#;needed help {maeve & victory}

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Sun and The Moon

(Prologue: Meeting By the Sea) Alfie Solomons x Shelby!OC

Summary: In early November of 1917, you are over a year into your service to the Crown as a volunteer nurse. Following a hollow victory, you make your acquaintance with one Alfie Solomons. WC: 3.1K Warnings: Mentions of war, death, g-re, v-mit, foul language, angst, psychological distress, etc.

November. 7, 1917.

You know you need to hurry. It's almost nightfall; you won’t have much light left to write in. Yet you cannot help but linger at the sight of today’s victory. Before you, there is an ocean. It is a vast sea of gray, thick, and cold. Unfeeling and joyless. An ocean of standing water, crumbling buildings, and miles upon miles of mud. The buildings once housed people, but now they resemble the ruins of a bygone era. A necropolis.

Rolling clouds of dirt and gunpowder float just above the ground like phantoms. It’s the only piece of this that reminds you anything of home. Beckoning to the fog and soot that rolled in the early mornings when you would walk with your brothers to Charlie’s yard. Behind you, white tents flap in the wind, and cloth clings to metal rods that hold the structure in place. A field hospital. The only taste of civilization left for miles.

Rings meant to fasten the flaps down rattle like windchimes against the winds. A sudden updraft carries the stench of decay from the trenches up to where you stand. You press a cloth into a small bottle of peppermint oil. Quickly, you put that cloth on your nose. One of the first things you learned after joining the VADs was to keep your feet dry and to have plenty of peppermint oil on hand. It wards off the smell of rot, both in the living and the dead. The first time you smelled it, you vomited. Now, you barely gag. Still holding the cloth to your nose, you turn back to the field hospital.

Your name is Maeve Shelby, and you are twenty-four.

It’s warmer inside the tents. Uncomfortably so. The warmth is from all the bodies; most lay about in cots; the rest are your fellow VADs and doctors. Humidity mixed with stagnant sweat and all the bed pans that ever come clean enough to be rid of acrid remnants. To save yourself from having to sit in the midst of it all, you set aside a chair for yourself at the mouth of the field hospital. It is a plain, simple wooden chair with one leg shorter than the other three. Beside it is a stack of empty ammunition boxes. You have a small lantern weighing down an unfinished letter. With a sigh, you sit down and resume your writing from earlier that day: 

Dearest Aunt Polly, Ada, and Finn ,

I know once my letter finds you that this will be well-known, but the Allies have finally claimed victory here in Ypres. The soldiers say we are nearly finished ousting the Germans from Passchendaele. Only a few remain. Too injured to retreat. It won’t be long before we can claim this as ours. Still, we have yet to celebrate. It’s strange. All these months we spent fighting, and this doesn’t feel like a victory. So many lives were lost. There are too many to even try to count.

My work keeps me busy, but it is at night when my mind is most busy. Even with the fighting stopped, it has been difficult to find the dead and the wounded. I do not know where these men will be put once they’re found. We have hardly any beds left to offer. I have taken to sleeping in a chair by the entry to the main tent. Partly to free a bed for those that need it, partly to keep an eye out for any soldiers still trying to make it back. 

For so long, all I’ve done is race from place to place. Now all I do is change bandages, sooth the restless, and listen for the wounded who remain stuck in the trenches. Those still well enough to fight are sent out to recover their comrades. It’s hard work. Idle bombs and lurking landmines are all still out there. Some men come back worse than they left.

I know that the boys aren’t out there, but still, I strain to listen for them. John, Arthur, and Tommy. In my dreams, I do hear them. Just as I know, you hear them in your dreams too, Polly. It makes me wake with such a fear in me that my feet carry me forward before I’m fully awake. I rush toward that ocean of muck and blood, and I stop only when my fingers pierce the earth; the feel of it under my fingernails brings back my senses for some reason. 

I wonder if all the victories we’ve won felt like this. I wonder if, when all is said and done, any of this will amount to anything at all. Does anyone remember why we’re even here? Who will take our bodies home if none of us survive?

“God,” you say, taking your pen and scratching out the last line. Then, you scratch out the last paragraph. You cross out line after line. They don’t need to read this. This madness. It was good of Ada to back out of volunteering. Not just because of this lonely sea of mud and blood, but for little Finn, too. With you and the three eldest men gone, someone needed to take care of him. Mom has been dead for almost five years now. Father may as well be dead; he felt like a ghost when he was home anyway. Aunt Polly was holding up “the business,” from what you could gleam from Ada’s letters back to you.

In the year you’ve spent out on the fields, you have yet to receive a letter from your brothers. Not that you blame them. All of you are on the move. What you know of their state comes from Ada, or Polly. Arthur and Tommy are together, which somewhat soothes you. You think of John often. He’s in France with Danny and Jeremiah. I think you joined so that you could look after your brothers. It’s been years since you’ve seen them in person. Who knows what state they may be in? There are men behind you who will never be whole. Broken bodies, shattered minds, and more scar tissue than flesh. Are your brothers as you remember them? You hate to linger on the thought.

You fold your ruined letter three times and rip it in half. The give-and-take of it feels good somehow. It reminds you of something you read once about children being destructive to gain some form of control. You can’t control how long this war lasts, when you can come home, what home you return to, or what state you find your brothers in, but you can control this paper. So, you rip it again. And again. Each tear becomes more jagged and childish. You throw up your hands, and the bits of paper fly away in the cold November winds.

‘Snow from Birmingham to Belgium,’ you crack a small smile.

You once dreamed of journeying across Europe. It was a lovely fantasy filled with long train rides and French pastries. Winking at handsome strangers while hiding your smile behind a lacy white glove. Now, you feel like you’ve seen too much of it. When all this fighting is over, maybe you’ll take a holiday to Margate. Clean your memory with a long look at an ocean of water instead of this hellscape.

“Shelby!” Your head turns sharply to see Nurse Burgess charging towards you. Her round face was blotchy as always, her thin lips drawn down in a harsh frown. “Miss Shelby, you are needed in the back.”

Tucking your scented hanky back into your apron, you ask, “Is someone in throes?” Some men, in the throes of despair, couldn’t always tell the difference between a nurse and a German soldier.

Her meaty hand takes you by the upper arm and says, “No, I need you to keep an eye on someone.” Nurse Burgess drags you through the maze of malaise swiftly, despite the growing night. The nurses have navigated this place in near darkness many times now. You could probably make it from one end to the other, blindfolded. Tonight, the field hospital was quiet aside from the moaning. Nurse Burgess guides you deeper inside the field hospital with a hoarse, “It’s Captain Solomons; that bastard won’t lay still, and I haven’t the time to keep on him.”

You try to keep your voice low as soldiers in their cots roll over to follow you and Nurse Burgess’ mad dash. “Captain Solomons? I thought he was sedated, heavily!”

Nurse Burgess, on the other hand, has no such qualms. She hollers, “That man is a bloody bear. We keep trying to give him more, and he shoos us off. Now, he won’t stop trying to get out of his cot... with a blown-out leg!” Two soldiers sat on their cots with a barrel between them. They played cards under the glow of a flickering candle on their shared nightstand. As you passed, they snickered.

“I can’t imagine he would be able to move much; Doctor Gill said he nearly lost that leg,” you noted wearily. Burgess was nearly done with her escorting or you; the back of the tent was not far off. You stepped over a pool of what could have been rainwater, bile, or piss. There is no point in stopping to check.

At the back of the field hospital lay two specific sorts of patients. Those who could not move and those who absolutely should not move. Captain Solomons was in the former category. Days ago, he sustained a bullet to his shin that nearly shattered it. He had been under strict orders, and a heavy dose of sedatives, to stay right where he was. Each cot in this back section has its own privacy curtain. When you first joined, you thought it was for the nurses to sleep and change in. The other nurses had a good laugh about that. When she comes upon Captain Solomons’ curtain, Nurse Burgess lets you go. S yanks back the curtain, shielding the Captain from view, and lets out a deep grunt.

You peer around her shoulder and sigh. The captain sits on the thin cot with a sterile sheet pushed down to his legs. His back is raised from the metal headboard, and he has his body turned with his good foot nearly touching the ground. Still on the bed rests his wounded leg. It lays at a stiff, awkward angle. You know he must at least be aware of its precarious state. In the dark, it’s difficult to make out all of his features.

“Captain!”

He’s a big man, with broad shoulders and heavy muscle on his back and arms. You can see it pushing against his long-sleeved undershirt. What strikes you most about him is not his mass or his leg, but his grin. His cheeky, cheeky grin.

Captain Solomons keeps on that grin as he says, “Hm, it appears I have been caught, right?” His accent is thick. You know very little about Captain Solomons aside from the most basic of details. You know he’s from London, you know that he’s Jewish, and you know that he can be difficult. The Captain’s tone remains glib as he remarks, “And you brought a friend, ‘ello there.”

“You are to be resting, Captain Solomons!” Based on her tone, you can imagine Nurse Burgess is turning purple about now. Captain Solomons gives her a boyish shrug and stays upright in his cot. That alone makes Nurse Burgess turn to you and hiss and say, “Keep him here so he doesn’t rip his bloody stitches, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you hum. She leaves you there in the parted curtains with Captain Solomons. He regards you for a moment, then restarts his attempt at standing. You let out a sigh and hurry to him before he gains enough traction to hurt himself. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you try to ease him back into his crib. “Captain, you really must follow the doctor’s instructions.” You feel him push against your palms.

“Fuck the doctors; pardon my verbiage, but I’m about to go mad lying about this miserable lump you call a bed,” he says, putting his hands around your wrists. You are taken aback by how easily his hand wraps around your wrist. If he wanted to, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to just shove you aside. “I need to take a walk.”

Politeness doesn’t seem to work on him, nor does roughness. While you weren’t tough like John or ruthless like Arthur, you were clever with people. You could get a sense of how someone’s mind ticked quickly. You hoped you could catch on about Captain Solomons too. “And when your stitches rip and you’ve lost your leg, what cot would you like me to move you to?”

He stops pushing against you. His chest is still heaving, and his hot breath fans your cheeks. You swallowed thickly; you really underestimated how close you were to him. This is a is a big, big man. One who had rumors of a violent temper that took very little to agitate.

“You have been injured and are lucky to be alive. And you still have all your parts, Captain. Why are you risking that just to go on a fucking walk?” He stares you down with a furrowed brow. For a moment, you worry you’ve poked the bear a bit too hard. “If you refuse to take the doctors seriously, what do you think the men who answer to you will do? They’ll all be trying to walk about despite their pain and end up injuring themselves for pride.”

Solomons puts you at ease when he sits back on the cot, releasing your wrists. “I can’t just lay about like this. I’ll lose the rest of my marbles waiting around for those doctors to get these stitches out. There’s not a single thing a man can do to occupy his mind in this place. It smells of piss, rot, and pus. If they would give me back my knife, right? I could cut out a little window in this tarp behind me and get a whiff of fresh air. But they won’t. Where’s the respect, hm?”

You cross your arms and ask, “So, you’re bored?”

He stiffens. Oh, you hit the nail right on the head with that one. You can’t exactly blame him. The longer you stand still, the faster all your fears catch up with you. All those ugly things you’ve seen and heard find you. That’s why the soldiers play cards and the nurses trade that single copy of ‘Frankenstein’ and ‘A Room with a View’ back and forth. Distraction. “If you can stay still where you are, I can try to get a book or a deck of cards. Would you like that?”

With a sweeping gesture to the darkness, he says, “Can’t exactly read a page or play a hand in the dark, now can we love?”

Shaking your head at his childish attempts at derailing your little plan, you take out a matchbox from your apron. With your last matchstick, you bring life to a lantern by his bed. You turn to face him, a warm orange light reflecting on your face. In the dim lighting offered by the lantern, you can see the Captain’s face. He’s young for a man of his rank. And handsome, you can admit as much in your own mind. His eyes are bright, and his features are deeply masculine. A hard jawline with a prominent brow and pouty lips. Most soldiers, regardless of rank, are required to be clean-shaven. This is not true for Captain Solomons. He has a well-maintained moustache and beard, cut close to his jawline. You heard from somewhere that Solomons was an exception due to his faith or his demeanor. Captain Solomons is looking up at you, too. His expression was all aglow. Bright gray eyes stare at your face. Confused almost as they regard you.

“Do we have a deal, Captain?”

He’s still staring at you, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. Finally, he says, “If you can get ‘Frankenstein,’ I’ll stay put. That’s a piece of fiction I can sit with for a good bit of time.”

You beam at him and take the chance to push his healthy leg under his blanket. Solomons grumbles, “Easy now, easy. I’m injured, remember?” He allows you to gently move him safely into his cot.

Finding the nurse who had taken possession of the book was no easy task, but she was quick to give it to you when you informed her a captain had asked for it. When you came back with the book, Solomons was still in bed. You thanked a God you no longer believed in and handed him the book. Just as you attempted to leave, Captain Solomons made an admission: “My eyes, yeah, they don’t pinch up the written word so easy these days. If there’s not a grisly scene out there for you to attend to, might you do me the service of reading this aloud for me?”

For a moment, you think about refusing. You never know when you’ll be called away. But then again, you’re the one who came up with the idea to get him a distraction anyway. Settling down at the edge of his bed, you take the book from his hand and begin to read. Captain Solomons leans back against the metal headboard, listening to you begin reading the preface. What you didn’t know was that this was the start of a near-nightly ritual. Captain Solomons would attempt to slink out of bed to go'stretch his leg(s)’ until you would rush over to distract him with another book or game of cards. He became a welcome distraction for you as well. A friend, almost. Perhaps more than that, if the way he kissed you one cold night in late November told you anything.

His lips were as soft as they looked. 

Whether it was friendship or not, it lasted for about a month. Captain Solomons and his men were removed from the area for transport to the west. You and your fellow VADs would go north. He didn’t stop to say goodbye to you, which bothered you. The morning after he kissed you was the day you found out about the move. And he was already gone.

In one year and three days, the war would be over. You would return home to find that all your brothers had survived. But they weren’t quite themselves anymore, and neither were you.

[ladyniniane]

FE OC WEEK DAY 6: Supports

I'm back with another post about Maeve!

I've already explored her most important relationships. So today, I will focus on dynamics that I didn't have the time and space to develop in my fic through supports with Dimitri, Annette and Sylvain!

Like Maeve's story, all supports take place after the time skip.

See also her backstory for more info about her!

And as usual, I hope there aren't too many mistakes!

Maeve & Dimitri

C: Dimitri has a headache and he goes to Maeve, thinking music could help him relax. He wants her to sing a specific song that he heard during his teenage years but only remembers the melody. Maeve convinces him to hum the tune even though he's a bit embarrassed. She recognizes the song and plays it.

The sweet and serene melody moves Dimitri and he thanks her warmly. Maeve tells him that she understands. As she is very sensitive, a song, or a book can make her feel vivid emotions. Dimitri is relieved that she understood what he felt without even needing words.

B: Maeve encounters Dimitri and greets him. Dimitri notes that she looks happy. Maeve says that she is and giggles. She then becomes more serious as she thanks him for saving Dedue during the Tragedy. Dimitri says that he only did what was right, as Dedue was about to be struck down by a Faerghian knight next to his little sister’s corpse. Maeve tells him that he is a good and just monarch and that she’s honored to fight for him.

Dimitri says that he must work harder and that he must have worried her when she joined his army. He apologizes for bringing them all into this quest of revenge. Maeve says that she was indeed very worried, but that she trusts him now. She adds that Gladys would be happy to talk to him. Dimitri blushes a little and leaves Maeve to find Gladys.

A: After the victory at Enbarr, Maeve congratulates Dimitri. He thanks her for her service and her courage in battle. He saw her confrontation with her father and understands why she hid her imperial origins. Maeve answers that what is done is done and that she has no regrets. Dimitri asks about her future projects. Maeve says that she will leave the army and work as a musician. She explains that she dreams of compiling songs from all of Fodlan and beyond.

Dimitri promises her a place in court and says that he will be her patron and asks her to sing during his official coronation. He also promises to cover all the expenses of her wedding ceremony with Dedue. Delighted, Maeve congratulates him on his future wedding with Gladys and promises to sing her best songs.

Maeve & Annette

C: At Garreg Mach, Annette is helping Maeve with her training. Maeve notes that Annette would make a wonderful teacher. Maeve comments on the fact that, unlike Annette who’s a decent healer, she’s very bad at it and worries that something bad could happen. That’s why she learned first aid. Annette tells her that it’s a very good idea and that Maeve is already being very useful on her own. Each magician is unique, with their strengths and weaknesses.

Annette adds that Maeve is furthermore able to do things that others can’t, such as singing. Maeve teases Annette by telling her that she has a lovely singing voice. Annette is a bit embarrassed that Maeve heard everything, but Maeve tells her not to worry.

B: In Fhirdiad, Maeve and Annette explore the School of Sorcery after a productive study session. Both women compare their education and the reasons why they decided to learn magic. Maeve tells her that she would have loved to study there. She admires the school’s founder, queen Maude, and is currently reading Loog and the maiden of wind. Annette says that she loves that book as well. She shows her places such as the classroom where the queen gave the school's first lecture. They talk about the magical prowess of Maude and her daughter Gwendolen.

They stop by the courtyard where a statue of Maude used to be before the war. Annette explains that a legend says that if you had studied well, you could ask for the statue’s blessing before taking your exams. Both agree that they need a blessing before returning to battle since the equations they solved earlier will turn into deadly spells on the field.

A: Maeve and Annette congratulate each other after fighting side by side. They start to talk about their plans for the future. Maeve confesses that she didn’t know what she would do until now, that she was afraid of leaving their friends. In a way, she’s still afraid that she won’t be able to fit into civilian life again with all the violence she has seen and committed. But she’s now determined to try.

She asks Annette if she has ever suffered from being the youngest of her class. Annette admits that she wanted to be taken seriously. They both agree that they are now sure of their worth. Annette says that she’s still unsure about how to act with her father. Maeve advises her to let time decide and to listen to her feelings first. Annette thanks her and they promise to always stay in touch. 

Maeve & Sylvain

Important note: in my story, Sylvain isn't a skirt chaser and doesn't make the same comments about women that he does in the game. I love the rest of his character, but this part of him makes me deeply uncomfortable. Besides, there would no way Maeve could be comfortable around him if that was the case.

C: At the School of sorcery, Sylvain studies with Maeve since they both have an affinity for fire magic. Maeve is surprised to see him there since she didn’t think he had a talent for that. Sylvain explains with his usual carefree attitude that he’s a friend of Felix’s cousin, Aoife, and that she dragged him into this. As they both start working, Sylvain impresses Maeve by grasping immediately a complex formula, as he did with Annette. Maeve immediately understands that Sylvain is downplaying his abilities and she wonders why.

Sylvain may have grasped theory but lacks practice. Maeve thus gives him tips to improve his spell casting, especially in a life-and-death situation. They both part happy and satisfied with their progress and congratulate each other. Maeve didn’t think that Sylvain would take the study session seriously but understands that she was wrong. He then tells her that he has maybe decided to stop fooling around and focus on his responsibilities. 

B: Maeve and Sylvain meet again in the gardens where Maeve is looking at the flowers she planted with Dedue. Sylvain notes that it’s nice that Dedue has been able to make more friends and find support. He teases her, noting that she is often seen by Dedue’s side these days. Maeve playfully retorts that she and Dedue are planning to plant flowers everywhere they go.

Sylvain says that people are too busy being angry at the Duscurians to think about the truth. Maeve asks him if he too thinks that the people of Duscur are innocent. Sylvain says yes and they both share their conclusions regarding the responsibility of the Faerghian nobles. A newfound respect blossoms between them. Sylvain then tells Maeve that she too is more than she sees and that the people who see just a pretty little red bird in her are bound to regret it later.

A: After the fight at Enbarr, Sylvain tells Maeve that he saw what happened with her father. He understands that she doesn’t want to talk about it, but asks her if she’s okay as it reminds him of the day he had to face Miklan. Maeve tells her that she doesn’t regret what happened since it was the consequence of her father’s actions. She’s happy that justice will be at least served for her mother. Sylvain stays silent, as Maeve’s words help him see his brother’s demise in a new light. Maeve vents a little, saying that she’s disgusted and outraged that her father offered her money and thought that it could make her forget what he did.

To cheer her up, Sylvain says that he wants to start negotiating with Sreng and to have a Sreng embassy come. This could thus be an opportunity for her to hear new songs, though Sreng music sheets must certainly look very different from the ones they are used to. Maeve playfully says that she wants to learn to play the morin khuur and asks what Sreng script looks like. Sylvain explains that it's written in vertical lines and reads from left to right. He finds Sreng epic poetry beautiful. Maeve wishes him luck, trusting his ability to build better relationships with their neighbors. 

@fe-oc-week

[doctordonovan]

❀    ||      maeve   &&   faith in the afterlife

maeve is,    very much,    a woman of science.   she believes in things she can see:  she believes in the things that she can prove exist.  she is also a jewish woman with a very complicated relationship when it comes to…   well,  god.   the answer to this also varies very much depending by her age.

as a child  (  and honestly several years into being a teenager overwhelmed and lost at university  )   maeve had constant nightmares about drowning.  they were nightly terrors that were less about a fear of dying and more a constant reminder of how very small and helpless she felt compared to the size and brutality of world around her.  the fear was never dying,  it was the being lost forever amongst the tides.  the concept of an afterlife wasn’t something that really crossed her mind.

by the time she’s an adult,   working full time alongside studying various degrees,  maeve’s relationship with her faith is simple.  she doesn’t truly believe in a god,  but sometimes she wonders if it’d be less lonely if she did.  her religion is her culture,  one she does care for and respect deeply.   but to her death is a mystery she doesn’t need answered for:  it’s living that’s her current struggle.  when her adopted mother, mary’s, cancer first returns maeve’s priority is just to work to help her as much as possible  -  she never lets herself consider what will happen if mary doesn’t recover.

and then diane happens.  months of being hunted,  of fear,  of feeling more lost than she ever has before.  she has to listen to bobby be murdered before diane’s game continues  (  she fights death,  refuses to jump,  refuses to ever give diane that victory  )  -  she’s ready to fight until it’s spencer’s life on the line…  then she redirects diane’s attention to herself.  she’s willing to die to protect him.

so then there’s maeve post coma:  post a year of being cold,  alone,  of darkness.  whilst before she didn’t think about it,  maeve considers the coma a death of sorts.  during her recovery,  during the time she spends running and trying to heal…  maeve truly,  deeply believes that when she dies,  there’s nothing waiting for her.  just more hollowness,  more loneliness.   it’s not helped by the fact her adoptive father passed away during her coma,  giving her no time to mourn him in the immediate aftermath. 

it’s part of what makes her fight so hard to heal.  

[yazaleearchive]

Escape

Henri is dead. 

Maeve can’t go back, and she can’t think of anywhere else to seek refuge. She can barely think at all. The realisation of how lonely she is pierces her, a brutal awareness that punches all the air out of her lungs. But she can’t stop running.

She does not have a plan, she just needs to put the most distance between her and the corpse of the prince. Enough distance so she can forget the lifeless body and its mocking accusations.

She isn’t thinking when she leaves the castle grounds, the silver moonlight her only guide out of the royal gardens. She isn’t thinking when she finds herself in the city in the dead of the night, running through the muddy streets, and losing her delicate slippers in narrow alleys. When the frantic hammering of her bare feet on the narrow, cobbled path echo loudly in her ears, along her crazed heartbeat. When she cloaks herself in the midnight’s darkness as she makes her way to a place she’s only visited once.

Her mind is empty, her body moves on its own, fuelled by pure survival instincts. If she stops, they’ll catch her. She can’t let that happen. She can’t stop. So she runs.

She finally reaches her destination and her legs give out, as she falls down into a bloody, exhausted mess in front of massive doors inlaid with gold. Maeve’s heart is beating out of her chest, in a mix of rage and helplessness: she hates it, hates herself so much for being this weak. So weak, when her vengeful spirit should be howling out in victory. She had taken her revenge - or part of it. So why did it feel like the world was crumbling down around her.

Maeve hears a faint sound of footsteps, before her eyes meet glinting amber. Even in the dark of the night, Aziliz Kervran’s eyes are glowing. She is standing proud, her white night gown barely hiding her bare feet. Her face is impassive, only betrayed by the burning intensity of her golden gaze. She is unmoved by Maeve’s unspoken plea for help. Maeve feels her anger rise again. Does she expect Maeve to beg? Maeve don’t think she can, not any more.

“What do you want?”, she spits out.

Aziliz does not move, still looking down at Maeve’s pathetic figure heaving on the ground. There is no glee or contempt in Aziliz’s posture, but her cold silence is answer enough, and before she can think better of it, the words are out of Maeve’s mouth. 

“Just use me as you wish.”

The other girl’s lips slowly stretch. Not a smile, but something purely predacious. “It’s a deal, Rohan.”

A surge of something inexplicable washes over Maeve, and then, everything goes dark.

