#yes I am going to assume I am boring you if you’re just going ‘mm’ and ‘yeah’ while I’m telling u about smthg

[ohimsummer]

fastest assumer ever tbh. regardless of how illogical it is if I think about it for more than a second.

[hannahssimblr]

It’s just us and the man picking up rubbish here, on the grass by the small stage where I met Weed Alison. I don’t tell Evie I’ve been here before, because telling her the story requires so much explanation, and will lead me back down a winding path that ends with me bickering with Jen before the Foo Fighters gig. I wish I could erase almost every moment between the last time I sat here and this one. It’s been a day and a half fraught with poor decisions and even worse behaviour. 

I still hear the rave tent thudding, but it is so distant now, mostly replaced by the wind shaking the leaves above us. 

“I like it when it’s quiet like this,” Evie whispers. “I feel like I’ve forgotten what quiet is.”

“Right. It can be hard going, a festival. It takes a lot out of you. I hope that you’re having a good time, like, I hope it isn’t overwhelming, despite that… thing at the rave.”

“I’m having a good time,” she says, adding hastily, “today was honestly a little weird, but the festival has had its moments.”

“Yeah, today was a bit weird for me too,” I hesitate, as my excuses catch in my throat. “I’ve… had a lot on my mind, I think.”

“Do you get like that a lot?”

I huff out a laugh. “What? Like, have stuff on my mind? Don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then same.”

Her eyes do a quick tour of me. “Jen said you’re a scorpio, and that’s why you’re moody.”

“Oh yeah? What else does she say whenever you two are apparently gossiping about me?”

“Rich of you to assume we talk about you at all.”

“Do you?” 

She shifts self-consciously, but her eyes remain playful. “Well, do you talk to her about me?”

“Yes.” Obviously. 

“Oh. What do you talk about?”

I smirk. “None of your business.”

“Well then,” she says, “I’m not telling you either.”

“Bet I already know.”

“You think?”

“I bet she tells you I’m secretly a boring, moody dickhead under all the facade or something, doesn’t she?”

“She didn’t say ‘boring’. You’re not boring.”

“But she did say ‘moody’.”

“‘Sour’, I think, is the word she used. Which, like, I never thought of you like that. You always seem happy to me. Well, mostly.”

“Maybe because when I’m having a particularly sour day, I just stay in my room.”

“Hm. And you couldn’t stay in your room today.”

My stomach sinks. “No. I couldn’t. Sorry, I didn’t think it was, like… that obvious.”

“I thought it was.”

Again, the words I want to say seem to get trapped. Why is so hard to express myself? Why is it I have such limited understanding of my own feelings? I want to express regret, to tell her I’m sorry if I hurt her by avoiding her, but I feel like I keep opening my mouth and uttering nothing.

“Sometimes thing pile up,” I manage. “I overthink. And… and maybe I’ve been overthinking too much this summer.”

Oh, great, yeah. Good job. That’s perfect.

“Are you overthinking what happened last night?”

“Yeah, maybe.” There I go again, picking at the grass. The bits that I pull from the soil are so dry that they’re like straw, and I take my time examining them while Evie sits and waits for me to say something with any kind of substance at all. She probably wants to hear all about how I don’t regret kissing her, and if I had any sense, I would say just that, but I can’t lie to her face. It’s not who I am, so I just pick at the ground. 

“Hey,” she says. “I know I’m a bit younger than you, and I’m sorry if that freaks you out, but we’re really not that different when you think about it. Like, yeah, for sure, I have a good bit less experience than you, but-”

“It’s not that,” I say. “That’s not what I’m overthinking about. It isn’t you, or your age, or your experience.”

“What is it then?”

Christ, what is wrong with me? I can’t even look at her. With the shrug of one shoulder, I say, “I don’t think it’s a good thing for you to like me like that. I don’t really want you to.”

“It’s hard not to,” she says.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“How could I not, Jude? It’s you.”

I frown. “Mm.”

“Can you just look at me for a second?”

So I do, and her face is determined, her eyes steady, before they drop to my cheeks, my nose, my mouth where they linger. 

Oh, she’s going to kiss me.

I know it seconds before she plucks up the courage, which gives me ample time to stop it, but I don’t. I don't want to. She leans in, and I let her.

She goes in carefully, with her hand on my neck, and her head tilts to the side before she dots one little kiss on my lips. Two. As though experimenting, she turns the other way, three, four… 

I slide my hands around her waist and kiss her back.

Other kisses don’t make me feel the way I felt last night, as though she’s thrown a match on me and set my body alight, so I can justify doing it again by deciding I am too weak to resist it, that they day is long and that I deserve to surrender to something good.

Moving my hands to cradle her head, I glide my tongue along her bottom lip and she opens her mouth to me, soft and hot and slow, as my thumbs stroke her cheeks. I bite her bottom lip, and her top, as into my mouth, she moans against my gentle onslaught. The moment she makes that sound, I’m gone. 

I kiss her cheeks, then her nose, and angle her head so that I can kiss her neck, where she smells like sweet perfume, and against her skin I whisper, “fucking hell, Evie.”

Her voice vibrates under my lips as I trail hot, hungry kisses along her throat. “If you want to go back to my tent, we can.”

Yes, I think. The tent. It would make sense to be in there. She lifts my face to hers.

“I can get Claire to sleep in with Shane. We can have it to ourselves.”

I fall back to my body the second we mesh gazes, crashing down, along with the common sense, the guilt and the shame I shed as I kissed her. In a second I have released her and carved distance between us again. “Evie, no,” I say firmly. Tomorrow, I will be impressed by my self-restraint under challenging circumstances. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s okay, I want to.” She has so little conviction that I can’t help but laugh. She screws up her face. “What’s funny?”

“Evie, it doesn’t really matter if you want to. I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to… do it. With me?”

“No. Is that okay?”

She blinks, eyes a bit wild, and I swear I can pinpoint the moment when her brain jumps to her conclusion. “Is there something wrong with me?” It’s barely a question. Somewhere between that and a statement of the obvious, a confirmation of something she already believes. 

“No. Of course there isn’t. I’ve just been thinking about it, and I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. Look, I got carried away last night, and I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. I was… a bit drunk, to be honest.”

“You’re not going to break me,” she persists, “if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t mind. I have to do it eventually, and I’d rather if it was with you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Not really.”

“I would.”

“It would make things complicated.”

“Jude, I know you don’t want me to like you, but I already do. Honestly, I’ve never really felt this way about anybody else. It’s different with you. I don’t care about any other boys, this is why I couldn’t be with Liam-”

“God, Evie, please.” I put my head in my hands. What she does she want from me? What does she expect? She knows as much as I do that there’s no chance for something to work between us, not when I’m going away in two weeks. Can’t we just have left it all unsaid? “Please don’t make this harder on me.”

And to my utter horror, my face heats, and my eyes prickle with tears. I am about to cry. In front of Evie Kilbride. I think I’d rather be dead than do this, but here I am, with nowhere to hide. 

She rests her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s just that… like, um, I heard you were thinking of staying in Ireland, and that when you get your college offers next week, you might decide to do a course in Dublin, and I just thought-”

What? My head snaps up. “Evie, what are you talking about?” 

“Jen said-”

“I told you I was leaving. As soon as I met you, I told you I was leaving.”

“But Jen-”

“What about Jen?”

Evie shrinks away. “She said that you might stay. That she thought you might decide not to go to Berlin, because you didn’t seem that excited about it.”

The blood roils. “I don’t know why the fuck she would have said that to you.”

“You not staying?”

“No!”

“But…” her mouth opens, then shuts again. The air thickens between us. “But Jen told me.” She insists, one more time, like it's true as long as she continues to say it. 

“Whatever she said to you is a lie, Evie. I’m sorry. She shouldn’t have told you anything about me. I know it’s unfair…”

“But maybe if things… If I… maybe you’ll still decide to stay.”

I swear I can see that last glimmer of hope in her eyes, and it kills me to squash it, but it’s honest, and it’s right. “I won’t.” I make sure she is looking right into my eyes as I say it. “I am moving to Berlin in two weeks. It’s done. It’s happening. I don’t know why she- I can’t believe that’s what she said. That’s insane.”

“You’re really going? It’s confirmed?” As her voice cracks and she fills up with tears. I have a moment where I wish I was blind, just so that I wouldn’t have to watch her cry. 

“Yes, I’m really going. I was always going to go.” I pull her to my chest, and there, in the circle of my arms, she breaks into shoulder-shaking sobs, while all I can think to do is smooth my hand over her back and press my cheek against her hair. Her hands fist in my t-shirt, face boiling. “Oh, come on Evie, please don’t cry. I’m sorry that you ever thought otherwise. I tried to make it as clear as I could. I didn’t think that Jen was telling you that stuff.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, I know.” I wrestle back my surging emotion with a hard swallow. “Well, maybe it won’t work out, hm? And I’ll come back after a while.”

For some reason, this makes her cry harder. 

“Shh, shh, come on.” I whisper. She turns her head and leaves a stamp of black makeup on the cotton of my t-shirt. “God, sorry,” she blubs, mopping at it ineffectually. “I’m a mess.”

“I don’t care about the t-shirt. It’s fine, it’s just a bit of makeup.” I hook the strand of hair stuck to her cheek behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing a good enough job of staying neutral, keeping my distance. I really never meant for you to have feelings for me.”

“Of course I do,” she sniffles. “You’re the best person in the world. You couldn’t have stopped me from liking you.”

“I probably shouldn’t have kissed you yesterday, should I? It didn’t help.”

And she sits up out of my arms and wipes the grey streaks of wet makeup. “Do you wish you didn’t?”

“It was really selfish. I was only thinking about how badly I wanted to, the way you looked under those lights. You’re so pretty when you’re smiling. I wasn’t thinking about whether it was fair to you to do it.”

Her laugh is watery. “You think I’m pretty?”

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[figthefruitfaeth]

Robin’s First Date.

| 12:36pm | 

“Wow, okay, I’m not taking advice from Mr. Polo for everyday of the week.”

“Hey, those were a gag gift—”

“Right, a gag gift you spent twenty minutes looking for. I got written up cause you couldn’t wear a Saturday on Tuesday.”

“I’m sorry I have standards.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Whatever. Come on—when have I ever steered you wrong? I’m off at 5, plenty of time before your date—”

“No! No. Not that I don’t appreciate it, cause I do and your great and all but...well...our styles don’t exactly mesh.” 

“Right, well that’s cause one of us has eyes and one of us has clashing patterns, so—”

“Oh, and the stripes? They don’t ever—”

“Which is good for you! But I know what the ladies like, Bobbin. I also know what this lady likes. And I know what’s going to get you laid.”

“Gross—“

“So are you gonna let me help you or what?”

“I’m calling Eddie.”

“Eddie?! No—”

| 12:57pm |

“Munson Mansion. This is Eddie, trapped in the wine cellar, speaking.”

“Eddie, I need your help.”

“Oh, hey, hi, what’s up?”

“The date’s tonight and I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Okay...”

“Not anything, but what I wanted to wear was in the washer before it broke and now it’s not gonna be dry in time and everything else is too bright, or too boring, and I’m getting sweaty and maybe developing a rash which is just perfect, I’m going to show up red and gross and she’s never going to talk to me again. God, maybe I should just cancel—“

“Heeey there, settle down. Breathe, in—out, there you go.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be over in 10.”

| 3:09pm |

“This is the Wheeler Residence. Looks like you’ve just missed us! Feel free to leave a message—“

| 3:33pm |

“Wheeler Residence, this is Karen speaking—“

| 4:17pm |

“This is Hop.”

“Oh. Um. HI Chief Hopper, or, Officer? Uh—“

“Who is this?”

“Robin. Buckley. Sir. Robin Buckley. I’m a friend of Steve’s?”

“Right.”

“Right. Right, uh yeah.”

“Well, he’s not here, so—“

“Right, right, no! I was, uh, calling for Jonathan? Is he—is he around?”

| 4:21pm |

“Robin?”

“Jonathan! Hey! Buddy...how’s it going?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, totally, why wouldn’t it be? Unless, everything’s not alright with you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just don’t get a lot of calls from you.”

“Right. Well, you know work. Busy, busy! Ha ha...”

“Okay...did you wanna talk? Or...”

“Yes! I did, I did...OW! Sorry, sorry, banged my knee against something annoying. So...I can’t do this, this was a terrible idea...well, you shouldn’t have encouraged me—”

“Hey, if you’re busy—“

“Sorry, that was..my dad! Yeah, he needs help with the car. Tire busted and he’s not strong enough to lift the wheels so he always asks me, cause you know. Guns of steel and all that. But we should talk more. Yeah! Okay.”

“Yeah. Definitely...”

| 4:55pm |

“Family Video. This is Steve.”

“Steve.”

“Robin.”

“...”

“You need me to—“

“I need you to come over.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. What’s Eddie got you in?”

“Well...it’s creative?”

“Robin doesn’t want to go metal, even though metal clearly wants to go Robin. Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi babe. Rob, this is why you shouldn’t’ve asked him. He has terrible taste—“

“Ugh! You love this!”

“I do. For you. And more specifically, taking if off of you—“

“O.K. gross! Disgusting! Stop! Can we focus on me? I’m in a crisis!”

“Alright, alright. Let me clock out. Don’t let him near your scissors.”

| 6:14pm |

“This is the Wheeler’s, it’s Mike.”

“Mike! Oh, Michael, thank God I thought I was gonna have to hangup on your mom again.”

“Robin? Why are you calling my house? Is someone in trouble?”

“No! Why does everyone keep assuming that? Don’t answer that. Listen, I need your help.”

“What? No, I have a campaign going.”

“It’ll take like two minutes—did he say a campaign?—then you can do whatever—no, don’t—What campaign?”

“Eddie?”

“What campaign? Unless I’m mistaken, and I rarely am—HA—we don’t have a Hellfire meeting scheduled till Friday. What is this? A mutiny?”

“No! No I promise! It’s just a one-shot, just to get Will back into things, I swear.”

“You swear, huh?”

“On my life! On The Knights of Mystic Fire!”

“Yeah, you better. I’ll let this slide if you help out Robin. No buts! Or Sir Miklan is getting disadvantage on every throw next session.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“Can you go check and see what Nancy’s wearing?”

“What?!”

“Not like that! Just! We’re, uh, hanging out tonight and she didn’t tell me where we were going and I don’t know if I should bring a jacket, so just go and check, okay?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s weird. Here, just talk to her yourself—“

“What—no, Mike—”

“Robin?”

| 6:19pm |

“Nancy. Hi.”

“Hi, Robin.”

“...”

“I didn’t mean to hang up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I figured it was an accident or something.”

“Yeah. You know me, love slipping on things and hitting buttons I can’t..unclick..”

“Yeah, I do. It’s really cute.”

“Ah, well, I mean, if you say so. Most people find it annoying, but I mean, if you think—ah, well, thank you. I think your cute too, obviously. Um. I mean, not for that, also obviously, cause I don’t think you’ve tripped on anything in your life, uh, so—“

“Robin.”

“Yes!”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah! Could you tell?”

“Hm!”

“I don’t know what to wear. I had an idea, and then it vanished and nothing else in my closet felt right. Steve just kept trying to cinch my jeans cause he said that’s what girls like, and Eddie kept suggesting leather, but I sweat a lot in leather, you know? And then I called Jonathan—“

“You called Jonathan?”

“I know, Steve already chewed me out for that. I didn’t really talk to him anyway, I just didn’t know who else to call—I don’t have a lot of friends. But—I don’t know. The outfit needs to be perfect, cause the girl I’m going on the date with, is perfect. And...I really like her. A lot. Like, makes my head dizzy, a lot.”

“Oh, Robin.”

“That’s not a pitying ‘Robin’ is it?”

“No. It’s a ‘you’re very cute and I’m very excited for this date’ Robin. Look, don’t listen to Steve. I’m pretty sure the jeans are more about him getting to check out his own ass than anyone else, and Eddie’s into whatever everybody else isn’t. Just wear what you feel like. You could pull up in PJ’s and I’d be happy. I don’t want the date to be perfect, I want the date to be us.”

“Naaaancyyy! Oh my god that was so perfectly sweet.”

“Does that help?”

“Yeah, that makes me feel better. Still a little anxious, cause on a practical level I still don’t know what to wear, but I do feel better about the not-knowing.”

“Well...if it helps, I’m wearing purple. So you should wear something green, that way we match.”

“That’s smart. I love green.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah, that’s why I wore purple.”

“You were trying to get us to match?! Nancy, do you have a crush on me or something?”

“Well I’m glad to see you’re feeling more confident. Even if it’s at my expense.”

“Ha-ha yeah. Okay, gotta run, I’ve got—oh my god, I’m gonna be late. Okay, I’ll see you at the diner—dressed! Bye, Nance!”

“Bye, Robin.”

[celandeline]

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (17)

I am so incredibly glad that Elspeth put my seat next to Venetia, otherwise I would be completely lost at this dinner. The people I know are vastly outnumbered by the people I don’t, and I feel for Felix, who looks so bored stranded between two men (who I can assume are both named Henry). 

“And what’s your name?” The man to my right is already red in the face, and we’re only on the second course of the meal. 

“Evelyn.” I say, shifting slightly in my seat to face him. 

“Henry.” He says, extending his hand to shake. His palms are sweaty, and I try not to cringe at the way he leaves a film on my hand. 

“I figured.” I say, wiping my palm on the skirt of my dress. 

He laughs, even though I didn’t really mean it to be all that funny - but drunk people make the best crowd. “I’ve not seen you about before.” He says. “Or maybe I have -” He chuckles. “Parties here do tend to get rather crowded.”

“This is my first time.” I say. “Venetia brought me home for the summer.”

His eyebrows quirk up. “How are you liking it?”

“It’s great.” I say, turning to my plate to spoon a bite of dinner into my mouth. “The house is beautiful.”

“Oh, yes.” He says. “I remember the first time I saw this house - of course, I was very young, then - but I still remember that grandeur feeling. And the people - James’s mother and father were such lovely people.”

“I’m sure.” I say, trading my spoon for my wine glass. It’s white wine tonight, and it goes down easier than the red. 

He stops himself to drain his own wineglass. “Really such lovely people, the Cattons.”

“Mm.” My eyes drift along the table until they reach the end, where Elspeth and Farleigh are sat around a corner. Even though Elspeth is talking to him, Farleigh’s eyes are on me as he takes a long draught from his glass. He tilts his head as he sets his cup down, and smirks. 

“Truly, it’s a sort of fantasy, being here…”

Mostly prattling to himself at this point, I turn away from Henry and back towards Venetia. Her back is to me though, talking to Oliver. 

“No thanks.” Venetia says, sighing. “It’s just so disappointing. You're just another one of his toys.”

“You're upset.” Oliver doesn’t sound sympathetic at all.

“No! Don't worry! I'm used to it, honestly.” She says it so flippantly my heart breaks a little.  “He never liked sharing his toys. Even the ones he doesn’t want to play with anymore.” She turns away from him, to face me with a sad sort of smile. 

“Venetia…” Oliver hisses. “Venetia…”

She pays him no mind. “Hi Evie.”

I smile. “Hi baby.”

She drops her voice, and picks up her wineglass. “He’s such a bore, my god.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder towards Oliver. “As soon as Felix says no, that’s it. Done.” She glances across the table. “Felix hasn’t spoken to me since yesterday morning.”

“He’ll come around.” I say. “You’re his sister.”

“I know.” She sighs. “Still - there goes my summer entertainment.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t believe for a second that she’s going to stop batting her eyelashes at him. She’ll take a break, sure, but she couldn’t even come up with a word to describe the way he gave her head - she’s going to at least try again. 

“What about you?” She says. “What about last night?”

“What about last night?” I say. 

“Farleigh was on your bed.”

“To gossip.” I say. 

“To gossip,” She mocks, rolling her eyes. “Without me? Alone, in your room, when you’d just gotten out of the shower? Gossip.” 

“Yes, gossip.” I say. “You know about his weird hate-boner for Oliver.”

“I know about his boner-boner for you.” Venetia says. Her eyes skip away from mine, past me, to where Farleigh is sitting. 

“We almost kissed.” I say, hushed. “I think. I don’t know.”

She bites her lip as she grins. “Go on.” Sure, Oliver might be too scared to keep their summer romance going, but that doesn’t mean she can’t doubly invest herself in mine to keep herself entertained. 

“We almost kissed that night on the roof, too, I think.” I say. “I don’t know, he’s not… most guys would just do it, you know? He keeps just waiting.” 

“And you haven’t kissed him because?” She asks.

“I’m kind of enjoying the tension.” I admit, a little sheepishly. 

“Me too.” She says, grinning. “It’s like my own soap opera happening in my house, starring people that I already know and love. I’m so glad that I brought you home, Evie, really.”

“So glad that I could make your summer more interesting.” I say, truthfully. 

“You’ll have to tell me if he’s a good kisser, when you do end up snogging.” She says. “I’ve always wanted to know who’s the best kisser out of the three of us - everyone says Felix is quite bad, and I think I’m alright, but I don’t know anyone that’s kissed Farleigh to check.”

“If we end up snogging.” I say, mocking her accent. 

“Oh, shove off, New Yawk.” She grins. “And if you don’t at least kiss him, I’ll be furious.”

“Well, if you’ll be furious.” I say, taking another draught of my wine. 

“Please,” She snorts. “I know you want to.”

“But-”

“And I already know what you’re going to say, ‘what if we kiss and then it’s boring’ - it’s Farleigh. You can say many things about Farleigh, but you can’t say he’s boring.” She gives me a pointed look. 

I grin. “You know me so well.”

She smiles back at me. “I do, don’t I?”

I glance back to the end of the table where Farleigh sits. He’s leaned over towards Elspeth, saying something that I can’t make out, but like he can sense my gaze shifting, his eyes meet mine, and he smiles. I return his grin, and take another sip of wine, licking the excess off my lips. 

< previous part | next part >

[straightupsickfics]

before and after

i am going through a phase of wanting to read and write nothing but ineffable wives currently, so here is a fic for that specific square on my good omens sickfic bingo card, though i'm positive this will not be the last i write for them ... 🥺

in this particular instance, i just wanted crowley to help aziraphale get dressed. and then undressed <3

****

“Hh’ngtx! Hh’idsh! O-hh! Oh! snf! ndo…Crowle-heh!-y!” 

“Mm, yes, Angel?” Crowley asks, taking her time with the necklace in her hand. Instead of putting it on, she’s pressing soft, ticklish little kisses all over Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders. She’s assuming they’re ticklish, anyway, what with the way Aziraphale’s breath keeps catching, turning into involuntary little gasps. The neck and the nose are hardly connected, but the brief, soft touches keep aggravating the angel’s already over-sensitive nose somehow. 

Those shuddering, coaxing breaths just make Crowley want to kiss her all the more, though. 

So she does, sweeping her hair away and gathering Aziraphale in close enough to kiss the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. 

“hH’ISHH’iew!” A real sneeze this time, and Crowley replies with yet another soft kiss, right at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck, making her shiver in response. 

“Y’don’t sound so good, Angel. You’re sure we need to go to this thing? I couldn’t tempt you into staying home, by any chance? You’re not even really dressed yet,” she points out. Aziraphale’s dress is still on the bed, waiting for her to slip into it, another thing Crowley enjoys helping with.

“We have to make an appearance at the very least,” Aziraphale sniffles. 

She’s been coming down with a cold for the better part of the week, and Crowley can tell it's finally catching up with her. She knows, too, that deep down Aziraphale agrees with her, that there’s nothing she’d like more than to settle into all those delicious cold symptoms and let Crowley fuss the way she’s so fond of. 

“Bunch of boring shopkeepers…” Crowley mutters. “You’re the only interesting one at these meetings. There,” she adds, finally clipping Aziraphale’s necklace into place. She lets Aziraphale’s curly blond hair slide through her fingers, falling gently back around her shoulders, then turns her around. She straightens the little love heart charm so it sits just in the center of Aziraphale’s chest, her hand lingering just a beat longer than necessary. 

“You’re biased on that front, I believe,” Aziraphale says, though she’s smiling in that fond way she reserves for Crowley specifically. “Thank you,” she adds, touching the little gold heart. It’d been an anniversary present years ago, and so far neither of them have gotten tired of the ritual of Crowley helping her on with it. 

“M’right, though. Here,” Crowley says when Aziraphale just sniffles a few more times in reply. She holds out one of the soft, checked handkerchiefs she knows her wife prefers, quietly delighting in the soft pink flush that appears over Aziraphale’s dainty, upturned nose when she pulls it away. 

