#anyways. somebody pester me to keep going. christ.

[bastardsofravenkroft-blog]

I’ve got a plot idea I rather like so anybody actively following me be prepared for me to go nuts about it in the coming weeks because I want to and because I can

[masonscig]

holiday

pairing | mason x aimee lin

word count | 2.5k

warnings | cursing, innuendos [it’s mason and aimee u know what to expect]

author’s note | so our friend group decided to do a little secret santa type gift exchange and i got the lovely @masonsfangs – i couldn’t NOT write maimee !!! not gonna get super sappy on main but i’m so grateful for your friendship, becky and i love you so so so much!

•─────────────────•

Out of all the fucking times he has to run out of cigarettes, it’s the moment he needs them the most.

His hands were quivering ever so slightly in his pockets, but no one would be able to tell unless they were looking for it. And even then, he was hidden by the shade of the door frame – not dark enough, but it’d do.

Why the fuck did he agree to a holiday party? In what world was he the type to go to parties, much less celebrate anything?

The laughter of the surrounding agents, mingling in clusters around the room, pounded at his eardrums like a mallet to its surface. The music flooding through the speakers was even worse, grating at him so intensely that he could feel the individual droplets of sweat start to bead across his palms.

A century’s worth of annual holiday festivities at the agency, and he chooses to attend when there’s ample sound technology to add to the already irritating sound of each voice – he could normally block them out if he needed to, but in a crowd this size? He was lucky if he could manage a couple of seconds where he could hear himself think.

He wasn’t looking for her, no matter how many times Farah tried pestering him about it.

“You got here pretty early, Mason,” Farah started, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “It’s almost like you’re… waiting for somebody –”

“I’m not,” he snapped – two words were an effort to say.

He was straining himself trying to adjust to his surroundings, but it was like no matter how hard he focused, the noise was still deafening, still restricting.

“Well, tough luck. You know she’s fashionably late to everything,” she said. “Said so herself.”

Farah waggled her arm in front of Mason’s eyes, flashing the bright screen of her phone, the string of charms nearly striking his face.

“Yeah, I get it.” He’d been at the party for nearly a fucking hour and she hadn’t shown. He was growing more and more frustrated with each minute.

By the time a few agents had loaded up the table with platters of both human and… not so human foods, he was ready to bolt. The smell of the sweets mixed with the eggnog was overwhelming.

He’d barely been able to manage a couple minutes at Haley’s Bakery each time he went before he dipped out because he craved fresh air.

“Mason,” Nat called from a couple feet away, approaching him with furrowed brows. “You look pale. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine. I’ll manage.” Two word sentences were all he could handle – he hoped Nate wouldn’t notice the slight waver in his voice. He did.

“This isn’t an obligation, by any means. You’re free to leave at any time –”

The side door burst open, and she strode through, her heartbeat faster than normal. A soft flush painted her cheeks, likely from the frigid December winds.

Mason pushed away from the wall, leaving his shaded door frame for the first time that night, completely ignoring Nat’s vocal realization as she figured out why he was there in the first place.

Aimee approached him, still panting from the effort. “Thank god. I thought I ran here for nothing.”

Something about her was different – a good different.

His eyes raked over every inch of her, his nausea fading away as he settled on each change.

Wild curls free from their normal elastic constraint, cheap stud earrings traded for tasteful emeralds, lashes thinly coated and curled, lips a soft rouge – even the flannel was traded for a tinsel lined sweater.

“What’re you looking at?” She asked, lip raised in annoyance.

“Who do you think, sweetheart?” Quick flirtatious retorts were the fastest way to get him feeling like himself again.

She rolled her eyes, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh, shut up.”

His stomach churned as he watched her take a few steps toward the main area. She stopped when he didn’t follow, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as she swiveled around to throw a look his way.

“You coming?”

He shrugged, hands still trembling in his pockets. “I’m good here.”

Her brows pushed together, brown eyes (almost black as the night sky) flitting across his face.

