#this has been sat on the wip pile for a little while

[dearydarlingduckie]

No prizes for guessing where I’m going with this! 😂

I know I’m not the first person to do this. Heck I’m not even the first person to buy this particular fabric to do this.

But I was inspired and here we are.

[cherrychilli]

18+

Steve Harrington x AFAB reader, grumpy dom! Steve, established relationship, PIV sex, car sex

A/N: I haven't written for Steve in a minute so I pulled this out of the wip vault and dusted it off.

The time to back out had passed.

Steve knew he couldn't disappoint the whole group now when it had already been decided that he would drive them out to the lake that Saturday afternoon. With Eddie's license suspended and Jonathan's car in the shop, there was no other option.

For someone who, on a regular day, looks golden in every possible way under a perfect cerulean sky, he stuck out like a storm cloud today.

Steve sat out on the dock with his shades on to shield his annoyed squint and a soda pressed to his lips to conceal his scowl, wishing it was a beer instead.

Those of you who weren't driving picked frosty bottles out of the cooler Eddie had stocked for the outing, bottle caps coming loose with a pop, the nutty aroma of grain and barley fizzing into the wind. It was more than a little amusing to you as you eyed Steve from over your beer, watching the poor boy stew.

On the surface you appear oblivious but you're well aware that your boyfriend's eyes are trained on you too, a heated, razor sharp stare behind those reflective lenses.

His simmering displeasure goes unnoticed by the rest of the group but when you start to strip down to your swimsuit with the others and head for the water it's only a matter of moments before they notice one less member wading in the water with them.

Inevitably, what he'd been dreading begins and he has to deal with it all day. Everyone takes turns asking Steve why he isn't getting in the water with them and each time he's forced to mutter out some vague excuse that only lifts more eyebrows.

It's obvious to everyone that he's hiding something and the stubborn way he tries to refute is comically adorable. Some lighthearted teasing ensues and you can almost see the steam rising off his skin.

Robin gets the ball rolling with a quip about him spending too much time on his hair to risk getting it wet. Eddie joins in on the teasing too. Nancy and Jonathan are too polite to add to it but they laugh off to the side and try to suppress their giggles all the same.

None of it is cruel. it's all harmless, well meaning fun between friends and it's all the more enjoyable for you because you're the only one who knows the real reason why Steve wont just peel off his shirt and get in the water.

If he did, then your friends would get to see the result of all your hard work last night. They'd see the messy, lengthy scarlet scratches that rawed the skin all down his back, the half moon indents turning violet on his triceps and shoulders and the many hickeys like splashes of merlot you sucked onto his chest and his stomach.

You've got a few marks on you as well but you're saved from suffering the same torment as Steve thanks to your waterproof concealer. He endures it all, forcing the occasional dry, humorless laugh until the sun begins to wind down and the rest of you towel off before lugging your belongings back to his car under a cotton candy sky.

It's a little snug inside the BMW but you make it work. You buckle yourself in the front seat and the others pile into the back. Nancy finds room in Jonathan's lap while Eddie's somehow been strong armed into the middle by Robin so she can have the window seat. He doesn't concede quietly and the resultant commotion in the back is enough to distract the backseat occupants from noticing the tension between you and Steve. Well, more so the tension that's emanating from Steve because you look no more unbothered than you had all day, humming to yourself inconspicuously. Waiting patiently.

Nancy and Jonathan are the first to be dropped off. Next is Eddie, and then Robin. You wave goodbye to her as Steve slowly presses down on the accelerator to begin the journey to your apartment, twenty minutes of being alone together starting now.

"You really put me through it today", he spoke, breaking the moment long silence.

Your lips form a pleased smile as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. It was obvious where all of this was heading but riling him up was part of the fun and you didn't want it to end just yet. You wanted a little more before it's all teeth and ripped clothes when he gets you inside your apartment.

"I didn't make them say all those things, Stevie sweetie", you turn your head towards him and bat your lashes, the illusion of sweetness thick on your features.

His eyes stay fixed on the road, the vein near his temple more noticeable now. "You wore it on purpose, didn't you?", he sidesteps your comment like you hadn't even said it at all.

This time when you blink at him it's with confusion. "Don't play dumb, baby", he warns you with a laugh so mirthless that it draws a shiver out of you. "Oh..", you utter when you realize that he's referring to your strappy yellow bikini. The one he really really liked, because he made you keep it on all throughout riding him on on his sun lounger the last time you went over to swim in his pool. Not that you did much swimming in the end.

You'd been so wrapped up in all the teasing and what hid beneath the layers of his clothes that you'd paid little attention to what you'd been wearing all day.

"Wasn't bad enough that I had to deal with the others today. You had me fighting off a fucking hard on top of it all too."

Your gaze instantly drops to his lap. By the looks of the thick imprint of his cock underneath his jeans he seemed to be done fighting it off.

The car slows into a turn and you realize that you don't recognize your surroundings, much more greenery around than what you're familiar with. You'd had your eyes off the road long enough for him to divert from the route to your house, detouring off a backroad and into an unfamiliar clearing thickly nestled by trees and forestry.

You bite down on your lip to stem the grin that threatens to erupt on your face. This was much better than you'd been hoping for and happening much faster than you could stand to wait.

Pulling into the isolated space, he cuts the engine, car going completely still. "Come here", but he's already pulling you with forceful a hand curled around the back of your neck before you have a chance of following through yourself. It's ungainly how you fumble with unbuckling your seatbelt as it presses uncomfortably against your chest but you manage to unfasten it, leaning further over the console to get closer to him.

You whine when he latches onto your neck, sucking at the skin there not at all gently. If the taste of lake water and sunscreen still lingered on your skin, he showed no sign of it. At least not any sign of disliking it as his tongue licked over your skin and his teeth dragged close to your pulse. When he pulls away you can feel the wet warmth of the fresh hickey blooming on your skin and your heart beating in time with the subtle throbbing there.

It wasn't hard to imagine what it looked like. Deep and dark and reminder of who you belong to. "You're not covering it up this time, understand?", he tells you and you nod. As if you'd want to hide it.

He leans over you then and you retract into your seat to make room for him, back pressed firmly against leather. Steve's intention becomes clear when he pulls at the lever to adjust your seat. You squeak when it reclines abruptly and he climbs over you to push it all the way down.

"Get these off. Now", he orders you, not unkind but firm, pulling at the hem of your damp t-shirt and the waistband of your shorts. He's impatient but so are you, wiggling around and maneuvering your limbs messily underneath him as he helps you to peel the clothing off.

You manage to toe you shoes off as well, elbows and knees bumping Steve and parts of the interior until you're left in just your bikini. The frantic rush suddenly halts and things slow down when he runs a finger down your sternum until he reaches the little strap just below your breasts, hooking his finger into it. " 'Played dirty all day, didn't you honey? had your fun while I all I could do was sit back and watch?", he tugged, the bottom curve of your breasts becoming visible as the material slips.

"Couldn't help it", you breathe out, hands sliding up his biceps. " I like it when you get mean", you confessed softly, eyes all big and glossy and wanting. He laughs, hair falling over his forehead. "I know, baby. Gonna take my time getting back at you". He's done with the gentle interval, yanking your bikini down to expose your tits. You yelp, not because it was unexpected but because he'd done it a little harder than you had expected. A welcome roughness that made your core feel sticky.

He's all over you, weight pressing down on you as you writhe under him, gasping as he marks you up. More fresh bruises to match the one on your neck are peppered across your breasts first before his lips trail hot on your stomach and then your hips and your thighs. The noises he's forcing out of you are needy and pathetic, high pitched, breathy whimpers and mewling cries of his name all tumble from your lips until he pulls away to look over his work.

You're left panting as he appraises you, eyes raking all over in search of more space to fit another hickey or two. "Never looked better, babe", he sits back on his knees, grinning happily. "On second thought...", he grips your waist, encouraging you to turn around and get on your knees. You scramble to get into position, pulling loose the knot on your bikini top and tossing it towards the back seat so that it no longer hangs limply on you in a tangled mess. You grab at the headrest, bare tits pressing against leather as you arch your back for him and present your ass. "Now you've never looked better", he scoffs, open palm landing on your left cheek with a swift slap.

"Shit! please just fuck me already, Steve", you whine, beyond the point of playing dumb and coy.

He pulls your bottoms to the side, thumb brushing against your soaking entrance as he lets out a low whistle. It's a little strange being almost completely nude in his car like this. You usually had a little more clothing bunched around you on the off chance the rocking vehicle might attract any passersby's attention. It makes you feel that much more vulnerable. Hidden but still technically in public. Still at risk of being discovered.

It's all so terribly exciting.

The distinct jangle of his belt being undone makes your spine tingle and the crude sound of him spitting onto his palm before he tugs on his cock a makes you clench.

"Not gonna go easy on you", he warns, catching your eye when you look back at him over your shoulder.

"I can take it", you challenge him and you can tell by the way the corner of his mouth twitches against the smirk he's trying to force away that he liked it.

He places one hand on your hip and the other on the foggy window pressing his cock into you in one slow thrust.

"That's my girl"

---

The next day you anticipate Robin's reaction when she pretends to barf at the sight of the hickeys on your neck and you giggle, amused because you know never to take it seriously.

Eddie's slower to notice because the first thing he does is climb into the back seat of Steve's car after it's been parked, claiming to have dropped his lighter there yesterday.

"Did you find it?", Steve calls out behind him when he joins you and Robin as you get ready to head into a nearby burger joint for lunch.

There's a suspicious pause and some rustling before he finally yells out an answer.

"Nope! Found something better though"

Kicking open the door, Eddie barrels out with your bikini top sloppily thrown on over his shirt, batting his lashes at Steve like some kind of parody of a lovestruck cartoon.

You're too entertained by it to be embarrassed though you can't say the same for Steve who's turned completely red, placing a hand over your mouth as you snicker.

Puckering his lips, the metalhead makes eyes at your boyfriend and you double over with laughter while Robin rolls here eyes and makes her way inside, having had her fill of Eddie's theatrics.

"Come on big boy, fancy another round in the back seat?"

[cer-rata]

Fic WIP: “No One Majored In Chemistry"

“...So yes, I’m going to figure out which one of you it was.” Billy growled into his phone as he dodged and weaved through the crowd of other excited freshmen.

Bruce sighed on the other end. “Are you really saying it’s impossible that you could have gotten into a good school without one of us meddling?”

“Gee, I dunno, acceptance and a full-ride scholarship to an ivy league school I didn’t apply to, with no active requirements to keep it up? Because of my AV experience? Room and board included? UPenn has a 6.5% acceptance rate, and again, I didn’t even apply, Bruce!”

A pause. “...It was Diana. Drop out, and she might actually cry.” Then he hung up, because of course he did. Billy groaned.

Fine. It was fine. Maybe superhero nepotism had gotten him into college, maybe that meant some other, more worthy kid didn’t get a shot. He had to balance that guilt with gratitude: Because someone clearly believed in him, and that meant a lot. Ugh, he couldn’t even yell at Diana about it, you can’t just yell at Diana! Why couldn’t it have been Ollie? Half of his job was giving people someone to yell at!

He was so frustrated that he pushed the door to his dorm open way harder than he intended, and it slammed against the wall, startling the boy who had apparently gotten there first. He spun on his heels away from the window where he’d been setting up some figurines and pointed a pair of accusatory finger-guns at Billy. He looked like a Scandinavian dude, with all of the trappings: Tall, broad shoulders, long shiny blond hair, blue eyes as sharp as Tim’s but somehow much less eerie to look at, probably because he wasn’t being possessed by the ghost of a Victorian street urchin.

“Oh! Oh, hey.” He pushed some hair out of his face and flashed Billy a bright smile.

“I recommend this one, Batson.” 

Billy paused. He didn’t recognize that voice, who was--Oh no. Oh no, Achilles never said anything unless he was asked a direct question, and even then--OH NO.

The guy cleared his throat. “Um…You’re Billy, right?”

Crap, I missed a dialogue cue! “Uh, yeah, yeah, sorry, weird…weird morning.” Billy quickly propped his suitcase against his bed and walked over to offer the guy a handshake, which was smoothly accepted. Billy wasn’t a little guy, 5”7 was perfectly average, but this guy--wait, what was his name?

“Yeah, totally, it’s been a weird morning. It’s nice to meet you, though! I’m Garth.”

Ah, okay. “Garth” had at least five inches on him, and that, combined with the length of the fingers and width of the palm that consumed his hand served to make average old Billy feel kind of small.

“Me…me too. Um. I mean, it’s nice to also meet you, not that I’m Garth. I don’t know you well enough to decide if I want to steal your identity yet.”

Garth let out a surprised giggle and raised an eyebrow. “...Well, I hope to prove that my credit score is worthy of being ravished.”

His smile made Billy’s eyes sting a little bit, but on a level he wondered if that was a product of every one of the degenerates in his mind (and maybe Solomon) trying to get a look at once.

“Aha, I guess we’ll see!”

Garth shook his head a little and smirked. Then his eyes flicked over to Billy’s bed. “Wait, is that your only bag?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I…don’t like having a ton of clothes.” It was kind of true.