“It really is just a cold,” Aziraphale says softly. “And I have to bring those brownies…” At this point Crowley’s not sure who she’s trying to convince, herself or Crowley. 

“They wouldn’t go to waste if we kept them here.” 

“It’s four dozen.”

“Of your brownies, Angel, those things are actually sinfully good.” 

Aziraphale smiles. “Yes, well, thank you again, my dear. Now, I just need to…oh no…hh’IdTSHH! Heh’eiishh’OO!” She only just manages to bring the handkerchief back to her face to muffle the sneezes into, and when she’s done she just looks tired.

“Angel…” Crowley murmurs, pulling her back in for a kiss, just one, to the bridge of her nose. 

Aziraphale sighs and lets her head rest against Crowley’s shoulder. Her own outfit is all black, a blazer and matching slacks, and only she can see the small damp spot left behind when Aziraphale lifts her head with another little sigh. 

“Help me with this so we can go?” Aziraphale asks, gesturing to the dress laying on the bed. 

Crowley smiles, knows that she enjoys this every bit as much as Crowley, even if she won’t say as much aloud. “‘Course, Angel, turn around?” 

The process begins again, stolen kisses and hitched breaths and soft touches, until they are just a little – fashionably – late to the shopkeeper’s meeting. 

*

As predicted, they don’t last very long at the meeting at all. 

Aziraphale did her best, of course, because she’s an angel, even when she’s sick, making polite small talk for a minute or two, asking after customers and kids and vacations while Crowley hovered in the back, smiling tightly and mostly speaking when spoken to. She doesn’t always even go to these things, but with Aziraphale feeling as poorly as she did, Crowley wouldn’t have missed it. 

She watched as updates and mini presentations were given – Aziraphale didn’t have any any of her own to give this month, thank…someone – and as her wife devolved into more and more frequent sniffles and fits of painful-sounding stifled sneezes, Crowley was all too happy to lead her from the room when she gave her a helpless little look and mouthed ready?

Now, they’re right back in their bedroom where they started, which is all Crowley really wanted for their evening, anyway. 

Aziraphale all but collapses onto the bed with a sigh, her nose running in earnest when she leans down to take her shoes off. 

“Angel,” Crowley says softly, quietly melting a little when she looks up at her, blue eyes streaming and her poor, pink nose threatening to join them any moment. Crowley watches as her nose twitches, right around the edges as she takes a careful breath. 

“Crowley, you don’t—” Aziraphale starts, then stops to sniffle and scrub at her nose with a knuckle. She holds it there for a minute, tentatively. 

“Ssssshh,” Crowley shushes. “I know I don’t have to,” she says. “I got to help you get ready, now I get to undo it.” She loves it, the entire ritual of it, though most of the time it’s easier for her to just do it than it is to put it into words. Besides, Aziraphale knows. 

“Oh, well, that’s…” Aziraphale’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink as she tries to find something to say. 

“Exactly. In the meantime, you hold onto this.” Crowley hands her a fresh handkerchief, and has no choice but to kiss her cheek when she smiles gratefully up at her from her perch on the bed. 

Crowley makes quick work of her shoes, then starts on the sheer tights beneath her dress. She offers Aziraphale a hand, helps her up and off the bed so she can roll them carefully down the length of her soft thighs and down her calves, until they’re discarded on the floor. Aziraphale kisses the top of Crowley’s head when she sits back down, murmuring a quiet thank you, which Crowley answers with kisses of her own, a trail of them, soft and teasing down her angel’s right thigh.

She’s interrupted by a sharp intake of breath, looking up to find Aziraphale waving her hand in warning, her chest rising and falling quickly as she works through a build up. 

“H-hheh...H'IHTshhiew! IH'Tshhiew! Snf! Oh, excuse mbe…” The sneezes sound stronger, wetter, and itchier than they had before they left, and Aziraphale looks more glassy eyed, too. She’s definitely feeling worse now, Crowley knows, though she can’t help the warm coil of affection and arousal makes its way through her. 

“You’re always excused, angel. You do sound properly ill, though.” 

“I feel properly ill,” Aziraphale admits, dabbing at her nose with the handkerchief.  

The dress is next, carefully unzipped and tugged down, down, down, though Crowley knows better than to let that drop on the floor. She sets it carefully down on the bed while Aziraphale shrugs out of her bra with a relieved sigh, and then there’s nothing but perfect, pale skin, rippling with cold-ridden shivers. Crowley wastes no time passing Aziraphale her favorite pair of soft flannel pajamas, though she stops long enough to drop one last kiss to the soft swell of her chest before she changes into them.  

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale says again, wiggling herself beneath the soft comforter while Crowley changes out of her own outfit and into black silk pajamas. Her voice sounds full of congestion, and Crowley knows she’s feeling poorly enough that she’ll actually sleep tonight, rather than just read when Crowley dozes. “Can you do one more thing for me?” 

Crowley looks at her. “Think you know that answer by now,” she smiles. 

“Come here,” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley does as she’s told, tucking herself in beneath the blankets beside Aziraphale until they’re pressed in warm and close from head to toe. Aziraphale lets herself be scooped up by Crowley, slotting perfectly into her arms, Crowley’s nose nuzzling into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. 

“You’re too good to me,” Aziraphale says with a yawn. 

“Not posssssible,” Crowley sighs, nuzzling closer. She presses a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s ear, breathing in the scent of her. All these years together, countless nights spent just like this, and she’s sure she’ll never get tired of the angel’s perfect, familiar scent. “Now, you need to sleep; we need to get you feeling back to rights, kicking people out of the bookshop, et cetera.” 

“I don’t kick them out, I just don’t let them buy things,” Aziraphale defends. 

“Tomato, tomato, sweetheart.” 

Aziraphale goes quiet at the endearment, turning in Crowley’s arms to kiss her, soft and sweet at first, then longer and deeper, until their silly little argument, even all her cold symptoms, are entirely forgotten.

[assassinmidnight]

Their resident Genius

The BAU is called in by Scotland Yard to help with a case, Spencer becomes intrigued when he hears that they have their own resident genius.

_________

Spencer Reid x Holmes!Autistic!Female!reader

_________

Honestly Spencer was unsure why Scotland Yard had called them in, he always knew that their team was one of the best but the fact that Scotland Yard had called them in had surprised the Genius a lot.

--

“Okay team, we’ve been called in by the English. We’re gonna be gone for a bit so pack accordingly. Airstrip in 30,” Hotch called. “Wait, the English? You mean Scotland Yard? Scotland Yard called US in, why?” 

“Really Reid, I thought you’d be the most excited to meet their team. Apparently they have their own resident genius,” The reply from Hotch had Morgan smiling “Resident Genius? Is he smarter than Reid? Man I have to see this,”

--

During the entire flight Spencer had been thinking of the so-called Genius. He didn’t really believe in genius as a word but he had become intrigued. He wondered if Hotch was honest, if he was correctly informed. Spencer had for a long time kept track of Scotland Yard but he’d only heard of Sherlock Holmes being their resident genius, but he was a consultant not an official agent. Did he decide to join them officially?

“Reid stop, I can hear the cogs turning in your head and it’s keeping me from my sleep,” 

“Shut up Morgan,” Morgan looked over “Reid I get it, you’re stressed about meeting new people and maybe even someone who can go against you in brainiac power. But dude chill, it’s gonna be all good, chances are they aren’t even close to your level.” 

Spencer took that into consideration, it’s true most people who are called geniuses aren’t close to his level.”

_

“Okay team we’re gonna meet the people from Scotland Yard. Behave,” Hotch sounded more serious than he looked.

Spencer was surprised when they entered the building, it was nothing like their own. This place was not messy or filled with people stuffing the rooms, it was all quiet and strict as if it was a classroom. “This way to the office,” Hotch pointed towards a room and they all headed there.

“Ah Agent Hotch, thank you for coming,” The man smiled and shook hands with Hotch, “This must be your famous team of profilers,” The man quickly looked at his watch before looking up again. “We should wait with the introductions, one of ours is running late,” Morgan smirked “Your resident genius?” The man looked up surprised before nodding, he looked like he was about to answer but got interrupted by the door swinging open.

“I’m sorry for being late, you know how my brother is,” A woman came in, a bit out of breath. She looked around 21 and had (y/h) colored hair, quite long too.

She seemed to realize the company they had and went beet red, Spencer thought she looked pretty cute. 

She turned back to the man, “So this is the BAU team lestrade? The best profilers,” 

“Wait you’re Greg Lestrade? You worked with Sherlock and Dr. Watson,” The two brits looked over at Reid, the girl cocked her head to the side before smiling. “Dr. Reid I presume. I’ve read a lot about you, three PhDs and working for the FBI at 24, impressive,” now Reid turned red earning a laugh from Morgan. “You did your homework,” The woman looked at Morgan, “Yes I did, I like knowing who come here, Agent Morgan.” 

“Y/n behave. I know you prefer working alone but no need to be rude, you are better than your brothers aren't you?” The girl named Y/n sighed and nodded. “Good, introduce us to the UnSub.”

__

Throughout the entire briefing Spencer had been staring at Y/N, he couldn’t figure out how such a young woman was part of Scotland Yard. He tried to profile her but all he could decipher from her movements, which were many. She fidgeted a lot, tended to stare at the wall and kept her arms crossed over her chest. She was distracted, bored and introverted. That profile didn’t fit someone in this field. 

“Yes Y/N?” Hotch's voice brought Spencer from his thoughts.

“Dr. Reid, why are you staring at me so much? Is it really that hard to profile me?” Her voice was quite gleeful. She was proud, she had an advantage and she knew that. “Mm, yes sorry, I was profiling you but it wasn’t hard. You are clearly bored by this, unfocused throughout the entire briefing and you are closed off. These are not common attributes in Agents, that’s why I was staring,” He felt pretty proud of himself until “You didn’t introduce me Detective?” “No, I thought it best to keep the introductions til we're all here. But it seems like you know them well enough which I expected but you should probably introduce yourself,” Lestrade smiled and Y/N nodded. “My name is Y/N Holmes, little sister of both Mycroft and Sherlock. I am the one who usually works alone in my cave but apparently I was needed for this case. And no Dr. Reid I was not bored or unfocused, quite the opposite actually. I was just in my mind palace,”

“You’re the sister of Sherlock? Wait you’re the resident Genius,” Y/N laughed at Morgan’s reaction. Once again she cocked her head to the side, smiling. “How many PhDs?” She turned to Reid, “None, school bores me. Also resident genius isn’t what I would call myself, creative genius with hypersensitivity. All the Holmes boys got none of the emotion so I got all of it,” Reid nodded. “Well now that we’ve been introduced to the most interesting thing in England, how about we get started.”

__

“You still thinking about Miss smartypants, Pretty boy?” Reid tossed a pillow at Derek, but he did nod. “There is something about her, she wasn’t looking at me but knew that I was watching her. She assumed Lestrade had introduced her to us but was happy when she got to do it herself and she pointed out that she is more creative and sensitive than her brothers who are known sociopaths. I can’t understand her brain, or her profile,” Morgan stared at Reid before laughing “Dude it sound like you have a crush on Miss Holmes, well if she is as smart as they say your kids will definitely be something out of this world,” Morgan kept on laughing even when Spencer turned around on his bed.

__

“Welcome to my cave, don’t touch anything without asking.” Y/N was stern, her look was cold as well Spence nodded. “So um, why am I working here instead of in the field?” he asked, she looked at him annoyed before turning to her screen. “Because your boss thought it would be best to keep the two geniuses in the same room.”

The two kept working, Reid was surprised at all the tea Y/N was drinking and how she compulsively played with her bracelets whenever she was thinking. OCD, that did fit but something still felt off. “Just ask, get it out of the way before you drive me absolutely nuts” she looked at him expectantly. Spencer gulped before asking the question “Why can’t I profile you? I know it’s nothing on my end so it must be something on yours,” She shook her head and smiled, looking back at her screen. Spencer sighed thinking she wasn’t going to answer. 

“I am autistic with traces of OCD and dyslexia, that’s why you can’t profile me. I don’t fit the general profile for autistics. I have a deep emotional understanding but I lack logical intelligence that is usually paired with the diagnosis. My OCD traces are caused by my autism and the compulsive behaviors are mainly caused by anxiety. I suffered deep trauma in my childhood like both my brothers but unlike them I never emotionally distanced myself, this is why you can’t profile me Reid, I don’t fit the general profiles just like you,”He was surprised at her answer but considering what she just said he really shouldn’t have. 

“Wow, that’s- that’s a lot. Wait, you profiled me?” He was genuinely surprised, she laughed at him, breaking her cold act. “No I didn’t, but most intelligent people are the same,” he nodded before laughing with her.

__

“So thanks to the BAU and our own Agents we’ve managed to catch this killer and he will soon be behind bars,” JJ announced on the news. The team were currently at Lestrades house having a drink. Reid kept looking over to Y/N, ever since they’d solved the case she’d been distant towards him, it hurt for some reason. He thought they were getting along, especially after they’d started to talk about Dr. WHO, guess not. 

“Something wrong, Reid?” He turned and saw that the voice belonged to Lestrade, he nodded. “In my experience with the Holmes siblings, they rarely act like this unless it’s something that will actually impact them. You should talk to her, as much as she detests it she is like her brothers and when angry instead of being consumed by emotions like them she turns them off and goes all logical. Easy to have a conversation with if you watch your words,” When Spencer didn’t move Lestrade pushed him slightly making him go over to Y/N.

“Why are you ignoring me?” She turned to him, cup of tea in her hand, she sighed then gave him a strained smile. “Reid, go back to your team,” “Not until you tell me why you’ve been ignoring me?” She gave him a cold look before sighing again. “I have been ignoring you because I like you, Reid. You are going back to America so I am simply distancing myself to get used to not having you around any more. It’s all logical,” 

“You like me?” he was genuinely surprised, he found Y/N cute and even had a bit of a crush on her, something he’d never admit to Morgan but he never thought she liked him back.

“Of course I like you. You are smart and cute and have these small quirks about you. You are funny and a geek and get almost every single of my pop culture references,” Reid just looked at her with fond eyes, she liked him back and was now rambling on about why. It was cute, really cute. He pressed his lips against hers, successfully muffling her rambles. She seemed surprised at first but soon reprocrated the kiss.

“WHO IS THAT GUY KISSING MY BABY SISTER!” The two geniuses broke apart, red and turned to the voice. Seems like Sherlock Holmes had invited himself in and based on the look in his eyes said one thing, the high functioning sociopath was not happy with Reid kissing his sister.

[robininthelabyrinth]

extra 1 for Tedious Joys, with thanks to all the suggestions from people engaged in the discussion on tumblr, your ideas were fantastic and I used all that I could fit in!

-

Before Lan Qiren left to attend the first discussion conference held after Nie Mingjue’s ascension to the position of Nie sect leader – a notion that still gave Lan Qiren a stomachache merely to think of it – Lao Nie made him promise three times over that he would keep an eye on his painfully earnest, straightforward eldest son and keep him from doing anything foolish.

“Of course I will,” Lan Qiren finally said, exasperated: any more nagging, and he was going to be late. When he’d thought to himself that he’d picked up a wife, he hadn’t really expected this part of it; if anything, he assumed he’d be the one doing the nagging. “You know perfectly well that he’s as dear to me as my nephews! I don’t know why you feel the need to even ask.”

“Your nephews have good self-control, a trait my Nie sect most definitively lacks,” Lao Nie said. “We’re all in agreement that it’s not yet time to challenge Hanhan. What if A-Jue forgets that and, I don’t know, punches him in the face?”

“He won’t,” Lan Qiren said. “He’s a good boy, your son; you’ve told him not to, so he won’t. Anyway, if it really comes to it, I won’t let him.”

Finally, Lao Nie let him leave, and Lan Qiren made his way to the Lotus Pier for the discussion conference. Nie Mingjue and his retinue had arrived shortly before he did, the circles under his eyes and the small signs of mourning he still wore making him look older than he ought to be; there was a scowl fixed on his face that did not disappear entirely even when he nodded to Lan Qiren, although it did soften a little.

Lan Qiren’s heart hurt for him. To manage an entire sect at fifteen – even with support, the pressures of it must be well-nigh unbearable, and it looked as though Nie Mingjue had started using his cultivation to get him through all the nights of missed sleep, as unwise as that approach was in the long term.

It was strange to go to the habitual meeting of the Great Sect leaders, the one they had with each other before they mixed with all the other sect leaders, and bow to Nie Mingjue as if to a peer, rather than to a junior.

Stranger still to see Wen Ruohan do the same, a mocking smile on his lips as he raised his head from the greeting.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he said, and there was almost some sense of satisfaction as he said the unfamiliar words – no one had had to use them when it was Lao Nie, of course. “I bid you welcome, as the newest member to the ranks of leadership among our Great Sects.”

Nie Mingjue did not respond with words the way he had when similar sentiments had been offered by others – no Please give me guidance here, though that was understandable given what the entire cultivation world knew he believed about Wen Ruohan – and contented himself by merely jerking his head again in a nod.

“Your father was a very involved member of our little group,” Wen Ruohan continued, and was he really going to offer Nie Mingjue his condolences for Lao Nie’s death? Propriety demanded he do so, but he’d never cared much for propriety, and given his actions it would be an offense to all sensibility. “One could hardly hope to match him in his passion and enthusiasm in all that he did. I look forward to seeing you...take his place.”

His eyes flickered over Nie Mingjue from head to toe, blatant in its unspoken unspeakable implication, even as Nie Mingjue’s eyes went round with disbelief.

A moment later, it ended up being Lan Qiren’s fist that found its way to Wen Ruohan’s face.

Luckily, Wen Ruohan found it funny - laughing at how he’d managed to break Lan sect discipline, rather than taking offense - and no war was started.

Whether that would last once Lan Qiren reported the substance of the conversation back to Lao Nie, however...

-

“You know,” Lan Qiren said, staring at the ceiling and wishing it would come down on top of him. “It’s very nice that you’re all such good friends.”

His nephews both bobbed their heads in a polite nod.

“I’m sure Mingjue and Huaisang greatly appreciate it.”

Another nod.

“However, they are now sect leader and sect heir, and we must treat them with the dignity that those positions require.”

A third nod. He was starting to wonder if they’d been replaced by dolls with loose necks.

“This is why they were assigned their very own rooms in our guest quarters, rather than spending their nights in yours.”

“Nie Huaisang will be lonely if he sleeps by himself,” Lan Wangji said, stubborn as ever. “My room is better.”

“Wangji. Yesterday, you chased Huaisang up two separate hills with your sword, sat on him, made him cry, and then wouldn’t let him up until he admitted you were superior in every respect.”

Lan Wangji smiled briefly, a rare and beautiful sight that warmed the heart. “Mm. Deserved it.”

Lan Qiren flailed a little. “Wangji, do you even like him?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care where he sleeps?”

“If he sleeps badly, he will do even worse than he already does,” Lan Wangji said. “Someone might make fun of him.”

“…and what happens then?”

“Bite.”

“Wangji! We’ve discussed this, no biting people. Not even if they’re making fun of your friend!”

Lan Wangji nodded in a way that suggested he was only being agreeable so that Lan Qiren stopped insisting on silly things like Nie Huaisang getting his own bedroom instead of sleeping on the spare bed in Lan Wangji’s and not actually agreeing in the slightest.

They were still working on the biting thing.

Giving up, Lan Qiren turned his gaze to his older nephew.

Lan Xichen squirmed. “…sometimes I go to stay in his rooms instead?”

“You’re not even planning on coming up with an excuse?”

“Lying is forbidden, uncle.”

Lan Qiren pinched the bridge of his nose.

-

“For this sort of thing, you go to your eldest uncle,” Lan Qiren said flatly, and after a moment of contemplation, Lan Wangji conceded that he had a point.

After all, Lao Nie had been married several times, presumably intentionally, whereas Lan Qiren had ended up with a wife through circumstance and luck.

Lao Nie was a very good wife, though, even if for some reason Lan Wangji was required to refer to him as eldest uncle rather than calling him aunt – though that was mostly his uncle’s preference. Lao Nie thought being called auntie was hilarious.

In retrospect, though, Lao Nie’s tendency to think things were hilarious was a lot less endearing when it was aimed at him.

“Just tell him you like him,” Lao Nie suggested, as if that wasn’t the most ridiculous Nie sect style advice possible. “Tell him you want to spend more time with him.”

Lan Wangji shook his head firmly.

“How is this Wei Wuxian supposed to figure it out, then?”

He wouldn’t. Obviously. The question was how to get rid of the feelings, not how to actually let Wei Wuxian know that they existed.

“I don’t know, I find sex works really well to deal with repressed emotions associated with pining.”

Lan Wangji wanted to die.

Or possibly find and bully Nie Huaisang the way he used to when he was a kid. Not that he would, of course, he was above that, and also Nie Huaisang was really good at getting revenge and he couldn’t risk that happening where Wei Wuxian might see.

“Sex is not a valid solution in all cases,” Lan Wangji’s uncle interjected.

“Ah, Qiren, Qiren. Are you still holding Hanhan against me?”

“Yes, I am. He tried to kill you.”

“So?” Lao Nie shrugged. “That describes basically everyone I ever slept with.”

“Have you ever considered that that may be part of your problem?”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one! Look at Wangji here; the first thing he noticed about this Wei Wuxian character was his excellent fighting skills – a moonlight duel on the rooftops, how romantic –”

“You don’t know what romance is –”

Lan Wangji was just going to go back to his unrequited pining.

It couldn’t be worse than having to listen to this argument again.

-

Lan Wangji was fighting frantically, but he already knew his sword would not be sufficient.

They were going to burn the library.

All those precious books..!

His uncle had already sent Lan Xichen away with the most important ones, but Lan Wangji didn’t want to lose any of them. These books had been his friends growing up, the source of his strength and the consolation in his loneliness – their pages bore silent witness to his childish tears, the imprints of his dirty fingerprints, the good times and the bad. There were books he had thumbed through a thousand times until he knew them down to the last idiosyncratic quiver in their calligraphy and books he had not yet acquainted himself with, had only seen on the shelves and thought one day. To lose them now, old friend and future friend alike, would be to break his heart.

There was a sound behind him and he spun, already tired, exhausted, and it was Wen Xu behind him, the leader of the invading Wen sect cultivators himself. He was smiling so cruelly, holding a fire talisman aloft like a flare, knowing that Lan Wangji wouldn’t make it in time to stop him –

A hand wrapped itself around Wen Xu’s wrist from behind, freezing the motion.

Freezing not just him, but all the Wen cultivators around him, each one of their faces twisting in horror as they realized that a cultivator dressed in astere mourning white that might be mistaken for the colors of the Lan sect had managed to get through their forces to stand at their master’s side, even if his hands were empty of any weapon.

Their horror quickly turned to agony, and then nothing at all, as the reconstituted Jiwei flew through the air, battering through their swords with overwhelming force and piercing their bodies, as vicious and free as if she were alive – there was nothing that quite compared to the Nie sect’s fierce sabers when unleashed at the beck and call of their masters, a weapon against which regular spiritual weapons had difficulty holding up.

With their bodies fell their fire talismans, their flares, and suddenly Lan Wangji felt hope thudding in his chest: one man could not change the tide of war, but he could change the course of a single battle, especially if he could convince Wen Xu to order a retreat.

If Wen Xu ordered a retreat now –

The library would survive.

“Tell Hanhan that Lao Nie said ‘hello’,” Lao Nie said in Wen Xu’s ear – his face was as pale as a ghost in the fire and moonlight, his lips red as blood and his smile full of viciousness like a slash across his face –and with a single twist he snapped the bone of Wen Xu’s wrist.

-

“It really isn’t me!” Wei Wuxian protested. “For one thing, didn’t the sightings of old Sect Leader Nie start before I took up demonic cultivation?”

“I don’t think it was you that did it,” Nie Mingjue said, not for the first time. His eyes kept flickering around the room as if seeking help, and his expression, to those that did not know him well, was stormy; Wei Wuxian saw this and clearly panicked, continuing to try to explain.

To those that did know Nie Mingjue well, it was immediately obvious that he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Lan Xichen sympathized.

It wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that it served their purposes for the moment to have it be thought that Lao Nie was a spectre arisen from his grave in search of personal vengeance on Wen Ruohan – it was certainly causing Wen Ruohan no end of agony, judging by the way his strategy got a lot less rational and a lot more frenzied whenever Lao Nie put in an appearance – and if he was even slightly more discreet a personality, they would have simply brought him in on the secret already.

