Here we are with our final piece in the series~ We’re so happy to be able to share it with you! Mason seems to be fully embracing the frog onesie, don’t you think? We’d like to thank @miolumie-arts for lending us her wonderful talent for this!
Here are all pieces we shared throughout the month! We hope you love all of Unit Bravo’s costumes just as much as we do! And once more we’d like to thank all of the wonderfully talented the artists who brought these to life ~
Summary: mason thinks about mia at the town’s florist.
rating:T
warning:i think there’s like…one swear word.
word count: ~1.7k
note: lol ok since i flopped at getting mason x mia done for the hotwayhaven event…. i have been waiting to write this for a while and the amazing event organisers at @wayhavensummer finally gave me the excuse I was waiting for to fully indulge in this. thanks for hosting and putting in all the great work!! This is for Aug. 18 - Flowers.
–
They remind him of her.
Large and dangling free from her ears; brightly painted papier-mâché “monstrosities”.
That’s the word he’d used to describe them, making no effort to mask his distaste.
Instead, Mia smiled widely in response, reaching up to touch one at its faux-stalks. It stopped that distracting swing, back and forth with every slight movement of her head. Chuckling, and pride lifting her cheery tone, she told Mason she made them herself.
Lemony-yellow, mossy-green, the burnt-chestnut centre.
All crammed together outside of the tiny flower shop. Dozens upon dozens of them staring back at him; yellower under the blaze of the mid-August sun.
A makeshift sign stuffed among the mass of summer-ripe bouquets reads: “TOP QUALITY. Giant Sunnys £14 per bunch”.
Mason is just looking.
He tells himself there’s no harm in just looking.
And anyway, they’re hard to miss under the hot sun. It’s not his fault they’re in the way of his usual patrol route. Quite literally.
Bundles and bundles of large sunflowers, taking up the pavement. Usually, grey and cracked, now overrun with the sight of them. The florist’s quaint store looks like a child’s plaything next to the dramatic assortment.
He has to blink, thinking the sunshine and its heat has started playing tricks on him. It’s almost as if they multiply; little suns with their earthly centres, drawing him closer.
From the moment he rounded the corner to the main square, he never stood a chance against the brilliance of them.
Mason should have kept moving. He doesn’t have time for this— to stop mid-patrol, to idle in front of flowers.
But they remind him of her.
Not just of the — and his lip curls at the memory — weird handmade jewellery.
(A set for every occasion.
Cakes and candles for colleagues’ birthdays, candy canes for Christmas, glittery hearts the size of her fists for Valentine’s Day. Tiny pieces of reflective plastic shedding onto her delicate neck).
They remind him of the sunshiney smiles. The ones she so easily tosses his way, like they’re never any work, like they could never go to waste. Always patient, always bright, always…happy.
And as he glares down at them, he realises they don’t offend him. The observation renders him sceptical, partly convincing himself he’s stopped to figure out why he hasn’t felt repulsed at the overwhelming powdery aroma.
It’s not floral. No. Instead, it reminds him of…reminds him of… Mason racks his brain and frowns accusingly at the vivid flowers opened up at him.
Mason reaches for one, fingers wrapping around its surprisingly sturdy stalk.
He’s still just looking. He just— he just needs to get a closer whiff to figure this out.
Honey. That’s what it is.
Mason’s frown deepens at the realisation. His grip on the flower shifts, the skin of his palm uncomfortable against the fuzzy stem.
Bright and honey-sweet.
(There’s that memory of her kiss, soft and saccharine as powdered-sugar; should make his teeth hurt.)
The crown of gold petals distracts him, fills him with a warm something that he’s more desperate than annoyed to figure out. He can’t place it, can’t place it, can’t place it— wants to know it.
Maybe it’s the frustration of chasing after the unnamable thing that makes him forget the purpose of stopping, the reason why he plucked the flower to begin with.
…so distracted he doesn’t hear when the round-cheeked vendor pops their head outside of the shop, all smiles that he feels nothing for (not her like smiles, though. Nothing like her smiles).
