination of affection and desire.

“Every promise I make to you, ya rouhi,” he said, his voice low and soft, “I intend to keep.”

His tone itself seemed to be a kind of promise, and Holland felt her breath catch at the weight of it, at the way his eyes held hers with such gentleness and warmth. When he cupped her face, she leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting shut. Nate kissed her again, his lips moving languidly against hers as his hands continued their exploration, sliding under the hem of her shirt to brush against the bare skin of her stomach, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist, and Holland shivered.

He pressed a line of kisses down to the base of her throat, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse against his mouth as he nosed at the collar of her shirt and pushed it aside, baring her shoulder to his lips. She shivered again at the gentle scrape of his teeth over the delicate skin of her collarbone, and the sound that slipped from her was as much from actual sensation as it was from how careful his mouth was against her skin, how gentle every part of him always was with her.

He tugged at the hem of her shirt and she pulled — reluctantly — away from his mouth, lifting her arms and letting him pull the fabric over her head.

For a long moment, he simply looked at her, bare skin wreathed in shadow and the streaks of moonlight that filtered past her curtains. The bruised, haunted expression she'd woken up with had faded, those green eyes no longer darkened by whatever stalked her nightmares but with something else entirely, a heady melange of lust and affection and a flicker of something else, there and gone before he could name it.

On Nate’s face, Holland saw something like reverence.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, brushing a hand along the curve of her shoulder and down the length of her arm, curling his fingers around hers. "Do you have any idea how much I want you?"

Her mouth twitched into a smile as a breath of a laugh escaped her, even as heat bloomed across her cheeks. “I might have some idea,” she said, leaning in to kiss him again with an emphatic little roll of her hips against him. “But I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to remind me.”

Nate groaned, his arm curling around her waist as he deepened the kiss, his other hand tracing the line of her spine, and shifted, sliding her off his lap and onto the bed. He lingered above her for a moment, drinking in the sight of her once more before pressing a kiss to her forehead, her nose, then finally her lips. It was a slow, indulgent thing that had Holland’s eyes fluttering closed, fingers curling in the hair at his nape as he deepened the kiss. He kissed his way down her neck, lower, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin, nibbling and sucking and stroking until she was aching and pliant beneath him.

His hands roamed over her body with excruciating gentleness, fingers tracing every curve and dip, every inch of skin that was bared to him. And when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her underwear, thumbs tracing indolent circles around her hip bone as he eased the garment down, she arched against him, hips lifting in a wordless plea for more. His mouth was on her neck again when Holland felt his hand slide back up her thigh, tracing the curve of her hip before moving inward, fingertips ghosting along the crease of her hip, the tops of her thighs.

And then, finally, brushing a knuckle, once, against her, light as breath.

Light as the breath against her ear as he purred, “Are you always this wet for me?”

She swore, her own breath snagging in her throat, eyes fluttering closed. Another light brush of fingertips had her hips tilting into his hand, chasing that sensation, and he made a low, pleased sound against her neck. Yes, her body seemed to answer for her; yes, always.

Nate's lips curved against her skin as his hand skated higher, another quick, teasing brush, followed by a slow, deliberate circle that had her hissing another curse as she arched against him, hips canting into the touch of his hand.

“I hope so,” he murmured, lips brushing against the shell of her ear with a breath of a laugh as she shivered.

Oh, he was entirely too pleased with himself, she thought, even as her hips shifted again, seeking more, more.

"Nate," she groaned, hands gripping his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin, scoring it with little half-moon scratches that would no doubt have healed by the time she moved her hands.

"Look at me," he whispered, voice low and honeyed.

She opened her eyes, and the look in his, the expression on his face, had her breath catching in her throat, hips rolling against his hand once more.

"I love watching you like this, Holland," he said, the words soft, "Seeing the way you react to me. It's intoxicating."

The way he said her name made her feel as though her blood had been replaced with something electric, a thrumming undercurrent that sparked along her nerve endings.

He dipped his head to kiss her again, slow and thorough, and her entire body seemed to melt into his. He brushed his thumb against her, fingers slipping inside her with a slow, deliberate stroke, and the world became three things: his hands on her body, his mouth against her skin, and his voice in her ears, low and sweet and utterly, utterly indecent.

He pressed his mouth to the base of her throat, his fingers continuing their gentle rhythm as he kissed a path along the curve of her neck, pressing a litany of praises and endearments onto her skin, the murmured words soft and tangible as a caress.