They were planning to – Lan Wangji had insisted, looking pained on his secret beloved’s behalf (secret in the sense that Wei Wuxian didn’t know about it, not secret in the sense that everyone else in their small family knew about it) – but they hadn’t had a chance. Lao Nie had insisted on being there to make things clear, since apparently he’d accidentally-on-purpose bumped into Wei Wuxian a few times in the Cloud Recesses while masquerading as a Lan sect elder so that he could evaluate his nephew-by-proxy’s crush, and he hadn’t yet arrived.

Which led to the current situation of Wei Wuxian being earnest and Nie Mingjue attempting to send mental smoke signals to Nie Huaisang in an effort to have the latter rescue him.

To no one’s surprise, Nie Huaisang was being no help at all.

In fact, his occasional well-timed sobs of “Wei-xiong! I thought we were friends! My father’s corpse! How could you?!” were in fact making things notably worse.

“I didn’t! I really didn’t!” Wei Wuxian yowled.

Lan Xichen was not going to laugh.

He wasn’t.

-

“And who’s to say the Yiling Patriarch won’t try to take charge of the Nie sect, too..?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m actually alive,” Lao Nie said loudly, and Lan Xichen flinched at first before relaxing. He’d forgotten, somehow, that Lao Nie had been the most shameless member of the last generation; it was no surprise that he, who could be as blunt as his son when he wanted to be, would address the whispered rumors drifting around them directly and without pretense. “Wei Wuxian may be a demonic cultivator who created a conscious fierce corpse, but no one has yet suggested with any plausibility that his abilities extend to living people who were just in hiding – which is a good thing, given how many people here would fall into that categorization.”

There was an awkward silence.

Sect Leader Jin coughed. “No one is suggesting that you’re Wei Wuxian’s puppet, Lao Nie,” he said, even though someone had very clearly been suggesting exactly that and if anyone believed that they had done so within Sect Leader Jin’s home without his knowledge then Lan Xichen was worried about what else they’d be willing to believe. “We’re merely expressing concern regarding his increasingly reckless actions – and on behalf of the Wen sect, no less! Especially with him having custody of such a powerful tool as the Tiger Seal, it is a little suspicious…”

“Wait, are you suggesting that you think Wei Wuxian has been possessed?” Lao Nie said. “By Hanhan? That’s ridiculous; they’re nothing alike. Wei Wuxian attended the hunt at Phoenix Mountain and didn’t hit on me once, there’s no way Hanhan is possessing him.”

Sect Leader Jin’s eye twitched.

Lan Xichen did not smile, but it was a challenge. Truly there was no one quite like Lao Nie when he was in full swing.

“Still, if people are having that sort of nonsense float around, I think it makes perfect sense for me to go check up on him to see how he’s doing,” Lao Nie continued. “I’m a respected member of the previous generation, and no one knows Hanhan better than me. Better still, I’ll take Qiren with me; we’ll make a holiday of it – it’s the least we deserve, really, now that we’re both retired sect leaders.”

“I suppose it would be more appropriate to send someone removed from active politics,” Lan Qiren said, voice a little toneless and neutral as always. “That would allow us to avoid any unfortunate implications that other sects were seeking to utilize the bad reputation of demonic cultivation to extract the Tiger Seal for their own purposes.”

Lan Xichen’s uncle was a renowned teacher, but equally well known for his inability to read the subtle nuances in social situations – no one else could have gotten away with just saying that when everyone was painfully aware that it was the subtext of Sect Leader Jin’s actions.

Though, actually, it was possible his uncle just hadn’t realized it was, in fact, meant to be subtext.

“I think that makes perfect sense,” Lan Xichen interjected before Sect Leader Jin – or Jin Guangyao, for that matter – could say anything. His sworn brother had never entirely forgiven Lao Nie for showing up at the last possible moment to murder Wen Ruohan personally before he could claim his head himself, even though the fame he had won for being their spy had still been sufficient to get him a spot in the Jin family, and as a result he was inclined to use his clever tongue to oppose Lao Nie just because he could. “Sect Leader Jiang, Wei Wuxian is a member of your sect, and therefore you have primary charge of him. Would you be willing to take Lao Nie and my uncle with you when you go to see him to act as impartial judges?”

“But I don’t want to be a third wheel on their old people sex honeymoon!” Jiang Cheng blurted out.

There was another moment of silence, and then Lao Nie burst out in howling laughter.

Nie Mingjue followed suit only an instant behind him, and of course once Nie Mingjue was laughing then there was no hope for Lan Xichen; he’d never been able to resist Nie Mingjue’s laughter, so rare after he’d become sect leader. Within moments, the tense atmosphere Sect Leader Jin had so carefully cultivated had been utterly shattered and the entire room was sobbing with hilarity, excluding only Lan Qiren who was scowling at all of them and Lan Wangji whose laughter was entirely in the way his eyes were crinkled in the corners.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Qiren said icily as his former student cowered in front of him. “I will have you know that Lao Nie and I are not in a sexual relationship –”  

“Wait, you’re not?” Sect Leader Jin blurted out, clearly despite himself, and that just set the whole room off again.

-

“Welcome to the Unclean Realm,” Lao Nie said.

“Since when do former sect leaders act to greet people at the door?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning at him: they had gotten on splendidly ever since the whole ‘did I resurrect you from the dead by accident’ question had resolved, and Lao Nie helping him out of the tough spot with the Wen sect by arranging his marriage to Lan Wangji had sealed his approval of him forever.

That was why he was arriving with the Lan sect delegation, after all, although Jiang Cheng had kicked his heels around at the entrance in order to ambush him – he wanted to ask some questions about Jiang Yanli’s upcoming wedding plans – and of course the Jin sect had gotten suspicious that they were up to something and waited as well so they were now coming in as one big group.

At least it gave Lan Xichen some time to chat with Jin Guangyao, who seemed much happier to be spending time away from the rest of his family; based on what he’d overheard of their conversation, they were scheming to get Nie Mingjue to relax a bit more and let his father temporarily take up sect leader duties again now that he and Lan Qiren were spending half the year at the Unclean Realm.  

“I’m on punishment duty,” Lao Nie said, looking delighted by it.

Which, hey, seemed weird, but based on everything Lan Wangji had told him about the former sect leader Nie (and his own mysterious ‘eldest uncle’, as he’d been known while he was at the Lan sect) and his former exploits, it seemed very in character for the man. And, well, Wei Wuxian wasn’t really in any position to throw stones…

“Eldest Uncle,” Lan Xichen said, looking over. “Did you do something to irritate Uncle again?”

“I didn’t! It was something different, actually, which I’m not at liberty to disclose to you.”

Oh, now Wei Wuxian was curious, and so was everyone else – Jiang Cheng sent him a ‘you don’t have shame, why don’t you ask’ sort of look at once – and since he did not, in fact, have shame, he asked, “Are you sure? What could it possibly be that you did?”

“Oh, Xiao Nie knows what he did,” an old woman in Nie sect colors said as she passed by. “And he’s going to stand there until he admits that he was wrong.”

“I’ll be here until I collapse,” Lao Nie explained proudly, but by that point everyone had stopped caring about whatever new thing he’d done in light of the newest twist.

“Did she just call you Xiao Nie?” Jiang Cheng said, sounding betrayed.

“…yes? She’s my great-grandaunt, she can call me anything she likes?”

“It’s just wrong,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “Isn’t it just wrong?”

“It is a bit wrong,” Jin Zixuan said, looking perturbed.

“Very wrong, even,” Lan Xichen said. “I didn’t know anyone did that.”

“No one does,” Lao Nie said. “Now stop gossiping and go inside already!”

“They say married couples start to act like each other,” Wei Wuxian said to Lan Wangji, who looked amused. “There really seems to be some truth to it – do you think he’ll start reciting Lan sect rules next? Ooh, or musical cultivation?”

Finding out that Lan Qiren was apparently the musical cultivation equivalent of a mad scientist in his spare time had been the happiest moment in Wei Wuxian’s life.

“Just wait until you see what Uncle is like when he’s drunk,” Lan Wangji said, and stop. What?

That was a thing?

Wei Wuxian had to make that happen right away.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Hallucination

Prompts: i love your fics insanity and real or not real!! can i request another fic where a side is struggling to tell what's real and what's a hallucination? can be in the same like universe (carrying on with one of the stories) or a completely different universe/person, idm - anon

 *crashes into ur asks*

Hey if you’re still taking requests could you do just Janus comforting someone on the verge of a meltdown? Like lots of soft words and caring Janus? He’s my comfort character and I love him - anon

Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (ish) 

Warnings: talk of hallucinations, uncertainty

Pairings: focus on creativitwins, intrulogical, dukeceit, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Word Count: 3864

Sometimes Thomas watches things and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes Thomas decides to watch something late at night, when it’s dark outside, even though Virgil tells him it’s a bad idea, and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

 Sometimes when Virgil has gone to his room and he’s fine, but Thomas’s mind can’t stop playing it over and over and over and over, he starts to expand on it and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

 He can’t remember the name of the video. Something to do with being stuck on a misty island in the middle of nowhere with a monster and villagers that wait to sacrifice tourists to the monster to sate its hunger. Something about a daring rescue or an escape plan doomed to fail.

 Something like…

 “Do not go outside. Do not turn on the lights. Don’t make sounds.” The old man draws the curtains sharply across the window. “And whatever you do, do not look out the window.”

 It’s late now. Patton’s asleep. Virgil’s in his room, probably asleep. The rest of them are still awake in the Imagination. It’s slumber party night for the twins, having created a big sprawling mansion in the Imagination for them to run around in. Logan is here, Janus is here, Roman is here.

 Villagers?

 They’re talking about what Thomas watched.

 Logan straightens his legs out. “It’s not a bad practice, staying quiet.”

 Janus rolls his eyes. “Come on, what is this, some haunted island?”

 “You saw the people in the video.” Logan rests his weight on his elbows. “Something was amiss.”

 “The only thing amiss was how awfully boring you lot are being.” Janus sighs and stands, stretching. “Well, I think a night of entertainment sounds wonderful.”

 “The old man said to be quiet,” Roman points out. Wait, is the old man real?

 “Do you know how prone to flights of fancy old people are?” Janus smiles. “Incredibly.”

 “Hmm.”

 “Oh don’t start that.” Janus rolls his eyes and his gaze lands on Remus. A smirk crawls across his face. “Well,” he drawls, sauntering across the room, “someone’s being awfully quiet.”

 Remus just shrugs. Janus crouches down.

 “What do you think about this monster,” he asks, tapping his fingers on his chin, “about the thing that sneaks around this island, peering into windows, through the keyholes of locked doors?”

 “Janus,” Logan warns.

 “What? I just want to hear what our other little scientist thinks about this.” He raises his eyebrows when Remus won’t hold his gaze. “No? Nothing? Need more data? Well, I’m sure you could ask around if you wanted to.”

 “We’re not supposed to leave,” he says softly.

 “I know you’re a goody-two-shoes, Remus, but you’ll never get anything done that way.”

 “Leave him alone, Janus,” Roman says with a wink, “he’s just mad at how pathetic the monster design was.”

 Long limbs. Dark eyes. Moved like shadow.

 “And the Boy Scout, coming to the rescue.” Janus rolls his eyes as he stands. “Aren’t you tired of being so boring?”

 Roman holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m all for exploring!”

 Janus sighs. “Ever the dashing prince, are we?”

 “Ask nicely and I may sweep you off your feet too.”

 The banter continues. Logan just sighs and pulls out a journal, the pen emerging from god-knows-where as he writes. Remus swallows and glances toward the window.

 In. Out. In. Out.

 Roman and Janus are still tossing barbs and jests back and forth. Remus cannot help but notice how loud they are being.

 The old man said to be quiet.

 Logan looks up when he begins to crouch down and shuffle behind the bed.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Changing.” He gives a half-hearted smile. “Texture spoons ran out.”

 He nods and goes back to his writing. Remus glances at the nightstand. Only 8:00. The conversation gets progressively louder. Logan joins in eventually, rolling his eyes at Roman’s increasingly elaborate proposals to bring in jukeboxes, disco lights, and speakers.

 “Let’s think about this logically. If the ghosts or whatever the hell the monster is sensitive to sound, why not pump everything to like, 300 decibels and blast their eardrums out?”

 “Or it could be that they just hear things like we hear things,” Logan remarks.

 “Mm.”

 “Why do I have to be quiet?” Roman spreads his arms. “I should not have to deal with that!”

 “Actually, you know what,” Janus says gleefully, “I agree. We shouldn’t have to be quiet. If this place doesn’t have adequate monster protection, that’s on them.”

 This place…didn’t they make it safe? Roman said they made it safe. Is it not safe anymore? Are the shadows—is the monster here?

 “Always the entitlement,” Logan sighs, seemingly resigning himself to the voice of reason as he settles his journal to the side, “assuming that everyone should cater to your needs.”

 “Oh come on, Logan. You have to admit that having a hotel that isn’t secure makes little to no sense.”

 Hotel? Isn’t this still the mansion?

 The low buzz of an LED sign comes from outside. Remus blinks. Has…has that always been there?

 “Not respecting the rules of wherever you choose to go makes little to no sense.”

 “That’s gotta hold up in court though.” Roman glances at Janus. “You get me?”

 “Yes, Your Honor,” Janus says, drawing himself up like a lawyer, “I would like to sue on the grounds that my intestines were devoured horrifically by a terrifying, savage beast that the hotel owners neglected to inform me of. How am I standing here, you ask, if my intestines have been devoured? Simple. Spite.”

 Roman’s off, cackling to his heart’s content. Logan bites back his own smile.

 “And how, may I ask, is this not the fault of yourself?”

 “May I say, Your Honor, that victim-blaming is not cute—“

 “Here here,” comes Roman’s voice.

 “—and also, the information about aforementioned monster came from someone who was not an employee of the hotel,” Janus finishes grandly, “therefore they can suck my—“

 Logan hits his hand against the nightstand, still fighting down laughter. “Defendant is charged with contempt of court.”

 “Do not pass go,” Roman chortles as Janus swoons dramatically, “do not collect 200 dollars.”

 “Remus,” Janus cries out, “avenge me!”

 Remus does not respond. He is too busy trying to figure out when the mansion became the hotel.

 “Remus,” Janus cries again, crawling dramatically across the floor, “save me from this indignity.”

 “No, thank you,” he mumbles instead.

 Janus huffs, pushing himself off the floor. “Then by all means, please tell us your ingenious solution to this monster problem that we find ourselves in.”

 Remus looks up, his face carefully blank except for a small smile. “I’m going to hide underneath the sheets,” he says in a soft, small voice, “because everybody knows monsters can’t get you when you’re under your sheets.”

 “That is adorable,” Roman chuckles.

 Janus’s eyebrows raise slowly until another fiendish smirk crawls across his face. “Are you scared?”

 “Yes.”

 “Aww,” he coos, “hiding under the sheets to get away from the monsters, how adorable.”

 Remus doesn’t respond.

 “If only the others could see you now,” Janus crows, “they’d know how intimidating you really are.”

 Logan takes his glasses off, polishing them with the handkerchief from his pocket. “As if you’re any better, crying over a torn seam in your cape.”

 “That bastard took two weeks to get right!”

 Remus ignores them once more, glancing at the clock. 9:45. An acceptable time to try and go to sleep. He moves slowly and quietly as he tries to get into the bed. The monster could be here. The banter continues behind him as he pulls the sheets tight around him.

 He does not see Logan glance over. He does not see that Logan frowns and glances at the clock, thinking perhaps Remus is more tired than he appeared, but…still. He does not see Logan look back at the others still talking, they’re probably not going to go to sleep for a long while.

 He does not see Logan look over at him as Janus leaves the room, claiming he’s going to go find somewhere more fun to sleep. He does not see Logan frown, looking to see Remus still on his side, huddled under the sheets. He does not see when Logan starts to count.

 One, two, three, four.

 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

 He does not see Logan beckon Roman closer.

 He does not see Roman frown as he comes closer, sighing at the notebook in Logan’s hands.

 “Logan, why the hell can’t you take a break for…” he trails off when he sees Logan’s face. “What?”

 “Perhaps I like to keep myself occupied,” Logan says smoothly, even as he nods insistently to the notebook, “even in times where the circumstances might be less than ideal.”

 Roman raises an eyebrow. Subtle, Logan.

 “You are chronically incapable of taking a break, aren’t you?”

 “Perhaps.”

 “Do you know any words other than ‘perhaps?’”

 “Perhaps.”

 Roman hides a smirk as squints at the text.

 I think Remus is actually afraid. Don’t tease. - L

 Remus does hear Roman exhale sharply. He does not see him glance up at the bed before he looks back at Logan and nods.

 “Well,” he sighs, stretching and yawning exaggeratedly, “on that note, it’s probably a good idea to try and sleep.”

 Logan snorts. “And here I thought you were supposed to be an actor.”

 He swats at him halfheartedly as he starts getting ready to go to sleep. What that means is just a matter of snapping his fingers to change out of the prince costume. He packs his other clothes away and crosses the room, keeping his footsteps loud but not too loud.

 Now that he’s paying attention, he can see how scared poor Remus is. He’s frozen under the sheets, barely moving. As Logan starts talking quietly to himself, he sets his bag down next to Remus’s and sighs, moving around to make a bit more noise.

 Remus still doesn’t move.

 When he’s made all the noise he can reasonably make, he walks a little closer to the bed and reaches to fix the curtains, unable to stop the soft noise when his shadow falls over the bed.

 “Hey, Re,” he whispers, leaning down and brushing the sheet a little further from his face, “it’s just me, it’s just Roman. Can you open your eyes for me?”

 It takes him a moment but his eyes do open. He smiles down at him and cups his face for a moment.

 “Hey, there, Re,” he murmurs, “can I come join you?”

 He barely nods.

 “Thank you.” He frowns when he doesn’t move over. “You gonna let me in?”

 He can tell by the way his eyes glass over that’s not a good idea unless he can convince him otherwise.

 “Come on,” he whispers again, “scoot to the other side for me.” He nudges his shoulder gently. “Logan misses you.”

 Loren doesn’t let his mumuring falter but he does reach across the small space between their beds to lightly pat the side closest to him.

 Remus moves, as skittish as the new dragon pups, clutching the blanket tightly to his chest, his pillow gripped in his other hand. Roman swiftly takes the warm spot he’s vacated, wincing in sympathy as he shivers on the cold sheets.

 “Thank you,” he sighs, making a show of getting comfortable before reaching out for him, smacking his lips together in sleep, “now come here.”

 At his quickly stifled questioning noise, he drops the act and opens his arm wide.

 “It’s okay, Re,” he whispers, far too quiet for Logan to hear, “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay.”

 He stares at him a moment longer before he realizes that shit, he’s not going to be able to move on his own right now.

 “Can I come get you, Re?” Roman smiles when he gives him another one of those jerky nods. “Thank you, I’m gonna pull you over to me, okay?”

 He takes him into his arms slowly and carefully, wrapping him up in the sheets until just the very tops of their heads poke out. He relaxes just enough so that he can maneuver him to where he likes, but he’s far from the sleepy pile he expected.

 “Hey,” he whispers, tucking his hair behind his ear, “you want to stay here with me, Re?”

 He blinks sluggishly. Roman bites back a curse and leans down to rub his nose against his.

 “Hey, hey, Re, you just focus on me, okay? Stay with me here—“ he tightens his grip— “right here…I’ve got you.”

 He frowns when he makes a small little noise that sounds like it could be his name.

 “Yeah, Re? You calling for me?”

 He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He kisses Remus’s forehead.

 “Nonverbal,” he whispers, “or just scared? Or both?”

 A moment passes.

 “Both it is then.” Roman tucks his head under his chin. “Why don’t you go ahead and close your eyes, Re, I’m right here.”

 They stay there, wrapped in the blankets, Remus warm and snug up against Roman’s chest. He plays with his hair, one of his legs slung over his to hold him close, working to lull him out of his frozen state. After a while, Logan stands from the other side of the room and pats Roman’s shoulder.

 “Your turn, Roman.”

 Roman rolls over. “Huh?”

 Logan nods his head toward the bathroom. “Shower.”

 Roman sighs dramatically and presses another kiss to Remus’s forehead, leaving his brother dazed, blinking up at Logan. Logan watches Roman leave before he turns his gaze downwards. Remus tries to pretend the shiver that goes through him at the way Logan softens his gaze is just the cold.

 “Remus,” he calls softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Remus, may I join you?”

 A pause.

 “Tap the bed twice if yes, once if no.”

 A pause, then Remus hesitantly reaches out to make two little taps.

 “Thank you.”

 He slides smoothly into the bed, reaching out to carefully slip an arm under his and pull him off of the sweat-soaked sheets—when did that happen?—and into his arms. Remus moves pliantly, tucking his chin into the space left between his chin and the pillow.

 “Hey,” he whispers, gentling his voice as he tucks his head closer to Remus’s, “hey.”

 Logan is warm. Is Logan—Logan said it made sense to be quiet. Logan knows. Logan understands. Logan always understands.

 “What’s the matter,” Logan calls gently, “can I help?”

 Remus swallows. “Monster.”

 “Are you afraid of the monster, Remus?”

 Remus nods. “Black eyes. Shadow. Kill you and Roman and Janus and then go find Patton and Virgil and Thomas. Bad.”

 “The monster isn’t real, Remus,” Logan says softly, running his hand through his hair, “it doesn’t exist.”

 Remus shakes his head. “We’re in the hotel on the island. It’s real. Roman left and the monster will kill him.”

 “Roman is just in the bathroom,” Logan corrects, moving his head to indicate the running water sound, “he’s alright. We’re not in a hotel, we’re in the mansion you two created.”

 “But the LED sign is buzzing outside.”

 “Would you like to look and see?”

 “No!” Remus wraps his arms tightly around Logan’s waist. “We’re not supposed to look out the window, the old man said not to.”

 “The old man isn’t here,” Logan says patiently, “I’m here. I have you. I’ll keep you safe.”

 “He said—he—he’s not real?”

 “No, Remus, he’s not real.” Logan gives him a gentle squeeze. “This is real. This is real, Remus, I’ve got you.”

 “You’re real.”

 “I am.”

 “You said it’s safe to look out the window?”

 “It is.” Logan squeezes again. “Would you like me to show you?”

 Remus nods. Logan leans up and pulls back the curtain, peeking outside. There’s no bright red light from the hotel LED sign. Just soft moonlight.

 “There’s no sign, Remus,” he murmurs, “you’re not in a hotel.”

 Oh.

 “The scar,” he blurts, his hand flying to his chest, “from the stab, what if it’s already got us?”

 “I don’t have a scar,” Logan says, lying back down and taking Remus’s hand, “here…feel.”

 Logan presses his palm to his bare chest, pulling his shirt out of the way so Remus can see. There’s no scar.

 “You don’t have one either…may I?”

 When he presses his palms against Remus’s chest, there’s no scar.

 “We’re…not there?”

 “No, Remus, we’re not there,” Logan says gently, “we’re here, in the mansion, safe, there’s no monster.”

 The water stops. A moment later and Roman emerges, tossing a towel over his shoulder. He sees the two of them in the bed and pouts.

 “You stole my spot!”

 “I had Remus to comfort,” Logan says smoothly, waving him over, “though you are welcome to help.”

 Roman ruffles Remus’s hair. Remus leans into it.

 “Ro, are you real?”

 “Yes, of course, I’m real, Re, what…” Roman trails off and his eyes go wide. “Oh, Re, did we—did I push you into hallucination territory? I’m so sorry, yes, we’re real, we’re here, we’re in our mansion, we’re safe, Re.”

 “Safe?”

 “Yeah, Re,” Roman murmurs, getting in to cuddle his brother properly, “we’re safe.”

 “Real?”

 “This is real.”

 Remus buries his nose in his brother’s real neck and holds him close. Logan stays by his side, stroking his hair and murmuring that Remus is here, they’re real, they’re safe.

 After a moment, Remus takes a deep breath and pulls apart.

 “You know the rules, Ro-Bro.”

 Roman grimaces, his head dropping to rest against Remus’s sternum for a moment before he nods. Logan looks back and forth between the two of them.

 “What are the rules?”

 “When Remus gets pushed into hallucination territory,” Roman says softly, “he sleeps alone.”

 Logan frowns. “But surely it would help to have us reassure you and help ground you?”

 “Wouldn’t help for the intrusive thoughts and hallucinations to include you too.”

 Logan winces. “I suppose not, but—“

 “Lolo we’ve tried,” Remus mumbles, “we—this works. It sucks and I hate it and so does Ro but this is what works.”

 “I trust you,” Logan says, squeezing Remus’s hand, “and I trust you to know what works for you.”