They mention the weather and ask if they can be of any help, but Mason’s attention slides back to the sunflower in his fist. But he shakes his head, unconvincingly but he’ll never know.
It’s the heat, he thinks. The arse-end of nowhere town at the tail-end of an unforgiving heatwave.
But just as he’s about to slot the stalk back into its bucket, the vendor stops him— shaking their head emphatically, their grin growing by the second. They sweep of their hands in a take it, take it, please motion, and send Mason off. They shoot him wink from overly-kind eyes.
Like they might be in on some big secret, and Mason will be the last in this entire godforsaken town to know.
There’s no harm in taking the flower, Mason insists, staring down into its dark-brown centre.
He’ll hold onto it until he can find the next rubbish bin, and in the mean time he’ll try not to think about how it reminds him of the dusting of dark freckles across her nose.
(He gets it now. He gets it when he’s with Mia.
He understands — finally — why everyone before her kissed his freckles like they wanted to taste the stars.
Her galaxies, his constellations. Every time they meet, Mason expects a seismic shift to take them asunder.)
His usual strides have shortened, his pace slower than normal, his senses overwhelmed by the true yellow of its petals.
For a moment, Mason forgets all about the patrol and just…walks.
It’s a quiet and lazy summer day. The sun (high and hot) urges residents to stay in the shade, seeks refuge in cool indoors. The streets are empty. Sleepy. So, he takes his time, the crease on his brow deepening with every side street he takes.
It’s hot inside his boots. That’s the only reason he’s leaning against her tin can of a car, outside of the station, holding this ostentatiously large flower.
A quick detour for some shade. That’s all it is. And when there’s a whisper of a breeze, rustling the leaves of the tree above him and the little crown of petals in his hand, it’s all the more cooler.
Mason can hear her colleagues moving in and out of the station, but pays them no mind as time moves on, still staring down at the flower in his grip. It’s far too large to twirl it with sturdy fingers, forcing him to keep studying it and wondering what exactly about it brings Mia to mind.
Lively, but not intense.
(Her laugh, he guesses. Loud and clear, broken up by giggles. The sound of it never jarring.)
A drop of sunlight, buried underground. Persists and blossoms through cracked earth.
(Her kindness, he ascertains. Not to be mistaken for weakness. As easy as she can dole-out radiant smiles, her sharp tongue can just as quickly follow.)
…like he’s been holding a piece of her this entire time.
The taut pull at his cheeks is foreign, and he lets the corners of his mouth drop.
Pointless because Mason hears a familiar drumming, a quick skip he’s grown used to over the last years.
He looks up just in time to watch Mia push through the station’s glass doors. At the top of the steps, she stops to survey the car park, and he feels a flutter in his chest when he realises those brown eyes are searching for him. He confirms it when her gaze lands on him and…that smile (the beating inside his chest is ten-fold) breaks out across her face.
She shields her face with a hand, squinting against the harsh glare of sun bouncing off windshields. With easy, unhurried steps she walks towards him and he drinks in the sight of her.
That scratchy yellow cardigan that’s become synonymous with Detective Garcia is nowhere to be seen. Probably thrown over the back of her office chair and forgotten, along with whatever work she’s been putting off all afternoon.
Dark curls scooped up and away from her neck, gives Mason a great view to the line of her throat and down her naked shoulders. A sage strappy shirt stretches down her small frame, trying its best to keep her cool in the heat…reminds him of the stalk in his hand.
He tenses.
Mia’s eyes flicker to the sunflower he’s holding and her smile (fuck, that smile will be the end of him) grows and grows.
All teeth (white, and…harmless with the dull edges) and she gives an airy chuckle.
“That for me?” she asks with one eyebrow lifting into a curly fringe.
Pushing off the car, Mason musters up his best grimace and fights back the fear fighting its way up his spine. He doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know why fear is the first thing that possesses him when she stands this close and gestures to the flower with a tilt of her head.