Garth nodded. “Hmm. Fair enough. I’m a little bit of a…well…” He gestured to the pile of clothes on his bed. “...I like shirts.”

"Nothing wrong with that, you seem to be good at…wearing shirts.” What?

“What?”

“I dunno man, I haven’t had any coffee, the prompt was: 'Friendly compliment that is also not weird.'”

Garth laughed again and patted him on the shoulder, and it was at that moment that Billy realized that they’d just been standing in handshake range the entire time. He backed up in the direction of his bed a bit, and Garth took that as a cue to go back to unpacking while he talked. 

“I’m from Gotham, my standard for weird is a little warped.”

Billy sat on the edge of his bed and quietly lamented that his feet didn’t reach all the way to the floor. “Gotham is a wild place, yeah. Probably cursed.” Literally cursed, actually.

“Yeah, yeah there’s…yeah. But imma be real, I think Fawcett is much scarier.”

How does he know I’m from Fawcett?

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, that place is a Buzzfeed unsolved video waiting to happen, I mean there’s a reason the Big Red Goober hangs out there so often, right? Magic is spooky, man.”

Billy bit his cheek. “Ah, well, you may have a point, there have been a couple weird things over the years.”

Garth let the silence ride for a beat as he put some sweaters in his closet. “Hey so, big fan of your podcast, by the way.”

Billy chuckled nervously. “How…how do you know about that?”

“How many Billy Batsons can there be?”

“Honestly? A WEIRD number.”

Garth snorted and stretched slightly to get to the top shelf. Achilles noted that his shoulder-to-chest ratio was good for archery (and other things), and Billy tried his best to ignore him. “Either way, I figured you’d be a little more braggy about getting to interview superheroes, that’s kind of good for like, street cred and shit. But I guess being a bit of a shy little guy makes sense, all things considered.”

Billy was about to defend himself against the “little guy” accusations, but Garth turned around and made eye contact again, which derailed him long enough that he lost the window, and Garth continued on. 

“So, what’re you majoring in?”

“Mixed media, with a minor in journalism.” For some reason, Billy felt a little self-conscious whenever he told someone, like it was somehow unrealistic, when in reality it had been made abundantly clear to him that the concept of ‘unrealistic’ did not apply to a life like his.

Garth seemed to think it was cool, even. “Oh that’s great! Makes sense, you seem like the type to be good at all of that stuff.”

Billy fought to keep a blush down. “Ah, gee. Um, wh-what about you?”

“Pre-med and Screenwriting. Dual major.” 

Billy blinked a couple times. “Wow that--”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I kinda…I kinda applied to both departments and didn’t expect to get into either, so when I got into both I kind of panicked and accepted. So. You know. It’s…I’ll be fine, I’m used to juggling plates.” He brushed some hair out of his face and tucked it behind an ear, and for the first time in the fifteen minutes that Billy had known him, Garth looked a little nervous. Only for a moment though, then it was all smiles again. “Hey, that reminds me actually…”

Billy’s eyes widened as he watched the blond cross their room to sit right next to him on his bed. “Uh, wh--”

“How are we going to do this?”

“Do…what?”

“Oh, I do like it when they’re forward.” Zeus, please!

Garth leaned back on his hands.“I have two stressful majors, my mom has been in AA since before I was born, so no drinking, and I like people. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“Well, theater, medicine, Gotham, parental stress: You’re one rejection letter from turning into a Phantom of the Opera themed, organ-harvesting villain of the week?” Why did I say that!?

He could hear the smug satisfaction in Hermes' voice. “Just a little inspiration, for free. You’re welcome.” AHHHHHHH--

Garth laughed really hard at that one, and any cool vibe he was trying to foster was shattered by the way his cheeks went pink and he snorted. Billy could suddenly see the dork behind the symmetrical features and shiny hair.

“Fuck you! This just means you’re gonna be my first victim, Batson. That kidney?” Billy giggled and leaned away as Garth jabbed a finger right over where his kidney actually was. “Is mine.”

“This is good,” Achilles said, “Generally this is where I’d suggest pulling your shirt up, and enticing him with your wares, but that may be unwise as you’ve neglected your mortal body’s physical integrity, you disappointing, noodly-armed twink--”

“Hey!”

Garth raised an eyebrow and Billy realized with horror that he’d let that one escape.

“Uh--”

“Sorry, just…remembered…a thing--where were you going with that before you claimed my kidney?”

“Oh! Yeah right. So I’m gonna like…be busy, you know? ‘Everybody stares at me, boys, girls, I can't help it, baby--’”

“You did NOT just quote Rent--”

“It’s a good musical! What I’m asking is if you want to like, set up a schedule, or is there a codeword, or do I put a sock on the door, or…you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Billy wanted to die. For some reason. 

“Oh, uh. I mean yeah I guess you can just text me? But it’s not gonna be--”

“Yeah don’t worry, I’m a considerate guy, I won’t screw you.”

“Wow, Batson, look at that, you’ve already taken yourself off of the table.”

“That’s not what he meant! Wait, shoot--”

“Who are you arguing with?” Garth asked casually.

Billy slowly turned to look back at him. “...Eheh, whaaaat? Sorry, just, my internal monologue sometimes--”

“It was Zeus, right? I know about the Ganymede thing, I figure I’m within his taste range.”

“He’s not wrong.”

A chill shot through Billy and he frowned. “...How do you--”

“Dami' wanted me to be prepared in the event of, and I quote, ‘Billy fucking up badly enough that you end up with a demon trying to crawl up your ass.’ End quote.”

Billy stared at him. 

“...When you say ‘Dami'--’”

“The stabbiest Christmas elf, yeah.”

Billy groaned. 

[eilinelsghost]

Smippet Smonday

Thanks to @sallysavestheday and @welcomingdisaster for tagging me into this week's round!

I confess I'm struggling to share any of the current WIP today because I haven't managed a new word on it since the start of last week and I'm beginning to feel like the whole series is getting away from me - not in the sense that I'm moving on to something else, but a hands-empty kind of situation. I don't want that to be the case and I'm desperately hoping it isn't, because this silly little thing has been such a balm these past two years and everything hurts when I think about losing it.

So I'm pasting some paragraphs in here anyway (even though they feel stale) as some kind of practice in hope, I guess.

Anyway, sorry for being Earnest on Main. Have some of (what I really hope will eventually be) the next installment of Atandil:

He passed now through the rows of huts as one half in a dream. Some he knew at once, but a thicket of new structures had leapt up in the intervening year and left the settlement nearly unrecognizable. Here was one of the hastily erected storerooms, now turned to a shelter for some of the smaller herds. There a larger byre, which spoke to the cattle Belen had told him now drew their plows. And on this hither side, the little slope leading down to the well. The stone ledge had been built out to encompass the whole, the original wooden frame reinforced with stone and clay. Nóm’s carved hound remained, Balan noted with a smile and a quick stab of longing. The boulder had been shifted to make room for the new swath of paving stones, but its opened mouth still smiled, its tongue still lolled in search of the water trough. And there was his own old hut. Balan’s stomach lurched as it came into view. It was little changed from what he could see, though it was flanked now by two sturdy structures, each more than twice its size. These were plank-walled rather than the woven hazel and daub that crafted the original settlement; and beneath the thatch of the nearest, skeins of freshly dyed wool had been strung from the eaves to dry, while on the perpendicular wall, madder-red linen flapped in the wind. Beyond this, piles of bulrushes had been laid out to dry on strung netting, and a boy was making his way along one edge, trimming the brown ends and cutting each to size. Hathus’ forge was past these, and this too was as he remembered it—low mudbrick walls, the angled overhang which still sat cockeyed from the haste of its construction, a scattered array of tools hanging from the rafters. He clenched his jaw as a lump grew in his throat. Eimet had been keeping up a steady stream of conversation while they walked and Balan found himself struggling to follow, nodding and mumbling brief replies as his eyes darted through the sprawling settlement. He gathered them hungrily, each detail he had hardly noticed throughout the previous decades, now desperately dear and filling his heart nearly to bursting. His people. His home.

Tagging in @thelordofgifs, @that-angry-noldo, @melestasflight, @thescrapwitch, and anyone else who would like to share some snippets!

[arisenreborn]

WIP (one-shot) Wednesday

No tags, I lied, was tagged by @fangbangerghoul - thank you as always! <3<3<3

I just happened to be possessed by the spirit of writing at 2am again - so it's a much more wip-y wip in terms of I just tossed it out there, first draft - but it is more or less a complete one-shot. Tense is a little weird but I rolled with it. Soft fluffy banter (of the sleepy almost nonsensical variety) and fluff.

"Carry Me" - post-game, Olivia & Emrys (Arisen x Pawn), 924 words.

The hour has grown late again and she is sat hunched at her desk over a nigh-unending pile of paperwork. She will never be a noble -let alone Sovran- who does naught but eat fine food and dance at fancy parties. Even if those were two of her favored past-times. 

She yawns and rubs her eyes, but only looks up from her work when she senses movement in the room. His presence is unmistakable to her, and she smiles even before their gazes meet.

“While your dedication to signing parchment of great import is admirable, I do believe it is well and truly past time you took your rest, Your Majesty.” 

She cannot stop from simply smiling at him; she is far too tired to argue, or come up with a quip. Instead she is all too happy to watch as he gracefully stalks around the desk to her side.

Stubbornness has always been her damning flaw and saving grace, but for him it has grown so easy to yield. She lifts her arms up and he bends himself low so she might wrap them around his neck.

“Will you carry me?” 

A warm laugh rumbles in his throat. “I think you may have grown even more spoiled than I thought you were when first we met.” 

He dips his hands down around her.

“Did you truly think that?” She doesn’t really mind either way, the words simply drift up playfully of their own accord. 

His head bows close, his voice a warm whisper against her neck. “Never truly.” 

“Liar.” She laughs and nuzzles the side of her face to his. He grunts as if in mock-offense, but effortlessly lifts her up into his arms.

“Why, I think I might just be telling the truth.” He says this to her as if he was just discovering something new about himself - and not something he’d probably turned over in his mind a hundred-hundred times before.

He leans down and she reaches out her hand to dim the crystal lamp on the desk. Then he turns towards the sliver of light at the door of the study and moves out into the corridor.

“Is that so? This discovery must be shocking to you.”

“Hah, hardly!” He grins at her, the tiredness around his eyes does nothing to dull the mirth that shines in them. “From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were going to be the most infuriating bundle of contradictions I’d ever encountered in my whole life.”

She smiles first, and then slowly her brow scrunches up. But she is too tired to think further, simply choosing to accept that his every compliment is joined by a complaint. And each complaint only further conceals a deeper compliment - a deeper love. 

“I think that makes us quite alike,” she tells him, and he hums in agreement. Bringing her hand up to the side of his face, she strokes her thumb over his cheek. Her eyes are so heavy they burn with the effort of keeping them open, but the thrill of fondness and delight in her chest makes it hard to even consider sleep. 

In direct contrast, she feels so light and weightless in his arms, even the comfort of their bed might fail to tempt her into such an irresistible ease. 

“Now, tell me sweet things.”

“Was I not just doing that?” He snorts, nudging the door open to their room with his foot. 

“Tell me you’ll keep holding me like this.” She nuzzles her face into his neck and he laughs again.

“You are spoiled. But that ought to go without saying, don’t you think?”

She resists a yawn, but her eyelids have lost the battle. “Say it anyway.”

“Aye, I’ll keep holding you, all night long.” There's a pause before he continues, quietly, like a promise for only her ears: "I'll never let you go."

She can practically feel the warmth of his sentiment in the way his chest swells - and then the rumble of laughter when he adds: “Heavens know if I don’t you’re likely to assail me in my sleep.”

She laughs quietly, shaking her head and pressing her face into him. Her fingers slide up from his cheek into his hair as he lays her down into bed, all but collapsing into place alongside her and half-atop her. She laughs more, but it’s so tired it is nearly delirious, and ends in a sleepy, contented hum. 

“You know, I’m feeling quite tempted to steal the sovran.” He confesses, lips brushing against the softest part of her throat, and she sighs sweetly at the sensation.

“And where would you take me?” She rakes her fingers gently through his feathery hair.

“Nearest town that’s further than anyone knows us.” He grins and she can feel his teeth against her neck. “Far, far away from that nasty desk work.”

“Mmm, you have my permission.”

“Just like that?” He peppers slow, soft kisses up the side of her neck, along her chin, taking a detour to the tip of her nose, and the spot between her eyebrows. For a moment it is all she can do to sleepily soak in his affection - but at last she finally answers.

‘Just like that. Though I do have one request.” 

“Anything.”

“Can it wait ‘til morning?” 

He laughs and kisses her temple. “Aye, ‘til morning then.” 

He shifts and begins to pull the blankets around them, and she cannot help but to think how lucky she is. How lucky and how loved.

[theluckywizard]

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you @melisusthewee and @nirikeehan for the tags!