 “We’re just overprotective.”

 “I’ll say.”

 Roman gives him one last hug before standing and pulling Logan to his feet. “You know we’ll come as soon as you call.”

 Remus nods. “I know.”

 The room feels empty when they leave.

 The night passes.

 During the witching hour, he startles awake.

 The sheets are soaked in sweat directly under him. His eyes are wide. His breathing is too controlled.

 The monster is not here but the shadows are.

 Somewhere in this house, he knows, something is here. He can hear the voice in the movement of the curtains, hear the step in the way the floorboard settles. Hands never meet his tender flesh, a mouth never bites his fragile throat, but something is here.

 Step. Step. Step.

 The fear clouds his eyes as it drips into his ears. The light flickers. Something brushes a knuckle up and over his cheek. Something pauses outside his doorway.

 Through the depths of the fear filling his ears, something knocks.

 The chill rips its fingers out of his mouth and smears them over his throat. Something knocks again. There’s something outside. There’s something outside.

 “Sweetie,” he calls as he opens the door, “Sweetie?”

 Janus steps inside.

 “You’re awake,” he says, shutting the door and sitting on the edge of the bed, “it’s quite late.”

 “I know,” Remus says as he sits up, wary, “sorry.”

 Janus hums, reaching out to idly brush his hair off his forehead. The chill curls and lingers around his fingers, the shadows diving to hide in the lea of him, greedily drinking the fear from Remus. Janus goes to pull his hand away only to notice the prickles on Remus’s skin.

 “Are you cold, my dear?” He frowns and lightly dusts his forearm with his fingertips. “You look it.”

 Remus shakes his head. Janus raises an eyebrow, pressing his thumb hard against his arm to reveal a white imprint. It takes long seconds for the chill to let blood color the flesh again.

 “Let’s not lie,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back up to catch Remus’s, “shall we, sweetie?”

 Janus reaches up to trace the air around the curve of his cheek, one finger lightly tracing his jaw. The electrifying tingle clenches his hands in the sheet. He tilts his head and hums softly.

 “What’s keeping you awake, sweetie?”

 The chill snarls, refusing to let go of his throat.

 “You can speak,” he encourages, lightly knuckling the underside of his chin, “it’s alright.”

 “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head a little.

 “None of that, now, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He closes his hand around his. “To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie, you know that.”

 The shadows move slowly, wary of him, eager to taste his fear. The chill huddles around it, icing it in place, refusing to let him breathe without reaching its fingers into the pit of his throat.

 “Oh, my dear,” Janus murmurs, running his fingers along the side of Remus’s neck, “can I do anything for you?”

 He shakes his head quickly. Too quickly.

 “Sweetie…”

 “You’ll be annoyed.”

 “I’m concerned,” Janus corrects gently, “that’s all.”

 Remus risks a glance at the shadows.

 “And you know, Remus,” he continues, lifting his hand to press a chaste kiss to its back, “taking care of you is never annoying.”

 A different type of fear tingles along his fingers as they brush the curve of his jaw. This one reaches deep, deep along his fingers, up his arm, down to the curve of his shoulder, wriggling in between the cold knots to pulse against him. The shadows bloom in the corners of the room, shying away from the light flickering over his face, his shirt, his hand.

 Through the mouthful of fear, his tongue wets his lips. “You’ll find it stupid.”

 “Never, sweetie.”

 “The dark,” blurts shamefully from his mouth, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

 “The dark, sweetie? Is this about…”

 “I got pushed into hallucination territory earlier.”

 Janus makes a noise of sympathy, murmuring an apology for teasing earlier.

 “I can’t see anything but the shadows,” Remus whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, “and the noises, and how empty it is because I know it’s not empty.”

 “And what helps this go away,” he asks, still cupping his hand, “what makes the shadows leave my sweetie alone?”

 “S-stay? Please, with—with me?” Remus’s breath starts to catch again. “Don’t—don’t let them hurt me.”

 “Oh, sweetie, of course,” Janus murmurs, “of course I’ll stay.”

 The poor thing chokes out a sob. Janus reaches forward to lie him back down when his hand brushes the edge of the sheet. He frowns. Picking the sheet up between two fingers, he winces. He can feel his fingertips rubbing together, it’s barely warm enough.

 Remus’s breath still hasn’t caught when he returns with a thick quilt, spreading it over him to banish the last of the chill.

 “Hush now,” he soothes, smoothing the corners of the quilt, “hush, sweetie, it’s over, you did so well, shh…”

 Janus climbs into bed, pulling the shaking Remus to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly, tightly around the poor thing as he cradles Remus protectively.

 “Come here, my sweet,” he whispers, “come here, now, shh, shh, you’re alright now, sweetie, shh, shh…”

 His cries soften, gentled into mewls against his chest as he warms him against his skin. The poor thing is still clenched tighter than a fist. He croons, taking his wrist in his hand and pulling him flush against him.

 “It’s alright, sweetie, you did so well, it’s gone now, you did it, there you are, here you are, right here, sweetie.”

 The poor thing whines.

 “Oh, sweet one, shh, shh, shh, my dear, you’re alright…” He makes a noise of sympathy when he doesn’t stop. “What’s the matter, sweetie, tell me, say it, come now…”

 He brings his hand up to stroke gently under Remus’s chin.

 “Say it, sweetie, tell me what’s troubling you so, let me help, I’m right here, I’m right here.”

 “The shadows,” he whimpers, “the shadows, I can—I can hear them, they—they’re everywhere—I—they’re looking at me, they’re touching me, I can—I can feel them—I—“

 “I’ve got you, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, pressing a kiss to Remus’s cheek, “I’m right here, nothing can touch you, here—“

 He pulls the blankets up and over their heads, creating a little bubble of intimacy in the dark room.

 “I’m here, sweetie, it’s just me, I won’t hurt you, you know I won’t. Shh, shh, hush now, sweetie, it’s alright.”

 They stay like that for a little longer, Remus sobbing out the rest of the fear as Janus hushes him softly, pulls him close, soothes away the last of the tremors with gentle hands and tender words.

 After a while, Remus pulls away.

 “…thanks, Jan.”

 “I promised,” Janus murmurs, “I promised that I’d do it when you need me to.”

 “I know.” Remus sniffles. “I just…wish you didn’t have to.”

 “Don’t ever feel bad about needing something,” Janus chides softly, chucking him lightly under the chin, “especially not when you really need it.”

 “Already sent Lolo and Ro away for hallucinations, you—“

 “They’re fine, sweetie, a little worried, but they came and told me what was happening.” Janus kisses his forehead again. “They’re not angry, they don’t begrudge you needing things, and they’ll be here for you. They always are.”

 “I know.”

 Exhaustion begins to seep into his eyes. He blinks sluggishly.

 “This is real, right?”

 Janus gives him a squeeze. “It’s real.”

 “Can I sleep now?”

 “Oh, of course, sweetie,” he murmurs, leaning back up to rest his head on the pillow next to Remus, “you go right ahead. I’ll be right here. I’ll keep the shadows away.”

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[jacksjoke]

Title: a firm foothold Pairing: Pitch/Bank Excerpt:      Pitch looks at the way Bank bites his lip, his fingers holding tightly to the hem of his shirt, and asks, “Bank, are you… okay?”      “Yeah,” Bank says, but sighs when Pitch raises his eyebrows. “Not really.” Ao3 link

Read story under cut.

     “As if we’d leave!”

     Sky shakes his head. His frustrated, overwrought expression has stiffened his features and Pitch doesn’t want to imagine the kind of fear he’s enduring right now. “We won’t know anything until tonight, if that,” Sky says plainly. “And anyway, they’ve already said he can’t have visitors until they’re sure he’s more stable, so there’s no use in all of us hanging around.”

     “So you’ll be going home too then?” Bank deadpans.

     “He needs me,” Sky says. At Bank’s mouth opening once more, he goes on, “Bank, one of my dad’s men is already on the way back with fresh clothes for me. Just go home, eat something. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

     Bank’s mouth is set, his eyebrows drawn, and Pitch can tell he wants to fight Sky on this. It’s not hard to understand, really; they rescued their friend from a mob kidnapping only to watch another get shot unconscious. They’re standing here alive by the skin of their teeth and to leave Sky like this is the opposite of who Bank is.

     “Bank,” Pitch says, setting his hand hesitantly to the younger’s back. After a second, Bank looks at him, still frowning. “We’re covered in dust and haven’t eaten since morning. Let’s just head back for now.” He gives the slightest inclination of his chin toward Sky, a pointed look in his eyes that says they need to give their friend space, and Bank’s shoulders deflate as he sighs.

     “You’ll really tell us if something changes?” he asks Sky. “Promise?”

     Sky grins a tired smile. “Yes, Bank. I promise.”

     Bank nods once, satisfied, and pats Sky’s arm kindly before turning on his heel with a little wave. “Bye bye,” he says. “Don’t forget!”

     Sky rolls his eyes a little but nods, shooing them away. Pitch glances backward as he follows after Bank and catches the way Sky’s body has sagged forward, eyes already fallen to the floor. He needs time to process on his own, Pitch knew that, but it still hurts to see a friend going through something no one can fix.

     “I’m starving,” Bank announces, sliding into the passenger’s seat.

     “Let’s stop for a bite.”

     Bank nods immediately, then appears to realise something in looking at Pitch. At Bank’s nose wrinkling, Pitch looks down at his filthy uniform. “P’, we’re a mess,” Bank voices.

     “Showers it is.”

     Bank nods again and switches the music on as Pitch turns out of the hospital parking. It’s quiet aside from the Scrubb CD Bank had at one point snuck into the radio of Pitch’s car. He isn’t too into the band but their sound always brings a happy sort of look onto Bank’s face, so Pitch isn’t going to fight him on it.

     Pitch rolls to a stop outside Bank’s gate and looks at him, expecting him to say something like a goodbye, but Bank’s eyes are glued to the house itself.

     “Uh, Bank?” Pitch says. “Bank.”

     “Huh?” Bank blinks. “Sorry. I was going to say you can come in to eat.”

     “You wanted to clean up, I thought.”

     Another blink. “Oh. Yeah, I do.” Bank wordlessly gets out of the car, to Pitch’s confusion, and is halfway to the gate when he turns back around and says, “You can still come in though.”

     Pitch rolls down his window, sure that he’d misheard. “What?”

     “Come inside. We can shower and eat.” Bank shifts on his feet. “You’re already here, as hungry as I am.”

     Pitch waits for Bank to rescind the invitation, but he just stands there waiting. So Pitch parks the car and does as he’s told.

     Bank’s house is massive, though both of his parents being successful doctors lessens Pitch’s surprise on what they might afford. Pitch lives comfortably but this is sort of overwhelming, even for him. Bank being who he is, he likely puts on every light and the television to avoid being spooked when he has the place to himself. The thought has Pitch glancing at Bank, wanting to take his hand as they move for the staircase, but he refrains.

     Bank’s bedroom is much neater than Pitch would have imagined. Maybe it was because Bank held no qualms about jumping drunk onto a bed that wasn’t his own, but Pitch had almost assumed that Bank’s space would be something of a disaster.

     “The floor’s usually a disaster so it’s lucky I cleaned up yesterday,” Bank reads his mind, digging around the dresser.

     The room is decorated sparingly, the majority of it confined to the wall behind the bed, floor to ceiling covered in posters ranging from popular anime to bands Pitch couldn’t begin to guess the names of. Scrubb has made a home in here too; there’s one poster that has its members for some reason holding vegetables? Pitch shakes his head, resigned to just not ask.

     “Here, P’.” Pitch turns to find Bank offering pajamas his way. “It’s just a long sleeve and shorts. We can run the laundry and clean up your stuff.”

     “Thanks,” Pitch says.

     “Mm. You can use my bathroom; I’ll shower in my parents’.” Bank disappears into the hall, leaving Pitch on his own. With time to himself he takes in the room some more. It even smells clean, and like Bank. There’s a small grey sofa and more than one bookshelf besides, each littered with action figures, comics, and textbooks. Pitch can just picture Bank reading on the sofa, or complaining about something or other to Sky at the desk.

     Pitch probably shouldn’t be as oddly giddy as he is to just be standing here, but he can’t help it. Even the bathroom makes Pitch smile; it smells of Bank’s soap, and there’s his infamous hair gel.

     Pitch spots his own reflection grinning stupidly in the mirror and Pitch coughs, looking away. If he doesn’t move a little faster, Bank is going to walk in to find him still standing here like a weirdo. He’d probably laugh and mortify Pitch, and that notion is enough to get him in the shower pronto.

     When he comes out, Bank is on the sofa, head bent as he types away on his phone. The shirt he’d been planning to wear is abandoned on the cushion, like he’d gotten distracted halfway through dressing. Pitch grins and tiptoes up to the sofa.

     “The return of Ticklish Godzilla — ” he begins with a grumble in his voice, but he has time only to finish the sentence before Bank is yanking Pitch onto the sofa by his neck like a rag doll. He flips over with a, “Oi!” to land neatly in Bank’s lap, the air knocked from his lungs at the sneak attack. He must be smiling like an idiot regardless.

     “Vanquished,” Bank says, digging his fingers into Pitch’s sides in retaliation.

     “Don’t — ” Pitch squirms out of Bank’s grasp and jumps to his feet. “Don’t even try it.”

     Bank shakes his head, grinning, and with distance between them Pitch takes in Bank’s damp, loose hair. His lack of a shirt is also sinking in, which has Pitch’s skin itching even though this isn’t the first time he’s seen Bank damp and shirtless this month. He clears his throat again.

     “Are you good to eat?” he asks, wincing immediately at himself, but Bank just nods happily.

     “I ordered pizza,” he says, then frowns. “Unless you want something else. I can — ”

     “Pizza’s fine.”

     “Okay.” He tugs his shirt on as they go down the hallway, much of Pitch’s efforts pointed at not looking at the muscle of Bank’s back or arms.

     “I just messaged the girls about Sun. They’ll go tomorrow to visit too.”

     “Sure,” Pitch says. “I think I’ll head home after we eat, by the way. We could use some sleep.”

     Bank hesitates for just a second at the top of the stairs, then says, “I have every Lord of the Rings movie; have you seen them?”

     “I mean — I’ve seen some of the first.”

     Bank looks at him with wide eyes. “Seriously?” he demands, and Pitch is sort of worried he’s about to be cursed out. “That’s awesome! We can watch them tonight!”

     “Uh, aren’t they, like, pretty long?”

     Bank shrugs noncommittally but otherwise gives no answer as he bounds down the stairs like a hyperactive puppy.

     Two pizzas and a lot of soda later, Pitch is about ready to pass out. Bank seems to have more energy than ever though, so much so that Pitch doesn’t think even Ticklish Godzilla can save him now.

     “Hey, Bank,” he starts.

     “Sh!” Bank hisses. He takes these things incredibly seriously, Pitch has found. He hates when people talk during shows or movies, these times being some of the few that Bank wants total silence.

     “Bank,” Pitch tries again anyway.

     “P’!” Bank whines.

     Pitch pauses the movie on another speech given by a character he doesn’t know the name of and gives Bank a look.

     “It’s past 11,” he says. “I need to get home; I’m bone tired.”

     “But we haven’t finished it yet.”

     “I know, but — ”

     “And we still have two left.”

     “How long are these, exactly?” Pitch asks for another time.

     “Well, they’re the extended versions so they’re…” He trails off into a mumble.

     “What was that?”

     “About four hours,” Bank says louder, cheeks reddening.

     “In total?”

     “Each.”

     Pitch’s jaw slackens. “Each movie is four hours? We can’t watch them all tonight! If we have any hope of getting to the hospital before noon I can’t be awake right until we have to walk out the door, Bank.” Bank doesn’t look at him, his mouth a hard line. “We can watch them another time; I can come back — ”

     “It’s okay. You don’t have to; Sky thinks they’re boring too. I don’t actually care.”

     Pitch blinks slowly at the abrupt change. “Okay.”

     “It’s not about the movies, P’Pitch,” Bank admits after a moment.

     “What is it then?” He looks at the way Bank bites his lip, his fingers holding tightly to the hem of his shirt, and asks, “Bank, are you… okay?”

     “Yeah,” Bank says, but sighs when Pitch raises his eyebrows. “Not really.”

     “Bank, Sun’s going to be fine. And Sky can handle — ”

     “It’s not that,” Bank cuts in. “It’s not just that. I’m… I don’t…” Pitch has no idea what could be the cause of Bank’s sudden despondence, he really doesn’t. Everything had been perfectly normal from the drive home to now, hadn’t it?

     “My parents aren’t in town,” Bank says. “And my brother’s with his friends.” He doesn’t explain anything more, but Pitch can connect the dots from there. If Pitch is honest, he remembers the look on Bank’s face when they’d pulled up earlier. If Bank’s family isn’t here, Bank will have to spend the night alone, something he dislikes having to do on a good day. Compounded by their near-death at the mob’s hands, forget not wanting to sleep alone — Bank must be frightened to death that he’s in danger.

     “I know those guys got arrested but what if there’s more of them, P’?” he asks quietly. “We’re the reason they got caught.”

     “Bank, they aren’t going to come after you.”

     Bank’s eyebrows come together like he’s confused. “P’Pitch, I’m alone for one night, but you live by yourself every night. What if they show up to torture you like they did with Sky, or…” Pitch almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. Bank is scared for Pitch’s life, not his own. This stupid, selfless kid.

     “Bank,” Pitch starts again, too aware of the fondness in his voice, “that won’t happen. They wouldn’t get past me and my bat anyway.”

     “I’m not kidding around.”

     At Bank’s deadly glare, Pitch clears his throat and wipes any trace of jest from his face. “I know,” he says. “But I really don’t think we have to worry.”

     “You’re right — ” Bank agrees.

     “Good, I — ”

     “ — because you’re staying here with me.” Pitch stares at Bank, but he doesn’t look to be joking yet. “I don’t want to be on my own and I don’t want you to be either,” Bank says, matter-of-fact. “So stay.”

     Pitch knows better than to argue with Bank, so he doesn’t.

     “Alright,” he says. “I’ll… stay.”

     The tension melts from Bank’s face, a grin emerging like the sun from clouds, and Pitch can’t help smiling too. Bank goes to grab the remote, and Pitch’s smile drops. He can’t do eight more hours of these movies tonight, not even for the guy he likes.

     Pitch grabs Bank’s wrist, to his confusion. “I think we can call it for now, don’t you?” the former says.

     Bank gives an embarrassed grimace, switching off the television. “Right, P’. Let’s sleep.” Once on the second floor, Bank retrieves a heavy woven blanket from the hall closet along with an extra pillow. Pitch settles them onto the sofa without a word, and Bank doesn’t comment. He leaves the room, returning shortly with a face towel and toothbrush. Pitch thanks him with a small smile that Bank returns.

     Pitch has never brushed his teeth with another person, and it’s super weird, but he doesn’t hate it. If anything, it’s an excuse to sneak glances at Bank in the mirror and then make a dumb face to make Bank laugh when he’s caught.

     Bank shoves his bangs off his face as he undoes the bed, blowing up a little when strands remain stubborn on his forehead. His hair is dry now but as he’s home for the night he never bothered to gel it to the usual. It hangs in his face and may even need a trim, though Pitch is well aware that Bank would be afraid to alter his signature look. Maybe Pitch will get him some sort of glittery, purposely ridiculous clip to keep his hair up at night, so it doesn’t get in his way. Bank would love it.

     “Lights off?” he asks. At Bank’s nod from under his sheets, Pitch switches off the ceiling lights and heads for the sofa.

     They lay in the dark for a minute, then Bank says, “Thanks for staying.” Another few moments pass. “I shouldn’t have used the movies as an excuse to keep you here. Sorry.”

     “Why’re you apologising?” Pitch asks, reminiscent of their botched camping endeavour. He pauses to think of how to proceed. “What I mean is, you didn’t have to pretend, or anything. You don’t need an ‘excuse’ to want me here.”

     Bank is silent, and Pitch worries that he’d accidentally said way too much. He was just trying to be honest the way Bank always likes to be. Bank is so honest that it often takes Pitch aback; not just often, but always. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to the way Bank just says what he means, how he feels. He cares so much about every one of them, and having never experienced such a thing before makes it easy for Pitch to believe it can’t be true. So he didn’t tell Bank how he felt at the lake, or in the tent; even now Pitch feels like he’s on far too thin ice.

     But Bank walks into fights with mobsters because he doesn’t want Pitch to face them alone, so Pitch can afford to be a little braver.

     “Just tell me and I’ll… I’ll stay however long you need, whyever you need,” he promises, eyes on the ceiling, heart rabbiting in his chest.

     Pitch is about to hope Bank fell asleep and heard none of that when Bank says, “Can… can you sleep here?” Pitch’s eyebrows furrow, but Bank clarifies, “Up here, with me.”

     Pitch doesn’t dare take a breath, giving Bank a chance to change his mind. But just as the other times today, he simply waits for Pitch to answer.

     Pitch gets up from the sofa instead of speaking. Bank scoots over to make room and Pitch settles the pillow at the headboard before laying down himself. He’s holding his breath still, even while he drapes the woven blanket over himself and Bank too.

     Bank turns onto his side to look at Pitch, so he does the same. His heart has yet to slow down but he does it. The last time they’d slept close like this had been the volunteer trip, and it had ended with their backs to each other, Bank’s outline frigid and small. He’s curled up again, but his face is relaxed, arms held to his chest. He looks soft in the dark, without edges, and for an overwhelming second Pitch is furious with himself over how he’d handled that night in the tent.

     Bank had slept with the belief that he’d done something wrong, that Pitch was somehow unhappy with him. Pitch knows now how he feels, and tried to explain as much to Bank those couple nights ago, but… All he can say is that he never wants Bank to question how he feels for him ever again. For God’s sake, Pitch finds the smell of Bank’s soap endearing.

     If he’d gone home, he would have never slept tonight, the entire time likely spent thinking about Bank and if he’s okay on his own. How is it Bank seems to always know what Pitch needs before he knows it himself? Or maybe they just need the same thing.

     Pitch puts a hand on Bank’s waist, a ghost of a touch, and Bank opens his eyes just a little. He must be exhausted, even worse after having acted energetic the past however many hours, so he doesn’t say anything. He just shuffles closer to Pitch until he can hide bundled up in his arms. Pitch exhales.

     “I need you too,” he admits against Bank’s hair, and because he can’t help being cheeky, “Are you satisfied with that answer?”

     Sleepy, Bank tilts his head up with a quirked eyebrow and smirk. “Mm.” He gives a soft kiss to Pitch’s jaw, just because Bank knows it will devastate him. “This spot is better.” With that, he returns to his snug place against Pitch’s chest.

     If Pitch weren’t already half asleep, Godzilla would be having serious revenge right now.

     “G’night, P’Pitch,” Bank murmurs through a baby yawn.

     Pitch settles for holding Bank as close as he can, which is a damn good deal.

[rosy-cheekx]

for the kiss prompts... 16 with jonmartin?

Combined this New Years Kiss prompt with @ombreblossom‘s prompt for “a giggly kiss" and an anon prompt: “I wish you would write a fic where martin scoops Jon into his arms and Jon realizes how strong he is” damn if i dont deliver

Just a good vibes fic while I’m dying over the pre-finals stress. Check on your friendly neighborhood psychology students, especially juniors. They’re a-struggling. 

Enjoy!!

Resolutions, 2.2k

CW: alcohol

--

“Happy New Year’s Eve!”

Jon wasn’t sure what he expected of Tim’s house. Maybe something haphazardly designed, with takeaway menus pinned to the fridge? Maybe the epitome of the bachelor pad?

He definitely hadn’t expected the open floorplan, spotlessly cleaned and well-organized, with furniture complementary to the walls and each other. Warm light spilled from every lamp, with purple and silver decorations inscribed with “2015” and “Happy New Years” dangling from almost every surface.

“You can close your mouth now, buddy,” Tim elbowed him lightly. “I keep my spaces clean, what can I say?”

Jon clamped his teeth back together and held out a bottle of white wine mechanically. “I brought this. Er, sorry I’m late.”

Tim shook his head jovially, taking Jon’s coat and scarf along with the wine, before handing the bottle back to him. “Party’s just getting started. We’ve been drinking a bit, playing some games.” He winked before nudging him toward the couches, where Sasha’s dark curls were just visible. “Go on, I’ll be right behind. They’ll be happy to see you!”

“Jon!” The man in question jumped and craned his neck to see Martin—or, more rightly, his hand—from over the edge of the couch cushions. “Good, you’re here! Sash and Tim are kicking my ass in Scrabble.”