Before he can respond, before he can let his tongue and fear get the better of him— Mia makes for the sunflower in his grip.
Fear tells him this should be a mistake. This memory must be a mistake; one that he’s sure will be the only one to matter in a dizzying spiral of time: Mia smiling down at this sunflower.
The leaves rustle again, and sunlight filters through, dappling the deep brown of her hair.
She makes it easy, never has to wrestle with the feeling for too long before she distracts him. If it’s not a quip, it’ll be an expression that should not be equal parts funny or cute. Spears Mason somewhere deep, somewhere he doesn’t think he’s touched before— doesn’t know if it could ever be before her.
Mia speaks to the flower, a lone fingertip running over its petals. “It’s very pretty.”
Mason watches her stroke the large leaf at the stalk, leaning in nose-first to catch its scent at the centre, eyes fluttering shut. Dark lashes meet her cheeks, and he follows the line of her freckles (darker in the summertime).
He wants to take his time here too, with the same pace as he did those side streets (seeing parts of Wayhaven he would have never traversed without coaxing).
“Yeah…” his voice is rough and unused, studying as she looks up at the way the branches move above them. Sunlight casting down on her, and that easy smile fixed on her lips. “Very pretty.”
thank you so much @coldshrugsand@masonscig for tagging me. I am now LOOKINGafter reading both your snippets for hot in wayhaven. And in the same spirit, I’ll share my mason x mia piece.
because of the nature of it:
hot in wayhaven content - 18+ only, dni otherwise - n*fw/nsft
It’s something about the way he looks down at her, left wanting and undone on the floorboards— and him, all swagger in the lazy lean of his hard body. A steely gaze that could both raze and establish dominion.
The heat is a warning— a reminder she should have her guard up around a look like that.
Because Mia knows.
Mason likes to play games—
—and Mason likes winning them.
But it’s hard to remember when just moments ago his tongue [REDACTED :)], and her own mouth is full of the taste of him. Tart from his earlier cigarette, and she should be repulsed. Yet every time she’s reminded of tea steeped-too-long.
She wonders what her own kiss must taste like. Does it strike a balance? The sugary sweet things she lays on him?
“Youdostill know how to draw, don’t you?”
The teasing edge in Mason’s voice pulls her out of whatever lusty daze his tongue worked her into.
He must expect her to frown, but she smiles softly, tilting her head to the side.
“Only if the subject is compelling enough,” her thighs meet, denying him the view where his eyes lingered.
Mason’s dark eyebrows rise at the wordless action, but his smug mouth tells her he just finds her denial amusing.
–
omg this is so rough, please excuse the draft-y-ness of it all.
I’ve always wanted to draw both UB gents and ladies! And they also provided me a little practice on full body I guess (one that I still find myself struggling with)
I may reblog with close ups of each of em soon, for you know, icon purposes lol. Hope you love em!
(there’s sex talk and mentions of biting/blood drinking but nothing explicit)
**
he can’t quite hold back the sound he makes.
mason tries to catch it in time, but it trips out from between his teeth – the noise that kira always calls his ‘sarcastic little scoff,’ loathe as he is to let her assign anything he says or does a diminutive.
every eye at the table snaps towards him.
his lips twitch as soon as he catches sight of the expression on kira’s face; she looks about ready to burrow beneath the floorboards of tina’s dining room, mortification covering every square inch of her features. out of the corner of his eye, he can see tina’s gaze flicker back and forth between the both of them with barely restrained glee.
their non-answer is surely answer enough on its own. mason tries not to be too smug about it as he drags his tongue over his teeth behind his pursed lips, chasing the taste of his favorite high.
the fact of the matter is… kira haslet him drink from her. once or twice or – no, five times, not that he’s been counting, or obsessing over them, or thinking about it constantly while kira sleeps peacefully beside him in bed at night.
that would be ridiculous.
kira clears her throat delicately when it becomes evident he isn’t going to say anything. her eyes flash his way, then blink sweetly back towards tina. “it hasn’t come up.”
he nods, looking back down at his empty plate. mercifully, tina hadn’t seen the need for pretenses, tonight, and while he’s relieved to not have to deal with the smell, mason figures it might be nice to have something to push around as a distraction, like kira’s been doing with the last dredges of her mashed potatoes.
plus, he can hear her foot tapping underneath the table, almost as quickly as her heartbeat.