I've been writing a bunnnnch since I got back from vacation and have been working on a Hawke and Rose smut scene on Giant's Staircase in the Western Approach for an academic-style smut writing exercise. It will feature in my long fic In the Shattering of Things down the line at some point! "With this caution and exhortation in mind, write a sex scene for a story in which you know your fictional characters well. Objective: To gain access to this rich material indirectly so that this experience often considered universal can feel singular, as though come to be for the first time in history." As with all smuts, I believe the set up is just as important as the business. So here is some set up! CW: spicy but probably mostly SFW

“Cats again, is it?” asks Dorian, smirking at us both. “A proper hunt. I spotted a half dozen at least. It’ll take all night,” says Hawke. I slip my arms around his waist without hesitation and Dorian salutes us both. We stroll lazily toward Hawke’s chosen destination, my insides humming with the intensity of my delight as his lips meet my hair, inhaling deeply. “Always upping the ante, aren’t you?” I remark, my eyes sweeping up the ruins. I can see the orange dance of firelight on the sandstone blocks above. He promised to find us a place we could wrap up in each other’s arms all night. At least we’ll have the high ground. “I challenge you to find a better place to canoodle than this,” he says, handing me up. We scramble up the crumbling structure which time has miraculously stabilized, hanging on to each other for balance. The tower top glows from the light of a small brazier he brought up, blankets laid out across the stones. To my left I regard a humanoid skeleton that Hawke has clearly sat up against the parapet wall, a dusty bottle inside its bony clutches and a desiccated, ages old wheel of cheese by its side. I turn to Hawke slowly, eyebrows raised high and his fingers tap over his cursed grin the way it always does when he’s desperately trying to contain gleeful laughter. “He was like this when I got here, I swear.” “I don’t know how you’ll ever plan to top this one,” I remark. “And the pile of varghest carcasses was pretty outrageous.” “Mm. Sounds like a dare. And you know I can never pass up a dare.” From up here we have a clear view of the camp below, far enough away that I assume they can’t hear every detail of our conversation, but if they looked up, they would know that something was afoot on top of the tower. Hawke claims my hand as I continue to survey the scene and draws me close with a sudden tug, knowing full well the effect of that little acceleration, my insides molten with anticipation. I assert myself though, aware of how I could passively ride his passion to several climaxes. I cradle his face in my hands, at least to prove I’m not resigning myself to another night with him, surrendering to his persistence the way I had for months. His chin and jaw are freshly shaved and his cropped locks fall over his forehead, too short to be tucked behind his ear the way they used to be. I run a finger over his handsome brow and then down to his soft lips which part on a wisp of a sigh. The intensity of his look dissolves into a vulnerable entreaty for more of me, the same look he’s given me since before that time in the tower when he’d first unlocked me. We meet in a feverish embrace, our kisses having greater urgency now like they’re somehow more fleeting in spite of being less so than ever. Something to desperately cling to while bashing our way through impossible danger. “You must have something planned,” I say, kicking off my sandals and standing on his big feet. “Aside from ‘make my beautiful lover come several times’? Not really,” he says, his fingers grazing over the hardened peaks of my breasts, my stay joyfully abandoned back at camp. “A bit ambitious. What if I want to turn your knees to jelly for a change?” I ask, my head dropped all the way back to gaze up at him with a grin. His brow lifts high, his smile slightly agape, his chest heaving on the deep, amorous breaths he draws. “Anything you want.” “Anything? What if I’m secretly some sort of depraved monster?” he says, bending for another kiss. “Well, I can always say no,” I remind him, pressing a brazen hand over his hardening length. “Oral. In a sailboat. With a squid and a sweetroll.” “Tempting, but no.” “Like a dog. Covered in honey, wearing our helmets.” “You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?” I say, poking him gently in the belly. He shrinks back slightly, his hands leaping up protectively. “Lie down.”

Tagging in case they have WIPS to share! @crackinglamb, @rakshadow, @about2dance, @warpedlegacy, @monocytogenes, @rowanisawriter, @skyeventide AND YOU

[weirdponytail]

It will probably be in the WIP pile forever, but I did this intro for a comic I want to do showing what I do at work and what it's like there. I decided on using my old Peace and Sirenity style and sketched it out before using Illustrator and Photoshop to clean it up and make later panels easier so I can copy/paste when needed.

I got sent home today because I had a greyout/my blood pressure dropped after I stood for a long time, sat down then stood up really fast and locked my knees out. Feel pretty bad considering there was a bunch of stuff to get done but the nice production manager lady told me to go home and come back tomorrow so I didn't fully pass out (and possibly trigger a lawsuit or OSHA or something, iunno). So after eating lots of food and getting a good two hour nap in, I did this.

If this comic does ever get completed then I'll probably bring it into work and put it up somewhere in the embroidery department. Everyone, not just my embroidery coworker, has been so nice to me and so friendly. They always say hi and while I'm absolutely crap at remembering names (there's probably 20 people outside our little 2 person embroidery room and we're gremlins in there and don't get out much) they always remember mine. And people bring donuts on Friday mornings. Donuts! Like, for free! Even better than free, because I'm literally getting paid while I eat them on the clock!

Anyway. I'm enjoying work even though I wake up ridiculously early. Cheers mates.

[insecxreasalwqys]

my heart, will never feel, will never see, will never know. oh, heart, and then it falls, and then i fall, and then i know. (wip)

  Hi. So uhm, i havent been on here for a while, and i don’t think i will be going on here anymore. I know theres probably no more than 3 people reading this, but thats okay. This is probably my last post on here. Thank you to everyone who has read my stuff. I really appreciate it. I enjoyed writing stuff. I just think that im not so interested in alice in borderland anymore. Thank you @thee-yunatic-pixie for helping me, and i am so grateful. So, yeah. Here’s the last thing i wrote, and i hope its not too bad. I hope you can look back at my first post, and look here, as it is my last, and think i improved. I didnt check the spelling, or grammar, or really anything related to it, but it hope you can understand the events, and stuff. This is also a wip, so uh thats why it sounds kinda unfinished? 

 “I’m envious of you.” Chishiya said. And, right there, Chishiya felt the thing he hated the most. And that, that thing, was disappointment. During the game, his expression was very condescending. Very prideful. However, that and his smirk fell with the acid. He always knew. Of course he did. He always knew that whenever he manipulated people into sacrificing themselves for him, their death wouldn’t hold significance (?). Chishiya would just go on and live his life, not acknowledging them at all. Yet, never once, did he feel disappointed in himself in doing so. It was not until now. Whether it was because Kuzuryuu accepted it, or just because, it felt different. As Chishiya got up, and began to walk away, he paused. He looked back at the table, his eyes landing on the seat across from his. The seat which the man he was talking to just minutes ago had sat. And, for the first time, Chishiya felt a sharp jab of remorse; of empathy pierce through his chest. 

    Even before Kuzuryuu sacrificed himself, Chishiya saw people do selfless things left, and right, yet, Chishiya never could wrap his head around why. Why would you help somebody who never helped you? And, even if they did, shouldn’t it always be yourself before others?

    Chishiya sat there for hours, physically idle. Yet, his mind was quite the opposite. He was trying to figure out what his problem was. If so many people were kind-hearted, and selfless, then the only logical explanation, would be that it was something to do with him. And so, the boy did not allow his mind to rest. Not for a second. Not even when the rain began to fall. 

    Every day, Chishiya would walk by his dad’s room, taking a quick glance. However, he saw the same thing, over, and over again. He would be facing that computer of his, with books piled around him. The only time it was different, was when the room was empty. Even when his dad was in there, it felt not much different than when it was empty. 

    Usually, Chishiya would have stopped thinking about it here, but this time, he did not allow himself to. He then realized that the problem was not rooted in his past, but rather, in his, for lack of a better word, morals. He figured many people had been through the same thing, and worse, but did not act the way Chishiya did. 

    See, Chishiya’s morals were: Nobody cared about me, so I’m not going to care about anybody. Including myself. 

     But for the other people who decided to act differently, their morals were: Nobody cared about me, so I’m going to care about everybody. 

    And, with that, he got up, once again, and took a walk. Chishiya decided from that point, that he would try a little harder. And, I suppose, be a better person.      “I won’t be able to get proper treatment in this country.” Chishiya sighed. Although he felt a small sting, the pain hadn’t kicked in. He heard Arisu and Usagi talking, yet he could not process what it was that they were talking about. Then, the stinging went to his nose, and before he knew it, the stinging turned into more of a tingle. After that, well, I suppose Chishiya would have liked to tell you it was a drop of rain that fell near his eyes, but that was not the case.      The sun started to set, and Chishiya hadn’t moved an inch.

     “Because of you, I finally got to live my life the way I wanted to. Thank you, Chishiya.”      This time, when Chishiya recalled these words, it was not disappointment he felt, but happiness, and maybe a drop or two of peace.

    Chishiya saw a burst of blue, then red, then many other colors following.The light lit up everything. The sky, the buildings, everything. Then, he heard a loud voice over the PA. “Now, all remaining players must decide if they accept permanent residency in this land, or if they do not accept.”     Chishiya stared at the ceiling, listening to the faint voice on the radio (if thats the word for it). It was listing names. Names of people who had died in the crash. “Kotoko Shiga, Urumi Aramaki, Keiichi Kuzuryuu-” Chishiya froze. Keiichi Kuzuryuu. The name sounded familiar. Painfully familiar. Chishiya could have sworn he had heard it before. He had no clue where, but it was somewhere. Somewhere. A place he had been in for a long time. It was so unclear to him about where it was, and what it was, but it felt so vivid at the same time.      ❤️

[teriwrites]

Preptober Vol. 1

AKA in which Teri actually talks about writing

Forgive the rambling, it's been a minute since I've actually sat down to write something for tumblr.

It’s that time of year again, when leaves are changing and Spooky Season is in full swing and I realize I need to get myself into shape for NaNoWriMo next month.

This year feels a little different, and I think I've reached a crossroads with my relationship to NaNo. It's year 13 for me, which means officially over half the Novembers of my life will have been spent dedicated to writing stories. And while I absolutely love the tradition, I think I've started looking at it less as a year-by-year event and more how it fits into my life long-term.

Just about every year, I've gone about NaNo in a very traditional way: come up with a story idea, outline it and prep in October, and then write 50K+ words towards that idea in November. And I love doing that, I think I could continue writing that way for a long time.

But where I'm at with my writing, I have less free time and energy to dedicate to it outside of November, so at this point, I'm sitting on a pile of WIPs that I'd love to continue. But with NaNo typically comes an influx of new ideas, and it's all getting a little too crowded in my head to think I can actually hold onto all of them.

This is a very rambley way of saying that I think I need to start looking at NaNo a little differently. Writing new stories every November is fun, but it's a little less exciting now that I've done it 12 times over than when I was just starting out. It's something that's comfortable, I could continue it, but NaNo's role was always to push me to take steps in my writing that I never had the discipline to do myself. And while that used to mean actually plotting and putting words down for ideas that floated around in my head, now I think I'd be better served by using the structure of it to move myself forwards in stories I already have written towards.

All of this to say that I'm stuck between pushing myself to write the second draft of Beyond Alder Creek during November (which will mean a nasty fight against my inner editor but at least will finally be forcing me to work on it) or adding more to my first draft of The Lies in the Legend.

There's also a chance I'll cave and work on a new idea that's been bouncing around my brain for a month or two, but I'm hoping I can hold off on it this year.

I guess we'll see! But I really do need to make a decision soon, either option is going to take a decent amount of prep time lol

tl;dr Teri decides to be a NaNo Rebel and has a Lot of thoughts about it

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Werewolves...I mean Wednesday

Would someone please tell me how to control my brain's hyperfocus? Please?

This morning I learned that one of my favorite webcomics - Phantomarine - has fanfiction on Ao3. Invitation to go read it, right? Wrong. Apparently it's an invitation for my brain to realize that one of my other favroite webcomics - How to be a Werewolf - probably also has fanfiction (I checked this and yes, it does, all is right with the world). And then, because my brain likes unification and finding things that we all have in common and parallels and such, to realize that the pack politics in HtbW are not dissimilar to the New money vs. Old money politics found in The Gilded Age.

...

If you know me, you should know what came after that.

...

The good news is that I have 809 words so far, and have figured out the pack territories (wtf why so many packs in a dang city?) and family alliances, along with which characters are werewolves, which are witches, and which are plain ol' humans.

The bad news is that I have no actual plot and so this will likely wind up in the 'dur, no idea, never finish' pile.

For now, though, have George Russell trying to sell the idea of his sandwiching his tiny little pack in between three established packs to Caroline Astor, Jay Gould, and, because his mother wasn't available, Oscar van Rhijn...who has not yet begun to annoy the rest of the room!

(He will though. Have faith.)

-

1879

George Russell stood in the middle of the room as if he were in court. Around him sat a semi-circle of New York’s elite. Bertha would know their names, he was certain, but he hadn’t bothered yet. After all, she’d been the one over seeing the building of the house.

And once she’d been seen, he’d been summoned.

“And so you thought you would, what, simply move into our territory?” the woman seated directly in front of him asked, tilting her head so she managed to look down her nose at him even though she was seated and he was not. Even if she’d stood, he’d have towered over her.