Jon approached the living room, spying Martin, sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table, another bottle of white wine between him and Sasha, along with the aforementioned Scrabble board. “Scrabble isn’t a team sport?”

“Hey, Jon. Ooh, more wine, thank god, this one’s just gone.” Sasha scrunched her nose with her greeting, reaching for the bottle in his hands. “And no, it’s not,” she continued as she spun a corkscrew between her fingers. “But Tim is missing like half the tiles so we can’t play four.”

“Tim’n’Sash ganged up on me,” Martin mumbled, the edges of his words softened, Jon assumed, by wine. “I didn’t even—I’m new to research, issnot fair.”

Sasha pulled the cork from the wine as Tim leapt over the cushion of the suede couch, landing neatly next to her. “I told you, you would get Jon when he showed up, which evens it out anyways. Stop pouting.”

“Am not.”

Jon folded his legs beneath his hips as he sat, examining the board and taking a proffered glass from Sasha’s hands. “Don’t worry, Martin,” he offered, smiling gently at the man, taking in the flush of his face and the rolled sleeves of his dress shirt—maroon, he filed away. Looks good with his hair. “We’ve just got to last long enough before Tim gets drunk or bored and starts to throw letters at us. Did he tell you that’s why they’re missing?”

Martin laughed aloud and the noise caught Jon off guard. It was a low, warm sound, loud in a way that suited the man. Jon smiled to himself, proud.

“I do-I do not,” spluttered Tim, pointedly ignoring Sasha’s raised eyebrow. “…I stopped that when we were down to one W.”

Jon nudged Martin, gesturing for the block of letters in front of him. “You’ll see. Our turn?”

--

Eight rounds, three glasses of wine, and a dodge from the letter E later, Jon was feeling properly comfortable. They were all properly buzzed, if not a little tipsy, and the clock ticked steadily closer to midnight. Martin and Jon had continued to be partners for all the other games they played: Charades, Pictionary, and a silly game Sasha had made up where they had to describe concepts like colors or sounds, without using words directly related to them. Martin had carried their team for that game, explaining through an embarrassed blush that he liked to read a lot of poetry. Jon elected to ignore that statement, though he was grateful for the edge it gave them; his competitive streak was willing to ignore a multitude of sins.

At 11:15, Tim flipped through the television programs, searching for one doing a proper countdown. One of the BBC Music channels was playing a Countdown playlist, with an eclectic variety of music on the playlist if the presented queue was any indication. Remote in hand, Tim spun on his heel, lip-syncing voraciously to the song, some dreadfully cheesy rock ballad. In turn, he focused on Sasha, then Jon, then Martin, hand outstretched to each of them in a mockery of longing. When he turned his attention back to Sasha, the chorus swelled and she took his hand, swinging herself under his arm with a grin on her face. Jon settled into the couch cushions, a warmth running through his chest as he watched the two spin with each other in a pseudo-dance. Martin sipped his glass of water on the other end of the couch, seemingly as happy as Jon to just watch.

As the song ended, the rock ballad was replaced by a pop song, one Jon didn’t know but it was apparent everyone else did. Tim sang along in a horrendous shout-sing, and Sasha grabbed Martin’s hand, tugging on it lightly. Martin rolled his eyes, resisting briefly as Sasha wordlessly argued with him, but her will was stronger and he laughed softly as she pulled him to his feet and jumped around to the beat, air-guitaring in circles around him. Eventually, Martin closed his eyes and leant into the dance, reminding Jon vaguely of his club days with Georgie, the dozens of hot, sweaty young adults without a care in the world of who saw them dance. And, most importantly, dance badly. Martin was truly terrible, but Jon was unable to tear his gaze away. He wasn’t matching the tempo and he knew about half the words as he joined Tim in singing the chorus, but there was something about him that was absolutely intoxicating, more than the wine Jon had consumed.

The Beatles played next, and of course Jon knew them. They had been his grandmother’s favorite, and for good reason. He hadn’t even realized he was singing under his breath to Come Together until Tim’s TV remote was shoved under his lips unceremoniously. Without thinking, he accepted the faux-microphone and joined the trio, standing from the couch to the coffee table in socked feet. As he sang, voice growing in intensity, he swung his arms wide, the images of clubs and dancers and stages at the forefront of his mind.

When the song ended, Jon was breathless, and the smattered applause from his friends brought him out of his reverie. He blushed, suddenly acutely aware of the blood rushing through his body and the heart that was pumping it. he handed the remote to Tim and moved to step off the table, chewing on his lip as he did so. Before he could make the awkward step to the floor below, he yelped as he was suddenly swept off balance. The spinning of his mind, thanks to the alcohol, confused him briefly before he realized he hadn’t fallen and was actually being clutched in a pair of strong arms, bridal-style. Martin’s arms, to be precise. His brow was furrowed in concentration, though he held Jon like he weighed almost nothing.

“Ah, you said you didn’t want to fall.” Martin shrugged and bounced Jon in his arms slightly as if that explained everything.

He had? “Mmm-thank you Mar’n,” Jon murmured, eyes unsure where to land and deciding on a loose curl that hung over Martin’s forehead. He wanted to pull it, Jon realized, and he did so, gently, giving the coil a tug, and giggled to himself as it sprang back in place. Martin was a lot stronger than Jon gave him credit for, and warmer too, though that may have been the alcohol. It was nice, being held like that, and Jon felt himself nestle towards the heat of Martin’s barreled chest without thinking about it.

Tim and Sasha, to Jon’s relief, hadn’t seemed to notice, deep in conversation. Martin deposited Jon safely on the couch and slumped next to him, unbuttoning his collar a little more and turning his attention quite intently to his phone.

The music carried on, and Jon was pulled into a few more dances with Sasha and Tim but felt himself gravitating towards Martin as the hour pursued, making excuses to scoot closer on the couch. A few videos of kittens later, he was properly next to him, watching Tim and Sasha tango to Britney Spears and the clock that ticked steadily towards midnight.

As 11:50 hit, Tim lowered the volume and flopped next to Jon, sweat beading on his forehead. “Alright, mates, resolutions for 2015, go.” He popped a grape from the platter that rested on the chair nearby. “Mine’s to get outside more, I haven’t been able to get out of London much. Maybe go backpacking, see the world.”

Sasha shrugged and perched on the armrest of the couch, feet resting on the cushion next to Tim. “Patience, I think. Listening to people better.”

Jon surprised himself by speaking. “Work-life balance,” he mumbled, dragging his eyes from the coffee table to meet Tim’s curious expression. “It’s not like Elias cares much what the researchers do.”

“Hell yeah, mate!” Tim clapped him on the back. “Maybe you’ll finally come dancing with me. You’ve clearly got the skills.” He turned his attention to the final member of their party. “Marto? What about you?”

Martin shrugged, lips pursed in thought. “Mm, be more honest with people, I think.”

Tim nodded excitedly. “Oh yes, I would love to see Martin Blackwood, The Director’s Cut.”

The ginger shrugged. “I don’t think you’re missing much, honestly, just maybe a little more negativity, a little more feeling.”

“Regardless,” Tim waved the thought away. “Can’t wait to see it.” He cast his eyes to the ceiling and crossed his arms under his chest. “What do you think the illustrious Elias Bouchard does on holiday? I swear that man lives and breathes Magnus Institute.”

Sasha grinned. “Bet he wears nothing but a silk robe, with the Magnus owl embroidered on the chest, skulking around the house and drinking scotch, grumbling about budgets and paranormal stories.”

“Bet he has a cat he strokes menacingly while watching the stock market,” Martin added, sighing. “We can agree he’s a total Tory, right?”

“Oh, for sure,” came a chorus of affirmation.

The group sat in comfortable silence as an upbeat love song played on the television. Jon’s eyes were starting to feel heavy, like how they felt when he got them dilated at the optometrist. Midnight couldn’t come soon enough.

“Hey, guys?” The voice from his right was quiet, hesitant. Martin’s eyes were glassy, phone abandoned on his lap. “I’m really happy to be here, with you all.”

“Martin!” Sasha and Tim cooed happily, rushing to coat his words in affirmations and gentle kindness, sweet gifts with which to end the year. Jon opted for a quieter approach, not the verbally affectionate kind of man, placing a hand over Martin’s gently, squeezing his wrist once. He wasn’t even sure if Martin noticed it—he didn’t move his hand before Tim was shouting, hauling them up as 11:59 flashed on the screen and a countdown began to shout its way from 59 on the screen.

“Come on!” Tim crowed. “My mum always said you can’t stand still when midnight hits, or it’s bad luck. Something about starting the year moving.” Tim led them all in a sort of march, stomping forward and back, spinning in circles, and swinging each of his friends under his arms, though Martin had to duck rather considerably. All four of the research staff members were laughing through their words as they tried to add their discordant shouting to the last few numbers on the TV.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” Tim grabbed Sasha around her waist and dipped her low as he kissed her, both grinning into the kiss. Jon chuckled and shook his head at the pair, before feeling the hand that was still on his tug gently.

“I-I said I wanted to be more honest,” Martin murmured, voice low in his throat. Jon nodded wordlessly, indicating for him to go on. His words seemed caught somehow.

“If I’m honest,” Martin continued, eyes flitting over Jon’s face before landing back on his eyes. “I really want to kiss you.”

Jon giggled, actually giggled at Martin’s words, the boldness of the wine piloting his voice for a moment. “What are you waiting for?”

So Martin did, one hand on Jon’s waist and one tangled in the hair behind his ears, pressing Jon close and up towards his lips. It was a warm kiss, soft and gentle, and Jon’s head was spinning, not from the buzz or the dancing but from the four points of contact he had with MartinMartinMartin Blackwood is kissing me and Martin’s hand is on my waist and my hand is on Martin’s cheek and his skin is so soft I think I could kiss him forever. Screw 2015; I’ll come back for 2016 and just kiss Martin for a year—

Martin pulled away, smiling down at Jon with a look of utter adoration. “Happy New Year,” he breathed. “Here’s to 2015.”

“H-Happy New Year,” Jon returned, ducking his head shyly at the gaze Martin was casting on him. “Let’s hope it’s a good one.”

[llnewobsessionll]

New Territory (Aro Volturi x human!reader)

A/n: Thanks for the ask! I had lots of fun writing this, hope you enjoy it!

Description: Y/n goes with Alice and Bella to Volterra to save Edward, in Volterra y/n meets Aro, her mate, due to past trauma y/n has difficulty and ends up running away. Y/n ends up in trouble and Aro saves the day.

Warning: Descriptions of anxiety, ptsd, assault and violence. (Anxiety and ptsd are both mental disorders that affect different people differently, I wrote them as how I experience and handle it, however this does vary from person to person.)

Word count: 3379

The fact that I had left Forks without even an hour’s notice was finally starting to get to me and panic started to sink in, I knew I was allowed, to I am an adult after all, but a trip to Italy from Washington on such short notice would surely be jarring for anyone. But, it had to be done, after all, Bella’s boyfriend was trying to commit suicide. This is also the same boyfriend who happens to be a vampire, all these changes were certainly starting to take effect.

Bella had run ahead to try to stop Edward because apparently, she was the only person Edward wouldn’t see coming, whatever that meant. Alice and I were coming up to the giant clocktower that Edward was apparently in, although moving through the crowds of the St. Marcus Day festival was getting increasingly difficult.

Alice made it to the tower ahead of me and snapped the lock on the inside of the doors that held the doors together… vampires were certainly gonna take some getting used to. She ushered me inside and for a second I was blinded from coming from the bright afternoon light to the very dim interior of the clocktower, around me I could hear the distant conversation but I was too confused by the change in scenery to pay attention to what was happening. When my eyesight finally did return to normal I saw Bella, Edward, and Alice together standing across from two men, two vampires, one of which I think is the tallest person I have ever seen in my life. Behind them, my eyes were drawn to a young girl, or I guess vampire, coming up to us.

“Enough,” she said, her voice powerful, obviously the one holding the cards in the conversation, she drew back her hood and my eye took in her bright red eyes, that’s strange, none of the Cullens have red eyes but she does and so does her two companions that I think about it.

Edward ducked his head in greeting and supplied her name, “Jane” I couldn’t tell if it was a greeting or for the benefit of Bella and me, or just Bella because I doubt he cares about me that much.

“Aro sent me to see what was taking so long” was her only reply.

I don’t know why but the name Aro, or at least I assume the name, made a strange feeling run through me. The feeling confused me and yet intrigued me at the same time, it didn’t feel bad, it was most certainly pleasant. Edward started walking forward with Bella’s hand in his guiding her. Alice followed and grabbed my hand as the two men followed behind us we walked all the way to the elevator, the two men, whose names I have yet to find out followed behind me. I really did not like people walking behind me, especially if I did not know them and their presence behind me caused me to tense up more than I was before and I started to panic. Alice must have noticed my reaction and gently guided me in front of her so I was now behind Bella, this still wasn’t ideal, but it was a hella ov a lot better than just that two strange men behind me.  

We followed the petite blonde girl until we reached an elevator and the small glance at it from between Bella and Edward made me think that we would have to take two trips to get us all to where we were going. I was soon proved wrong when we all packed ourselves inside with zero personal space.

Being so close to so many people, most of which I did not know at all or very well with the exit closed off was not an exciting experience to me and if we had been in there much longer I would hate to think of how I would’ve reacted. The weird opera music only made me more nervous and put me more on edge.

Getting out I once again followed behind Bella and Edward, we walked past a human secretary who greeted us in Italian. Bella leaned closer to Edward to signify she wanted to have a private conversation, why she would try when we were surrounded by vampires of all things baffled me. However, I was so close behind them, even I, with my human hearing, could make out their conversation.

“Is she human?” Bella asked

“Yes” came Edward’s response

“Does she know?”

“Yes,” he once again replied, now I haven’t been around Edward too much but I can see he’s a man of very, very few words.

“Then why would…” Bella trailed off, “she wants to be.”

“And so she will be” came from behind, one of the guys had responded to Bella and Edward’s ‘private’ conversation.

“For dessert,” Jane finished off the sentence, her words made an uneasy feeling appear in my stomach. Not only was it nerve-wracking being around Vampires, but especially when they talked about killing people so casually.

Jane opened the doors that were in front of us and led us inside what looked like a chapel, it had similar architecture to worship temples, if a little grande, but I guess that was to be expected for Italy.

In front of us sat three thrones, and upon each of them sat a vampire, the one in the middle, he had black hair down to his shoulders, and the characteristically pale skin and red eyes, dressed in all black instantly had my attention. Something about him drew me in, I couldn’t place it but it was an instant attraction. Immediately both Edward and Alice were in front of me blocking my view of him and shielding me from his view.

Things were happening around us, conversation and movements, but I was still enraptured by the man, I was trying to look in between the gap that Alice and Edward had, but they kept making it harder and harder for me by moving and blocking my view.

I only came back to when Edward rushed forward, still at a human speed, towards where Jane stood. Jane muttered a word, I couldn’t make out what she said from where I was but Edward seemed to freeze in place and then dropped down to his knees. He looked to be in a great deal of pain and I swear I could see Edward’s vein nearly popping out of his skin from how tense he was.

Bella started to beg with Jane to stop and rushed forward as if to help Edward but a vampire that had been standing beside Jane flashed to her side and held her back. Whatever Jane was doing to Edward stopped when the attractive vampire called her name. She looked as if she woke up from a trance.

The attractive vampire turned to Jane, “go ahead my dear” I don’t know what he was talking about but Jane turned her attention to Bella. Bella seemed to tense and held her breath, waiting for something I would guess. However, nothing happened and tension between Jane and Bella rose. The tension was broken when the attractive male clapped his hands together and let out a maniac sounding laugh, “remarkable, she confounds us all. So what shall we do with you know?”

The man with the brown hair sitting behind the attractive guy piped up, “you already know what you’re going to do.” He sounded bored, but at least he finally provided a name for the attractive guy, Aro. For some reason, something as simple as his name had shivers of pleasure going down my back.

“She knows too much,” the blond one behind Aro added on, “she’s a liability.”

Now, I don’t know what exactly they were talking about, but I understood the situation enough that I knew that whatever the end result of it, it would most likely have Bella and me dead. The prospect of me having to witness Bella’s death sent me into a panic, and that may have caused slight irrationality, stepping out from behind Alice I finally spoke up, “there has to be something, what if they can promise that Bella will be turned? She’d no longer be considered a liability then.” As I spoke I looked directly at Aro, because from what I have seen so far, it was him that was making the decisions or at least the most active decision-maker.

Aro stepped forward, I had clearly intrigued him in some way, “oh and who are you, cara?”

It was at that moment, with everyone in the room looking at me, that my confidence escaped me and all I wanted to do was tuck tail and run to somewhere where I was alone. “Mm, my… name is y/n,” my voice didn’t come out as strong as I wanted it to and even I could hear the waver in my voice.

“Well cara, if Edward promised to turn Bella I do believe that that would solve the problem, although from what I have seen it seems as if he’s… hesitant” Aro seemed to slowly be inching closer to me, or that could have just been my paranoia talking.

“Bella will be one of us, I have seen, in one of my visions” Alice butted in, taking a step forward and slowly fingering her glove off, she took another step forward and placed her hand within Aro’s. The strangest of all is that Aro shut his eyes and looked as if he was concentrating, this confused me so I looked over to Bella and Edward in hopes that one of them would fill me in on my obvious obliviousness.

Seeing my confused face Bella thankfully informed me, “Aro can see every thought and memory you’ve ever had with one touch,” when she said this she did so quietly, almost like if she spoke too loud she would get scowled.

Well, I guess I’ll have to refrain from touching him then, eh?

Both Alice and Aro stepped back, turning to Bella he addressed her, “your gifts will make for an intriguing immortal, go now and make preparations,” he turned to me and reached out to grab my arm, I stepped out of his reach, trying to stop the contact.

“What about y/n, she has to come with us too!” Bella piped up after seeing both Edward and Alice trying to escort her out and leave me behind. Desperately I looked at her, hoping that she’ll take me with her. Even though I feel this strange attraction and connection to Aro I still felt safer with Bella, I was in unfamiliar territory with strangers, and the only thing grounding me was the sense of familiarity that I had with Bella.

“y/n? She’s staying here” Aro said with a sound of finality as he turned around and sat on his throne, completely laid back and absolutely unworried, which was the complete opposite from me as I was slowly starting to give in to my panic as I processed what was happening.

Thankfully it seemed as if Bella wasn’t gonna give up on me, who stood there uselessly by the way, “no! No, she’s coming back with us, you can't trap her here!”

Edward grabbed Bella’s arm and started half-heartedly tugging her out of the room, “Bella, come on, it’s no use.” I knew Edward didn’t like me all that much but to see him abandon me so fast definitely hurt.

Alice grabbed Bella’s other arm when she saw the younger girl still resisting, “Bella, calm down, we’ll explain it to you later, we can’t stop it.” At the very least Alice was doing a much better job at calming Bella down than Edward had, but to hear her be so definite about the outcome of the situation really didn’t help me at all.

Alice and Edward slowly started to escort Bella out of the room, I however still stood there looking at her desperately hoping that she’ll put up more of a fight for me. I knew if I tried to go with them one of the vampires would stop me before I finished taking a step, and there was no hope of fighting off a vampire or running off.

When the door finally shut behind Bella, Edward, and Alice I felt a sinking weight take place in my chest and could no longer stand. I sat down, desperately trying to hold back my panic. Almost immediately Aro was in front of me on one knee reaching for me, all I could manage to do was look up at him, no doubt teary eyed, “please don’t touch me, not yet,” he looked pained when I said that but nodded his head and lifted me into his arms bridal style, making sure that none of our skin make contact and that my pants and top were acting as a barrier between our skin.

It was less than ten seconds later than we stood in a different room, which looks to be a very expensive and immaculately kept bedroom. My face was still slightly buried in his shoulder from the run here.

He place me on the bed and stepped back, he look unsure of how to proceed next, almost nervous, I found it absolutely adorable and wholesome, and honestly a part of me wanted to ask him to stay, because no matter if I like it or not I felt some sense of comfort when I was close to him, but a bigger part of me needed the space in order to think and process all that happened and to calm down enough to think sensibly about the situation.

I couldn’t possibly look at him at the moment so I ended up looking at his shoes at the carpet that he was standing on, “I just need some… alone time, to y’know process everything” it came out as a quiet mumble, but I knew with his hearing he heard it anyway.

Nodding his head, he held his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels, “certainly, I’ll come back later to check up on, if you need anything just call me and I’ll be right here,” he looked so delicate, long gone was the man from the throne room who was in charge and self-assured, no all that there was was a courteous, if slightly awkward gentleman.

He waited for my nod of confirmation before he left and suddenly I was alone in the room.

↼♔♔♔⇀

It was later that evening when the sun was almost completely down and several hours had passed and my confidence was back up that I decided to do something that could potentially be reckless. Did I acknowledge the fact that going out into a strange building that no doubt would be full of vampires would be a bad idea? Yes, yes I did. Did I have full knowledge that I had absolutely no clue where I was going and that the vampires drank human blood? Once again, affirmative. Did my grumbling stomach take priority over my safety? At the moment? Yes.

It was about five steps out the door that I truly came to terms with just how big that inside of the clocktower is and the fact that I would most definitely end up lost. But still I continued forward, hoping beyond hope that I could get myself so lost that I could find the kitchen, or anyone nice enough to direct me to the kitchen.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes of me walking around taking turns and going in directions completely at random that I finally came across someone, someone who happened to be a vampire.

The Cullens were vampires and they all seemed to be really nice, even Rosalie as long as you didn’t mess with her, and Aro seemed to be nice enough so I thought that going up to the strange vampire and asking for directions to the kitchen couldn’t turn out too bad, especially considering that Aro, who seemed to be really important acted like he cared for me.

Going up to the vampire I had just opened my mouth to ask for directions when he suddenly turned around and stared at me. That star could only be described like a hunter looking down at its prey, ready to pounce and a shot of fear ran through me. I realized that asking a random person for directions didn’t sound like the best idea and just as I was about to take a step back and retreat he moved. In a split second he had me pinned up against the wall with his hand around my throat, the breath had been knocked from my lungs from the sheer force of his action so even if I tried to call out nothing more than a strangled gasp would make its way out.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing walking around here, huh?” He hissed, his mouth slowly making its way closer and closer to  my neck, I suppose that’s where my jugular would be, one bite and I would be down.

I heaved in a strangled breath, which was a lot harder than you would think with his hand wrapped around my throat like a necklace. Finally getting enough air to call out I tried to be as loud as I could to draw attention to myself “Aro, Aro, Aro” however just from calling his name three times left me feeling winded and the only other thing I could manage was a meek sounding “please.”

In a blink of an eye, a lot faster than I could process, the weight of the vampire was off me and Aro was standing in front of me with the two male guards from earlier. I slid down the wall with one hand on my throat coughing and trying to get enough air back in my lungs. Between the four vampires, a fight broke out and they were talking but I could hear them over the blood drumming through my ears. The fight only lasted for a couple of seconds before the strange vampire ended up in a pile of limbs on the ground.

While I was still trying to get my breathing back to normal Aro came over to me and crouched down, he looked like he wanted to touch me and comfort me but was holding himself back. At the moment, all I wanted was the comfort that I found around him so I opened my arms up in invitation and as a sign that I wanted a hug.

Relief seemed to come over his face and he pulled me into an embrace. I made sure that I had my hand on the back of his neck so he could use his gift. For a couple seconds he looked distant and I buried my head into his neck so I didn’t have to watch his reaction, I already knew it wouldn’t be good, nobody had a good reaction to memories like mine.

He hugged me tighter and lifted me up, “let’s go back to your room, cara.”

This time he walked us back to the room at a human pace, I would have normally been glad for that but the extra time it was taking us to get to the room meant extra time to worry over his reaction.

“Why don’t we just calm down, yeah” he whispered reassuringly while sitting on the bed with me still in his arms, “I promise nothing like that will ever happen to you again.”

A bout of relief came over me, he wasn’t gonna make a big deal about it or pull away because it made him feel uncomfortable, he was going to stay with me and help me through it.

On his lap I turned so I was stranding him and laid my head on his shoulder. I intertwined our fingers and left our hands on my thigh.

That entire night Aro stayed by my side, only leaving to get me food after my stomach grumbling interrupted us. That night I fell asleep with Aro right by my side and got the best sleep of my life.

[time-to-cause-chaos]

i didn’t finish my chem homework yet

Peter and MJ get kidnapped after school and Tony is a worried overprotective dad™ who just wants his kid back.