Holland felt her cheeks flush with pleasure at his words, his touch, and her body sang with it as he moved lower still, mouth tracing a slow, winding path down her body, tracing every curve, every hollow, until he finally (finally) pressed his mouth to her slick heat with a soft groan that she felt as much as heard. His hands moved to her hips, holding her in place as he tasted her, each slow, languid movement sending another series of sparks through her veins.

"You taste so good," he murmured, the words a low, intimate hum against her skin.

She bit her lip against a moan and pressed closer, tiny, crackling starbursts of pleasure streaking through her with each slow movement of his tongue. Holland's fingers curled in his hair as he moved against her, her back arching as he found a rhythm that had her breath stuttering.

"Please," she breathed, the word barely more than a whimper as her entire body tightened, a steady, thrumming tension urging her ever closer to that sweet, shimmering edge. "Nate. "

She felt the curve of his mouth against her and knew without looking that his expression would probably be, among other things, almost annoyingly self-satisfied. But she flicked her gaze to him, anyway, found his already on her, and forgot to even consider whether she’d been right about his expression. Because, self-satisfied or not, the look on his face as her eyes met his — the intensity of it — had every last thought eddying from her mind.

Nate kept his eyes on her as she came apart under his mouth, moaning something unintelligible against her skin as every nerve in her body incandesced into pure starlight.

He held her through it, mouthing gentle kisses against her before brushing a light kiss against her inner thigh and easing his grasp on her hips. Pulling away just long enough to discard his pants, that silken fabric the last barrier between them, Nate moved back up her body, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck, then her mouth, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her.

She could taste herself on his lips, and the thought of it — of him — had her wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer, closer, and still not nearly close enough. She was still reeling, still warm and weak and more than a little drunk on the way he made her feel, and she wanted him closer, wanted to hold him and feel him and taste him, wanted more, more, more.

He held her gaze as he slid inside her, his eyes dark and wide and utterly focused on her, like she was the center of the world, like she was everything.

He was everything, she thought as she gripped his shoulders, fingers curling against his skin. She had never wanted anyone, never wanted anything, like she wanted him.

He kissed her again as he thrust deeper into her, his mouth moving against hers with a soft, broken sound that had her arching up against him. He held her close, his hands gentle on her skin, as he moved against her.

"You feel exquisite," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple, her cheek, her jaw, her ear, her mouth.

She held his face in her hands, fingers drifting along his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the back of his neck, and he pressed his forehead to hers, eyes half-lidded and dark, breath warm and uneven against her face.

The look in his eyes — god, the way he looked at her —

She couldn't get enough of it, the way he looked at her.

Couldn't get enough of him, either.

He looked at her like he was the one coming apart, and the thought of that, the image of it, had her tightening her hold on him, hands moving to his shoulders as he pressed deeper still, harder. Deeper, her body arching into his, that look in his eyes like something she wanted to bottle up and keep, the way it so perfectly mirrored the way she felt, in this moment and in so very many before now, warm and soft and full of something fierce and bright —

She was the one who was unraveling.

Holland kissed him again, hard, and pulled him closer, kissing him until she was dizzy, until she was breathless, until she was utterly unmoored.

His hands on her face, his voice against her skin, his body moving against hers, within hers. Holland let her eyes flutter closed, her breathing ragged, her body arching up against his as she met him stroke for stroke.

There was nothing but Nate, nothing but the sound of his breath, the feel of his skin, the taste of his mouth. The way he moved inside her, the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he kissed her —

He kissed her each time she whispered his name. He kissed her when she came, the sounds he made low and raw against her skin as he followed, her name on his lips, his hand buried in her hair, his voice a broken whisper against her skin.

He kissed her like he never wanted to let her go.

And when Holland opened her eyes and saw him, that look in his eyes, that look like he could never get enough of her, she was the one who could not bear to let go.

—

“Sweeter dreams this time, rouhi,” he murmured against her shoulder, pressing a drowsy kiss there as he settled against her, curling around her as if he was already half-asleep.

“Mm.” She hummed in assent and pressed in closer against him, squeezing the arm he’d wrapped around her waist.

She didn’t yet know how to tell him he was all of her sweetest dreams. Hadn’t yet figured out how to take a full breath around the enormity of that feeling.

Even if what he was — what she wasn’t — had begun to haunt some of those dreams, too.

#this fic brought to u in part by the time i tried to wake my partner up from a nightmare and he kicked me in the shin #(in his defense he thought i was a zombie)#katie writes things #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #nate x detective #ship: your entire heart #oc: holland townsend #nsft

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