George might not know the names of everyone else in the room, but he knew, broadly speaking, who they were. There were three established packs in New York, although two of them contained more than one family. They were the Astors, the van Rhijns, and the Goulds. It was a lot for one city, admittedly, and he was well aware that a fourth pack would be pushing things, but he was nothing if not determined. Smiling, he met the eye of the woman in front of him, his gaze just as sure as the tone in which he met her attack. “The house we are building is not in Astor territory. The land was unclaimed by any pack in this city when we bought it.”

“It was the neutral divide between our territory and the van Rhijn lands,” Mrs. Astor - The Mrs. Astor, as she was apparently called - informed him. “And a narrow enough one to start with. The last thing we need is you making it narrower.”

“Which raises the question of why three packs decided to settle within such close proximity,” George countered. Frankly, if he’d had any choice in the matter, he wouldn’t be here. He and his pack would have settled someplace sensibly far from any other pack and while they still would have had to petition for rights to the territory, there wouldn’t be this fight. He couldn’t begin to imagine why there were three packs settled in a six block radius of each other.

There was a brief, snorting sound from the van Rhijn representative which could have been a sneeze, but from the smirk on his face probably wasn’t. The boy, because really, he couldn’t be long out of school, lounged indolently in his chair, throwing the occasional amused glance across the room at the older New York citizens. Jay Gould glared back at him, but Mrs. Astor kept her eyes firmly on George.

[pricegouge]

Well it's not WIP Wednesday but here's something anyway

Mechanic Price x gn office worker reader

CW: infidelity. Nothing explicit here but reader is definitely yearning for a man who isn't their husband so

John's an attentive man. Always has been. So you shouldn't be surprised when he asks one day, cuts right to the bottom of it all. "What's on your mind, love?" he asks, feet spread hip width apart as he looms over your desk, "been looking a little blue lately."

He's got his arms crossed in such a way to make him impossibly broad and you know you could't scurry around the side of him and get away even if you wanted. 

The worst part is, you don't.

"All's well, John, thanks." You're too cowardly to commit despite knowing how you feel, how you want him to force you to talk, crack you open like one more engine block, pry your injuries from you with strong hands to get you back in working order.

He will one day, you think - but not yet. "Well, I'm here if you need to talk."

***

He's always here. You're just as guilty, staying late into the night to catch up on paperwork which really could probably wait but it's a convenient excuse not to go home, not to spend another silent night sat beside your husband on a couch that grows longer every day, the ever mounting pile of throw pillows between you. It's nothing new, a gulf that's been growing with each passing month, year. Your husband, Mark, would say you'd never tried but that would be a lie. 

You have, at least as much as him. 

When Mark started spending more time with the boys ('blowing off steam,' he'd called it, as if he ever came home any less irritable), you'd sequestered yourself at work, staying later just to get out from under foot. In retrospect, you think that's probably the first time John noticed anything amiss.

"Trouble in paradise?" He asked late one evening, finding you in your office with something like surprise painting his face. (It was hope, you know that now.)

"Hm? Oh, no," you lied, avoiding eye contact with the clock on your computer. Past nineteen hundred. You should have been at home, serving dinner to a man who'd stopped thanking you for it a while ago now. 

"Been staying late a lot, love." It's not judgemental; you remembered the old tan line he used to sport on his finger - wide and pale on his weathered hand. It's long gone, a nicely healed wound. He didn't even worry the space with his thumb anymore, a habit you'd picked up of late, as if the band itself burned. You wondered how long you'd try soothing it once the ring was gone and nearly bit through your tongue when you realized what you'd just thought.

I like ex husband price as much as the next person but what about other man price? What about reason you're going to leave your husband price?

[feralmoonlight]

I am way too braindead to properly finish this one right now so have this shitty scribble wip of an idea that might end up written at some point?? You’ve been working yourself to the bone lately, not getting much rest when leaving the ‘plex either from school, life, or a second job that robs you of precious sleep and mr naptime himself has been chomping at the bit to get at you (either the usual hunting fun and you’ve been lagging lately or just because WHY ARE YOU NOT SLEEPING) and like an idiot, you sat down for you break. Which turned into heavy eyes, dozing, and sleeping through the little alarm you set as the lights in the daycare turned off and the gentle ‘tink tink tink’ of glass behind your head (a small sportsmanlike courtesy not usually shown) falls on deaf ears, minutes ticking away as eventually, the main areas of the pizzaplex also fall into darkness and the buildings best security guard is unleashed. NOT SURE if he’s gonna be a troll and just crouch down and cage you in against the window and wake you up already caught or have some naptime protocol kick in and gently wisk you away to a pillow pile to keep watch and give chase once you realize you’re fully in his domain in the daycare. OR straight to their room with minimal way to actually escape int he confined space while he stalks around picking what your punishment for letting yourself get to that point is gonna be.

[creepswrites]

Mask of Hate Ch 2 (Michael x Reader)

god I need a better writing schedule BUT with Halloween Ends finally out, I figured no time like the present. I hope this long chapter is worth the wait!! I've got a few WIPs that just don't want to be written yet ;;

Michael Myers x trans!Reader (he/him)

Summary: Your eyes drifted to the knife block, noting the single knife missing. Michael must have it. Swallowing, you followed your father upstairs. He was slamming open every door, pointing his gun at every little movement. First his bedroom down the end of the hall. The hallway closets, your bathroom, and then finally, up to your bedroom door. WARNING: graphic depiction of death/violence, mentions of past deaths, animal injury (no death though), Michael is his own warning

CH 1.

“Has anyone ever shown you kindness?” Your voice had Michael opening his eyes, blinking slowly up at you, your hands tangled in his wet, sudsy hair. He was sprawled out, lounging out in the bathtub while you washed his hair. For the past few weeks, you’d established a routine. Michael would get hurt or get hungry, he’d come visit you. Sometimes he’d watch you sleep but he’d always be gone by the next morning.

Since the incident where you had helped him get away from the cops by making yourself bait, the two of you had an interesting partnership. He’d been upset at the time, rightfully so, but you’d been doing your best to make amends. It wasn’t normal for him to care about another person but you were doing your best to make it easy. So, you’d taken to touching him more, easing him into the idea of affection. Brushing his hands with your own, touching his arm when you wanted attention, small things like that. Michael had always associated touch with pain until you. Though your touch was likely only tolerated because you fixed him up. He’d come to you injured and bloody from fights, sometimes grazed by bullets if the cops caught him, and you’d nurse him back to health.

You’d been in the middle of bathing him when you’d asked him. The bathroom was clean, for a bathroom, and while he was too big for the tub, he had no qualms letting his legs and arms rest upon the rim to have extra room. You’d become accustomed to him, no longer flushing at his nakedness, so washing the blood off his skin didn’t bother you. You’d bought black wash clothes and a black towel so your father wouldn’t get suspicious about bloodstains and you’d gotten clothes for him in his size that he could wear. Sweatpants and a t-shirt folded on the counter beside the sink, his navy blue jumpsuit in a pile on the cool, linoleum floor.

Today he hadn’t come bloody but he had come to you for something. Had showed up at your backdoor and made a beeline for the bathroom and you’d gotten the message. Bathing him had become pretty regular, though you still recalled the first few times where it’d ended with him shaking from how overwhelmed he was.

Now, though, his gaze bore into you like he was staring through you. Your hands stilled, still frothy with the light purple berry shampoo you were scrubbing into his scalp. He needed a haircut, you noted to yourself quietly. “Besides me,” you clarified softly as you scrubbed his scalp in slow circles. “You’re- You don’t-“ You sighed, trying to find the words, “I feel like people didn’t care for you like you needed them to. If that makes sense…”

Were you anyone else, you don’t doubt he’d kill you for saying that. Instead, he just glared at you, blue-green eyes narrowing. In anger or confusion, you couldn’t tell.

That was another development. As you two grew closer, he’d started taking his mask off. The first time he’d done it, it’d been because he’d been frustrated with his mask, pulling it around his face. His hair was too long and sat uncomfortably in his mask so you’d offered to cut it. Michael had thought on it for a few days and you’d reassured him he didn’t have to say yes.

Then you’d come home from work to find him sitting on your bed, scissors in one hand and latex mask clenched tight in his other. Michael didn’t look scared, not in the way you were used to seeing other people look scared. He wasn’t shaking or staring at you with fearful eyes. But his jaw was clenched. His gaze was harder. And he’d been tense having you with something sharp so close to his neck. At least a dozen times during the haircut, he’d gotten up to stand in the corner because of how overwhelming it was. You’d let him.

You’d gotten better at reading him. He’d gotten better at giving you cues.

He sat up, putting his legs under the water, wet hair slowly slipping from between your fingers as he turned to stare at you. Michael was interesting to you, always was. You knew he was curious about you too. He’d stare at you when you watered your plants, washed his clothes, or made food in the kitchen. You felt his eyes on you constantly, be it around the house or at work. “What?” You asked softly, staring at him with your hands hovering over the tub so you didn’t get soap everywhere.

Michael blinked slowly. It reminded you of when Mayhem would blink at you. “Don’t gimme that,” you teased, smirking at him. “I just- I always feel bad for you, thinking about it. You grew up in a fuckin’ asylum, alone. Like-“ Michael reached up and put a wet hand around your throat. Not squeezing, just holding it there. You got the message: let it go. He lay back down and you resumed washing his hair, humming a thoughtless tune to yourself.

He did things like that. Held your throat or your wrist to indicate what he wanted. Words didn’t come to Michael but he could communicate. It’d stopped becoming scary to you when you’d started taking in the context clues. The rest of the bath continued in a comfortable silence, only disturbed by your humming.

Once he was clean and dressed, his jumpsuit in the wash, you went downstairs to make dinner and feed Mayhem. Michael trailed after you, wearing the black sweats and dark grey t-shirt with his wet hair dripping dark spots on his shoulders. “You’re probably due for another haircut, by the way,” you said as you opened the fridge. Mayhem was immediately rubbing up on Michael’s leg, meowing insistently.

Michael stared at her, standing in the doorway of your kitchen. You looked over your shoulder and you felt struck with the knowledge that, if it weren’t for his injured eye breaking the illusion, it almost felt like you just had a boyfriend over. You felt your face heat up at the thought, turning to stare at the fridge but not really seeing anything. “Umm… anything specific you want tonight?” Your voice was quiet and when you looked up, Michael was standing only a foot from you and nearly making you jump with surprise. Sneaky bastard…

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking from your face to stare at the open fridge. Before you could speak, the sound of the door opening had you both freezing. It felt like icy water was dumped down your back and you felt hot and cold all over. Adrenaline pumped through you as you whispered to Michael to hide upstairs. You quickly shut the fridge and went into the living room.

There were two doorways that led in and out of the kitchen. One that led into the living room and another that led into the hallway. You could walk a circle around the dividing wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. You just needed to pray Michael would slip into the hallway before your dad realized anything.

“H-hey dad! You’re home early…” You called as you headed towards the front door.

Your father seemed exhausted, shrugging off his outer coat and hanging it up. “Yeah, I decided to come home a bit early… It’s been an exhausting few weeks. But Myers seems to be taking a break from killing today. Who knows, maybe he’s dying.” He chuckled. Your stomach tightened but you tried to keep your smile relaxed.

“Cool, cool, I was, uh, just about to make dinner. Was thinking grilled cheese, unless you had something specific you wanted?” You leant in the doorway of the kitchen, hoping to divert your dad’s attention.

Your stomach did flips as your dad made his way past you and into the kitchen. Thankfully, Michael was gone and so was Mayhem. “Grilled cheese sounds good. You want me to-“ Your dad was cut off by the sound of his phone ringing. He sighed and gave you a wistful smile. “I’ll take this outside. You almost sighed a relief when he went back outside.

Michael stepped out from behind the wall, standing in the doorway that led into the hallway. You swallowed when you saw the glint of the knife in his hand, the latex mask on his face. His walls were back up but you didn’t take it personally. “Grilled cheese okay?” He stared at you before giving a slow nod. You tried to smile reassuringly. “Maybe he’ll get called into work.”

You pulled various cheeses out of the fridge before you paused. “He, um, he said you haven’t been killing lately?” You looked over at him, noting Michael’s eerie stillness. “You, um, you have been less bloody than usual. Is everything… okay?” It felt a bit weird, asking when he was going to kill another person again. Like it was just a casual hobby of his. Still, he just stared at you. “Just let me know if you’re starting up again soon, yeah? Dad told me Dr Loomis has been looking for you as well-“

With shocking speed, Michael approached you and held the knife to your throat. But you could see the tension in his shoulders and hand and you didn’t feel scared of him. The knife was another method of expression when he was with you.

Maybe you were just projecting onto him, but you got the impression that, deep down, he was scared of losing you.

“Michael,” your voice was soft, barely a whisper, “It’s fine, nothing’s wrong.” You tried to reassure him. Slowly, your lifted your hand to hold his wrist, like he did with you.

His eyes bore holes into you and you swallowed. He wasn’t angry. At least not at you. If he was, he’d be pressing the knife in harder and threatening to break skin. This was just him holding it to your throat, trying to process what he was feeling.