He should’ve fucking lied better. He didn’t need her worrying and bitching at him because he was a little uncomfortable.

She closed the gap between them, sliding an arm around his waist. “Let’s go.”

“Damn, you really wanna do it outside? You’re adventurous today,” he teased, shoulders instantly relaxing as soon as he felt her hand slip underneath the hem of his henley, cool fingertips grazing the small of his back.

“Maybe,” she grinned, tugging on his torso, leading him to the back doors.

“You haven’t said a word to anyone else here,” he said, planting his feet.

“Since when do you care?” She laughed, flicking a thick curl off her shoulders, clearly not used to the feeling of it on her neck. “You don’t want to be here anyways.”

“Fuck off. I’m just trying to save you from some weird tension with Rebecca.”

She huffed. “Fine. I’m saying hey to Farah, Nat, and… Rebecca, and we’re dipping. Meet me outside.”

He shot her a look, and she shot one right back, challenging him. “Sure,” Mason said finally, shrugging, then strode towards the door with a second glance.

The feeling of the freezing air against his exposed skin was painful to say the least, but holy shit did the knot in his chest vanish the second the night sky was in view.

Within minutes, Aimee pushed through the doors, keys in hand.

“Seems like you were looking for a way out,” he said, trailing behind her.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sunshine. I can think of quite a few places I’d rather be than here,” she winked, unlocking her car and slipping in.

He perched against the side of her hood, feeling the rumble of the engine beneath his hip. Normally he’d be fumbling for a cigarette right about then, but Aimee’s pulse in his ears was the perfect comedown.

The window squeaked as it rolled down, her lips just barely visible over its edge. “Dude, get in. It’s freezing.”

He took a step towards her, pressing his forearm on the top of the door, using it as leverage to lazily bend down. “Where are you taking me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teased, her breath curling and twisting in translucent streams around them, their faces close enough that he felt the warmth of it. “It’s a surprise, dummy.”

He pushed away from the window, making no hurry to walk around the front of her car. Through the windshield, he could see her reel her arm back and motion like she was going to lay on the horn, but the sound never came – a muffled cackle met his ears instead.

He settled into the passenger’s seat, wondering how the fuck it felt colder inside of her car than outside of it. “Jesus Christ it’s freezing.”

He kicked a few wrappers out of his way so he could spread his legs comfortably.

“Once we start moving it should warm up.”

“Or we could heat it up on our own,” he said, head lolling to the side, a lazy grin slowly spreading.

“Oh, keep it in your pants,” she laughed, tossing him a glance over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking spot.

The ride there was calm. The stuttering purr of her engine, the soft gusts of warm air, the faint sweet smell of her gloss – sensations he could handle. Hell, sensations he’d come to tolerate.

Aimee’s quiet hum was the loudest of them all, but he didn’t mind it, oddly enough. He found himself timing her soft intakes of breath between hums with the hypnotising cadence of her heartbeat.

Aimee was a symphony without even realizing it.

“Hey, I’ve got a pack of cigarettes in the glove box and a lighter in my cup holder. Knock yourself out,” she said, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the lighter and the handle of the compartment.

He placed it between his lips, flicked the lighter, and inhaled, but… he didn’t need to. Force of habit, he guessed.

She pulled into a gravelly patch on the outskirts of Wayhaven. He was familiar with the quieter parts of town, but even this terrain was new to him.

“It’s just down this path,” she said, tossing a blanket over her shoulder while walking away.

He flicked the cigarette onto the ground, grinding his heel into the bud without a second thought. With a few brisk strides, he caught up to her, slinging his arm around her neck over her thick mass of hair.

“You look good with your hair down.”

She tried holding back a smile. “I didn’t do it for you, but I’m glad I have your stamp of approval.”

“I know you didn’t do it for me. I’m enjoying it, though.”

She laughed, her free hand raising to grip his forearm. “I’m happy to distract.”

“Distract me from what, sweetheart? You haven’t even kissed me yet,” he teased, leaning in to speak into her ear.