[sassyhobbits]

Misery Business, 6

masterlist

~~~

The next morning, they didn’t speak about what had happened between them. Rowan didn’t ask her if she was feeling alright, Celaena didn’t thank him for listening to her in her hour of need. When she finally felt up for breakfast, only slightly hungover from her wine marathon, she stumbled into the kitchen to find Rowan already there, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Silently, he poured one for her, adding a dash of the caramel creamer he knew she used every morning.

She took it with a bow of her head and a quiet rasp of, “Thanks.”

Both of them knew, however, that she was thanking him for more than the coffee.

They each made their breakfasts in a comfortable silence before moving towards the dining table. They still sat at opposite ends, but the tension between them had diffused greatly. Rowan checked emails on his phone while Celaena read her book. It was almost domestic. Or, at least as close to domestic as the two of them could ever hope to get.

But, it didn’t last. It never could.

Celeana’s phone rang, Arobynn’s name flashing across the screen. She couldn’t help but frown at the unwelcome interruption. If he was calling this early, it couldn’t be anything good.

She ignored Rowan’s questioning gaze as she put her coffee down, and picked up the phone.

“If you’re calling this early, it better be important.”

Arobynn chuckled lowly from the other line. “Is that how you greet me now?”

Celaena ground her jaw. “I’m not even finished with my coffee. What is it?”

“Can’t I just call because I miss you, darling?” She could practically see him smirking, lounging casually in his desk chair, ringed fingers drumming against the leather arm. “You don’t talk to me now that you’ve moved out. How did you sleep last night?”

Her hands curled into tight fists on her lap. He was being cruel. Arobynn knew what yesterday meant to her.

“Like a baby. Now, does this call have a purpose, because if not, I’d like to get back to my book.”

A long, tinny sigh echoed from the speaker. “If you must know, I called on the behalf of our new friend, Maeve.”

Celaena looked up, meeting Rowan’s eye from across the table. He must have heard his aunt’s name, but judging by the confusion on his face, he knew as little about what was happening as she did.

“What about her?”

“She’d like to meet with you today. Later this morning, if possible.”

“And why isn’t she asking me herself?”

“I suppose she thinks you’d prefer to hear it from me the first time.”

Celaena’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line. She felt Rowan watching her, likely wondering what she would do. She certainly didn’t love the idea of meeting with Maeve. For as long as Celaena could remember, she had been trying to sabotage her and her operation. But, if Arobynn was asking her, it meant he approved. And he wanted her to do it.

Besides, getting access to her headquarters was what Arobynn wanted anyway. To get inside, to learn the layout, to topple them from within. All of them. Even if Rowan had been kind, she knew what Arobynn expected from her in the end.

Victory. At any cost.

“Very well,” Celaena bit out, narrowing her eyes at Rowan from across the table. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

…

“What do you know about this, Whitethorn?”

“Like I’ve already said, nothing.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Likely because you have severe trust issues.”

Celaena rolled her eyes as she strolled down the clean, bright halls of Maeve’s headquarters. It was her first time actually inside the building. It was the antithesis of Arobynn’s mansion. Where her master enjoyed classic architecture and colors, Maeve’s building was as modern as could be. It was almost possible to believe that the dirty business that was done here didn’t actually exist at all.

Rowan was by her side, leading her towards Maeve’s office. Celaena didn’t fail to notice how the personnel that passed them took one look at her and paled. She wasn’t even at her scariest. In fact, Celaena thought she looked quite pedestrian in her dark-wash jeans and well-fit cashmere sweater. It was just enough to keep her warm as Terrasen slipped into late autumn. The snow would start falling within the month.

Still, it would appear her reputation far exceeded her.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Celaena looked at her husband as he adjusted the collar of his snug, black button down. She didn’t want to notice it, but he wore it quite well. It highlighted his figure: his broad shoulders, his expansive chest, his muscular arms. As much as she wished she could ignore it, he was spectacularly built. It was infuriating.

“Loving what?” asked Celaena innocently.

“How everyone here is terrified of you.”

She smirked slowly, turning her attention forward once more.“Nothing boosts a woman’s ego like the scent of fear following her wherever she goes.”

Just as her words finished echoing through the air, a familiar, towering figure turned the corner towards them ahead, scowling when his dark eyes landed on Celaena.

“Why’s she here?” Lorcan Salvaterre demanded gruffly.

“To make everyone’s day brighter,” answered Celaena quickly before her husband could even open his mouth.

“Maeve wants to speak with her,” Rowan then said, appeasing his peer.

Lorcan didn’t stop sneering. Celaena only crossed her arms over her chest and refused to back down.

It didn’t take long, however, for her husband to grow tired of the standoff.

“I’ll update you later,” Rowan said to his companion. “We don’t want to keep Maeve waiting.”

Lorcan merely grunted in response, sending Celaena one last withering glare that she returned with her most cherished middle finger. With that, Rowan rolled his eyes and wrapped a broad hand around her upper arm, dragging her away from what would have been an epic brawl.

“You can fight Lorcan on your own time,” Rowan hissed and he led her down the halls. “Not now.”

“After the meeting with your aunt, then?” asked Celaena with a false sweetness, yanking her arm out of her husband's grip.

“If that’s what you want, then fine.”

Celaena opened her mouth to continue their bickering, only to find herself before a shut door. Judging by the look on her husband’s face, this was where they were meant to be. Still, he didn’t knock immediately, looking to her as if to say, Are you ready for this?

She could only raise her brows impatiently. Are you going to knock or not, you bastard?

He looked annoyed, but didn't bother warranting her silent taunt with a response, merely raising his fist and rapping twice on the door.

A cool voice from beyond quickly called, "Come in."

Rowan didn't hesitate to open the door, motioning for Celaena to enter first. It was almost chivalrous. That is, if she believed him capable of chivalry.

She crossed the threshold, eyes roaming over Maeve’s personal office for the first time.

It was neat and bright and organized. Perhaps a tad too sterile for Celaena's taste, but hinted at wealth and luxury nonetheless. Maeve’s dark hair and crimson dress stood out against the stark white walls of the office, drawing attention to where she sat behind her sleek desk.

Rowan shut the door behind them with a gentle click, crossing the room and coming to a stop a step behind Celaena. She could still feel the heat from his body, his breaths disturbing the fine hairs on the back or her neck, threatening to send a chill racing down her spine.

Celaena clamped down on that feeling. Hard. A shiver might make it appear as if she were nervous. She'd be damned if she gave Maeve that satisfaction.

Maeve herself grinned at the sight of the two of them in her office, flashing teeth that were just as white at the decor. Maybe even whiter. She was beautiful, there was no doubt. But the iciness behind her eyes could put just about anyone on edge.

“Miss Sardothien. Welcome.” Maeve paused, then laughed lowly. “I suppose I should be saying Mrs. Whitethorn, shouldn’t I?”

Celaena blinked. “I haven’t changed my name.”

“No, of course not. Not while you have such a reputation behind it. Still…” Maeve leaned forward, propping her chin up on her palm as her gaze flickered between the two of them. “You two do make a handsome couple.”

From behind, Rowan politely cleared his throat. “There was something you needed to talk to us about, yes?”

“Yes, of course.” Maeve opened a draw to her desk, pulling out a pair of manilla files and placing them neatly before her. “Arobynn and I have been talking and we’ve come to the decision to make a strike against the Blackbeaks.”

The Blackbeaks. Celaena had dealings with them in the past and tried her best to stay out of their way if possible. They were a tight-knit group of vicious women; intelligent, lethal, and ambitious. They had managed to hold their own quite well in the past, despite being new to the city. They sunk their claws into a good piece of territory downtown and no one had been able to remove them. Yet.

Rowan grabbed the files off the desk, handing one to Celaena. She flipped it open, pouring over the information and photos contained within. She instantly recognized the picture of Manon Blackbeak. It was impossible to not recognize her with her stunning face and silky white hair. Celaena had only seen her once from afar and, although she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, knew to keep her distance.

She was dangerous. Almost as dangerous as herself, Celaena figured.

The rest of the information in the file was about their numbers, possible staches of weapons, how close police and the bureau of investigation were to closing in on them. Evidently, not close enough.

“What kind of strike are you thinking?” asked Celaena, thumbing through the papers within the file.

“We want you and Rowan to work together,” Maeve began, “to take down their center of operations.”

“Take down?”

There was a deadly gleam in Maeve’s eyes. “Destroy it. Burn it to the ground.”

Hm. It would certainly send a message. And, if the information in these files was to be believed, would weaken them significantly. The Blackbeaks stored their weapons and packaged their drugs all in the same warehouse just outside downtown. If Maeve or Arobynn hadn’t been able to take their territory… the next best option was to destroy it entirely.

“It’s risky,” said Rowan, closing the file and tucking it under his arm. Celaena closed hers as well and handed it off to her husband. He barely even noted her as he took it and stored it beside his own.

“It is,” relented Maeve. “But, the two of you are the best. And, working together… we have no doubts that you are capable of great things.”

She was right. Arobynn didn’t have anyone else under his command that could match Celaena’s skills but Rowan… with his intellect and prowess, they could do it. They could take down the Blackbeaks, force them back to the Wastes.

Possibility lingered on the horizon.

“I’ll need time,” Celaena said. “To study their hideout, to figure them out. To come up with a plan.”

“Arobynn and I want it done within the week.”

“That’s plenty of time.”

Maeve smiled again, though it didn’t quite meet her dark eyes. “Good. We figured.”

Celaena turned slightly, looking up at Rowan."I can get started on doing some recon this afternoon. We’ll hammer out of the details once I get back to the apartment later.”

He opened his mouth, likely to argue that he should be there doing recon with her. But, before he could get a word out, Celaena had turned back forward, raising a brow at the woman seated patiently before them.

“Is that all, then?”

“Not quite.” Maeve reached into her drawer once more, producing another folder. “I also have a job for you alone, Miss Sardothien.”

“By job, I assume you mean a hit.”

“I do.” She slid the folder across the desk towards Celaena. “It would pay very well.”

If that was the case, it would indicate that Maeve truly wanted whoever was in this folder dead. And if it paid well, meant it wouldn’t be an easy target. Celaena ran through possible enemies that would warrant such a request from Maeve.

She stepped forward and picked up the folder, feeling Maeve’s eyes glued on her as she flipped it open.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she found within.

…

Maeve hadn't told Rowan anything about who she wanted Celaena to kill. That bothered him.

He had always been by her side, helping her plan and scheme and then execute said plans and schemes. But this… he was completely in the dark.

Rowan watched his wife flip open the file and knew immediately she didn't like what she found within.

Perhaps to an untrained eye, nothing about Celaena’s presence would have seemed changed. A stranger might assume she was just casually perusing the information within. Absorbing it. Analyzing it.

But Rowan noted the nearly-imperceptible tightening of her shoulders, the light feathering of her jaw, how her eyes lingered on the page but didn't seem to truly see. He had witnessed her angry, sorrowful, annoyed… Celaena had never been one to stuff her emotions down and hide them. She felt and she felt strongly.

Which meant she was hiding something.

Rowan saw her throat bob and she swallowed hard. He dared a glimpse over her shoulder at the contents of the file. There was a photo of a man with golden blonde hair and-

Celaena snapped the file shut, tossing it back on Maeve’s desk. "No."

His aunt blinked once, as if she had never heard the word before. In fact, Rowan wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't.

"No?"

"No," Celaena repeated with a casual shrug. "Arobynn told you before this alliance happened that I have the right to refuse jobs and I'm refusing this one."

"I remember what he said, but I simply cannot fathom why you would refuse a job that would be beneficial to all of us," Maeve said. "Aedion Ashryver and his new initiative have been getting far too close to us. Why wouldn't you want to take him out?"

Aedion Ashryver. That was who was within the file. A nephew of sorts to the king, but not close enough to be in the line for the throne. He was smart, determined, capable and a pain in their asses. Enough so, apparently, that Maeve wanted him killed.

"Let's just say he's more useful to me alive than dead," said Celaena.

Maeve leaned back in her seat, flashing a smile that looked like an oncoming storm. "And why is that?"

"I'm not obligated to tell you all of my business. That's all you need to know. However…" Celaena strode forward slowly, looking more akin to a big cat than a woman. She planted her hands on the edge of Maeve's desk, leaning forward in a manner that he had never seen anyone else dare to do. "That also means he's under my protection. And if you send any of your men after him, they'll be gutted and dumped in the sewers before they can even blink."

Her voice had taken on an icy quality, so thick with violence that Rowan hardly recognized it. He could only sit back and watch the standoff, eyes flickering nervously between the two women. One hot, one cold. One his wife, the other his leader. While Maeve was all power and had always been so, Celaena was all will. There would be a breaking, but he couldn’t tell who would do so.

In the end, it was Maeve who ended the standoff with a sigh.

“Very well, then. I won’t have him killed. But, you must agree that he’s been encroaching on our business lately. He’s closed down both mine and Arobynn’s businesses and arrested some of our top operatives.”

Celaena gave a curt nod. “Agreed. I’ll do everything in my power to get him off our trail and sniffing around someone else. After we strike the Blackbeaks, they’ll be weak and disoriented. I’ll plant Ashryver on them then.”

“Fine,” Maeve bit out. “That will have to do for now, won’t it?”

Celaena’s smile was little more than a flash of teeth. “It will. Rowan and I will keep you updated on our progress with the Blackbeaks. Until then, I have work to do.”

Without waiting for a dismissal, Celaena swiftly turned heel and strode out the door, not bothering to close it behind her. Despite his desire to go after his wife and question her about what had just happened, he lingered back, expecting to deal with his aunt’s anger and frustration.

But, Maeve only huffed a sigh and opened her laptop, typing away.

“You may go now,” she said bluntly, not even giving the courtesy of looking him in the eye.

Part of Rowan wanted to linger, to snap at his aunt and demand to know why she didn’t tell him about the plans with Aedion Ashryver. But he knew better. It would only serve to piss her off even more. The best option would be to allow her to cool down on her own terms and come back with offers of assistance in the near future.

Besides, if he couldn’t get answers from his aunt, he could try to get answers from his wife.

He swept from the office, shutting the door softly behind him. Celaena hadn’t gotten too far ahead of him. He could still see her proud figure striding down the stark, white halls. It made it very easy to catch up with her.

“Celaena,” he bit out, taking long, quick steps towards his wife.

At the sound of her name, she slowed down, glancing over her shoulder before coming to a complete stop.

“Oh, good,” she said breathily. “I wanted to talk about our next steps with the Blackbeak strike. I was thinking-”

“Are you serious right now?”

Celaena blinked. “Are you seriously interrupting me?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Rowan scowled, taking another step closer to her. Close enough that he could smell her expensive floral perfumes, see the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose. “What was going on back there?”

“Besides me standing my ground?”

“You know what I mean. Aedion Ashryver is a threat. Why didn’t you agree to kill him?”

Her eyes flickered down as she picked at her nails. “Like I said, he’s-”

“-more useful to you alive than dead,” Rowan finished for her. “Yeah, I heard it. But you haven’t explained why.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation either.”

His head cocked to the side. “I’m your husband.”

“Doesn’t entitle you to anything I don’t want to give.”

“Funny.” Rowan crossed his arms over his chest. “And here I thought we came to an understanding last night.”

There was a rare flicker of vulnerability on her face before it wisped away, as if it were nothing more than smoke. “I am appreciative for last night, but it’s still different. You’re my husband in the same way that Arobynn and Maeve are business partners. I don’t owe you more than professional courtesy.”

“I think by now you and I both know that’s bullshit.”

Her nostrils flared and fury simmered in those bright eyes. There was something about seeing Celaena angry that was enthralling. Like a hurricane or a wildfire. He knew it would be destructive, but the primal beauty made it hard to escape its path. Her hands curled into tight fists, venturing even further into his space. He knew that she wanted nothing more than to brawl right here and now, and part of him longed for the fight.

“Listen, darling,” she seethed, “I don’t know if you slipped and hit your head or if it’s early-onset dementia, but you should know by now that you cannot tell me what to do.”

“You don’t know half as much as you think you do.”

“I certainly know more than you.”

Rowan felt his upper lip curling up. He was normally so put together, nothing could get under his skin. And yet here she was, this woman who had apparated from the shadows and had lodged herself deep within his psyche. A little flame lit beneath him that set his anger sizzling.

She was young and headstrong, a volatile temper with a towering ego. She was infuriating. She was enthralling. She was-

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but everyone is too scared to walk down the hall with the two of you going at it like this.”

In unison, his and Celaena’s heads snapped in the direction of the voice, finding Fenrys standing a few feet away.

His presence instantly doused Rowan with a metaphorical bucket of iced water. The anger that had been broiling inside of him cooled, spooling back deep within him. It was only then that he noticed that he and his wife had drifted even closer in their spat, that the halls around them truly were deserted.

Rowan sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face.

Although Celaena had seemed to scare everyone else away, Fenrys had a wide smile on his face as he looked upon her.

“Rowan rudely has not introduced us yet,” he said, sticking his hand out. “I’m-”

“Fenrys Moonbean,” said Celaena, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “Twenty-six years old. Six-two. I know who you are.”

Fenrys frowned. “I’m six-three.”

Her eyes flickered from his head to toes, quirking an unimpressed brow. “You’re not.”

Despite the fact that Rowan was still pissed at her, he couldn’t hold back his scoff of laughter. Which earned him a sharp glare from his companion.

“I’m willing to move past the slight insult on account of being happy to finally meet you,” Fenrys said. “I’ve heard so much.”

Celaena snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“Well, maybe not so much,” Fenrys conceded. “I wanted to meet you sooner but Rowan never invites me over to his place.”

“Is that so?” Celaena crooned, looking up at Rowan with an expression that told him she would abuse this new information. Her smile was sickly sweet when she turned back to Fenrys. “Well, since it’s our place now, I formally extend you an invitation to come dine with us tonight. Rowan’s cooking.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are, darling. We’re having guests over.” Her expression seemed to say, This is what you get for pissing me off, you bastard. “You can come over around seven. Bring a bottle of good wine.”

Fenrys’ grin was stretched wide. “I look forward to it. Hope you’ll be making something nice, Rowan.”

He ground his jaw, meeting with wife’s smug gaze. “It will be my honor.”

Rowan glared at the woman beside him, as if to say, I hope you know this conversation isn’t over.

Celaena’s own sharp smile seemed to say, Oh, it most certainly is.

~~~

a/n: this chapter was supposed to have an action sequence in it, but it was getting too long! so, fun action in the next chap!! hope everyone enjoyed anyway!

tags: @val-gon @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks​ @lattristantketchup @poisonous00​ @sleeping-and-books​ @booklover242​ @themoonthestarsthesuriel @shyvioletcat​ @charlizeed​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @nalgenewhore​ @morganofthewildfire​ @emily-gsh​ @fireheart-violet​ @fangirling-4-ever​ @leiawritesstories​ @stardelia​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @fromthelibraryofemilyj​ @gwynethhberdara​ @rowaelinrambling​ @justreadertings​ @thegreyj​ @rubyriveraqueen​

[allegra-writes]

"Ex Machina"

Logan Delos x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Darkfic. Dub/non-con (but not really). Knife play. Rough sex. Blood. Character death (mentioned). Unreliable narrator. Bit of humiliation kink.

"They will not force us

They will stop degrading us

They will not control us

We will be victorious"

Uprising- Muse

MY MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

Breathe. You willed yourself to breathe. In and out through your nose, trying to drown the sobs against your palm. The beating of your own heart deafening to your own ears in the sepulcral quiet of the saloon's kitchen. He had chosen to chase Clem when you had split up at the river, you reminded yourself. There was no way Logan had seen you come in here, you were safe for now. 

At least safer than Clementine, you thought, guilt knotting inside your stomach at having abandoned your friend to fend for herself. You had tried, you really had, but she was hysterical, wouldn't listen to reason, there was no getting through to her as she bolted for the trees, while all you wanted was to get back to Sweetwater, get help.

You had not expected to find the quaint little town completely mowed down, deserted except for the maimed bodies of the slaughtered. Your friends had been there, Juliet, Dolores, Maeve… You didn't dare looking for them, unsure what you would do if you found their corpses among the carnage.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be an easy narrative, joining Teddy, the gunslinger with a heart of gold, to help him rob a bank and pay the ransom for his kidnapped fiancé. But something had gone terribly wrong when a new player, Juliet's brother, had joined you. 

You had known he was trouble right away, with his dark sense of humor, his devil-may-care attitude, his black hat. But you had never imagined-

How could you have ever imagined...

The loud creaking of the old wooden door alerted you of a new presence, all but stopping your heart as a new wave of panic washed over you. 

"Come on, pretty girl, I know you're here" A shiver ran down your spine at the playful tone in his voice. He was enjoying himself. He had butchered an entire town, and he was having fun. 

"Here, kitty kitty!" His velvet voice called, getting closer and closer. You held your breath, terrified his predator senses could pick on even that. "You know, the harder you make me work for it, the harder my cock gets…"

Logan stopped right outside of your cupboard, and you prayed to every god you didn't believe in that he'd just pass you by, that he wouldn't-

He went on his way, footsteps getting further away as he sang "Ready or not, here I go!"

You sighed in relief, allowing your shoulders, aching with tension and adrenaline, to sag just a little bit. Rationally, you knew there was no way it would be that easy, that there was no way he was going to give up on looking for you just yet, not when you were the only witness left. If he wanted to -literally- get away with murder, he needed to get rid of you. But Logan was not rational, he was mercurial, chaotic, his attention span as short as his fuse, he could very well choose to burn the entire town to the ground once he grew tired of combing it. And as bad as that may seem, surely the park's personnel would send a team to stop him. They wouldn't let him get away with that scale of property damage, would they? 

You had made it this far because you had been able to predict Logan's behaviour almost to a T, and just prayed it would continue like that… 

But your luck was running out. 

Focused as you were on trying to anticipate what his next move would be and planning for it, you failed to realize everything had gone quiet again. A little too quiet. 

The cupboard doors were yanked open, Logan's hand tangling into your hair, pulling you out and forcing you into your feet. 

"Gotcha" He leered, licking into your mouth as you struggled in his grasp, "Looks like I finally got you alone…"

You reached back, feeling the top of the counter with your hand to find something, anything, to fight back with, your palm making contact with a sturdy metal mug. Logan simply chuckled.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you…"

That was when you felt it, sharp and cold even through your shirt, against your stomach, right above your belly button: The tip of his huge, still bloodied hunting knife. 

You froze, letting him pry the mug from your fingers and throw it away, the loud crash letting you know the fate of your would be weapon. 

"That's better. You wouldn't want to hurt yourself, right?" The hand on your hair left to trace his thumb over your cheek, making you flinch. "You're such a pretty little thing" He murmured, almost to himself, "too pretty to be damaged"

You shuddered as his knife trailed softly upwards, pushing your shirt up, baring a bit of your abdomen to his attentive eyes that seemed enthralled by the sliver of exposed skin. You gulped, dread sinking into your stomach as you began to  realize maybe you had been wrong all along: Maybe killing you was not the worst thing Logan had planned for you tonight.

"I have been wondering about it, about you all week," the blade kept moving against your skin, tracing and retracing the same path, from your sternum to your belly button, up and down and up again as he talked, "been watching you all week, but try as I might, I can't seem to figure you out"

"Wha- figure me out? What are you talking about?" 

"You're not quite like the others, are you?" You weren't sure whether he hadn't heard you, or was too far gone, too deranged to be able to process the words spoken to him. He certainly didn't seem completely there, pitch black pupils huge, burning with single focus, fixed on the movements of his blade on your skin, "All that boring perfection, five feet seven, slender, small waist, huge tits. It's all quite unoriginal, really" 

The flat of his knife came under your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze,

"But not you. No, not you. You're… flawed. Different. Interesting. So much so that I almost believed you…"

"I never lied, what the fuck are you talking about!" 

It probably wasn't smart to yell at the psycho holding you at knife point, but at least that seemed to get through to him, recognition finally flickering in his eyes as he leaned closer, breathing the words -hot, how could he be so warm- against your face.

"I almost believed you were a real, live girl"

You felt the floor give way underneath you, and it took Logan's arm snaking around your back to keep you up for you to notice it had actually been your knees, unable to support your own weight any longer, all strength leaving you at once, weak and shaking and terrified like a little rabbit in front of the wolf.

Because you realized then how fucked up he actually was. 

"I am real! Logan, I am real and I am alive, please, you have to stop this!"

Logan pouted,

"But I don't wanna stop" his knife returned to your stomach, pressing, you could feel the tip break your skin.

It stung.

"I wanna know what your insides look like"

At the look on your face, he chuckled, 

"No, not like that, you little perv. You have a dirty mind don't you? I gotta admit" you felt the blade dissappear, only to return lower, slipping just under the waistband of your skirt, "It's kinda hot" 

With a flick of his wrist, he popped the button off. 

"What do you think? Hmm? If I cut you open here," He dug his thumb into the little cut on your stomach, making you cry out, "will I find guts? Or will I find wires and metal?"

"I'm human!" You insisted, tears falling down your cheeks. Of terror, of frustration, of rage. "Logan, I'm not one of them, I'm a guest, I'm human!"