The sound of the door swinging open with a bang had you both freezing. You tore yourself away from Michael to hurry to your dad, feeling sick at the sight of his horrified and furious expression. “W-what’s going-“

“Michael Myers was sighted earlier this evening.” His voice was shaking with restrained anger. “He was coming up this way, standing around our house.” He spun about, starting to close and lock windows. “Have you seen or heard anything?”

You swallowed around your lie. “No, no, nothing like that.” Watching your dad hurry about, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “D-did they say when?”

“About an hour and a half ago. One of our neighbors called it in.” He took his gun out of his holster and looked at you. “You’re sure you haven’t seen or heard anything?”

You just hoped your anxious look was interpreted as fear of a killer in the house and not fear your dad was going to be killed. He started marching around the house, searching for a sign. “Where’s your cat?”

“I- I don’t-“ You started.

“Dead, then.” Your dad said bluntly. “Myers is known for killing the pets first so they don’t sound an alarm of any kind.” He shot you a sympathetic look before resuming his search.

Your eyes drifted to the knife block, noting the single knife missing. Michael must have it. Swallowing, you followed your father upstairs. He was slamming open every door, pointing his gun at every little movement. First his bedroom down the end of the hall. The hallway closets, your bathroom, and then finally, up to your bedroom door.

The room was still, presumably empty. Though your closet door was slightly propped open.

Your dad held a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he said softly before clicking off the safety in his gun and slowly, slowly creeping forward. Everything felt tense and you chewed anxiously on the nail on your thumb.

Out of the corner of your eye, down the hall, you spotted faint movement. The glint of the knife reflecting light from the setting sun leaking in from the bathroom window. You almost let out a sigh. How he was able to move around so quietly, you’d never know.

Your dad swung open the closet door. At the first sight of movement, he fired two shots.

Mayhem yowled, a sharp, piercing sound, and darted past your legs as he took off down the hall. His black fur had obscured him just enough your dad hadn’t gotten a clear enough shot. “MAYHEM!” You shrieked in horror, noting the slight amount of blood trailing behind the cat as he ran. The stuttered apologizing from your dad did nothing to quell your fears and you took off after Mayhem.

The blood trail went down the stairs and out through the little doggy door. Your heart sank and you swung the back door open, crying for Mayhem to come back. In the tall, mud-stained fields it was hard to see the blood or your black cat. When minutes ticked by with no response, you curled up in a ball on one of the lawn chairs, bare feet stained with grass and mud as you sobbed.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know he was there!” Your father explained from where he stood in the doorway of the house. “He’ll- he’ll come back-“

“You SHOT him!” You screamed, throat already sore from calling for Mayhem. “You SHOT him and now he might DIE out there!” You got up and shoved him in the chest, tears obscuring most of your vision.

He seemed taken aback, glaring. “Hey, it was an accident! I didn’t mean to shoot him, don’t blame this all on me. It wasn’t on purpose!” Your dad sighed and you stared at him, glaring daggers. “I’ve been working long hours and I got a call there was a killer in the house! I thought it was Myers!” He yelled, putting his gun back on his holster.

You saw red. “You SHOT my fucking CAT and that’s all you can say?! That it was an ACCIDENT?” You hit at his chest with clenched fists, like you were pounding on a door. “My cat is going to DIE because YOU can’t use your stupid fucking GUN-“

Your voice was cut off when your dad grabbed you by your arms and slammed you into the doorframe, the back door opened wider. You stared at him, blinking back tears as pain shot down your spine when you hit your head on the edge of the frame. “Listen,” he sighed, “I’ll get you a new cat. But I am stressed enough right now as it is. Let. It. Go.” He just seemed tired now, pleading with you to drop it long enough for him to find the Boogeyman.

Movement in the kitchen caught your attentions. Michael stood there, clenching his knife tight in his fist. His jumpsuit was on, still not fully cleaned and heavy with water. Your dad reached for his gun but Michael was quicker, storming forward and grabbing him by his neck. Your father was yanked away harshly from you and you didn’t even look at him, too stunned at your dad’s words.

“Get- get my gun!” He shouted at you as Michael dragged him into the kitchen, brandishing a knife and holding it to his neck. “C-c’mon get-!” His words were cut off when Michael slammed him to the ground, pressing his knee to your dad’s chest.

Slowly, reality came back to you and you looked over at the two. “Michael,” you said calmly, waiting for the dark pits of the masks’ eyes to focus on you, “I’m- I’m okay, I’m not hurt.” He tilted his head slowly, trying to figure out what you wanted from him. “J-just let him-“

When your dad got a grip on his gun, you acted without thinking. You hurried over and kicked his hand, yanking the handgun out and tossing it to the other side of the room. Michael pressed the tip of the knife to the man’s sternum and you could feel the anger and hatred radiating off of the masked man.

You stood over the two, arms around your middle as you looked between them. None of this felt real to you, not in any substantial way. It felt like a movie almost, a sick movie about a serial killer you felt attached to finally snapping and slaughtering your family because you let him get close.

Sliding to the floor, you curled up on yourself. Head resting on your knees as you silently wept.

Your dad must’ve processed things then: the now-silent washing machine upstairs that had been turned off when Michael got his jumpsuit, the lack of shoes on the Boogeyman’s feet, and his trust of you. “You’ve been hiding him here.” His voice dripped with malice. “You’ve been hiding the man I’ve been hunting. Right. Under my fucking nose!” He roared, struggling to get out from under Michael and wheezing when the other man just pressed his knee harder into his chest.

No point hiding it. “Yeah, yeah.” you sniffed. “I feed him and b-bandage him. H-he protected me…” Michael slowly turned his head and you assumed he was looking at you from over his shoulder. “W-we’re friends.”

Your dad stared at you as best he could from his place on the floor. “Maybe I s-should call Loomis, s-see if I can get you two joint rooms back in that f-fucking asylum!” He spat at you and Michael pressed the tip of the knife down, hot red blood oozing out.

You didn’t even bother entertaining a response.

“Y-you’re gonna- gonna let him KILL me?!” Your dad gasped, realizing you weren’t trying to stop Michael anymore.

You were quiet for a second, looking over and wincing at the sight of the blood. “You shot my cat and slammed me in a door.” You spat bitterly, wiping your teary eyes. Subconsciously, you’d come to terms that your dad was going to die as soon as he came in the door. It wasn’t like you could convince Michael to let him go at this point. He was protecting you from a threat, in his eyes.

So you just shut your eyes when Michael started stabbing.

The stench of bleach burnt your nose and made your eyes water as you cleaned the floor. Thank god the kitchen floor was a white linoleum like the bathroom. Michael was currently out of the house, killing the closest neighbor you had. She’d seen Michael with you and if your dad turned up dead and you lived, she’d be suspicious. You’d opened the windows to air out the kitchen as you stood up, wiping your brow.

The blood hadn’t stained, thankfully. You didn’t ask Michael what he’d done with the body. It would only serve to upset you. So he’d taken the body and left with your dad’s car, presumably to deal with it.

You clutched the handle of the mop and clenched your jaw. Things changed. You were an accomplice to Michael’s crimes now. Your father and Mayhem’s blood was gone, no evidence it had even been there. The knives were disinfected and cleaned, now all resting in the knife block. Michael was moving the body and, once he was done, he’d come home and you’d wash the blood from his hands and clothes.

It should upset you. Your own dad was just killed in front of you. The wet sounds of the knife plunging in and out of his chest still echoed in your mind. But you couldn’t even feel anything beyond anger that he’d shot Mayhem. And now your baby kitty was gone and it was all his fault.

The sounds of the door opening took you from your thoughts. You set the mop down in the now-empty bucket and went about moving it into the closet. You didn’t need to look up to know Michael was staring. He smelt of wet earth and blood and when you turned to look at him, he had his mask clenched in his hands. Blood covered his hands and mask where he gripped it.

“Are you okay?” You asked him. No response came but you knew one wouldn’t. He stepped towards you, flecks of dirt falling off his boots as he approached you. You tried not to flinch when he took your wrist but you knew he saw it. “Sorry,” you said quickly, “I should’ve done something to- to make him leave. Or-“

He cut you off with a harsh squeeze and you shut your eyes. A tug on your arm and you had to hold up your other arm to avoid him getting blood all over your clothes. You stared up at him, eyes wide in confusion.

Michael just stared at you. He wasn’t usually expressive with his face. Typically, he just stared at you with a blank face. Now, though, there was a softness to his eyes that wasn’t usually there. If you weren’t so familiar with his expressions, you wouldn’t know. But you were. You could see it.

He was worried about you.

“I’m- I’ll be okay,” you said, trying to reassure him. “It sucks now but… I knew it was inevitable. On some level…” Michael tilted his head slightly. “It was always going to be you or him. I choose you.” You felt your face warm up and you had to look away when you said that. It felt too revealing. Like he’d see your feelings on your face if he stared hard enough.

So you reached for the zipper on his clothes instead and slowly pulled it down. “Let’s- let’s get you into clean clothes-“ You let the bloody jumpsuit fall to the floor, pooling around his feet. You could have sighed at the little flecks of red that fell onto the freshly-cleaned floor. He had the shirt from earlier on with just boxers in place of the sweatpants. Michael didn’t move though, just continued to stare at you.

You blinked in confusion, looking up at him. “Michael?” Your question wasn’t answered when the taller man’s brow furrowed, searching your face for something. “Are you- okay?” The air in the room felt tense when he suddenly held you to his chest, letting go of your arm to put an arm around your waist. He seemed to relax when you blushed, his head tilting curiously.

He raised a bloody hand slowly, dragging one finger down across your cheek, marveling at the way it stained your skin. A red to match the blush on your cheeks.

Without warning, he stepped away and left you flustered in the kitchen. You stared at the empty space he once occupied and you only broke from your trance when you heard the shower running. Swallowing, you picked up his jumpsuit and took it upstairs to throw it back in the washing machine. The blood was still fresh so here’s hoping it wouldn’t stain.

With the floor cleaned up and Michael still upstairs, you felt a bit out of sorts still. Your cat was missing, your father was murdered, and the man responsible was upstairs showering. And you were going to be making him grilled cheese for dinner because that’s all you could emotionally handle.

Swallowing, a thought came to you. You took Mayhem’s food bowl and cracked open a can of tuna and poured the wet substance into the bowl. The sound made you gag but you knew Mayhem loved the stuff. He might come home if he smells food, right?

You set the bowl on the back door and winced when you remembered the kitty had trailed blood all through the house. The sun had set, the sky starting to take on the indigos of night time and you just hoped the raccoons didn’t get to the food before Mayhem did.

The cops came after about two days. When no one on the force had seen or heard your dad in a few days, they came to check. It wasn’t hard to play up the distress you felt. The five stages of grief hit harder than you expected. On the first day, you’d yelled at Michael and had hit your fists against his chest and he’d let you, just tilted his head when you’d sobbed against him. You’d wondered, briefly, how he had felt when his sister died.

“We found him dead. Stabbed in the throat in his car with your neighbor. Do you… know what was up with that?” The officer interviewing you asked.

You nodded through tears. You and Michael had briefly established your alibi and he’d set it up for you. “He- um. He came home and said- said he’d gotten a call from her. S-someone was s-stalking outside her house and s-she wanted a ride into town. T-to go to a hotel. W-when he never came home, I thought he went back to w-work… He’s- he’s been working so much I-“ You wept into your hands.

The officer gave you a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, kid.” He sighed. You’d recognized him when he’d come in with a few other officers. Michael had easily been named the killer so you weren’t a suspect. They didn’t know Michael was taking the opportunity to kill again. He’d left in his jumpsuit and mask, likely to return home to you for food again. He hadn’t left you alone at all the day after your dad died. He hovered in the corners of any room you stood in, held your wrist and arm if you were close enough.

Michael didn’t feel bad about it. You knew that wasn’t why he was touching you so much. He was scared of losing you, even if he wouldn’t let you see that.

You’d given your statement and the police left. With everything that had happened, you also wanted to get out of the house. You had work tomorrow and you wanted a moment without Michael’s eyes on you, if such a thing existed. So you’d gotten dressed into proper clothes, put some shoes on, and went into town. Maybe on another day you’d put in more effort but you knew the whole town would be looking at you. News reports of your dad’s crime scene would be all over the news, on the televisions and newspapers, and the officers who knew your father would be sharing stories in bars over drinks.

The thought of looking at the pet stores occurred to you. Maybe if Mayhem was gone for over a month, you’d consider it. You took your keys and got in your car to drive to town. No use walking. Plus, you didn’t want to find your feet leading you to the crime scene. The one you helped Michael commit. You should have told your dad he was there, should have gotten Michael to leave the house, should have knocked your dad unconscious and dragged him out to his car and called an ambulance… anything to have prevented the fate he’d been doomed to.

But you chose Michael. You didn’t regret your choice so much as feel guilty for how your choice had been made. A part of you knew that if Michael needed to skip town, you’d go with him. If he went back to the asylum, you’d go with him. The two of you were in this together now. A pact made in your father’s blood.