“kira,” tina says flatly, “you can’t seriously expect me to believe that. you’ve never looked hornier and guiltier in your life.”
a laugh bubbles up despite himself. this time, the glare kira sends his way is murderous.
“what?” mason demands, doing his very best not to smirk, “like it’s my fault you can’t fix your face.”
“this is ridiculous,” kira snaps, then, rolling her eyes at the both of them. “tina, you can’t just go around asking people –”
“– stop it,” kira tells him, without turning away from tina or missing a beat of her lecture, “okay, it’s rude. and personal. would you ask douglas’ girlfriend if she’d let him finish on her face?”
“douglas doesn’t have a girlfriend,” tina shrugs calmly, “just half a dozen pictures of you, in his locker.”
“wait, what?” mason asks, frowning, “when did this escalate to pictures?”
“so it isa sex thing, then.” tina’s voice is gleeful as she takes the inch kira’s provided for a mile.
“ithasn’t come up,” kira stresses again, which is more or less fair. he’d been drilling her pretty good each of the times they’d done it, so it’d probably be more accurate to say it’d come down, hard.
like she can read his mind, kira lifts a bread roll up off the table and hurls it at his head. mason snatches it out of the air with another huffed laugh. “lighten up, sweetheart,” he grins, passing the roll over to tina to put back in the basket. “you knew she was nosy when you made friends with her.”
“yeah, you – hey,” tina laughs, “now that’srude.”
mason shrugs. “thank you.”
unsurprisingly, tina remains unwaveringly charmed. the grin on her face only seems to brighten as she props her chin up on her hand to tell kira, “i like him.”
kira sighs, leaning back in her chair. “you mentioned that.”
**
predictably, he catches shit for it just as soon as they’re alone in the car, even though he hasn’t even doneanything.
“i dunno what you’re so embarrassed about,” mason says finally, when kira’s pouting has taken on the edge that’s cute instead of bothersome, “everyone already knows way too much about our sex life.”
“i’m not embarrassed,” kira aruges, “it’s just that – that’s private. it’s different.”
now she’s caught his attention. “different how?”
it’s not that he disagrees – in fact, kira’s right. it is wildly different, intimate in a way that fucking could never touch, even the kind where their hands are wound tightly together and they look each other in the eye until they finish.
but mason’s eager to hear it from her. kira has this way about her of saying what’s between them so simply and poignantly, it hits him dead-on every time. he’s sure she doesn’t even notice it, but she’s a professional at making his insides squirm with just a few words.
she doesn’t say anything as the car glides into the lot at her complex. kira pulls into the open spot with her apartment number on it, shifting the gear into park silently. then, she sighs, tipping her head back against the carseat. her hands come to rest on the steering wheel again. “it’s like – it’s ours. i mean, you’re right. people know about what we do in bed. the team, tina… i’m sure even my mother has heard about it at this point. but that’s always been between us.”
he nods slowly. mason turns his head, unembarrassed about the way he’s openly staring at her. kira’s as beautiful as ever in the moonlight, even with the flickering lamp in the parking lot casting shadows under her eyes. “i didn’t realize it was so important to you.”
the laugh she exhales is mirthless. “are you kidding?” kira asks, “it’s the only time i know for sure you feel what i feel.”
mason blinks. in a flash, she’s twisting the key out of the ignition, unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping and out of the car. a beat too late, he moves to follow her, rushing to catch up with kira at the door.
they take the elevator to her apartment together in silence. he stands around like an idiot while she sheds her clothes on the way to the bathroom, slowly making his way through each room to turn the lights off behind her.