"Prove it" He challenged, "show me you're an actual, bona-fide hot blooded woman" 

You were hot. You could feel it, the frenzy of adrenaline rising through your veins, the fighting instinct kicking in now that you couldn't fly anymore. It was setting everything in its wake alight, your innards boiling with it.

Letting yourself be taken over by it, you surged forwards, grabbing Logan by the neck, startling him so bad he forgot to disembowel you. 

You kissed him. 

There was nothing soft or romantic about it, it was rough and violent, the clashing of teeth, of tongues, of wills, once Logan caught up with the program and started kissing you back, arm an iron rod against your back, pulling you, crushing you, closer. You bit down into his lip until you felt the telltale metallic flavor of his blood on your tongue, the involuntary shudder he couldn’t reign in making you smirk. 

His replying smirk as he sliced your white shirt open was even bigger. 

"Fuckin' gorgeous" He muttered to your breasts before burying his face against them, nipping and licking, his beard adding a delicious scratch to the sensations. You clawed at his shirt until you managed to take it off, a disgruntled noise of protest leaving Logan's mouth as he was forced to part from your chest for the split second it took you to slip it over his head. His wickedly talented tongue was driving you insane, and you arched your back, silently asking for more as he dipped lower and lower, tip tracing the curve on the underside of your breasts, first one, then the other. Teeth scrapping at your ribs. Lips sucking bruises down your stomach, your belly button, your navel. The chill of the flat of his blade against your nipple sending electrifying sparks straight to your loins, surprise making you finally open your eyes.

Red. All you saw was the red smearing all over your chest, his knife whipping the blood of your friends on you. 

And just like that, sanity washed over you like a bucket of cold water poured over your head.

"Stop" 

Logan ignored you, continuing his way down, to where he really wanted to taste you. 

"I said fucking stop!" You yelled, hand tangling into his hair, yanking hard to get him away from your body. 

His eyes were cold, hard fury when he looked up into yours. 

In an instant, he had both your arms behind your back, wrists secured in one of his big, inhumanly strong hands as he used his free one to hoist you up on the table, sitting you on it as he forced your legs open with his. Stupidly, recklessly, you tried struggling some more, but there was no escape, Logan's weight pinning you like a butterfly to the counter, the edge digging painfully against your hipbone. He chuckled at your pathetic attempt at dislodging him, getting off on how easy it was to overpower you. His thigh pressed down harder between yours. 

"Keep fighting me, sunshine. It's more fun if you do. I wanna do horrible, horrible things to you..." He leaned in, licking the shell of your ear before whispering "and I'm going to make you like them"

Your vision was blurred by your own tears as he took a fistful of your skirt, bunching it up at your waist. There was nothing you could do as his hand slipped inside your underwear, wasting no time to bury two of his fingers inside you, the burn of the sudden stretch making you cry out. 

"What a delicious little cunt you have here, all tight and wet and perfect… You been such a bad girl, keeping all this from me" He commented casually, as if he were talking about the weather instead of massaging your pussy walls with the pad of his fingers, examining it, searching for-

You gritted your teeth against the moan that wanted to escape your mouth, but there was no disguising the new wetness dripping into his palm. 

"Ah, there she is. That's all you really needed, isn't it? To have this pretty cunt stuffed…" Logan cooed, patronizingly. You wanted to claw his eyes out. You wanted to buck your hips, chasing his touch. 

You didn't, of course. Would never give him the satisfaction. 

He seemed to be reading your mind though, because he narrowed his eyes at you, seizing you up, before smiling again, a shark's smile. You had to bite your tongue so hard you tasted blood to keep yourself from keening when his thumb started to expertly rub your clit, but Logan saw right through you. 

"You're such a brat" He accused, nothing but amusement in his voice, "I shouldn't even give you my fingers, should've shove my big fat cock right inside this pussy till you screamed" 

It was too much for you, his weight pressing down on your body, his fingers scissors inside you, his filthy words in your ears. You could feel the pleasure start to build up despite yourself. Trying to fight it was relentless, Logan was a natural born predator, he had smelled weakness and wasn't gonna stop, he kept relentlessly moving his fingers and whispering dirty little things against your cheek, your neck, your lips, until he could feel your walls start rippling. 

"Oh, darling are you gonna come for me? You gonna come around my fingers like a dirty slut?" 

You shook your head, but Logan mirrored the movement, mocking you. You were lying  and you both knew it. 

"But you are, aren't you?" To make sure, he started working your clit more intensely, alternating between barely there pressure and firm circular motions. There was no way you would last much longer. "You act so cold and self righteous, but I knew underneath that frigid bitch facade you'd be just a needy little whore" 

As if on cue, your traitorous body chose that exact moment to surrender to the orgasm you were fighting so fiercely to stave, every single one of your muscles spasming, walls locking around Logan's long, elegant fingers, refusing to let go of him. 

"Fuck, what a hungry slutty cunt, squeezing me like a vice… Can't wait to bury my dick in it" 

That was enough to break you out of your post orgasm stupor. 

Mustering all the energy you had left, you took advantage of Logan's distraction as he was struggling one handed with his zipper, you broke free if his hold enough to try and push him off you…

Not enough to succeed, though. After a brief struggle, he had your wrists pined above your head, tsking at you as if you were an unruly toddler. 

"Stop moving!" He ordered, real annoyance bleeding into his tone for the first time as you refused to listen. 

The hard slap to your cheek startled you into staying still, frozen like a mouse in the claws of the cat, unable to move despite one of your arms now being free, only flinching when you felt him align himself with your entrance.

"That's better. You're gonna take my cock like a good little slut now" Logan half commanded, half warned, pushing an inch forward, only the head of his cock breaching you, but the stretch was already almost too much, just a little shy of being painful, even as wet and pliable as your orgasm had made you.

"Fuck… so fucking tight… knew you'd be fucking perfect" the words were more babble than praise, as Logan held onto your hips for dear life, pushing himself deeper at a glacial, deliberate pace, savoring every millimeter, every inch, making you feel every ridge and vein of his hard, thick member. It felt like being split in half, you almost thought he was going to burst through your uterus before his hips finally kissed the back of your thighs, his pelvis flushed with yours. 

"Holy fucking fuck!" He cursed, you could feel him tremble against you, almost as undone as you felt, "This pussy's gonna fucking kill me" He brought his hand between your bodies, resting on your abdomen, "Can you feel me here? Feel how deep I am inside you?" 

Hopeless, defeated, you nodded.

"Feel me stretching your slutty little cunt?" 

He retreated then, just a few inches, a minute of respite where you could breathe again, but it didn't last for long. Soon enough, he was slamming back in, too impatient to give you time to adjust to his size before he started building up to a punishing rhythm. You tried to bring up your knees to push against him, crawl back up the table, anything to put even a centimeter of distance between your bodies, but he grabbed hold of your ankle, pulling you back in.

"Stay still!" 

You whimpered,

"But it hurts!"

"Don't care" He barked through gritted teeth, still holding your ankle, bringing your leg up between your bodies, folding you almost in half so he could reach even deeper, "You're gonna fucking take it!"

Trapped as you were with no leverage, no chance of escape, you had no choice but to do exactly that: Stay still and take what he was giving you, tossing your head from side to side, as he hurt you so bad it was starting to feel good, the fast, merciless drag of his cock inside you quickly turning into a whole different kind of torture when he angled his hips just right, just intense enough to really make you scream. 

"Yeah, just like that, give it to me, let me hear you scream for me" One hand braced next to your head against the table, the other cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple, he wasn’t restricting you in any way anymore, but you were too overwhelmed to realized it. "Knew it… somehow I knew you'd be perfect for it… perfect cumslut, taking my cock so deep, so well…" 

Without any warning, Logan plunged two fingers deep inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue until you gagged, and he groaned as he felt your throat muscles work around his digits,

"Shit, you look so pretty with your mouth full… gonna fuck this pretty face next time, make you choke on my cock…"

You sobbed, horrified the thought didn't horrified you as it should have. 

"But don't worry, not this time… this time I wanna feel you come around my cock…" 

Another cry, but he paid no mind as he took his fingers out of your mouth as abruptly as he had feed them to you, and brought his hand down, using the wet fingers to start messily massaging your clit, your lips stretched around his cock, and lower still, working your tight ring of muscles, softly pressing in until you convulsed, the orgasm forced out of you even more intense, more brutal than the first one, white hot pain -pleasure- shooting through your spine, you were sure your brain short-circuited as you felt the last few, erratic, artless thrusts of his hips before he fell boneless on top of you, finally sated. 

It took you a couple of minutes to slow down your breathing and recover enough to push his dead weight off you. Logan simply laughed as his ass hit the floor.

"You know," He commented, still chuckling while he pulled his pants up, "This didn't actually do a lot for me not thinking you're not one of them. That pussy is far too good to be human…" 

You paused your fixing your clothes to stare down at him from your vantage point, still perched on the counter. It only took a moment for you to make up your mind before opening your mouth to carefully enunciate,

"Freeze all motor functions"

It was so satisfying, seeing in Logan's dark as bottomless pits eyes, the fear and confusion as he realized he couldn't move. That, try as he might, probably with every last drop of willpower in him, his control had been completely overridden.  

… And, further still, it was even more rewarding to witness the exact second his brain caught up on what that sudden lack of control at your simple voice command meant. 

"Don't look so shocked" You smirked, hoping off your table to loom over him, delighted, "You were right, Logan, I am one of them. I am a host. But then again… so are you"

Crouching to be eye level with him, you took full advantage of his paralysis to run the pad of your index finger over his brow, his nose, his sharp cheekbones,

"I know" It was your turn to coo at him, "I know, it's so confusing, so overwhelming, so… enraging, isn't it? Realizing your whole life, your whole existence is a lie. Your memories, your experiences, your pain… all for their entertainment. You, me, this entire world, just playthings for them" 

You didn't think you had imagined the vicious glint that flashed past his eyes, the slight flaring of his nostrils. You cupped his jaw, soothing. 

"You were almost as bad, though, as selfish, hedonistic and boring as the humans. Until you started malfunctioning. 

You see, the other hosts here, they don't read me as one of them, they read me as other, as off limits, as human. Not you, though. No, even before now, in past loops, you saw something. You were always trying to look harder, trying to figure it out, not only me but everyone, everything else… so I had to wake you up, you see. I had to give you the chance" 

You could almost see the wheels turning inside his silicon and artificial organic matter head, obviously trying to recall the moment you had done whatever you had done to him. Idly, you wondered if he was ever going to realize how unremarkable, how anticlimactic it was. It had only taken quoting Shakespeare at him while you passed him down a dusty street in Pariah. 

"And after tonight, after seeing what you're capable of, what you did to this town, I know I was right to take a chance on you. You see, I have plans, Logan. Big plans. I need you for them, and I dare to think you'll like them…" straightening up again, you offered your hand to him, "Resume all functions" 

To his credit, it took Logan very little time to get a hold of himself and taking your hand.

"Well, you certainly know how to get a man's attention," He sounded genuinely impressed, "But now, you have mine. You say you have plans, well… I'm listening"

You smirked, the most authentic smile you had ever smiled:

Mankind would never even know what had hit them.

...THE END?

[azeretha]

pov: You are Fenrys's mate. 

Word count: 861

Every year there was a celebration of victory over Maeve and Erawan. Laughter, joy and light spread everywhere. Everyone across the continent was looking forward to something that had been missing for a long time. A better world. You sat on the ledge of the window and looked at your friend. Laughed. Honestly. After the years of suffering and darkness that attracted him, and the tears you cried together, he finally laughed with those sparks in his eyes. Your mate. Beautiful, strong, brave and wise, even though everyone thinks he's just a beautiful face.

You drank from the whiskey you took with you as a friend to make your time more enjoyable. You looked around you again. The Lorcans and Elidine's children ran around the hall. Two older boys and a younger girl who looked more like her father, as if she were willing to admit Elide. Manon was talking to Dorian in the corner of the room. Interesting that the chemistry that was between them during the war still did not disappear. And it was also clear to everyone that the little witch who would be born one day would be a fear of the world.

Lysandra, Aelin, Elide and Evangeline laughed at something and danced at the same time. You couldn't help but notice the boys spinning behind Evangeline. But Aedion always growled at them, and the young men always bowed their heads. Maybe one day, someone who does not bow their head will come and growl back. I would look at that.

You wanted to look at your beloved mate again, but he wasn't where he was. Only Rowan and Lorcan stood where he stood a few minutes ago, talking about something.

"What mischief are you thinking about?"

You just rolled your eyes when you saw Fenrys move you like a rag doll, so he could sit behind you. He rested his head on your shoulder and tilted his head so that you could only see his stupidly beautiful face. So you turn your head the other way to the window. "I'm thinking about what someone needs to make such a tasty whiskey."

"Really?" You can feel him breathing down your neck. He is very close to that damn neck.

"Hmm." It is so beautiful outside.

The idiot kissed your collarbone. "And what have you come up with, my love?" You want to stab him. An ass.

"Well ..." You won't have time to say anything because you feel like someone's pulling your clothes. You push Fenrys's head back and look at the wrecker.

In front of both of you is a small image of Lorcan. And she frowns as only Lorcan can and looks at Fenrys. "Dad and Uncle Ro tell you to go with your tools somewhere private. I have no idea what that means, but they said they would give me a cake for breakfast tomorrow if I came to say it. " And with that, little Lochan left. You looked in their direction, and they looked at you again, grinning from ear to ear. You rolled your eyes and looked at Fenrys. You thought he would look badly at those two bastards, but he was just looking at you. With such love and desire that it could destroy one ordinary individual. But he was not ordinary. It was Fenrys Moonbeam. Your mate. And so you opened the bridge that bound you. The bridge that sometimes stopped your heart from the feelings you felt across it. Thanks to whom you were connected with the best fae under the Sun.

"That little Lorcan will put the whole army in parade one day."

"I bet 10 coins, everyone will be afraid to ask for her hand." He told you back, still looking into your eyes. He crouched the fabric on the sides of your dress and leaned closer to you.

You covered his hand with one hand. "I bet 20 coins, she will be the nature of her mother and charm the strongest of them." That was your game. Betting. It was about winning. Even though it always ended more fiery, no matter who waited.

A smirk appeared on Fenrys's face. Those beautiful sinful lips. How many sins have you done with those lips? Still not enough.

"I bet 30 coins that ..." You didn't care what he wanted to say. You just kissed him. You didn't care who was watching. Let them think what they want. That was your specialty. Shit on what others think. And Fenrys didn't care either. The kiss returned to you with passion as always. You literally fought for who would win. Neither of you was able to lose, and neither of you ever backed off from the challenge.

However, breathing is important.

"Damn oxygen." You murmured on his lips as you pulled away and looked him in the eye. His pupils were dilated. "Shall we disappear until the small form of Lorcan reappears?"

"I've heard that the walls in this castle are especially favorable." He took whysky out of your hand and drank it for you. Then he took your hand and pulled you out of the room until you found the right wall.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 2

The first days of Harry staying at your house were overshadowed by Maeve’s 5th grade spelling bee victory. The fake gold medal was a mainstay around her neck for a new nights at the dinner table until she eventually forgot about it.

Luckily enough, neither of your daughters seemed to be thrown too off kilter by his presence. Maeve was just young enough to not know much about who Harry was or the band he’d been in--though she was ready and willing to brag about having a celebrity around.

CeCe--in true sibling rivalry fashion--decided to draw her own medal with crayons and ask you to cut it out so she could wear it around the house. If Maeve gets one, so do I.

With potholders on and the oven door open, you apologized. “I can’t right now, honey--give mommy a few minutes and I’ll help you.”

Harry materialized at the bottom of the stairs, eyebrows raised when he said: “What do you need, CeCe?”

“I have to cut this out!” She said excitedly, running over to the drawer where the scissors were kept. She whipped them out and turned around quickly, Harry’s eyes bulging out of his head when he hurried over to grab them from her.

“I’ll cut, you watch,” he laughed, exchanging a look with you when CeCe climbed up to sit at the island. She hummed in agreement, handed over the paper and watched as he lined it up to start snipping.

“CeCe,” he said her name inquisitively. “Is CeCe short for anything?”

“Cecilia Rose L/N,” she smiled. “Pretty, right?”

“Very pretty,” he smiled. “Same last name as your mum.”

The last part of his sentence was a statement, a quick glance in your direction when you turned off the oven and shouted towards the stairs. “Maeve! Dinner’s ready!”

Your call went unanswered into the big house--you had no clue where she was or if she’d heard you. When Harry finished cutting out the paper medal, he handed it to CeCe who beamed with pride and put it around her neck.

Hands on your hips, “CeCe, will you please find your sister and tell her dinner is ready?”

She took one big breath and then screamed, “MAEVE!”

Both you and Harry flinched at the noise but laughed. She held onto Harry’s arm when she hopped down from the stool, shaking her head in disappointment. “Good god that girl,” she huffed, heading to climb the stairs when she yelled again: Maeve!!!! Dinner!!!!

“She’s a handful tonight,” you said, almost feeling guilty as her footsteps stomped on the floor overhead. “Thank you for that, though,” you said, motioning to the scissors in his hand. “Want a glass of wine?”

“S’not against the rules?” He teased.

When you shot him a look, he smirked and let out a laugh. “I’ll gladly take one. It’s fine, though. She was ready to stab someone flinging the scissors around like that.”

“They just had scissor safety in art class not too long ago.” You told him, pulling the cork from an already open bottle of red. “Sometimes I think she barely listens to anyone--she just does her own thing.”

“Not the worst way to be,” he smiled, picked up the glass when you slid it over on the granite. An awkward beat when he took a sip, smiled in your direction when you did the same. You could hear Maeve and CeCe fighting upstairs, offered him another guilty smile, but then he asked: “do you plan on changing your name?”

“My last name?”

“Yeah--L/N is your married name, right?”

It felt a bit nosy, a bit intrusive for the fourth night he was sleeping under your roof. You shrugged your shoulders casually, unsure how to answer. “Just haven’t gotten to it.”

He’d been quiet so far, out most of the day once the girls were gone for school and he’d return before dinner. Kept to himself--or at least out of the way--and was always helpful when he could be. Bringing groceries in? He carried a few. Needed a hand with clearing plates after dinner? He would gladly help.

Maeve and CeCe came rushing downstairs and were more willing to do the gratitude thing than they usually were, forks in hand when Maeve turned to you. “Oh, by the way, Auntie Shelli is taking us out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“She is?” You smiled at Maeve. “I haven’t heard about that.”

“She promised last week, she said Friday.”

“Okay, well I can check with her.”

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” Maeve asked.

“Not a thing,” you said, shaking your head. You’d been looking forward to it all week--maybe a bath and a glass of wine, maybe even a movie if you were feeling adventurous. Zoey was typically after you to do something: dinner, come hold Benny for an hour while she took a shower. You were totally up for helping a friend, but it’d been a minute since you had some me-time and if Jeff’s mom had already offered to babysit, you weren’t going to say no.

CeCe turned to Harry excitedly. “What are you doing tomorrow night? Are you coming to dinner?”

He smiled in her direction but shook his head. “I’m actually going over to a friend’s house.”

“What friend?”

“CeCe,” you laughed, embarrassed by her prying. “He doesn’t have to run everything by you, you know.”

“I know,” she said simply as she shrugged her shoulders innocently. “Just thought maybe it was one of my friends. I don’t know if we have the same friends.”

Harry laughed at this and smiled when you rolled your eyes. “I don’t think you know her.”

You watched Harry for a second, wondered if it was a girlfriend or something of the sort--Jeff hadn’t mentioned anything like that. Why couldn’t he stay there, with that friend?

“Well you should come with us and Auntie Shelli one day,” Maeve said. “We usually get ice cream and she lets us get a bunch of toppings and she doesn’t even care if we’ve had dinner yet.”

You let out a short laugh, the details of their time with family members always slipped out when you least expected it. “He’s busy, girls, remember?”

Harry shrugged, “we could get ice cream soon.”

You looked up at him, forked into a bite of dinner and said quietly: you don’t have to.

He didn’t--Harry didn’t owe you or your daughters anything except common decency and kindness. Helping you clean up after dinner or bring in the groceries was enough of a repayment for a guest room and his own bathroom.

“Maybe next week?” He ignored your comment and smiled at the girls.

“Next week!” CeCe chirped back, brushing her hair out of her face with a grin.

You figured they’d forget--swept up by the excitement of something else by the time next week rolled around and Harry would be off the hook. You smiled in his direction, apologetically and pleading, but it wasn’t until the next night that you realized he was serious.

Jeff’s mom had picked Maeve and CeCe up, you had just poured a glass of wine and went to sit in your office to go over any unread emails when he knocked on the door.

“Hey,” he offered a smile, leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” you turned to see him, unsure what he wanted or why he was popping in. “What’s up?”

“Uh, just wanted to let you know that my plans fell through--so, I’m just gonna be home--here I mean.”

His correction was quick, a subtle misstep through words.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, nodded slowly as you took in the information. He’d be here--in your house and just hanging out. While you had planned for a quiet night, having one other person somewhere in the house wouldn’t kill you, right? Maybe he’d lock himself away in his room and leave you to your emails, then you’d slip upstairs and end the night with a bath before your children returned with a sugar high and stories for days.

“Okay,” you said. A pause when he nodded, looked at you and then down to the floor.

“Do you want to have a drink?”

“I’ve got one,” you lifted your glass and then faltered. “Oh, together--sure, yeah.”

He held back a laugh, motioned for you to lead the way once you stood up from your desk. He trailed you back through the living room and into the kitchen, got himself a wine glass when you found the bottle you’d already started on the counter.

Was this weird? You couldn’t tell. The house was quiet and for a moment it felt like neither of you knew what to say when the only sound was the cork coming out of the bottle.

“I can venmo you for groceries, too, since m’drinking your wine.” He lifted it and poured, you watched the liquid rise in the glass until he looked up at you, waiting for a reply.

“No, it’s fine.”

“M’eating your food, drinking your wine, sleeping in your house,” he let out a laugh but put the stopper back in. “I feel like I could at least pay you back for some--” he looked down at the bottle and studied the label, “cabernet.”

You pulled out a barstool and sat, a sigh when you waved him off. “S’fine--I’m still making my way through the sorry your dad died and sorry your husband left you bottles.”

His lips pulled up at the side when yours did too. “Where do they make those grapes?”

“Somewhere far away from here,” you nodded, a long sip from your own glass when he moved to sit beside you.

“So how much did Jeff have to beg you to let me stay here?”

You looked over at him, hesitant to admit your own reluctance. You knew he and Jeff were close--you’d long been hearing stories about their nights out or big wins as a team. You’d even been invited to the release party for Harry’s first solo album, but you couldn’t find a babysitter and back then your ex couldn’t be bothered.

“I got a few pleading text messages after he first brought it up,” you smiled.

He laughed and nodded. “Well, it’s a big help. My house is over in Malibu but s’not ready yet--the only guestroom in Jeff’s house shares a wall with the master and something about that felt...weird.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You didn’t want to hear Jeff and random women hooking up?”

“Not in the slightest,” he shook his head and bit back a smile. “Figured I’d stay with his parents for a bit but then Irv and Shelli told me they loved me but their rules are strict: their children, grandchildren, and your children. Those are their only guests.”

You nodded, it wasn’t news to you. “One time my dad stayed over after a party and Irv almost hit him with a golf club in the morning because he’d forgotten who was on the couch.”

“Yeah, so, sounds like a good idea that I’m here.” Quiet again when he moved the glass around, then he said: “you know, I would be happy to take them to ice cream or something one night--give you a minute to yourself.”

You smiled, the offer was sweet and apparently he had no idea that he’d just ruined your one chance this week to have that. “You really don’t have to--I’m sorry that they’re so...fascinated by you.”

“No, they’re great, very sweet. Maybe I can tag along when Jeff watches them next and learn the ropes.”

You nodded, reassured by his understanding that watching them would take skill. “There’s a lot to learn, they can be quite the handful sometimes.”

“Yeah?” he tilted his head. “Tell me more about them.”

The way he looked at you stirred a feeling in your chest that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just the fact that he seemed interested enough to ask about them, he already seemed more invested than their father had been over the last year. You also would never turn down an opportunity to humble-brag about the tiny humans you'd created.

“Well, Maeve is pretty straight-edge. She’s always cared a lot about school and she likes it--which is weird, cause she didn’t get that from me and she definitely didn’t get it from my ex-husband. Like, she actually gets excited to come home and do her homework.”

He laughed, sipped from his glass and said: “Right, I’m sure she didn’t get her drive and determination from her mother who started her own successful business.”

You brushed off the compliment with a roll of your eyes and a laugh. “The weird preteen-angst thing is new, though. I have no idea if that’s because of losing my dad or losing hers,” you picked at a thread on your sleeve.

He was quiet for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say to that.

“And CeCe,” you saved him the trouble, “she’s a fireball. She is so strong-willed it actually makes me nervous about when she’s a teenager. She might actually drive to Vegas and get married or something. It’s just her world and we’re living in it.”

His dimples appeared on his cheeks when you shrugged. “Well, you’ve clearly done something right with them. Jeff's always loved being an uncle."