It shouldn’t give you butterflies the way it did.

You climbed out of your car when you parked outside a department store. Everything felt heavy as you stood up and made your way inside. The bright white lights illuminated aisles filled with clothes, toys, books, and food. A jack-of-all-trades kind of store. You walked the aisles without a goal in mind. Buying food would probably be a good idea if you had remembered to look at the fridge before you’d left. Maybe you’ll just wing it…

“Hey,” a soft voice interrupted your train of thought and you looked over your shoulder. Laurie Strode. She was only a year or two older than you. She still lived with her parents as she worked though you knew the paranoia of Michael stalking her never really went away.

“Oh, um, hi.” You stuttered inelegantly. “What- um-“

“I’m sorry,” she gave you a sympathetic look. “I heard about your dad… Michael is ruthless.”

You swallowed once. “Y-yeah. Thanks. I hope, um, you’re doing okay too.” You tried to give her a reassuring smile but you weren’t sure if it came out like a grimace.

Laurie just laughed, no joy behind her tight smile. “I’ll survive. Always do.”

The two of you said polite goodbyes and it left you feeling uneasy. It was easy for you to slip into a world where Michael was interested in you, a little bubble with just the two of you. Sure, you knew of his victims. Your own father had been made one right before your eyes. But it was jarring to be reminded that life existed outside your little house in the forest, that his actions had consequences that spread beyond just you.

It made you wonder if Michael’s intentions were what you thought they were. He’d never leave Haddonfield. Not willingly. He’d continue killing with or without you in his life.

And that knowledge made you feel sick.

Your dad’s funeral was mostly uneventful. A few of his work friends came to console you, some townspeople who definitely weren’t invited still showed up to give condolences. At some point, you even thought Laurie Strode left an apple pie for you before escaping without a word. Your dad had asked to be cremated when he died and have his ashes mixed with water. He wanted to be water used to help grow flowers on your late mother’s grave. It was a… unique way of wanting to be buried but you felt it was the least you could do.

Guilt still ate at you. He’d probably haunt you if he didn’t get to be united with your mom in some way. So you bought some daisies - her favorite - and brought them with his ashes and a water bottle to her grave. Haddonfield’s graveyard was nothing spectacular, just rows and rows of headstones. Some newer, some older and covered in moss and dirt. Your heart always ached seeing the forgotten ones.

You pointedly kept your head down when you passed Judith Myers’ grave. Her parents had a joint headstone beside hers, a spot they reserved for themselves about a year after she had died. Michael, they had insisted, deserved nothing less than no tombstone nor funeral.

It had been a horrible story. Even after their son was sent to Smith’s Grove, his parents had still received harsh criticism for some time. Even though the horrors of Michael’s crimes were the highlight, there was an underlying belief that the parents had some hand in it. That the neglect of their youngest drove him to acting out or that his mental illnesses going unchecked and unmedicated caused him to kill Judith. Their harsh criticisms of their own son made many skeptical.

When they’d died in a car crash two years after Judith had died, few turned up for the funeral. At the time, the town didn’t know what to think of the child who had killed and therefore the death of his parents just felt like a nail in a coffin somehow. The poor, unstable boy who now had no one waiting for him if he ever got out of Smith’s Grove. Many villainized him, of course, but some wanted him to recover. Some saw a traumatized child who needed help.

It was only after Michael broke out of Smith’s Grove and killed again that public opinion on him changed.

You pushed those thoughts aside and knelt before your mom’s grave. Digging up the damp earth - still wet from the rain earlier today - with your bare hands, you took the daisies out from their little pots and lay them in the hole made for them. With the dirt patted down, you barely winced at the dirt under your nails and staining your hands. You liked gardening, after all. This was hardly different from that. So, you opened the jar of your dad’s ashes and carefully, carefully, poured them in with the water.

It felt a bit weird. But it was his wishes. After everything, the least you could do was honor that. Besides, you didn’t really think you could cope having the jar of his ashes in the house you’d let him die in. So you poured the water over the flowers and sat there with the bottle once it was empty.

Talking to your mom’s gravestone had never been a habit of yours. You’d seen people do it before, your dad used to do it for your mom. There was just little appeal in it for you. It felt weird, talking to air. And you weren’t going to start now. But you did have a small, internal conversation that you hoped your mom would be happy to see him and that you wouldn’t be too upset if she hated you for what happened.

She’d died when you were young and you never knew her well. The concept of a mother meant more to you than who she was. Growing up, you’d looked at your friends’ parents and had felt a sting that you didn’t have a mom. But you didn’t particularly care for the woman buried beneath your feet. She was, essentially, a stranger. Your dad knew her better than you but you’d never brought that up with him. He’d always go on and on about how much you looked like her, how similar you two were, that sort of crap.

Now, staring at her headstone, you wondered what she’d think of you.

The feeling of eyes on you had become commonplace for you now. An is-ness rather than a concern. So you didn’t even bother lifting your head. Just crossed your arms and folded up your legs, staring at the headstone surrounded by daisies. “Do you ever miss them?” You asked aloud. You knew Michael was close enough to hear. “Your parents, I mean. I doubt you miss your sister, I heard about what you did with her stone when you killed those high schoolers.”

The silence was deafening. Only the soft sounds of birds broke the stillness.

“I’m trying to decide how I feel,” you confessed. “I never knew my mother so I can never miss her. She was never part of my life.” You swallowed. Maybe it was harsh, but it was always an internal thought you’d wanted to verbalize. If Michael Myers had to be the one to hear your confessions, at least you knew he wouldn’t tell anyone. “But I don’t know how I feel about my dad dying. Not yet. I feel like my mother and I always competed for him. He always spoke so highly of her and loved her even after death. Even when I was there and needed his attention.” You wiped your eyes and sniffed.

You cleared your throat. “It’s weird. I feel like sometimes he wished I had died and she had lived. I haven’t decided if I fault him for that yet. She was his wife before I was his kid after all…” You looked over your shoulder, noting Michael standing only a few feet away, eyeholes in his mask staring at you. “Do you ever think about if your parents wished Judith lived and you had died? Or do you think they wished they never had you?” It was hard to choke back your sobs then, curling in on yourself to let you cry.

The soft rustle of grass beside you was the only indicator he was sitting beside you, criss-crossed in the damp grass in front of your mom’s grave. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t have to.

He just let you cry in front of the daisies.

[thegreyj]

The sweetest thing

I promise I haven't abandoned my many multichapter WIPs, but my brain has been either working on overdrive or settling offline.

I've written a few oneshots as a outlet for the neverending thoughts, so here's one! I have the next few chapters of TGOW awaiting edits, so you might get an update for that today if all goes well.

For now, enjoy this brief oneshot!

The sweetest thing

Aelin Galathynius was turning 20 years old. She usually wasn’t one to celebrate her birthdays, but this year was different. It almost felt like reaching a checkpoint of sorts, getting to her twenties, so she felt like it needed to be celebrated as such. She had started planning for a party for weeks in advance, just to make everything smooth and working well.

She booked her favorite restaurant, Mistward, for a private party. She asked the owner, Emrys, to cook up easy foods and make a hazelnut chocolate cake for her.

Aelin crafted the invitations by hand and sent them, quite quickly getting a few comments back from her friends that they were excited for it. She planned a playlist to play throughout the evening, carefully choosing her favorite songs. She had spent one afternoon buying decorations, all fitting the golden theme she had picked for the party.

Emrys had been kind enough to let her in earlier to start decorating and to taste test the foods. Delicious, she told Emrys, before moving along to make the place look welcoming and festive.

It was an hour before her party was supposed to begin when she got a message from her cousin, Aedion.

Sorry, Aelin, I can’t make it tonight. An emergency came up.

She knew it was a possibility Aedion wouldn’t come, as his job was demanding and sometimes, he changed plans at the last minute. He would definitely make it up later, he always did. He was the last of her family left, so they made sure to be there for each other.

Despite Aedion cancelling his plans to join her party, Aelin was feeling giddy, excited. She had invited her work colleagues and a few of her friends from college as well, wanting to celebrate with those closest to her. She ran around the place, working on a few of the decorations, fixing them and making sure everything was set.

The first guests were due any minute now.

Any minute.

With a smile, she sat down to wait.

It wasn’t unusual for people to come to a party late, so when after fifteen minutes no one had showed up, Aelin wasn’t discouraged.

No.

She began to feel like it after she’d been sitting at the end of the long table for an hour. The smile had fallen from her face a long time ago. Her drink was empty. Even Emrys watched her with pity in his eyes.

It was after an hour and a half when Aelin started removing the decorations. No one was coming, that much she was certain of. She asked Emrys to pack all the foods in boxes where they were easily transported, as she wanted the food to go to those who deserved them. She was going to take them to the homeless shelter she occasionally volunteered at.

Gathering the golden decors in one bag, she then proceeded to pile all the food and the cake in her car before thanking Emrys profusely and giving him a hug. He wished her happy birthday, almost making her cry.

In her car she let out the tears that had threatened to come.

No one had come to her birthday party.

--

After a good cry, Aelin finally drove to the homeless shelter. The woman in charge there was happy to accept the food, and even allowed Aelin to decorate the shelter to bring some joy and color to the walls. Putting up the gold decorations, she then moved behind the food line to help portion the foods and the cake as well.

Aelin placed a happy smile on her face and chatted with the men and women of the shelter, asking them questions and answering their questions back as well. If someone had watched her at that moment, she would’ve seemed happy to any outsider. But the one person watching her knew something was off a little bit. Her smile didn’t fully reach her eyes.

After a while, she removed her apron and wished everyone a happy evening, leaving the shelter. She didn’t go to her car like she originally had planned, as the bar at the end of the street called to her suddenly. Walking the short distance, she entered the quaint, dark bar. Sitting down at the egde of the counter, she ordered a drink which she ended up staring at for a while.

“Happy birthday, I suppose,” she told herself before taking the first sip. She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t catch anyone sitting next to her, not before the person spoke.

“Happy birthday? It’s your birthday?” A male voice asked. Aelin turned to look at her. She had seen him before, a few times in fact. He also volunteered at the shelter, and they had served food there together. Never catching his name though, never asking. She had never given her name to him either.

Aelin nodded as a response to his question before turning back toward her drink, taking another sip.

“Happy birthday then. May I buy you a drink to celebrate?” He asked. Aelin just showed her unfinished drink before taking a sip. The man ordered a beer for himself before turning a bit, watching Aelin.

His green eyes were studying her. She turned her teal gaze to look at him as well.

“It was kind of you to bring food and cake to the shelter for your birthday,” he spoke again after a long while of staring.

“Yeah, well, they were extra and there was no way I could eat it all by myself,” Aelin finally responded out loud to him.

“It was very kind anyway,” he said with a small smile. Aelin just nodded.

“You’re not very talkative today. Very unusual for you,” the man told her.

“Yeah, well, nothing much to talk about,” her response was very flat. The pair fell into a silence once more. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Alright then,” he said and got up. “Happy birthday once again.”

He left Aelin sitting alone in the bar, with a single tear rolling down her cheek. Discreetly wiping it away, her gaze fell on the barstool next to her. A red rose and a piece of paper. Had he left them for her?

The paper did say “birthday girl” so she assumed they were for her. She opened the paper and read the small note. There was a phone number, and the words “for when you feel like talking again -Rowan”. So, his name was Rowan. A fitting name. She brought the rose to her face.

A smile forced its way onto her face.

Sure, no one had showed up at her party. Yeah, she was sitting alone in a bar on her birthday. But she also had a way to make the day better now.

Quickly, Aelin took her phone out from her pocket and sent a message to the number written on the paper. She got a response back right away.

Look outside.

Aelin turned around to watch out the window. The green eyes were watching her. He had come back, or he hadn’t left, she didn’t really know, but she knew that she wanted to find out. Tossing some money on the counter, Aelin left her half-finished drink there and left the bar still holding onto her rose.

Outside the green eyes greeted her with a glint.

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Rowan said. Aelin smiled before responding.

“Aelin.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he said with a flirtatious tone. A small blush crept up her cheeks.

“So, what would you say for a late birthday dinner with me? I mean, I could eat, and I’d very much like to get to know you better. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months now but haven’t had the courage until now,” Rowan explained.

“What a day you picked too,” Aelin chuckled. “But as the answer to your question, I’d love to. My birthday dinner went to the shelter, I didn’t get to eat it after tasting it.”

“Then it’s a good thing I saved you a piece of the cake,” Rowan told with a blush on his cheeks.

“You took cake from the shelter to give to me?”

“Well, in my defense they didn’t have the cake before you brought it, so I deemed it okay for you to get a piece of your own birthday cake.”

“That has to be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Aelin said, tearing up a bit.

“Well, you deserve it. You looked like you had a rough day,” he stated, wiping away the lone tear that managed to escape Aelin’s eye.

“Yeah, well it looks like it’s getting better now.”

“I’ll make sure it will,” Rowan said and offered his hand to her. Aelin settled her small hand into his large one. Nothing had ever felt as right as his hand in hers.

Maybe everything had happened for a reason, she thought as the two of them walked down the street looking for a place to eat.