(This used to be a two-shot but since I’m re-uploading it, I thought i’d just smash both chapters together, here you go)

AO3 link   WC:5,426

The first thing that Peter noticed through the harsh pounding in his skull was that he couldn’t see and there was a heavy metal weighing down his wrists.  He figured those two out pretty quickly.  He couldn’t see because he had a blindfold covering his eyes and his wrists were shackled to the ground, so he assumed he had been kidnapped.

Don’t get him wrong, he was freaking out, but the last few times he’d been kidnapped they weren’t that bad.  Either Mr.Stark came and helped him get out- with a lot of fussing afterwards - or he got out himself.  No one had figured out that he was Spiderman, which was good, it made it much easier for him to make like and get out of there without looking back on it.

His head was still dully throbbing but it was much less worse than it originally was, then the memories came crashing onto him, with another agonizing squeeze of his head.

Him and MJ were talking in the school parking lot, helping each other on the chem homework, ah shit we didn’t finish it, when those people in the cars came and...what happened after that? He racked his brain trying to remember, but no memories popped up.  

Wait.. MJ, dammit

He bit his lip frowning and, achingly, reached a leg out trying to see if she was there or at least close to him.  He would have called out her name but he didn’t want to alert the people that captured them, at least, not yet, he didn’t even know if anyone was even in the room with him.

His toe prodded something and he poked harder-

“Ow, Parker that’s my freaking thigh” 

“Oh, heh, sorry MJ”, he said, voice cracking slightly

“Mm-hmm, so how are we going to get out of here?”

“Can you see?” he tried

“Nada”

Peter fumbled blankly for a moment, “Do you remember what happened?”

MJ didn’t respond for a couple of seconds, “You don’t?”

“Must’ve hit my head”

“Yeah, ok, so those guys came and..took us?  Yeah, you weren’t waking up in the car so you probably hit your head in the parking lot, I’m pretty sure nobody saw anything so I don’t think anyone knows we’re gone”

“That's fine”, he could see- well, not really -MJ judging him

“You really need to rethink your sense of ‘fine’”

Peter would have said something but a bang shook the walls, effectively, cutting off his words.  

MJ’s foot was, lightly, leaning against Peter’s knee, and his blindfold was harshly ripped off, eyelids immediately shutting back, unaccustomed to any sort of light.

Before he could even try again to see again, “Look, I want something”

“Well duh, I want to get out of high school, but at this rate it’ll never happen”, Peter snarked, thinking of all the treacherous finals they were preparing for.

He could see now and the lights were actually pretty dim, compared to the normal brightness lights usually were.

There was a man standing in the center of the room, he seemed pretty normal, if you passed him on the street, you probably wouldn’t have blinked twice.  He was wearing a faded red t-shirt with a motorcycle on it and he had a light tan with brown hair, he seemed pretty young, no more than 25.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you, I swear on that, but I got friends in the other room who wouldn’t hesitate, so you’re going to unlock your phone and call up Tony Stark” his voice shook, and he sounded...scared.

Scared people do reckless things.

The man held up Peter’s phone in 2 fingers, and Peter turned his head to see MJ fully staring at the man(let's call him Jeff) down with a glare.  Sadly, Jeff didn't even blink in her direction, because if he had he would be terrified.  Peter knew that first-hand, he had been pinned with that look way too many times.  MJ could be very scary when she wanted, like Natasha.

“Look, man, you know Tony Stark could track my phone before you could blink, right?” the man’s face was paused, “He’s Tony Stark” Peter emphasized.

“We have advanced hackers protecting this area, so at least for a little bit, we’ll be safe.  Thanks for the concern though” his face hardened, “now call”

“Alright, fine”, he surrendered.

MJ cast him a side-glance and he gave her a nervous smile in return

“Can you uncuff me, so I can call him?”

“Sure, kid”

On cue, 3 beefy men stalked in, forming a half-circle around them.  One more person walked in, a woman, muscular with her ginger hair in a ponytail.  

He grimaced, he couldn’t take on everyone in such a small room, especially with MJ still chained to him, he didn’t know if he could defeat them even if they were out on a field with no one around.  Those guys looked like an elephant couldn't make them budge, they were literally covering half the lights, filling his eyes.

Jeff came behind him and freed one of his wrists from the miserable cuffs, and handed him the phone. 

The lady who had come in, pulled out a sea green dagger bejeweled with gems, it was beautiful but not helpful in this scenario.  Don’t let it fool you, it may have looked lovely but one look at the blade would show it’s still efficient.  

She knelt down next to him and gently held it against Peter’s chest, “try and cry a little, sweetheart, we want our money”

Ok, they want money.

MJ next to him tensed, “Be careful where you put that thing” 

The lady, now called Cam because Peter’s brain said so, pulled another dagger out of her pocket, a purple one now equally pretty as the other- what did she collect them? -and directed this one at MJ.

“Listen, or else your girlfriend’ll get it”

“She’s not my girlfriend”, he muttered.

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, these people were much harsher than Jeff, who was now standing towards the back of the room watching them silently with his arms folded over his chest, eyes avoiding his.

Peter couldn’t risk getting MJ hurt so he typed in the password and made a show of him raising it to his ear.

The dialed ring took 10 seconds before it clicked and Mr.Stark picked up.

“H-hey, Mr.Stark”, his throat was dry and he cleared it, trying to get the squeak out of his voice.

“Sup, kid” Mr.Stark said, “Is May home?”

“Yeah, uh Mr.Stark, I’m not really at home right now” a small whimper broke out as Cam pressed the knife’s blade into his chest, a dribble of blood ran under his shirt.

Geez, why was she pressing it so hard, he wasn’t going to teleport through the phone line and escape.

Tony paused, “Ok, I’m tracking you right now, unless you tell me what’s going on.  Are you hurt?  Where are you?”

 MJ looped her ankle over his knee and she threw him another weak smile, probably to distract him from feeling a knife pressing into his chest.  It wasn’t even cutting deep but knowing that Cam easily could, made him worry.

“No I’m good, just-”, the phone snatched out his hands before he could respond.

“Hi, Stark, hope we’re not bothering you, but we need something from you”, Cam said, setting the phone on speaker, with a bored expression

“Actually, I am quite busy, just got pulled out of a meeting for this, but I suppose I could hear you out, as long as you let the kid go”, he replied coldly, Tony already got the gist of what was happening, good.

Faintly, in the background noise coming out of the phone, Peter heard FRIDAY’s voice saying she hasn’t tracked the call yet, he only picked it up because of his advanced hearing.

He let out a low groan, leaning against the wall behind him, trying to ease his headache, and scooched a little closer to MJ.

“There’s two of them actually, we got his girlfriend holed up here too”, MJ glared at her, “You were just sent an email, Stark, follow the simple instructions and you’ll get ‘em back, and in one piece” she added with a sick grin.

“Do you know how many people have tried this trick before? Yeah you probably do, Daily Bugle usually gets to them, anyways, not one of them has worked before.  How do you know yours will?”

Peter knew Tony was trying to stall so he could track the call, but Cam caught on, “Nice try, see you later, Iron Man, and try to remember who we’ve got over here, okay? For their sake” 

She ended the call, cutting off Mr.Starks protests, knelt down next to Peter and squinted, “So kid, why are you so special to Tony Stark?  What’re you his secret love child?”

“I’m just an intern”, Peter replied, his headache had decreased just enough to where he could ignore it, and now that the dagger wasn’t cutting into his skin anymore, he could finally breathe without worrying a blade was about to stab him.

“You’re lying”, she says with an air of finality, standing up, “but that's fine so long as we get our money” she shrugs

“Your daddy’s got 4 hours to do what we sent him or else your brain’s gonna go ka-plooey” she mimics getting shot in the head, twirling on her feet, as an extra, the big guys in the back each pulled out a gun which Peter and MJ shrink back at.

MJ had been quiet this whole time save for the occasional remarks and with a start he realized that she was scared.

It wasn’t too visible but her fingers were having a silent tap-dance on the floor next to her and she was biting down on her lip, and then there was the occasional shine of tears in her eyes that quickly diminished immediately after appearing.

Peter wanted to slap himself, she’s MJ, yes, but she’s never been kidnapped and threatened to be killed before, and to top it all off, her life is depending on a billionaire who has to pay up.  Of course, she’s going to be scared.

One of the big guys came and reattached the cuff, blocking MJ from his view for a few seconds, before everyone, even Jeff, walked out.

She looked at the floor, and only after the door to the room slammed shut again, did she look back up at him.

“MJ, I’m so sorry I got you into this mess, but we can get out, we’ll find a way and maybe Tony got the location and is already on his way”, his eyesight got blurry, MJ shouldn’t be here, she could get hurt and that couldn’t happen.  MJ knows the basics, throwing a punch, kicking someone in their stomach, but that wouldn’t help against a stupid gun.

She breathed in, “Yeah, I know we’ll be okay, it's still scary though, don’t look at me like that, dork.  It’s not your fault, and I’ll be fine just give me a second”

She closes her eyes sucking in deep breaths and Peter is unconsciously doing the same, taking in air that wasn’t there before,  forcing his tense muscles to relax. They both sigh melting against the wall.

“Mr.Stark is gonna get us out of this”

-

“You sure?” MJ asks, 2 hours later.

“Ok, well I’ve tried to break the chains, they’re not budging”, Peter answers

The past 2 hours, MJ and Peter had been joking around and laughing, almost as if they were back in the school cafeteria with Ned, snorting their eyes out over a stupid joke that was way too old to be funny at that point, and not in a dingy, dreary room, kidnapped, and out for ransom.

Still, it was easier to put on a front then, now they had around 2 hours left based on MJ’s mystical time-guessing.  Now the deadline was much closer and with their kidnappers out of sight for so long- they hadn’t reappeared after they left with Peter’s phone - anxiety was building up and it was getting harder to joke and act like they were fine, you could their smiles being forced to show and a small sheen of sweat breaking out on either of their foreheads.

Now they sat in silence waiting, Peter tried a couple more times to break through the chains or get out of them but each time they just chafed his wrists a little bit more, and MJ forced him to stop before he hurt himself more.

MJ found her eyes starting to slip closed, and she shook her head a little bit to try and clear the mindless fuzz out of her head.  Peter next to her didn’t look far from passing out too, it should have only been 5 in the afternoon about now, though they both seemed ready to zonk out of the world for the next 12 hours.

Peter was more unconscious than conscious when the door slammed open, Peter yelped at the harsh bang and jerked up.  He felt exactly like he had just woken up from an afternoon nap and he had no idea where he was.  MJ was also up and looking around like she couldn’t believe where she was.

“Ah shit, that wasn’t a dream”, she groaned

The only people who came in this time, though, were Jeff, Cam, and one of their meaty bodyguards.

Peter was still blinking ripples out of his eyes as he watched Cam come closer to them.

“Call Stark again”, she shoved, his phone into his face, and he took it nearly dropping it out of his fingers

He huffed but called, he was doing it mostly for himself though.  He wanted to hear his mentor’s voice talking, it always seemed like Tony’s words calmed him down, and he wasn’t complaining, hearing Tony Stark talk about something dumb one of his rich ‘friends’ did at a banquet was always perfect after a nightmare.  At this point, he would settle for anyone’s voice; Steve, Thor, Nat, May, Pepper, Bruce, Bucky, Sam, Rhodey, literally anyone.

If you had told a 13 year-old Peter, who had just lost his uncle and felt 100% guilty for it, that in a little over a year he’d have half the Avengers as his own little makeshift family and Tony Stark as an almost-dad, he’d have called the cops on you, but here Peter was now having a whole home in the Avengers.

He also called without protesting because as much as he wanted to listen to Tony's voice, he also wanted to know what in the world Tony was doing, because Peter wanted him and MJ out of there yesterday.

Tony picked up the first ring and Jeff stepped up this time to speak into the phone, “Where’s the money, Stark?” he hissed

“It’s only hour 2 and you gave me 4 hours, time’s not up yet”, despite his cool exterior, Peter could imagine Tony right now, sweating with anxiety, voice trembling when he fails to catch and correct it, getting frustrated because FRIDAY couldn’t get a location yet, and Peter really wants to get out of here geez.

He wants to get out of here because MJ’s here too and she could get injured and because he still has a lot of homework that’s due tomorrow and it’s really hot in here, and he’s tired because his head is pounding-

“If you wanted these kids you would've transferred the money a long time ago” Jeff spoke

“Fine, I’ll transfer it now-” Cam smirks, hearing Tony agree, “only if you let me talk to them first, give me two minutes with them and you’ll have your money then I can get them both back”

Cam frowns, “no” she says bluntly, as if she’d let him gain the upper hand in this situation

“Then my money is staying my money”

“Jessie-”

So that’s her real name.

“-give him two minutes, and we’ll get our money” Jeff said, trying to persuade her.

They had a silent conversation, staring each other down with their eyes, and Peter noticed they looked really similar, their eyes were each an emerald green and they had the same high cheekbones sculpting their face.

 They’re siblings, he realized.

Jeff didn’t look like he wanted to be there at all, in fact, he looked sick of all this, so Peter assumed his sister was forcing him to be there to get some cash.

 “Jess! Please! Let’s just get this over with”, he pleaded again.

Her eyes flashed and Peter felt compelled to scooch farther away from her out of instinct.

“Fine! This isn’t working, get out of here!”, spittle flew from her mouth and Peter had seen a fair share of crazy, broken people during his time as a vigilante.  She didn’t look so good at all, she actually looked pretty close to ripping her hair out and stomping the hell out of there.

He could tell MJ could sense that too, casting him a concerned look and gesturing her head towards the woman.  

Jeff - Peter wanted to know his real name now that he knew the sister’s - looked lost and he raised his hands, weakly, in a plea, “Jess, this was never supposed to go this far” his face broke down, and he was full-on crying now. 

Peter felt close to crying too, he absolutely despised when people were forced to do something against their will, and by his sister too.  That must feel awful for him.

MJ tried to reach out, but her fingers barely brushed his shoulder until the chains stopped her.

“Peter, please breathe” she whispered

He gasped, face unbearably hot, and the image of Tony popped up in his head-

“You gotta breathe, kiddo, you know oxygen, yeah that, you need that unless you want to pass out”, Tony knelt down next to him on the lab floor, “Can you tell me 5 things you see?...”

His breathing slowed down gradually, Tony helped me calm down from a panic attack, he thought, hazily.

MJ bit her lip, “You okay?”, Peter couldn’t feel anything at the moment but he gave her a small ‘mm-hmm’ from the back of his throat, chest aching.

He realized MJ was still staring at him, and he tilted his head just enough to look at her, “What?”

“You’re pale, how’s your head?”, he shrugged in response

The two siblings were still fighting and he couldn’t hear what Tony was saying through all of their yelling, he strained his ears, and right before, Jess caught on and hung up, he heard Natasha yell through everything else, “держись, детка” (hold on, kiddo)

He managed a smile, and looked to MJ, “They’re coming”

-

The after-effect of all the fighting had the buff guy with them in the room leave - presumably to get out of there - and had Jess pointing a gun at both Peter and MJ’s heads.

“We’ll kill them and get out of here” she spoke, Jeff was frozen watching her, hands frozen in outreach as if to stop her.

She glared, teeth bared, and aimed one gun in each hand, Peter wanted so badly to grab MJ but he couldn’t, he steeled his face and tried to give a reassuring look to her, but the realization that they were actually about to die was looming over them.

Peter strained to hear the sound of familiar repulsors but they didn’t come.

His eyes pressed shut and he heard the safety of the gun click off-

“Wait!” he yelled, “Let MJ go, please!” Jessie, looked him up and down, “please”

MJ was ogling her eyes at him, “Peter, I swear-”

“Stop, just stop, both of you are dying” 

Peter heard the gun go off, yes, but he also saw Jeff lunge at his sister knocking her and the gun down.

Coincidentally, it hit Peter’s chains against the wall, causing the socket it was in to pop out.  He yanked off the other one with his now free hand so that he could move his arms freely with only the weight of the chains hindering his movements.

He lunged for the gun on the floor and kicked it to the corner of the room, getting it out arm’s reach from either of the siblings.

“Ryan! Get the fuck off of me!”, Jessie yelled

As Peter pried MJ’s hands out of the cuffs, his brain started auto-correcting Jeff to Ryan.

Got it.

Ryan was a twig, which wasn’t a bad thing necessarily, but it made it much easier for Jessie to throw him across the room.

Peter had heard first-hand stories of Ned and MJ fighting with their siblings but this seemed a little extreme.

He threw a punch at Jessie as she ran at him, pushing MJ to get her out of the way.

They went back and forth one kick to his shin, an elbow to her stomach, and Peter had her in a good spot, ready to flip her to the ground but he’d underestimated her.  She jumped up, kicking Peter hard on his chest.  He coughed and - how the hell did she get the gun? - slammed his head with the butt of the gun, causing him to scream from the pressure on his head.  

“M-MJ” he managed, trying to get her attention from where she was preparing to knock Jessie’s head to the wall, “Tony” he whispered, as repulsors came firing into Peter’s ears, he had never appreciated the sound more.

Her face turned solemn and she ran back out of the room, nodding her head, Peter smiled, she got it.

Out of the side of his eye he could see Ryan struggling to lift himself off the floor, and Peter’s eyes fluttered as Jessie slammed him against the wall holding him up against the wall, stretching the small cut on his chest.

Throwing him over her shoulder and walking out the door, Peter agonizingly watched as the hallway they were walking through blurred through his vision.

Exiting the building, Peter saw the sun setting colorizing the sky with purple and orange.

She grabbed him and manhandled (or technically, womanhandled) him to his knees, pressing the barrel of the gun to his head.

“Stop!”, he heard Tony yell.

Oh, Tony, yay

Natasha was posed next to Tony keeping a sharp eye that she softened the slightest bit for him to see.  Next to her was MJ, a little farther back, but still holding a knife pointing towards them.  

“How about no, Stark”

Ryan ran out from behind Peter yelling for his sister to stop, Peter sluggishly blinked trying to focus the double-visioned image blurring into his eyelids.

“Kid! Focus on me”, Tony yelled

He could do that.

Tony’s voice was easy to pinpoint and he zeroed in on him, taking in the hot-rod red of the Iron Man suit.  

“Mr.Stark, I didn’t finish my chem homework” he called, earning another harsh stab of the gun into his head.

“Yeah, buddy, we’ll get to it”, Mr.Stark probably thought he was delirious, who knows, maybe he was, he wouldn’t know.

Peter remembered reading stories about loved one’s dying, they’d plead and yell, and the descriptions would say time seemed to slow down but for Peter it sped up.

“Say bye-bye”, Jessie smirked

“NO!”

“Stop!”

“PETER!”

Peter also remembered watching a video where it said if you don’t hear the bang of the gun going off, it’s because it hit you and you’re either dying or dead.

But Peter heard it, Peter heard it as clear as he’d hear music blasting in his crummy old earbuds.  

-

Tony wasn’t busy, he never really was anyways.  Sure there were board meetings and the occasional meet-ups for SHIELD, but being the Tony Stark had its perks, meaning it was pretty easy to get out of things unless Pepper was after him for a signature or conference( he’d been able to slip out of some of those too though, so hah!).  

The point is, Tony basically was able to do whatever he wanted all day which, when his mind was zooming through ideas faster than a car on a race track, was helpful and somewhat enjoyable with new theories pumping through his veins and having FRIDAY take notes of the gibberish he spewed out for later.  

Some days though, the days when that zooming car kept stuttering and stopping, was pure agony, because there was so much he could be doing - there always was - but he couldn’t get them done because his head wouldn’t cooperate with him and it felt he was ripping up, inside and out.

Today was not one of the latter days, he was going at a steady pace in his lab, the oil smudged across his arms and the music moving him as he bopped his head to the beat.  Grinning, he finished the last part of the specs and pulled out some small spare pieces for a prototype.  This was just a random idea he’d had in a dream and it wouldn’t amount to anything too special but it was pretty fun and he had an abundance of ideas on how to advance it further.

Then Pepper came, which he knew was coming because he’s been skipping way too many meetings lately and he could only hold out for so long.  

The meeting was boring, as expected, and it seemed to be dragging on forever.  He wasn’t even paying attention at this point so when Peter called, he was glad he had an excuse as he quickly turned to Pepper and showed her the ringing phone before running out of there.  Those fancy-schmancy business people could think anything they wanted about him, he’d never cared anyways.

The thing was, when he picked up he was ready to hear the kid’s ramblings of what happened at school or some weird fact Ned told him that would make Tony regret picking up.

What he wasn’t expecting was Peter’s words to be shaking and someone else speaking into the phone, cutting Peter off mid-sentence and thank god for FRIDAY who had alerted him, she was already trying to track the signal.

She didn’t get in time though and he almost yelled when the call ended with nothing solved. 

He went up to the living room where Nat was upside down on the couch watching some cheesy sitcom (it was a spectacle when he found out the great Black Widow watches sitcoms but she’d threatened him to stay quiet about it.  She had weird ways to love them.)

“Tasha?”

“Mm-hmm” , she asked, biting into a strawberry distractedly.

“I’m pretty sure Peter got himself kidnapped”

She’s up in less than a second already stalking towards him.  Her face is passive but you can tell she’s worried.  

“Of course he did, why wouldn’t he have?” Nat murmurs, “Do you have a location yet?”

“I didn’t get it in time but Friday’s still trying and I’m pretty MJ’s with them”

She nods, “Have you called Ned yet?”

“Yeah, he said that went out to the parking lot to go home and he hadn’t seen them after that.”

“What about May?” she prods.

“I tried her, she said she wasn’t worried since he usually stays out at school after hours and Ned checked the parking lot and said he found their backpacks there but that doesn’t really help with anything”

“What’s the plan then?” 

“They sent me an email, it’s instructions to deposit money into an account”, he grimaces.

“You know if you hand in the money, you’re going to get in trouble”, she glances at the clock.

“I know, it’s just a last resort.  He’s been in situations like this before, hopefully he won’t get into too much trouble.”

Nat raises an eyebrow, “Are we talking about the same Peter?”

Tony winces.

-

2 hours later, Friday still hasn’t got a location and they got a second call.

He just needed a few more minutes and they’d have a location, Friday was already so close to cracking it.

The call ended just as Nat yelled something in Russian to Peter and just as Friday, claimed she found the place.

Oh thank god

The last time Peter was kidnapped it had been max, 45 minutes and the first time had been around a little less than an hour.  This time it had been over 2 hours and he knew that lady hadn’t been joking when she’d set a deadline.  Right before they’d hung up, she seemed angry and Tony didn’t like to jump to conclusions but she didn’t seem too merciful or lenient.

“Let’s go,” he said, face hardening.

-

They were just a few minutes too late.  Who knows, maybe even 30 seconds would have been enough. 

Peter had still gotten shot though.

His blast had messed up her aim and thank heavens for that because otherwise it would have shot his head.

Instead, the bullet went sideways, stopping just hitting his collarbone.

There was still blood though, and plenty of it at that.  It had run red underneath his nails, staining them and despite their protesting, MJ had been right next to him the entire way drenching the front of her shirt with red.

Peter had passed out along the way, which was a small mercy in itself.  Helen had gotten the bullet out without too much difficulty.  She’d huffed a small laugh afterwards, exasperatedly, saying if it was even a centimeter lower it would have hit his organs, a part of his collarbone was still shattered a little which they’d done a small surgery for before the shards could hit any of his blood vessels or arteries.

He’d also had a pretty bad concussion which Helen had said shouldn’t have done too much permanent damage, he’d just have to be monitored closely for the next day or two.

She’d practically begged him to stop bringing broken teenage spider-boys to her, and Tony would’ve loved it if he could promise her that, but considering his life and Peter, he didn’t think he could hold out on it for too long.

Peter slept for almost 7 hours before he woke up, throwing out his arm and letting out a small gasp when he felt the bone ache.

Luckily, Tony was still wide-awake at that point and gently grabbed his wrist, putting it back on his side before he could rip his stitches.

“T’ny?” Peter asked, struggling to lift his eyes.

“It’s me, kid” he says, placing a hand on Peter’s head.

Peter blinks his eyes open and glances around, before settling on him again, “,‘s MJ o-kay?”

“She’s fine, asleep”, Tony sighs, “You should probably get some more sleep too, bud.  You lost a lot of blood.”

‘I will if you will”

“Oh you’re evil” Tony groans, “Fine then, scoot over”

Peter manages to move one leg a smidge over and Tony laughs, pushing him to the side as he settles in next to Peter, pulling him close to his side and pressing a kiss on his forehead.

“Did you get the guys who got us?” Peter asks.