A slight shiver made its way up her back, but she quickly masked it. “You were uncomfortable.”

They reached the clearing, the edge of the cliff open, overlooking Wayhaven. Aimee laid the blanket down and plopped down wordlessly, patting the seat next to her.

She still hadn’t explained what she meant, and he was too prideful to ask.

He sunk down onto the cold blanket, dangling his legs over the edge alongside hers. They weren’t up too high – far enough that most of the stars were visible, but close enough that the carolers strolling downtown were mere background noise.

The wind whipped at Aimee’s curls, strands tossed around her face like a halo of coils, the scent of her shampoo filling the space between them.

“Your face was contorted when I walked in. Like you’d sucked a lemon or something,” she said, kicking her feet.

“I was fine.”

“You were not.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“You know I’m right.”

He scoffed, leaning back onto his elbows. “No.”

“Whatever you say, honey,” she teased, leaning over, shoving her arm against his, but he didn’t budge.

He eased back onto his elbows, nonchalant. “I didn’t really care to be there. You’re right about that much, detective.”

“Ouch. That almost hurt,” Aimee laughed, pulling her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “‘Thank you, Aimee’,” she said in a voice like she’d swallowed jagged rocks – her worst impression of him yet.

He grumbled in response, settling into his propped up position as the crowds thinned downtown. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before she spoke again.

“They’re gonna be turning on the lights, soon,” she said offhandedly, voice barely above a whisper. Like she didn’t want to interrupt whatever was about to happen.

The lights caught his attention before he could think of a quip. Line after line of Christmas lights lit up, a net of stars hovering above the businesses below. The wind must’ve shaken some of the wires – the breeze made them nearly shimmer.

Nothing was said for a while – the hum of the occasional car passing and the rustling of the tree branches was comforting enough.

Mason caught himself stealing a couple glances her way. Something was still a little different about her. Something he couldn’t put a finger on, but it was undoubtedly there.

“They’re like stars,” he murmured, feeling a little different himself as he watched a shit-eating grin stretch across her face.

He was more surprised with his own reaction than Aimee’s childlike expression at the lights.

“Is that holiday cheer I’m detecting?” She said, whipping around, shifting her weight to her hands so she could lean closer to him.

He shifted, reaching out to her, wrapping a curl around his knuckle. He tugged just hard enough to elicit a soft gasp, followed by her smirk, one that was becoming so familiar to him that he wondered for a split second if to others they looked like mirror images of each other.

“I don’t know, are you gonna show me the true meaning of Christmas or what?” He asked, pulling her even closer – so close that their cold puffs of breath intermingled.

“I would, but I don’t feel like getting arrested for public indecency tonight,” she laughed, her breath a soft gust against his face.

“Then why’d you bring me out here?” He asked, dropping his hand, shifting back to lean on both of his elbows.

She shrugged and turned back to face the town. “Thought I’d show you this place in case you wanted to come back. The warehouse rooftop might get old someday.”

His brows furrowed. She’d never gone out of her way to do something like this for him. She just wasn’t the type.

It’s what he liked about her.

Shit was simple. No complications. Just good, casual sex.

But this was… different. She was different.

And then it dawned on him

That’s what was different about her – holiday cheer? Whatever the fuck she wanted to call it, Aimee had a lot of it.

She didn’t have to say it out loud. Her expression was enough proof.

“Rooftop works fine.”

He didn’t know why he said it. He wasn’t upset with her for bringing him there. He was just… taken by surprise.

Not a bad surprise at all. Just unexpected. Kind of… nice.

She’d brought him somewhere that meant a lot to her, completely unprompted, and didn’t try to jump his bones. 

She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. “This is the thanks I get for trying to get you to branch out.”

He sensed a shift in her demeanor – she was definitely a little upset with him. He hated damage control in most situations, but with her he’d rather do it before it blew into a bigger fucking mess he wouldn’t be able to clean up.

“Aimee,” he said, waiting for her to turn back and look at him. “Thank you.”