--

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[violettelueur]

— RYOMEN SUKUNA || LET ME MARK YOU THEN

↳ featuring : ryomen sukuna from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of sex, mention of hickeys and grammar issues

↳ form : imagine

↳ published : 22 january

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 3.7k

↳ synopsis : (modern!AU) after your lectures, you decided to pay your tattoo artist boyfriend a little visit only to then be persuaded to let him draw a tattoo design on you even though you never actually wanted a real one to be marked with.

↳ barista’s notes : just a little gift to you all before today’s episode and the reset the ‘coffees in progress’ list (wip) when i get enough sleep and after my disgusting online classes, i hope you enjoy the free cup of coffee everyone ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ - also i feel like this is the longest imagine i have ever posted ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ

Having a morning full of tedious lectures was not someone’s ideal day and it was definitely not yours. Although, there was nothing you could do but pursue them through with as much enthusiasm and determination that you could possibly muster while being impatient about the hands on the clock taking forever to move a single inch.

However, at this moment in time, you were able to escape the suffocating lecture hall after many hours for today and was now walking down the busy streets of Tokyo with a white plastic takeaway bag in one hand while the other was occupied with your tote bag that was resting on your shoulder, which surprisingly kept hold of some of your textbooks as well as your laptop giving you some reassurance that the bag that your boyfriend gave you was going to last for quite some time.

Looking around the busy quarter of the capital, you began to notice a few high school students roaming about here and there with some hanging out with their friends - mostly likely going to a cafe or to the nearest karaoke lounge that they could find - while other were either rushing home as they entered the station or to their part-time jobs that they had managed to obtain for a few extra bucks to save up for their next step in life. Noticeably, there were also a few adults out and about with some working as street-food vendors selling delicious treats that you would be craving if you weren’t so full while others were dressed extremely professional with their laptops out on their cafe/restaurant table to what seemed like they were on their lunch break.

‘He should be on his lunch break right now, but if not, I’ll just put his food in the shop’s fridge’

Continue walking to your destination, you finally reached to a quieter area with the city leading you to then stand in front of a glass order with a ‘closed’ sign in front along with another extremely noticeable sign proudly stating ‘Malevolent Shine’ to which if you had said that to any tattoo fanatic within Japan, they would instantly know what you were talking about.

Opening the door, there was a sudden noise of a ring being heard leading you to immediately look up to see the silver bell that you told him to arrange since he always got annoyed about the number of potential clients popping up without his acknowledgement only to tell him that they didn’t book an appointment at all causing him to become more irritated - and as a matter of fact, you couldn’t blame him at all.

Looking around the tattoo shop that you had entered, there wasn’t a single person in sight leading you to come to the conclusion that you were right about his lunch break since his assistant would be at the front desk if they weren’t. Although there was no one to greet you, the dark atmosphere did. It gave an odd sense of comfort with its hints of red that could calm a customer down if they were worried about the tattoo they were committing to having on their body or if it was their first - especially when it came to him.

“Oya~ ain’t you a sexy customer? But I’m afraid we’re closed, but I don’t mind giving you a private session if you want, kitten” someone smoothly stated, leading your eyes to slowly shift to the person who was leaning against the desk with a confident smirk on his face. There he was, the mastermind behind the whole shop itself.

“Well, I’m not coming in for a tattoo but I am here to give a little gift, Sukuna,” you mischievously stated, as you lifted the white bag with the takeaway you had ordered for the man himself, leading him to look at you in surprised before tilting his head indicating you to come to the back with him.

Following his lead, you placed the bag on his table once you reached the backroom before placing your tote on the floor beside the table’s leg so it didn’t fall, letting any of your precious studious contents to be lost as well as avoiding any damage to your laptop.

“I’m surprised you’re using the bag, kitten,” Sukuna suddenly commented, as he sat on his chair while pulling out the white styrofoam box of Thai food that he always ordered along with a bento box that was wrapped in a black cloth.

“Well, how could I not? You did buy it for me,” you quietly mentioned as you took off your black longline coat before placing it behind your chair since there was nowhere else to put it.

“Did you make this?” Sukuna quickly questioned as he lifted the bento box causing you to nod at his question once you saw what he meant leading you to state, “I didn’t know if you were going to stay back tonight, so I prepared some food for you in case,” causing Sukuna to smirk since you were right about your assumption and it did catch him by surprise since he didn’t mention it to you today when he left your shared apartment.

“Thanks,” he quietly muttered before pulling his chair closer towards you so he could place a lingering kiss on your cheek to show his appreciation towards you. “How was class?” he then asked, as he began to unwrap the cloth of the box to your surprise since you bought his favourite item from the Thai restaurant but made no mention of it.

“Annoying, it was suffocating in there but the lecture was interesting so that’s a plus,” you answered, as you began to scan his messy desk that displayed the many drawings that he was working on. Some of the designs that Sukuna was drawing were almost complete, while others were in the same situation but for some odd reason, it was crossed out as if he was unsatisfied with the outcome that it was going to have which lead you to be perplexed since some of the drawings were incredibly detailed and beautiful. However, you didn’t have the eyes of an artist like your boyfriend did, instead, you had the eyes of someone that was able to analyse things exceedingly well hence why you decided to pursue a career as a criminal lawyer.

“How has the shop been while I was away?” you asked, as you carefully picked up one of the designs that the tattoo artist seemed to have scraped leading him to answer with an annoyed huff. “A pain, there’s been so many dumbass people coming in thinking they could just walk in and get a tattoo done immediately without even booking a meeting,” Sukuna answered before taking a bite of the soy-glazed fried chicken you made as he then continued with, “it was a good idea to get the bell since I could see if it was a customer I knew or not,”.

Looking at your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but smile at the man as he continuously munched the context in the box as if he hadn’t eaten in the past week when in reality he had been raiding the fridge back home only just this morning. Slowly, you turn your head back to the paper that you were holding as you continued to admire the work of art right in front of you. 

To be honest, it was quite simple compared to all the other ones that were lying about on his work desk but that didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful. The light sketch depicted a short section of a branch or stem decorated with different types of beautiful flowers and next to it was the same design with the only difference of it being coloured lightly in case the client wanted to have options.

“What happened here?” you asked before tilting the paper to the side, letting Sukuna have a glance at the design he decided to discard.

“Oh, the client cancelled since I wouldn’t have sex with her,” Sukuna casually stated leading you to nod before taking another look at the design with a small smile on your face. Sadly, it was such a waste since the design was beautiful and it was disappointing to not see Sukuna put this beautiful art into life.

Some people might wonder why you were so calm about the statement he had just given you, heck even his younger twin brother Itadori Yuji thought it was weird that it didn’t bother you as much as other girls would have been. The reason was that you were so used to him having female attention as well as male attention and it wasn’t a surprise when people would book an appointment with him just for a fling or hoping for something more than just that - and even though you were calm, there was also a hint of jealousy and fear within your heart that you couldn’t help.

It was like the first time you saw him in your second year of high school.

                                               ꕥ 

Stretching your arms, you had finally finished the last sheet of the budgets for the school clubs leading you to carefully clip the pile of sheets into the folder as you then stood up from your desk before quickly heading out of your homeroom, so you could give the documents to the student council president, who was a third-year within your school.

However, as you were walking past a few classrooms with some people greeting you with a smile, you came to a sudden halt when you saw a whole crowd of female and males students in front of you leading to a blockage of the halls and a blockage of the classroom you need to go through to hand the documents to your senior.

“Did you hear, I heard he was back?!”

“I can’t believe he’s back, I missed him so much!”

“I like Yuji’s kind and goofy personality, but how could you not love a bad boy like him?”

‘Bad boy?’

Carefully, you managed to find a gap between the sea of students and forcibly made yourself fit within the gap before badly struggling to make it through the arc of the classroom door leading you to nearly trip the second you got the chance to push through the gap to ender the class. Quickly looking around, you found your senior sitting next to someone who looked like your friend and basketball club member Itadori Yuji - well more like a mature replicant of the boy you were used to. However, unbothered by the sudden appearance of the new third-year, you speedily made your way to the council president and handed him the booklet that he needed today leading you to receive his gratitude.

Yet, before you could even take a single step away from your senior, you unexpectedly felt someone grab your wrist causing you to quickly turn around to find Itadori’s replica behind you leading to a few gasps coming from the students from the outside as well as in the homeroom.

“Is there an issue?” you firmly asked, as you looked down at his hand that had a tight grip on your wrist causing you to have a small glance at the two black bands that were tattooed around his wrist - even though it was prohibited to have any in your school, you weren’t the type to scold someone for having them since you weren’t sure on how the teacher’s thought it affected someone’s education.

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” the salmon-haired third-year curiously asked, as he began to admire your wrist by gently turning it for your veins to come into view before beginning to trace your skin with the tip of his thumb causing a light shiver to go down your spine due to the ticklish feeling as well as his deep voice which was the complete opposite to what you thought it was going to be.

‘So this is the infamous Sukuna everyone was talking about’

“Not really,” you answered as you looked at him causing his eyes to look back at you before you continued with “I don’t think it would suit me at all,”.

“I disagree,” Sukuna counteracted, as he went back to admire the blank canvas of your wrist that he wanted to draw on so badly. No not draw. Mark. “I think you’ll suit something, maybe something on your neck or collarbone at best actually,” Sukuna mentioned leading you to give him a confused expression before he then proceeded with his speech by saying, “I’ll convince you one day and mark you brat”,

‘What...did….he….just….call….me..?’

“Ah...good luck with that idiot,” you stated in an annoyed tone leading to a few of the admiring student to gasp at your wording as well as sudden confident as they were scared on what was going to happen to you now since Sukuna wasn’t the type to tolerate insults in a nice way no matter what gender you were. However, exceeding the audience’s assumptions, Sukuna began to smirk excitedly at your attitude as he suddenly found you more interesting than any other girl he has met at the back of the school.

“Be prepared, little kitten”

                                               ꕥ

‘That nickname….’

Back then Sukuna was known to be a playboy from what you could recall, every week there was news on the new girl he had managed to convince to meet at the back alley of the school while you were just being a model student with the dream of going to law school. However, during the middle of the school year, you began to realise that the common scandalous news that seemed to be popular enough for it to be on the front cover of the newspaper began to gradually fade as Sukuna slowly pushed himself into your life since you were close with his twin brother due to your friend being part of the basketball team as the assistant coach - she even mentioned that ever since Sukuna came into your life he had stopped his acts and change slightly because of you to which, of course, you denied at the time.

It was during the first term of your third-year that you agreed to give Sukuna a chance since he was constantly annoying you by popping up at the school gate after school to ‘walk you home’ ever since his graduation - when in reality it was to take you out somewhere - without fail even when you had to stay in a few hours. However, you had given him three conditions since you were still conscious of the consequences of dating someone with such a disgraceful built reputation - much to his dismay, he shockingly agreed.

If you are going to have a fling with someone behind my back, don’t think about seeing or talking to me again.

I know you are sexually active, but you have to wait until I’m ready.

Don’t tattoo me.

Let’s just say that Sukuna had managed to keep condition number one in check and you didn’t have to worry about it at all, while with condition number two he didn’t have to wait that long for you to give in to your desires which you could tell he certainly enjoyed when you finally gave him the ‘okay’.

Number three though...

“Do you want to try that design out?”

Breaking from your daze, you quickly turned your head to find your boyfriend staring at you - with the bento box practically empty at this point - while tilting his head to the paper that was still within your grasp.

“I think you giving me hickeys are enough in my opinion, babe” you jokingly mentioned leading to both you and Sukuna laughing at each other slightly.

“I mean, do you want me to draw it on you to see how it looks?” he then asked, causing you to look at the floral design one last time before giving him a hesitant nod.

‘Trying it out won’t hurt right?’

“I need a confident answer little kitten, where did that feisty attitude of yours back in high school go?” Sukuna teased, causing you to give him the side glance before giving him the verbal permission that he wanted, leading him to smirk at you since knew his mockery would get you to give him what he wanted since you were also the stubborn type - a side that he always loved to play with.

Grabbing his pen and a black pot full of his thin-tipped coloured skin markers, he wheels his chair even closer to your before pausing, leading you to look at him in confusion since you had already pulled your wrist in front of him, the same area he had grabbed back in high school.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothing today,” Sukuna muttered as he began to fiddle with the collar of your white silk dress shirt causing you to look at him with extreme confusion before mentioning, “well it is getting colder since the Autumn season is coming around,” leading him to hum in an understanding tone as he continued to play with the smooth fabric.

“I want to draw on your collarbone area, I don’t want to draw on the area where the client wanted it to be,” Sukuna stated as he lightly pushed away your wrist leading you to realise why he paused. “You can,” you quickly mentioned leading the tattoo artist to look at you to see if you were lying, only to see nothing but the light of the trust within your eyes.

Slowly, Sukuna began to reach over to the top button to then unhook it from its loop before continuously doing the same with the others until enough skin of your shoulders were exposed with the top half of your shirt resting on the side of your arms to which then he slowly moved away the right-hand side of your bra strap to fully expose the canvas that he wanted to mark so eagerly.