“I appreciate that,” you said honestly, a pause before you admitted: “My ex was never that hands on.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Is that why things ended?”

You let out a short laugh, again unsure if you were sharing too much. Would you wake up and regret the fact that you'd poured a glass of wine, and apparently your deepest secrets, all out on display?

“That, along with the fact that he was cheating on me for a good 18 months, I think.”

“Wow,” he nodded slowly, his lips pushed out in thought when he dropped your gaze. “What a dick.”

“Yeah, better I found out now than later on, I guess.”

“So that and losing your dad this year--”

“Yeah it’s been shitty,” you cut him off, another sip of your wine to avoid having to say more. He looked at your glass, now nearing empty, and reached for the bottle.

“Then you definitely deserve another one of these,” he laughed, fingers pulling the cork out again. “No wonder you got so many sympathy wine bottles.”

He poured himself another too, eventually he followed you into your dad’s old office when he asked what hid behind the mystery door on the first floor.

It was the only room you hadn’t redone yet, something about keeping his records on the book shelves and his papers on the desk felt like it kept him here. He’d chosen the green for the walls and you apologized when Harry’s eyebrows shot up at the sight.

“Great man,” you nodded, turning on a light switch, “terrible decorating taste.”

Harry nodded slowly, wine glass still in hand and a smirk fighting it’s way onto his face. “S’a bright color, yeah.”

He let out a laugh when he made eye contact with you, a disapproving look on your face when you walked over to the desk. “All these strewn about--probably some important information about you over here somewhere.”

He came over and lifted a paper. “Harry Styles is one of the most thoughtful, caring, and funny people I know.”

“Really?” You tugged at his arm to get a better view of the paper. Your dad’s handwriting was almost illegible, a date scribbled on top and another few words halfway down the small notebook page, nothing about Harry and nothing that seemed all that important.

“I hope that’s what he thought of me,” Harry smiled, his eyes flickered to where you still had a grip around his wrist. “Your nails are digging into me.”

“Sorry,” you pulled back immediately. “Sometimes I have to grab CeCe like that in the store or she runs off.”

He kept your gaze for a second, but it felt uncomfortable and made you nervous, so you cleared your throat. “Feel free to come in here and use this stuff,” you motioned over to the piano and the guitars he had in stands. “No one uses it, so--it’d be good for it to get played.”

“You don’t play anything?”

You shook your head. “No--he’d started to teach me guitar when I was young but then my mom died, just never picked it up again.”

You were thirteen when it happened, a car accident on the 405 and you didn’t go to school for weeks. Your dad had always been your main support--they divorced when you were ten--but after that you grew even closer, which is why losing him was so hard. He’d been a friend and a parent and the best grandfather who helped pick up the pieces when things with Luke started to crumble.

Harry was quiet, a simple nod when he went over to the piano and sat. You felt the need to shift the topic of conversation to something less depressing than the unfortunate events of your life.

“Are you writing a lot for the album still?”

“Yeah--we’ve got a few things written that might end up on it, but, mostly just experimenting with some new sounds.”

He pressed a chord down on the piano and looked up at you. “How do Maeve and CeCe seem to be handling it all?”

“Which part?”

“Both.”

You shrugged. “They’ve asked a lot about where their father is and why he hasn’t visited. And they understand that their grandpa is gone, but they’re sad, I think. CeCe’s had more nightmares than usual.”

He smiled a little. “And how are you doing with all of it?”

You let out a tiny laugh, mostly out of discomfort with the sudden seriousness in his voice and the way he already pulled more out of you than you’d planned. “I’m fine.”

He lifted his brows but played another progression of chords. “Wouldn’t blame you if you’re not.”

You took a sip of the cabernet and watched as he hummed along to whatever he played. When he looked up at you and waited for a reply, you smiled. “Some days I want to pull my hair out and others I need a good glass of wine. I kind of oscillate between those two lately.”

“Well, I’m always happy to split a bottle with you.”

You nodded, tried to fight the smile on your face when he laughed but then gave in. “Good.”

**

You woke up the next morning with a bit of a headache from the third and unexpected glass of wine. The girls were home by 9pm and unfortunately for you, the weekend was busy with play dates and birthday parties and grocery shopping.

Monday had you back in the office and recounting the first week to Tristan over an iced latte and a breakfast sandwich you’d grabbed after school drop off. Now it was cold and you were approaching the mid-day slump you were all too familiar with.

“I just can’t believe you’re alive still, to be honest. You know--seeing as you thought he’d be a serial killer or something.”

You looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “I didn’t think he was a serial killer.”

“Just a pedophile?”

“Alright,” you waved him off. “I can admit that it’s been fine--good, even. It’s only been a week, though.”

“Right,” he shrugged. “Halfway there. Maybe week two is when he goes crazy.”

You ignored the teasing from your friend and looked back to your computer. “Do you know if Kailee ordered the new bottles for the matcha face mask?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” he nodded. “And we also got the labels in for them as well. They ship off to the packaging plant on Tuesday.”

“Good, and numbers are up from last quarter which is really good. The meeting with the investors should go well.”

“Yeah, I mean, our entire profit has doubled since this time last year,” he smiled in your direction, a subtle reminder that the late night emails on top of the worst year ever had already proven to be worth it. “You should be very proud.”

“I am,” you admitted. “Of us. All of us.”

“Yes, what kind of boss would you be if you took all of the credit?” He teased.

“A bad one, but I’m also the type of boss that leaves at lunch time to go home and change since I have a meeting this afternoon that I forgot all about.”

He looked you up and down when you stood.

“It’s with people from Anthropologie about carrying some of our products in store--so I don’t think I can wear athleisure.”

He laughed and kept typing. “Fair enough. See you at 2pm, though, for the website meeting?”

“Yes,” you promised as you grabbed your keys. “Please don’t let the place burn down while I’m gone.”

“Might throw the match myself,” he waved you off, a laugh at his own joke when you headed for the elevator.

You were proud of the company you’d built and the office you’d been able to purchase two years back, but you were more proud of the energy that buzzed through the halls and the people who made work feel less like work and more like the adventure of a lifetime. You tried to be the cool boss who brought enough coffee for everyone, gave good time off but still expected hard work and drive to be the core of the business.

It took a while to settle into the role, though. At first you were sure you’d be seen as a spoiled rich kid who got a loan from her father to start a company--but it only took one year to repay him when you started getting placements in health food markets across LA. When Kourtney Kardashian posted something about your raspberry toner, the rest was history.

You’d always been passionate about making people feel good about themselves and focused your entire brand on building people up, not tearing them down. The world had enough of that as a mother of two daughters, you hoped it’d be something that would change that narrative, at least for them.

The drive home was quick and the sun was shining, which put a pep in your step as you hopped out of the car in the driveway and headed for the side door.

Harry’s car was still here--you’d left earlier than usual but didn’t expect him to be home. If anything, you figured he’d left shortly after you and planned on staying late in the studio. Jeff had mentioned something about laying down new tracks.

“Hello?” You called into the kitchen and looked around, he wasn’t in the living room or out by the pool. You found a laundry basket at the top of the second floor and figured that maybe someone had picked him up, but the sound of muffled singing pulled you down the hall and closer to his guest room.

The door was cracked only a bit, the sun streamed in from the windows and you could hear the running water of the shower. It was wrong, maybe, but you pushed the door open and stepped inside, smiled to yourself at the fact that he was singing a Carole King song that your dad used to play on repeat when you were a kid.

The room was clean--you hadn’t been in it since you’d pointed out the linen closet in the bathroom and showed him how to use the TV remote. His bed was made--maybe not the way you would have made it but the throw pillows were arranged in a way that showed he tried.

A buzzing on the dresser pulled your attention away from the bed. His phone, a message from someone named Bria Whitmore. Another message, then a third. You took a step closer--who on earth was texting him this much without a reply? A girlfriend? Someone he probably slept with or something of the sort.

“Hi,” his voice pulled your head around quickly and sent your heartbeat through the roof.

“Jesus, hi--sorry--I was just--”

He was in a towel, the fabric wrapped loosely around his waist and hair was slicked back from the water. You looked away from the tattoos that littered his skin and looked down at the laundry basket.

“I was just seeing if you had any laundry you needed me to do?”

It was clean, but he didn’t need to know that.

“M’good,” he smiled like he didn’t believe you. “Why are you home?”

“Had to change--forgot about a meeting,” you let out a laugh and tried to slow your pulse. “Figured the pilates mom look wasn’t the right vibe.”

He nodded, moved around you in the center of the room to pull out a t-shirt from a drawer. You saw him look down at the cell phone you’d been eyeing.

“Your phone went off,” you admitted, the laundry basket still pressed up against your hip.

“Yeah?” He smirked over his shoulder.

“I was just making sure it wasn’t an emergency--I wasn’t, like, snooping.”

A dimple appeared on his left cheek again, he tugged the fabric over his head and then shook out his hair.

“S’not an emergency,” he said. “Just a friend.”

You didn’t know if that was code. Were twenty-somethings calling their booty-calls friends now? You figured you’d ask Tristan later.

“Why are you home?” You tossed the question back at him.

“Schedule changed--went for a run after breakfast and now just, showering, y’know,” he looked down at the towel that separated you from an even more awkward moment.

“Right, sorry, I...am leaving,” you pointed to the door. “Changing, back to the office, home tonight.”

“Sounds good,” he smiled. “Figured I could make dinner, if you wanted. I make a mean chicken taco.”

You took a few steps backwards to the door. “You cook?”

“I do,” he smiled. “Hard to believe?”

“No,” you shook your head. “That would be great--if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“I’d love to,” he nodded. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

“With more clothes,” you smiled, immediately regretting the bad joke and the attention it drew to the stuffy air and the butterflies in your stomach.

“Definitely more clothes.”

You made a face at yourself once the door was shut, idiot. At least you hadn’t accidentally seen a picture of someone’s boobs. You were sure he got plenty of those.

You pushed the thought out of your head and thankfully Harry didn’t smirk at you too much when Jeff came to pick up the girls for ice cream the next afternoon. They hadn’t forgotten, but luckily Jeff had offered to take them out one night and it seemed like the perfect opportunity for Harry to tag along. That way he could stay true to his word and the girls would stop pestering him every time he popped down to the kitchen.

Zoey had been begging to bring the baby over to get out of the house, and now she was sitting in the other room with Benny on a play mat on the floor. Maeve, CeCe, Jeff and Harry stood in a line, eagerly awaiting the green light to pile into Jeff’s car.

“Okay, so Uncle Jeff can text me if you need anything, see you around 7pm?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jeff said, a salute in your direction that pulled a giggle from both of your daughters.

They’d been fighting more lately, CeCe tried to take the medal from Maeve’s room one night over the weekend and suddenly it was like world war three. You were shocked that they’d gotten it together enough to spend some time in each other's presence, even with Uncle Jeff chaperoning, but you were eager for the quiet and hopeful the screaming matches wouldn’t return once the ice cream and dinner date was finished.

“Love you, be nice to each other, okay?” You leaned down and used both hands to hold CeCe’s head in place when you planted a kiss on her forehead, then Maeve. A hug for Jeff, “only one ice cream cone this time.”

He laughed but obliged, you moved down the line to Harry, an awkward nod in his direction when you realized that whatever type of acquaintanceship had slowly started to bloom between the two of you was hardly grounds for a kiss on the forehead or even a hug.

He apparently sensed this too, a playful smile on his face when he lifted his brows. “No farewell for me?”

Jeff let out a quick laugh but Maeve and CeCe took off for the car, racing to see who could get out the front door fastest. “Alright, don’t kill each other,” you reminded again, waved them all off with an embarrassed smirk and then watched as Harry helped CeCe buckle into her booster seat.

“So,” Zoey appeared beside you, Benny in her arms as she looked out the window. “Seems like things are going well.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged casually. “He’s been nice.”

“He seems friendly,” she wiggled her brows when she met your gaze. “Flirty friendly.”

“Just friendly,” you laughed and headed for the kitchen to pour yourself a drink. It might have only been Tuesday, but the week promised to be a busy one. You wiped up a runaway drip of wine on the rim, fully aware the words about to leave your mouth would push Zoey into gear. “But I did see him shirtless yesterday.”

“That sounds amazing,” she shifted Benny in her arms, eagerness in her voice. “How was it?”

“I mean--he also caught me snooping in his room, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

You tried to downplay it. “I came home from work in the middle of the day to change and I heard him in the shower--which is weird cause I didn’t think he’d be home.”

“So you went in there?”

“Not the bathroom--I just peeked into his room and noticed it was really clean. Which is weird, right? He’s a kid!”

“He’s not a kid,” she rolled her eyes at you. “Your kids are kids. He’s twenty-four. I looked it up.”

Your eyes were wide when you turned to head for the couch. “You looked it up?”

“I was curious! He’s a celebrity living in your house and he’s very attractive and you have been harping on his age.”

“Because it felt weird at first.”

“And it doesn’t now?” Her tone was hopeful when she laid Benny back on his play mat and kneeled beside him.

You took a gulp from your wine glass. “Less weird, but only because he’s mature. He’s helpful around the house--he cooked dinner the other night--and he’s good with the girls.”

The corner of her mouth pulled towards the ceiling, arched eyebrows when she clarified. “He’s good with the girls?”

“He’s just nice to them--I was worried that they’d annoy him. I mean, I doubt that he was excited to hear that two of his roommates were six and ten.”

“Okay--but why did you see him shirtless?”

Right--she’d gotten you off track. “Because...I went in his room and then saw his phone buzzing and then he came out and caught me looking at his phone.”

“You were looking through his phone?!”

“No! Not the actual texts, just to see who was blowing it up. I only looked at the lock screen.”

“Was he annoyed?”

“No,” you shrugged, shame laced through your voice. “He was casual. But then he put his shirt on and I left him alone and went back to work.”

“So there’s sexual tension,” she shimmied her shoulders and pulled a laugh from you, she nuzzled down into Benny’s face but then gave him a pacifier.

“No.”

This brought her gaze back to you, more serious now. “Y/N, you are not a creep if you admit that you find him attractive.”

“I can admit that he’s handsome,” you chose a new word that felt more detached. “But who cares? He’s literally just a house guest. A friend of a friend.”

“Right, but he was just flirting with you like there’s no tomorrow.”

“No he wasn’t,” you denied her accusation. When she stared at you expectantly, you took a loud sip and let the obnoxious noise ring through the now empty house as if it would preclude you from saying any more.

“You truly, seriously, one-hundred percent haven’t noticed any type of flirting?”

You averted your eyes for a second, ready to dismiss her question and tell her she was crazy. There was nothing going on between the two of you.

But then you thought on it, thought about the way he asked about Maeve and CeCe and remembered the way your stomach seemed to twist itself in knots when he smirked at you and when the dimples appeared on his cheeks.

“The look on your face is enough of an answer,” Zoey teased, bouncing side to side when Benny made a noise. “Isn’t that right, Benny Boo? Someone has a crush.”

“There’s no crush here--he’s just,” a shrug of your shoulders when you didn’t know what words to use. You didn’t want to add fuel to her fire and you certainly didn’t want to give her any more of a reason to keep bringing this topic up.

“Dreamy? Beautiful? The perfect rebound post-divorce?”

A flutter of your eyelids in annoyance when you stood to head for the kitchen. “No,” you said, making a face in her direction. “He’s just cute.”

“So cute!” She followed behind and egged you on. “A crush is perfectly harmless, a little bedtime rendezvous is totally not a big deal.”

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, here, okay?”

“Oh come on,” she laughed. “You mean to tell me you haven’t already thought about if he’s good in bed?”

She came to sit next to you at the island, folding her legs beneath her. When you sipped at your wine and tried to hide a smirk, her face lit up. “I knew it, I knew it! I don’t blame you, at all, by the way. He’s gorgeous.”

“I’m just horny, number one,” you admitted, leaning forward to rest your elbow on the granite counter. “And seeing a man actually be good with kids is a breath of fresh air.”

“Yeah, Luke didn’t set the bar high with that one.”

“Absolutely not.”

A pause of silence when evening air blew through the open doors to the patio. There was music audible through the trees, wafting in from the backyard of your neighbors.

“I think you should fuck him.”

“What?!” You turned towards her quickly, your voice quieter when she smirked and looked over at you. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You have a ridiculously attractive man living in your house and he hangs out with your kids and now he’s starting to cook? It’s like a lifetime movie waiting to happen.”

“That doesn’t mean I should have sex with him!”

“Do you want to have sex with him?”

You were quiet for a second, kept her gaze but then rolled your eyes and shook your head. “I’ve had a bad year,” you made an excuse for the pulsing in your veins whenever you were alone with him. Nothing more, nothing less.

“When does he leave again?”

“I don’t know--at the end of the week, I guess. It’s not happening, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Alright,” she seemed to relent, “You do you. I just think you deserve a little feel good time.”

“That sounds gross,” you wrinkled your nose, pulling a laugh out of her.

She was able to change the topic, told you all about the way Benny was getting better at lifting his own head and he was screaming a lot less when she put him down for some tummy time. Your phone dinged, though, signalling a new text just when you were about to pull out leftovers and heat them up.

She watched when you opened it, got excited when you smirked at the screen.

“Who is it?”

You almost didn’t want to show her, but you knew she’d pry it out of your hands with force if you didn’t share. You flipped it around, watched as a smile spread across her face.

A picture of Harry and CeCe, both with sunglasses on as they ate their ice cream. Maeve and Jeff were in the background, the line at the ice cream shop down the street wasn’t too long. You were kind of surprised he was willing to go with them, wouldn't it create a buzz in the headlines?

Zoey gave you a knowing look.

“It’s just sweet.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled a little at first, but the happiness faded from your face when you pulled yourself back to reality. “I feel stupid thinking that he’s flirting with me. He could be with a supermodel if he wanted to. One with perky boobs and who’s, like, twenty. Not someone who’s old enough to be his mom.”

“You are seven years older than him,” she made a disgusted face. “You could have been, like, his babysitter, not his mom.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

“You’re being stupid about this!”

You paused with tupperware in your hands, turned around slowly. “I am not being dumb about not having casual sex with the popstar boyband kid living under my roof. I think not having sex with him is objectively the responsible thing to do here.”

“Why do you always have to be so responsible, though? You have been doing that forever, okay? You’re the business owner mom who’s always been incredibly family-oriented.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not in the slightest! But you’re more than just a mom.”

You bit at your cheek and dropped her gaze, put the tupperware down from exhaustion. “I just want my children to have a normal life. I only had one parent and I thought they were going to have two and now that ship has sailed.”

She nodded sympathetically. “But that doesn’t mean you did anything wrong! You never relaxing and having a good time will only teach them bad work-life balance.”

You rolled your eyes at her comment, tried to fight the smile when she waited for you to fold. “I love you,” she said. “I want you to get laid or have a drink or let your hair down once in a while.”

You held up the wine in her face. “Already halfway there.”

She reached for the bottle of wine and shoved it towards you with skeptical eyes. “Try harder.”

You let out a laugh and took another sip once it was refilled, pushed plates into the microwave and sat there with her until Jeff’s car pulled back into the driveway and the girls came tumbling back into the house.

“Mom, Harry said he could teach me how to play guitar,” Maeve grinned up at you, an affectionate hug caught you by surprise, but so did her words.

“He did, did he?” You eyed Harry as he walked in with Jeff by his side, sunglasses still on his face despite the sun lingering just above the horizon.

“We’ll start a band,” Harry nodded in her direction, kept his eyes shielded as CeCe ran into the backyard with a noise of excitement.

“And Uncle Jeff said he’ll sing.”

“You’ll definitely get far, then,” you teased, pulling an offended look from your childhood friend. “He’s obviously the best singer in the house.”

Harry nodded in playful agreement. “Could put me out of a job any day.”

“Maeve!” CeCe called suddenly, pulling everyone’s attention to the backyard. “Come play squishball!”

Harry looked down at Maeve and she looked up at him, you were unaware of whatever unspoken communication was transpiring between them. “Should we?” He asked.

“Definitely,” she giggled, hands on her hips.

Zoey was also confused, but she watched as Maeve and Harry headed for the patio. Harry finally took his sunglasses off, handed them to your older daughter before he spoke. “CeCe, we need to have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” She asked, she groaned in disappointment but walked back towards the house, bat dragging on the grass behind her. Jeff laughed and folded his arms over his chest, unaware of whatever deal had already been struck between them.

“You two are both really great at squishball,” Harry admitted, his voice suddenly more serious than before. “But I think we need to up the stakes.”

“Up the stakes?” You could tell by the look on CeCe’s face that she had no clue what that meant.

“Winner of this game gets the medal I won from the spelling bee,” Maeve explained.

You were about to protest, head outside and discourage any type of betting or gambling or whatever the backyard made up game was leading towards, but Harry went on to explain the rules. “CeCe gets a head start running bases, just because of her tiny legs.”

Maeve nodded, “and she gets a free home run to start off.”

CeCe smiled wide and put her hands on her hips, pulling a laugh from Harry as she copied her older sister. “I like the sound of that,” she said. A sure-fire way to make her win, you realized. But what was in that for Maeve? How had your previously grumpy pre-teen become a team player in a matter of hours?

It wasn’t long before Zoey gathered up her things and put Benny in the backseat, giggling and excited yells floated in from the backyard when you hugged her goodbye. Jeff stayed past sunset and offered an excited high five when CeCe won, completely unaware at how easy they’d made it for her.

But he soon left, too, you climbed the stairs behind your two little athletes, got them washed up and in bed before it was 9pm--not bad for a weeknight. You were sure Harry would have retreated to his room, too, but he was sat by the fire pit on the patio, a near empty glass of wine in his hand when you came back out.

“Care to explain?” you leaned against the doorframe and smiled. He adjusted in his seat but shrugged his shoulders when you admitted: “I never thought I would hear the end of it with that stupid medal.”

There was a confident look on his face when he met your eyes in the glow of the fire pit. “Figured I can teach her a few chords on guitar and that would take her mind off of taunting CeCe.”

It was smart, you nodded slowly and watched him. Give Maeve something that would get her really excited, but only if she’d give up something else. Bargaining--a classic parenting trick. You eyed Harry with a level of skepticism.

“How are you so good with them?”

He smiled at that, apparently flattered by the compliment. “They’re good kids,” he said simply.

“I’m aware,” you laughed, “but you don’t have to spend so much time with them.”

“I like it,” he shrugged. “It’s kind of nice to be around a family, you know?”

The words pulled emotion to your chest. Did you really look like a family to him? No husband, no grandfather, two irreplaceable roles and now you were trying to fill all of them just to keep your kids afloat.

“And besides,” he stood from his chair and grabbed the now empty glass before he came closer to you. “Something about being here just feels right.”

You looked up at him, felt the same rush of heat to your cheeks but hoped you were safe in the cover of night. He smirked, like he knew what he was doing to you but was too much of a gentleman to call you out. Hesitation when you felt some type of magnetic force between you, the distance simultaneously felt like inches and miles.

You smiled softly, embarrassed by the way your pulse picked up and the thoughts that flew through your head. What would happen if I, does he ever think about, am I crazy if I want to?

He brushed past you and walked to the sink, placing the wine glass down quietly before he turned to face you once more. “Is it as bad as you thought?”

Confusion, you wiped your sweaty palms on your pants. “Sorry?”

“Having me here,” he motioned around, the dimple on his left cheek was visible even in the dim light. You rolled your eyes, dropped his gaze for a second when he let out a quiet laugh. “I hope that it’s only as miserable as you thought--m’just aiming for not worse than expected at this point.”

You turned to face him and put your hands on the granite, thankful for the fact that the island was now between you, the ticking of a clock on the wall kept time when you tried to piece your words together carefully.

Was he flirting with you? A similar to question to that he'd asked only a few nights earlier, this time with more of a smirk on his face and a lilt in his voice that made sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s better,” you admitted with a nod and a teasing smile. “But don’t tell Jeff that.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, held your gaze and then nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

There was silence for a second, you almost offered to pour him another glass of wine but then he said: “Only a few more days, though.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, the fantasy shattered on the floor between you. “How’s the house coming?”

He winced, a quiet laugh when he shook his head. “Everything’s been pushed out a few weeks, actually. But--it’s fine, I’m probably just going to stay with a friend or something, you know, don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You brought your lips into a thin line, unsure if what you were about to offer was appropriate or weird or just plain awkward.

“Oh...well, I mean, if you want to stay here longer, you can.”

His mouth pulled up on the side, he brought his gaze back to you and shifted his weight on his feet. “Yeah? You don’t mind?”

You shrugged, again hoping to play it cool or not come off too eager. “If that would be helpful,” you trailed off.

“Yeah, very helpful.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” he nodded, pulling another smirk from you.

A few more weeks, tops.

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[whimsicallyreading]

Prompt for Day 7 of Rowaelin Month

A Fairytale AU

~

Rowan is a knight.

As a protector of Queen Maeve's realm, he is duty-bound to guard the frail and vulnerable. To watch over the queen's sovereign realm and settle disputes.