“Yeah” Tony tightens his grip, “We got them all”

“You know the lanky guy who looks like he just came out of a noodle machine?”

“Weird way of describing him but yes” Tony looks at him.

“Just,” Peter sighs, “Can they cut him some slack, he didn’t mean to do anything.  His sister was making him do it, he shouldn’t be held just as responsible as her.”

“He was still a part of it, Pete”, Tony tries.

“I know, I know, but it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t want to,” Peter insists.

“I’ll see what I can do for him, kid” he settles.

Peter hums in agreement already shutting his eyes.

“You know, you better not be doing this again anytime soon, you managed to scare Tasha”, Tony says.

“Don’t worry I wouldn’t want to anyway, it sucked.  I rate it 0/10, definitely would not recommend”.

Tony chuckles just as Natasha walks in, “I heard you guys talking about me” she observes, smirking.

She sits, pulling up a chair next to the bed and putting her feet on top of theirs from her seat.

“But seriously, don’t do it again”, Nat warns.

Peter smiles, hiding his face in Tony’s shirt.  He falls asleep to Tony’s fingers running soothingly through his hair and the comfortable weight of Tasha’s legs on top of his.

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: Marked by an Angel PART 1 Collab with @samros95​

Pairing: sub! Angel! Yoongi x Dom! Demon! Noona! reader ft. Demon! Jimin ft. Demon! Jin ft. Angel! Hoseok

Warnings: smut, angst, spit play, blood drinking, hand job (m) receiving, blow job (m) receiving, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks)

Rating: 18 and over

Tag List (perm): @mochilicious-yoongi​ @heyimtavia

Y/N:

It was unusual for him to call you like this, out of the blue, during the day. You had scheduled nights to see each other and right now it was neither night nor one of your usual evenings. Normally you would turn him down, but he sounded so desperate on the phone, you just couldn’t say no. Here you were, dressed in your signature all black, huge black sunglasses to keep the sun at bay as you made your way through the streets of Purgatory. Min Yoongi wasn’t a normal Angel, he was a general for their leader, Kim Namjoon. Which means you needed to make your way into Heaven, not as abnormal as it sounds. Demon and Angels crossed the barrier lines often, many fornicating, many just to fuck around with “friends” or just to fuck around with rivals. You hated that Yoongi lived among the hierarchy especially when he claimed to hate it and his position but who were you to judge. You yourself were the highest-level assassin and gifted Soul Reaper for Kim Seokjin, a position you have grown to despise as well.

You head in the direction of the great staircase, smirking when you lock eyes with one of the gatekeepers. You give a small nod and walk past, knowing you’d die before showing your ID to get through the pearly gates. Instead, you head past the entrance and off towards the River Styx. “Ferryman.” You greet the decrepit caped man seated on his Ferry. “Demon.” He greets back. “I need backdoor access into Heaven.” He looks up at you with his cloudy eyes and grimaces. “I need a taste.” You wince at his request. “A drop.” “A gulp!” You swallow hard but nod. ‘Fucking Min Yoongi.’ You thought to yourself, noting to punish him later. You move towards the ferryman and tug up your sleeve, using your sharpest nail to carve a line in your wrist. His eyes widen as he catapults forward to slurp on your flowing vein. You groan in disgust at his moans. Demons and Angels blood sold for thousands on the black market for their healing properties. In large doses, their affects could last days or weeks but in small ones only hours. “That’s enough!” You shout, shoving him onto his back, licking your wound close. He drops happily, licking his lips and panting. “Thank Namjoon.” He moans. You roll your eyes, watching the decrepit man begin to age backwards to a young adult.

You raise an eyebrow at how handsome he is. “Praise Seokjin,” You scoff, “My ride?” “A deal is a deal.” He stands now, waving you to follow him to his ferry. You allow him to help you in. He begins to row his boat in the direction of the gates, but rather than move towards them directly, he makes a slight right, flowing with the river current towards a tunnel beneath them. He whispers an incantation under his breath and a door in the tunnel appears. A loud clang rings through when the doors open and soon Heavens lights beam through at you both. He rows forward, stopping when he makes it through the doors. “This is where I leave you Demon. Ferrymen are not welcome beyond this point.” You nod, standing and stepping out into the tunnel. “Thank you, Ferryman.” He smiles. “Your Angel can get you back Demon. Enjoy.” He smirks, disappearing with a clap of his hands.

You make your way through the streets of Heaven, your head spinning from your heightened sense of smell, another one of your gifts. Angels always had a distinct smell to you, like cinnamon and honey. Some had stronger muskier scents like Yoongi, he always smelled woodsy to you. He was always different from the other Angels, his scent, mannerisms, all different from what you were used to. His voice ringing in your head now. “You should wear white when you come to Heaven to see me Noona. It will keep heads from turning.” You looked around at all the disgusted faces. Demons were not welcome in Heaven, regardless of business or not. “Demon bitch.” A man whispers as you walk past. You smirk, deciding to not respond. Seokjin forbid, Namjoon get word you were moving around heaven, let alone attacking citizens. You lift your head, a very distinct smell hitting you. It was no Angel scent. It was instead sulfur mixed with lilies. There was only one Demon you knew with such a distinct scent. You look around for its owner and smile when all the Angels begin to walk past you without a care in the world. “I’m intrigued to know what you’re doing here.” Jimin suddenly appears beside you. “Just scouting the competition.” You respond, turning to face him. His eyes are lit up red and you know he’s using his gift of Altered Perception to keep you both from being noticed. “Noona, we are all deviant creatures. It’s ok if you’re looking for a meal. I too am bored. They have such delectable Trainees in the Ethereal Guards. You may find something you like. Come with?” He pouts. You smirk. “As I said before, I’m scouting. Seokjin forbid I get caught slacking.” “Mm, yes, daddy’s pet has to be on her best behavior always. Well, if you change your mind.” He bites the tip of his finger and holds it out to you. “It’ll keep the Angel scum from seeing you while you move about.” You nod, wrapping your mouth around his finger, his wound healing as soon as you unlatch.

“Be careful old girl.” He smirks, spinning and disappearing in a puff of grey smoke. You release the nervous sigh you had been holding onto, moving faster now through the crowd. You arrive at Yoongi’s apartment complex, walking past the guard in the lobby, and straight for the elevator. When you get to the penthouse you exit the elevator, walking to his front door, entering the lock code into the keypad. You are immediately hit with his scent mixed with his need, your senses going into overdrive. You turn into his bedroom to see him standing by his bed, squinting at you in confusion, his erection unabashedly on display through his white linen pants. “Noona? You look, so beautiful.” You swallow hard, feeling your face blush. “What are you saying?” You snip. “Your hair. The flowers, the dress.” He describes and you look down at your body, at the black leather pants and black corset you’re wearing. “What,” You begin, eyes widening with realization, “Altered Perception.” “What?” He tilts his head. “You’re seeing me the way you imagine me. It’s Jimin’s gift, your perception is being altered because I drank his blood.” He stands straighter, covering his erection with his hands. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were just with someone.” You smirk, walking towards him to remove his hands from his rigid member and instead replacing them with yours. He whimpers at your touch.

“Oh Angel, did you think Noona would ever sleep with some lowly Demon over you?” You slowly palm him, his excitement leaking and staining the front of his pants. “I, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just, bloodletting is so, intimate.” “Not for me. It was a favor to keep me from being seen while I was here. It’s dangerous for me here.” “I know. I’m sorry. Thank you for coming. I know it’s not our normal day, but I missed you.” He confesses. “Do you have any idea what I had to do to get here?” He shakes his head, moving his hips in succession with your hand. “Take your pants off Angel.” He swallows hard, removing the article of clothing quickly, his large cock springing forward. You grip it hard before gently stroking his full length. He throws his head back, his precum spilling out into your palm. “How long have you been this hard Angel?” “Two days.” Your eyes widen and your cunt leaks at the thought of his resolve. “Such a good boy, waiting for his Noona.” You praise. “I waited as long as I could but today it was too painful.” “Spit on it.” You command, his reddened engorged tip resting in your opened palm. “What?” He questions. “Spit on your cock for Noona.” You whisper, palming his balls with your free hand. He mewls, nodding. He moves his jaw around, gathering his lubricant in his mouth, slowly allowing the spit to drip from his soft pout and onto his tip. You release a heated sigh at the sight, closing your fist around his tip and stroking him quickly. His body shudders, your name leaving his mouth in soft whispers over and over while you build up his high.

“Uh, please, I’m going to cum.” He warns. “Not yet you’re not.” You state to his desperate eyes, releasing his cock and shoving him onto the bed. He cries out, stretching his needy body from the lost orgasm. “Top off Angel.” He pants, removing his sweater. “Fuck! This skin. It’s so gorgeous.” You growl, moving forward and biting a red mark onto his chest. He moans, jolting his hips upward. You move to your knees and take his full length in your mouth. “Ah, fuck, Noona!” You glide up and down his cock, taking him to the back of your throat. You come up a moment for air, gathering all the moisture in your mouth. You look him deep in his eyes, gripping his cheeks. He opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out, allowing you to spit onto it. “Spit on your cock.” He is completely out of breath, spitting a mixture of your saliva onto the tip of his cock. You grip his shaft, moving up and down with the ease. “Noona.” He whines, hitching his hips upward into your fist. His head falling back while he keeps pace with you. Your phone begins ringing and Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Please Noona, ignore it, please. I need to cum so bad.” You stroke faster, his breath quickening. “Yes, please, don’t stop. I’m so close.” Your phone rings again and you release Yoongi’s angered cock. “No! No! Fuck!” He whines.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and put a finger to your lip. “Jin, how are you?” You answer. Yoongi’s eyes tighten to slits at the name that leaves your mouth. You get off your knees, sitting on the bed now, leaning up on the pillows. Yoongi looks at you with defiance. “Y/N, I need you to come see me. We have much to discuss.” You swallow nervously at the request. “Everything ok?” You question. Watching Yoongi watch you. “No, everything is not ok. Since when do you ask questions? I need you to come see me and that’s it!” He shouts. Yoongi growls and you give him an angered look. “What are you doing?” Jin’s voice comes into your ear. “Nothing. I’m... home.” Yoongi’s breath quickens in anger and he moves towards you, latching his mouth onto your neck, sucking at the flesh. You bite your lower lip to keep yourself quiet. “Well, we have an emergency here and I need my right hand by my side. Besides, shouldn’t you be out scouting?” “Of course,” You stutter, “I was getting ready to do just that.” There is a pause and then Jin scoffs. “Are you with someone?” “No, what would make you ask that?” You swallow. “It’s been a while since we fucked. I’m sure you’re in need. Come quickly and we can get a quick fuck in.” He immediately hangs up and Yoongi unlatches from your throat. You turn to meet Yoongi’s teary gaze.

“You fuck him?” He grumbles, fighting back his tears. “No. At least, not anymore.” You answer as honestly as you can. “Who fucks their boss?” He moves away from you. “Angel, please.” “Fuck you! You’re just like the rest of your kind. Liars.” He shouts, snatching his pants from the ground. You grab him quickly and slam him onto the bed. “Shh, my sweet Angel. No one touches me anymore. Only you. I promise.” You comfort him, kissing his cheeks and soon his pout. He resists at first but soon open his mouth for you to swirl your tongue around his. “Promise?” He whispers into your kisses. You nod, unzipping your leather pants. He moans, running his large hands down your back, gripping your bare ass. “Let’s me show you Angel.” He growls like a jaguar, the scent of jealousy releasing from his pores, and you chuckle. “You gonna change on me baby?” You ask, standing to remove your pants. He lays before you his rigid cock twitching in anticipation for your cunt. His body steams as his eyes glow blue, a lighthearted threat from the gifted Transmutationist. You moan, straddling him. “You don’t scare me Angel. I’ll tame any form you choose to take.” You smirk, lowering yourself onto his cock. He growls again, his eyes glowing brighter when you begin to ride him quickly. You throw your head back, moaning loudly. He licks at your exposed neck, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you up and down his member faster.

“That’s it Angel. Fuck this cunt.” Yoongi growls, flipping you over suddenly angling his needy cock into you so it rubs along your g-spot. You claw at his back, earning moan after moan from him. “Mine.” He growls, his sweat dripping onto your face. “Yours.” You assure him, wiping his dark locks from his forehead. Your mouth falls open. “Fuck, Yoongi, feels so good. Don’t stop.” You gasp, your orgasm sparking up from deep within you and shooting through your body steadily. You cry out his name, your pussy slick with your climax as he continues to pound into you. “I’m going to cum.” He whispers. “Yes Angel, fill me up.” He presses his forehead against yours, his hips staggering for a moment. “Hyung, Are you here?” You hear from Yoongi’s living room. “Don’t stop.” You tell Yoongi, nearly gagging on the scent of the sweet smell of Heaven’s dutiful Arch Angel Jung Hoseok. “I can’t. It’s too good. I’m cumming.” He pants, crying out your name. His seed shooting out into your warmth, leaking out with his continued thrust. “Hyung?” Hoseok emerges into Yoongi’s room. You turn your head away quickly to avoid being seen. “OUT!” Yoongi yells. “Shit! Sorry.” Hoseok shouts, running out.

“He’s gone.” Yoongi whispers. You turn to look up at him. “You think he saw me?” “No, he’s clueless.” “I should get going.” “To Jin?” He inquires. “To work.” You push him off you. “Why didn’t you tell me that you two were a thing?” “Should we exchange list?” You snap. “It’s different, he’s the king of the underworld.” “Don’t do this Yoongi. We just had a beautiful moment.” “Why do you avoid everything?” “Because I don’t answer to you. Now, I’m leaving.” You tug on your pants, standing to leave. “Noona, please. Don’t leave upset.” “Too late. Goodbye.” You say, walking out of his bedroom. You look about for Hoseok but don’t see him and make haste to the elevator. You’re gone no more than 5 minutes when your phone goes off with a text.

Angel: ‘Please don’t be upset with me. I’m sorry. Please, can I see you tonight?’

Me: ‘No.’

He doesn’t respond and for that you are grateful.  

[heartsofbeskar]

from the ashes

chapter 1

din djarin x oc

warnings: blood, mild violence, swearing, drinking, drug mention

words: 3.1K

excerpt: The smell of her own ship was a damn relief. Mos Eisley always seemed to leave a thin layer of stink and grime on her skin that took multiple showers to scrub off. Stepping into her shower, she began to attempt to do just that.

She indulged in some hot water, since she’d been able to pick up extra power cells in the town. Taking full advantage, she dialed the temperature high, the water nearly burning through her skin. She stood there, reveling in the ability it gave her to feel something so vividly. Even if it was pain.

(gif credit @moonaisle)

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The edge of the knife bit into her skin, and all she could think as blood welled up was how damn cold it was.

“I asked who the fuck you’re working for,” the man snarled into her ear, putting on what he no doubt imagined to be an intimidating face. She wasn’t impressed. “And why the fuck would you be snooping around Corran Felth’s personal residence?”

Her hands twitched where they were tied together tightly with cord. She cursed herself for letting this guy get the jump on her as she exited the building, assuming that she’d been too quick for anyone to take up wait in the alley.

It had been sloopy on her part, she had to admit that. And she knew why. Despite accepting the client’s down payment, she did not see this quest coming to fruition, so her heart wasn’t really in it. Though some would say she didn’t have a heart to begin with — but the pounding of her own pulse in her ears said differently.

He snarled and opened his mouth again, but she’d already decided that this was enough antics for one job. She delivered a sharp jab with the heel of her bound hands into his abdomen, leaving him gasping from the unexpected blow.

“You little bitch, I—”

As he spit his venomous words at her, she felt the pressure on her throat leave, opening her window. One of his hands tightened where it grasped in her hair, and she reached up to grab the corresponding wrist, propelling him by it into the nearby wall. When his hands left her, she grabbed him by the back of his head, smashing it into the wall a second time. There was a satisfying crack.

“Idiot,” she scoffed, lowering down to grab the knife that had left a small nick on the side of her throat. Flipping it around, she cut her hands free. If he actually knew what he was doing, he would’ve just cut off her hands instead.

She patted him down, turning out his pockets. Instant caf packets, baggies of spice, a small collection of credits… she sighed. Not what she was looking for. This was probably nothing more than a street runner — albeit a stupidly brave one.

Pocketing the knife and credits, she rose and exited the alley, pulling her collar up higher over her neck. Not that anyone on Tatooine would really bat an eye at fresh cuts — but she was nothing if not careful.

With the suns just beginning to set, the streets of Mos Eisley hummed with its seedy nightlife. The only place where someone like her, who bathed in violence and destruction, could ever really fit in.

Music poured from the ajar doors of the town cantina, and she hesitated outside of it. Hell, one more try at a lead couldn’t hurt. She had the extra credits to spare, after all.

There was an open stool at the bar against the opposite wall from the door, and she felt a few knowing pairs of eyes fall to her as she walked towards it, but she ignored them. A reputation was always an asset in her line of work, so she was content to let minds fester. The bartender eyed her weapons belt for only a second before serving her a drink happily.

The liquid burned her throat on the way down, just as she’d hoped it would. It didn’t taste particularly good, but Mos Eisley wasn’t known for its fine dining and cocktails. Moisture gathered on the outside of the drink, and she ran her index finger along the glass slowly. A scar stood out along the knuckle.

“You come here often?” A husky voice spoke up from beside her. She turned slightly, eyes roving up and down, taking in the rough man who had pulled up to the neighbouring stool. His hair was dark and seemed like it hadn’t been brushed in years, and his skin shone with grease and grime. A pretty standard Outer Rim pond hopper.

“Too often,” she muttered, bringing the drink to her lips again. “And you?”

“Ya know, I get ‘round these places every so often,” he leered at her, leaning in closer. She shifted slightly, not moving any closer but adjusting her jacket over the knife belt across her chest. “Name’s Zeth.”

“Liana,” the lie rolled off her tongue smoothly. “Ya know, I was actually supposed to meet with someone here … have you ever heard of Corran Felth?”

At the name, his eyes narrowed, but a smile played at the corner of his chapped lips. “Yea, I ‘erd of ‘im. Not any courier going through Eisley who hasn’. Now what is a pretty thing like you doing meeting a Tatooine drug lord, mm?”

She rolled her eyes, but matched the upturn of his lips with her own. “We had some business regarding some new … merchandise he was interested in market testing. I have some connections he thought might be useful. I don’t suppose you know anything about that particular economy?”

“Ah, ’fraid I really don’t,” he sighed, and she knew he was being honest as his eyes scanned the bar behind her. “Wish I could help ya, but I did hear a rumour, just between you ‘n me…”

Now she did lean in, her hand falling lightly on the edge of his wrist. She didn’t miss the way his eyes briefly flashed there. “Yes?”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Strange he agreed to meet you … rumour has it, he been off world for months. Some nasty business ‘bout a girl he knocked up who’s in with the Hutts … they were none too happy about it as you can imagine.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? You’re sure about this?”

“Listen, all I knows is he likes to take nightly scrolls through the hangar I dock in. Haven’t seen heads nor tails of him in a long while.”

Taking a long swig to finish her drink, she smiled at him, fully grasping his wrist in her hand. “Well, I’m grateful to you for saving me all that time waiting. Have a nice night, Zeth.”

He looked a bit disheartened as she turned away, but by the time his brain could even formulate a response, she was halfway towards the door.

Leaving the cantina, she rolled her eyes, kicking a stone down the street. Of course he was off world. Of fucking course.

As the hangar bay loomed in front of her, she keyed in her entry card, registered under the same name she had given Zeth. Her own ship was parking a few lanes back, nestled among some smugglers and traders, but she header for the ship she knew was waiting in the furthest back corner of the bay.

A small droid floated outside the ship. When she approached, it flashed red light at her, and she stood still as it gave a retinal scan. Upon confirming her, it gave a happy little beep, and the ramp creaked slightly as it lowered.

“Liana, my dear, I do hope you’ve brought me good news.”

A large Klatooinian stood in the hold of the ship, arms clasped behind his back. She stopped in front of him, the ramp staying open behind her. Moonlight filtered into the ship around her figure.

“I think you know I don’t, Arn,” she told him coldly. “The word around Mos Eisley is that Felth’s not even here. Hasn’t been for months now. I searched his home, dug through his logs … no mention of the strain you say he stole.”

Arn fidgeted uncomfortably. “Just because he isn’t here, doesn’t mean he can’t be holding it with his men. Did you even check the lieutenants?”

“You look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that you would trust something like this with any of your lieutenants.” She glared at him, and waited for a beat to pass. He fidgeted more. “That’s what I thought. You’d keep it close to your chest. And since there was a man stationed outside of Felth’s home, I’m very inclined to believe the local gossip that he’s gone. It was dusty enough in there.”

“So what happens now? If it wasn’t Felth, do you have anything on who actually stole from me?”

“Frankly, Arn, this job has begun to bore me. Too much Tatooine isn’t good for the soul, you know? So as per the non-recovery clause of my contract, you’ll receive a holopad of the relevant information I did find, no further payments required. I’ll be keeping your non-refundable deposit, of course.” She pulled a slim holopad out of her jacket and extended it to him. He grumbled, but took it nonetheless.

“For someone they call ‘The Finder’... along with those prices …” he continued to grumble as she turned to leave the ship. She shot a look of venom back over her shoulder, hoping it made him shiver at least a bit.

“I am the Finder, Arn. There was nothing to find.”

—

The smell of her own ship was a damn relief. Mos Eisley always seemed to leave a thin layer of stink and grime on her skin that took multiple showers to scrub off. Stepping into her shower, she began to attempt to do just that.

She indulged in some hot water, since she’d been able to pick up extra power cells in the town. Taking full advantage, she dialed the temperature high, the water nearly burning through her skin. She stood there, reveling in the ability it gave her to feel something so vividly. Even if it was pain.

The hot water made the scars stand out against her reddened skin. As she washed, she catalogued them, as she often would. A long, winding, and narrow one wrapping around her right forearm. A short, jagged one sitting nearly in the centre of her chest. The one slashing diagonally across the left side of her abdomen, that disappeared below the waistline of her pants when she was dressed. And in the small mirror at her eye level, the thin but noticeable scar that ran over her blue eye, stopping just shy of her lip. Her other eye, unsettling brown in contrast, sat on her face unmarred.

She secured the towel under her arms as she settled into the pilot’s seat, turning to the comm panel. She hit the audio switch.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Finder!” a deep voice boomed from the panel. “I must say, I was a tad worried you wouldn’t pick up. You’re hard to get a hold of these days.”

She smirked despite herself. Greef Karga’s jovial spirit in the face of even the seediest business always amused her.

“You’ve caught me at a good time, I suppose,” she said. “I just finished up a job, was taking a night in.”

“A very good time indeed, then! You see, I’m calling for the purposes of a job I have in mind for you!”

“You know I don’t do bounties, Karga. If I wanted to be in the Guild, I would be.”

“Of course, of course! It’s a job fully suited to your own contract, off the Guild books. For me.”

That did have her interest. Every once in a while Karga would call or even visit and try to convince her to become one his hunters, telling her it was so similar to what she did, and he had all the infrastructure. But it wasn’t the same.

“Let me guess — I have to come to Nevarro for full details?” As she spoke, her fingers traced the lower half of the scar on her face subconsciously.

“You know me too well, especially compared to how much I know you! Hell, I don’t think I even know your real name. Something about Halla just doesn’t fit your face.”

“But does it matter?”

He laughed at that. “You’ve a point there, Miss Finder — no, it does not.”

“I’ll see you when I land then.”

—

Din Djarin was a proud man, and he didn’t like to admit when he’d made mistakes. But he was starting to think he’d done just that.

Sitting on the upper portion of another damned rockface, pulse rifle beside him, he rolled the small metal ball between his fingers, as he’d done countless times. The surface of it shined. All that was left of the Razor Crest. All that was left to remind him of Grogu.

It played in an endless loop in his head, Grogu’s eyes as he was carried away from him, every nerve in his body screaming that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. They had taken his foundling, his son. And he had just stood there and watched.

He had made a mistake.

The Jedi were Grogu’s people, the ones who had been raising him before the days of the Empire, but he barely knew anything of them, and he wasn’t sure he liked what he did know. In the time since Grogu’s departure, he’d made it a mission to track down more information, but the Jedi were like ghosts in the universe. If he hadn’t met them, he wasn’t sure he would’ve even believed they were more than myth.

That was hard to do without a fucking ship, though. Which was why he was here, taking low level bounties near Nevarro, in a rental ship. Karga had been generous with him, throwing him high volumes of nearby bounties so he could earn the credits to replace what he’d lost. Still, he was barely halfway there. The pace was frustratingly slow.