He held her gaze, knowing good and well it was hard for him to convey sincerity, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, their faces close.

A genuine smile stretched her lips thin in a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. Aimee traced the pad of her thumb over the stubble on his chin. “Don’t mention it.”

She tugged his chin forward, lips meeting his in an enveloping kiss, Mason’s experience at the party long forgotten, cigarettes a distant thought.

He’d humor her by indulging in at least the reflective aspect of the holidays.

The shittiest parts of Wayhaven couldn’t touch his best moments with Aimee.

––––

[thatgoddamnwizard]

✘ Why did you deliberately meet my gaze the day we met?

My muse has to tell nothing but the truth for 10 asks.

Ask them funny questions, get personal, query about the people around them or pester them for their deepest darkest secrets - go wild! Include ✘ with the asks!

My subconscious and I had a long, unpleasant chat about that once. He’s kind of an asshole, my subconscious, real good at telling it like it is whether I like it or not. Also he’s a better dresser than me, all kind of suave and put together. The jerk.

Anyway, it went a bit like this.

_______________________________________________________

I often say I had a grueling week because, well, I often do, but this week set a new standard definition for the word. It started out normally enough– whatever the hell that means in my case– but then quickly escalated when someone that I had been investigating decided he didn’t like being investigated. 

Things happened. There were a bunch of goons with tire irons, fists, boots, and a ready-to-fire paralysis spell, some angry vampires hellbent on vengeance, a lot of blood and bruises, a concussion, and a few episodes of not-so-blissful unconsciousness.

Oh, and Marcone. There was a lot of Marcone in this mess, which of course cranked my surly wizard factor up to eleven.

We’d escaped the vampires by hook or by crook, got trapped in a snowstorm in the middle of the wilderness, took shelter in a cave. All of that gets told elsewhere. My point here is that I fell asleep in that cave, utterly spent, battered and scarred, and my magic was still suppressed by the remains of the thorn manacles that we hadn’t been able to completely remove from my wrists.

I came to awareness standing in darkness, not the moonlight-dappled darkness of the cave we were in, with its coarse, uneven floor and looming walls and damp, musty scent, but someplace smooth and flat and endless, featureless, but for the pale luminance spilling on the floor in a circle ahead of me. A simple folding chair stood in the circle of light, and a man sat in the chair, his arms folded across his chest, eyebrow raised as he studied me with his dark, glittering eyes. He was something akin to a mirror image of me, except he was dressed all in dark, custom-fitted clothes, sported a well-trimmed beard, and didn’t look like he’d just gone ten rounds with the Hulk. He wore the same black leather duster that I wore, though he wore it better. The jerk.

“It’s about damn time,” said my doppelganger. “We need to talk.”

“We really don’t.” I wasn’t in the mood. “We really, really don’t.”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “The fact that you really, really don’t want to talk about something is usually an indicator that you really, really need to, Harry.” 

“Don’t care,” I said. “Tired. Good night.” I turned to start walking into the darkened space around us, hoping that it would lead to peaceful oblivion and then maybe something resembling a normal dream (at least as far as these things go for me), but in the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of me.

“Can’t let you walk away from this, man,” he said. “It’s too important. You need to work some things out here. There’s too much at stake, and you need to understand why you’re doing what you’re doing or you’re going to end up somebody’s dinner. Or somebody’s pet. Or both.”

That rankled. I wasn’t particularly one to psychoanalyze myself, to dig up all sorts of hidden reasons why I do the things that I do. Yeah, I’ll question my motivations, if I’m doing things for the right reasons, if what I’m doing is right or wrong. But psychobabble isn’t really my thing. 

“Yeah,” I said. “Because deep, quality introspection is so important when you’re trying to stop a supernatural gang war from breaking out in Chicago.”