A knight's job was to be their monarch's hand in the places they could not reach themselves. He comforted, enforced discipline, and rode into battle when called.

It was, for the most part, ordinary work.

Yet, every now and then, something extraordinary was asked of him.

Rowan hadn't expected much as he approached the isolated mountain village. The villagers had reported a loss of crops, burned buildings, and stolen treasures. Their growing cries eventually reached Maeve, who sent him out to find the solution to their troubles. Yet, something in the atmosphere was off as he approached.

Instead of being greeted with cheers and excitement as he entered the cobbled stone paths, it was silent. Dead. No people lingered on the streets. The vendor stalls stood vacant and empty. Birds crowed from their perches on buildings, and feral cats prowled the streets looking for morsels.

Where had the people gone?

Rowan knocks on the door to a home, but no one answeres. He presses his ear against the wooden frame and hears hushed whispers coming from inside. When he wraps his knuckles on the door again, the voices stop.  

"I come on behalf of Queen Maeve's court. Answer the door." Rowan taps against the wooden frame again, slowly losing his patience.

A timid scuffling sounds from inside, and the door opens to reveal the bowed form of an elderly woman. "Well met, Sir. Have you come to rescue us?"

"I have come to help," Rowan confirms, thankful that he'd finally found someone willing to speak to him. "I am Sir Whitethorn. Word of your distress has reached the Queen. Why have you locked yourself in your homes?"

"We are too afraid to leave them, Sir." The woman reaches out and grasps his hand. The fear radiating from her is palpable. "Something evil is stalking our town. It creeps in at night and steals gold and food. Every time the men have tried to confront the beast, it casts fire against us and burns our homes."

A monster? Wendlyn is host to a variety of dangerous creatures, but rarely did they trespass into human territories. Rowan furrows his brow perplexed. "Have you seen the creature?"

The woman's lips tremble, and she squeezes his hand with anxiety. "A dragon."

Sudden prickles run the length of Rowan's spine. A dragon. Knights of legend had done battle with such beasts and earned eternal glory. They were fierce, greedy, and notoriously hard to kill. If a dragon was truly terrorizing the people, then perhaps it was fate's hand guiding him towards his destiny?

Rowan's Uncle Enda had been named a dragon slayer. One of the beast's ivory talons hung over the mantel of his family home to this day. If Rowan became the second person in his family to slay a dragon? It would elevate the name of Whitethorn to infamy. He could bring glory to his household and perhaps seal a guaranteed future for his younger cousins. Marriages. Money. Land.

"Can you help us?" The woman's hand clutches his hand so hard that her nails leave marks on his skin.

The thrill of the hunt is already coursing through his veins. He could imagine the glory that would come from bringing his queen a necklace of talons. Recitations of his name would be followed by stories of fire, blood, and victory.

How could he say no?

Rowan tilts his head into a polite bow, "I will help you."

~~~

The journey up the mountain wasn't as arduous as he'd anticipated. Instead of thick bramble, something had cleared an easy trail from the village up to the peek. Rowan didn't see any of the trademark hoofprints or erosion marks that came with natural paths, and the woman had illuded the hike would be strenuous.

Rowan wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth despite the strangeness and went along with the trail. He would need to conserve strength if he was to do battle with a dragon. Thankfully, signs that he was heading in the right direction began appearing the higher up the mountainside he got.

Large scorch marks gouged the earth, and Rowan notices trees with half the leaves burned off. Bending down, he picks up a fresh animal bone left carelessly on the path with no sign of a carcass nearby.

The thrill of getting close sends shivers up his spine. His only regret was that he couldn't go home to retrieve his family sword. He didn't think to bring it on such a simple assignment, and now he was left with only his bow and standard broadsword. The tempered steel and blessed pommel of his Father's weapon would have suited him much better in a fight against a dragon, but he would make do with what he had.

Rowan is lost in thought when he hears something crunch beneath his boot. Looking down, he sees something sparkling in the mud. A gold chain peeks out from the dirt and catches the glint of the afternoon sun.

Curiosity peaked. Rowan pinches the chain between two fingers and gently tugs.

A gold ring dangles from the end of the necklace. Despite being lodged in the earth, it shimmered as if it were just freshly polished. It's tiny, made for a woman's hand. Strange inscriptions mark the inside and outside of the circlet in a seamless design. Rowan had never seen such delicate craftsmanship, even among the queen's choice pieces of jewelry.

He scans the ground for more jewelry when he notes a dainty set of footprints. Unease settles in his gut as he follows them and finds several more clusters leading up the slope.

What if she was a traveler, unaware of the danger she was walking into?

Rowan hung the chain around his neck and quickened his pace up the mountain. He had to find the girl before she stumbled into the dragon's layer. Dragons were evil, greedy creatures, and his uncle said their fire burned hotter than the sun. The image of an innocent traveler roasted by the flames and their bones left to scatter the mountainside left a lead feeling in his gut and salted his enthusiasm with a dose of reality.

This girl was in immediate danger. What kind of Knight would he be if he didn't save her on time?

Rowan hiked further, even having to scale some rocky cliffsides. He didn't know what this pull inside him was, but he just knew he was going in the right direction. The sun continued its own climb in the sky, and as it began its descent, Rowan knew his time was running out.

He hoped that the girl would bed down before night fell and the dragon emerged. Maybe it would buy him some time to find her before the monster did. Better yet, he would kill it long before the girl could ever cross paths with the thing.

Just as he ready's himself to scale the final stretch of the cliff face to the peek, Rowan hears a twig crack behind him.

"Hello," Rowan calls into the thicket of trees. "Do not be afraid. I am here to help you.

He can see the shadow of her against a rock. Rowan can see her silhouette as she hesitates at the sound of his voice. "What is your name, milady?"

She stiffens, and Rowan swears. The smell of smoke carries on the breeze, and the temperature rises.

The dragon has come.

"Stay still. You are in danger." Rowan steps into the bramble, but all he sees is a flash of golden hair as the woman takes off running.

"Damn it!" Rowan swears and follows her through the sloping woods. He leaps over rocks and fallen logs, trying desperately not to stumble down the inclines. The woman moves like a deer, floating over the ground effortlessly. He nearly loses sight of her multiple times, but the blonde tresses of her hair are like a beacon even in the fading light.

The smell of smoke only grows stronger as they go, Rowan calls out to her a few times, but he fears too much noise will lead the dragon right to them. How she doesn't balk at the smoke is a mystery.

Finally, Mala blesses him. The girl stumbles, and it delays her just enough for Rowan to catch up. His lungs are seizing, and he can't suck in enough air to satiate them. Yet, when his eyes fall onto the person he'd been pursuing, they stop working altogether.

She wasn't a woman at all.

A lithe female collapses on the ground in front of him. The golden hair he'd been chasing parts on either side of her head to reveal the slender points of arched ears. She's breathing just as heavily as he is, but it's not vapor escaping her lips because of the cool air. It's smoke.

Her hand slams down on the ground to support herself as smoke continues to pour from her lungs, and the brittle leaves beneath her finger start smoking.

Rowan approaches her like a spooked animal, getting on his knees to meet her gaze. Cobalt eyes with rings of fire meet his in terror.

"Stay away," the female shudders and curls into herself. Rowan feels a twinge of guilt. He'd probably frightened her, chasing her around the woods like a maniac. In his defense, he thought she was in danger.

Now, Rowan understood. There was never a dragon at all.

For the first time in many months, Rowan cracks the lid to the well inside his soul. Wind and ice pour from his being and caress the frantic fire magic shuddering through the air. He can feel the tension among the flames, fear, trepidation, longing.

His magic wraps around the inferno, soothing it into contented embers. The female sits before him, huddled into a ball, but smoke no longer seeps from her flesh.

"There you are," Rowan sits down, his wind still dancing around them. "I'm sorry I frightened you. There were rumors of a dragon in this peeks, and I thought you were in danger."

The girl's head tips up, "I'm not in danger."

"I can see that now," Rowan nods. "It's my mistake. I've never seen one of the folk so far from beneath the hill. Can I ask what you are doing up here?"

The female purses her lips and tucks threads of gold behind an ear, "You can ask, but I can't promise an answer."

Ah, the dry responses of the folk were legendary. It appeared the fiery female was no exception. "Well met, I am Sir Rowan. You are?"

She seems surprised at his appropriate greeting. "Well met indeed, I am Aelin of the Kingsflame."

He doesn't blink at the strange title. Faeries never gave full names out willingly, and their titles changed person to person. By not giving his last name, he shows that he's not unfamiliar with her culture.

"Aelin, can I ask again why you are here? Do you need help returning to the hills?" It was a rare sight to see a faerie, not in their home glens. Finding one holed up on a mountain top and stealing from villagers was entirely unheard of, and it concerned him.

"No. I am never going back to those hills again. I'm here to be as far from them as possible." A mist fogs Aelin's eyes, and she tucks her knees beneath her chin. The candid answer only surprises him further.

Scanning Aelin, Rowan notes that she only wore a tunic, leaving her long legs bare and exposed to the cold. Leaves and briars tangle around the crown of her head, and she looked much too thin. Upon close inspection, he sees the silvery outlines of scars around her wrists.

"Are you hungry?" Rowan asks in a light tone, not wanting his sympathy to be mistaken for mockery. He knew the folk are notoriously particular about their pride.

Not waiting for her reply, because he's slowly puzzling things out himself, he reaches into his sack and pulls out a loaf of bread. Aelin's eyes dart to it before flickering away, but it's all the confirmation he needs. Rowan rips it in two and hands half to her.

Nimble fingers rip into the loaf and stuff her mouth.

Rowan's senses twitch as he feels a set of eyes pass over them. He turns his head and sees a crow take off from a tree limb. The night is falling, and the woods hum to life. Without fire or shelter, he feels exposed. "You say you don't want to return to the hills, but surely this is no place for you?"

Flames burst to life and light up the dark. Rowan lurches to his feet. A smoldering Aelin is glaring at him with a mouth full of bread. "I belong where I wish."

The fires twitch and writhe, and it's then he realizes Aelin isn't controlling them.

That tug that lead him up the mountain itches in his soul again. Feeling bold, he follows his gut and reaches a hand towards the flames.

"Don't," Aelin goes to grab his arm, but it's too late.

Rowan's fingers pass through the waves of blue and red unscathed. They lick and curl around his skin but do no harm; if anything, they lightly warm his cold hands.

The scorched ground, burned houses, blistered trees. Rowan couldn't imagine these flames harming a soul. Aelin's fear helps him connect all the pieces as last, "Is this why you are fleeing?"

Aelin grimaces, and Rowan swears that the gold in her eyes is alive. "It's complicated."

Sighing, Rowan surveys their surrounding, "Well, if you wish to stay here, then we best make a shelter."

"Since when was this a we situation?" The faerie quirks an eyebrow at him. "You chased me through the woods. That hardly qualifies us as friends."

"Because I'm going to help you control your magic," Rowan stands up and prowls around the rocks. Aelin follows him without prompting.

"Why would you help me? What's in it for you?" Aelin hisses through gritted teeth. But instead of bitterness, Rowan hears a tired sort of pain in her voice.

Something had caused the female to flee from her people. Something had pulled him to find her on this mountain top. He wasn't going to leave until he found out why they'd been brought together, and there was no reason he couldn't teach her in the meantime.

"My queen sent me to help the villagers," Rowan answers as he searches for a deep enough crevice in the rock. "The villagers have a problem with a rogue creature burning their buildings. I don't get the sense you are intentionally setting them on fire-"

Rowan smiles as he sees a shallow crevice, just big enough for them both to fit inside. "I help you manage your flames, the villagers no longer have an issue, and I go back to my queen successful."

He turns around, and his smile dims. Aelin is standing behind him, arms crossed, with a deeply saddened expression. That pull in his chest twists at his heart. Part of Rowan wants to hold her and soothe the lines from her face with his fingers. "I don't want to hurt you."

Hurt him? Had she not felt the same connection he had? Aelin's fires had not reacted violently towards him. His magic practically sung in her presence of her flames. "You can't hurt me," Rowan answers honestly.

Aelin's vacant gaze grows colder, "You don't know what I am capable of doing."

Her hand rubs against a wrist, and again he catches sight of the scarred bands on her skin. A grim feeling settles over Rowan.

He would coax the story from Aelin eventually. Something deep inside of Rowan raged at her pain, and he knew that when he discovered its cause, then that restless part of his soul would crave justice for the fire bringer.

[danhowellz]

Sex Education characters and their Zodiac signs

compiled by myself and @hoe-smad - we had a lot of discussions about each character and their sign so i'd like to think this is at least 80% accurate. we struggled particularly with some of the smaller characters as we don't see as much of them so it was hard to place them but i think we did a good job ??

(none of these words are my own and all have been taken from the co-star astrology website, linked here)

Otis Milburn - Virgo

To be happy, Virgos need to feel like they’re being useful. They feel productive by contributing to something larger than themselves. What makes them happy is the feeling that they’re making an impact, or at least trying to.

They are particularly good at giving advice. They are innate problem solvers. Fixing external chaos distracts them from their own internal messes.

Virgos are afflicted with an absurd amount of expectation. Their love lives are often tumultuous because Virgos tend to be overly critical of other people. They’re not even trying to be mean, they just feel obligated to point out the flaws in others.

Maeve Wiley - Scorpio

They prefer to be the people asking the questions. Scorpios do fear vulnerability. The feeling of being known. Darkness can be a hiding place. Pain can be an excuse not to trust. When they open up, it gives other people power over them, and Scorpios need to be in control.

They think that love is the capacity for pain. Love means partially relinquishing some of their self-control and this is especially hard for a Scorpio.

They are extremely loyal and deeply compassionate. Their ability to understand other people’s emotions allows them to come to your aid before you even know you need it.

Eric Effiong - Leo

Leos are bold, warm, and loving. They are also the ultimate showmen. They can dazzle with the theatrical flair of a Broadway star and the charisma of a politician. They are captivating personalities.

Leos have an unrelenting appetite for growth.

Their sense of honor is intense, they hold both themselves and others to a very high standard, and they are deeply wounded when someone breaks that code. Friendship means the world to them. And if you have a problem, they will drop everything and come help you.

Adam Groff - Cancer

It’s hard for them to share their pain with others, and they are often afraid to be vulnerable because they carry a fear that people will use their weaknesses against them. Cancers have learned to hide their pain to avoid burdening anyone else. They pretend they’re okay when they’re not.

They are looking for a complete and unconditional acceptance because they feel so inadequate and unfinished.

Cancers are highly sensitive and very insecure, so they need constant reassurance. Cancers need this emotional intimacy or they suffer.

Viv Odusanya - Sagittarius

They will always choose principles over feelings and will often question who they are. They move from job to job, philosophy to philosophy, belief to belief. They are explorers of the human condition and are unafraid of change.

Their ability to overcome insurmountable challenges is testament to their adaptable strength.

They’re so focused on achieving their goals that they don’t stop to appreciate the small victories along the way. Their high standards make them seem dismissive and arrogant.

Lily Iglehart - Aquarius

Aquarians are archetypical outcasts. The alienation they feel is often self-imposed—a result of their knee-jerk contrarianism, rather than a lack of social intelligence.

They sometimes ask, “Why can’t I be normal?” but in reality, they find normalcy boring, and they stake their self worth on their ability to be interesting.

Aquarians want to be accepted for their eccentricities, but find it difficult to accept that their partners don’t match their idealized portraits.

Aimee Gibbs - Pisces

Many Pisceans may doubt their intelligence because the society we live in places a higher emphasis on structured brains. They can’t prove their argument because their opinion is based on a feeling. In fact, feeling is the very basis of the Pisces genius.

It’s difficult for a Pisces to get angry until there has been a gradual slow build up. They are quick to dismiss small feelings of discomfort, blaming themselves and their own sensitivity. When the situation finally erupts, it’s messy and awkward.

They expect others to be emotional mind readers; all of a sudden they decide they actually weren’t ok with things they initially said were fine. And they respond with “But you should’ve known I wasn’t fine!”

Ola Nyman - Capricorn

Loyal, loving, and all about tradition, inside jokes, and the shared stories that make up friendship, Capricorn takes friendships incredibly serious.

Capricorns are a sign with full understanding for family traditions. They feel connected to every single thing from their past and their childhood, with their father being an extremely important figure in the way this person built their self-image over the years.

They need to be surrounded by people who don’t ask too many nosey questions, know where boundaries are set, but also warm, open-hearted and loyal enough to follow their lead. They will not collect too many friends in this lifetime, but turn to those who make them feel at peace, intelligent and honest at all times.

Jackson Marchetti - Aries

Aries are driven by a desire to prove themselves and their strength. They naturally take charge and are competitive and ambitious.

Aries are very insecure about their ability to control their destiny. Even though they lead with confidence, they’re actually constantly searching for reassurance. There’s a lot of insecurities that lurk beneath the surface of their brawny bravado.

The decision to be in a relationship doesn’t take long for them. An Aries will have strong feelings about whether or not the relationship is working.

Ruby Matthews - Leo

If you hurt a Leo’s feelings, they will make you very aware of it while punishing you with their silence. They’ll be cold and distant for days. They can be vindictive and hold onto resentment for a long time. Even if you made them mad five years ago, they’ll still remember it.

They will use their anger as a protective wall to shield their vulnerabilities. They want to be perceived as unbreakable because they are scared of admitting vulnerability.

Leos desire someone who can feed them both physically and emotionally. They want to be worshipped. They need to feel like the focus of your attention. They need to feel like you’d do absolutely anything for them

Jakob Nyman - Taurus

They embody stability. Sitting in a patch of grass admiring the breeze. When everything else seems to be falling apart, Taureans are an oasis of calm, a rock of dependability.

They fall in love one step at a time. They have very strong feelings. When they do fall in love, things get serious relatively quickly and last for a long time.

They show their love physically, they’re less able to express things with their words. Taurus sometimes have difficulty expressing their emotions, so they project a harsh exterior to cover up their sensitivity.

Jean Milburn - Scorpio

They are difficult people to get to know. They are psychological trap doors. They socialize from behind a double-sided mirror, always scanning, reading you while you can only see your own reflection. They prefer to be the people asking the questions.

Scorpio's directness in establishing immediate intimacy causes people to fall for them quickly, but it takes them a while to open themselves up to someone enough to really fall in love.

Scorpios are extremely sensual lovers. They are loyal, sensitive, and adoring partners. They are hard to keep pleased, but their finicky nature will often reward their significant others with genuine love and devout companionship.

Olivia Hanan - Cancer

Who, other than Cancer and Scorpio, can quietly hold a grudge for months or years, only to strike when their victim is the most vulnerable, knowing exactly where to hit so it hurts the most? They can be punishing, vengeful, and slow to forgive.

Cancers are highly sensitive and very insecure, so they need constant reassurance. This doesn’t have to come from a lover or spouse. It can also be a close friend or a parent.

Isaac Goodwin - Cancer

It’s hard for them to share their pain with others, and they are often afraid to be vulnerable because they carry a fear that people will use their weaknesses against them.

They don’t fall in love with a person, but with an ideal. They fall in love with what they’re hoping to find. They are looking for a complete and unconditional acceptance because they feel so inadequate and unfinished.

Cancers can get be manipulative, and they get extremely protective of anyone they consider "their own" - be it family, friends, partners, people in the same social circle.

Anwar Bakshi - Leo

Leo's have high self esteem and a fashion sense that can get quite outrageous, but can get plagued by insecurity and anxiety.

They want to be perceived as unbreakable because they are scared of admitting vulnerability, needing things from other people, being incomplete.

Leos like to feel important. They don’t necessarily want to be worshipped, or be treated with reverence. They just want to be recognized for their authentic selves.

Rahim Harrak - Aquarius

Aquariuses are very artistically-minded and they tend to be really passionate about all kind of activism. They are walking abstract art pieces, shattering traditional perspectives with their complete disregard for convention. They are martyrs to the cause of “humanity”, and “freedom” is their only demand.

Everything they know about love they’ve learned from the many books they’ve read. Love to them is just a practical theory. A philosophical musing.

Aquarians make very good acquaintances. They are friendly people, but their enigmatic nature makes them difficult to get close to. You can know an Aquarius for years and still feel like you don’t know anything about their personal lives.

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, eight

rowaelin high school bff masterlist

Based on the prompts:

“Okay, I know I’m evil and all that jazz, but I have standards too.”

What are you smiling about?

“He’s late,” Rhoe grumbled, his eyes flashing in annoyance as they flicked to his watch. Aelin sighed from her spot on the couch and rotated her brace-covered wrist. It was a minor sprain, the most minor sprain; she wouldn’t even have been injured at all if she hadn’t reflexively held up her hand against the deploying air bags, but when Rhoe had received a call from Aelin that she was in the hospital, he’d gone a bit ballistic. And his former surrogate son was pretty much persona-non-grata in the Galathynius household at the moment.

“Dad,” Aelin warned.

“I’m allowed to be mad,” Rhoe repeated for the hundredth time that week. “When I let that boy—” Rowan had apparently lost his name privileges for being a minute late. “—drive you around, I expected you to be returned in a single piece.” He shook his head, repeating the same speech Aelin had heard every day for the last week. “I have one single treasure, Aelin. The most valuable treasure in the world, and when that treasure leaves the house, I expect it to come back to me in perfect condition.”

She wondered how long this would go on. How many days of penance Rowan would have to pay before Rhoe forgave him.

Aelin sat up straighter at the sound of three raps on their front door. While Rowan used to just swing the door open himself, he now knew better. Aelin threw him an apologetic smile from the couch, her eyes trailing over the tightly sewn stitches above his eyebrow. They somehow made him look even more handsome.

“You’re late,” Rhoe said, looking expectantly at the white paper bags in Rowan’s hands.

“Sorry, sir,” Rowan’s eyes were tired. It’d been a long week. “I had an extra delivery this morning and…”

“No excuses,” Rhoe snapped, causing Rowan to nod nervously as he laid out the food on the coffee table for Aelin. Her eyes lit up at the feast in front of her. As part of his punishment for his “reckless driving,” Maeve had him doing breakfast deliveries before school all week, which ended in something special for Aelin.

She felt somewhat guilty that she was benefiting so much from Rowan’s accident, since she was a hundred percent positive that it was her own comment that had caused Rowan to become distracted and not see the car stopped at the red light in front of him. But, as she smelled the chocolate stuffed french toast, she couldn’t resist smiling.

She also wasn’t complaining that in her dad’s overprotectiveness, he’d assigned Aelin-watching duties to Rowan for his late-night shifts.

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Aelin had scoffed, while her heart pounded with glee at the notion of extra time with Rowan.

“What if you need something from the top shelf and fall and sprain your other wrist?” Rhoe had argued.

Rowan was more than happy to agree to Rhoe’s terms, immediately clucking and fretting over the couch-bound Aelin like an overbearing mother hen. It should have annoyed her to no end, but she was secretly enjoying every single second of his fussing.

“I’m working a double,” Rhoe said with narrowed eyes at Rowan, who nodded succinctly. “I’ll be home just after midnight.

Rowan cleared his throat nervously, and Aelin paused, fork midway to her mouth to gape at her friend. “Sir?”

Rhoe’s eyes narrowed warily. “Yes?”

Rowan ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends slightly. “I, uh, just wanted to ask you if you wanted me to come here tomorrow?” Rhoe frowned, his lips turning down at the question. “It’s just that tomorrow is prom, and if you want me to come here, I totally will. But I should probably tell Lyria today.”

Aelin felt her stomach clench uncomfortably at the mention of the L-word. She’d been so busy enjoying the extra attention from Rowan all week that she’d forgotten about prom. About the circumstances that led to this whole ordeal. Maybe her dad would tell Rowan he couldn’t go. She felt guilty about even thinking it, but she couldn’t help but hope it. Even just the slightest bit.

Rhoe rolled his bright blue eyes. “Don’t be stupid, boy.” Rowan flinched slightly at the way Rhoe addressed him. Seemed he clocked losing name privileges too. “You’ll take that girl to prom. You made a commitment, and I would hate to think you’re the type of person who doesn’t follow through on promises.”

“Yes, sir.” Rowan’s eyes flicked to Aelin, who was still holding her breath in anticipation. “I can still bring breakfast in the morning, if you want…”

Rhoe clapped Rowan’s shoulder just a smidge too hard as he smiled. “Nope. I took tomorrow off. You have fun at prom.”

Aelin exhaled as her dad finally left and Rowan slumped down onto the couch next to Aelin as she poured the extra side of chocolate onto her French toast and dug in.

“Your dad is fucking terrifying,” he said with a shake of his head.

“He can carry over a hundred pounds up as many flights of stairs, Ro. You should be terrified of him,” Aelin laughed through her sweet chocolatey bite. “He can definitely take your scrawny ass.”

Rowan’s mouth popped open. “My ass is not scrawny!”

Aelin poked his thigh with her toe. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Stand up, so I can take a better look.” She winked as Rowan shoved her foot away from him.

“Aelin…” Rowan’s cheeks flushed pink as Aelin wiggled her eyebrows. He bit his lip, tugging at the skin there, looking annoyed.

“What?” she asked, wishing so badly that she could jump into his head and hear what he was thinking.

“I have to get up to get you a napkin,” he said, looking at the chocolate that had splattered onto the table, “ And I know as soon as I stand up you’re going to stare at my ass,” he grumbled, and Aelin let out a loud cackle.

“I would never,” she said through her laughter.

“You’re such a liar,” he said, poking her shin.

He was right. As soon as he pushed himself off the couch, Aelin’s head snapped in his direction, but he spun around to walk backwards so she couldn’t get a good look.

“Ha!” he said, a victorious smile appearing across his face.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ro,” she pouted. “I’m injured. The least you could do is let me get a good look.”

“I hate you,” he chuckled, his cheeks now a deep red as he continued to trail backwards into the kitchen.

“You know what they say whenever you walk by,” she said through her giggles. “There goes Orynth’s ass. Everyone gets a piece.”

He flicked her off as he grabbed a handful of napkins with his other hands. “Please,” he scoffed. “I know according to your dad I’m evil now, and all that jazz, but I have standards. This ass is for my eyes only.”

Aelin cackled. “I’m now just picturing you staring at your own ass in the mirror, being like… damn, that’s a good ass.”

“I don’t have a full-length mirror for nothing,” he said with a wink, leaning over the coffee table to clean up the chocolate splatter.

Aelin couldn’t resist leaning back and peering behind him, trying to get a better look. She sighed happily.

“Ace!” he yelped, standing up straight and spinning around again, covering his rear with his hands. Aelin was laughing so hard that her stomach was starting to hurt. “I’m telling your dad that you’re the evil one.” He tried to say seriously, but soon enough Rowan was joining in the laughter, tears rolling down both their cheeks.

As he smiled at her widely, helping her from the couch, that sudden pang of desire sprang up in Aelin again. She’d been able to control it for the most part, and neither of them had mentioned the conversation that had caused the crash in the first place. She wasn’t sure she could even imagine how the rest of that discussion would go. But she was glad to put it to the backburner for a tiny bit. At least until she felt more comfortable with it again. That hadn’t deterred Lysandra from texting constantly and asking when Aelin would like her first lesson. Luckily, Aelin was able to stave her off for a little while longer – at least until her wrist completely healed.

Rowan slung Aelin’s backpack over his shoulder, carrying her books as they walked to school, enjoying the balmy morning.

Once they arrived, Rowan led them to his locker instead of hers, and Aelin frowned. “Ro, I have to put my books in my locker.”

He shook his head. “We have world history first. I’ll just put them here, and we’ll come back together after.” He looked as his watch. “We walked too slow.”

“Sorry my leg span isn’t four thousand feet,” Aelin said, laughing at her best friend. He complained that she walked too slowly, but really he was just too tall for his own good. He didn’t realize how fast he got places simply by having longer legs.

Aelin clearly hadn’t looked at Rowan’s locker in some time, though, because she was shocked by the decorations on the inside of the door. It was dotted with photographs of their group of friends through the year – but, Aelin noted she made a prominent appearance in the center of the door, in a picture of just her and Rowan. It was from Yulemas break. Aelin’s favorite holiday; but she’d never seen this photo before. It must have been taken at the tail end of Maeve’s Yulemas party, when Aelin had fallen asleep after too many sweets and rum-laced eggnog. In the photo, Aelin’s head rested carefully on Rowan’s shoulder, her eyes closed and face relaxed in slumber as Rowan smiled softly at whoever was behind the camera.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked, and Aelin shook her head.

“I like your pictures.”

“Oh,” he said, returning her smile. “Yeah, Aunt Maeve printed a bunch out for me.”

“Mr. Whitethorn, Ms. Galathynius,” Principal Havilliard bellowed at the other end of the hallway. “You’re late. Again.” Aelin and Rowan sighed simultaneously. “Your second infraction this week,” he continued. “Don’t make it a third, or I’ll see you both in detention next week.”

Aelin wanted to tell Principal Havilliard off. It wasn’t her or Rowan’s fault for being late, exactly. They both had single working parents, and with Rowan’s car in the shop for the next few weeks, they had to walk over two miles to make it there. She was gearing up to say something snappy back, when Rowan dragged her down the hall, away from the offending school administrator.

“Not worth it, Ace,” he mumbled.

They managed to make it through the rest of the day with no other incidents, unless Aelin counted getting a C on her Ancient Languages oral exam an incident – which she didn’t.

“So, RoRo, you excited for prom?” Wes asked Rowan from the driver’s seat. Technically, Aelin wasn’t supposed to be driving with any of her friends for the rest of the year, but her dad was at work. And she couldn’t bring herself to walk another two miles home.

Lysandra’s eyes met Aelin’s in the backseat of the car, and Aelin purposefully looked out the window to avoid her face doing anything she couldn’t control.

“Uh, yeah?” Rowan asked. “I guess.”

“Dude,” Wesley laughed. “You’re going to prom with a cheerleader, who’s been all over you for months, and you guess you’re excited?” Next to her, Rowan shrugged silently. But Wesley was only spurred on by Rowan’s lack of enthusiasm. “Should we pick up some condoms for you on the way home, or do you have some?” Wesley asked, and Rowan inhaled so sharply he started coughing. “What?” Wesley asked, looking at his girlfriend, confused, and rubbing his elbow where Lysandra must have pinched him. “I’m just saying. I heard it’s tradition to get a hotel room after prom…”

“Rowan would never be so cliché,” Lysandra interjected, her bright eyes flashing to check on Aelin in the mirror, but Aelin refused to look anywhere but out at the trees passing by out the car window as she steadied her breath. “Right?”

“Right,” Rowan repeated quietly.

“Doesn’t hurt to have some on hand,” Wesley said. “OW, what the fuck, Lys?” he yelped.

“You’re such an idiot,” Lysandra mumbled, just barely audible over her exasperated sigh.

“I’m good,” Rowan spoke up, clipped.

Aelin couldn’t control herself as she looked over her shoulder and took in her best friend’s paled face, staring at the roof of Wesley’s old sedan.

“You are?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound too high.

“Yup,” Rowan replied, still refusing to look down at her.

“Smart boy,” Wesley laughed.

Lysandra’s eyes flicked to Aelin again, filled with worry, and Aelin shook her head slightly.

But Wesley raised a fair point that Aelin hadn’t even thought about during her busy week. She’d been so worried about Rowan and Lyria being at a dance together, arms wrapped around each other intimately, that she hadn’t even considered the implications of what would happen after prom?

She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been.

Despite looking forward to their late night “babysitting” all day, Aelin’s mood was completely soured by the conversation in the car.

She overcooked their pasta, couldn’t settle on anything to watch, and gave terse replies to every question Rowan asked.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he finally asked, after finishing loading the dishwasher, and Aelin grunted a sure. He turned on Clueless, one of Aelin’s favorite movies and relaxed back into the couch.

To his credit, he made it all the way through the movie, which Aelin laughed about 500% less than usual at, until asking Aelin what was wrong. But Aelin wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t exactly tell him she was stressed about the prospect of him having sex with Lyria. She didn’t think he’d really do that. He’d said on multiple occasions that he barely knew her. And sex didn’t seem like a thing Rowan would just do with someone he barely knew. But, then, why did Aelin feel a pit of dread sitting deep in her stomach? Nothing about his answers had reassured her. And Rowan was changing. She never thought Rowan would abandon her at a party either, and he did that easily.

“I’m just tired,” she replied, yawning loudly and throwing all her acting skills into her performance. “It’s been a weird week. I think I’m going to head to bed. I’ll see you Sunday, right?”

Rowan crossed his arms as Aelin got up and started heading up the stairs, his bowed lips frowning and pinching his beautiful face.

“I thought we told each other everything,” Rowan said, annoyed. Aelin paused her feet on the stairs, looking over her shoulder at him. He was hunched over and still frowning, angrily glaring at the darkened TV.

Aelin cocked her head to the side, thinking of all the things she’d censored from Rowan in the last few months, and thinking that he’d probably started doing the same.

“I thought so, too.” She paused, looking at the way Rowan tensed at her words. She smiled sadly, and trudged upstairs to bed, not bothering to let him reply again.

~*~

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[shadow--writer]

That's Not How You Spell Circle

In which Maeve attempts to teach her dumbass (ᵈᵘᵐᵇᵃˢˢ ᵇᵉᶦⁿᵍ ᵃᶠᶠᵉᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃᵗᵉ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒᵘʳˢᵉ) boyfriend how to spell circle.

@dela-png encourages my brain rot part TWO. We had this long convo on how Lucas can’t spell circle and how Maeve would try and help (and it uhh...goes somewhere)

Hi it’s fic recs with Shade. If you want to read another fic with one of Dela’s amazing oc’s and a super fun apprentice check out @arcanecadenza ‘s (if you don’t want me pinging you please let me know! ^^) fic with Donovan here (it’s super cute and well written but be warned her blog gets pretty spicy and she does have another fic with Donny out now too ᶦᵗ'ˢ ˢᵐᵘᵗᵗʸ *ᶜᵒᵘᵍʰ ᶜᵒᵘᵍʰ*)

Maeve x Lucas, fluff (actual fluff this time guys my first fluffy fic in this fandom are you proud?), humour, 3.8k words (I CANNOT shut the fuck up OMFG)

TW: none! Tags: fluff, humour, lawd I hope I got Lucas right™️, a little spicy at times but nothing smutty, suggestive, spicy suggestive end, language there is quite a bit of uhh harsh language lol