in the dark, in bed, they stare at each other, face-to-face on her mattress. mason lifts a hand to brush her hair back off her neck, the pads of his fingers lingering first on her scar and then, just behind it, the fading imprint of his own teeth. no one’s ever noticed the second set of marks just below her ear – if they had, he’s sure he would have heard about it.
it’s probably an unspoken rule in this thing of theirs. adam and agent langford and all the others let him around kira under the assumption that he’ll keep her safe. he knows he’s not supposed to fucking drink from her. he knows they’d all go ballistic if they knew he had – five fuckingtimes, no less.
“i don’t want people to know because then they’ll make judgments,” kira says quietly, breaking the stillness between them. “i know from the way you act alone that it’s… frowned upon.”
that’s putting it mildly. to say he’d had his reservations about biting kira once – even twice, and the third time – is an understatement.
but she’d begged so nicely, and he’s only just a man…
“and then there’s – you know, the other time.” she swallows, shifting self-consciously. “everyone will think, like, how could she want him to do that after… and they’ll assume that i don’twant you to do it, and – it’s just no one’s business. i shouldn’t have to go into detail about what we do when we’re alone. and – frankly, how dare anyone try to make me feel badly about enjoying something that was taken from me like that with the person i…”
kira trails off into silence. the sheets shift under her shoulders as she shrugs them against the mattress. she’s been doing that, lately. he can assume it’s been for him, the way she dances far around the topic of anything serious.
she thinks she’s doing him a favor, is the thing. notsaying anything about it. she thinks she’s giving him what he wants, and he knows he has no one to blame for that but himself. he’s earned every wide sidestep she gives, and he deserves the way her steps get farther and farther still, too.
mason runs his hand down her neck, over her shoulder and to her waist, mapping the curve of her body under the sheet. “i shouldn’t have to bite you for you to know we’re on the same page.”
kira blinks at him. “did you hear a word i just said?”
“yeah,” he says. “still.”
kira sighs again, longer this time. the exasperation on her face is at odds with the way she shifts closer to him beneath the blankets. “yeah?”
mason nods. his hand fans out over the small of her back, urging her even closer. “yeah. doesn’t take me putting my teeth in your neck to feel what you feel, genius.”
“oh, now we’re name calling.” a smile plays at her beautiful lips. “very mature, coming from someone a dozen times my age.”
“you’re lucky you’re pretty,” mason tells her, grinning crookedly, “because you are not good at math.”
that makes her laugh, and then they’re chest-to-chest in exactly the way he’d been hoping for. kira leans over him to get to the nightstand that holds her alarm clock, and he buries his face in her chest with a dreamy sigh while the buttons click behind his head.
“thanks for coming with me tonight,” she says, once they’re settled again. their fingers are twining together again and again under the covers, like each digit is having its own thumb war in turn. he grins when her nails dig into the back of his hand sharply, eyeteeth flashing through the dark. “i know you’d’ve rathered anything else.”
“yeah,” he agrees, overpowering her easily and pinning her hand to the bed beneath his. “was alright, though.”
kira’s eyes glint playfully as her fingers flex futilely against the mattress. “just alright?”
“what do you want, a fucking sonnet?” mason grumbles. “i’m here, aren’t i?”
“yeah,” she echoes. this time, her voice is soft, her tone fond. she wiggles her palm over and squeezes his hand in hers. “guess you are.”
each of his organs flop around like he knew they would. with a sigh, he resigns himself to another night of heavy thinking while kira breathes evenly beside him, and stretches out on his side of the mattress.
kira fits neatly into the dip at his side, slotting in like she’s supposed to be there.
her eyes slide shut. unwillingly, his brain pokes at him, making him all-too-aware of the warmth flooding his body and prickling at his skin.
waited till m’s birthday to post this beautiful commission i got from @griever-receiver a while back! thank you so much for this piece !!! missing him so bad today