Admiring the skin that was in front of him, Sukuna began to trace the area with his thumb before leaning in to place a chaste kiss on the same side of your neck before cradling your face on the other side with his other hand - as if it was a way for him to say ‘thank you’ for letting him do this.

Regrettably pulling away, Sukuna quickly grabbed his black pen as he then leaned in towards your collarbone to start drawing the outline of his design on his now favourite canvas causing you to shiver somehow due to how ticklish and weird the sensation felt when the ballpoint pen continuously gently gilded upon your skin. However, what got you shaking the most was the constant feeling of your boyfriend’s breath being felt on your upper body now that your shirt was basically off - it wasn’t completely off to the same feeling when you were underneath him the first time you allowed him to make his claim on you.

“Baby, it feels ticklish,” you commented, the second you felt a different sensation upon your skin leading Sukuna to glance up to check if you were alright like you were an actual client before placing another kiss on your jawline in a way to comfort you since he had switched to his skin markers to colour in the design he had drawn on you.

“You’re being a good kitten though, you’re not moving a lot then I thought you would,” the tattoo artist whispered leading you to quiver as his deep voice was not helping so much with your beating heart - erratic to the point where you thought he could hear or even feel.

Due to Sukuna concentrating, you couldn’t help but keep silent to help him continue with his work causing you to glance around your room with your eyes before landing upon a wall where there was a multitude of messages written leading you to carefully scan the writings that were visibly presenting themselves.

As expected, there were messages of encouragement - not that the arrogant Sukuna needed it to be honest, but it was nice of the client to do so - and a few drawings from other tattoo artists that Sukuna had famously done. However, not to your surprise, there were a few numbers here and there causing you to sigh since you couldn’t help it - you couldn’t blame your boyfriend for being an extremely handsome man.

Unexpectedly, you felt another kiss being placed upon your cheek causing you to look towards your boyfriend with a smile on your face - it was as if he knew what you were looking at. “I’m finished by the way,” Sukuna announced, causing you to look at him with widened eyes since the drawing session was a little faster than you had anticipated.

Reaching over to a drawer in his desk, Sukuna suddenly pulled out a mirror before passing it to you, leading you to lift up the little instrument to see the result that was drawn on your skin.

“You changed the design,” you quietly stated, as you began to tenderly trace the design with your index finger as you began to admire the piece of art that was masterfully drawn on your collar bone. The tattoo beautifully depicted a single strand of a blooming lavender across your collarbone with each petal in different shades of purple while the buds that weren’t in bloom were in a slight pale pink shade making you smile more since Sukuna drew this straight from his head causing you to have a hint of proudness for him.

“I wasn’t going to give you that previous design, it doesn’t suit you one bit,” the salmon-haired artist mentioned as he continued with, “I’m not going to let that disgusting design touch your skin, especially since this is the first time you let me mark you somewhat,” as he then moved behind you before placing his chin on your shoulder to look at you through the mirror you were holding.

“I might let you mark me permanently then,” you suddenly announced causing your boyfriend to look at you with a surprised look on his face leading you to giggle at his reaction.

“Yeah, let’s break condition three then, you can mark me this one time,” you informed him as you turned to look at him, causing Sukuna to give you his classic smirk before possessively grabbing your chin leading him to lean closer to you.

“Let me mark you then”

© violettelueur 2021 : written and published by violettelueur - do not steal or repost

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / Alaska

Summary: The Alaska episode where Hotch looks v cute in his jacket and you find out that he is very much worth it to you -- despite the complications

Word count: 1,927

Warnings: None, Fluff, Garcia being the best friend everyone needs in their life. 

A/N: Here is a little short thing while i work on longer and more complicated things *glances at pile of WIPs* 

“Are you cold?” Hotch glances up from his paperwork, and you stand holding two mugs in hand, steam rolling off each one, “I managed to sweet talk the inn owner into letting me make some hot chocolate. But I thought you might prefer a black coffee.” 

Even in the safety of the inn, the cold Alaskan air permeated every corner and crevice, clinging to the air as if it too sought refuge from cold winter. 

“How’d you know?” he says, as you settle beside him on the couch, pouring over the files on the residents in this small town. The dim lights of the inn didn’t do much good, so a collapsible lantern sat at the edge of the coffee table, casting the room in an eerie glow. But you weren’t scared — not of ghosts and monsters, but maybe something else — you glance at Hotch,  warmth settling over your cheeks — something far scarier. 

“You aren’t that mysterious, Hotchner,” you lean against your elbow, pressed against your thigh, “not as much as you want to be.” 

“Glad to hear I haven’t escaped your notice,” he chuckles, you can nearly feel it, your thigh brushing his as you hope he doesn’t notice you biting your lip. And he shifts, draping the blanket that was over his lap onto yours, “you must be cold too.” 

“How did you know?” and he gifts you a rare smile, warmer than any hot chocolate or blanket. 

“Let’s just say you haven’t escaped my notice either,” his voice is as dark and rich as the coffee he sips at and your heart thumps against your ribcage, but he sighs, laying back against the sofa, placing the mug down on the table. He runs his fingers across his brow, pinching the bridge of his nose, before throwing his arm over the top of the couch, “but this unsub really has.” 

Work. Always work. 

“I think we both could use some sleep,” you lean back too, his arm brushing your shoulders. It’s a game of chicken — if he will move away or if you will. But you are much too comfortable, his presence much too comforting for your own good. But you wait for it — you wait for him to move away, to pull away. But he doesn’t. You turn your head to face him, only to find him looking at you too. 

“And that’s why we got up two minutes ago and went to bed right?” his voice is nearly raspy, dulcet tones sending shivers down your spine, as he relaxes beside you, his brown eyes utterly sleepy.

“Right,” you hum, your eyes flickering over his outfit, lingering on the brown jacket he wore, snug, his polo barely peeking through, “Did I mention you look really cute in this jacket?” 

He raises a brow, “I look cute?” 

You hum, a heat climbs your cheeks, “Don’t be so surprised, even you can look cute, Hotch, and you do,” this time he meets your gaze, amusement dancing in the low light of the lantern. 

“How cute?” he asks, and you swear he’s daring closer, your knees now touching. 

“Very cute,” you breath back, looking from his eyes to his lips and back, heart in your throat — he’s pulling you into his orbit and all you can think about is him, his lips are an inch from yours, “Hotch—” 

You hear screams come from outside, and your heads snap up. Its unspoken, both of you draw your guns, covering each other’s back as you sprint towards the screams, realizing the source — Garcia. 

All of you are too late, as the entire team and locals make their way out, Morgan pulling Garcia away from the body, already turning cold, the last of his warmth dissipating in the freezing Alaska night. 

And you glance at Hotch. 

Yet again. 

~~~

“I can’t sleep with Morgan tonight,” Garcia says when she bursts into your room, “and no jokes.” 

“Penelope—” you start, and she shakes her head. 

“I don’t need another lecture. I don’t need another person telling me it’s not my fault. That I couldn’t have done anything,” Penelope paces back and forth, waving her hands, “Right now, what I need is a distraction. I need something.” 

You furrow your brow, crossing your arms, “Well, I think me and Hotch almost kissed,” and she freezes, “will that do?” 

“Yeah that’ll do,” Penelope stares at you, sitting on the bed, “don’t just stand there. I need details. What, where, when, and how. No detail is too mundane.” 

You bite back a laugh, shaking your head, “Nothing! We were just talking and sitting on the couch together outside, and I told him he looks cute in that jacket—” 

“So the dad look really works for you, huh?” you shoot Penelope a look, and she holds up her hands, “do I need to remind you I just had a traumatic experience?” 

“Fine, fine,” you sigh, “anyway, we kind of started to lean in and then we got interrupted by—- well you know.” 

“I do, I do know,” she presses her fist to her mouth, before she gasps, “do you like Hotch?” 

“I don’t know,” you cross your arms, “I think so. I think I kinda always have,” but you groan, scrubbing your hand down your face, “but it’s Hotch. It would be so complicated. Our jobs, our lives, Jack—” 

“Would you be willing to make it work? Is he worth it to you?” 

You bite your lip, “I think he’s worth everything to me,” Penelope squeals, a hot flush climbs your neck, and you groan, sitting beside her, covering your face, “this is why I don’t want to screw this up, Penelope. This is huge. I—” 

There’s a knock at the door, and you both stare at it. Penelope speaks first, “Who is it?” 

“It’s Hotch,” and Penelope elbows you harshly, he says your name, “can I talk to you?” 

Penelope gets up before you can manage, throwing open the door, “Sir, I was just stopping by to say good night. I’ll leave you two alone to talk,” and she smiles broadly behind his back, mouthing, ‘tell him,’ before she shuts the door quietly behind her. He steps into your room, looking utterly misplaced. 

“Subtlety isn’t her strong suit, huh?” he asks, and you shake your head, a small smile on your lips. 

“Not unless you discount her entire personality and wardrobe, then yes,” you clear your throat, impossibly dry, “is there a specific reason you came or?” 

“I wanted to talk about what happened,” he says, arms crossed, “when we almost—” 

“I am familiar with what happened,” a nervous energy thrums between you, and you’re afraid — afraid he’ll reject you, afraid he won’t want you, afraid that he doesn’t feel the same, “it’s okay Hotch, it’s okay if you want to forget that it happened—” 

“Who said I wanted to forget?” he steps closer, a smile pulling at his lips, “If I did, would I be here?” and then his brow wrinkles, “unless that’s what you want—” 

“No, I don’t,” you say all too quickly, another step closer, but that only makes him smile broadly, “Hotch, what about work?” 

“I think we can figure it out,” he’s in front of you now, his hand finding yours, fingers slowly intertwining with yours. 

“What about Jack?” 

“We’ll figure it out too,” his palm finds your cheek, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, nearly melting under his attention. 

“What about—” he says your name, tilting your head upwards, his thumb dragging down your lips. 

“I think you look really cute,” he whispers, and you smile, “I always have thought you’ve looked really cute.” 

“Hotch—” but he steals your words from you, leaning ever closer to you, “I—” 

He’s hesitant, his tongue darting against his lips, an unspoken question attempting to be spoken, as your noses brush, “Can I—” 

And you kiss him. You taste the bitterness of the coffee on his lips, but something utterly addictive too, as your hands wind their way around his neck to deepen the kiss. He melted into the kiss, hot and warm and somehow sweeter than the hot chocolate he could undoubtedly taste on your tongue, slipping into his mouth. His moan reverberates against you, his arm hard against your waist as he pulls you even closer. 

“Aaron,” you breathe, as his lips part from yours, but you can’t pull away, your lips burning a trail down his jaw, his neck, tugging at the collar of this godforsaken jacket that had pulled you into this mess. You need to know more, you want to know more of him — not just him, physically, you want to know his thoughts, his worries, his fears, his dreams — everything. 

There’s a rap at the door, Morgan calls your names, sending you two jumping apart, “There’s been a development in the case. We need you downstairs.” 

“Coming,” Hotch replies, surprisingly even for someone who just was making out. 

“We have a penchant for being interrupted,” and your hands find his with ease. 

“It won’t always be like that,” he promises, his gaze impossibly earnest, and it only makes more affection bloom for him in your chest. 

“It could be fun,” you press a chaste kiss to his lips, your fingers trailing down his chest, “makes the heart grow fonder.” 

“Makes the mind grow weaker,” he sighs, as he presses his forehead against yours, “when we get back, can we go somewhere and talk?” 

You lean back, “Are you asking me out on a date, Hotch?” 

“Badly, but yes,” a small smile on his lips. 

“I would love to,” he smiles again, feeling it against your lips as he kisses you again, “but we should really go.” 

“Yeah,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “we should.” 

~~~

“We’re not being obvious are we?” you whisper to him, trying to look absorbed in your book, when in reality, you were completely enamored in the way his hand engulfed yours underneath the plane’s table.

“I don’t think so,” he replies, trying to ignore the way your fingers were now drawing patterns against his thigh, and focus on the paperwork in front of him, but in truth he spent the last five minutes reading the same sentence over and over again, “but then again, I am a little distracted.” 

His eyes flicker to yours to see your lips pressed into a thin line, the corners of your lips threatening to pull into a smile. He had to resist the urge to press a kiss to each corner, instead, pressing the end of his pen against his lip, “Well you better get used to it,” your fingers trail a little higher, and he shifts in his seat, “because I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Good,” he smiles at you, “because neither am I.” 

~~~

Morgan glances over his shoulder, “Do you see what’s happening over there?” 

Reid frowns, squinting, “They’re just talking?” 

J.J. shakes her head, “No, Spence, but look at how they are talking,” he glances again, his mouth slightly agape, “there you go.” 

“Who had this week?” Prentiss asks, sighing. 

“I did,” Garcia grins, holding out her hands with a grin, “pay up my pretties.” 

“Why do I think you had something to do with what’s happening over there, mama?” Morgan raises a brow as he pulls the money from his wallet, and Garcia only grins, tucking the money away. 

“I didn’t do a thing,” Garcia replies, glancing at the two of you with a smile, “not a thing.” 

~~~

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