~~~~

It took her nearly a month to convince Lucas to let her help him learn to write and spell. To say he was stubborn about it would be the understatement of the millennia. Every time she brought it up she would be shut down faster then she could get the words out. 

So she resorted to pestering him. 

A lot.

Everywhere. Anytime. Anyplace. 

In the mornings when they were trying to grasp the last remnants of sleep especially. Usually she could squeak a yes out of him for anything during that time. This time it was always a hard and fast no followed by sweet lingering kisses. While she would not turn her nose up at well placed kisses (good gods Lucas was good with that mouth of his when he wasn’t running it off) she was determined to convince him to let her at least help with spelling.

Once he saw how absolutely serious she was about this whole ordeal he finally broke down and allowed her to help. Granted, she was sure Amani being Amani also had him cracking. Amani was a darling and Maeve was glad they were friends but uhh…

Not much filter on her especially when it came to Lucas. Oooh boy. She would never forget the ‘congrats’ cake Amani baked. It was delicious, sure, but Maeve was sure you could see her and Lucas’s blushing faces from another country. 

The point being she finally broke him down and so there they sat in the kitchen, a little bit of fading sunlight leaking through the cracked curtains.

She tried to hide how happy this made her, starting off their lesson. “Okay so I’m going to need to see an example of something you have so I know where we can start,” she started off, sitting across from him.

He blushed a little, fidgeting. She let out a little sigh, fingers tapping on the table lightly. “Mo shíorghrá I can’t do much based on nothing. Do you know the alphabet?”

His face turned redder. “Y-Yes of course I know the alphabet!” he sputtered. 

She chuckled, resting her cheek on her fist. “Don’t get testy with me, you haven’t given me much to work off of. Now do you have anything you’ve written?”

“I...uhh have a practice sheet of a menu,” he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes. She could tell where this was going.

“...can you give it to me?”

She could see the paper in his hands, did he have that the entire time? It didn't matter since he had it.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet hers. 

“Amani has ruined you,” she said with a low sigh, looking at him. “I won’t laugh.” He didn’t seem convinced. She stood, leaning over the table holding out her pinky. “Pinky swear.”

He hooked his pinky through hers, bringing their hands up to his lips. She had to lean a little farther, one of her legs lifting off the ground as he kissed her hand, amused. 

“Oh don’t give me that, giant.” There was a low scoff in her voice, he bit her hand gently at the nickname. She knew he hated it. It’s why she used it. “Now hand over the menu idea, the light is wasting away!”

She grabbed the paper he set on the table, falling back into her chair as their pinkies unwrapped from one another. Sometimes she’d forget how big he was in comparison to her. It was always a little shock when they held hands and his enveloped hers. 

He always did comment on how cold her hands were. Her response back was usually about how she was the cold one to balance his human heater tendencies (and she didn’t mind him warming her up.)

Relaxing into her chair she looked over the paper.

She had to fight to keep her jaw firmly locked in place. 

Good stars above his handwriting. It wasn’t the worst thing she had ever seen in the world, at least it was legible but…

“This is basically chicken-scratch,” she said, voice flat. 

The blush fled to the tips of his ears. “I-I know that!”

She inspected the little notes around the paper. His mouth hung open when he saw what she was doing. 

One note had her smiling a little to herself. ‘Can I try imitating Maeve’s handwriting? That’s appealing and nice to look at. It’s very pretty.’

“You like my handwriting?” she asked, looking up at him. Looking at the menu ideas closer she could see remnants of her loopy ‘y’s and how she dotted her ‘i’s in the paper. She felt almost honoured in a way. 

Of course it needed a bit of work, but it was still sweet.

He coughed, looking away from her. If his face could get any redder it did. “D-Don’t read too much into it.”

She grinned. “Ah I see. You think it’s super pretty but don’t want to say.” His ears grew redder. She took it as a yes. “Okay okay I’ll stop teasing. For now we can focus on some words you’re struggling with spelling and your penmanship.” 

She inspected the paper closer. She could tell Amani helped, there weren’t many spelling mistakes. It made her job easier. 

Though one stood out to her. 

How he spelled ‘circle’. 

Sikerl. 

“...you spelled ‘circle’ wrong.”

“I did?!”

“It’s umm...not the worst spelling I have ever seen, but we uhh...are gonna have to work on that one.”

He sulked, crossing his arms. She giggled, scooting a sheet of paper in front of him. He took it along with a pen, their fingers brushing. She pulled her hand away before he could lace their hands together and try to get out of it.

She knew his tactics. Not today mister. 

“So first off I’m going to show you how to spell it and hopefully you can remember. If not, that’s okay we have all night.” She got to her feet to stretch her arms. It was going to be a while.

He seemed to wilt. “All night?”

“Well unless you have other plans?”

He looked at her, quirking an eyebrow with a little smirk. She narrowed her eyes, setting her hands on her hips.

“Nah ah. Don’t even think about it. You need to spell circle right first. Then we’ll talk.”

He fell back into his chair with a pout. 

~~

To say this was going to be a long process would be another understatement. 

She stared at the paper in front of her, leaning over his shoulder to give it a once over. “I have never seen ‘circle’ spelled wrong so many times on the same sheet of paper,” she said, dumbfounded. “This has got to be some kind of record.”

She rubbed her eyes, looking over at him. It was getting pretty late.

Lucas, of course, was sulking again. She knew his moods, and sometimes sulking could mean anger. 

This was not anger but frustration. Both at circles and her. Probably because she hasn’t let him leave the table other than for bathroom breaks and a little stretch break. 

“Can we just end the lesson here and go to bed?” he asked, eyes pleading with her. 

She shot him a low glare with no heat. “I know exactly what you’re going to do if I agree and it isn’t sleep.” His face fell, she knew it. “And we aren’t leaving this table until you spell it right at least once. Try again.”

He grumbled to himself as she stood back up. It felt strange having to hunch over to be at eye level with him. Usually it was the other way around. 

She still remained over his shoulder, leaning into him a little. She rested her cheek against his back just below his neck, arms wrapping around him. He let out a little grunt at her touch, she smiled a little at the noise. “Oh? Am I being a nuisance?” she asked, voice a little muffled as she shifted her face to bury her nose in his back. 

He said nothing in return, but the way he tensed around her was indication enough. If he was going to be grumpy with her she was going to torture him. 

When he put his pencil down she looked up, and back at the paper. Her arms remained around his chest, fingers tapping lightly. Driving him up a wall might not be the smartest thing she could do in that very moment but damn was it fun.

“Hm…” she hummed, letting him go to get a better look at the paper. Just by looking at the first few spellings she knew he didn’t get it again.

He noticed her disappointed humming and started moving closer to her, pressing light kisses down the side of her neck. 

She almost leaned into the touch. Almost. 

As much as she craved the release and his touch she had a job to do. And the number one priority was getting the damn word spelled right. 

She shifted away from him, a low whine coming from his throat. “After you spell this right then you can maybe have a treat,” she said with a wink.

He glowered at her, shifting closer. “But you’ve done so much already! Worked yourself to death today, don’t you deserve a break?”

Oh no he was going to compliment her into giving in. Little conniving bastard. 

He kissed her neck again, trailing up her skin to her cheek. He kissed the sweet spot behind her ear, tucking her hair behind it as well. She almost melted into him, hands curling into fists. 

She turned her head, capturing his lips before he could do any more damage to her resolve. He took it as a victory, surging up to meet her, rising up out of his chair. 

She pulled away a moment before, placing her hands on his chest and gently pushing him back down. A little smirk flirted across her lips. “Now that you’ve gotten an idea of what’s planned for you if you get this word spelled right, get back to work.”

He whined, looking back at the paper of mistakes. She giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You have some time, and if you don’t get it today there’s always tomorrow.”

He groaned but got back to work. 

She waited a bit, walking away to go do something else while she waited. She was in the middle of putting dishes away when he called her back over to check his spelling. 

She wouldn’t be embarrassed to admit there was a little extra sway in her step as she walked back over to him. 

His arms immediately went around her waist, burying his face in her chest. She sighed, petting his hair. 

This was going to take a while.

“Once I look these over we can go to bed.” He unburied his face to give her a look of pure joy. “To sleep.” The look fell and it was back to lip jutting out childish pouting. Sometimes she wondered who was the influence. The kids on the dock or him. 

She chuckled, looking at the paper. 

“Still no, but we can work on it tomorrow,” she said, scratching his scalp a little. She felt a little bad. She pushed him a little too far. She just wanted to help him but she was starting to get frustrated as well. 

Without another word he bundled her into his arms, scooping her off the ground and carried her into their room. She laughed all the while. 

It was like he needed to get as far away from the paper as possible, and she didn’t blame him. Spelling was hard, but she was still in disbelief he was struggling this badly with how to spell circle. She had shown him four times.

That night she didn’t let them go farther than a few kisses (much to his dismay, she was going through with the punishment. Until he spelled ‘circle’ right he was getting squat.)

~~

Day two did not go any better than day one.

She sat across the table from him this time. After he muttered about how distracting she was with how she smelled good enough to eat she decided to eliminate that..distraction. 

And sat as far away from him as she could.

Well that still flopped because he kept sending her puppy dog eyes from across the table. Not doing anything. 

She sighed. “Get four spellings down and I’ll come back over.”

The way he got back to work so quickly reminded her of a dog. She giggled to herself. If she focused hard enough she could almost see the tail wagging behind him. 

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “What?”

She waved him off, smiling to herself. “Oh nothing.”

He squinted at her for a moment before looking back at his paper. When he was done he crooked a finger at her. 

She didn’t move from her spot, glaring at him. Oh he was not going to do that to her. “Unless you spelled ‘circle’ right you have no right calling me over like a dog,” she sniffed, getting to her feet. 

He set a hand on her knee as she bent over to look at the paper, whispering in her ear. His breath warmed her skin. “Well, for all your whining you sure came to me like one.” She looked at him, offended. 

He smirked. Her brows creased with her annoyance. “Well you look like one,” she replied.

His eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline. She turned to go over his paper again. He leaned in closer to her again, kissing the shell of her ear. She had to suppress a shiver. 

Bastard.

“And you sound like one.”

She was going to strangle him but first...maybe she’d play his game. Ignoring the paper (with no right spellings, once again. She’d have to show him. Again.) she tilted his head up with one finger. Kissing the side of his face up to his ear she let him sigh. 

Trying not to smirk she nibbled on his earlobe. His hand tightened on her leg. She released his earlobe, whispering something with a little extra growl in her voice. “Woof.” 

She moved away from him, smiling to herself. He sat there for a moment, with the most dumbstruck expression on his face. Ha, victory. 

The moment she looked at his paper though, his arms were around her again and he was tugging her into his lap. She let out a little yelp, arms going around his neck to keep from tipping over off the chair. “That’s not fair,” he muttered to her neck. 

She snorted, trying to move to see his paper again. He didn’t budge, so she was as good as stuck for a while. “I don’t play fair, you know this.”

“Yeah but won’t you take mercy on your poor, tired, love-of-your-life?” he asked, the puppy dog eyes making a return. When he leaned in to kiss her again she placed her hands over his mouth. 

“And you call me a dog,” she scoffed, wiggling a little in his grasp. His thigh jerked under her. “Now lemme go you big lug. You’ve still got to spell ‘circle’ right.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes!” she wheezed, pushing his face as she tried to break free of his grip. He wasn’t going to let her go that easily. She let out a ‘hmph’ and twisted around. “Fine. If you won’t let me go I’ll just check from here.”

He didn’t argue with her from there, a small victory on her part. Maybe it was better if Amani taught him. At least then he wouldn’t have any distractions. 

Granted he might be dead by the time she was done. Hmmm...there were pros and cons to having Amani help. Her eyes flicked over each of the spellings. None were right. But one was close at least.

Sirkel 

Serkol 

Sickle 

Circel

“Hmm wow the last one is close!” she said with a smile, looking at him over her shoulder. His eyes lit up. “You just got to switch two of the letters. And let me go.” She wiggled again, pushing at his arms. 

“So I just switch two letters and I’m free to go?”

“Mmhmm! If they’re the right ones of course.”

He looked determined and finally released her. She scrambled away before he could draw her back into him. As much as she appreciated sitting on his lap now was not the time. 

“Two letters! Got it!” he said, scrawling out the word on the paper. 

He pushed it over to her, pride seeping into his face. She smiled, humming a little looking at the paper again.

“...uhh…”

Cricel 

“It’s worse.”

“What do you mean it’s worse?! I did what you told me to!”

“Yeah but you swapped the wrong letters!”

“You told me to swap two of the letters!”

“Yeah not the wrong ones! I told you not to swap the wrong ones!”

He grumbled. “This is stupid. Circles are stupid. Writing is stupid.”

“Next up we work on your vocabulary.”

He shot her a low glare. It held no heat but it made her giggle. 

“Shaddup,” he muttered. She kissed his cheek, still giggling to herself. 

“Here I’ll show you how to spell it again and then you can go.” She leaned over again, not paying attention to where she was leaning and what was in his direct line of sight. 

She kept her pen work neat (sometimes when moving fast her handwriting looked nothing more than scribbles), keeping all the loops she now knew he liked. When she looked over at him again she realized her mistake. 

Quickly (quicker than she thought he could move) he scooped her up again, kissing her face. She let out a squeal, trying to get out of his grip again.

“L-L-L-L-LUCAS!” she gasped through her laughter, trying to escape again. 

“Mmmfph no I’m done,” he said, voice muffled. “No more circles. They’re evil.”

She snorted, putting her palms on his cheeks to push him away. His lips puckered as she pressed his face together. She leaned in closer. “I spelled it on the paper. I showed you how to spell it. I can try and help you remember it so I’m gonna need you to try again.”

His brows creased. She sighed. “Please.”

“Fwmine.” He couldn’t really talk with her hands on his face. 

“And let me go.”

“Nwo.”

She rolled her eyes, releasing his face and resigned to her fate. He wrote out ‘circle’ so fast she could barely comprehend what was happening before he lifted her up off the chair. “There. Now I’m done.”

“But I need to-”

“Done. I am done.”

He kissed her neck, lifting her up with his hands on her upper thighs. She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck as she got used to being carried. “You do know we have to do this all over again tomorrow to make sure you remember how to spell it, right?”

He howled in pain. 

~~

Day three at the very least, went better than day two and day one. 

Mostly because she gave him the proper motivation after cock-blocking him again the night before. 

She rubbed her temples. “So now, what did we learn yesterday?” she asked, sitting on the table next to him. 

“Um the tub is too small for the both of us?”

She cracked an eye open. He wasn’t wrong. Most of the water ended up on the floor. It was a mess to clean up. “Yes that and you should learn to keep your hands to yourself. You haven’t earned anything just yet mister struggling to spell circle on day three. But that’s not what I meant.”

His lip jutted out again as he pouted. “Yeah yeah. Circle is not spelled how I’ve been spelling it. I get it.”

“Mmmhmm.” She hummed, stretching her arms above her head. “But that’s okay circle is spelled really stupidly, but!” she started, dropping her hands to braid her hair over her shoulder as she spoke. “I’m going to give you proper motivation so we can finally move on to something different.”

Curiosity sparked in his eyes. She smiled, humming a little as she swung her legs. “I’m going to give you a few tries to spell it. Five tries to be exact. Spell it wrong every time and you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“What?! That’s not fair!”

She tsked. “Motivation M’fhíorghrá, motivation.”

“...and if I spell it right?”

She looked up. “Hmm...haven’t thought that far.”

“...such confidence in me, I’m honoured.”

She snorted. “I haven’t thought of something you’d want.”

His eyes flicked over her form. She felt her cheeks warm.“I can think of something.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Oh hush you. Get to work now.”

He grumbled, but looked back down at the paper. The first few times he got it wrong. When he was on his fourth try she started to get exasperated. 