“Hell’s bells,” my subconscious grumbled, passing his hand over his face in a gesture of sublime irritation. “Look. You’re dreaming. I’m your friggin’ subconscious. That means you’re a captive audience here until you wake up, and that’s probably not going to be for a while, considering the state of your physical body. You can go running off into any dream you like, but I’ll be hounding you the whole way. So make it easy on us both and sit down, shut up, and listen.” He pointed to the circle of light, where a second chair had appeared, situated across from the first one, as if by magic. Abracadabra.

And just like that, I was sitting across from him in the chair, mirroring his body language, arms folded across our chests, legs crossed at our knees, scowls on our faces. “Fine,” I said. “Talk.”

My double regarded me for a few seconds, and then pointed to his left. I looked and saw Marcone, leaning against my desk and looking at a battered, bloodied figure that sat on the floor, propped against the wall. I did a double-take. The bloodied figure was me. Wow, those guys had really done a number on me. Marcone was cool and collected as ever, regarding me with a level of composure that belied the pain he must have been in after weathering his own attack.

“Yeah?” I said. “So?”

My double sighed. “Marcone is attacked, and the first person he goes to see about it is you. Despite the fact that you have, on multiple occasions, told him where he could stuff his job offer.”

“He’s relentless like that. But so am I.”

“So why did you decide to work with him this time?”

I glared at my doppelganger. “Because,” I said, then paused. “Because I’m trying to prevent a goddamned supernatural gang war, for Christ’s sake.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “So you decided to team up with one of the players in that up-and-coming blockbuster.”

“I didn’t– I’m not– I’m not teaming up with him,” I protested. “We’re not bosom buddies. We just–”

“Why did you let yourself get drawn into a soulgaze with him?” 

I blinked at the sudden shift in topic. “What? I didn’t let myself–”

“You let yourself. You’ve been habitually avoiding eye contact with people since you were old enough to know what it could do. You tempted fate. You did it because you wanted to see him for who and what he was. Why’d you do it? Of all the people, all the enemies you’ve encountered, why’d you do that with him?”

I didn’t really like where this was going. “He was a threat. I wanted to take his measure. See what I was dealing with.”

“And?”

“There’s no ‘and.’ Just that.”

“Bullshit.”

I sighed. “Okay, oh wise and stylish guru. What else is there?”

He smiled. “You saw something in him, before you ever locked eyes. Something that looked an awful lot like you. Drive, determination, the ability to be an ice-cold bastard when the situation called for it. You weren’t just taking the measure of an enemy. You were taking the measure of a potential ally and friend.” Then the bastard winked at me, actually winked. “You also thought he was kind of hot.”

The sounds that came out of my mouth sounded more like a choking Ringraith than anything human. “I what?!”

“You heard me.”

“I did not!”

“Did so.”

“Did not!”

“You really did.”

“Okay.” I stood up and kicked the chair away hard enough to knock it over. “This conversation is over. I’m not gonna sit here and talk about my latent sexual tendencies with my freaking subconscious. Especially in regards to Marcone.”

He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. There are more important things to talk about here. But you really ought to look into that. It’s not healthy to repress. It’s the twenty-first century, man. It’s okay.”

I glared at him and repressed.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not suggesting you should trust the guy. But I’m saying that you’ve seen him like few other have. You’ve seen sides to his story that he doesn’t let anyone get a peek at, and he let you see them. Deliberately. He has a vested interest in keeping the city free of unchecked bloodshed and violence. War’s bad for his kind of business. You can be sure he’s on your side as far as all that.”

“Marcone’s on the side of Marcone,” I mumbled.

“Yeah. You’re right. You two just happen to have the same goals at the moment– minimizing the death and destruction that you’re both going to be ears-deep in if you don’t work together to prevent it from happening in the first place.”

I didn’t say anything. My double glanced to one side, then back to me. “We don’t have much time left. I’ve just got one more thing to say.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you really think Ariana and her vampire mod squad are the only allies this new player has?”

“What do you mean?”

The world was fading around me, and I could feel myself getting dragged reluctantly towards the waking world, but I heard him say, as if from a great distance: “Where’d he get the hellhound?”