Motion along the horizon pulled his attention. Stowing away the ball, he picked up his rifle, bringing the scope to eye level. A human man was rushing across the rocks, glancing behind him every few paces. It was his quarry, no doubt. Right where Din had expected him.

Sighing, he slung the rifle across his back, making his way down the rock face. By the time he’d reached the bottom, the quarry was almost upon him, but an outcropping had shielded him from view thus far. Drawing his blaster, he waited a few more beats until the man was well within range, before stepping out, levelling his weapon at the scared man’s head.

“Stop where you are,” he said shortly. The man looked up at him, wide eyed and horrified. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

“L-look man, you can have w-whatever you want, I got some credits in here—” the man scrambled to open his bag, attempting to pull out the mentioned credits, but Din didn’t let him. He fired a warning shot in the ground, just shy of the man’s left foot.

“I said, show me your hands. I don’t want your money, I’m here to collect a bounty on you.” The man sputtered even more.

“T-they sent a fucking Mandalorian after me?! I didn’t e-even think they had the c-credits for—” He was cut off again as Din fired another shot at the ground, by his right foot now.

“I’m not in a patient mood. Hands.”

The man shook as he put his hands over his head, relenting. Din pulled the cuffs from his belt, yanking the man's hands behind him as he snapped them in place. He began pushing the man in the direction of the rental ship.

“If it helps, you weren’t worth much. I’m just in a tight spot.”

—

The quarry was silent on the entire walk, though Din could see a faint outline on his pants that indicated he’d soiled himself. He almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.

The rental — the Desertwalker? No, maybe it was the Starhopper? — only had space for three carbonite chambers, so he’d have to stop on Nevarro next before chipping away further at the mountain of pucks he was sure Karga had lined up to give him. He was grateful, but also had a feeling Karga was just as happy to unload these on somebody.

After sealing the latest quarry, and his ruined pants, into a chamber, Din climbed into the tight cockpit. People had complained to him about lack of space on the Crest, but this was even worse. His knees hit the panel in front of the pilot’s seat.

He sighed, removing his helmet with a hiss, running his hand through his sweat tainted hair. As he set the course for Nevarro, he returned to contemplating the Jedi, and all the information he did have on them.

His first instinct had been to call them wizards, and honestly he still felt that was an apt description. He’d seen Grogu perform acts he could only describe as magic, moving things with his mind and healing the otherwise damned, and he was only a child. A powerful one, yes, but it begged the question of what a fully trained adult Jedi could do.

Then there were the laser swords — lightsabers. Though still no match for beskar, they were impressive, and seemed to be less of a weapon and more of an extension to their bodies. His eyes fell to the darksaber, hilted on his belt. He didn’t necessarily like carrying it around, but it felt immensely foolish to leave such a thing unguarded on a ship. Still, he much preferred his rifle and his blaster.

Beyond their powers and lightsabers, information on the Jedi was scarce. That was the core of their mythos, but any practical details seemed to have been washed from time. How did their training work? How did one graduate? Did they swear oaths? If they did, what did they entail? Din’s mind was constantly buzzing with questions that it seemed no one in the galaxy had the answers to. He felt helpless. And he fucked hated feeling helpless.

He leaned his head back against the seat, watching the characteristic vivid streaks of hyperspace fly past the window. So many stars, so many planets, and his son was on one of them, doing Maker only knows what. Without him.

He had made a mistake.

—

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

- Chapter 10 -

Nie Mingjue was starting to become accustomed to the routine of the cell.

Wen Ruohan would generally visit the Fire Palace twice weekly, sometimes more if he had had a very bad day and wanted to let off some steam. Nie Mingjue would get visited on at least one of those instances, whether for a short time and a bit of emotional devastation or for a longer and much more physically uncomfortable visit, and sometimes more often if Wen Ruohan was not doing well in war.

Wen Ruohan still enjoyed asking him questions, but Nie Mingjue didn’t think he had to answer them anymore. This was a subject that came up sometimes during some of those longer visits.

The rest of the time, he was left to recover and be bored. He was not given access to his saber – Baxia had been hidden away somewhere, he thought, he could feel that she was safe if unhappy – but his spiritual energy was not restrained, the way some other prisoners were.

He spent a great deal of time meditating. Sometimes, if his physical condition allowed for it, he would practice old techniques, trying to focus on a different muscle each time to try to avoid letting them atrophy. His empty hands bothered him, but he deemed it unlikely that anyone would give him equivalent to a saber something to wield, not even if he asked.

Food was twice a day, usually just a bowl of rice and vegetables that the kitchen would otherwise have thrown away, and it was brought by the same prison guard each time.

Nie Mingjue liked the prison guard.

Possibly it was because he was the only person Nie Mingjue saw on a regular basis, other than Wen Ruohan – Nie Mingjue’s cell was a little ways away from the other prisoners, lest they infect him with something and he die too quickly, although he was still within earshot of all the screams – or possibly it was the prison guard’s pleasant demeanor, friendly and calm like a lake of still water.

They were playing a long-running game of sorts.

Nie Mingjue had guessed that Meng Yao – that was the prison guard’s name – was an outsider, recently joined, and that he had previously spent time in both the Lan and Jin sects.  This perspicacity had surprised Meng Yao, drawing his interest, and he had asked, very politely, for Nie Mingjue’s name.

Nie Mingjue had, just as politely, refused to give it.

Meng Yao, surprised yet again, had asked for his reasons.

Nie Mingjue had explained that he wasn’t sure if Wen Ruohan would react badly to other people knowing about him, and it would be a shame for Meng Yao to be murdered while he had yet to achieve whatever it was that he was seeking so strenuously to accomplish.

For some reason, Meng Yao saw this as a challenge.

“Gongzi, I have your dinner,” Meng Yao said. “Would you like me to ask the cook to give you some meat, next time? Just let me know. I would be more than happy to tell her to send more food to…?”

“Certainly,” Nie Mingjue said. “You can tell her that it’s on behalf of the last cell on the right.”

Meng Yao wrinkled his nose at him, and Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes back.

Their normal initial exchange of wits over, Meng Yao gave him the food and supervised him as he ate – a babysitter upon whose head the consequences would fall if Nie Mingjue misbehaved was the condition of giving him chopsticks. Wen Ruohan had a great deal of experience in keeping prisoners alive, and he knew Nie Mingjue’s character quite well.

“I heard that you were giving Sect Leader Wen advice on the war,” Meng Yao said casually as Nie Mingjue tried to guess what pickled vegetable he was eating, since neither taste nor appearance was definitive. “Gongzi must be very well-respected.”

“Did you hear about the part where I told him the best counterstrike would be to shove his troops up his own ass?”

“…and very brave.”

Nie Mingjue chuckled. “And you must be very competent to have made your way up to prominence in two separate sects, especially at such a young age.”

Meng Yao did not want to like him, Nie Mingjue could tell. He did anyway.

It wouldn’t help him if something more important to Meng Yao was at stake, of course – Nie Mingjue had lived too long with Qishan Wen cruelty, selfishness, and ruthlessness to miss seeing it reflected in others – but it was still nice to be liked.

“…how do you know?”

“Was that a direct question?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Be still my heart.”

“This humble servant has observed that gongzi does not answer anything else.”

“Humble,” Nie Mingjue drawled. “Yes, that’s the first thing I think of when I think of you.”

Meng Yao’s eyes were narrowing, though, so he stopped teasing.

“It’s your hair.”

“My – hair?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “The way you set it. It’s clear that Xichen must have taught you how to arrange the braids personally, which means that you must have gotten fairly high up in the Lan sect – but Sect Leader Wen referred to you as being poached from the Jin sect.”

Meng Yao reached up touch his hair. “…I never made it that high in the Jin sect,” he finally said. “Not even lieutenant.”

“In the middle of a war, with how competent you are? Does Sect Leader Jin have something against you?” A small furrowing of Meng Yao’s brow. “Did you complain that he raped your sister or something?”

A long, slow blink. “Is that a problem he has?”

“Not liking people who try to make him responsible for his actions?” Nie Mingjue snorted. “Yes.”

Meng Yao looked contemplative.

“What are you thinking?” Nie Mingjue asked, finally giving up on the pickled vegetable and handing back the bowl.

“Only that you know a great deal of gossip –”

“Involuntarily, I assure you.”

“– and that you feel comfortable calling Lan-da-gongzi by name, and are familiar enough to know how he personally styles his hair.” Meng Yao smiled. “I’ll figure out who you are yet, gongzi.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “They’ve probably already forgotten me.”

-

“This is your fault,” Wen Ruohan murmured in his ear, and Nie Mingjue was too weak to refuse to listen. “You did this – to yourself, to them. Why couldn’t you have just been obedient?”

He didn’t know anymore.

-

“I’m Sect Leader Jin’s son,” Meng Yao said.

“Your mother must be a genius,” Nie Mingjue replied.

There was a moment of silence – probably Meng Yao staring at him.

It was probably not the response he had been expecting.

“I’ve met Sect Leader Jin,” Nie Mingjue said in explanation. He was lying face-down on the floor of the cell while Meng Yao tended to his wounds; the conversation, he knew, was only to distract him from the sting of the stitches. “He’s cunning, not smart, horribly self-absorbed, and ‘competent’ isn’t the word I’d use for him; he makes do mostly by paying enough to hire good help. Given the contrast with you, it follows that you must have gotten all the good traits from the other side…I hope he didn’t rape her. Sorry about making that joke, earlier. I didn’t realize.”

“You said sister, not mother.”

“Right,” Nie Mingjue said. “I forgot.”

“Anyway, he didn’t have to rape her. He bought her,” Meng Yao said. He was tightening the bandages now and his hands were perfectly steady. Too steady, the way Wen Qing’s were when she was having to control himself. “She was a whore.”

Nie Mingjue got the feeling that Meng Yao was expecting some sort of reaction. He wasn’t sure what, though.

“Okay,” he said. Out of lack of anything better to say, he added, “Was she nice?”

“What type of question is that?” Meng Yao demanded.

He’d picked the wrong reaction again, Nie Mingjue presumed.

“I don’t know,” he said. His eyes were closed and his forehead was pressed against the cool stone. “I don’t really remember my mother. All I know is that she was a rogue cultivator, and tall –”

“I would never have guessed the latter, gongzi.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like I’ve never heard that one before. My father raised me on his own – we don’t believe in using nursemaids to do it.” He exhaled. “I’m forgetting him, too.”

“He died?”

“Sect Leader Wen killed him.” He heard Meng Yao exhale. “I know. I’m not very filial, am I?”

“I don’t think that’s a consideration,” Meng Yao murmured. “Under the circumstances.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t want to talk about it. “So, your mother,” he said. “Was she nice?”

“…does it matter?”

“Why wouldn’t it matter? She’s your mother, isn’t she?”

Meng Yao chuckled. It was not a nice sound. “Most people don’t really care to listen past the part where they find out she’s a whore.”

“I’ve never actually met a whore,” Nie Mingjue confessed. He was starting to drift off again – it was hard to stay awake. “The closest I ever got to even talking about one was when we had to put the fear of brothels into A-Chao. Sect Leader Wen was trying to ruin him.”

“A-Chao?”

“Mm. Like – a little brother, almost. I’ve got a bunch.”

Meng Yao snickered. “Yes, gongzi does seem the type.”

Nie Mingjue smiled into the floor. He knew that tone – it was just the same as A-Chao’s, in fact. “You’re welcome to join in, if you like.”

Meng Yao’s hands stopped moving abruptly.

“Assuming I’m not dead, of course.”

After a moment, Meng Yao’s hands started moving again. They were gentler.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “After a promise like that, I’ll be sure not to let him kill you.”

“Need to get your money’s worth out of me?”

“Of course.” A pause. “Naturally, it would be easier if gongzi would tell me his name…”

Nie Mingjue huffed – like Meng Yao was going to get him that easily.

“No need for such formality, A-Yao,” he said. “Just call me da-ge.”

-

“You must have some hobbies.”

“Must I?”

“Everyone has hobbies.”

“I collect younger siblings. Does that count?”

“It does not.”

-

“It’s your fault,” Wen Ruohan crooned as Nie Mingjue’s shrieks split the air. “Your fault. You turned them against me. It’s because of you that I’m going to need to kill them…”

-

“I don’t think I would have liked you, in the normal course of things,” Meng Yao said conversationally. “I usually find righteous people boring. Most of the time, they’re arrogant hypocrites, as rigid like the stiff pole that must have gotten shoved up their asses at some point. No one looks down on you like the righteous, and usually for stupid reasons, too. For something as petty and as simple as just not being them. Not having their advantages from the moment you were born.”

He paused. Cleared his throat.

“Lan Xichen was the first one I met who wasn’t like that. He really – he’s nice, I think you would put it. Kind. Everything they say about what gentlemen ought to be, he is.”

A brief silence.

“Naïve, though. Almost painfully so. I twisted him around my little finger without even trying…even when I was trying not to.”

Nie Mingjue believed him. Manipulation seemed to come as second nature to Meng Yao, even when he was being sincere. Sometimes, even especially when he was being sincere.

It was a bit like Wen Xu, actually. It was hard to throw off the way you’d been raised.

“At first I thought the problem was with me, that I didn’t appreciate him enough, that I didn’t understand how to have a friendship with a person like that. A good one. Sometimes I thought, well, no, maybe the problem’s with him – he pities me too much to see what I’m really like, and that means he’s deceiving himself, it’s got nothing to do with me. In the end…I don’t know. I don’t think I ever resolved it.”

He sighed. It was a long, low sound, almost whistling in the dead air of the Fire Palace.

“You’re not like Lan Xichen at all. You really are unbending, rigid, inexorable…I ought to despise you. You ought to despise me. I torture people most of the day, you know. I even enjoy it.”

For all his poise, Meng Yao was younger even than Lan Xichen. He shouldn’t be anyone’s prison guard. Shouldn’t be torturing anyone. How could you blame children for doing something that would win them praise?

“It’s this place that makes me like you, I think. It’s just – it’s filthy, here. Disgusting. The more I’m in this prison the worse it gets. The more bad things I do, the more bad things I think. I barely dare recall my better memories, my mother, Lan Xichen. I’m too afraid that the filth and grime of this place will stain their purity even in my thoughts.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t understand, not really - maybe he’d been here so long that the stain had sunk in already, blackening everything it touched. But he tried as much as he could to sympathize.

“And then there’s you. You, all shining steel and stiff unbending morality, the sort of person I hate the most. But when I’m here knee-deep in the muck, trapped in the dark without any hope of surfacing, I look at you and I feel – it’s almost like I can see light again, reflected in you. As if I’m breathing clean air. For the first time in my life, I think I understand why people have ethics. That they’re not some stupid thing made up by someone to fool someone else into voluntarily crippling the hand they’ve been dealt to play.”

That was definitely not what ethics were.

“I don’t know if we’d get along outside this place. Where I’m still me, with all my flaws that make me all the worse, and you’re still you, with all your imperfections that only make you better, but without this place to make us get along. I really don’t know. For once in my life, I don’t have a goal, a target, a scheme. As far as I know, you’re nobody I can use, and keeping you close to me will only tie an anchor to my legs, weigh me down. But even with all that, even if nothing I do works out and it all blows up in my face…I’d still like to find out. Find out if we would get along, if you really would treat me like your little brother even though you know what I’m really like under the smile. Find out if someone like me really can get along with someone like you.”

Nie Mingjue felt Meng Yao squeeze his hand, and wished he could respond in kind.

“So you have to wake up, da-ge. You hear me? You have to wake up.”

-

“It’s done. They’re gone. And it’s all your fault.”

He lies, Nie Mingjue told himself. He lies, he lies, he lies –

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Sneaking Around | Chapter Six

Aelin clicked on Rowan’s contact. want to get out of here? She made sure to keep her phone angled away from Manon, who was smirking next to her.

A moment later, he responded. I thought you’d never ask.

you’re not still pissy about me judo flipping you?

I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ll just have to get you back for it. Aelin blushed at the implications.

“What, is your sweet boyfriend sexting you?” Aelin had almost forgotten Manon was there.

“Shut up.” we’ll see about that

I’ll leave now. You come in a few minutes.

alright

You sure you remember where I live?

yeah, i think so

Aelin heard Rowan’s voice distantly saying he was off. Not wanting Manon to put it together, she started speaking. “So, you don’t mind if I ditch you?”

“And have you spend the night lusting after some dude? No thanks.”

“You’re one to talk. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve gone to gay bars as your wingwoman.”

“That was only a few times and I am grateful, but I still get to tease you. It’s my job. Shouldn’t you be leaving now?”

“So anxious to lose my delightful presence?” Manon rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m off now.”

They walked into the living room to find Rowan already gone and Vaughan on his way out. Good, that would be a little less suspicious if several people were leaving. Aedion and Lysandra had rejoined the group. Manon said, “Aelin’s headed out to her secret boyfriend’s place, so looks like I’m stuck with you losers.” Yes, Manon was very genteel.

Everyone tried to get her to spill, but Aelin just said, “See you Monday.” Then she flipped them off as she walked out the door.

The drive was short, but Aelin was jittery, desperate to get her hands on Rowan. And she had unintentionally memorized his address.

She walked up the stairs to the second floor quickly. Aelin lacked the patience for an elevator ride right now.

Upon reaching the landing, she caught sight of Rowan leaning against the wall next to his open door. “You certainly got here quickly. So eager to-”

Aelin cut him off with a hungry kiss. His lips began to move against hers and he grabbed her, pulling her into his apartment. Rowan kicked the door closed, then pinned her to it. He used one hand to lock the door and the other to unzip her jeans. She grinded against his hand, bucking her hips forward.

Rowan pulled down her jeans, waited for Aelin to step out of them, then picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Aelin shrieked as he carried her to his bedroom.

“That’s what you get for judo flipping me.” The damned bastard was chuckling.

He tossed her on the bed, then swiftly unclothed himself. Rowan looked up to find Aelin had done the same, and was now lying seductively on his bed. She let her legs spread.

Rowan, panting now, climbed on top of her. She moaned as his hips pressed against hers. Neither one of them could get enough of the other. Both of their hands were roving accross the other’s body. Aelin’s tongue parted his lips.

Her hand drifted down to caress him, and Rowan groaned. He let Aelin push him off of her then move down to take him in her mouth. Rowan moaned Aelin’s name. Yes, she could get used to this.

-

Light was streaming through the curtained window. Aelin awoke to find Rowan’s arm around her. She was pressed into his side, fitting like a glove.

Aelin gently slid out of his grasp, then put on his shirt from the night before. It was so large, she nearly drowned in it.

Then she walked out to the kitchen. If he was going to carry her around like a sack of meat, she would feel no qualms about raiding his fridge.

Rowan walked out ten minutes later in another pair of sweatpants to find Aelin dressed in his t-shirt, devouring a bowl of cereal. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he said sarcastically.

“Thank you, I will,” replied Aelin. “Though I’m rather disappointed to find all this health junk. You need to buy some Fruit Loops.”

Rowan smirked. “Planning on eating breakfast here often?”

Aelin blushed. “Just in case.”

Rowan poured himself a bowl of the “health junk.” “Well, I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

Aelin blinked, then smiled.

“Did you ladies really sign up for mixed martial arts?” he asked.

Aelin laughed. “Yes. Lys and I had been taking it for a while, and we convinced the others to join. And I still can’t believe you bet against me!”

“How was I supposed to know you’re a fucking ninja?”

Aelin laughed again, louder this time. “I like that almost as much as fire-breathing bitch-queen.”

“That was meant to be an insult when I came up with it.”

“That makes it even better.”

Aelin hadn’t felt so happy in a long while. They finished breakfast, then Aelin said she should leave.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Aelin asked.

“You should stay. It’s still the weekend.”

Aelin’s heart raced. “And if I were to stay, what would we be doing?”

Rowan’s sultry smile was answer enough.

-

Aelin pulled up at her apartment just past six o’clock. She had totally lost track of time, though she didn’t regret it. Rowan had spent the better part of the afternoon coaxing noises from her she didn’t even know she could make.

Upon entering, Aelin found Ansel at the table eating Chinese takeout. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” she said with a raised brow. “I got extra in case you did.” Ansel gestured to the other container of Chinese.

Aelin replied, “Thanks. I need to change first.” She was still wearing last night’s outfit. Again. This was becoming a habit.

When Aelin came back out in a t-shirt and yoga pants and sat at the table, Ansel just looked at her. Stared, like she was seeing deep into her soul.

“Okay, you’re going to have to stop that. It’s freaky,” Aelin stated.

Ansel sighed. “I’m working on my tell-me-all-of-your-secrets stare. Ugh, just fess up, will you?”

Aelin tried not to laugh. “No. Stop prying.”

“I know I blab a lot, but if I swear not to tell a soul, will you at least answer, like, some minor questions? I have nothing else to do with my life.”

Ansel looked so pathetic that Aelin hesitated. “If you won’t tell anyone, you may ask some things. I might not answer, though.”

Ansel immediately brightened. “Great. Okay, I’m assuming his name is a no. Mm, do you like like him?”

Aelin could only imagine if Ansel went and told the others, including Rowan, that she liked the dude. That would be humiliating. Ansel wouldn’t break her word, though. “Yes,” she answered firmly, surprising herself. She realized she did like Rowan a lot, though.

Ansel smiled. “Interesting. I can only assume he works at the office because of your secrecy, not to mention hooking up with him at an office party. Do I know him?”

Most everyone from the office went to the bar; this wasn’t a revealing question. “Probably.” Okay, definitely, but whatever.

“Is he good in bed?”

“Gods, Manon asked the same question. You perverts. Yes, he is very good in bed.” Aelin was tiring of the interrogation and also started to get nervous she might reveal something. “I’m done with the probing now. Want to watch Grease?” The two of them lived for old movies. They had seen Grease about a dozen times already. She knew the offer would be enough to get Ansel off her back.

“Sure. I’m not done with you, though.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. Then they spent the evening watching movies and gossiping about their friends. Luckily, Ansel seemed to have dropped the subject of the secret boyfriend for the night.

Yes, it could be troublesome to deal with her friends’ inclination to snoop, but she and Rowan would tell them if it got serious. Was it heading in that direction? At first Aelin had thought the attraction was purely sexual, but then they talked and laughed he made her heart flutter and Aelin wasn’t so sure anymore. The only question was whether Rowan felt the same about her.

Out of pure desperation, Aelin pulled out her phone. help im bored.

If Rowan was the type to use emojis, he surely would have sent an eye roll. He wasn’t though, and he annoyingly wouldn’t stop using correct grammar and punctuation. Prick. Only a minute after Aelin texted him, Rowan replied, What’s Ansel doing? Is she still at Fenrys’?

she’s currently laying on my lap sound asleep. not before finishing the fried rice though

Poor thing. Aelin could feel the sarcasm oozing out of that text. What do you want me to do about it?

be entertaining. tell a joke or something. im lonely

You’re a very needy person.

i am not

You certainly were today. Aelin blushed at that.

tell me rowan whitethorn is not sending me dirty texts! i should block you or something

Needy and overdramatic. No surprise there.

you need to work on your flattery skills

Fine, then, Your Majesty. You are the most genteel, sensitive, kind, and respectful person I have ever met. Please accept my sincerest apologies. Aelin snorted at this.

*sigh* you could at least try to say something accurate like awesome or fascinating or something. we all know im not nice

How true.

stop bullying me. ask me on a date

Is that an order?

yes

Would you like to go on a date with me?

hmm... i’ll have to think about it

Why do I even bother?

because im irresistible

I’m going to sleep now. Work tomorrow. You should too.

night

Goodnight.

Rowan was right; she should get some sleep. Even if she wanted to text him all night.

“Ansel, up.” Aelin poked her on the forehead. “I can’t get up with you snoring on my lap.”

Ansel was nearly impossible to rouse. Aelin settled the matter by shoving her off onto the floor, which earned her a severe scolding.

In bed, Aelin couldn’t stop thinking about Rowan. It got to the point where she couldn’t help but shove her hand under the waistband of her yoga pants, getting off with the help of the thought of his capable fingers.

Great. Now Aelin was just praying she wasn’t going to start blushing and batting her eyelashes at him. She wondered if he was thinking about her as he touched himself. Probably not. He was probably asleep, untroubled by thoughts of her.

Rowan Whitethorn was distracting Aelin from... well... everything. Maybe if she tried thinking about when they hated each other. Or when she judo flipped him. Yes, think of beating him up.

How was Aelin going to handle work tomorrow, being able to see him but not touch him? Rowan Whitethorn. Damn him.