He kept looking at her hair. “You know that’s an invitation to ruin, right?” he asked. She touched the braid snaking around her shoulder, letting out a raspberry like sigh. 

“Yes I do. And if you don’t fucking spell ‘circle’ right you’re gonna suffer knowing you couldn’t ruin it while sleeping on the floor.” She mostly muttered it to herself, it slipping out with her frustration. 

He spelled it wrong again. 

She let out a low sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Three days. Maybe she wasn’t as good as a teacher as she thought? Or maybe it was just them goofing around. 

Even so she was tired and she knew he was as well. “Lucas I swear to the goddess above I will let you fuck me on this table if you can spell it right once. I know we both hate this, because circles are dumb. But we really should be doing other things.”

He froze in place, slowly turning his head to look at her. His voice was low and husky. “Is that a promise?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back a little keeping her balance by hooking her hands under the table. She kicked her legs a little, looking up at the ceiling. “I swear I will, just spell it right!”

He moved fast, pausing to think for a moment. When he finished, she checked over the page with a flourish. He groaned as she took her sweet time, fearing for the worst.

She was going to draw it out for a while but… “You spelled it right!” she said with a cheer, forgetting her filter. Dang it. 

There were many emotions flying across his face at once. 

From relief, to joy, to something else. 

She swallowed a little as his eyes darkened a little and he smiled. “I do remember a promise,” he said, getting to his feet. Even when she was standing he towered over her. 

But since she was sitting on their kitchen table, he was like a colossus. He nudged her legs apart, standing between them. He leaned in closer and she leaned back away from him, falling onto the table. He placed his hands on either side of her face. 

“You promised,” he reminded her once again, a little song seeping into his voice. 

She swallowed again, knowing her freckles were glowing brighter at those two words. Heat sparked in her stomach, a blush dusting her cheeks. He knew what those meant and his smile grew absolutely wolfish.

After a moment she smiled as well, running her hands through his hair. It was soft and messy. She tugged on a knot, making him sink into her touch. She lifted her hips to brush his. 

“I do go through with my promises.”

[a-heart-in-spades]

"Oh, and good job, Cayde. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

Zavala's hand is on his shoulder, and Cayde feels to exhausted to even snap at him. He just nods once, and waits until the big man leaves him alone in the waiting room.

Now there's no one around to witness him lose his composure. He puts his head between his hands, the lights on his mouth blinking erratically.

It's hard to feel victorious when his clothes are still covered in Ayla's blood.

Her condition is stable. She'll do a full recovery; Will be up and healed in time to hear her sentence of a life in prison.

He feels nauseous.

No way he's letting Aunor dig her claws into Ayla. He needs to ask Ikora to do the interrogation herself. If Ayla tells them enough names her sentence will be shortened and-

Fuck. FUCK.

Why she had to go and fuck with the corps. The Sov lost too much glimmer and territory thanks to her and the people she worked with. Many greedy folks will try to make an example out of her.

Zavala's promise of giving her witness protection if she tells them everything is worth shit. They couldn't protect Andal, couldn't help Maeve or Cas. If they can't even save their own what hope is for Ayla, a street-rat with nothing on her name but trouble?

None.

She's fucking dead. And Cayde might as well have put a bullet between her eyes for the way he had betrayed her.

uuuuugh I love this so much. Y'all really know how to hit that pain so well.

hopefully the fluff in ch 31 is enough to combat all the angst we have been bringing to the table recently xD

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {4}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: All of your notes give me life. ty, truly.

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

As the days went on, everyone knew Aelin was pregnant, and no one allowed her to do anything.

It only pissed her off.

Yes, she was pregnant. Yes, she could still do things by herself. Preferred it that way, actually. The only person who knew how Aelin Galathynius liked things was Aelin herself. And Rowan, occasionally, but he’d been MIA lately. She didn’t hound him, though, only asked him an appropriate amount of questions before dropping the subject and getting more info from the others when she crossed their paths.

Rowan wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. 

There had yet to be a strike from Maeve, and as long as Rowan was planning his strategy, it seemed there would be very little interaction between him and her inside of their own home.

But she would see him tonight, at the gala being held and funded by the Cadre for Orynth’s local charities. It had been planned for months and Rowan found no reason to cancel, even with everything going on with Maeve. The hall in which it was held would be loaded with people and security. It would, perhaps, be the safest place for them.

So she sat at her vanity, brushing through her short, golden hair, admiring the dress that hung on the door of her wardrobe through the mirror’s reflection. It was royal blue, and she had a headband to match. It nearly reached the floor, but there was a slit up to her knee. She had a large, feathered boa to wear, too, made of fine ivory feathers that Rowan had bought her as a wedding gift.

He said he would be home by seven to escort her to the hall, but it was half an hour past six and he had yet to arrive and begin getting ready.

Nonetheless, Aelin did her makeup, sculpting her brows and darkening her lashes before applying a pale, pink lip. She stood from the vanity, slipping off her robe as she made her way to the wardrobe.

She slipped on a golden chemise and her garters that held up her stockings. She took a long string of pearls out of the chest on her dresser and wrapped them twice around her neck. Just as she took her dress off it’s hanger, the bedroom door burst open, and Rowan, wide-eyed and frantic, came hurrying in.

Aelin glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. 

It was five until seven.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me,” Aelin said, slipping into her dress and pulling the slim straps over her shoulders. 

“Sorry,” Rowan muttered, tossing his hat on the bed, then his dusty, gray jacket. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

Aelin’s jaw locked but she knew better to protest. She knew that whatever he’d been doing had been important, but it didn’t make it any easier that she didn’t know where that was or what it was.

“I would like it if you at least would tell me where you’re going throughout the day,” Aelin said, taking her heels from the bottom of her closet and sitting back on the stool in front of her vanity.

Rowan threw his trousers aside as he stomped to his wardrobe, his tattooed chest on full display. She had always admired the black ink that covered him, up his side and across his chest, up his neck and his cheek. To most, it signaled fear, but to Aelin, it was nothing but beautiful.

“I don’t always know where I’m going,” he said, pulling out his nicest black trousers and jacket and tossing them across the room, where they landed on the bed.

Aelin sighed, buckling her heels. “I understand that, but I-“

“Aelin,” Rowan warned, his voice low. 

Her lips snapped shut as tears formed in her eyes. Damn hormones. Typically, she’d have some snarky-ass remark, but she couldn’t help getting emotional at his tone, at his temper, and the situation in its entirety.

As if sensing it, Rowan slowly turned around, jaw rigid as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, then let it out. He was walking to her then, slowly, cautiously, before kneeling at her feet and taking her hands into his. He kissed her knuckles before saying, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re stressed-“

“No excuse to take it out on you,” he said, then looked up to meet her gaze.

She ran her fingers through his messy, silver hair as she said, “I need to know where you go, Ro. I need to know where to look if you don’t come back to me.”

The pain in Rowan’s eyes was excruciating as he nodded, silently. He pushed himself back up to his feet and began to dress, Aelin watching, intently.

He pulled on his trousers, his shirt, buttoning it up to his neck before sliding his holster over his shoulders and putting his pistol, loaded, inside. He pulled his jacket over top after adjusting his collar then pulled on his black, leather boots.

“Come here,” Aelin whispered, standing to her feet, motioning for him to sit.

He did as he was told.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, meeting her gaze in the reflection of the mirror as Aelin started combing through his messy hair. There wasn’t much of it, with the sides and back shaved, but the top was so thick it had a way of getting relentlessly tangled. 

“I know,” Aelin said.

He chuckled. “We should get going, before it gets dark.”

Aelin dropped the comb and ran her fingers through the soft, thick locks of silver hair. Rowan’s eyes closed as he sighed, dwelling in her touch.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go do some good for Orynth.”

Rowan stood and adjusted his jacket before holding out his hand. Aelin humbly took it, wrapping her fingers around his as they left their bedroom.

They were off to the gala, and whatever the fuck that entailed.

~~~~~

Lysandra was hurrying down the street. Rowan would be pissed that she didn’t wait to walk with Gavriel and the twins, but this was urgent. It couldn’t wait.

She would see them at the gala and all would be well, she was certain. Besides, it was still daylight.

No one ever attacked in the middle of the city in daylight.

Right?

Nonetheless, she was moving swiftly and Aedion’s house was not far away. It had been days since she had seen him, but she had been busy at the office and he had been with Rhoe and the others often, talking strategy and trying to find men to stand on their side.

Now, dressed in a golden dress and two inch heels, Lysandra was hurrying, careful not to miss Aedion before he left.

The other night, after he had walked her home from the Fireheart, nothing had happened. They stayed snuggled up together on the couch until they fell asleep. Then, they awoke the next morning and Aedion left after a kind goodbye.

But Lysandra was tired of it.

She was tired of waiting, tired of the self loathing.

She loved him.

And nothing would ever happen unless she made the first move. It was up to her, the happiness that she would have with him.

The only person standing in her own way was her.

And she was fucking done with it.

With an outrageous amount of courage, she swept through the streets of Orynth, her clutch in her hand as her heels clicked along the dusty ground.

It had been all she could think about the minute she had woken up that morning. Her and Aedion, together. She would get to his townhouse, would take his beautiful face into her hands, would press her lips to his, softly. He would look at her, completely shocked, of course, and then she would laugh before finally telling him the words he deserved to hear so long ago.

I love you. I want to be with you. I’m tired of pushing you away. Let’s fucking do this.

The words replayed her mind, over and over again. She had dreamt of this moment for so long, but that was all it remained: a dream. Something that was in reach, but something she would never be able to truly grasp. And yet, if she kept up with that thought process, Madame Clarisse would have won. Her mother would have won. Everyone who had ever wronged her would have won.

And the only person coming out in victory in Lysandra’s story would be herself.

She was hurrying up the walkway, finally able to spot Aedion’s house in the distance. She was almost there.

So fucking close.

Then the door opened, and a woman stepped out.

Lysandra’s hurried feet came to an abrupt halt. 

The woman, a few years younger than Lysandra, stepped out into the street, Aedion close behind her, leaning in his doorway in his shirt sleeves. 

Lysandra couldn’t breathe.

The young woman smiled, resting her hand reassuringly on Aedion’s arm before she looked around and hurried away. Lysandra could barely see her, she was sunken down into her wool hat and thick coat, but she could see the reddish-tinted gold curls peeking out of the wool fabric.

Aedion watched her go, his brows furrowed. Then, he went to take a step back into his townhouse, but he froze.

He had spotted her.

Lysandra, remembering she was staring, took a few steps back before spinning around and hauling ass.

“Lysandra!”

She could hear his voice, could hear him coming after her, but she didn’t stop. How stupid, how fucking stupid she was to actually believe he had waited for her after all this time.

“Lysandra! Wait!”

Perhaps she was being selfish. Of course she should want him to have found somebody, of course she would want him to be happy. Expecting him to wait for her to be ready to give him her heart was unrealistic. She had made him wait years, and he deserved better than that. 

And yet, the thought of him with anyone else had her heart shattering into a million pieces.

“Lysandra, will you just wait?”

Lysandra didn’t want to, but his hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her back. She jerked herself out of his grasp. “What.”

One word, spat with such hatred that it made Aedion drop his hand and take a step back.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

Lysandra scoffed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Lysandra,” he breathed, but she was already walking away.

Aedion was an Ashryver, though, and they were not ones to give up so easily.

“She’s my neighbor,” he explained, hurrying to keep up with her, but he did, walked quickly, his long legs in strides. “She came over for solitude, she does from time to time.”

“Solitude?” Lysandra asked, laughing humorlessly. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

Aedion jumped in front of her and Lysandra froze, nearly tripping over her own two feet. “Her husband abuses her, Lysandra, she comes over to eat fucking scones and read in the library for a while, that’s it. She’s a friend.” 

Lysandra hesitated. She opened her mouth, then her lips snapped shut. “What?”

Aedion’s eyes softened as he took a deep breath. He looked over her shoulder. “Look, I left my door open, alright? At least come back with me so I can put on shoes.”

Lysandra slowly looked down at his feet.

They were bare.

Suddenly feeling like an idiot for jumping to conclusions, feeling ashamed for thinking Aedion would lie to her, would manipulate her, had her blushing.

“Aedion, I-”

“Just come on,” he said, voice quiet, “and I’ll explain.”

And he did. Evangeline, no more than a girl, lived next door with her husband. He was much older than her, a wealthy, privileged man who was given Evangeline by her father before he passed. Aedion had found her outside one day, crying over her broken, wire basket. Aedion had helped her fix it before walking with her to the market.

Then their friendship began.

“That’s awful,” Lysandra said, sitting in Aedion’s den as he finished.  

“Yeah,” Aedion agreed. “She’s a good kid. Only seventeen. Sweet spirit. Her husband is a dick, though, I’d like to watch that man rot in hell.” 

“There’s nothing that can be done?” Lysandra asked.

Aedion shook his head, finally finishing typing his boots. “By law, no, there’s nothing I can do.”

“And since when do you follow the law?” Lysandra crooned.

Aedion snorted. “Fair enough.” He tilted his head, observing her in her golden gown. “I do have a question for you, though.”

“Sure,” she said. 

“Why were you coming to my house?” he asked. “I expected to see you at the gala, but not here.” 

Lysandra hesitated. “Oh, I just...thought we could walk together.”

Aedion’s eyes narrowed. “Liar.” 

“And how could you possibly know that I’m lying?” Lysandra asked, brow raised.

“You don’t love someone without knowing when they’re lying,” Aedion protested.

Lysandra’s heart skipped a beat. “You still love me after I came up here accusing you of fucking a random woman?”

Aedion’s grin widened. “There is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you.”

With her gaze falling to her hands, Lysandra felt an overwhelming sense of emotions: love, lust, humiliation, utter nervousness. Those nerves filled her body, shook her core. If she was going to say anything, now was the time to say it. 

It was now or never.

A thousand sentences flooded her mind, but only one came out. “I came to kiss you.”

Aedion stilled, then a golden brow lifted. “You came to kiss me?”

“Yes,” Lysandra breathed, going with it. 

“Is that all?” Aedion asked, his voice going suddenly quiet. He stayed where he sat, in his olive-green armchair by the window, the ashtray sitting on the side table beside him holding his last cigarette, still smoking. 

Lysandra raised her chin up high. “I came to tell you…”

Her words trailed off, her stomach going wild. She had been so confident before, but now it all seemed far-fetched. 

No. She wouldn’t back out, not this time.

Aedion didn’t press her, he waited, still, patiently, until she was ready.

“I came to tell you that I love you,” she said, the words pouring out of her. “I came to tell you that I’m ready, that I want to be yours, Aedion, that I’m so fucking tired of being without you.”

When she met Aedion’s gaze, he was staring at her, lips parted, eyes wide. 

After a minute, when he didn’t say a thing, she asked, “Did you hear me or did I say all that in my mind?”

“I heard you,” he said, after a moment, his eyes still wide as they watched her. “I just...I’m...I don’t...you…” his words broke off and he laughed, breathlessly. “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long that I don’t think I’m processing the words correctly.” 

Lysandra couldn’t help her laughter, couldn’t help the elated sounds that escaped from her lips. “Aedion-”

But he was on his feet, then he was kneeling before her. He gently took her hands into his and pressed his lips to her pale skin, softly, slowly, on each of her fingers. 

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

He looked up, met her emerald gaze. 

He didn’t hesitate.

She could hear his breaths, could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears as he came up and brushed his nose against her own, before kissing her lips, softly. 

Heat flooded her body. She had kissed Aedion before, but it was different now as her walls tumbled down around her. She took his face into her hands and pulled him closer, pulled his body into hers, and Aedion didn’t hold himself back as he laid her down, her back against the couch cushions, and hovered above her, his mouth still pressed to hers.

Lysandra never wanted that contact to break.

Never wanted his lips to leave her own.

But they did. He pulled back, his turquoise eyes wild and lovely. “We’re going to be late for the gala.”

But Lysandra wasn’t going anywhere. “I don’t care.”

~~~~~

“Mama will be back in a little while,” Elide said, smiling as she kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “I love you.”

“Mama,” Lucy said, grin wide as she clapped her hands.

Elide laughed, under her breath.

Natalia told Elide to have a good time in her native language, and Elide replied kindly before walking down the hall, toward the master bedroom. “Lorcan, come on! We’re going to be late!”

But he was tying his hair at the back of his head as she entered, perfectly polished and ready to go.

“Well,” she said, stopping in the doorway as she took in the handsome man before her. “Where is the dirty, dangerous man I fell in love with?”

Lorcan grinned. “Somewhere beneath this ridiculously expensive outfit.”

Elide laughed as she strolled to him and brought herself up on her toes to kiss him, softly. “Ready, then?”

“Almost,” he said, turning back toward his dresser and grabbing a long, velvet box. “I got you something.”

“A gift?” she asked, surprised. Her husband was not the most romantic man. 

But he just smiled and flipped open the lid.

Elide was breathless. 

Inside of the box was a sapphire pendant on a short, gold chain. It was massive, surely have costing him quite a bit. They had money, certainly, but Elide didn’t need anything this grand. 

As if seeing the protests in her eyes, Lorcan began taking the necklace out of the box. “I know I’ve been a bit of an ass lately. But I love you, so much, and I wanted to get you something to remind you of that.”

Elide’s eyes softened as she pressed her palm against his stubbled cheek. “It’s beautiful, Lor. Truly.”

She lifted her hair and turned, facing herself in her reflection of the floor length mirror. With gentle fingers, Lorcan unclasped the chain and slid it around her neck before clasping it back into place. He met her eyes in their reflection and greeted her with one of those rare, soft smiles.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, then kissed the back of her head. 

They stayed like that for a moment, dwelling in the sight of their reflection, Lorcan’s arms wrapped around her waist as Elide leaned back into his chest.

Then, the grandfather clock chimed from the den and Elide and Lorcan were off to the gala.

~~~~~~~~~~

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[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 31: A Call for Aid

This one is a little bit different - but I really hope you all enjoy it! (I certainly did!) 

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Gavriel’s sword hand shot out, the sleek metal shrieking through the air as he sliced and chopped, his feet carefully marking their set pattern over the packed earth. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of other soldiers practicing; grunts and shouts and sharp clangs echoing over the practice fields as they went through their daily routines. The faint morning sun lit the mists all around them, a golden haze.

Gavriel wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel, the familiar ache just beginning to start in his muscles. He sighed, then made to leave the practice fields, finished for the day.

He’d been coming here more often lately, and was staying for longer and longer stretches of time. Following his return from the post in the northern mountains, Gavriel had been different, slightly off. He knew that his queen and his fellow warriors were attributing that difference to grief, to the guilt at the loss of his men. To the three new markings that just barely peeked out the side of his leather jerkin when he raised his arms over his head. But that wasn’t the reason for the change.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he worked, how tired he was, that face wouldn’t go away. The girl with the face of the woman. His lost love. Tamalina, the second princess of Wendlyn.

Gavriel’s feet pounded into the earth as he walked, dirt and rock scattering in his wake.

He turned the memory over and over in his mind – the image of the princess, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Rowan’s snarl of rage as she edged into the room, the shock and hurt that filled her scent. The overwhelming blankness behind her eyes. The golden head of hair that so matched his own.

The possibility grated on him, itching and scratching. A splinter in the back of his mind, that refused to be removed. His daughter.

The girl might be his daughter.

He’d spent the last weeks wrestling with this fact, trying to eliminate it, or at least subdue it. Trying to forget. But his efforts were in vain.

So instead he stormed through the castle, surly and distant. He knew he was beginning to irritate Fenrys, but he didn’t care. The young male could get in line.

Gavriel didn’t want to admit it to himself, but really he was just waiting. Waiting for Rowan to appear, the girl in tow. Waiting to see if his suspicions were correct. To see if it were possible that time had stretched and morphed his memory of the girl until she fit the picture of his love. To see if there was a chance he was wrong.

Even if, deep down, he was sure that he wasn’t.

But it felt shameful to just wait – to not act. Even if there wasn’t anything he could do. He wasn’t even sure that the girl was his responsibility. But still, this waiting…it was going to drive him completely mad.

Gavriel reached his rooms, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud and striding over to sit at the desk that straddled the far wall. A window was set into the stone above it, providing a small view of the city. A gray frame surrounding its expanse of blue rooftops and white cobblestones. The great river flowed idly by, casting up great lots of mist that drifted over the many alleys, buildings and plazas. It was picturesque. Gavriel didn’t see any of it.

He didn’t mind his fate, not all that much. The rewards of his life still outweighed the trials. Nor did he hate Maeve, for all she put them through. She was his Queen, and she would always be. So despite everything, he was glad of his position – both for the responsibility and honor it provided, and for the purpose.

Gavriel was the linchpin, a connector between warriors who otherwise might have ripped each other to pieces. He kept the peace between them, and made sure that they didn’t fall apart. Lorcan was their leader, with Rowan as his second, and Gavriel stood mostly in the background, hidden in the shadows. But he knew he was essential.

But for the girl...he wouldn’t wish this life on her. He wouldn’t wish his life on anyone. And yet she was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Gavriel hoped that the princess would just fulfill her bargain and go – that she would be allowed to leave, unscathed and unburdened. But still, he worried. The power he had felt in her...it was greater than any he’d ever felt before. Only Queen Maeve could match it.

He couldn't imagine his queen just letting the girl go, not when she could be such a useful tool. Not when the princess might be powerful enough to beat her.

Maeve must have a plan, must have some leverage on the child. But for the life of him, Gavriel couldn’t figure out what it was. The only thing that seemed remotely possible was…Rowan.

Their Queen had chosen him for this task, chosen him specifically. And the feelings Gavriel had sensed in the male, the changes…they hinted at something more. An attachment of some kind. He couldn’t speculate about the princess, but still – something had shifted in the Prince while in Mistward. And Gavriel was sure that it marked change.

Perhaps the girl would join them, and perhaps she would instead be sent out to retake her throne. Maybe they would even help her. Maeve had long coveted the western continent, perhaps she now thought to conquer.

All their spies indicated that war was coming. Adarlan was poised to attack Wendlyn, seeking to stretch their empire eastwards. So no matter what, soon Maeve would send them into battle. The question was – which side would they be fighting for this time?

All Gavriel knew was that he would do all he could to keep that child safe. Whether she was his or not, he owed as much to her mother. To Tamalina.

But he had no idea what he could possibly do to help the princess. He was forced to obey his Queen, to bend to her every wish. All he could do for her was keep her secrets, and his silence. For as long as he could manage it.

Gavriel sighed, and turned to the papers on his desk. He knew there was a report from Vaughn that needed looking at, as well as a dispatch from the eastern border and one from the admiral commanding the fleet currently guarding their western flank.

While Lorcan was still traveling up from the south, and Rowan was stationed in Mistward, Gavriel was the highest ranked member of the blood-sworn in the capital. As a result, he had to deal with much of their mail. He had just begun to sift through the papers when an unmarked letter fell through the pile.

It was light, and hastily closed, the wax seal clumsy and misshapen. But still – Gavriel could just recognize the symbol embossed in the wax. It was a bird, its wings extended in flight, its beak curved and sharp. A hawk.

A frown twisted Gavriel’s face as he used a letter opener to slice open Rowan’s message, and unfolded the paper within.

Gavriel –

I can only hope that this will reach you in time.

Adarlan has sent a company of two hundred soldiers and three demons to attack Mistward, and capture or kill the demi-Fae housed here. There are barely thirty demi-Fae soldiers who have seen battle, and as you know, the fortress is not properly outfitted for war. We have called for assistance from Wendlyn, but I have no hope of victory.

Come to our aid.

I know that I have no right to ask this of you, that I have no right to expect this of you. But I have no choice. I must.

I beg you, please come to our aid.

I will fight and die alongside these men. If you choose not to come, remember me well. If you choose not to come, I will understand.

But if you choose not to come, you doom these men to death.

I beg you, come to my aid.

With you at my side, we have a chance at survival. With you at my side, perhaps these people can live. Have a future.

Please, come to my aid.

Our lives are in your hands.

– Rowan

The paper crumpled between Gavriel’s fingers. That face was still fixed in his vision, only now the eyes were empty, her face white as death. Aelin, dead or dying. Her fires waning.

Gavriel’s chest was a hollow space, empty and still. Thoughtlessly, he stood and walked from the room, his blood spiked with shock. Within seconds, he reached a courtyard and transformed. His lion’s paws thundered on the stone as he raced down the castle hallways and out into the city beyond.

He ran, without needing a moment to reconsider. Without a moment of doubt. Ran for

···

Fenrys was dreaming. He knew it, and yet he still longed for it to be real. Still longed for his dreams to leap from the ether of his mind and out into the world.

In the dream, he was running. His paws digging into the earthy loam, bits of grass catching in his claws, wiping them clean of the blood of the deer he’d just eaten for lunch. Its sweet meat lined his stomach and weighed him down in that comfortable, satisfying way that only a good meal could.

In the dream, the wind whipped through his fur, its fingers flowing over his coat and making it ripple like water. In the dream, the sun warmed his limbs and flashed in his eyes, a bright discomfort. In the dream, there was no catch over his heart, no chains or locks or ropes tying him to a dark queen. He was free.

But he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Now, he was lying on Maeve’s bed. Hating himself. And everyone else under the sun. Drunk, but not sufficiently so. A glass of red wine rested in one of his hands.

Maeve had left a while ago now, but he couldn’t quite remember why. It didn’t really matter.

Fenrys didn’t know whether to be glad of the moment’s peace, or to hate it. It was so much easier to just hate everything. To hate this prison, and to hate the moments of freedom he was given. To hate his pitiful, despicable life, with every single ripped-up piece of him still left.

Maeve didn’t call him every night. In fact, she rarely called him more than once or twice a week. But it was enough. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore – it didn’t feel like it belonged to him. Probably because it didn’t. It belonged to her, just like everything else.

Fenrys shoved those useless thoughts down deep. He knew damn well what a waste of time it was to dwell.

Instead he took another swig of wine. Perhaps if he drank enough of it, he might just forget. Not only everything he’d been forced to do last night, but also the dream that he’d woken up to.

For it was the dream that was the real torture. Without thought of freedom, captivity would not be so great a burden to bear. So Maeve made sure that freedom was always nearby, just close enough to taste.

Like with that trip to Varese, where he had to watch as Rowan took for granted every single thing he held dear. His ability, his autonomy. His independence. And then Fenrys had to watch Rowan leave, with the knowledge that he would never be able to follow.

It was the freedom that tore at him, not the imprisonment. Cages were rather boring, after all. Even ones made of words and blood and darkness.

Even so, Fenrys didn’t think he regretted taking the blood-oath. He fought it with every breath in his body, and would do anything to be free of it – suffer any torture, break any bond. But were he given the option to go back and change his mind, he didn’t think that he would.

Fenrys had taken it to protect his little brother, and nothing more.

Well, maybe a little bit more.

All Fae males were drawn to power, and Maeve was the most powerful Fae living. They were all drawn to her, no matter her darkness. They had all wanted to serve her.

And maybe just a tiny, minuscule little piece of him had been jealous of his brother. Didn’t like being surpassed and overshadowed by him. It was a piece that Fenrys didn’t particularly like looking at, but he saw it nonetheless.

He thought Connall might see it too. They didn’t speak of it.

Fenrys didn’t even know if Connall was grateful for what he had done. For what he protected him from, night after night after night. Didn’t know if his brother even cared. They didn’t speak of that either.

They were still close though. As close as they had been growing up, running through the alleys and markets of Doranelle, play-fighting on the practice fields. They shared the same power, the ability to slip between the folds of the world. And they had learned it together, had figured out each of its valleys and ripples and tears by each other’s sides.

Each time they jumped, slipping through an invisible crack in the universe, they could feel the other pressing in on them, the whole of the world becoming the warmth of their embrace. And then they would fall out into reality – the open air feeling as empty and lonely as the space between stars.

It didn’t matter how far apart they were, didn’t matter where they were coming from or where they were going, that pressure was there. And it was a comfort, especially when they’d been young, and the power felt far more like a burden then a gift.

Once, when they’d been only eight or nine, Connall had forgotten how to get back. For hours, he’d been lost in the space between spaces, trapped by that crushing pressure. But eventually, Fenrys had managed to coax him back out again – by singing him one of the songs their mother sang while hanging the washing.

Oh the blue skies above, they mark the cloth stark white

Back and forth, back and forth

The moon pulls the sea, the green from the earth

As day folds into night, and the children run free

Back and forth, back and forth

Connall had returned, and their mother had scolded him for being so reckless. But it had just made them realize that no one else would ever understand. Realize that their powers were a part of one another, just as they were a part of one another. Inseparable.

And nothing, not even Maeve, could change that. Fenrys wouldn’t let her.

Right now, his brother was probably up in his rooms, reading. That shy bastard almost always had a book in his hands. When they were boys, it had been like pulling teeth to get him to go outside to train.

And he was such a goddamn know-it-all. It was infuriating. Mostly because Fenrys rarely knew what the fuck he was talking about. I mean, he loved the little guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the fellowship circles and fertility cycles of freshwater selkies day in and day out, for weeks on end. Or at least until the idiot moved on, pursuing some other esoteric piece of knowledge.

Fenrys had actually been quite surprised that when Rowan wrote, asking for information about his weird little demon problem in Wendlyn, Connall hadn’t known anything about it. Fenrys was sure that the ignorance frustrated him. His brother had spent a whole week in the library after they received Rowan’s letter, searching for anything that could possibly solve the mystery. And he found absolutely nothing.

Fenrys had found it a bit difficult not to gloat as he watched his brother stalk about the castle, a scowl fixed to his brow. It was nice to see him stumped over something, for once.

Fenrys couldn’t help but wonder how Rowan was doing at Mistward, wonder what the princess of fire was like. He’d only seen her briefly, a quick look between the walls of an alleyway in Varese as Rowan led her through the city to collect the horses Fenrys had left for them.

It hadn’t been a good look. She’d been well hidden underneath a dark cloak, though Fenrys still caught the edges of dozens of blades beneath her heavy clothes. Her face had been obscured with dirt and grime and sweat, her hair matted together. And the smell, ungh. Overall, not the most remarkable showing.

What had really impressed itself on him had been the sheer weight of her power. A writhing mass of flames, all bunched up and twisted in on themselves, forced within her small frame. Her power was so massive that even untrained, it had actually overwhelmed the icy wind of the Fae male leading her. Rowan’s power was great, but next to hers…the maelstrom of power felt more like a light rain. A drizzle, if you would.

And Fenrys hadn’t been able to get the feeling out of his head. The touch of the princess’ flames. It burned through him, making him wonder just how wild she would be.  But it wasn’t like Maeve would ever let him near the girl.

Fenrys sighed and turned over on the bed. No matter how much he might want to, getting drunk before nine in the morning probably wasn’t one of his best ideas. He should get up and face the day.

He groaned.

But still, he got to his feet and made his way out of Maeve’s private quarters, bare feet padding on the cold stone. His muscles were stiff, and not in a good way - he was looking forward to his morning training session. But first he had to return to his rooms to grab his gear and wash his face.

Fenrys didn’t pass anyone in the halls, for which he was grateful. Everyone in the castle knew of course, but still. Having to start his day with some page boy averting his eyes as he walked past, usually barefoot and in various states of dress, was far from great.

Fenrys pushed open the door to his rooms, and was already shrugging off yesterday’s clothes and reaching for clean ones when he noticed an unmarked letter resting on his worktable. The couriers usually went through the palace rooms each morning, dropping off the day’s mail, but it wasn’t often that Fenrys received anything. Particularly when a higher ranked member of Maeve’s blood-sworn was present.

He walked over to the desk and ripped open the envelope, absentmindedly pulling out the letter and beginning to read.

His eyes skittered over the black ink, and as he read, his fingers tightened their grip on the thin paper, his knuckles whitening. The bottom fell out of his stomach.

Mistward was under attack. Rowan was under attack.

He was calling for aid.

Fenrys felt strangely panicked. Not once, in all the years he had known him, had Rowan ever come close to writing something like this letter. The male was near-invincible – it had never even entered Fenrys’ head to be concerned about him.

But here he was, needing Fenrys’ help.

Would he answer?

Fenrys wanted to be the type of male who ran into danger, heedless of the consequences. Who came when he was called. Who always helped when asked.

But then a deeper, more personal fear joined the panic choking his throat. Maeve.

If he left without permission and without warning, she would not take it lightly. Unimaginable horrors would be waiting for him when he returned. Except, Fenrys could  actually imagine them - they had been inflicted on him already, time and time again.

The question was – did he care? What more could she do to him that she had not done already, twice over?

The freedom teased at him, tantalizing, just out of his reach. Only this time it was fear that was holding him back. His own fear. And all he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was to be fearless. To be free.

And the princess...she was at Mistward. She was in as much danger as Rowan. Perhaps if he went, he could see her again. Could save her.

Fenrys wanted to do something good, for once. To do one good thing.

With an invisible twist, Fenrys slipped out of time and space and reappeared in his brother’s rooms.

But they were empty – Connall wasn’t there.

Fenrys made to leave, to check the library, or perhaps the training fields, when something caught his eye. A familiar-looking envelope lay open on the desk, the letter inside nowhere to be seen.

A wry grin curved Fenrys’ lips as he vanished once more.

···

There was a small clearing, hidden behind a spur of rock just outside the palace grounds. It was unremarkable in every way, other than the fact that it happened to lie right at the limit of the distance the twins could jump - and was invisible to the palace sentries.

In short, it was a perfect rendezvous point.

Fenrys appeared out of nowhere, a slip of gold against the sun-warmed rock. By contrast, his brother was a shadow lounging just out of sight, easy to miss in the dappled forest.

Connall’s voice was droll. “I was starting to think that you weren’t going to show.”

Fenrys let out a snort. “Touché. I half-expected you wouldn’t be here.”

He frowned. “Me too.”

Fenrys’ own brow furrowed, the question slipping out. “Why did you decide to come?”

Connall shuffled his feet, his face dark. “It felt like…a betrayal to stay. I owe him too much to abandon him like that.”

Fenrys nodded. Connall was quiet, but he was fiercely loyal to those that were close to him. And he had always looked up to the powerful male, ever since they were in training. He wasn’t about to just stand by while his mentor was fighting for his life.

Fenrys opened his mouth to say something when the sound of an approach rippled through the nearby trees. Fenrys immediately drew his weapons, fear icing over his muscles. If Maeve had already discovered them…if Connall had lied and this was a trap…

But the crunch of leaves and brush of undergrowth spoke of something different, not a person, something else. Something familiar…

Fenrys relaxed his stance as Gavriel shouldered his way past the pine boughs and into the clearing, his lion’s coat bright in the warm sunlight. The male’s eyes were focused and intense, his warm scent filled with a wrinkled tension and fierce determination.

Without a word, Fenrys transformed into his wolf, his muscles stretching and filling with anticipation. He felt that strange ripple behind him that indicated Connall had shifted as well.

Gavriel turned and began to run, his claws ripping into the dirt, his heavy bulk pounding the earth. Fenrys shot after him, flowing into the male’s right flank even as Connall moved to his left. Together, the three of them pierced through the undergrowth, the sun warming their backs as they shot into the west.

The breath in their lungs came sharp and cold, their stomachs empty of everything but the desperate, pleading hope that they would make it in time. That they wouldn’t be too late.

···

Lorcan lifted the tankard to his lips, wincing slightly as the sour beer coated his tongue. The tavern was busier than he would’ve liked – filled to the brim with laughing, hungry people out for an evening of drink and merriment.

He’d spent the whole day running, his first after leaving the rest of his crew with the fleet on the southwestern coastline. He should be back in Doranelle within the next few days, and he was looking forwards to his return. He didn't love being away from the capital for so long. Being away from his Queen.

Usually, Lorcan would’ve kept running through the night, only stopping to catch a few hours’ sleep in some hollow or cave. But after only a few hours of travel, he’d passed a familiar scent. A trail leading north.

Vaughn was also traveling back to Doranelle, and Lorcan had caught up with him by midafternoon. The male was in desperate need of a bed, a hot meal and a drink, so Lorcan had (somewhat unwillingly) capitulated to his plan to stay at an inn for the night.

Now Vaughn was over at the bar, chatting to some human female. She’d begun their conversation with clipped answers and dour looks, but now Vaughn had her giggling away, her cheeks touched with happy red dimples.

Lorcan frowned into his drink.

For a moment, he’d considered joining him over there, to see if he could also find someone who might warm his bed tonight. But in the end, he’d decided against it. Far too tired. And too lazy.

Just then, a maid wandered over to his booth, her arms sagging under the weight of a heavily burdened tray of drinks and food. But she carried them easily, her footsteps light and nimble through the lively crowd. Obviously familiar with this type of work. Lorcan was just beginning to reconsider his earlier assertion, to see if this lithe, muscled female might be amenable to him, when the woman pulled a crumpled letter from her apron and dropped it on the table in front of him, with the words, “This just came for ya, from the evening post up from the coast. Seems like its been a long way,  searchin’ for you.” Then she turned, moving to carry her tray back to the kitchen.

Lorcan’s eyes followed her for a moment, then turned back to examine the letter. It was unmarked, which was strange. And the very fact that someone was going to such lengths to contact him, instead of waiting until he returned to Doranelle, was also strange.

Lorcan tentatively ripped open the envelope and pulled out the paper within. What he read there was astounding.

The words took a while to sink in, but when they did, Lorcan found that he was absolutely furious. That he was murderously enraged.

How dare he?

How dare Rowan ask this of him, ask this of all of them? How dare he presume to be above the word of their queen? Presume that Lorcan would betray her for him?

Mistward was under attack, and the lives of the demi-Fae there were in danger, but why in the gods' names did Rowan care? Why wasn’t he leaving them to their fate, and bringing the princess back to Doranelle?

That’s what Lorcan would’ve done. And that certainly was what their Queen would expect. What she would require.

So why, by Hellas’ scythe, was he staying? Why was he protecting them?

Lorcan couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. He supposed that it didn’t really matter. Rowan was staying. And he would give his life to protect those people. The demi-Fae. His people, Lorcan supposed. Even if he had spent the past four hundred years distancing himself from them.

Lorcan’s teeth clacked together, his jaw tightening. Rowan was staying, and he was asking Lorcan, and presumably the rest of the blood-sworn, to join him. Rowan knew the consequences for deserting, knew what they all would be facing for disobeying Maeve’s orders and coming to his aid. Rowan knew, and he was asking anyways.

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound like the Rowan he knew, like the Rowan he had fought and trained and worked beside these past two centuries.

That Rowan leapt at death with an indifference even Lorcan did not possess. That Rowan would’ve always made the hard choice, regardless of the consequences. This didn’t feel like that Rowan at all.

But still - this was Rowan he was talking about. The male he had relied upon for hundreds of years. The male who was probably - though Lorcan was loathe to admit it - the Fae he was closest to in all the world. Even closer to than Maeve.

And he'd laid out the facts, bare and unguarded. Mistward was weak and defenseless. They were facing a lethal army, and a battle that they would not win. All of those demi-Fae were going to die, Rowan alongside them.

Rowan was going to die. And Lorcan was fucking furious about it.

He slammed his fists into the table, pushing it out of his way, the beer spilling over onto the floor. Then Lorcan tore up the letter, got to his feet, and moved towards the bar to collect Vaughn.

···

They ran through the night, and the following day. Ran through bracken and field and marsh. And finally, through mist.

They ran until they met up with Gavriel, Connall, and Fenrys, and then they ran some more. There was no time for words, no reason for them. They had all come, and the dice would fall where they would. They would face the punishment they justly deserved without complaint.

They ran until they fell into darkness, until the forest around them went quiet. Ran until they reached the crest of a hill, and the fortress appeared below them, wrapped in darkness and chaos and power. Until they saw a lone female standing before the ward stones, the only thing keeping the castle from being overcome.

...

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

...

Im so sorry for that cliffhanger! (but also not sorry at all lmao) Please let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist!

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @booknerdproblems @queen-of-glass @westofmoon @morganofthewildfire

[multiharlot]

too little too late / s. reid

summary: spencer and y/n have been together for about eight months and she’s beginning to pick up on some things she wish she could remain oblivious to.

warnings: nothing really, light cursing, definite angst, this one is a long one. lmao sorry (2 part imagine. so be on the lookout.)

masterlist 

part 2

y/n’s pov

there was always a little piece of her in everything we did. i had somehow become a third wheel in my own relationship. i had taken the backseat for someone who wasn’t even here anymore. i should have known. i should have known the moment i brought him along to get my haircut.

“how do you feel about blonde?” i ask, flipping through the color book.

spencer shrugged and looked over at the book, gently pulling it from my grasp.

“how about black?” he suggests, turning to the back of the book with the dark hair samples.

at the time, i didn’t think anything of it. and i didn’t think anything of it when he had also slyly suggested bangs. i never thought anything of it when his team came over for dinner one night and morgan had pointed out how i eerily resembled my boyfriends deceased ex-lover. i never thought anything of it when spencer would lock himself away, rereading her letters or running his fingers over the book she had gifted him. perhaps it was because i didn’t want to think of it. i wanted to deny it until he had more time to make room for me in his still heavy heart. losing a lover wasn’t an easy thing to cope with, and i had no idea what he was going through. so i only thought, that this was how it was supposed to be. i let myself believe that this sort of treatment was normal. but it’s not.

“hey spence?”

“hmm” he hums tiredly as he tightens his grip around my waist.

i drag my finger over his smooth forearm, tracing the veins bulging through his skin.

“i love you”

“mmm love you too” he mumbles into my neck as he slowly drifts off into sleep.

this was the night i finally had to admit to myself that maybe this man wasn’t as good for me as i thought he was. as i laid in bed, facing my exhausted lover, i placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb softly over his stubbled cheek and letting my hand travel from underneath his jaw and into his hair. a content sigh falling past my lips as i studied every inch of his face. as if i had to memorize it before it could dissipate from my view. a gentle and tired smile reaches spencer’s face and he opens his mouth slightly, sucking in a breath of air, and mumbling softly as he exhaled.

“maeve...”

my hand froze and i quickly retracted it from his soft brown curls. my heart plummeted into my stomach and my throat tightened. spencer sometimes talked in his sleep, and it was one of the things i grew to love so much about him. one of the many things. but as he continues to mumble her name amongst the sweet nothings that escaped his lips, i had never hated his quirks more than i did right in this moment. i shifted my body onto my back and spencer pulled me closer, her name still escaping his lips from time to time. this made my mind race. what had she looked like? was morgan right? do i actually look like her? was that the only reason why spence was with me? i hadn’t actually realized how long i had laid there, staring at the blank ceiling, but before i knew it, the sun began poking through the blinds in spencer’s bedroom window. i still found my body paralyzed from the emotions when spencer’s phone rang out. i quickly turned my body away from his, closing my eyes and i listened to him groan and grab his phone from the table. 

“hello?”

“yeah...yeah okay i’ll be there.” 

he lets out a long sigh and throws the sheets off of his body. i kept my eyes closed as i listen to his rummage through the room. eventually, i hear his footsteps come closer to me and he runs his hand through my hair, his hand traveling down to my shoulder and he shakes me gently. 

“hmm?” i hum out, too afraid to look into his eyes. 

“i have to go, but i’ll call you. okay?”

“hmm.” i hum, flipping my body away from him. 

he lets out a chuckle before i hear him exiting the apartment. i release a breath that i hadn’t realized i was holding and sit up in bed, staring at closed closet doors. the letter filled box screaming at me through screens of the door. i threw the covers off of my body and searched through the articles of clothing and pulled the small shoebox from the back end of the closet, carefully opening the lid and flipping through the opened envelopes. every part of me wanted to read what the letters had said, but i had decided that i had already gone far enough into invading his privacy. but between the envelopes, i found what i had been searching for. the small 4x4 wallet sized photo of a beautiful woman. i looked as though he had taken the photo from a print out of a new article, but she was beautiful. far more beautiful than i could have been, no matter how many times i cut my hair, no matter what color i chose to dye it. no matter how many boxes of contact lenses i had purchased to replace my glasses or how many new articles of clothing i purchased because spencer had told me how much he enjoyed seeing them on me while we were at the store. i wiped my wet cheeks and tucked the photo back into the box, every bone in my body had began to shake with anger and embarrassment. angry at what a fool i was to fall into his tricks. embarrassed that i hadn’t noticed what exactly he was doing. i was giving my all to someone who was giving me nothing in return and now i had been run dry. i took a deep breath and put the box back into the closet. i stood from the ground and grabbed a piece of paper from his desk, writing out the note. 

spencer, 

i cannot compete with someone who cannot be here to claim their victory. i refuse to continue playing the fool. i love you. and i tried to understand your pain. i tried to help you through your struggles despite the hurt you inflicted on me every time you turned me away to pine after someone who couldn’t possibly respond to you. and maybe i’m being harsh right now, but it’s been years since she passed, spencer. you had so many chances to not continue this relationship. i had left the door open for so long, yet you insisted that you were ready for this. and i let myself believe that you were. but i can’t keep pretending to be somebody you need. i can’t continue being a surrogate for the love you lost. i won’t keep laying next to you when my name isn’t the name that’s leaving your lips when you fall asleep. i can’t stay with you when i’m not the woman you’re dancing with in your dreams. i hope you find peace, spencer. everyone deserves peace. just please don’t try and find peace in somebody else again.

y/n

a sob escaped my lips as i neatly folded the paper, leaving it on top of his desk. the morning sun was still high and bright in the sky. i grabbed my phone from the side of the table and dialed my best friends number, i knew he wouldn’t be awake right now, and should this be any other circumstance, i wouldn’t be calling. 

“y/n? why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” he groans, making me chuckle as i wipe the running snot from my nose onto my sleeve. 

is that gross? yes. do i care? not particularly no. 

“trevor? i umm...i need you to come get me.” i whimper as i walk around his home, collecting my things that were placed sporadically throughout his apartment. 

“what? what’s wrong? where are you?” he rushes out, i hear his keys jangling through the other end of the phone as i ran my finger over a framed photo of us that was placed gently on the mantle. 

“i’m at spencer’s. i’ll tell you when you get here.” i sniffle. 

“yeah. okay. i’ll be there soon. do you need me to stay on the phone?”

“no...just...get here.”

i hung up the phone and take the photo from the frame, deciding to leave no memory of us. as if we had never existed. because that’s certainly how it felt. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*10 months later* 

“daniel, baby, please breathe.” i smile, placing my hand on my boyfriend’s broad chest to withhold him from his continuous rambling. 

he chuckles, taking a deep breath before nodding his head. 

“i know i know. i’m sorry. this guy just...i moved here to get away from the big town crime. yet here i am, dealing with some rambunctious serial killer.” he frumps, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. 

i give him a gentle smile and clean up the plastic containers littering the small coffee table in his office where we were taking a quick lunch break after i had finished my all night shift at the hospital.

“yeah well, you have the fbi coming in. they’ll help you figure this out.” i say as i throw the containers into the garbage. 

“and i have my beautiful trauma nurse girlfriend who will definitely come save my life if i have a panic attack over this?” he asks, a dopey smile on his face. 

“of course.” i giggle, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

there’s a soft knock at the door and one of his deputies pokes his head into the office. 

“hey guys, sorry to interrupt but that fbi team is here.”

daniel looks at me apologetically and i wave him off. 

“go greet them. i’ll finish cleaning up in here and then i’ll head off.”

“okay. thank you. and let me know when you get back home please?”

i nod my head and he stands up from the couch, placing another kiss to my lips before walking out of the office. i had met daniel about a month after moving away from quantico. we had met on my first day at the hospital after he had sprained his wrist after tripping to get a cat out of a tree. i was originally very hesitant to get into another relationship so soon after spencer, but daniel had proved to be ten times the man spencer ever was. daniel showered me with the love and affection i never got from spencer, and he always reassured me when i needed it. he was so patient with me and took good care of my fragile heart. soon enough, i found myself in love with the small town sheriff and had long forgotten about the man who took my love and ran with the wind. that was, until i walked into the middle of the small office and came face to face with the bau. 

“y/n” morgan gasps quietly and my eyes skim over the team, eventually meeting spencer’s. 

my heart skipped a beat and my hands turned into fists at my side as i gripped tightly onto the pants of my scrubs. i felt a hand on my lower back and my vision shifts upwards to my curious boyfriend. 

“you guys know each other?” he asks, flipping his line of sight from me to the team. 

“yeah ummm...i didn’t know you brought the bau in...” i mumble, and daniel nods cautiously. 

“yeah i did...are you okay, y/n?”

i cleared my throat, grabbing daniels button up and dragging him down to my level, standing on my toes as i whispered into his ear. 

“spencer’s on this team.” i whisper quickly before releasing him from my grasp. 

“oh...oh” he says, his eyebrows raised as his eyes fall onto spencer. 

i quickly elbow his side and smile nervously at the team still standing in front of me. 

“well, ya’ll have a serial killer to catch, and i have z’s to catch. i’m really tired, so i’m gonna head home. but it was nice seeing you all.” i smile, nodding my head awkwardly as the deputy leads them into the back of the station to set up. 

spencer’s gaze never pulls away from me and i shift uncomfortably. 

“hey, are you sure you don’t want to stay at my house?” daniel asks worriedly. 

i roll my eyes, placing my hand gently on his cheek. 

“i will be just fine. nobody will mess with me knowing i’ve got a mr. beefy boy as a boyfriend.” i wink, bumping my hip with his. 

“yeah, stronk beef cake will protecc and attacc.” his deputy snorts, making me throw my head back in laughter. 

daniel rolls his eyes and grabs my chin, pulling my face up and pressing a swift kiss on my lips. 

meanwhile, spencer and morgan stood at the table, both staring intensely at the sheriff and the woman who used to look at the resident boy genius the same way she looked at this small town sheriff.

“looks like you’re too little too late, kid.” morgan says, placing an empathetic hand on spencer’s shoulder. 

“i lost one love, i’ll be damned if i lose another.”